The Kill Artist

in the business. Beautiful stuff. Why do you need an outsider like me to do a simple job like this?"
    "Because our boys haven't been able to do a job like this lately without getting their fingers burned."
    "So I've read. I'd rather not end up in jail, Gabe, if you get my drift."
    "No one's going to jail, Randy."
    Karp turned and gazed out the window. "What about the boy across the street? Is he going to jail, or do you have other plans for him?"
    "What are you asking?"
    "I'm asking if this one's going to end up in an alley filled with twenty-two-caliber bullet holes. People have a funny way of ending up dead whenever you come around."
    "It's a straight surveillance job. I want to know who he's talking to, what he's saying. The usual."
    Karp folded his arms and studied the angles. "Is he a pro?"
    "He seems to be good. Very disciplined on the street."
    "I could try a windowpane pickoff, but if he's a pro he'll take countermeasures and make life miserable for us. Besides, the laser is not very discriminating. It reads the vibrations of the glass and converts them into sound. Traffic makes the glass vibrate, the wind, the neighbors, his CD player. It's not the best way to do it."
    "What do you want to do?"
    "I could get his telephone from the subscriber interface box."
    "The subscriber interface?"
    Karp raised his hand and pointed toward the block of flats. "That metal box on the wall just to the left of the entrance. That's where the British Telecom lines enter the building. From there, the lines branch out to the individual subscribers. I can put a rather simple r/f bug on his line right there. It would transmit an analog signal, and we could listen to his phone conversations from here with an ordinary FM radio."
    "I need room coverage, too."
    "If you want good room coverage, you're going to have to get inside his flat."
    "So we'll get inside his flat."
    "That's how people end up in jail, Gabe."
    "No one's going to jail."
    "Does our boy have a computer?"
    "I assume so. He's a part-time student."
    "I could Tempest him."
    "Forgive me, Randy, but I've been out of the game for a few years."
    "It's a system that was developed by a Dutch scientist called Van Eyck. The computer communicates with the monitor by transmitting signals over the cable. Those signals have frequency and can be captured by a properly tuned receiver. If he's doing business on the computer, we can watch him from here. It will be like standing over his shoulder while he works."
    "Do it," Gabriel said. "I want his work phone too."
    "Where does he work?"
    "A restaurant on the Edgware Road."
    "An r/f bug will never be able to transmit from the Edgware Road to here. The path loss is too great. I'll need to set up a repeater-a relay point between the restaurant and here to boost the signal."
    "What do you need?"
    "A vehicle of some sort."
    "Will a car do?"
    "A car will be fine."
    "I'll get you one today."
    "Clean?"
    "Clean."
    "Are you going to get it from one of your little helpers?"
    "Don't worry about how I get it."
    "Just don't steal it, please. I don't want to be driving hot wheels."
    At that moment Yusef appeared in the window and engaged in his morning inspection of the street below.
    "So that's our boy?" Karp asked.
    "That's him."
    "Tell me something, Gabe. Exactly how are you planning on getting inside his flat?"
    Gabriel looked at Karp and smiled. "He likes girls."
    At two o'clock the following morning Gabriel and Karp slipped into the alley behind the Kebab Factory. To reach the subscriber interface box, Karp had to balance himself atop a large rolling rubbish bin filled with rotting garbage. He picked the lock, pulled open the little door, and for two minutes worked silently by the thin beam of a penlight held between his front teeth.
    Gabriel stood guard below, his attention focused on the entrance of the alley. "How much longer?" he murmured.
    "One minute if you shut up. Two if you insist on talking to me."
    Gabriel looked down again and spotted two men in leather jackets walking toward him. One picked up a bottle and shattered it against a wall. His friend nearly fell over with laughter.
    Gabriel moved a few feet away from Karp, leaned against a wall, and pretended to be sick. The two men approached him. The larger of the two grabbed his shoulder. He had a raised white scar along his right cheek and stank of beer and whiskey. The other grinned stupidly. He was thin and had shaved his head. His pale skin glowed in the dim light of the