Boarding announcements blared from the public address system. She had a terrible headache. She reached into her purse, removed a bottle of aspirin, washed down two tablets with the coffee. She looked for Gabriel. Nothing. Damn it, where the hell are you, Gabriel Allon? Tell me you haven’t left me here alone with them… She placed the cup carefully in the saucer and returned the aspirin bottle to her purse.
She was about to resume reading when a stunningly attractive woman with lustrous black hair and wide brown eyes appeared at the table. “Do you mind if I join you?” the woman said in French.
“Actually, I’m meeting someone.”
“You’re meeting Lucien Daveau. I’m Lucien’s friend.” She pulled out the chair and sat down. “Lucien asked me to collect you and take you to your flight.”
“I was told that Lucien himself would meet me here.”
“I understand, but I’m afraid there’s been a slight change in plan.” She smiled a radiant, seductive smile. “You have nothing to be afraid of. Lucien asked me to take good care of you.”
Jacqueline had no idea what to do. They had violated the terms of the agreement. She had every right to stand up and walk off and be done with it. But then what? Tariq would slip away and continue his campaign of terror. More innocent Jews would die. The peace process would be placed in jeopardy. And Gabriel would go on blaming himself for what had happened to Leah and his son in Vienna.
“I don’t like this, but I’ll do it.”
“Good, because they’ve just called our flight.”
Jacqueline stood up, picked up her bag, and followed the woman out of the café. “Our flight?” she asked.
“That’s right. I’m going to be traveling with you for the first leg of your journey. Lucien will join you later.”
“Where are we going?”
“You’ll find out in a moment.”
“Since we’re going to be traveling together, do you think you could tell me your name?”
The girl smiled again. “If you feel you must call me something, you may call me Leila.”
Gabriel stood in a duty-free shop one hundred feet away, pretending to look at cologne, while he watched Jacqueline at the café. Shamron was aboard Benjamin Stone’s private plane. All they needed was Tariq.
Suddenly, he realized that he was excited by the prospect of finally seeing Tariq. The photographs in Shamron’s file were useless-too old, too grainy. Three of them were only presumed to be pictures of Tariq. The truth was no one inside the Office really knew what he looked like. Gabriel was about to get the first good look at him in years. Was he tall or short? Was he handsome or ordinary-looking? Did he look like a ruthless killer? Of course not, Gabriel thought. He’ll be someone who blends naturally into his surroundings.
He’ll be like me. Then he thought: Or am I like him?
When the attractive, raven-haired girl sat down at Jacqueline’s table, he thought for a moment that it was just one of those horrid accidents that sometimes sends operations into a tailspin-girl needs a seat, girl assumes Jacqueline’s alone, girl helps herself to the empty chair. Then he realized it was part of Tariq’s game. He had survived all these years because he was unpredictable. He made plans and changed plans constantly-told different stories to different members of his organization. Never let the left hand know what the right was doing.
The two women stood up and started walking. Gabriel waited for a moment, then trailed them from a safe distance. He felt dejected. The game had barely begun and already Tariq had bested him. He wondered whether he was really ready to do battle with a man like Tariq. He had been out of the game too long. Perhaps his reactions had slowed, his instincts for survival waned. He thought of the night he’d planted the bugs in Yusef’s flat, how he had nearly been caught because he had lost his concentration for a few seconds.
He felt the sickening rush of adrenaline all over again. For a moment he considered rushing forward and pulling her out. He forced himself to calm down and think clearly. She was just getting on an airplane. She would be safe while they were in the air, and Shamron would have a team waiting at the other end. Tariq had won the first round, but Gabriel decided to let the game continue.
The girl led Jacqueline into a glass-enclosed gate area. Gabriel watched as they passed through a final security check and handed over their tickets to a gate attendant. Then they headed into the Jetway and were gone. Gabriel glanced up at the monitor one last time to make certain he had seen it right: Air France flight 382, destination Montreal.
A few moments after takeoff Shamron hung up the secure telephone in the office of Benjamin Stone’s private jet and joined Gabriel in the luxuriously appointed salon. “I just notified Ottawa station.”
“Who’s in Ottawa these days?”
“Your old friend Zvi Yadin. He’s on his way to Montreal now with a small team. They’ll meet the plane and put Jacqueline and her new friend under watch.”
“Why Montreal?”
“Haven’t you read the papers?”
“I’m sorry, Ari, but I’ve been a bit busy.”
On the table next to Shamron’s chair was a stack of newspapers, neatly arranged so the mastheads were visible. He snatched the top paper and flipped it into Gabriel’s lap. “There’s going to be a signing ceremony at the UN in three days. Everyone’s going to be there. The American president, the prime minister, Arafat and all his deputies. It looks as though Tariq’s going to try to spoil the party.”
Gabriel glanced at the newspaper and tossed it back onto the table.
“ Montreal is a natural staging point for a man like Tariq. He speaks fluent French and has the capability to secure false passports. He flies to Montreal as a Frenchman and enters Quebec without a visa. Once he’s in Canada he’s almost home. There are tens of thousands of Arabs living in Montreal. He’ll have plenty of places to hide. Security along the U.S.-Canadian border is lax or nonexistent. On some roads there are no border posts at all. In Montreal he can switch passports-American or Canadian-and simply drive into the States. Or, if he’s feeling adventurous, he can walk across the border.”
“Tariq never struck me as an outdoorsman.”
“He’ll do whatever is necessary to get his target. And if that means walking ten miles through the snow, he’ll walk through the snow.”
“I don’t like the fact that they changed the rules in Paris,” Gabriel said. “I don’t like the fact that Yusef lied to Jacqueline about how this was going to work.”
“All it means is that for reasons of security Tariq finds it necessary to deceive his own people. That’s standard procedure for a man like him. Arafat did it for years. That’s the reason he’s alive today. His enemies within the Palestinian movement couldn’t get to him.”
“And neither could you.”
“Point well taken.”
The door connecting the salon to the office opened, and Stone entered the room.
Shamron said, “There’s a stateroom in the back of the plane. Go get some sleep. You look terrible.”
Gabriel stood up without a word and left the salon. Stone lowered his mammoth body into a chair and scooped up a handful of Brazil nuts. “He has passion,” he said, popping a pair of nuts into his mouth. “An assassin with a conscience. I like that. The rest of the world is going to like him even better.”
“Benjamin, what on earth are you talking about?”
“He’s the meal ticket. Don’t you understand, Ari? He’s the way you repay your debts to me. All of them, wiped out in a single neat payment.”
“I didn’t realize you were keeping a ledger. I thought you helped us because you believed in us. I thought you helped us because you wanted to help protect the State.”
“Let me finish, Ari. Hear me out. I don’t want your money. I want him. I want you to let me tell his story. I’ll assign it to my best reporter. Let me publish the story of the Israeli who restores old master paintings by day and kills Palestinian terrorists by night.”