“Is that why you’re here, Keller?”
“I’m here to make sure you don’t end up in a cement coffin at the bottom of the Mediterranean.”
“There are worse places to be buried.”
“Jewish law doesn’t permit burial at sea.”
Keller fell silent as Lacroix stepped onto the dock and started toward Moondance. Gabriel looked at the way the fabric of his tracksuit was falling across the small of the Frenchman’s back. Then he looked at the way the gym bag was hanging over his shoulder.
“What do you think?” asked Keller.
“I think he’s carrying his gun in the bag.”
“You noticed that, too?”
“I notice everything.”
“How are you going to handle it?”
“As quietly as possible.”
“What do you want me to do?”
“Wait here,” said Gabriel, opening the car door. “And try not to kill anyone while I’m gone.”
The Office had a simple doctrine regarding the proper operational use of concealed firearms. It had been given by God to Ari Shamron—at least that was how the story went—and Shamron in turn had given it to all those who went secretly into the night to carry out his wishes. Though it appeared nowhere in written form, every field officer could recite it as easily as they could recite the Shabbat blessing of the candles. An Office agent draws his weapon for one reason and one reason only. He does not wave it around like a gangster or make idle threats. He draws his gun in order to fire it—and he does not stop firing it until the person at whom it is pointed is no longer among the living. Amen.
It was with Shamron’s admonition ringing in his ears that Gabriel walked the final steps toward Moondance. He hesitated before boarding; even a man with a build as slender as his would cause the boat to list slightly. Therefore, speed and an appearance of outward confidence were critical.
Gabriel cast one last glance over his right shoulder and saw Keller eyeing him warily through the driver’s-side window of the Renault. Then he climbed aboard Moondance and made his way quickly across the aft deck toward the doorway of the main cabin. Lacroix was on his feet in the passageway by the time Gabriel arrived. In the cramped quarters of the boat, the Frenchman seemed even larger than he had appeared on the street.
“What the fuck are you doing on my boat?” he asked quickly.
“I’m sorry,” Gabriel said, raising his palms in a placatory gesture. “I was told you would be expecting me.”
“Told by whom?”
“Paul, of course. Didn’t he tell you I was coming to see you?”
“Paul?”
“Yes, Paul,” said Gabriel assuredly. “The man who hired you to deliver the package from Corsica to the mainland. He said you were the best he’d ever seen. He said that if I ever needed someone to transport valuable goods, you were the person to handle the job.”
On the Frenchman’s face, Gabriel saw several competing reactions: confusion, apprehension, and, of course, greed. In the end, greed emerged victorious. He stepped aside and with a movement of his eyes invited Gabriel to enter. Gabriel took two languid steps forward while scanning the interior of the cabin for Lacroix’s gym bag. It was lying on a tabletop next to a bottle of Pernod.
“Do you mind?” asked Gabriel, nodding toward the open door. “It’s not the sort of thing I want your neighbors to hear.”
Lacroix hesitated for a moment. Then he walked over to the door and closed it. Gabriel positioned himself next to the table where the gym bag lay.
“What kind of job is it?” asked Lacroix, turning around.
“A very simple one. In fact, it will only take a few minutes.”
“How much?”
“What do you mean?” asked Gabriel, feigning bewilderment.
“How much money are you offering?” asked Lacroix, rubbing his first two fingers against his thumb.
“I’m offering you something much more valuable than money.”
“What’s that?”
“Your life,” said Gabriel. “You see, Marcel, you’re going to tell me what your friend Paul did with the English girl. And if you don’t, I’m going to cut you to pieces and use you as chum.”