Free The Jerusalem Assassin by Avraham Azrieli

tails.”
    Bathsheba kept her head straight, looking forward through the front windshield, but positioned the vanity mirror on the sun visor diagonally to give her a clear view through the side window. The green Peugeot passed a group of slower cars and returned to the middle lane. Gideon pressed the gas pedal, changed lanes, and passed it. Bathsheba held the Polaroid camera just below the window sill on the passenger side, raised it briefly, and snapped a photo.
    Gideon returned to the middle lane ahead of the Peugeot. He glanced at the rearview mirror. “Driver looks Arab, about forty. Didn’t look at us. I think he’s the same guy who drove this car at the airport. There’s a second man in the back, wearing a fur hat.”
    “Abu Yusef!”
    “We don’t know.”
    “The same car, the same driver, and Abu Yusef is getting the same treatment as Al-Mazir!”
    “We follow and watch. Elie said to do nothing more.”
    “Screw Elie.” Bathsheba opened the glove compartment and took out the handgun.
    *
    “It worked!” Christopher waved a sheet of paper like a flag. “I got acknowledgements with the names of the sources. Here, I listed each one with the amount transferred.”
    Lemmy examined the list. An $11 million deposit had come from J.C. Jameson & Co., an international wheat dealer in Kansas. An additional $7.5 million from Seattle Air and Jet Inc., a manufacturer of replacement parts for fighter jets. And $13 million from F. Lucas and Sons, a canned foods processer in Virginia. It went on—a list of leading corporations in the various industries. “This is incredible,” he said. “Great job!”
    His assistant was grinning with pride.
    “I’ll keep this.” He patted the list of companies that had bribed Prince Abusalim az-Zubayr. “Needless to say, don’t mention this to any of our colleagues.”
    *
    Gideon snatched the handgun from Bathsheba. “Abu Yusef isn’t stupid. He won’t use this car himself after it’s been seen.”
    “Maybe he’s out of money. He can’t walk to Paris.”
    The sign showed an exit for the Peripherique, the beltway that circled Paris. Gideon slowed down and let the green Peugeot pass him two lanes away. It took the exit, merged onto the Peripherique, and headed west. They followed. A couple of minutes later, the Peugeot took the exit for Avenue de Saint Ouen.
    Bathsheba said, “Where the hell is he going?”
    “Have you regained your sanity?”
    “Don’t patronize me. This man killed my father.”
    “Abu Yusef killed your father. This man might be a retired CEO or a gynecologist. We need a positive ID before we take a life.”
    “Give it back.”
    Gideon threw the gun in her lap. “You may shoot only in self-defense, understood?”
    She pushed the gun under her leather waistcoat. “If it’s Abu Yusef, I’m not waiting for him to shoot first.”
    He followed the green Peugeot, letting two or three cars separate them at all times. Mossad procedure required taking side streets in coordination with two other vehicles in order to avoid detection by the target. But they were not Mossad, and there were no other vehicles to assist them. Gideon tried to minimize the risk of detection by dropping farther behind.
    At La Fourche, the green Peugeot bore left onto Avenue de Clichy, circled the square, and continued on Rue d’Amsterdam. Evening traffic was dense, moving with the typical Parisian briskness. At Place de Havre the green Peugeot suddenly sped forward, taking advantage of a gap in the traffic. When Gideon tried to follow it, a stream of cars emerged from Boulevard Haussmann on the right. He accelerated, but a small Fiat cut into his lane. He slammed the brakes, skidded on the cobblestones, and barely missed the Fiat. For a moment he thought he had lost the Peugeot, but Bathsheba spotted it farther down, turning into a side street. Gideon closed the distance quickly and made the same turn.
    There was no trace of the green Peugeot. He drove slowly along Rue de Provence, a