Page 78 of The Collector
“You’ll see soon enough.”
They followed the path for about two kilometers, then turned onto a secondary trail that delivered them to a small clearing. Gabriel stood stock-still for a long moment, listening. The forest around them was silent. It was just the two of them.
He walked some twenty paces across the clearing and stood before a thick-trunked beech tree. In his coat pocket was an index card and pushpin he had brought from the safe house. He laid the card against the white bark, level with his heart, and impaled it with the tack.
Ingrid watched him curiously from the opposite side of the clearing. He rejoined her and handed over his Beretta. “Is a shot of that length in your repertoire?”
Frowning, she dropped her handbag to the damp earth and brought the weapon to eye level with a textbook two-handed grip. She fired a single shot. It caught the upper-right corner of the index card.
“Not bad,” said Gabriel. “But this isn’t target practice. You’re trying to kill the man standing on the other side of the clearing.”
“It’s a tree, not a man.”
“Never squeeze the trigger only once. Always twice. No hesitation, no delay. Tap-tap.”
She did as she was told. Both shots missed the tree entirely.
“Try again.”
This time both shots struck the tree, but neither found the index card.
“One more time. Tap-tap.”
She raised the weapon to eye level and squeezed the trigger twice. Both shots pierced the index card.
“Much better.” Gabriel drew an unloaded Jericho .45-caliber pistol from the small of his back and placed the barrel against Ingrid’s right temple. “Try it now.”
Both shots struck the index card.
Gabriel lowered the Jericho. “Very impressive.”
“Your turn, Mr. Allon.”
“I shouldn’t think such a demonstration is necessary.”
“The index card is a bit smaller than a man on a motorbike.”
“But the man on the motorbike was moving. The little blue card is just sitting there.”
“It sounds to me as though you’re afraid you might miss.”
He sighed. “The Beretta or the Jericho?”
“Competitor’s choice.”
He handed Ingrid the unloaded Jericho and rammed a fresh fifteen-round magazine into the Beretta. “Which quadrant of the index card would you like me to hit?”
“How about all four?”
Gabriel’s arm swung up, and four shots rang out.
“My God,” whispered Ingrid.
He fired the last round directly into the pushpin, and the index card fell to the earth.
“That was—”
“A parlor trick,” he said, cutting her off. “Like your ability to steal someone’s wristwatch without them knowing it. The problem is, the real world isn’t like a shooting range. It looks something like this.”
