Barry Eisler - Requiem for an Assassin

Ten minutes later, Pancho returned. From the set of his jaw, Hilger knew even before he spoke.

“They’ve got a killing on Mott Street,” Pancho said. “No ID on the body, they’re calling it a John Doe. But the victim is a Caucasian male. Blond Caucasian, about thirty-five.”

Hilger nodded, betraying no emotion. “How?” he asked, and that would be his only concession to a concern for something non-operational.

“Throat cut,” Pancho said.

Guthrie shook his head. “Goddamn,” he said. “Goddamn.”

Hilger sighed. He never got upset in these situations, never. He’d lost men before, and knew by instinct and training not to indulge his grief until later, when the immediate situation had been dealt with and new plans set in motion. His men had always looked to him for leadership, and leadership meant focusing on the problem, not on your own feelings.

“What do you think Rain’s going to do?” Pancho asked.

“Hard to say,” Hilger said. “But he’ll check in. We’ve still got his friend.”

“You think he did Accinelli before he got to Demeere?”

Hilger nodded. “I’d say so. Monitor the police band, and we’ll know soon enough.”

“What kind of vulnerabilities does this create?” Guthrie asked. “I mean, Demeere was operating sterile, right?”

“No doubt about that,” Hilger said. “And even if someone could attach a name to him, it wouldn’t be a real one. And even if the false name could lead to anything…Rain doesn’t have the kind of resources to do anything with it. And if even if he did, we’re moving around too much for him to pinpoint us. We’ll only be in Singapore for another day, and then we’ll move on. Operationally, we’re okay.”

“If Accinelli’s done,” Pancho said, “we don’t need Rain. If we don’t need Rain, we don’t need Dox. Say the word, and I’ll take us out toward the Riau Islands, weight him, and throw him over the side.”

Guthrie shot Pancho a look that Pancho ignored. Hilger had a reasonably good idea of what the exchange meant.

“No,” he said. “Not yet. I want to hear what Rain has to say first.”

“Are you…are you going to call Demeere’s wife?” Guthrie asked.

Among the four of them, Demeere had been the only one who was married. An American woman, JoAnne Kartchner, who lived with Demeere in Brussels. Hilger had met her once. She had lively eyes and he could see the attraction between her and her husband. Demeere’s work kept him away from home a lot, but Hilger had never known him to be unfaithful.

He wouldn’t say anything now, but before Demeere left for New York, he had given Hilger the number where he could reach JoAnne. “I’m not planning on going anywhere,” he had said, with a small smile. “This is just in case.” Now Hilger wondered whether the man had sensed something, some premonition.

He wondered for a moment whom he would want called on his own behalf, if the worst should happen. Or whom he would want to call himself, if he knew his own end was imminent. No doubt his sister, Susan. She was married and living in New York, a third kid on the way. He visited her and her family every time he was on the East Coast. After all, with their parents gone and no other siblings, there wans’t much other family to stay in touch with, and her two sons, Hilger’s wonderful nephews, were the whole future of the clan. Yeah. If he knew it was all over, if he had time, it would be a comfort if Susan’s was the last voice he heard.

He nodded. “Yeah. I’ll call his wife.”

Nobody moved. The night’s humidity had grown heavier, a pall of wet heat that pressed down on them from above and all sides.

“Demeere was a good man,” Hilger said. “As good and reliable as any I’ve had the privilege to work with. We’re going to miss him. And we’re going to honor his memory by finishing what we started, and what he cared about enough to be part of.”

Pancho and Guthrie nodded. Hilger looked at them, satisfied they were going to be all right.

My God, but Rain was going to pay. And that fucking Dox, too. Between the two of them, they’d cost Hilger dearly. He was so angry just now that he was tempted to let Pancho do as he’d asked, take the boat out to deeper water and dump Dox over to the sharks. He was angry enough to leave the two of them alone for a while first, knowing how Pancho was likely to use the time.

But the operation had to come first, as always. Demeere had been the point man in Amsterdam, and with him gone, someone else would have to go there for the final steps. He didn’t like the idea of sending Pancho; the man was capable, but his forte was muscle, and he lacked Demeere’s finesse. For one second, Hilger wished he had sent Pancho to New York instead of Demeere. It was Pancho’s aura of dangerousness that had persuaded him not to-Rain would have made him too easily. Demeere, he had thought, would have a better chance at surprise. Well, that hadn’t worked out, but there was nothing to be gained from agonizing over it now.

And Guthrie…he was definitely good, definitely reliable. But Hilger hadn’t known him as long as the others, and wasn’t sure he trusted him for something as critical as Amsterdam.

In the end, he might have to go himself. Yeah, that would probably be the best way. Despite everything, the operation was still on track. Best to see it through personally.

For the moment, that meant holding on to Dox for a little while longer.

But only a little.

THE LONG FLIGHT TURNED out to be exactly what I needed. There was nothing I could do about anything until I was on the ground again, and knowing that, and accepting it, enabled me to unwind for the first time since receiving Hilger’s message in Paris. I fueled up on the first-class dinner, then slept like a dead man for nearly twelve hours after. I woke up feeling reasonably fresh, with less than five hours remaining to Singapore.

I thought about what I would do after landing. I’d stay in the terminal, at least to begin with. If Kanezaki had gotten a fix on Hilger’s position, and depending on when Hilger wanted to do the call, I might have to fly immediately to Jakarta, or Kuala Lumpur, or wherever. I didn’t want to waste time clearing customs twice, or be forced to explain such a rapid back-and-forth to an immigration official, either.

Okay, find an Internet connection in the terminal after we land, access the bulletin boards, see what Hilger…

My thoughts stopped there, snagged on a problem I hadn’t anticipated. If Hilger had a way of knowing where I was accessing the board, and he saw the access in Singapore, or anywhere else in Southeast Asia, he’d know I was coming for him.

Shit. Stupid to have missed something so obvious. There had been a lot going on, and I was tired, but still…

Delilah. I didn’t see an alternative. I could give her the URL, and she could cut and paste Hilger’s message onto the bulletin board she used with me. Or read it over the phone, either way. And then I could dictate the response to her, and she could type it in. Hilger would think I’d gone back to Paris after New York. There were actually some advantages this way. If he thought I was in Paris, it would lull him, get him to lower his guard.

But what if she told her organization? Maybe she wouldn’t, but I couldn’t count on her not to. On the other hand, if they wanted Hilger dead, as she had told me, I supposed there was at least a decent chance they’d stay out of my way. And if they interfered…well, I’d just have to take the risk. I might have turned to Kanezaki, but I didn’t trust him enough to have him filtering my messages from Hilger, not on this. He had an agenda, and saving Dox was only tangentially a part of it. For a dozen reasons, personal as well as professional, I didn’t want to go to her. But there was no one else but Delilah.