Barry Eisler - Requiem for an Assassin

As soon as we landed and I was off the plane, I headed to a pay phone in the terminal to call her. It was midnight in Paris, but she was a night owl, and I knew she’d be awake. The only question was whether she was alone. If she was operational, she wasn’t going to answer the phone.

But luck was with me. She picked up right away with a throaty “Allo.”

“Allo,” I said. “C’est moi.”

There was a pause. She said, “Is everything okay?”

“No breakthroughs, but some movement. I…need your help with something. Is that okay?”

“You know it is.”

“All right. Our friend uses a bulletin board to contact me. But he may have a way to check the location from which I’m accessing it. I don’t want him to know where I am now. So I need you to access it for me.”

“That’s nothing. I thought you were going to ask for more.”

“I might. But this is all I need for now. Just for you to access it, cut and paste the message into the bulletin board you and I use, and then cut and paste my response back into the bulletin board I use with him. If we do it this way and he checks as I expect, he’ll think I’m in Paris. That’ll give me an advantage.”

“I understand.”

“You have to go someplace sterile. You don’t want him to be able to trace…”

“Yes, I know that.”

I thought of Kanezaki’s peeved “of course” responses for a second, and some of the comments I’d received from Dox over the years, too.

“Do I…micromanage?” I asked.

“Yes.”

I cleared my throat. “Listen, don’t sugarcoat it. I can handle it straight.”

She laughed. “I’ll leave right now. Give me a half-hour.”

I went to an Internet terminal. After the usual check for spyware, I uploaded the Hilger URL to Delilah. Then I checked the Kanezaki bulletin board. I’d found nothing on it so many times in the last week that I was expecting nothing now.

I was wrong. Kanezaki had hit the jackpot.

The dead man in NYC was named Wim Demeere. He applied for a Vietnamese visa under the name William Detts and traveled to Saigon at the same time as you. Here’s the photo from the visa application.

There was a postage stamp-size photo attached. It was him: the blond man I’d seen in Saigon, then killed in New York.

A James Hillman applied and traveled at the same time. Here’s his photo. Look familiar?

There was a second photo. I recognized it instantly. Hilger.

Here’s the best part. You were right, Dox was trying to tell you about a Marine. The guy’s name is Frank “Pancho” Garza, and Hilger knows him from Iraq. There’s a thirty-foot fishing boat, Ocean Emerald, registered to Garza in Shanghai, berthing privileges at the Shanghai Boat and Yacht Club. Ocean Emerald docked in Jakarta last week, and two days ago made a port call at the Republic of Singapore Yacht Club. As far as I know, it hasn’t left Singapore.

I realized I was gripping the mouse hard and made myself stop. Singapore…damn, they were right here. I didn’t even have to make the short hop to Jakarta, Kuala Lumpur, wherever. It was the best omen I’d felt since this whole thing started.

Now, secondary effects: Jannick had a brother, Henk Jannick, who cleared customs in San Francisco last week, apparently to take care of his brother’s family and help with burial and estate matters. Henk is the head of security at the port at Rotterdam. Henk’s number two is another Dutch national, Joop Boezeman.

Two things about Boezeman. First, presumably he’s in charge of security while Henk Jannick is away. Second, he attended a conference in New York City in September last year: the U.S. Maritime Security Expo. Accinelli was one of the speakers. Demeere was another attendee.

Here’s my take: Boezeman works for Hilger. Whatever Hilger is up to, it involves something in Rotterdam, something that the head of port security there could prevent. But a hit on the security head himself is too difficult, or too high profile, or both. So Hilger kills Henk’s brother in California, forcing Henk to take leave, and in Henk’s absence, the #2 guy, Boezeman, is in charge. Boezeman in charge creates an opening for Hilger to do something. The question is what.

Other questions: Why did Hilger have Accinelli killed? Why were Demeere, Accinelli, and Boezeman at the Maritime Security Expo in New York at the same time?

I know you’re in the air. Call me as soon as you get this. This thing is bigger than just Hilger, I can feel it.

It was what I’d been hoping for. A bunch of disconnected pieces that, with just one additional datapoint, or one fresh perspective, suddenly cohere into meaningful intelligence. But Accinelli, and now Boezeman and the rest…I didn’t care about any of it. Hilger had Dox right here in Singapore. That was all that mattered.

I gave Delilah the half-hour she’d asked for, then accessed our bulletin board. She had pasted in Hilger’s message:

I don’t know what you’re talking about. Good work on Accinelli, but you still have one more to do before Dox walks. I know you’ll want to talk to him. Call me like last time at 08:00 GMT. That’s 24 hours from the time I’m leaving this message.

I smiled. Stimulus, response. By leading with threats and accusations, I’d created an opening for him to deny everything and try to dissuade me. And maybe I’d bought Dox a little time in the process.

I checked the time/date stamp. He’d left the message at 08:00 GMT the previous day. That was four in the afternoon in Singapore, while I’d been in the air. So I had-I looked at my watch-a little over eight hours before the call.

I purged the browser, went to another pay phone, and called Kanezaki.

He picked up right away. “Where are you?”

“Not over the…”

“I’m using a scrambler, it’s okay. Where are you?”

“Singapore.”

“Perfect, perfect. I was hoping you’d catch the nonstop from Newark. I’m here, too.”

“What are you…”

“You saw the bulletin board, right?”

“Yeah.”

“You were already in the air when I got the information. I had to leave right away-assemble the gear you need, charter a plane…there wasn’t much time.”

“Where are you?”

“Grand Hyatt, Scotts Road and Orchard. Can you meet me here?”

Ordinarily, I would have declined. It’s inherently uncomfortable for me to allow someone else to choose a meeting place. But it made no sense for Kanezaki to try to set me up now. Maybe another time, but not now. I suppressed my paranoia and said, “Yeah. Give me two hours.”

“Room seven-oh-four. I’ll be here.”

I hung up and called Delilah from another phone.

“You get it?” she asked.

“I got it. Thank you.”

“Let me give you another number, a sterile line, scrambled. I need to talk to you, it’s important.”

“You can just put it on the…”

“I’ll put the number on the bulletin board. But I need to talk to you.”

I hung up, checked the bulletin board, and called her back on the sterile line.

“What is it?” I said.

“Do you know where Dox is?”

“I…have a good idea.”

“You said he’s on a boat. How are you going to get him off?”

Why was she asking me this? “How do you think?” I said.

“I think you’re so angry and afraid that you’re planning on going in with both guns blazing.”

I frowned. “That’s not exactly the way I’d put it.”

“Without solid intelligence about the layout, and the numbers and placement of opposition on the boat, you might as well be wearing a blindfold. It’s suicide, for you and Dox. You can’t do this alone.”

“Look, I appreciate the offer, but this is going down today. You’re too far away.”