Barry Eisler - Killing Rain aka One Last Kill

Could I become katsujinken ? Was that the answer? Killing Belghazi in Hong Kong a year earlier had prevented the transfer of radiologically tipped missiles to groups that wanted to detonate them in metropolitan areas. Didn’t my act there save countless lives? And couldn’t something like that… offset the other things I’ve done?

The notion was both appealing and frightening: appealing, because it hinted at the possibility of redemption; frightening, because it also acknowledged the certainty that, one way or the other, eventually I would be judged.

I chuckled ruefully. Katsujinken and redemption… I was going to continue trying to reconcile East and West until the attempt finally killed me.

I thought about Manny. He was like Belghazi, wasn’t he? A lot of good would come from his death.

And his little boy will be marooned in grief for years to follow.

I thought of the delicate way Dox had asked me if I was afraid I might freeze again, and of the simple confidence with which he took me at my word when I told him he needn’t worry.

And suddenly the feeling of being frozen, stuck in some nameless purgatory between competing worldviews, began to seem like the worst possibility of all. This was the wrong time to be a philosopher, to be afflicted with doubts. I didn’t care what the price was. I didn’t care whether it was right or wrong. I was going to finish what I started.

I felt the familiar mental bulkheads sliding shut, sealing off my emotions, focusing me only on the essentials of what needed to be done and how I would do it. Some bloodless, disconnected part of myself, turning the knobs and dials and making sure that things happened as they needed to. Whatever it was, this feeling, it has served me well countless times in my life. I don’t know if other people have it, but it’s part of my core, part of what makes me who and what I am. But this time, as those partitions moved into place, the part of me being closed off behind them wondered whether this wasn’t some further transgression, some further sin. To have been so close to what felt like a difficult epiphany, and to deliberately turn away from it…

I sat back in the chair and let my gaze unfocus. I started thinking about how we could do it the way it needed to be done.

I’d been to the China Club once, and knew the general layout. It was on the top three floors of the old Bank of China building in Central. The elevators stopped at thirteen; the next two floors were accessible only by internal staircases.

I’d need to arrive early, use a pretext for getting in. Maybe I’d be doing advance work for some Japanese corporate titan, checking the place out to see if the boss wanted to shell out all those yen for a membership. The ploy was good. I’d used it before, and it usually brought out the host’s deepest desires to show his place off and answer all my innocent questions.

The problem was that Manny knew my face now. I could ameliorate some of that with light disguise, which I assumed I’d have to use anyway because of the high likelihood of security cameras at the building’s perimeter and possibly inside. I’m also good at just fading into the background when I need to. But Hilger, who I sensed was a significantly harder target than Manny, would also know my face, as well as Dox’s. The CIA had photos of us both, as I’d learned during the Belghazi op a year earlier, and Hilger would have studied them closely, the same way I would have. Getting into the building wouldn’t be too difficult. But once we were inside, our ability to move might be curtailed.

I sat and thought more. I could get there early, and probably find a place to hide. A bathroom, a closet, whatever. Dox would arrive later. We might be able to use cameras, as we had at the Peninsula in Manila, and Dox could monitor them and signal me with the commo gear when it was time to move. But where could we position him so he wouldn’t be noticed? I pictured him, sitting alone at the China Club’s renowned Long March Bar. The Long March Bar was for entertaining and impressing clients. Anyone sitting by himself for more than a few minutes would stick out. It wasn’t going to work.

Of course, if he weren’t alone, it would be a little more doable. If he were with, say, an attractive European executive.

I pictured Dox in a Hong Kong-tailored, conservative suit, across from Delilah, probably in a chic but tasteful pantsuit. Dox could be a local corporate expat; Delilah would be the smart European advertising executive trying to land an account with him. That’s the kind of deal that got done at the China Club every night. They’d look completely at home.

What the hell, I couldn’t sleep anyway. I got up, turned on one of the reading lights, and picked up the cell phone. I slipped in a new SIM card and powered it up, then called Delilah. She answered on the first ring.

“Hey,” I said. “Hope I’m not waking you.”

“You’re not. I’m still jet-lagged.”

“Okay time to talk?”

“It’s fine. I’m just sitting in my room.”

I thought about asking her again if she wanted to meet. It seemed like such a waste, with both of us in the same city. Hell, for all I knew, she was in the same hotel, maybe in the room right next to me.

I supposed she was right, though. It would have been stupid to meet now, with Gil watching her. If she had to lose him, she might only get one chance, and I wanted that chance to be the China Club. Also, part of me, maybe not the most mature part, didn’t like the idea of being rejected a third time, even if the rejections were for sound reasons and not at all personal.

“I think I’ve got an opportunity to wrap this whole thing up tomorrow,” I said. “Finish what I started.”

There was a pause. She said, “Okay.”

“But I could use your help. If that’s a problem, I’ll understand. This isn’t your mess.”

She chuckled softly. “If only that were true.”

“All right. If you want to help clean things up, can you get to Hong Kong tomorrow?”

There was another pause. “I already told Gil that I would stick around Bangkok for a few days in case you contacted me. I don’t know how I could explain my sudden urge to travel.”

I thought for a moment. “Tell him I contacted you. That I apologized for bugging out on you and asked if you could join me in Hong Kong.”

“If I tell him that, he’s going to go out there, too, just like he came to Bangkok. To be closer to wherever you resurface so he can get to you right away. And he’s suspicious of me now. He’s going to want to stay close.”

“Can you manage all that?”

I could feel her weighing the pros and cons. She said, “Probably.”

“Can you get a flight out first thing in the morning?”

“Of course.”

“Okay. Do it. Check the bulletin board when you get there. Or I’ll call you again.”

She was quiet for a moment, and I thought, Meet me tonight. Just ask me .

But she didn’t. She said, “Okay. I’ll be there.”

I thanked her and hung up.

I powered down the cell phone, turned off the light, and sat down in the chair again. I crossed my legs under me and watched the city lights through the window until one by one, almost imperceptibly, they started to go out.

I thought about Delilah, so near and yet so far.

I hoped I could trust her. I supposed I needed to. But none of that was what worried me.

What worried me was how much I wanted to.

HILGER FINALLY FINISHED UP the day’s financial work-certain aspects of which constituted his cover in Hong Kong; others of which had more to do with his real business, his real mission. With everything that had been going on lately, it hadn’t been easy to stay on top of it all.