Barry Eisler - Killing Rain aka One Last Kill

“When you’re done with that,” I said, “let’s meet on the mezzanine level of the Grand Hyatt at sixteen hundred. It’s away from the main lobby so it’s private, and you’ll look right at home there in your new threads.”

“Sounds good. You’ve got the gear?”

“And everything else.”

“All right, partner, see you soon.”

I turned off the phone and headed over to the hotel shopping arcade, where I got a haircut and a shave. I had them put a bunch of gel in my hair and slick it back-not my usual look, and not a dramatic alteration to my appearance, but lots of small changes would begin to add up. Next, a visit to an optometrist for a pair of rectangular wire-frame glasses that did a nice job of reworking the angles of my face. At the adjacent Pacific Place shopping mall, one stop at Dunhill got me the rest of what I needed: single-breasted, double-vented navy gabardine suit, fitted with inch-and-a-half cuffs in fifteen minutes flat; white Sea Island cotton shirt and flat gold cuff links; brown split-toe lace-ups and navy socks; brown alligator belt and British-tan attaché case. It wasn’t terribly cold in Hong Kong, but perhaps just chilly enough to justify the purchase of a pair of brown deerskin gloves, which went into the attaché. I checked myself in the mirror before heading out of the store and liked what I saw: a well-off Japanese businessman, with international experience and taste, in the discreet employ of powerful industrial interests seeking a foothold in Hong Kong through one of its famous business institutions, the China Club. Hopefully I’d even get to keep the clothes when this was done. Hopefully they wouldn’t have any bullet holes in them.

I headed back to the hotel and filled the attaché case with the commo gear and other equipment. From the hotel, I caught a cab to the bug-out point, where I taped an extra passport and some other necessaries to the back of a cabinet in the men’s room. Then I walked until I found an Internet café, where I checked the bulletin board. No word from Kanezaki. From Tatsu, there was some interesting news. His post said:

Jim Hilger: Works as a financial adviser in Hong Kong for high net worth clients. Cannot confirm his possible CIA affiliations, although sources believe there was a connection there at some point. More recently, considered dirty. Suspected to be involved in black market arms trading, including Israeli weapons to various separatist groups in the region. Suspected of operating “Murder, Inc.” type organization, trading on former military and possible intelligence skills and contacts.

Mitchell William Winters: Gulf War I veteran, Third Special Forces. No other information.

Looking forward to seeing you. Take care of yourself.

All right, the more I learned, the more it seemed that Dox and I were right. Either Hilger was running his own show, or he was so far off the government reservation that he might as well be.

I Googled “Two Slain Americans Reported to Be CIA Officers” to follow up on the story we’d seen the day before in the Washington Post . This time there were dozens of hits-the other services were starting to pick up the story. I went to the Post ’s site because they seemed to be breaking the news. There was a new story, this one headlined, “Americans Killed in Manila Connected to Mysterious Company.”

The Post had picked up the Gird Enterprises information and was running with it. They’d done some digging, and apparently the address listed in the company’s articles of incorporation was an empty suite in a New Jersey office park. The Post had contacted the law firm that had drawn up the articles; when told who was calling and why, the lawyer they reached hung up. Interesting.

I caught a cab to the Grand Hyatt and called Delilah from the lobby.

“Hey,” she said. “I was wondering when you were going to call.”

“Sorry. I had a lot of things to do to get ready. How soon can you be in the lobby of the Grand Hyatt?”

“Fifteen minutes.”

“Good. See you then.” I clicked off.

I walked up the black granite stairs that curved along the wall to the mezzanine level. The mezzanine was open to the opulent lobby below, and would provide a good vantage point for ensuring that Delilah came alone.

Dox wasn’t there yet. I stood looking down at the lobby, explaining to the woman who offered to seat me that I preferred to wait and watch for my acquaintances, who ought to be arriving soon.

Delilah got there in fifteen minutes as promised. She looked around the lobby, then up at the mezzanine. I nodded when she saw me, then watched her cross the lobby and start up the long, winding stairs. No one came in after her. If Gil was keeping tabs, it was at a distance. So far.

I offered her my hand as she approached, just a business acquaintance greeting her for a post-meeting drink. We shook, then stood looking down at the lobby. Harry’s bug detector lay in my pocket without stirring.

“Dox is on his way,” I said. “Let’s just keep an eye out for him.”

“All right.”

In fact, I wanted to watch the lobby for a little longer to make sure she had come alone. She knew what I was doing, of course, but under the circumstances couldn’t really object.

“Where’s Gil?” I asked.

“He’s here. I told him you contacted me and wanted to meet me in Hong Kong. Right now he’s probably just sitting in his hotel room, waiting for me to call.”

I would have liked to take the fight to him. I’ve never been inclined to simply run and hide. A tactical retreat, sure, but at a minimum you leave booby traps along the way. Or you circle behind the people who are hunting you until you’re hunting them. It’s just the way I work, the way I’ve always done things.

But all I said was, “We’ll try to get this over with before he gets too antsy.”

Dox showed ten minutes later. Damn, I’d never seen him like this-a perfectly tailored charcoal suit, white spread-collar shirt, and a monochrome blue tie. The only thing that was out of place was the goatee-I’d forgotten to mention that. It was too memorable and anyway we needed to alter his appearance as much as possible. I thought it ought to go.

Unlike Delilah, Dox looked up before he looked anywhere else. It was reflex for him to check for sniper hides, and he saw us immediately. He crossed the lobby and headed up the stairs.

He walked over to where we were standing and shook Delilah’s hand. “It’s nice to see you again,” he said.

I realized that the latent formality Delilah seemed to evoke in him would be perfect for the job at hand. Dox, whose acting skills, in my opinion, still needed polishing, would automatically comport himself like the perfect gentleman, businessman, and solicitous host, which was exactly who he was supposed to be today.

She gave him a warm smile and said, “Likewise.”

“Sorry I’m a little late. I had some trouble getting fitted in this suit. They’re not used to the big guys in these parts.”

“You look great,” she said, nodding her head appreciatively.

He actually blushed. One day I would have to ask Delilah what her secret was. “Thank you,” he said. “You do, too.”

She did look great. She was wearing a charcoal pantsuit with a fitted double-breasted jacket, short to the waist with the buttons set low across the chest. Underneath was a crisp white blouse open at the neck. The pants were also fitted, with a slight flare below the knee; farther down, a pair of deep purple flats, a little less dressy than pumps but better for maneuver. The whole thing was set off with a pair of diamond stud earrings and a simple platinum link necklace. She was carrying a leather attaché case and a small clutch. Her blond hair was down and blown out-the perfect attention-getter in Hong Kong, and something that could be expected to draw attention away from Dox, whom Hilger might recognize.