Barry Eisler - Rain Storm aka Choke Point

She nodded. “You have to be able to compartmentalize. But it’s not so bad with him. He’s not one of the killers. He’s much higher up the food chain than that. Besides, he’s intelligent and not unkind. Attractive. Remember, I like men. It’s part of what makes me good at what I do.”

“But after you’ve gotten what you want from him…”

Her expression occluded slightly. “Someone else will take care of that. Maybe you, if we can manage this relationship properly.”

“How will you feel then?”

“The way I always do. But you don’t shrink from doing what’s right just because it’s not comfortable.”

I looked at her, impressed. Most people don’t realize it, but ninety percent of morality is based on comfort. Incinerate hundreds of people from thirty thousand feet up and you’ll sleep like a baby afterward. Kill one person with a bayonet and your dreams will never be sweet again.

Which is more comfortable?

Which is worse?

Maybe it doesn’t matter. In the end, you get over everything. We’re such resilient creatures.

It was strange, lying in bed with her. The room felt like a haven. I realized my ease of mind was borne both of the precautions I had taken and of my confidence that she wouldn’t have allowed herself to be followed. But also, perhaps, of some part of me that wanted to feel this way, for its own reasons, independent of the evidence of the outside world. Not a good sign, I knew. And possibly an indication that I was growing less well adapted to the game, and less able to survive in it.

Delilah got up and took a shower. She brought her purse in the bathroom with her, knowing I would have gone through it if she hadn’t. Not that I would have found anything useful. She was too careful for that.

I lay on the bed and listened to the water running. I knew there was at least a theoretical possibility that she would use her cell phone while she was in there, alerting her people to my whereabouts. My gut told me the possibility was remote, but my gut might have been feeling the effects of whiskey and lovemaking. The fact was, she would still be concerned about the danger I posed to her operation. I had to stay sensible.

When she came out she was already dressed. She looked relaxed and refreshed. I had pulled on one of the Peninsula’s plush bathrobes and was sitting on the bed, as though ready to turn in for the night.

She sat down next to me and said, “What do we do now?”

I put my hand on her thigh. “Well, I’m ready for round two, if you are.”

She laughed. “About the situation.”

“Oh, yeah. Can you send text messages with your phone?”

“Of course.”

I gave her the URL of one of my encrypted bulletin boards. “The password is ‘Peninsula,’ ” I told her. “The name of this hotel. Tell me when you’ve gotten what you need from Belghazi and where I can find him then.”

“You’ll do that?”

I shrugged. “I’m still waiting to hear from my contacts, who should be able to shed some light on who came after me and why. And how. For the moment, I don’t have access to Belghazi, anyway. Standing down seems sensible.”

“It is. Whoever was coming at you in Macau won’t have unlimited resources. It will take them time to get new forces in position.”

“I know,” I said.

“But you need to be careful. I know you know this, I know you’re a professional. But Belghazi is a dangerous man. Remember when I told you that I’ve known men who could act without compunction? Never more so than with him.”

“What do you mean?”

“In Monte Carlo, I saw him kill a man. With his feet and bare hands.”

“Yeah, he’s got a Savate background, I know.”

She shook her head. “More than a background. He has a silver glove in Savate and was a ring champion in Boxe-Francaise. He works out on sides of beef. With his kicks he can break individual ribs.”

“He ought to market it. ‘Belghazi’s meat tenderizer.’ ”

She didn’t laugh. “And he carries a straight razor.”

“Good for him,” I said.

She looked at me. “I wouldn’t take it lightly.”

“You know what they teach salesmen?” I asked, looking at her. “Don’t sell past the close. I already told you I would stand down, for now. You don’t need to keep trying to persuade me.”

She smiled, and for an instant I thought the smile looked strangely sad. “Ah, I see,” she said.

We were quiet for a moment. Then she said, “Tell me, do you think I went to bed with you… tactically? To manipulate you?”

I looked at her. “Did you?”

She dropped her eyes. “That’s something you have to decide for yourself.”

There was a kiss, oddly tentative after our recent bout of passion, and then she was gone. I waited fifteen seconds, then slipped off the bathrobe and pulled on my clothes. The rest of my things were still in my bag. I waited a minute, looking through the peephole and using the SoldierVision to confirm that the corridor outside the door was empty. It was. I moved out into it, taking various staircases and internal corridors until I reached the ground floor. I used one of the rear exits, which put me on Hankow Road, cut across Nathan, and took the elevator down to the MTR. I made some aggressive moves to ensure that I wasn’t being followed. I wasn’t. I was all alone.

I SLEPT AT the Ritz Carlton, across the harbor. It was a shame to have to leave the Peninsula, but Delilah knew I was there, and might share that knowledge. Better to sever the potential connection.

I woke up the next morning feeling refreshed. I thought about Delilah. She badly wanted those two days of grace, the day or two during which Belghazi had “meetings in the region.” I assumed that whatever he was doing on this trip was what Delilah and her people had been waiting for. They must have been expecting that something from the trip would wind up on his computer, something important, and that’s when they would act.

But why had she tried to access it that night in his suite, then? Opportunistic, maybe. A warm-up. Yeah, could be that. But no way to be sure. At least not yet.

And all my conjecture assumed that she was telling me the truth, of course. I couldn’t really know. I needed more information, something I could use to triangulate. I hoped I’d get it from Kanezaki.

I showered and shaved and enjoyed a last soak in the room’s fine tub before going down to the front desk to check out. The pretty receptionist looked at me for a moment, then politely excused herself. Before I had a chance to consider what this could be about, she had returned with the manager, a thin specimen with a pencil mustache.

“Ah, Mr. Watanabe,” he said, using the alias I had checked in under, “we believe a man might be looking for you. A police matter, it seems. He says it is important that you contact him. He left this phone number.” He handed me a piece of paper.

I nodded, doing nothing to betray my consternation, and took the paper. “I don’t understand. Why didn’t you call me about this?”

“I’m very sorry, sir. But the man didn’t even know your name. He left a photograph at the front desk. It was only just now, when the receptionist saw you, that she realized you might be the gentleman in question.”

“Is that all? Was there anything else? Did the man leave a name?”

He shook his head. “I’m sorry.”

“May I see the photo?”

“Of course.” He reached down and produced what I recognized as an excellent forgery-a digitized image of my likeness. The face in the photo wasn’t a dead ringer, but it was more than close enough.

I thanked them, paid the bill, and left, checking the lobby more carefully than I had when I had entered it. Nothing seemed out of order.