Barry Eisler - Rain Storm aka Choke Point

I nodded. “I know.”

He nodded back. “I know you do. Truth is, partner, in a lot of ways, you act more like a sniper than I do. I don’t know what kind of marksman you are, but you’ve got that habit of stillness about you. And you know what it’s like to hunt humans. You don’t have a problem with it.”

There was a short stretch of silence, during which I considered his words. It wasn’t the first time I’d been the recipient of that particular “praise,” but I wanted to hear Dox’s story, not tell him mine.

After a moment, he said, “Anyway, yeah, the regular marines thought I was one of the sociopaths, and the snipers thought I was a freak. The fact that my scores were higher than theirs just pissed them off. Especially a certain officer. Now, all snipers get subjected to stress during training. When you’re trying to shoot, the instructors will be screaming at you, or playing loud music they know you hate, or otherwise trying to fuck with you. That’s all good, it produces dead shots and you better be able to deal with stress if you want your skills to work in the real world. But this guy kept doing more and more, ’cause none of the shit he was coming up with was throwing me off. Finally he started ‘accidentally’ jarring my rifle while he was screaming at me, and even though I could give a shit about the screaming, of course his bumping into my rifle was enough to throw off my shot. Well, the first time I didn’t say anything. The second time I stood up and got in his face. Which is what that fuck was hoping for. He wrote in my fitness report that I had ‘anger management’ issues and in his opinion was ‘temperamentally unsuited’ to be a sniper. When I found out about that, I busted him up good.”

I nodded, thinking of how the young eager beaver CIA officer Holtzer had been in Vietnam had run a similar game with me, and how he had elicited a similarly stupid, albeit satisfying, reaction. Holtzer had gone on to become the CIA’s Station Chief in Tokyo, and had carried a grudge all the way to the grave I finally sent him to.

“They court-martial you?” I asked.

He shook his head. “No, enough people knew this guy was an asshole so that someone pulled some strings and saved me from all that. But the fitness report was permanent, and my career wasn’t going anywhere after all that. At least not until the Russians decided to try and swallow Afghanistan. Then Uncle Sam needed tainted people like me, and all was forgiven.”

“It always seemed like you had something to prove over there,” I said.

He smiled. “Well yeah, I did. You know, I had a lot of personal kills in ’Stan-three of them at over a thousand yards. Not bad for someone ‘temperamentally unsuited,’ I’d say. Carlos Hathcock would have been proud.”

Carlos Hathcock was the most successful sniper ever, with ninety-three confirmed kills in Vietnam, one of them a twenty-five-hundred-yard shot with a.50-caliber rifle, and maybe three times that many unconfirmed.

“You know, I met Hathcock once,” I said, thinking of what Dox had just said about my sniper’s stillness. “In Vietnam. Before anyone knew who he was.”

“No! You met the man?”

I nodded.

“Well, what did he say to you?”

I shrugged. “Not much. He was sitting by himself at a table in a bar in Saigon. The only empty seat was at the table, so I took it. We just introduced ourselves, really, that was all. I had a beer and left. I don’t think we exchanged more than a couple dozen words.”

“No? He didn’t say anything to you?”

I was quiet for a moment, remembering. “When I left, he told me I should be a sniper.”

“Damn, man, he saw your soul. That’s like being blessed by the Pope.”

I didn’t say anything. My army fitness reports; the darkly humorous observations of my blood brother, Crazy Jake; that parting comment from Hathcock; now Dox’s thoughts, too. I wished I could just accept their collective judgment, accept what I am. Accept it, hell. I wished I could fucking embrace it. Other people seemed able to.

We were quiet for a few moments. I asked, “Why do you suppose Crawley has gotten it into his head to try and take me out?”

“That I don’t know. All I could get out of Mr. Crawley was that bullshit about how you’d gone rogue and the details could only be distributed on a ‘need to know’ basis.”

“And you don’t need to know.”

He sighed in mock dejection. “Even though I am a ‘patriot’ and all. Kind of hurts my feelings, when I think about it. Well, there is that twenty-five grand to perk me back up if I get overly blue.”

“How did Crawley know how to contact you? Or even who you are?”

He nodded as though considering. “Well, I’m reasonably confident that our Mr. Crawley is in fact in the service of our current employer, in some capacity or other. If that’s the case, he might have access to my particulars.”

“You think Kanezaki is involved?” I asked.

He shrugged. “Can’t help thinking that, can you? He sure is in the middle of a lot of the shit, for a young guy.”

“He’s a quick study.”

“Yeah, I’ve got the same feeling. But I’ll tell you, I don’t think he’s behind this. It’s my sentimental side showing, I know, but I think that boy’s got an okay heart.”

“How long will he be able to keep it that way, working with who he works with?”

“Well, that’s a question now, I’ll admit it.”

We were quiet for a few moments. “I can reach you at the number I’ve got?” I asked.

“Anytime you want,” he said. “What are you going to do?”

“Make a few calls,” I told him. “Figure out what makes sense.”

He flashed me the grin. “You always were the cautious type.”

“It’s part of the reason I’ve lasted so long.”

“I know that. Hell, I meant it as a compliment.”

I stood and put some bills on the table. Then I held out my hand. “You’re a good man, Dox.”

He stood and smiled back, a lower wattage but more genuine version of the grin. We shook. “Watch your back now, you hear?” he said.

I nodded and left.

After making sure I was clean, I took the Peak Tramway to Victoria Peak, then walked Lugard Road through its forests of bamboo and fern. I found a quiet place and sat, listening to the cicadas.

The first thing I thought, as always, was set up .

Someone, maybe Crawley, maybe someone he works with, is after you . They get Dox to lay out a line of bullshit, knowing that I’ll come after Crawley as a result. Straight into an ambush.

No. Too uncertain . No one could count on Dox to be convincing, not to that degree.

Then they gave Dox the job for real . Plan A was he takes the job and kills me. Plan B is he spills everything to me, in which case I go after Crawley. Back to an ambush.

No. Too uncertain . When would I come at Crawley? Where? How? Besides, Crawley would have to be awfully comfortable with risk to invite retaliation from me.

Dox, or someone else, has his own reasons for wanting Crawley taken out, and he’s trying to goad you into doing it.

That one was worth chewing over, but in the end I judged it unlikely. Dox was a pretty direct guy in his way. If he wanted Crawley to go to sleep, he’d sing the lullaby himself. I would keep the possibility in mind, but it seemed in this case that the most likely explanation was also the simplest: Dox was telling me the truth.

Now what to do about it. The most direct approach would be to brace Crawley. Ask him a few questions. Use my charm.

But not yet. First, I needed to see how all of this tied in with Belghazi. A half-Arab target, an Arab assassination team, a CIA officer trying to take out a contract on me? Even for a guy like me, who’s made a few enemies along the way, it was hard to think that the timing was all just a coincidence. I wanted more information before acting, and I thought Kanezaki might be able to provide some of that.