Barry Eisler - The Last Assassin

The clouds of the previous day coalesced into a storm that broke just after midnight. I sat in the alcove of my room, the lights off, my gaze alternating between the GPS monitor, which indicated the Cadillac hadn't moved, and the dark sea without. At a little after two, my cell phone buzzed. It was Dox.

'Our friends are getting in the car,' he said. 'Wonder who they could be going to meet at this hour and in this weather.'

'We're going to find out,' I said. I got up, pulled on the waterproof pants and jacket I had bought for this very occasion, and headed for the door.

The lobby of the inn was deserted. I was prepared with a story, of course, about wanting to walk in the rain, but that would have been thin and I was glad not to have to employ it.

We followed the Cadillac from a half-kilometer back. Dox, in a black nylon-lined fleece, monitored the transmitter from the passenger seat. The Cadillac showed up as a blinking red light on the mapping software and we had no trouble tracking it. So far, so good.

We passed no cars on the coastal road. After a few minutes, the red light started moving around erratically – figure eights and zigzags.

'They're looking for problems,' Dox observed.

I nodded. 'That's why we're hanging back.'

After another few minutes, the red light turned right, into the park I had reconnoitered earlier, then stopped.

'What did I tell you,' I said, smiling.

He chuckled. 'Like I said, devious minds think alike.'

I cut the lights and we drove the rest of the way with the night-vision goggles on. Everything showed up fine. A hundred meters past the park, we pulled off the road and stopped. The rain played a drumbeat on the van's steel top while we geared up inside.

'Remember, the neck,' I said, wrapping tape around my pant legs to make sure the material from the left wouldn't make noise rubbing against the right. 'The farther away from the neck you hit, the longer it's going to take the tranquilizer to kick in. And I don't want to have to dance in the dark with two half-drugged, pissed-off sumo wrestlers.'

'You sure? I'd pay good money to see it.'

In the green glow of the night-vision equipment I saw he was grinning below his goggles. 'Start with one dart each,' I said. 'See if that does the trick. We'll only need them down for a minute, but with the size of these guys I don't know. So if the first shot doesn't work right away, hit them again. Don't take chances. If we wind up having to shoot them, it's not going to look like they ripped off the Chinese. And that's the whole point here.'

'Roger that.'

I double-checked the HK to make sure a round was chambered. 'You ready?'

'Never readier, son.'

'Let's go.'

I had already made sure to shut off the interior dome light, and the van stayed dark as we exited. We closed the doors softly, but the rain was really coming down now and I doubted anyone would have heard regardless.

We crept along the sodden ground to the Cadillac, heads and guns tracking left and right as we moved. Everything was illuminated beautifully in the goggles. The car was empty. We paused alongside it and looked down the gently sloping ground to the water.

There they were, ten meters away, standing at the edge of the surf like a pair of boulders overlooking the sea. They were wearing trench coats and held umbrellas that looked like little parasols hovering above their bulk.

'Man,' Dox whispered. 'If you stuck bulbs in their mouths, you'd have yourself a pair of damn lighthouses.'

One of the sumos had a phone to his ear but I couldn't hear him over the steady downpour. The other guy was looking at a small LCD monitor, and I realized they were using their own GPS equipment to link up with the boat that was bringing in their shipment. A black cargo bag was on the ground between them, presumably payment for the drugs.

I took off the goggles for a moment and let my eyes adjust. I wanted an idea of how well anyone could see unaided in the darkness. Not well at all, I was pleased to note. There was some ambient light from distant streetlights and the moon behind the rain clouds – enough for the Chinese and sumos to make the exchange, I thought, but not enough to make out individual faces. As long as we took care not to silhouette ourselves against the reflected light from the town we wouldn't be seen until it was too late.

I put the goggles back on. A moment later there was a flash from somewhere on the water. The sumo with the phone took out a flashlight and blinked back. I signaled to Dox and he nodded, then moved off to settle into sniping position.

There was another series of flashes from sea, closer this time, and responses from the sumo. After a few minutes I heard the thrum of an engine through the steady beat of the rain, and then an inflatable catamaran came cutting through the waves.

My heart started hammering. Here we go, I thought.

I took out the cell phone and called Dox. The screens on both our units were taped to prevent light from giving us away. 'You in position?' I whispered.

'Roger that. I'm fifty yards behind you, prone on higher ground. Perfect position and a clear field of fire.'

'You see the boat?'

'I see it. Looks like two… no, wait, make that three Chinamen on board.'

'All right. Wait until they're off the boat, or as many of them as look like they're going to get off, then drop the sumos. I'll take it from there.'

'Roger that.'

I clicked off and put the phone away.

The boat came closer. As it reached the shoreline, I could make out individual faces. No one was sporting any night-vision equipment. Apparently, they didn't think they'd need it.

One of the Chinese cut the engine and raised it out of the water. Another jumped into the surf and waded in, pulling the boat behind him by a rope. When the boat was grounded, the other two Chinese got out, too. Each of them carried a large waterproof duffel bag. They went back to the boat twice more. When they were done, there were six duffels lined up next to the boat.

The Chinese who had jumped out first gestured to the sumos. The other two stood off to the side, watching the sumos warily. One of the giant men picked up the cargo bag and came closer, his buddy following from behind, no doubt to provide cover if something went wrong. As indeed it soon would.

I eased out from behind the Cadillac and moved silently toward the water.

The Chinese unzipped one of the bags, presumably to show the lead sumo the product inside.

I reached the surf ten meters down from them and went in up to my knees. The water was cold but I barely felt it. I started moving in from their flank, crouching low, the HK out at chin level in a two-handed grip. I moved deliberately, trading speed for stealth, wanting to get as close as possible. If I failed to drop them all instantly, whoever I missed might return fire on whatever muzzle flash escaped my suppressor, and I was less than enthusiastic about the prospect of panicked triad members spraying bullets in my uncovered general direction from a stone's throw away.

There was a soft crack from somewhere behind us. The rear sumo cried out and slapped a hand to his neck with a loud thwack.

Everyone froze and looked at him.

I crept in closer. Four meters now.

If the lead sumo hadn't turned, too, I expected the Chinese would have dropped him then and there. But his hands were out and he seemed as surprised as they were.

The rear sumo took an unsteady step forward. The lead Chinese yelled something, a warning, presumably, and backed away.

Three meters.

The lead sumo started to turn back to the Chinese, his hand going to his jacket.

There was another soft crack. Instead of reaching into his jacket, the sumo cried out and grabbed his neck.