Killing Rain

the two bulletin boards and reflexively purged the browser.
    “Let’s see if there’s anything in the news,” I said.
    I Googled a few variations on “Shooting in Manila ShoppingMall CIA.” And came up with a very interesting headline, from the Washington Post: “Two Slain Americans Reported to Be CIA Officers.”
    “Shit, look at that,” Dox said.
    We read the article. Apparently, “sources” were claiming that the two dead men were CIA. A CIA spokesman, citing Agency policy, refused to either confirm or deny the affiliations of the men.
    We were quiet for a moment. Dox said, “Kanezaki said they were ex-spooks.”
    I nodded. “He did.”
    “Well, I’d have to call this a discrepancy.”
    “Yeah.”
    “Maybe your lady found out something that might shed some light on the situation. Why don’t you give her a call?”
    I thought for a moment. For all the reasons Dox and I had just discussed, I didn’t think Delilah could have been involved in what had happened in front of Brown Sugar. What was bothering me was that I was hoping she hadn’t been involved. I realized this was dangerous: it used to be that I would just do the math and accept the results. I didn’t hope one way or the other or have any other particular feelings about it. Now I was emotionally invested in the outcome. That made me wonder whether I could trust myself not to skew the data.
    I’d have to figure that one out as we went along. If I could.
    I called her. There were three rings, then she answered. “Allo?”
    “It’s me. Okay to talk?”
    “Okay to talk. I was just going to post you something.”
    “Where are you?”
    “Bangkok.”
    “So am I. Can you meet?”
    “No. Gil is here. I have to be careful. And so do you.”
    “He’s here?” I asked.
    She must have heard something in my voice. Or else she hadjust come to know me well enough to know what I was thinking. Either way, she said, “Don’t even think it.”
    I didn’t answer. I don’t like the feeling of being hunted. I tend to take it personally.
    “Don’t even think it,” she said again. “If something happens to him, you will make an enemy of me. I promise.”
    All right, Gil was on her team. I needed to remember that.
    “I understand,” I said. “I’ll just keep a low profile.”
    “Good.”
    “Any new info?”
    “Yes. It sounds like those men really were CIA. Gil knew them in the first Gulf War. They were all part of the same unit, headed by a man named Jim Huxton, now Jim Hilger.”
    Hilger again. Okay.
    “What else?”
    “Hilger was observed in multiple meetings with Lavi. And he uses CIA cryptonyms. Hilger is ‘Top Dog.’ Lavi is ‘Jew-boy.’ ”
    “Well, that’s not very politically correct, is it?”
    She chuckled.
    “I’m serious. You think you could use a crypt like that at a U.S. government agency? Christ, the Transportation Security Administration can’t even do an extra check on a Saudi chanting verses from the Koran and mumbling ‘Allahu Akbar’ as he boards a plane, you think the CIA can call an asset ‘Jew-boy’?”
    “That’s a good point.”
    I picked up the Treo and looked at the date book. “TD” and “JB” suddenly took on a whole new meaning.
    “What about ‘VBM’?” I asked.
    “ ‘VBM’?”
    “Yes, probably another crypt.”
    “It doesn’t mean anything to me. Gil didn’t mention it. Just the two I told you. Why?”
    “I’m not sure. Anyway, the two you got were helpful. Thanks.”

    “Helpful, how?”
    I paused and considered. My sense was that she could be useful, maybe even necessary, but I wanted a chance to think about it before I asked.
    “You sure you can’t meet?” I asked.
    “It’s not a good idea. I don’t want Gil to get more suspicious than he already is.”
    “How much time are you spending with him?”
    There was a pause. She said, “Are you jealous?”
    “Yeah, I think I am.”
    “That’s nice. I like that.”
    Damn, I really would have liked to see her. Oh, well. The good news was that her demurral made me trust her. If she’d said no, then allowed me to persuade her, I would have smelled a set-up. Delilah wasn’t the wishy-washy type.
    “My information is that those guys weren’t spooks,” I said. “They were ex-spooks. Most recently with an outfit called ‘Gird Enterprises.’ That mean anything to you?”
    “It doesn’t. Did you try Google?”
    For a moment I was easily able to understand why Dox sometimes got annoyed with me for asking questions