Killing Rain

over.”
    Another hiss, and I was listening to Hilger and Manny again. Manny was saying, “He knows he’s important. It’s going to his head.”
    Hilger chuckled.
    “I mean it, that’s why he’s late. He’s just showing us that he can make us wait for him, and that he knows we’ll put up with it. Arabs. This is just like them.”
    “Let’s remember that we’re all friends tonight, all right?” Hilger said. “No nationalities around this table. No stupid allegiances.”
    I thought I heard the sound of glasses clinking.
    They were quiet after that. Ten minutes passed, then I heard the sound of a knock on their door, of chairs being pushed back. Hilger said, “Hello, Mr. Eljub. Welcome.”

    At last, I thought. Mr. VBM.
    “Ali, hello,” Manny said. “Glad you could make it.”
    “Please, call me Ali,” a new voice said, in accented English that I had trouble placing. Arab, maybe, with something European behind it. Whoever he was, he must have been talking to Hilger. Manny had already presumed. Or else they knew each other.
    “Ali, welcome,” Hilger said again. “Please, have a seat.”
    I heard chairs being moved around. Hilger said, “You had a good flight, I hope?”
    “Uneventful. But slow. There’s so much airline security these days!”
    This provoked a laugh. Hilger said, “And the hotel?”
    “I don’t think I can complain about a suite at The Four Seasons. Thank you for taking care of it.”
    “My pleasure.”
    I heard another knock at their door. Hilger said, “Yes.”
    There was a woman’s voice, asking them about drinks.
    “Shall we order?” the man called Ali said. “I’m starving.”
    “Yeah, it’s gotten pretty late for dinner,” Manny said, and I thought, Not just a whiner. Passive-aggressive, too. Not that my growing distaste for him would be a factor one way or the other. I wasn’t feeling anything right now other than the usual, slightly heightened focus of being in the middle of an op. And I was going to keep it that way until after it was too late to make a difference.
    “All right, let’s,” Hilger said. “Ali, let me suggest the . . .”
    There was a hiss. Dox cut in: “We’ve got something interesting here, partner. Listen to your lady.”
    Delilah said, “It’s not Eljub. It’s Al-Jib. Ali Al-Jib.”
    “I don’t know the name,” I said. “Should I?”
    “What about A. Q. Khan?” she asked.
    Khan again. “Yeah, I know of Khan,” I told her, thinking of my conversation with Boaz and Gil in Nagoya. “Pakistani scientist,nuclear starter kit, et cetera. It was in the news a little over a year ago, then it died down, right? The outgoing CIA director, George Tenet, was bragging about it.”
    “Yeah, how Christians In Action was down Khan’s throat and up his ass and in some other hard-to-reach places, too,” Dox added.
    “I think it was more like ‘inside his residence, inside his facilities, inside his rooms,’ ” Delilah said. “But yes, that was the propaganda the U.S. was putting out. They were hailing Khan’s arrest as a great victory. But then why is the U.S. still investigating his network? Why is the International Atomic Energy Agency doing the same?”
    “Oh, you know,” Dox said. “In these matters, the government usually continues the investigation just to determine whether what they’ve achieved is merely a ‘great victory,’ or if it could in fact be more accurately described as a ‘historic triumph.’ I’m sure they don’t think the network’s still operational after all that clever spying they did to stop it.”
    “It is operational,” Delilah said. “Despite the arrests. It’s like Al Qaeda—the leadership is damaged, but then new, less centralized actors begin to emerge in its place.”
    “Al-Jib?” I asked.
    “Exactly. Ali Al-Jib is part of this new generation. He was educated in East Germany, the Central Institute of Nuclear Research in Rossendorf. There are more like him, men who were trained behind the Iron Curtain and then lost to the world’s intelligence services in the turmoil following the end of the Cold War. A lucky find of some Soviet-era documents pointed us in the right direction.”
    “Maybe we should switch the frequency back to Hilger and company,” I said. “Not that this isn’t interesting, but we don’t want to get distracted.”
    “You don’t understand,” Delilah said. “Al-Jib is a dangerousman, very dangerous. What Lavi does with conventional explosives, Al-Jib is