Killing Rain

mirroring her posture. “It’s short for ‘unorthodox,’ ma’am. Which some people seem to think I am.”
    Good God, it was like watching a ferocious-looking dog charge into a room, then roll over to have its belly scratched.
    Her eyes twinkled with understanding and shared good humor. “You don’t seem unorthodox to me,” she said.
    Dox’s expression was almost grave. “Well, I’m not,” he said. “I’m the normal one. It’s all those other folks who are unorthodox.” He paused, then added, “Although I do kind of like the nickname. I’ve had it for a long time. You can use it, if you like.”
    She smiled. “I will. And please call me Delilah.”
    He nodded and said, “Yes, ma’am.” He reddened, and I could imagine him thinking, Dumbass.
    “Delilah, I mean.”
    “Why don’t we sit down?” I said.
    Dox turned to me as though suddenly remembering that I was in the room. He nodded. Then he turned to Delilah and gestured to the couch like the perfect southern gentleman. She smiled and walked over. I sat next to her. Dox took the chair and pulled it around so he was facing us.
    Delilah and I briefed him on what we had discussed the night before and on what I had learned that morning.
    When we were done, he said, “I knew those boys were hitters from the way they moved. And I was afraid they might be of the CIA persuasion. Too bad, really. Ordinarily, I try to make it a habit not to offend spy organizations and their ilk.”
    “That’s the question,” I said. “What organization we’ve really offended.”
    “What about your people?” Dox asked, turning to Delilah. “John tells me you’re with the Mossad, or one of their affiliates.”
    She raised her eyebrows and glanced at me. “Is that what he says?”
    Dox shrugged. “Professional outfit, if you don’t mind my saying so. I worked with some Israeli snipers some years back.”
    Snipers.
    Shit, he might as well have handed her his CV.
    “What did you think?” she asked.
    “I liked them a lot. Arrogant badasses—uh, guys, I mean—with every reason to be. They taught me as many tricks as I did them.” He broke out in the grin. Talking about sniping was more familiar territory for him. He glanced at me and said, “It takes a special kind of karma to offend the CIA and the Mossad, and both at the same time. If it had happened to someone else, I’d be laughing about it.” Then he looked at Delilah and his expression sobered again. “I sure hope you can do something to help us out of this situation we’re in before it gets any nastier.”
    Delilah nodded. “I’ll try.”
    Dox bowed his head. “Well, I’m grateful to you. So’s my partner.”
    Delilah looked at me. “How do I contact you?”
    I gave her one of the cell phone SIM card numbers. I would leave the phone off most of the time so that no one could track it. But I could check the voice mail from time to time securely enough, and more frequently and easily than I could the bulletin board.
    “All right,” I said. “Time to beat a hasty retreat. I’ll take care of the checkout.”
    Dox and I stood up. I leaned over Delilah and kissed her.
    “Thank you,” I said.
    She shook her head. “Don’t thank me yet.”
    ELEVEN
    HILGER HAD GOTTEN back to his apartment on Lugard Road in the Mid-Levels at well past sunrise that morning. He was sleeping with the aid of a black eyeshade when his cell phone rang on the bed stand next to him. He sat up instantly, pulled off the eyeshade, and blinked at the light coming through his bedroom window. He breathed in and out hard and cleared his throat. He had a feeling he knew who might be calling, even though there was no rational reason for his confidence.
    He picked up the phone and said, “Hilger.”
    “Hello, Mr. Hilger. Our mutual friend gave me your number.”
    The voice was soft and assured, lightly Arabic-accented. Hilger smiled. He had been right. It was VBM.
    “Good,” Hilger said. “Thank you for calling.”
    “This line is secure?” the voice asked.
    “Absolutely,” Hilger responded.
    The voice stayed oblique anyway. “It seems there was a problem in Manila.”
    “Yes, there was,” he responded, staying oblique himself to keep the man comfortable. “Our mutual friend has enemies, as you know.”
    “And?”
    “The problem has been resolved.” It didn’t feel like a lie because he expected it to be true soon. Hell, maybe it was true already.
    “All right.”
    “If you’re still in the area, I hope we