Killing Rain

people.
    “To be more specific,” Boaz said, “lethality without weapons.”
    His smooth catch of the conversational ball made me feel I had been on to something in thinking that Gil might have some issues with Delilah. I raised my eyebrows, and Boaz went on.
    “Firearms present a problem in Manila. All the public venues—hotels, shopping centers, theaters—have guards and metal detectors. Lots of bombings in the region, and these are countermeasures. So if you’re carrying a gun, you’ll limit your mobility.”
    Gil said, “But we understand you don’t carry.”
    “Depends on the terrain,” I said, deliberately noncommittal.
    “But you don’t need one,” Gil pressed, as though intrigued.
    I shrugged. “A gun is a tool. Sometimes it’s the right tool to carry, sometimes not. Like I said, it depends.”
    They nodded: Boaz, seemingly satisfied; Gil, as though mentally confirming that, in a pinch, he could drop me. Christ, he was in his forties, he really should have been past that sort of shit. Well, I guess you never get past it.
    After a moment, Boaz said, “Regardless, we would prefer if he died of something other than lead poisoning.” He raised his eyebrows, and I nodded to indicate I understood the joke. He smiled.
    Gil added, “As we’ve explained, the less this looks like an assassination, the better.”
    “The ultimate point being deniability,” I said.
    To that, they both nodded.
    I wanted to ask about that, but I sensed it might be a sensitive subject, so I decided to hold off for a moment. “Tell me,” I said, “what has our friend Manny done that’s made you want to wish him other than a long, prosperous life?”
    The truth was, I didn’t particularly care why they wanted him dead. What I needed was who, and where, and when. But I’ve learned from experience in the business that their ostensible reasons, and what I might glean from between the lines of their response, could help me protect myself from unpleasant surprises.
    Gil took a briefcase from the floor and placed it on the table, then reached inside. Although we were in a public place and all seemed comfortable enough, I noted that he moved reassuringly slowly. The implication was:
    If you have a problem with me reaching into a bag, just say so, and I’ll stop.
    The move was courteous and showed experience.
    Gil took out a sheaf of about a dozen color photographs and handed them to me. Holding them so that no one in the restaurant could get a casual look, I started leafing through them.
    Boaz said, “The top one is Bali, October twelfth, 2001.”
    The photo was of a demolished building. Charred bodies were everywhere, lying among burning palm trees and smoking rubble. A dismembered hand was front center, a man’s wedding band prominent on the fourth finger, bloody tendons protruding from the stump of the wrist like wiring ripped from the back of an electronic appliance.
    “You’re saying Manny did this?” I asked, my tone dubious. “I thought Bali was Jemaah Islamiah.”
    “Yes, JI carried out the op,” Boaz said. “The Malaysian Azahari Husin was the bombmaker. But where did Azahari acquire his expertise? From our friend.”
    “Lavi is a chemist by training,” Gil said. “He has special expertise in the explosive properties of various materials. That expertise is now for sale.”
    “Take Bali,” Boaz said. “The Bali bomb used lots of low explosives—potassium chlorate, sulfur, aluminum powder, alum, and chlorine—and only a small amount of TNT. The mixture created a shock wave and blistering heat. Most of the victims were roasted alive.”
    “He’s Israeli, and he’s doing this?” I asked.
    Boaz nodded. “It’s . . . how do you say, ‘infamy’? But yes, just like everyone else, we have some people who will do anything for money. There are Israeli soldiers who’ve been prosecuted for selling weapons to Palestinians in the West Bank and Gaza—the same weapons that are then used to kill their own brothers in the army.”
    Gil shook his head disgustedly and said, “I don’t understand why we bother prosecuting them.”
    Boaz reached over and showed me another photo. “This is the Jakarta Marriott, August 2003. For this bomb, the terrorists used sulfur, potassium chlorate, gasoline, and TNT. The resulting bomb was both smaller and more powerful than the Bali device. This mixture created a shock wave and again a horrible burning effect.”
    He pointed to the next photo. “The Australian