Killing Rain

avenging him. That kind of thing has been known to happen.”
    I shrugged. “I’m willing to take that chance. No matter what, Hilger is where the direct pressure is coming from right now, even more than from the Israelis. I don’t see a better way of relieving that pressure than eliminating its source.”
    “Seems reasonable to me.”
    Part of me wondered how I had wandered along to a point where calmly proposing that we kill two men, one of whom might be CIA, would indeed seem reasonable. I would have to ponder that in my leisure time.
    “And,” I said, “since, as far as I can tell, the reason they wanted relatively ‘natural’ causes for Manny in the first place was their mistaken assumption that he was a CIA asset, we no longer have to be overly constrained in our methods.”
    Dox nodded. “That makes me feel better. Where I was brought up, gentlemen just shot each other. It’s more comfortable for me.”
    I nodded, then for the second time in as many minutes realized that there were people in the world who might find this kind of conversation strange, who might even be put off by it. I wondered where the new perspective was coming from. I really would have to think about that later.
    “The thing is,” I said, “I don’t think we’re going to have guns.”
    His face fell a little. “No guns?”
    I shook my head. “I don’t think even Kanezaki could get us what we’d need on this short notice. I’m not sure it would be wise to ask just now, regardless. And my Japanese contact could help us if we were in Tokyo. For Hong Kong . . . not with these time constraints.”
    “Well, that sucks. I was kind of picturing myself up on a rooftop with the dreaded M-40A3 and matching AN/PVS-10 nightscope. It would have been so civilized.”
    I nodded. “That, or I could have just burst into their private room with a forty-five while they were enjoying the Peking duck. But maybe . . .”
    He looked at me. “You’re thinking something devious there, partner, I can tell.”
    I smiled. “I’m thinking about Hilger. He was armed last year at Kwai Chung.”
    “Armed and dangerous,” he said, nodding. “That boy was a one-man killing machine. Had his primary in a waist holster or belly band, if I’m remembering correctly, and a backup on his ankle.”
    “Think that was a one-time thing?”
    “Hell, no. A guy like that, carry for him is routine. He’d feel naked without it.”
    “And even if it’s not routine, we know he carries when he’s operational.”
    “Like tomorrow night, for example.”
    “For example.”
    He stroked his chin and grinned. “Old Manny might be carrying, too. I would be, after what almost happened to him in Manila.”
    “Exactly what I was thinking.”
    “Nice of them, to bring the guns for us.”
    I nodded. “All I need to do is get to one of them alone, from behind. Say, in a restroom.”
    Dox cleared his throat. “You’re not worried about, you know, that when you see Manny like you did the last time . . .”
    I shook my head, and felt something shift inside me like a block of frozen granite. “No,” I said. “I’m not worried at all.”
    PART THREE
    SEVENTEEN
    BECAUSE WINTERS AND COMPANY might have tracked Dox’s cell phone earlier in the day, the Grand Hyatt was no longer secure. We took extreme care in returning, and stayed just long enough to collect our gear. Then we went to Sukhumvit, using appropriate countersurveillance measures along the way, and took rooms at the Westin. Dox, chastened by the way Winters had almost gotten to us, didn’t argue with any of this.
    I showered and shaved, then took an excruciatingly hot bath, which ordinarily helps me sleep. But I was still wired from that near miss in front of Brown Sugar. I had to leave for the airport at six o’clock, and if I didn’t get some rest soon, the next chance I’d get would be on the plane.
    I pulled a chair over to the window and sat in the dark, looking down at Sukhumvit Road and the urban mass beyond it. There wasn’t much of a view—the Westin isn’t tall enough and the city itself is too congested. I wished for a moment, absurdly, that I was back in my apartment in Sengoku, the quiet part of Tokyo where I’d lived until the CIA and Yamaoto had managed to track me there. I’d never realized at the time how safe I felt there, how peaceful. It seemed a long time ago, and so much had happened in between. I realized I’d never even paused to mourn having been forced to leave. Until