Persuader

a car slowing on the road and stood up and kept well back from the window and watched as he turned in. He was in a rental, similar to mine. It was a red Pontiac. I saw him clearly through the windshield. He was neat and clean. His hair was combed. He was wearing a blue shirt with the collar open.
    He was smiling. The car swept past the side of the house and I heard it crunch to a stop on the dirt outside the kitchen. I stepped through to the hallway. Pressed myself against the wall next to the kitchen door.
    I heard his key in the lock. Heard the door swing open. The hinges squealed in protest.
    He left it open. I heard his car idling outside. He hadn't switched it off. He wasn't planning on staying long. I heard his feet on the kitchen linoleum. A fast, light, confident tread. A man who thought he was playing and winning. He came through the door. I hit him in the side of the head with my elbow.
    He went down on the floor on his back and I spanned my hand and pinned him by the throat. Laid the Ruger aside and patted him down. He was unarmed. I let go of his neck and his head came up and I smashed it back down with the heel of my hand under his chin. The back of his head hit the floor and his eyes rolled up in his head. I walked through the kitchen and closed the door. Stepped back and dragged him into the living room by the wrists. Dropped him on the floor and slapped him twice. Aimed the Ruger at the center of his face and waited for his eyes to open.
    They opened and focused first on the gun and then on me. I was in uniform and all covered in badges of rank and unit designations so it didn't take him long to work out who I was and why I was there.
    "Wait," he said.
    "For what?"
    "You're making a mistake."
    "Am I?"
    "You've got it wrong."
    "Have I?" He nodded. "They were on the take."
    "Who were?"
    "Frasconi and Kohl."
    "Were they?" He nodded again. "And then he tried to cheat her."
    "How?"
    "Can I sit up?" I shook my head. Kept the gun where it was.
    "No," I said.
    "I was running a sting," he said. "I was working with the State Department. Against hostile embassies. I was trawling."
    "What about Gorowski's kid?" He shook his head, impatiently. "Nothing happened with the damn kid, you idiot.
    Gorowski had a script to follow, that's all. It was a setup. In case the hostiles checked on him. We play these things deep. There has to be a chain to follow, in case anyone is suspicious. We were doing proper dead drops and everything. In case we were being watched."
    "What about Frasconi and Kohl?"
    "They were good. They picked up on me real early. Assumed I wasn't legit. Which pleased me. Meant I was playing my part just right. Then they went bad. They came to me and said they'd slow the investigation if I paid them. They said they'd give me time to leave the country. They thought I wanted to do that. So I figured, hey, why not play along? Because who knows in advance what bad guys a trawl will find? And the more the merrier, right? So I played them out." I said nothing.
    "The investigation was slow, wasn't it?" he said. "You must have noticed that. Weeks and weeks. It was real slow." Slow as molasses.
    "Then yesterday happened," he said. "I got the Syrians and the Lebanese and the Iranians in the bag. Then the Iraqis, who were the big fish. So I figured it was time to put your guys in the bag too. They came over for their final payoff. It was a lot of money. But Frasconi wanted it all. He hit me over the head. I came around and found he had sliced Kohl up. He was a crazy man, believe me. I got to a gun in a drawer and shot him."
    "So why did you run?"
    "Because I was freaked. I'm a Pentagon guy. I never saw blood before. And I didn't know who else might be in it with your guys. There could have been more." Frasconi and Kohl.
    "You're very good," he said to me. "You came right here." I nodded. Thought back to his eight-page bio, in Kohl's tidy handwriting. Parents' occupations, childhood home.
    "Whose idea was it?" I said.
    "Originally?" he said. "Frasconi's, of course. He outranked her."
    "What was her name?" I saw a flicker in his eyes.
    "Kohl," he said.
    I nodded again. She had gone out to make the arrest in dress greens. A black acetate nameplate above her right breast. Kohl. Gender-neutral. Uniform, female enlisted, the nameplate is adjusted to individual figure differences and centered horizontally on the right side between one and two inches above the top button of the coat. He would have seen it as soon as she