RainStorm

stationed
    there give him a lot of lee-way and a lot of discretion."
    "Why?"
    He sighed. "The CTC guys are spooky. Area division personnel
    don't really know what the CTC types are up to. Hell, I don't generally
    know what they're up to--look how CTC in Langley decided
    to have Belghazi eliminated, I was totally in the dark about
    that. Anyway, the attitude is, those CTC guys are into the black
    arts, maybe I don't really even want to know. You know, they don't
    talk much about what they're up to, but they're doing God's work,
    don't ask, don't tell, just leave 'em alone and go out for drinks with
    the usual diplomatic suspects, write up an after-action report, call
    it a night."
    "And this guy in Hong Kong . . ."
    "He knows about Belghazi from his days with NE."
    Finally, the link I'd been looking for: Belghazi to Mr. NOC to
    Crawley.
    But Hong Kong . . . something about the Hong Kong connection
    was troubling me. I wasn't sure what it was.
    "Is this guy, the NOC, how you learned about me?" I asked.
    He nodded.
    "Tell me," I said.
    He swallowed. "Belghazi called the NOC about the dead Frenchman.
    The NOC checked with Headquarters CTC. He found out
    that Belghazi was on a list of terrorist infrastructure targets. And
    that we had sent someone after him in Macau."
    "He found out who?"
    He nodded. "Only your name. But the Agency has a whole file
    on you. Once I had your name, it was easy for me to get the file
    from Central Records."
    "What was in the file?"
    "You know, your history. A bio, suspected location, and activities."
    "What else?"
    "Just an old photo. That was all."
    I thought about the photo, and about the way Belghazi had noticed
    me at the Lisboa. If the photo was military era, and I assumed
    it was, it would have been three decades out of date and wouldn't
    have accounted for the plastic surgery I'd had in the interim. Still,
    it might have been enough for Belghazi to confirm my identity. Or
    they could have digitized it, worked on it to bring it up to date. Yeah, that was him, I could imagine him saying. The bastard sat right
    next to me in the VIP room of the Lisboa. Same night I got sick. Damn, he
    probably poisoned me.
    Then they would have distributed copies to the Saudi team in
    Hong Kong and Macau. I had been right about the way that spotter
    was scrutinizing me.
    "Who else did you check with?" I asked, hiding the irritation
    that was building at the thought of these idiots relentlessly, robotically,
    ruining the little peace I might otherwise have known.
    He looked at me, wondering, I sensed, just how much I knew,
    how much he could try to hold back.
    "People in Japan," he said. "One of the Tokyo Station officers.
    Because the file said you were based there."
    "Kanezaki?"
    His eyes widened. "God all-fucking mighty," he said.
    "What did Kanezaki tell you?"
    "Not much," he said, recovering a little composure. "He's an
    asshole."
    I almost smiled. From my perspective, that was the best character
    reference Kanezaki could ever have received.
    "Who else?"
    "Japanese liaison--the kay, kay something."
    "Keisatsucho." Tatsu's outfit.
    "Yeah. They had a file on you, too."
    "What do you know about a woman named Delilah?" I asked,
    trying to catch him off guard, see if I got a reaction.
    "Delilah?"
    "Blond woman, cosmopolitan, probably Israeli, maybe European.
    Spending time with Belghazi."
    He shook his head. "I've never heard of her. She's Israeli, spending
    time with Belghazi?"
    I looked at him, ignoring the question. I didn't see any dissembling
    in his eyes.
    I looked at my watch. We'd been chatting for five minutes.
    "What's Belghazi doing in Macau, anyway?" I asked.
    "What he always does. Meeting with customers, making sure
    the shipping infrastructure is in place, overseeing a delivery, that
    kind of thing. Business in Hong Kong, gambling in Macau. He
    likes to gamble."
    I nodded, thinking. All right, Dox's story, Kanezaki's story,
    Tatsu's story, things were checking out.
    Wait a minute. Dox. That was the Hong Kong connection, the
    thing that had nagged at me a second earlier. Dox had been using a
    photo to find me there. And apparently he had some local connections,
    connections that were sufficient to get the hotel staffs full attention
    over a "police matter."
    "Who's the NOG?" I asked.
    "I told you, a former NE Division officer, now attached to the
    CTC."
    "His name."
    His breathing shortened and quickened. "Please, please, don't
    make me tell you that. Why would you need to know,