RainStorm

just how 'natural' Belghazi's demise needed to be. Because,
    if for whatever reason your people aren't in a position to complain
    about the existence of a contract on Belghazi, maybe they're not in
    a position to complain if the contract gets carried out."
    He looked away and nodded, rubbing his chin.
    I said, "I mean, the point of the 'natural' requirement is to avoid
    blame, right? Plausible deniability, that kind of thing?"
    "What you and I agreed on involved a bit more than just plausible
    deniability," he said, shaking his head. "More like, Belghazi's death
    would happen in such a way that uncomfortable questions would
    never even get asked. There would be nothing to have to deny."
    "Sure. But we've learned a few things since we had that conversation,
    haven't we? For example, we've learned that Belghazi seems to
    be in Hong Kong to oversee one of his arms transfers. You've got multiple parties involved--buyer, seller, middleman, bought-off port
    official, CIA overseer--and a lot of money changing hands."
    He looked at me, and his mouth started to turn up into a smile.
    "Yes, that's true. A lot of players, a lot of money."
    "Lots of potential for ... complications."
    His smile broadened. "And people to get greedy."
    "Right," I said. "What does a bodyguard make a year? Not much,
    I'll tell you that. And he's spending all that time with Belghazi, securing
    Belghazi's hotel suites and then returning to his own tiny
    room, it's like watching 'Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous' from the
    inside of a slum. He gets resentful, he gets jealous. He gets--"
    "He gets greedy. And meanwhile he's learning Belghazi's
    plans--who he's meeting with, where and when."
    "Maybe even . . . how much?" I said, raising my eyebrows slightly.
    He nodded. "Yeah, he might learn that, too."
    "He's the bodyguard, he accompanies Belghazi everywhere, including
    on those trips to Kwai Chung Container Terminal Nine.
    As the money is changing hands--"
    "He shoots Belghazi, maybe a few other people, grabs the cash,
    hightails it."
    "See? You can't trust anyone these days, not even your own
    bodyguards. And the way it goes down, both the bodyguard and
    the money are missing. It's obvious what happened and who did it.
    No uncomfortable questions for anyone else."
    "What happens to the bodyguard?"
    I shrugged. "I doubt that he would be found afterward. I would
    expect him to just. . . disappear."
    "And the money?"
    I smiled. "I doubt that would get found, either."
    He shook his head. "You're a devious bastard."
    "Thank you."
    "I don't think I meant it as a compliment."
    "So? It goes down the way I just described, that's natural
    enough for our purposes?"
    There was a pause, then he said, "It's not what we agreed on."
    I closed my eyes for a moment, finding myself a little tired of his
    "this is a difficult concession" reflex.
    "We didn't agree on my getting ratted out by your own people, either,"
    I said, feeling like a rug merchant. "Under the circumstances, I
    ought to charge you double the original price. In fact, I think I will."
    "Okay, I see your point."
    "All right, then? What I've proposed, it's natural enough?"
    He paused for a moment, then nodded. "It's natural enough."
    I still had my doubts about Dox, about his role in this. About
    who the NOG was. But I knew I couldn't do Belghazi alone anymore.
    Delilah had been right about that. To make this work, I
    needed help, and I didn't have anyone else to turn to. And I couldn't
    just walk away, either. Belghazi had too much incentive to stay after
    me until he was sure I was gone for good.
    And keeping Dox close would give me an opportunity to test him,
    maybe answer my questions indirectly. If I saw something I didn't like,
    I could always abort, reevaluate, come up with a new plan.
    I called him on his cell phone. "Hello," he said, and it felt
    strangely good to hear his booming voice. He's all right, I told myself,
    and maybe he was.
    "Are you still around?" I asked.
    There was a pause, during which I imagined him grinning. I
    heard him say, "Depends on what you mean by 'around.' I'm in the
    area again, if that's what you mean."
    "How soon can you be back in the same place we met last time?"
    Another pause. "I can be there tomorrow, if you need me."
    "I do. Same time as last time?"
    "I'll see you then."
    I hung up and, out of habit, wiped down the phone. Then I
    went to an Internet cafe for a bit of research on Hong Kong container
    shipping.
    the next morning I caught a plane to Hong Kong. I