RainStorm

wasn't necessarily a bad thing.
    "I think they're going to do the exchange right here," I said.
    "Let's see if our friend shows, too. As long as the gate stays closed,
    I'm going to let him pass my position. If he gets out of the car like
    these guys have done, you'll have a stationary target and a clearer
    shot. You're loaded up with the frangible ammo?"
    "Unless you tell me to switch to the AP."
    "Good. Hang tight."
    "Roger that."
    Five minutes later, two more vehicles pulled onto the access
    road: a white van, followed by a black Mercedes S-class. I glanced
    over at the previous arrival. The Russians, talking to each other,
    were smoking cigarettes. The gate was still closed.
    "Two more vehicles approaching," I said.
    "Roger that."
    I saw two Arabs in the front seat of the van, neither of whom
    was the target.
    Three men were in the Mercedes. The driver was Arab, and I
    recognized him as one of Belghazi's bodyguards from Macau. It
    looked like there were two men in back, but I couldn't see well
    enough to know. Given the circumstances, though, I was reasonably
    sure about who the passengers were. Adrenaline kicked into
    my bloodstream.
    "I think this is him," I said. "In the Mercedes. Let's let him go
    to the gate, like we said."
    "Roger that."
    The Mercedes stopped in front of the gate and backed in parallel
    to the Lexus. The van performed the identical procedure, parking
    so that the Mercedes was in the middle.
    "They sure have fine taste in their automobiles," I heard Dox say.
    The van doors opened and two Arabs got out. Three men exited
    from the Mercedes. One Arab. One white guy. And one half-French,
    half-Algerian. Belghazi. Bingo.
    "He's here," I said. "The one who just got out from the passenger-side
    rear of the Mercedes."
    Belghazi was walking over to the Russians. I watched as they
    shook hands.
    "The one who's shaking hands now?"
    "That one, yeah."
    "Say the word and I'll drop him."
    "Let's give them just a few more seconds. I don't see any money,
    and I don't want to have to dig it out of a locked trunk or something."
    "Roger that."
    "Hang on for a second, I'm going to see if I can listen in. Keep
    him in your sights now."
    "He's not going anywhere."
    I changed channels so the earpiece would receive from the parabolic
    mike. The reception was good. The men were exchanging
    pleasantries, in English. Good to see you, thanks for coming all this
    way. The two I'd been thinking of as the Russians had heavy accents
    that might have been Russian. I wasn't sure.
    Belghazi shook the other Russian's hand. He motioned for the
    white guy to come over. Even before Belghazi had introduced him,
    I was pretty sure I knew who he was.
    The NOC. Belghazi's protector. I let out a long breath as I eliminated
    this angle as a cause of potential untrustworthiness for Dox.
    This angle only, though. There was still the cash that we expected
    to be in play, the opportunity that, as he had put it in Rio, "only
    knocked once."
    "Let me introduce you to our American friend," Belghazi told
    the men. "This is Mr. Hilger. He's here to make sure that we don't
    have to worry about problems with the authorities."
    Hilger shook the Russians' hands. "And how do you do that,
    Mr. Hilger?" one of the Russians asked.
    I looked around. The Russians were on their third or fourth
    cigarettes. Belghazi's Arab driver had just lit up. So had the two
    Arabs from the van. Everyone was obviously a little on edge. Everyone
    except Belghazi and Hilger.
    "I'm fortunate enough to have some useful connections in both
    the U.S. and Hong Kong SAR governments," Hilger said, his voice
    low and reassuring. It didn't sound like a boast, just a calm response
    to a reasonable question. "On occasion, I ask those connections if
    they would be good enough to look the other way while I conduct
    some business. Tonight is one of those occasions."
    The Russian might have pressed, but Hilger's self-possession
    seemed to settle the matter. The Russian nodded. "Cigarette?" he
    offered, extending a pack.
    Hilger shook his head and said, "No, thank you."
    I wanted to hear more. What was being exchanged tonight? Was
    this the moment Delilah had been waiting for, after which, she had
    assured me, she would give me the green light and help me get close?
    And who were these "Russians"? Were any of these people
    connected to Nuchi, the Frenchman I had taken out in Macau, of
    whom Kanezaki claimed to have no knowledge?
    Most of all, where was the money?
    But at some point, the