RainStorm

protests. Secret
    Agents get no respect.
    "What are you doing out there?" I asked, smiling despite myself.
    "Oh you know, just a meeting with my handler. Going over this
    and that. What about you? Guess you decided to take advantage of
    Uncle Sam's magnanimity. Good for you, and tough luck for the
    bad guys."
    "You mind putting him back on the phone?"
    "All right, all right, no need to act short with me. Just wanted
    to say hello, and welcome aboard."
    "That was good of you."
    There was a pause, then Kanezaki's voice came back on. "Hey."
    "Sounds like you've got a little date of your own out there," I
    said, unable to resist.
    "I wouldn't call it that." He sounded glum.
    I chuckled. "Not unless you've done hard time with a cellmate
    named Bubba."
    He laughed at that, which was good. I needed him to understand
    who was in charge, but didn't want to beat him down too
    hard. His goodwill, his naive sense of fairness, was a potential asset,
    and not something to toss away needlessly.
    "I'll check the bulletin board," I told him. "If you find anything
    about the woman, just put it up there."
    "Okay."
    I paused, then added, "Thanks."
    "Don't mention it," he said, and I thought he might be smiling.
    at about six o'clock the following evening, I dropped by the Mandarin casino. Delilah had said eight, but I like to show up for
    meetings early. It helps prevent surprises.
    I used the street entrance, preferring to avoid the hotel for the
    moment. Keiko was out, but I wanted to minimize the chances of
    my running into her while she was coming or going. I walked up
    the escalator, nodded agreeably to the guards, and went inside.
    The room was large, and largely empty. The pace would pick up
    later in the evening. For now, the action comprised just a few
    lonely souls. They seemed lost in the expanse of the room, their
    play joyless, desultory, as though they'd been looking for a livelier
    party and found themselves stuck with this one instead.
    I spotted Delilah instantly. She was one of a handful of people
    quietly attending the room's lone baccarat table, and the only non-Asian
    in sight. She was dressed plainly, in black pants and a black,
    shoulderless top. Her hair 'was pulled back and I saw no signs of
    makeup or jewelry. If she'd been trying to downplay her looks,
    though, she hadn't been notably successful.
    I checked the usual hot spots and saw nothing that set off any
    alarms. So far, my assessment that she wouldn't yet do anything precipitous
    seemed correct. But it was too soon to really know. After
    all, the casino, with its cameras, guards, and other forms of security,
    would have made a poor place for an ambush. An attack, if one
    were to come, would happen later.
    I bought a handful of chips, then took a seat next to her.
    "Early for baccarat," I said, meaning it's early for our appointment,
    but trying to be oblique in case anyone nearby spoke English.
    "For both of us, it seems," she replied, putting her chips down
    on player and looking up at me sidelong.
    I smiled, then placed a bet on the bank. "I hate to get a late start.
    You get there, the place is already filled up, the odds aren't as
    good."
    She returned the smile, and I got my first good look at her eyes.
    They were deep blue, almost cobalt, and they seemed not only to regard,
    but somehow to assess, with intelligence and even some humor.
    "Yes, early is better," she said. "It's a good thing not everyone
    realizes it. Otherwise you could never beat the crowds."
    I noted that her English, though accented, was idiomatic. She
    would have learned it young enough to pick up the idiom, but not
    quite young enough to eradicate the accent.
    The banker dealt the cards. I said, "Looks like we're the only
    ones who recognize the advantages of a timely arrival."
    She followed my gaze, then looked back at me. "Let's hope so."
    The dealer turned over the cards. Delilah won, I lost. She collected
    her chips without looking at me, but made no attempt to
    hide her smile.
    I wanted to get her someplace where we could talk. The casino
    was a good starting point because it offered us a relatively safe, neutral
    venue. Also, it provided automatic cover for action: if anyone,
    Belghazi, for example, saw us here, our presence together would
    look like a coincidence, each of us presumably having arrived separately
    for a few rounds of cards or the dice. A corner table in a bar,
    or a park bench in the shadows, or a -walk along the harbor, would
    offer none of these