RainStorm
brain doesn't always know best. It tends to focus on
short-term considerations, and doesn't always adequately account
for the value of unpredictability, of deception, of surprise. Of taking
a short-term risk for a longer-term gain.
The hour-long ferry ride felt long. Maintaining a razor-edge
readiness is exhausting, and, once the mad minute is over, the body
badly wants to rest and recuperate. I tried to clear my mind, to take
myself down a few levels--enough to recover, but not so much
that I would be less than ready for whatever I might encounter on
Macau.
With about twenty minutes to go, the cell phone rang. I looked
down at it and saw that the incoming number was the same as the
one last dialed. Almost certainly the Macau contact, then, checking
in, wanting to know what had happened. I ignored the call.
We arrived at the Macau Ferry Terminal and I walked out into
the arrivals lobby. The lobby was too crowded for me to know
whether I had a welcoming committee. That was okay, though.
One of the advantages of Macau is that you can access the city
from the first floor of the ferry terminal--either by foot on the sidewalks,
or by taxi--or you can go to the second floor and use the extensive
series of causeways. If you're waiting for someone at the
ferry terminal, therefore, you have to be just outside the Arrivals
area, ready to move out or up, depending on the route taken by
your quarry. So even though I couldn't spot a pursuer yet, it would
be easy for me to flush him if he was there.
I took the escalator to the second floor, where I paused in front
of one of the ATMs as though withdrawing some cash--a common
enough maneuver for visitors heading for the casinos. I glanced
back at the escalator I had just used, and saw an Arab coming up it.
The big bastard, the bearded giant I'd noticed that morning. The
shades and expensive jacket looked familiar at this point. Christ,
they might as well have worn uniforms. Hi, my name's Abdul, I'll
be your assassin today.
They must have gotten nervous when the Hong Kong team had
failed to check in, and put this guy back in position to be on the
safe side. That, or he'd been waiting here all day. It didn't matter.
He'd seen me. His next move would be to telephone his Macau
partners, if he hadn't already. Which would be the end of the surprise
I wanted to share with them all. I would have to improvise.
If he was surprised to see me, and I imagined he was, he didn't
show it. He looked around, his demeanor casual, a simple tourist just
arrived in Macau and taking in the wonders of the ferry terminal.
Why didn't they call me fast? I knew he'd be wondering. They were
supposed to call me when he was on his way back, just as I called them to
alert them that he was coming.
Because dead people don't use phones, pal. You'll see in a minute.
I walked out onto the open-air plaza in front of the entrance to
the second floor and walked a few meters toward the causeway.
Then I stopped and looked behind me.
He had just come through the doors on the right side of the
plaza and was starting to raise his cell phone to his face when I
turned back. When he saw me, he lowered the cell phone and
stopped as though suddenly interested in the nonexistent view.
I nodded my head at him and gave a small wave of acknowl
edgment, the gesture communicating, Oh there you are, good. I
started walking over.
His head turtled in a fraction and his body tensed in the internationally
approved reaction to being spotted on surveillance. It's
hard to describe, but it looks a little like what a gowned patient
does when the doctor picks up a long instrument and advises, This
might be a little uncomfortable. He looked around, then back to me,
doing a decent imitation of someone wondering, Huh? Was that me
you were waving to? Do we know each other?
I walked straight up to him and said in a low voice, "Good,
you're here. They told me you'd be waiting on the first floor, by
Arrivals, but I didn't see you."
He shook his head. His lips twitched, but no sound came out.
"There's been a mistake," I said. "I'm not the guy you want."
His lips twitched some more.
Shit, I thought, he doesn't understand you. Hadn't counted on that.
"You speak English, right?" I said. "They told me we could use
English."
"Yes, yes," he stammered. "I speak English."
I glanced quickly left and right as though suddenly nervous, then
back at him, my eyes narrowed in sudden concern.
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