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.