RainStorm

little. I assuaged my pride by
    reminding myself that it's generally good to be underestimated.
    "Did they explain to you why they want Belghazi removed?"
    she asked.
    "They did."
    "Did you believe them?"
    I shrugged. "I was barely listening."
    She laughed. "They must have told you about his arms networks,
    though, terrorists, fundamentalist group connections, blah,
    blah, blah."
    The disparaging idiom, rendered in her accented English, surprised
    me, and I laughed. "What, were they making it up?" I asked.
    She shook her head. "No. It's all true. And I'm sure that some
    parts of the U.S. government are upset over it, and might even be
    trying to do something about it. Some parts."
    "Meaning?"
    She smiled and said, "You know, you haven't even told me your
    name."
    I looked at her and said, "Call me John."
    "John, then," she said, as though testing the sound of it.
    "You were saying, 'Some parts.'"
    She shrugged. "Let's just say that America is a very big place. It
    has a lot of competing interests. Not all of them might think Belghazi
    is such a bad guy."
    "Meaning?" I said again.
    "Have you thought about why they want you to be 'circumspect'
    about the way you go about this particular assignment?"
    "I have a general idea."
    "Well, consider this." She leaned forward and brought her hands
    up, her fingers slightly splayed and her palms forward, as though
    framing a photograph. "Whatever faction hired you, they're being
    oblique. They need deniability. Who do they need deniability
    from? And have you considered the position this puts you in?"
    The relatively marked body language was new. I was seeing a
    different part of her personality, maybe a part that she ordinarily
    kept hidden. Interesting.
    I thought for a moment. "The same position I'm always in, I
    would say."
    "Qualitatively, maybe," she said, waving a hand, palm down, perhaps
    unconsciously erasing my point. "Quantitatively, the situation
    might be worse. Who do you think sent the man in the elevator?"
    I paused, thinking, I half thought it was you. Instead I said, "I
    don't know."
    The wave stopped and she stabbed the air with her index finger.
    "Correct. Any number of players could now be trying to counter
    you. Anyone who stands to benefit from what Belghazi does."
    Or who wants to keep him alive long enough to get access to his computer, I thought. I wondered if she was telling me all this to throw
    me off her scent. Or maybe she was trying to emphasize the hopelessness
    of my situation, to encourage me to quit. Maybe.
    "I've always known that being in this business was a poor way to
    win a popularity contest," I said.
    She laughed. I picked up the bottle and refreshed first her glass,
    then mine.
    I liked her laugh. It was an odd collection of incongruities:
    husky, but also sweet; womanly, in the sophistication that informed
    it, but somehow also girlish in its delighted timbre; spiced with a
    hint of irony, but one that seemed grounded more in a sense of the
    absurd than in sarcasm or cruelty. I smiled, feeling good, and realized
    I was getting a little buzzed from the whiskey.
    She leaned back and took a sip, pausing with the glass under her
    nose. I liked that, liked that she appreciated the aroma. I did the
    same.
    "The one thing you do know," she said, "is that someone is on
    to you. Do you understand what that means for me? Someone
    could make the connection. And I don't operate the way you do. I
    don't have the luxury of being able to hide. To do what I need to
    do, I need to be close, and stay close."
    So now an appeal to sentiment. A two-pronged approach: logic,
    to the effect that the situation had changed and I could no longer
    accomplish my mission; emotion, to the effect that, if I continued
    to try, she would pay the price.
    "I understand what you're saying," I told her. "But I also understand
    where you're coming from. The second is what gives me
    pause about the first."
    It made me feel a little sad to say it. Things had been so relaxed
    for a while. Christ, the whiskey was getting to me. I'm not usually
    sentimental.
    "That's fair," she said, nodding. "Nonetheless, what I've told
    you is accurate. Do a little digging--leaving me out of it, if you
    can, please--and you'll see."
    I nodded. "The digging is already happening. Discreetly, you're
    not part of it." Not entirely true, but how my inquiry to Kanezaki
    might affect her was something I would think about later.
    I took a sip of the Laphroaig. "Anyway, I need to figure out
    where