Requiem for an Assassin

crew-cut guy appeared a second later. He reached into the van and helped Dox to his feet. Despite his bravado, the big sniper looked awful. His face was red and blistering and he could barely support his own weight. But he was alive, and that in itself was a wonderful thing.
    “Good hunting, amigo,” Dox said to Boaz. “When you’re done, I’m going to owe you a few beers, and then some. We’ll get together and tell each other a few more jokes.”
    Boaz smiled. “I’ll look forward to it.”
    We all got out of the van. The Marine helped Dox onto the plane.
    “What about Naftali?” I asked Boaz.
    “He’s returning the other van,” Boaz said. “Better not to leave loose ends.” He looked at Kanezaki. “What about yours?”
    “I’ve got someone to take care of it,” Kanezaki said.
    Boaz laughed. “It must be nice to work for a big organization.”
    On cue, another young guy came off the plane, a civilian this time, from his appearance. Probably low-level CIA. Kanezaki tossed him the van keys. “You know what to do,” he said. The young guy nodded, closed the doors, got in the van, and drove off.
    “I’ll meet you in Amsterdam,” I said to Boaz. “I’ll get the first flight I can.”
    He nodded. “Likewise. I’d offer you a ride, but if I don’t return the plane I borrowed soon, someone will step on my dick.”
    Kanezaki said, “That’s not quite how it’s…”
    “All right, let’s get out of here,” I said. “Boaz, I’ll call you on your mobile. If for some reason I can’t reach you, the backup will be the lobby of the Grand Hotel Krasnapolsky, seven in the morning, then seven at night until we find each other.”
    “You know Amsterdam,” Boaz said.
    “I’ve been there,” I said, deliberately noncommittal. I was beginning to trust Boaz, at least “situationally,” as he might put it, but I still wanted a backup location with plenty of exits, entrances, and security. In other words, a difficult place for a hit.
    He shook my hand, then Kanzezaki’s, and then walked off, presumably to whichever of the private jets was his. Kanezaki and I got on the plane. The Marine went to the cockpit, and five minutes later, Singapore was a thousand feet below us, and getting farther away by the second.

36
    A S THE TAXI PULLED into the parking lot of the Republic of Singapore Yacht Club, Hilger saw the flashing police lights and the gawkers lined up in front of the club entrance. He instantly understood and accepted what it all meant. His heartbeat kicked up a notch, but he didn’t show anything.
    “Oh my God, I can’t believe this,” he said to the driver. “I left my laptop at the hotel. Can you take me back right away?”
    The driver swung around. Hilger punched some digits into his mobile phone but never pressed the “Call” button. He waited a moment, and then, for the driver’s benefit, said, “Hi, I was just using the computer center and I think I left my…oh, you found it? Oh, thank God. Yes, I’ll be there in five minutes to pick it up.”
    Next, he called Guthrie’s mobile. No response. That was bad; Guthrie was always reachable. He tried Pancho next. Again, no answer.
    He clicked off. The first thing he thought was that he’d have to ditch the phone right away. The number would show up in the call logs of Pancho’s and Guthrie’s units.
    He knew they were dead. He didn’t know how Rain found the boat, but somehow he had. It was the same as in Hong Kong. He’d known Rain would be looking for a way to counterattack, of course, but he thought with the boat as a shell game, and with Dox as a hostage, Rain would be neutralized. Everything he knew about Rain indicated that Dox was his only partner. But Rain couldn’t have tracked him like this without help, and Hilger wondered for a moment where it might have come from.
    Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
    He breathed in and out, slowly and deeply, calming himself, focusing. If Rain had learned about the boat, could he have learned about the Rotterdam op? Not that Rain would care about the op itself; the man was a mercenary and nothing more. But he might use its existence as a way to track Hilger again. Or he might share his knowledge with someone else who might be inclined to interfere. It didn’t seem likely, but neither had the calamity that had just occurred here on Singapore.
    For one bad second, he was gripped with self-doubt. Maybe he’d made a mistake in treating Rain like an enemy. Maybe he should have just tried to