The Last Assassin

Her organization had found people before with a lot less to go on than that.
    She lay there for a long time, struggling with warring impulses: hope and fear, sympathy and anger, temptation and guilt. Eventually, just before moonlight gave way to sun, she slept.

3
    D ELILAH AND I spent the rest of the week in Barcelona. My “situation,” as I thought of it, wasn’t on my mind as much as I would have expected, and its absence seemed linked to Delilah’s presence, because I found myself thinking of it mostly when she was off doing something else and I was left alone. At those times I would be gripped by a vertiginous combination of excitement and dread, and I was always glad when we were together again.
    Of course the news had been a surprise to her, but beyond that I couldn’t tell. I didn’t know what I was expecting, exactly—that she would be angry with me? Argumentative? Sullen? But she wasn’t. We would get up early and stay out late and make love before napping every afternoon and we didn’t discuss it again.
    The only clue I had to how she might really be feeling was that she was less moody than she had been in Rio. Rio had been the first extended time we’d spent together, and it had taken me a while to get used to her periodic pouts and petulance there. But in the end I’d come to appreciate that side of her because it felt real. It told me she was comfortable with me, she wasn’t acting. And now I wondered if the more consistent good cheer on display in Barcelona was deliberate, a form of overcompensation intended to obscure whatever was really going on inside her.
    The morning I left, she came with me to the airport. I shouldered my bag outside security and tried to think of something to say. She looked at me, but I couldn’t read her expression.
    “I hope you’re going to be careful,” she said, breaking the silence.
    That wasn’t really like her. I shrugged. “That’s not a hard promise for me to make.”
    “I’m more concerned with whether you’ll be able to keep it.”
    “I’ll keep it.”
    She nodded. “You going to call me?”
    That was even less like her. “Of course,” I said, but the truth was, my mind was already half elsewhere.
    I kissed her good-bye and got into the security line. When I turned back a minute later, she was gone.
    Once I was past immigration, I used a prepaid card to call my partner, Dox, from a pay phone. The burly former Marine sniper had provided me with his new, sterile cell-phone number via our secure electronic bulletin board. He was stateside at the moment, visiting his parents, and to contact Midori securely I would need his help.
    The call snaked its way under the Atlantic and rang on his mobile somewhere on the other side. Then the irrepressible baritone rang out: “Dox here.”
    I couldn’t help smiling. When he wasn’t in stealth mode, Dox was the loudest sniper I’d ever known. One of the loudest people, even. But he’d also proven himself a trustworthy friend. And, apart from certain stylistic differences that sometimes drove me to distraction, a damn capable one.
    “It’s me,” I told him.
    “Who’s ‘me’? I swear, if this is another one of those ‘switch to our cellular service and we’ll send you a free set of steak knives…’”
    “Dox, keep it together. It’s me, John.”
    He laughed. “Don’t worry, partner. No one else even knows this number, so I knew it was you. Just wanted to see if I could get you to talk a little on an open line. I see you’re loosening up some, and that’s all to the good.”
    “Yeah, well, I guess I owe that to you.”
    He laughed again. “You don’t have to thank me, I know how you feel. What’s on your mind? Didn’t expect to hear from you so soon.”
    “I’ve got a…situation I could use your help with. If you’re interested.”
    “This one business, or personal?”
    “This one is personal. But it pays.”
    “Son, if you have a personal situation you need help with, I’m not going to take your money for it. We’re partners. I’ll just help you, like I know you’d help me.”
    I was so used to thinking in terms of me against the world that I was momentarily speechless at how much I could depend on this man.
    “Thank you,” I managed to say.
    “It’s nothing, man. Tell me what you need.”
    “How soon can you be in New York?”
    “Shit, I can be there tomorrow if you need me.”
    “No, take the weekend with your folks. I’ve got a few things to do first anyway.