The Last Assassin

proper context divided the world into operators and assets, assassins and targets. Ironic, too, because Rain had gotten through to her precisely by bypassing her operator’s persona and somehow accessing the person beneath it.
    If she couldn’t keep her professional and personal lives separate, if she brought the same mind-set to bear in both, she was going to lose herself. She knew men like that in her organization, men who thought they were superior because they used their training to solidify their power bases and manipulate their colleagues and hide mistresses from their wives. She thought they were burnouts and found them pathetic. And now she was appalled to see that she shared with them some common indecency.
    Well, the only thing she could do was stay aware of the problem, stay watchful, and never, ever give in to the temptation again. No matter what it cost her.
    She almost wanted to laugh. She was still so angry at him, and yet now she felt she’d wronged him, too, almost betrayed him.
    She didn’t know how she would make it up to him, but she would try. If he ever gave her the chance.

20
    Y AMAOTO TOSHI WAS ASLEEP in his Moto Azabu apartment when his mobile phone rang. He glanced at the bedside alarm clock, which read 5:30 A.M . A call at this hour could only mean bad news, and he immediately thought of the delivery that had been scheduled to take place in Wajima just a few hours earlier.
    He sat up, switched on a light, and cleared his throat. He looked at the caller ID display on his phone. It was Kuromachi, Kuro, the man who was handling the Chinese. Yamaoto’s foreboding that something had gone wrong in Wajima increased.
    He opened the phone and placed it to his ear. “Hai.”
    “Yamaoto-san, forgive me for calling at this hour,” Kuro said in Japanese. “We’ve had a problem with tonight’s delivery, and I thought you should know right away.”
    “What is it?”
    “The Chinese sent three men ashore on a catamaran to deliver the shipment and collect payment. When the men failed to return, another launch was sent to find out what had happened. The second crew found the three men shot to death. The money and the shipment are gone. So are Kito and Sanada.”
    Yamaoto wiped a hand over his face and thought, Komatta. Shit.
    “Kito and Sanada are reliable men, sir,” Kuro continued after a moment. “I’m certain…”
    “For the moment,” Yamaoto said, cutting him off, “it doesn’t matter what we’re certain of. It’s what the Chinese think that matters. You heard this from them?”
    “Yes, sir. From the pilot of the boat. He called just five minutes ago.”
    Kuro had spent several childhood years in China when his father’s employer had sent the man there to work in a fan factory, and as a result Kuro spoke excellent Chinese and was the perfect conduit to United Bamboo. Yamaoto had been happy having Kuro run that operation and the man had been doing well, but there were times when the boss had to become personally involved, if only to convey the appearance of proper concern to the other side. Kuro would understand that.
    “You have men looking for Kito and Sanada?” Yamaoto asked.
    “Yes, sir.”
    “Make that a priority. All your resources. Find those men and find out what happened.”
    “Yes, sir.”
    Yamaoto clicked off. He sat for a few minutes, thinking. What the hell had happened? Kito and Sanada were indeed reliable. Even if they weren’t, they would know stealing from Yamaoto would mean at best a paranoid life as a fugitive, and more likely a swift death.
    Still, with the amount of drugs and cash involved, the temptation would have been substantial. And if they were innocent, why didn’t they come to him?
    The moment he posed the question to himself, he knew the answer. The Chinese would want blood. Whether his men were guilty or innocent, Yamaoto was almost certainly going to have to sacrifice them if he wanted to prevent a war. Kito and Sanada would understand that. They would know their deaths now represented the quickest and surest way of resolving the matter.
    He got up, used the bathroom, and pulled on a robe. He went to his study and took a codebook out of his wall safe. Inside was the mobile number for the man called Big Liu, the head of United Bamboo in Taiwan. Yamaoto input the number and waited.
    A moment later, a deep, gravelly voice came through on the other end. “Weiwei.” Hello.
    “Hello, this is Yamaoto Toshi,” Yamaoto replied slowly. Big