The Last Assassin

was just moans and breathing and finally a pair of sharp groans that were probably heard in the adjacent room.
    As we lay side by side after, catching our breath, I realized that, for a few minutes, my nearly constant security awareness had been temporarily eclipsed by blind lust, and then by its afterglow. On the one hand, it was liberating, hell, it was life affirming to realize I could have a moment like that. But at the same time, it was worrisome. I hadn’t told Delilah yet what I’d learned about Midori. I didn’t know how to tell her, or when. What I did know was that I had never needed my skills as much as I would for what I planned to do next.

2
    W E SPENT THE REST of the afternoon and evening dozing, making love again, then dozing some more. I remember thinking at some point it was good Barceloneans eat so late, or we would have missed our chance for dinner.
    We finally managed to shower and get dressed, and then had a hotel car take us to Torre d’Alta Mar, a restaurant perched seventy-five meters above the sea atop the Torre Sant Sebastià, one of three towers that serve the city’s cable car system. Delilah had made the reservation, and once again she had chosen well. The 360-degree views were jaw-dropping; the food, even more so: partridge and lobster and filet mignon, all flavored with Catalan specialties like Ganxet beans, Guijuelo ham, and Idiazábal cheese. We killed two bottles of cava from a local winery called Rimarts. I’d never heard of the place, but they knew what they were doing.
    I didn’t bring up anything about Midori. It seemed too early. We’d only just gotten together, and the meal and atmosphere were so perfect, I didn’t want to spoil any of it. Also, after all those hours of lovemaking, I was just too confused, not only about what I was going to do, but even about what I wanted.
    So we stayed with familiar subjects instead, mostly work and travel. She told me she was still on administrative leave, pending her organization’s completion of an inquiry into what had happened in Hong Kong, where Delilah had defied orders and helped me. They’d lost a good man there, and there were people who thought Delilah was to blame. I knew better, of course, but it wasn’t as though she could call on me as a character witness.
    “I don’t mind,” she said. “I’m happy to have the time off.”
    I nodded. “I was wondering how you managed to get away for this.”
    She raised her glass. “I’d say it worked out well.”
    We touched glasses and drank. I said, “How do you expect it’s going to turn out?”
    “I’m not even thinking about it.”
    I knew her better than that and smiled sympathetically. Delilah didn’t like to take shit from her supposed superiors, or from anyone.
    After a moment, she shrugged. “I’m a little worried. Not so much about whether I’m going to be reinstated or reprimanded or whatever. It’s more…I just hate the way they use me and then judge me for doing the jobs they send me on. You’d think Al-Jib dead would trump everything else, but no.”
    Al-Jib had been a terrorist, part of the A.Q. Khan network, who’d been trying to buy nuclear matériel so he could assemble a bomb. Delilah had killed him in Hong Kong, a target of opportunity, and right now that victory was probably the only thing holding the line against her organizational detractors.
    “Well, they’ve got their priorities,” I said.
    “Yeah, their little tsk tsk meetings, that’s the priority. I swear, sometimes I feel like I should just tell them to go to hell.”
    “I’ve dealt with that type, too,” I said, reaching over and taking her hand. “Don’t let them get you down.”
    She smiled and squeezed my hand. “I haven’t even thought about it since I saw you. Not until we started talking about it, anyway.”
    “Well, you’ll have to see me more often, then,” I said, before I could think better of it.
    She squeezed again and said, “I’d like that.”
    I didn’t answer.
    We finished after midnight and walked northwest into La Ribera. It was a weeknight, but even so El Born, one of the most ancient streets in the city and the heart of La Ribera, was hopping, with crowds spilling out from the bars lining the street and from the surrounding clubs and restaurants. We managed to get a table at a bar called La Palma. It was a beautiful old place, unpretentious, with wine barrels in the corners and sausages hanging from the ceiling. I ordered us each a shot of a