The Last Assassin

palmed the rake, dropped the keys back in her purse, and took out an exceptionally thin steel nail file that always doubled nicely as a torsion wrench.
    When she reached the bottom of the stairs, Rain’s detector buzzed. She looked up and saw a ceiling camera aimed at the emergency door, presumably to catch an intruder trying to come in the back way. She wondered why the club hadn’t invested a trivial amount more for an additional camera covering the interior, then realized it was probably out of deference to the patrons’ privacy concerns. It didn’t really matter. With the electricity cut and the lights out, the camera would be irrelevant.
    She hadn’t seen anyone heading toward the restrooms in the last few minutes, and suspected they were empty now. Still, best to check. The men’s room first, an embarrassed apology ready in case she had erred. But it was unoccupied, the three stall doors all slightly ajar. Likewise the ladies’ room. Okay.
    She paused in front of the emergency exit door, behind the camera’s ambit, and looked it over. It opened out, with a metal push bar across its center. She wanted to try it, but the camera would have caught that. Also, there was a sticker running along the length of the bar in red Japanese characters, with an exclamation point at the end. Probably a warning that an alarm would sound if the door were opened. She took out her cell phone and snapped a picture. Rain could read it later to confirm.
    She walked over to the utility room. Steel door, hinges on the outside, likely a five-pin tumbler in the knob. She tried the knob and was unsurprised to find it locked. Doubtful there could be anyone in there, but you never know, so she knocked, ready to seem extremely clueless about what down here was a restroom and what was a utility room in the unlikely event someone answered. But no one did.
    She glanced at the stairs, then slid the file into the lock and turned it slightly, taking up the slack. Then she inserted the rake and ran it back and forth over the tumblers. A moment later the knob turned and she was in.
    The room was dark, but she found a wall switch and flipped it on. She saw it instantly: a backup generator, bolted next to the exterior wall. She walked over and looked more closely. Diesel unit, digital control panel, she could shut it down anytime. If there was a problem with the controls, she could simply pull the leads. No worries about after-the-fact signs of tampering on this job.
    She looked around, hoping to see a fuse box, which would give them other options. But there was none. Probably in the office upstairs. And therefore, for their purposes, inaccessible.
    She turned off the light and walked out, checking to make sure the door was locked behind her. Then she ducked into one of the ladies’ room stalls, hid the rake again, and took out the earpiece. She put it in and tilted her head down.
    “It’s me,” she said. “Is the reception okay?”
    “Loud and clear,” Rain answered promptly.
    “Roger that,” Dox added.
    “Okay. Leaving now.” She dropped the earpiece back in her purse and flushed the toilet. She walked out of the stall and checked herself in the mirror, already in character again. Then she headed back up the stairs.
    The women were out in front of the island, helping a Japanese man and one of the hostesses with their coats. It looked like someone had managed to agree on a price tonight. One of the women buzzed Delilah out. The security guy bowed and held the door for her again.
    As she reached the end of the walkway outside, one of the valets went running past her in the direction of the club. She turned around and got back to the turn in the path in time to see him pull a magnetic key from inside his suit jacket and wave it in front of the reader. He slipped it back inside the jacket, and she realized he kept it on a lanyard around his neck. The door started to open and Delilah moved out of its line of sight.
    The other valet was in front, holding open the passenger door of a blue Bentley Continental GTC. The engine was idling at a low purr.
    Nice ride, she thought. She smiled at the valet and walked off.

33
    W E RECONVENED IN Dox’s hotel room a half hour after Delilah had checked in from the club. She briefed us on everything: entrance and exit layout and procedures; security personnel and protocols; the backup generator. She hadn’t missed a thing, and recollected exactly the right details. I wasn’t surprised.
    “The