Killing Rain Part 29

She nodded. I saw her eyes were filling up.

"You never . . ." I started to say. I paused, then went on. "That was your first time, wasn't it."

She nodded again and her tears spilled over. She started to shake.

My anger dissipated. I put my arm around her and pulled her close. "You did the right thing," I said. "Just like they trained you. You'll be okay."

She shook her head. "I don't know what's wrong with me. I should be happy, I should be exulting that he's dead. I mean, I was exulting, right after. But now . . ."

I kissed the top of her head. "Your mind knows what's what. It'll just take a little while for your gut to catch up. You'll see."

She wiped her face and looked at me. "I was so afraid he was going to get away. I wanted you to shoot him. When he had that gun to my head, I thought I was going to die and all I cared about was that you shoot him first, so I would know."

I nodded. "When you're certain you're going to die, and you don't, it stays with you for a long time after. Sometime I'll have to tell you about what happened to me outside of Kwai Chung last year."

"You never did tell me that whole story."

"Well, are you going to give me the chance?"

She laughed a little and touched my cheek. "Let's meet somewhere. I don't want it to end like this. I want . . . I want that to look forward to."

I shrugged. "I've got your number. And we've got the bulletin board."

She smiled. "We'll always have the bulletin board."

I laughed. "Well, it's not Paris, but we'll figure something out."

Her hand slipped around to the back of my neck and caressed me there, absently, gently. It felt good.

"Thank you for trusting me," she said. "I wanted to say that to you in p.h.u.ket, but I didn't. I wanted to tell you . . . how much it means to me."

How someone could smell so good after chasing a terrorist a quarter mile, almost dying in his grasp, and then killing him, was a mystery I knew I would always savor.

"Sounds like trusting you in p.h.u.ket wasn't the brightest move I've ever made," I said.

She looked at me, her eyes fierce. "Yes, it was. And as for calling Gil tonight . . ."

I shook my head. "I understand why you did it."

"I had to. I told him it was Al-Jib, not you, that you were helping us. But he didn't believe me about you. And when I saw him take a shot at you . . ."

I realized I was touching her leg. I started to say, "I know, I heard you," but she pulled me in and kissed me.

I stopped talking. The kiss went from zero to sixty in about two nanoseconds. Where we were sitting, it was very dark.

What the h.e.l.l, it wasn't like Dox had never kept me waiting.

I TOOK THE Airport Express train from Kowloon station and called Dox when I arrived. He was already there. We met on the departures level, in front of United Airlines. He was still in his suit, an attache in each hand.

He grinned as I walked up to him. "I think this one's yours," he said, handing it to me. "Saw it next to a dumpster in front of the Bank of China building as I exited the premises. Unless you meant to throw it away . . ."

"No, I was just blowing the ballast to chase after Al-Jib. I'm glad to have it back. Traveling without luggage can be conspicuous."

"And we all know how much you hate to be conspicuous," he said, staring at my neck.

I said, "What?"

His grin achieved galactic proportions. "Partner, I believe that's lipstick on your collar. You've been a bad boy. And here we are, in the middle of an operation and everything. Next thing I know, you'll be leaving your cell phone on and trying to hump a katoey into submission and committing similar such indiscretions. If you keep this up, people are going to start suspecting you're human, and the unpleasant burden of explaining otherwise will fall entirely to me."

My hand wandered up to my collar. "I . . . I just . . ."

"You don't have to explain. Combat will do that to a man, I know. Bet you didn't even need the v.i.a.g.r.a this time, either."

"No, I just thought of Tiara."

He laughed. "That's good, you got me there, man! d.a.m.n, you're always going to have that over me. Hey, you think the Israelites will pay us, after all this?"

"I'd say they'd better. And then some."

"I'm sure Delilah will strenuously advocate our cause. She's a nice lady."

"I don't know what her position is going to be now. They're going to ask her a lot of questions."

"Well, if things don't work out for her with her people, as far as I'm concerned she's always welcome to join our happy band of freelancers. Like I said, we're the wave of the future. The nation-states of the world are just going to outsource all their defense needs so they can watch more television, you'll see."

I shook my head. "I don't think Delilah would be comfortable as a freelancer. It's not who she is."

"Well, hopefully she won't ever have to face that decision. It ain't a happy moment in a soldier's life, as you know."

"No, it's not," I said.

"Well? Where to, from here?"

"I've got some business in Tokyo. On the way over here, I made a reservation on an Asiana flight that goes through Seoul. It leaves at . . ." I looked at my watch. "Oh-dark-thirty. Two hours."

"What about Rio? You still hanging your hat there?"

"Mostly. I'll probably head back after Tokyo."

"Maybe I'll come visit you there. Them Brazilian girls . . . man, don't even get me started."

"I try not to."

He laughed.

"Yeah, come on down," I said. "It would be good to see you. We can go to another adult bar."

He laughed again. "I'd like that. I really would."

We were quiet for a moment. I said, "What about you? Where are you heading?"

"Gonna go visit my folks in the States, I think. It's been a while and I miss them."

I nodded, trying to imagine it. I lost my parents so many years earlier that the simple concept of visiting the folks, of visiting anyone, is almost alien. But maybe I could find a way.

I said, "They've got a good son."

He beamed. "They do. And I'm lucky to have them, too." He glanced at his watch. "Got a Cathay Pacific flight that leaves for L.A. at twenty-three thirty-five. So I'd better beat feet."

I held out my hand.

He looked at me and said, "Son, just because I was recently nearly inducted as a new member of the Accidental Katoey Love a.s.sociation doesn't mean you're not allowed to show your feelings for me."

Oh G.o.d, I thought. But then there I was, hugging the big b.a.s.t.a.r.d in the middle of the airport.

TWENTY-TWO.

I SLEPT like a dead man on the trip to Seoul. There was a five-hour layover, then a short flight to Tokyo.

I wondered where I should stay. When I was living in the city, I maintained a relationship with several hotels that held a suitcase for me while I was "out of town," just in case. But those arrangements were out of date now, and I couldn't be sure the hotels in question would still have my gear. And even if they did, it was possible the relationship had been exposed in the interim. I decided it would be safer to do something new.

I arrived at Narita airport at a little after noon. I took the JR Express train to Tokyo station, then walked unburdened by anything other than my attache to the Four Seasons in Marunouchi. I asked if they had any rooms available. Only a suite, they told me. I told them a suite would be fine.

For an excessive price in the lobby concession store, I bought a pair of khaki pants and a navy merino wool sweater. In the room, I showered and shaved with the razor and other amenities the hotel had thought to provide. I called housekeeping and told them I would like to avail myself of their one-hour pressing services. My suit looked like I'd been living in it.

I walked into Ginza to buy clean underwear, a fresh shirt, and a few other such necessities for the fugitive on the move. The weather was cold and crisp-my favorite in Tokyo-and the wind had a clean winter bite to it. Being back felt good. It even felt oddly right.

I looked around as I walked, more in appreciation of my surroundings than to check my back. The topography had changed a bit since my last visit. Some of the stores were different, and a number of new buildings had gone up, and Starbucks had continued its kudzu-like infiltration of lobbies and storefronts. But the feel of the city was all the same: the way you could transition from the Stygian gloom of a Hibiya train underpa.s.s to the glittering shops of Ginza in just a few dozen paces; the air of money to be made and spent, of dreams realized and broken; the beautiful people in the shops and the sharp-elbowed old women in the train stations; the sense that everyone you pa.s.s in the pricey restaurant windows and on the smart sidewalks and in the solemn silences of the city's small shrines wants to be here, here in Tokyo, here and nowhere else.

I thought of Yamaoto, and wondered when, if ever, it might be safe for me to move back here. Fond as I was of Rio, it didn't really feel like home, and as I walked through Tokyo I suspected it never would.

I bought what I needed and went back to the hotel. My suit, pressed to perfection, was already hanging in the suite's ample closet. I changed, left the hotel, and made my way to a cell phone shop, where I bought a prepaid unit. I used it to call Kanezaki.

"Hai," he answered.

I gave him my usual "hey" in response.

There was a pause. He said, "You're in Tokyo."

Ah, the relentless march of caller ID and other such complicating technologies. "Yes," I told him. "I wanted to update you on what I've found out about Manila. And I think you owe me a bit of an update, too."

"I haven't been able to learn that much . . ."

"Don't bulls.h.i.t me. You know that makes me angry."

There was another pause. "Where are you?"

"I'm watching you right now."

"You're watching . . . what do you mean?"

I smiled, imagining him looking suddenly over his shoulder or through his office window. "Just kidding. I'm at Tokyo station. Marunouchi South exit."

"I'm near the emba.s.sy. I can meet you in ten minutes, how's that?"

"That's fine. Call me when you get here."

I clicked off.

I didn't think he'd have any inclination to bring company. And I certainly hadn't given him time. Still, I crossed the street and watched the entrance from afar. Old habits die hard.

He showed up by taxi ten minutes later, alone. He got out and waited, knowing I would want to see him before I showed myself.

I circled around, using taxis and pedestrians for cover, then moved in from his blind spot. But he turned before I could get close enough to say ta-da. Good for him.

"Hey," he said, and smiled. He held out his hand and we shook.

"Let's get out of here," I said. "I doubt the j.a.panese government wastes a lot of time trying to shadow you CIA types, but just in case."

We spent a half hour making sure we were alone, then ducked into Tsuta, a coffee shop I used to frequent in Minami Aoyama. I was glad to find Tsuta weathering the Starbucks storm. The last time I'd been here, I had been with Midori. That had been a good afternoon, strange under the circ.u.mstances but full of weird and foolish promise. And it was so long ago.

We sat down across from each other at one of the two tables and ordered espressos. I looked him over. It had been a year since I'd last seen him, and he seemed older now, more mature. There was a confidence that he'd lacked before, a new substance, a kind of weight. Kanezaki, I realized, wasn't a kid anymore. He was managing some serious matters, and those matters were in turn molding him. As Dox's favorite philosopher said, when you look into the abyss, the abyss also looks into you.

We made small talk for a while. The table next to us was occupied by two elderly j.a.panese women. I doubted they could speak English, which Kanezaki and I were using-h.e.l.l, I doubted they could hear much at all-but we kept our voices low all the same.

After the espressos arrived, I said, "I think it's time for you to level with me."

He took a sip from his demita.s.se, nodded appreciatively, and said, "I don't know what you mean."

I knew he would tell me eventually. I also knew he would make me struggle for it, so that I would feel I had won something, that the information I extracted had worth. I wished we could skip the intermediate dance steps, but this was the way Kanezaki always played it.

Well, maybe there was a way we could accelerate things. "It's probably just a coincidence," I said, "but every time we talked or otherwise corresponded over the last few days, things I told you wound up in the Washington Post right afterward."

He didn't say anything, but I detected the trace of a satisfied smile.

"So," I said, "if you want me to tell you what happened in Manila, and what just happened in Hong Kong, you're going to have to go first."

I picked up my demita.s.se and leaned back in my chair. I let the aroma play around my face for a moment, then took a small sip. Ah, it was good. Strong but not overwhelming; bitter, but not over-extracted; light, but with density in the play of flavors. I've drunk coffee in Paris, Rome, and Rio. h.e.l.l, I've even drunk it in Seattle, where the bean is a local religion. But in my mind nothing beats Tsuta.

Kanezaki waited a long time, the better to convince me that he was talking only under duress. I was halfway through my espresso when he said, "How do you know about Hong Kong?"