The Last Assassin (17 page)

“All right, I better get in,” I said. “The staff will be up soon, and I don't want to be seen. Sorry you've got to spend another night in the van.”

He patted the cargo bag and grinned. “I'd say it's worth it.”

Yeah, so far it had been. But it wasn't over yet.

D
ELILAH SIPPED A CAPPUCCINO
at Chez Prune on the Canal Saint-Martin, one of her favorite cafés in Paris. Ordinarily, a solitary hour here people-watching or with a book or just looking out on the water relaxed her body and emptied her mind, but today the effect was lacking.

The few days she'd spent in Manhattan after seeing Midori had been much the same. She'd visited the Neue Galerie and the galleries in Chelsea and shopped in the boutiques in the meat-packing district and run for miles in Central Park, but none of it had been any good. She was glad to finally abandon it and just come home, and now here she was and this didn't feel right, either.

The thing that was bothering her was the recognition that she probably hadn't needed to go to New York at all. At the time, she'd been frustrated and jealous and angry, and all of that had clouded her judgment. But now, having confirmed that Rain had killed Midori's father, and that the woman knew it, her perspective had changed. People didn't get over things like that, not even for the sake of a child. Midori might have felt “confused” at the moment, and maybe whatever passion she had once shared with Rain had temporarily reignited when her former lover suddenly reappeared in her life. But shacking up with your father's murderer would be a betrayal of blood. It would violate everything Delilah understood of human nature, or at least human nature as it continually manifested itself in the violent little corner of the world from which Delilah derived.

Yes, she probably would have been better off just letting Rain and Midori realize on their own that what Rain had done would forever poison the ground they stood on. Probably over time they would have worked out some accommodation for the sake of the child, but that was to be expected and in itself wasn't undesirable. People had children from previous relationships all the time. They divorced and remarried but of course were still involved with their offspring. Why would Rain be different? And why would she want to deny him the opportunity?

So what had she gained by visiting the woman? Just some knowledge, really, but nothing that would change the route things were going to take anyway. And the knowledge came at a potentially high cost: if Midori mentioned Delilah's stunt to Rain, he was going to be understandably upset. She didn't know where things would go at that point.

She was worried, too. The woman said Rain cried when he held his child. That was exactly the kind of thing Delilah had been afraid of when Rain left Barcelona. Afraid that it would cause him to gravitate toward Midori, yes, but also that he wouldn't be himself, that these new emotions would impede his ability to protect himself. She wondered what he was up to in Tokyo. Whatever it was, she doubted it was smart or well thought out.

But there was something else bothering her beyond all this. When she really thought about it, she had to admit that what she'd done was run an op on the man she professed to care about so deeply. At the first sign of trouble, her first doubts and fear, she'd defaulted to the professional tools and tactics that in their 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.

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 Liu's English wasn't good but it was their only common language.

There was a pause. Then Big Liu said, “We have big problem. Fucking big.”

“I know. I just received a phone call from one of my men.”

“This…very bad.”

“Yes. We're looking for the missing men right now. We will do everything we can to find them.” Not
my
missing men.
The
missing men. Better to imply some distance. The subtlety might be lost on Big Liu, but it couldn't hurt, either.

“You find missing men,” Big Liu said, “you give to me. And you pay missing money. And you pay interest for dead men. Then I think, ‘Okay, this was bad men problem. Not Yamaoto problem. Yamaoto and Big Liu, still friend.'”

Yamaoto understood the implication without Big Liu having to spell it out:
Protect your men, and I will hold you responsible for what they did.

And that would mean only one thing: war.

Yamaoto thought for a moment. If he pushed back too hard, things could easily spiral out of control. If he gave in too easily, Big Liu would ask for more. The trick was to find the right middle ground, something that would satisfy Big Liu without seeming weak, something that would preserve Yamaoto's room to maneuver depending on what happened next.

“I understand your concerns,” Yamaoto said slowly, “as I'm sure you understand mine. I know that neither of us is the kind of man to give in to immediate suspicions or otherwise leap to conclusions. We don't want things to get out of control.”

He paused to let Big Liu internally translate the words into Chinese, then said, “I think the main thing now is to find the missing men. I'd like to keep you informed of that effort. Would it be all right if I called you several times a day, just to make sure you know what's going on?”

Under the circumstances, the two of them would have to be stupid not to talk frequently. This sort of polite conversation was an effort for both of them, Yamaoto knew, but they were going to need a good deal more of it if they hoped to prevent suspicion and anger from festering. But by phrasing the thought the way he had, Yamaoto had made it seem that he was both offering a concession and requesting permission. There was no nourishment in any of it, but Big Liu might like the taste enough to bite.

Big Liu said, “Can give only forty-eight hours for this. Not because distrust Yamaoto. Because…very angry men in Big Liu group. Men now saying, ‘Blood! Revenge!' Can't control angry men so long.”

It was more or less what Yamaoto had been expecting, although he'd been hoping for longer. The “it's not that I don't trust you, it's my constituents” approach was something Yamaoto himself used all the time. And in this case, in all likelihood, there was a lot of truth to it. Yamaoto had to find Kito and Sanada before things got worse.

“I understand,” he said. “I'll call you later today with an update.”

“You find missing men,” Big Liu said, “you no kill. Give alive. Want to…talk with them.”

This gambit wasn't unexpected, either. Yamaoto expected Big Liu to push until he encountered resistance. Now was the time to offer it.

“I can't promise that,” Yamaoto said. “First, because anything could happen when I find them. And second, because I'm already going to have problems from my people just for doing what needs to be done. If Big Liu asks for too much, my people will become angry, even though I will tell them not to be.”

There was a pause while Big Liu absorbed Yamaoto's own version of the “constituency” defense. Like Liu's from a moment earlier, it had the benefit of being largely true. If Yamaoto offered up two of his men to be tortured to death by the Chinese, he would face rebellion, no matter what the cause.

“Okay,” Big Liu said. “You handle men. Call soon.”

“Yes,” Yamaoto said, and hung up.

He paused for a moment and thought. Could Big Liu have staged this? If so, he would get to keep the drugs and take the money…

But almost as soon as he considered the possibility, he rejected it. The gain wouldn't have been worth the loss of Yamaoto as a buyer, and Big Liu had worked hard to win Yamaoto's business. On top of that, Big Liu had lost three men. That in itself was a considerable expense.

He called Kuro. The man answered promptly.

“Hai.”

“Do the Chinese have people in Tokyo who would recognize Kito and Sanada?” Yamaoto asked.

“Yes, sir, there are several we work with.”

“Good. Make sure at least one of them is immediately available for the next forty-eight hours. We'll need him for when we find Kito and Sanada.”

There was a pause, no doubt while Kuro considered what this request meant for the two sumos. “I understand completely, sir,” he said.

There was no need to tell Kuro not to mention this part of the conversation to any of Yamaoto's men. Yamaoto would deal with that himself. Afterward.