Requiem for an Assassin

by Barry Eisler

  Cesium 137 emitted gamma rays. Less toxic than the alpha rays emitted by, say, uranium, but prone to travel farther. Even better, cesium was hugely reactive, and combined eagerly with other elements. Roofing materials, concrete, soil…none of it could be cleaned afterward.

  Thankfully, the people exposed to the radiation would be at minimal risk. The body could process half a cesium exposure in less than a hundred days. Strontium 90, another ingredient they had considered, would have been absorbed by bone, and the body would need thirty years to excrete half a dose of that. Overall, a one-mile swath—not coincidentally, the heart of Rotterdam’s refinery facilities—would see an increase of cancer rates to one in ten thousand. Only a .05 percent jump, and that would only be for anyone stupid enough to stick around afterward, but it would be enough to turn the area into a no-go zone for decades. Very low casualties, but a very high fear factor. No wonder people called radiological bombs “weapons of mass disruption.”

  The key was to detonate the device at the very center of the refinery facilities. To do that, someone needed to access it on the premises, ensure that it was properly placed, arm it, and leave before it exploded. That meant cooperation from an inside man. It meant Boezeman.

  But knowing the connection to Boezeman, Accinelli would have suspected his cesium had been involved. With Accinelli gone, that link was severed. He had been a good man, and was now another unfortunate casualty, another Hilger would have to live with. But the alternatives—the costs of inaction—were infinitely worse. And he wasn’t asking anyone to make a sacrifice he wasn’t willing to make himself.

  It had gone so smoothly at first. They’d taken possession of the cesium, assembled the device, and sealed it in a lead-and-concrete container to prevent detection by the port radiation scanners that were coming into vogue since 9/11. As soon as Dox was taken and they’d made contact with Rain, they sent the device to an accommodation address in Rotterdam by commercial sea shipping, knowing it would have to go through the port. While it was on its voyage, Rain had killed Jannick. The man was so damn efficient that he’d actually gotten ahead of schedule, and they had to make him wait so Demeere could set up in New York to ambush him when he came for Accinelli.

  Hilger knew Accinelli well, well enough to know his friend always kept some pretty young thing, usually a struggling artist or aspiring actress, in an apartment or loft. Demeere had traveled to New York a few weeks earlier, tailed Accinelli, and discovered the whereabouts of Accinelli’s latest. They had discussed it, and decided that, capable as he was, Rain would discover her existence, too, and that because the woman’s apartment represented more favorable terrain than either Accinelli’s home or office, Rain would likely hit Accinelli when he went to visit the woman. That’s where Demeere had decided to lay the ambush. But something had gone wrong. Somehow, Rain had seen it coming.

  Hilger realized now he’d been too ambitious. Demeere could have silenced Accinelli, and they could have taken Rain out another time, another place. But the opportunity to have Accinelli dispatched naturally, like Jannick, raising no questions, and to set up Rain up simultaneously, had been so perfect…too perfect, he understood in retrospect. After all, the perfect is always the enemy of the good.

  So, yes, there had been losses, but there always are in war. And on balance, things could be worse. Boezeman was still game. They still had Dox. And Rain…the man was resilient, no doubt. But no one was bulletproof. He was going down. And Hilger would relish it when it happened.

  30

  THIS TIME, when Kanezaki opened his door in response to my knock, he didn’t have any smart comments about whether I was coming in. He just stood there, looking at Boaz, Naftali, and me. He didn’t say a word, but I didn’t need to be psychic to know what he was thinking: some variation on the time-honored What the fuck?

  I smiled. “May we come in?”

  “I guess so,” he said, moving aside so we could all file past him.

  We all sat across from each other along the edges of the beds. “Tom, Boaz, Naftali,” I said, gesturing as appropriate. Boaz had been right about Naftali. The man hadn’t said a word since I’d met him. There was something familiar about him, but I couldn’t place what.

  There was a round of uneasy handshakes, and I went on. “I’m sure we can imagine our various affiliations, and they don’t really matter anyway. What matters is, we all showed up here for the same thing and we don’t want to trip over each other’s dicks trying to get it. With me so far?”

  Everyone nodded. Boaz smiled and said, “Trip over our dicks?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “It means…”

  “No, no, I get it. I like it. It’s better than ‘cluster fuck.’”

  “They’re a little different,” Kanezaki said, and Boaz nodded to show he was eager to hear more. “A cluster fuck is…”

  “Not that it’s not important, but why don’t we do the language lesson later?” I said.

  No one responded, and I went on. “I want my friend safely off that boat. You all want Hilger dead.” I paused again, locking eyes just for an instant with Kanezaki. “We know Hilger’s on the boat now, but don’t know for how much longer. So we need to move fast.”

  Kanezaki’s face betrayed nothing, and I went on. “We know the general layout of the yacht club. What we don’t know is the precise location of Hilger’s boat, the nature of the opposition on board, whether any sentries are posted off the boat, and where Dox is being held on the boat. What I propose is this. We’ve got two vans. We use both, arriving separately. Naftali and Tom, you wait in the vans, engines running. Hilger knows my face, and probably Tom’s, too, so we’re the wrong guys for reconnaissance. That’s Boaz’s job. So far, so good?”

  Everyone nodded. Kanezaki said, “What do we know about club security? Can Boaz just walk in?”

  “Let’s find out,” Boaz said. He nodded to Naftali, who tossed him a mobile phone. “Sterile unit,” Boaz said. He dialed a number from memory.

  “Hello,” he said, “I’m interested in chartering a fishing boat. Is that possible? No, not for today. You do, good. Two boats? Oh, the twenty-two-footer should be fine. Look, this is for an important client and I’d like to see the facilities. Can I do that? Yes? Right, Chan, I’ll ask for you, thank you. I’ll be by tomorrow or the next day. Yes, of course, my name is Vanya. If you’re not there, though, can I just…stroll around by myself, take a look at the boats? Of course, of course, I would never board a boat without the captain’s permission. Yes, thank you.”

  He clicked off and looked at us. “The operation is off. Chan says we can’t board a boat without the captain’s permission.”

  No one said anything, and he shrugged. “Just a joke. Security’s not an obstacle, at least not initially. But this raises a question. If we have to…disable security, how far do we go?”

  The answer was so obvious to me that for a second, I didn’t follow him. “You mean…”

  “At all costs, we want to avoid the loss of innocent life. It’s our most important rule of engagement.”

  “Sorry, can you define that phrase, ‘all costs’?” I said. “And what do you mean, ‘rule’?”

  He sighed. “Well, sometimes it’s more of a guideline than a rule. The real world can be messy. But we try very hard.”

  “All right, I agree to try hard,” I said. “Fair enough?” He nodded, and I went on. “Tom’s got some fishing equipment. You carry it with you and scope the area, checking all the spots where you would place a sentry if you were Hilger. Have you got a wireless earpiece to use with one of those phones?”

  He nodded. “Of course.”

  “Good, so do I, and that’s how we’ll stay in touch as you stroll around. No telling what you’ll find, so you’ll just have to inform me and we’ll improvise.”

  He nodded again.

  “You keep wandering around, looking the part of afternoon-fishing hobbyist, until you spot Ocean Emerald. When you find her, you get your equipment ready. While you’re doing that, I mo
ve in.”

  “What equipment?” Kanezaki asked.

  “What’s your security clearance?” Boaz asked.

  Kanezaki scowled at him, and Boaz sighed. “Am I the only one here with a sense of humor?” he said. He turned to Naftali. “Naftali, was that not funny?”

  Naftali might have been made of stone.

  Boaz sighed again and turned to Kanezaki. “Well, what can you do…these secrets always get out sooner or later anyway. Have you heard of an ‘active denial system’?”

  “Of course. The Raytheon technology. Nonlethal millimeter wave energy weapon.”

  Boaz laughed and looked at me. “Smart guy.” He gave a quick rundown on the particulars of his device.

  “Okay,” I said when he was done. “When I’m in position, you zap the boat. Either it’ll fuck up the people on board, increasing my chances of surprising them, or they’ll haul ass off the boat like their hair’s on fire. Either way, I drop whoever I encounter and extract Dox.”

  “Dox will be locked inside while I’m zapping,” Boaz said.

  I nodded. “I’ll apologize to him later.”

  “Have you considered how they might have secured him?” Kanezaki asked.

  I nodded. “If it’s just a locked door, I’ll shoot the lock out. If it’s ropes, I’ve got a knife. But you’re right, if he’s in manacles…”

  Kanezaki smiled. “I’ve got a pair of four-foot bolt cutters in a nylon case in the van. Boaz can carry it. We need you mobile, and shooting straight.”

  I nodded and gave him a slight smile. “Two heads really are better than one.”

  I imagined the terrain for a moment. We were working on the fly. It would be so easy to miss something.

  “I come off the boat with Dox,” I said. “He’s a big guy, and if he needs assistance my hands are going to be full. Boaz, you’ll be armed?”

  “How do you say it? ‘Fuckin’ A,’ I think?”

  “That’s how it’s said. You cover the retreat to the vans. Tom, we ride with you. Naftali, if anyone tries to follow, you ram. Clear?”

  Everyone nodded.

  “Whatever you need to bug out, have it with you. Bags, papers, everything. Assume we can’t come back to our hotels. Now, what are we missing?”

  “Probably a dozen things,” Boaz said.

  “I know. But there’s no time. We’re not going to get a better chance than this. Let’s go through it one more time, and then we roll.”

  31

  DOX SAT ON HIS COT, his eyes closed, his head cocked. He’d felt someone step off the boat a half-hour earlier. The remaining footsteps told him the one who’d gotten off had been Hilger. The blond dude had been gone for days now. If the young guy left, too, that would leave just Uncle Fester. Dox had no doubt the sick bastard would come calling shortly after that—the taunts had worked the man to nearly foaming at the mouth before. Well, this time he had a plan. It wasn’t much, and it was likely to fail, but it was better than nothing.

  He’d wondered many times in his life whether, if the worst happened, he’d fall apart, or if he’d have the courage to go out swinging. He’d heard stories of brave men who’d lost it, their nerve, their backbone, whatever, at the moment of truth. He hoped he wouldn’t be one of them, but he supposed you could never really know until that moment came.

  He listened, grimacing slightly with the effort of straining for even the tiniest sounds. Footsteps, a door opening…then a heavy thud, like something big falling to the deck. A body, maybe. Then a door again, this time closing, followed by the click of a lock.

  Son of a bitch. It sounded like Fester had dropped the young guy and locked him in a room somewhere. That could mean only one thing.

  He felt a hot rush of adrenaline surge through his torso. This was it. His moment of truth was on its way right now.

  He took two deep breaths and strained against the chains, first left, then right. He’d been doing what isometrics he could every day since they’d grabbed him, hoping there would actually be some use to keeping his body from tightening up. Well, it looked like the effort had been worth it, and he wanted to be warmed up now. If this had even a prayer of working, he was going to have to go from zero to a hundred with nothing in between.

  Half a minute went by. He heard Fester’s footsteps coming along the corridor. Then there he was, smiling his psycho smile through the door window while he turned a key in the lock.

  “Hola, maricón,” he said, coming in, holding the battery and wires again. “We didn’t get to finish our conversation.” He turned and used the key to lock the door from the inside. “And now no one can interrupt us like last time.” He slipped the key into his pocket.

  “Wait a minute,” Dox said, controlling his voice to keep his pounding heart from creeping into it. “You mean you’ve had a whole day to stew, a hundred options to consider, and the best line you could come up with to get some of your mojo back is—” he switched to an ersatz Mexican accent—“‘We didn’t get to finish our conversation’?”

  Uncle Fester looked at him, nonplussed.

  “I mean, you might have said, ‘I like the way you talk, now let’s hear you scream,’ or, ‘You’re right, I do like to torture people, but I’ve never tortured anyone like I’m going to torture you.’ What do you think of those? You can try one, if you like. I won’t tell anyone you got it from me. Go on back out, we can start over.”

  Fester stood there, his eyes burning with hate.

  “Well, shit. If you’re going to get your rocks off with me, at least sing to me. I’m partial to that Lou Rawls number. You know the one…” He paused, then broke into song: “You’ll never find, dah dah, dah dah dah…as long as you live…someone who loves you, tender like I dooooo…”

  Fester didn’t move. Whatever script he had in mind, Dox was so far off it the man couldn’t figure out what he was supposed to do next. Which was the exactly the idea. Now the trick was to flummox him even worse.

  “You’re crazy,” Fester managed to spit out.

  “Come on, man, admit what you’re here for. You want my dick, don’t you? It’s all right. You can have it. Here.”

  His heart was pounding so hard now he could feel it in his neck. He stood up and pulled down the front of the track pants.

  “What the fuck?” Fester said.

  “It’s all right, man,” Dox said, shuffling toward him. “I’m attracted to you, too.”

  “You’re fucking sick!” Fester hissed, rooted to the spot.

  Dox kept moving forward. Eight feet, six…

  “Here,” he said, reaching inside with a manacled hand and freeing what a long-ago girlfriend had christened Nessie, the Loch Ness Monster. “There you go, it’s okay.”

  Five feet. Fester’s face was contorted in horror and confusion.

  Three feet. Dox let the track pants snap back in position. He bent at the waist, aimed with his shoulder—

  Fester’s paralysis broke. He turned to the door as though to escape.

  With a wild yell, Dox hit him in the back with his full two twenty-five. Fester slammed face forward into the door and the battery and wires hit the deck. Dox shuffled back, ready to launch himself again, but the chains slowed him. Fester turned. Dox shot up from underneath, and the top of his head nailed Fester in the face with a satisfying crunch. The impact rocked Fester back into the door. He grabbed Dox’s shoulders on the rebound to try to shove him away, but Dox surged up against him, his palms forward, the chains cutting into his wrists. His straining hands found Fester’s package, and he latched on and squeezed for all he was worth. Fester screamed and tried to jerk away, but he was up against the door now, Dox’s weight pressed against him. He managed to shove Dox’s shoulders back but couldn’t break the death grip on his balls. Dox twisted inside Fester’s hands and slammed up against him again, then shifted his grip and squeezed harder, yelling now with the effort.

  Fester braced his temple against the side of Dox’s head and tried to lever him away. Dox retracted a fraction and as
Fester’s face slipped past him he lunged forward like an adder and bit down on Fester’s nose. Blood spurted into his mouth and Fester, shrieking now, managed to jerk to the side and create space. Dox tried to adjust but again the chains slowed him. An elbow connected with his cheek but he hung on. He could barely hear Fester screaming now, the whole of his being was focused on squeezing, squeezing…it was all he had and if he lost it, if this didn’t put Fester down, where he could bronco stomp him or knee drop him, he was done.

  Fester hit him with another elbow, then a third time, and suddenly Dox was falling. He couldn’t break the drop with his manacled hands and took the impact on his shoulder. He brought his legs in, trying to roll away and get to his feet, but Fester stayed with him, kicking him now, wildly, out of control.

  Dox kept rolling, but Fester, screaming, didn’t let up for a second. One of the kicks connected with the back of his head and he saw an explosion of white. When the flash faded, Fester had stepped in front of him, and the next kick caught him squarely in the face. He head rocked back but he couldn’t do anything to cover up. He tried rolling away again, dazed, but Fester easily stepped around him and just kept kicking.

  Dox managed to roll to one of the walls and fetal up with his face to it, and for the next minute Fester vented his rage at Dox’s back and legs. The blows didn’t really hurt, exactly; he was too jacked on adrenaline and fear to feel much, and anyway there were too many impacts to distinguish. Mostly what he felt was a series of cascading thuds that reverberated through his body, like he’d fallen down under a rock slide.

  Finally it stopped. Dox blinked and spat out a mouthful of blood, his or Fester’s or both he didn’t know. He tried to get his feet under him, but he couldn’t move. He wondered distantly whether Fester had cracked his spine. Well, it didn’t really matter now.