Or maybe he was giving the idiots too much credit. Hell, losing New York… maybe they would just pause for a minute, then go back to renaming French fries and prohibiting gay marriage and the other priorities of the day.
Yeah, the politicians were in thrall to Big Oil, or brain-dead, or both. If anyone was going to prevent a cataclysm, it would be Hilger, and the team he had built.
He sighed. Al-Jib was one of his linchpins. If Hilger just could have learned a little more about the man’s contacts, where his knowledge had been disseminated, they might actually have been able to stuff some of the fucking genie back in the bottle. But not now. Al-Jib probably wouldn’t touch Hilger after this. That is, assuming the man was still alive. The blonde in the China Club, whoever she was, had taken off after him like a hungry lioness hot on a gazelle.
Well, there were little silver linings in the cloud. When his pissant National Security Council contact had started back-pedaling about whether the White House could support Hilger in the face of another mess, Hilger had just told the man what a shame it would be when Hilger’s client list came to light, with the contact’s name and those of several other prominent political personages on it. The helpless silence that had followed that warning was one of the most satisfying sounds Hilger had ever heard. The contact’s plan of simply saying “I have no recollection of that event, Senator,” and “I don’t recall that meeting, Senator,” and “I can’t imagine I would have done that, Senator, because that would be wrong,” suddenly just wasn’t going to be adequate, and the piece of shit knew it.
Hilger had gone on to explain that he was no Edwin Wilson. If he went down, lots of people would be coming with him, first among them Mr. NSC contact. Do I need to explain further? Hilger had asked. No, the contact had told him in a tight, emasculated voice. He had made himself perfectly clear.
Wilson had been an operative the Agency allegedly fired back in 1971, but who had gone on acting like a spook afterward, carrying out assassinations, laundering money, and selling plastic explosives to countries like Libya, until he was jailed in 1983. Wilson claimed that he’d never left the Agency and that the whole thing had been a sanctioned op; the government, predictably, claimed he was fabricating. Hilger didn’t know the truth-that information would be very closely held, just as it was for him-but he suspected the whole thing had been an op. After all, how do you get close to a man like Kaddafi? By selling him what he wants. There were people who understood this principle then, just as there were people, like Hilger, who understood it today.
Wilson’s error, though, had been his failure to collect evidence implicating his paymasters. Hilger had been much better prepared. The people who had been greedy enough to invest their money with him had been stupid, too. NSC staffers just couldn’t explain being on the same client list as unsavorables like Manny. They would have to back Hilger, or go down with him.
As for the Agency, he knew the last thing they would want would be another Wilson scandal. Even if they denied Hilger, the press would go into a frenzy over a repeat. All those resultant congressional committees, and questions under oath, examination of finances, new layers of oversight… no one wanted any of that, there was so much more important work to be done. Plus, Hilger’s contacts were putting out the word that Hilger had been behind Manny’s death. And if Al-Jib turned up not breathing, that would be attributed to Hilger, too. All, of course, with the understanding that the new director could take whatever credit for the op he wanted. Politicians tended to be as resistant to that kind of opportunity as junkies were to a fix. The Hong Kong police and Hong Kong liaison could be bought off the same way. With the right mix of sense and incentives, the whole thing could be put to sleep pretty quietly.
Of course, the Jim Hilger cover was permanently blown, and at a minimum Hong Kong’s Chinese overlords would declare him persona non grata and boot him out. Hilger had decided to save them the trouble. He already had an established identity, and a presence he had been careful to cultivate, in Shanghai. When the authorities showed up at his Hong Kong apartment, or at his office, as perhaps they already had, he wasn’t going to be there to greet them.
He was going to miss that view from Two IFC, though. Well, it wasn’t like there were no skyscrapers in Shanghai. The city was growing so fast, and had so many foreigners, that he’d have no trouble fitting in there and gearing up again.
He thought of Rain for a moment, and could actually feel his face contorting with rage as he did so. He was surprised at his own reaction. After all, Rain hadn’t acted with knowledge. He’d been hired for a job and he’d done it. Hilger used people like him all the time; it wasn’t personal. So why was Hilger taking it so personally now? It was stupid. Yes, the man had screwed up everything. And in the process, cost Hilger years of effort and unknowingly endangered millions of innocents. But he hadn’t meant it, he hadn’t known. Hilger should just let it go.
Or he should just find the bastard and shoot him in the head. It wasn’t justified, it wasn’t even mature, but it would probably help him sleep better.
And that fucking Dox, too. Someone had nailed him with a chair as he’d hauled ass down the China Club stairs, and he had a pretty good idea of who it was. He had a welt on his back the size and color of an eggplant.
One thing at a time, though. First, Shanghai. Then, probably, more damage control. Then salvaging what he could of his operation.
Then it would be time for Rain and Dox. And God help them then.
TWENTY-FOUR
AFTER LEAVING KANEZAKI at Tsuta, I called Tatsu. I asked him if he felt like an early dinner. He told me that would be fine. I told him I would meet him at Tsukumo Ramen, one of the best noodle shops in the city. Rio’s cuisine is wonderful, but ramen is comfort food for me, and Tsukumo is one of the best. I’d missed it and was glad for the chance to return.
I stopped at an Internet café in Aoyama on the way. There was a message waiting from Delilah. It said:
Dox was right, Gil is dead. I never liked him, and yet I feel so sad. Without men like him, I don’t know what would happen to the world. My government won’t acknowledge his affiliations, of course. Only his citizenship. But at least his family will be able to bury him and properly mourn. One day, I hope to tell them what happened. They should know he was a hero.
My people have transferred your payment in accordance with the instructions you gave them. You’ve been paid in full for Lavi. You have also been paid the same amount for Al-Jib. And there is a bonus.
I don’t know what’s next. There are a lot of meetings going on right now, with me as the subject. For the most part, I don’t care.
I would like to see you again. I hope it will be soon.
– D
I checked the bulletin board I had established with Boaz and Gil. There was a message waiting. It read like an invoice, and matched what Delilah had told me. Next to the amount she had described as a “bonus,” it said:
No hard feelings. With a little smiley face.
I almost laughed. It had to be Boaz.
I checked the account I had given them. The money was all there. I transferred Dox half of everything, then went to meet Tatsu. I would respond to Delilah later.
I took a cab to Hiro and walked. Tatsu was already sitting at the counter when I came in. He got up, shuffled over, and shook my hand. He was wearing a broad smile and it felt good to be with someone who was so happy to see me. Then I realized he was getting the same smile from me.