She lay there for a long time, struggling with warring impulses: hope and fear, sympathy and anger, temptation and guilt. Eventually, just before moonlight gave way to sun, she slept.
3
Delilah and I spent the rest of the week in Barcelona. My 'situation,' as I thought of it, wasn't on my mind as much as I would have expected, and its absence seemed linked to Delilah's presence, because I found myself thinking of it mostly when she was off doing something else and I was left alone. At those times I would be gripped by a vertiginous combination of excitement and dread, and I was always glad when we were together again.
Of course the news had been a surprise to her, but beyond that I couldn't tell. I didn't know what I was expecting, exactly – that she would be angry with me? Argumentative? Sullen? But she wasn't. We would get up early and stay out late and make love before napping every afternoon and we didn't discuss it again.
The only clue I had to how she might really be feeling was that she was less moody than she had been in Rio. Rio had been the first extended time we'd spent together, and it had taken me a while to get used to her periodic pouts and petulance there. But in the end I'd come to appreciate that side of her because it felt real. It told me she was comfortable with me, she wasn't acting. And now I wondered if the more consistent good cheer on display in Barcelona was deliberate, a form of overcompensation intended to obscure whatever was really going on inside her.
The morning I left, she came with me to the airport. I shouldered my bag outside security and tried to think of something to say. She looked at me, but I couldn't read her expression.
'I hope you're going to be careful,' she said, breaking the silence.
That wasn't really like her. I shrugged. 'That's not a hard promise for me to make.'
'I'm more concerned with whether you'll be able to keep it.'
'I'll keep it.'
She nodded. 'You going to call me?'
That was even less like her. 'Of course,' I said, but the truth was, my mind was already half elsewhere.
I kissed her good-bye and got into the security line. When I turned back a minute later, she was gone.
Once I was past immigration, I used a prepaid card to call my partner, Dox, from a pay phone. The burly ex-Marine sniper had provided me with his new, sterile cell-phone number via our secure electronic bulletin board. He was stateside at the moment, visiting his parents, and to contact Midori securely I would need his help.
The call snaked its way under the Atlantic and rang on his mobile somewhere on the other side. Then the irrepressible baritone rang out: 'Dox here.'
I couldn't help smiling. When he wasn't in stealth mode, Dox was the loudest sniper I'd ever known. One of the loudest people, even. But he'd also proven himself a trustworthy friend. And, apart from certain stylistic differences that sometimes drove me to distraction, a damn capable one.
'It's me,' I told him.
'Who's "me"? I swear, if this is another one of those "switch to our cellular service and we'll send you a free set of steak knives…"'
'Dox, keep it together. It's me, John.'
He laughed. 'Don't worry, partner, no one else even knows this number, so I knew it was you. Just wanted to see if I could get you to talk a little on an open line. I see you're loosening up some, and that's all to the good.'
'Yeah, well, I guess I owe that to you.'
He laughed again. 'You don't have to thank me, I know how you feel. What's on your mind? Didn't expect to hear from you so soon.'
'I've got a… situation I could use your help with. If you're interested.'
'This one business, or personal?'
'This one is personal. But it pays.'
'Son, if you have a personal situation you need help with, I'm not going to take your money for it. We're partners. I'll just help you, like I know you'd help me.'
I was so used to thinking in terms of me against the world that I was momentarily speechless at how much I could depend on this man.
'Thank you,' I managed to say.
'It's nothing, man. Tell me what you need.'
'How soon can you be in New York?'
'Shit, I can be there tomorrow if you need me.'
'No, take the weekend with your folks. I've got a few things to do first anyway. How about if we plan to meet on Monday?'
'Monday it is.'
'And maybe you won't take money for this, but I'm not letting you go out of pocket. You tell me what you spend on travel, okay?'
'Sure, I'll just take my customary suite at the Peninsula and you can settle it directly with them.'
'That's fine. Although somewhere downtown might be more convenient.'
'Shit, man, I'm joking. Not about the Peninsula – that's an outstanding institution. About letting you pay. You shipped me your share of the proceeds from the Hong Kong operation, remember? That ought to cover my current expenses, and then some.'
In Hong Kong, Dox had walked away from a five-million-dollar payday to save my life. Afterward I'd given him the fee I'd collected for the op as a small way of saying thank you. He hadn't wanted to take it, but had finally agreed.
'All right, I'm not going to argue with you,' I said.
'Good. You can buy the beer, though. Or that fancy whiskey you like.'
I smiled. 'I'll call you Monday.'
4
I wasn't pressed for time, so I flew indirectly, which is always safer. I cleared customs at Dulles, outside Washington. The Watanabe identity I had created to get me to Brazil three years earlier was still functional, and it took me through customs without a hitch. From there, it was just a short flight to New York.
Despite my oblique approach, when I arrived at JFK, I scanned the crowd outside the arrivals area, then followed a circuitous route through the airport that would draw out any surveillance and render it visible. Arrival areas are natural choke points, typically with lots of waiting people who unintentionally offer good concealment for an ambusher, and I always go to a higher level of alertness, and engage in appropriate countermeasures, at this point when I'm traveling.
When I was confident I was alone, I went outside. I emerged to a cold and rainy New York afternoon. The sky was lead gray, and it looked like the rain might turn to wet snow any minute.
I hadn't been here in several years. My childhood was divided between Tokyo and upstate New York, and Manhattan was the first big American metropolitan center I ever saw or spent significant time in. Since then, I've been back on business any number of times, but never business like this.
The cab line wasn't long. When it was my turn, I got in and told the driver to take me to the Ritz Carlton Battery Park. I'd made a reservation from Barcelona, but hadn't wanted to mention that over the phone when I was talking to Dox. Maybe I was loosening up a little, as he'd suggested. But some habits die hard.
I watched through the fogging windows as we drove. The cab's wipers beat relentlessly, thump-thump, thump-thump, and I heard thunder in the distance. We crossed into Manhattan, and what pedestrians there were all had their heads down in the hoods of raincoats and under the canopies of umbrellas, their shoulders hunched as though by the weight of some ominous circumstance.
I thought I was going to be excited when I arrived here, but I wasn't. Instead I felt scared.
When you live your life in danger, you're afraid a lot of the time. But you develop a system for dealing with it. You favor certain tools, you refine your tactics, and with success you come to trust both. You learn to focus more on the approach than on the destination, and that keeps the fear at bay. Gearing up calms you down.
So as we pulled up to the hotel, I tried to focus on how I would get to Midori, the kind of thing I'm comfortable with, and not on what I would do afterward, about which I had no idea.