The Detachment - Barry Eisler [61]
I wondered about the knife. It had been a near thing and I realized I’d been complacent because Finch didn’t look the type. Plus, how the hell had he gotten it through security on his flights? Maybe he had a checked bag. Or maybe there was some sort of special dispensation for government officials. There usually is.
Twenty minutes later, after discarding in various refuse containers the coveralls and the plastic sheeting I had used to kill Finch, I called Dox. Larison would be doing the same with Treven. “It’s done,” I told him.
“No trouble?”
“A little,” I said, thinking about the cop. “But we handled it.”
“Good to hear. You’re okay?”
“Fine.”
“You want to meet and brief?”
“Better to do it on the other side of the pond. No sense being seen together here unless there’s a good reason.”
“Other than my fine company. But don’t worry, it’s okay.”
I wondered for a moment whether I’d hurt his feelings. Did he really want to just…get together? Celebrate, or something?
But he quickly disabused me with a laugh. “Just kidding. Actually, since there are no more trains at this hour, I was thinking I might find a companion more closely suited to my proclivities, as you like to call them.”
“Sure, knock yourself out. Just check for the Adam’s Apple, okay?”
Once, in Bangkok, Dox was all set to go off with a gorgeous lady boy when at the last moment I had taken pity and warned him. But saving him from an embarrassing mistake and letting him live it down were two different things.
He laughed. “Yes, sir, I have learned my lesson. Anyway, I’m looking forward to an evening on the town. Don’t forget, this was a nice payday. Though I feel like you’ve done most of the heavy lifting.”
“I wouldn’t feel comfortable doing it under the circumstances if you didn’t have my back.”
There was a pause, then he said, “I appreciate that, man. Thank you.”
I thought of the way he’d carried me, as I was bleeding out, over a giant shoulder in Hong Kong, of the transfusion he’d saved me with afterward. “It’s just the truth.”
“You’re not going to get all sentimental on me, though, are you?”
I smiled. “Never.”
“Well, it’s a good thing we’re not getting together tonight. I’d probably give you a big hug, and you might embarrass yourself by hugging me back.”
“Yeah, thanks for that. I appreciate it.”
He laughed. “Okay, then. Gonna party like a rock star and I’ll see you soon.”
I clicked off and walked alone through Vienna.
I thought about everything Larison had said earlier. I told myself, just one more.
The mantra of many an alcoholic.
Larison walked slowly back to the hotel, trying to avoid civilians, keeping to the shadows. His mind was racing and his emotions were roiling and he knew when he was feeling like this the people around him could sense it, like some weird disturbance in an urban force field. A prostitute trolling at the edge of a park he passed started to smile at him with practiced professionalism, and then the smile faltered. A cloud passed across her face and she took a step away, half turning as though preparing to run. In a more superstitious culture, he knew, she might have crossed herself.
He walked on, his head tracking left and right, checking hot spots, logging his surroundings. How could Rain be so stupid about what he was up against with Hort? With Treven, he understood the psychology—the attachment to the unit, the command structure, the blessing of higher authority. But Rain, obviously, didn’t need that kind of support network, and had long lived outside it. Then what was making the man hesitate? If his motives were purely mercenary, the diamonds were the obvious play. Was this really about doing something good in the world? The notion was vaguely seductive, but come on. All Larison wanted, the best he could hope for, was to eliminate the threat, get back the diamonds, and live out the rest of his days