Requiem for an Assassin Read Free

interest in him is secondary.”
    Pancho hunched forward, his head dropping as though he were zeroing in for a knockout. “Access agent, then?”
    Hilger nodded. “An unwilling one.”
    “Who’s the primary?” Pancho asked.
    Hilger looked at Demeere, who he suspected had already guessed.
    Demeere said, “John Rain.”
    Pancho looked at Hilger. “The freelancer? The one who took out Winters?”
    Hilger nodded. “And Calver and Gibbons, too. Those losses were why I had to dig so deep and bring in a mistake like Drano. It’s hard to find good people.”
    Pancho returned his gaze to Demeere. “How’d you know?”
    Demeere shook his head to indicate he wasn’t privy to any knowledge Pancho lacked. “I didn’t. I guessed.”
    Pancho cracked his knuckles and stared at Demeere as though considering how much credence to give the man’s response.
    Guthrie said, “Rain…this is the Japanese assassin, right?”
    Demeere nodded. “Half Japanese. His mother was American. But he looks Japanese. At least, that’s what I’ve heard. I’ve never seen him. Not many people have.”
    Hilger said, “I have.”
    The third time Hilger had used Dox, the man was supposed to eliminate Rain. Dox knew Rain from Afghanistan, a connection Hilger thought would enable the former sniper to get close enough to do the job. He’d gotten close enough, all right, so close that Rain and Dox had joined forces and then in the space of a single year had torn apart two of Hilger’s operations. True, it hadn’t been personal—neither man had understood what those operations were really about—but Hilger’s losses had been considerable. Among other things, he had been forced to abandon the Hong Kong cover he had been living and relocate to Shanghai.
    Also, at the disastrous conclusion of that second blown op, Dox had leveled Hilger from behind with a chair launched from the top of a riser of stairs. It could have been worse—if Dox had been properly armed, Hilger would be dead now. As it was, the massive bruise from the impact had lasted for a month; the memory, considerably longer. Hilger couldn’t deny that he took some pleasure in imagining how he would soon squeeze Dox for the information he wanted.
    Pancho was still staring at Demeere. The half-Mexican was a reliable operator, but prone to feel slighted easily and to react with anger.
    Hilger decided to cut short a possible argument. “Demeere was in charge of the op to try to render Rain out of Bangkok. He was running Winters and a local team there. That’s how he knew just now. How he guessed.”
    Pancho eased back an inch on the bed. “How’d it go down?”
    “We don’t know all the details,” Demeere said. “It seems Rain spotted the ambush Winters had set, and attacked. Two of the locals got away. Two others Rain killed with a knife. Winters was found in an alley with defensive wounds on his arms and a slashed subclavian artery. Bled out internally.”
    “Rain beat Winters in a fucking knife fight?” Pancho asked. “I knew Winters. He had a kali background. Trained in the Philippines. He was good with a blade.”
    “Rain’s had a lot of training, too,” Hilger said. “Judo. Boxing. Edged weapons when he was with Special Forces. And a hell of a lot of practical experience.”
    Pancho nodded as though considering. Demeere looked at him and asked, “Does that make you nervous?”
    Pancho returned the look. “No.”
    Demeere offered a slight, chilly smile. “It should.”
    Pancho smiled back. “Maybe Rain just got lucky. Or maybe Winters wasn’t being run properly.”
    Guthrie said, “Anyway, the point is, Winters was good.”
    Demeere, his eyes still on Pancho, said in lightly accented but otherwise perfect English, “Fuck-all good.”
    “What about Calver and Gibbons?” Guthrie asked.
    “Shot to death,” Hilger said. “In a Manila restroom, while they were trying to protect an agent in another op.”
    Pancho looked at Hilger. “So you’re looking for