The Last Assassin (32 page)

I
WENT BACK TO RIO
. It wasn't home, just where I was living for the moment. But I had nowhere else to go.

I stayed up late and got up late and took a lot of walks. I read some books of the embarrassingly self-help persuasion. None had quite the title I was looking for—
Killer's Ten-Step Conscience Cure,
maybe, or
Your Best Life After Betrayal,
something like that—but I picked up a few insights along the way.

More than anything else, I threw myself into grueling jujitsu workouts. At first, I thought I was having control issues not so different from what drives people with eating disorders. Then I thought maybe it was some kind of age-denial thing, because if you can do two hours of nonstop matwork in an un-air-conditioned room during Rio's December summer, it must mean you're immortal.

But as the workouts grew more intense, resulting in a series of minor injuries, I realized what was really going on. I was trying to punish myself. Because, deep down, I knew everything Dox had said to me at Heartman was true.

Sometimes I think the urge to believe in our own worldview is our most powerful intellectual imperative, the mind's equivalent of feeding, fighting, and fornicating. People will eagerly twist facts into wholly unrecognizable shapes to fit them into existing suppositions. They'll ignore the obvious, select the irrelevant, and spin it all into a tapestry of self-deception, solely to justify an idea, no matter how impoverished or self-destructive.

And that's what I'd been doing. What had Dox called it? My “it's me all alone against the world bullshit,” that was it. And to support that bullshit, I'd been deluding myself in a variety of areas.

For one thing, I'd been making too much of Midori's memory. Yes, we had chemistry. And the time we'd been pursued by Yamaoto in Tokyo had involved enough friction so that sparks were inevitable. But after our split, I wanted to believe that whatever had been between us was unique, that it could never happen again. Because if it was exceptional, it must be an exception, maybe even the exception that proved the rule. And the rule was that I would always be alone, and could never trust anyone.

But my partnership with Dox didn't fit comfortably with that rule. And my relationship with Delilah suggested that Midori hadn't just been a one-off, either. So now, some wretched part of me was intent on turning Dox and Delilah into exceptions, too, so it could pat itself on the back and proclaim, “See? I told you so.”

What I was doing, I was sabotaging myself. Well, it was time I stopped.

One day, I called Delilah on her cell phone. When she answered, I asked her, “How would it be if I came to see you?”

There was a long pause. She said, “I don't know. How would it be?”

“I'm not sure. But I'd like to find out.”

There was another pause. She said, “So would I.”

“Where are you? Paris?”

“No, I'm back in Barcelona.”

“Different cover?”

“No. I just need someplace new for a while.”

“How did things turn out at work?”

“The review is over. They told me they were going to give me a formal reprimand. I told them if they did they could kiss my ass and find someone else to do what I do. Now they're rethinking.”

“What are you going to do now?”

“I don't know. I could use someone to talk about it with, though.”

“I'd like that. I could use someone to talk with, too.”

“How soon can you be here?”

I paused, then said, “I'll be on the next fucking flight, if you'll have me.”

She laughed and said, “Well, what are you waiting for?”

I smiled. “Let me go take care of the travel stuff. I'll call you back.”

There was a flight on Iberia, leaving at four o'clock that very day. I booked a seat and told Delilah I was coming. Then I called Dox.

“It's me,” I said. “John.”

“Yeah? John who?”

I smiled. “Nice try. Pretty soon you're going to be angling to get me to say my social security number over the phone. But you can only push me so far.”

He laughed. “How you doing?”

“I'm all right. I've been doing some thinking.”

“Well, that sounds promising.”

“Yeah. I owe you an apology.”

“That's the truth.”

There was a pause. I said, “Well, I apologize.”

“All right, I accept. Too bad you're not here, I'd give you one of those hugs you crave.”

“Yeah, I'm broken up about that, too.”

We were quiet for a moment. I said, “You know, you called me a dumbass.”

“Well, you were acting like one. I didn't mean to imply that the condition was permanent. That's up to you. Sounds like maybe you've opted for something better.”

“Maybe ‘recovering dumbass.'”

He laughed again. “You talk to Delilah?”

“I'm going to see her later today.”

“Good. You let me know how that works out, all right?”

“I will.”

There was another pause. I said, “Where are you, Bali?”

“Yeah, I'm building a house out here. You ought to come see it.”

“I'd like that. And if you need a break, why don't you come out to Barcelona?”

“That where you're going to see Delilah?”

“Yeah. You should come out. You know, the three of us never had a chance to celebrate after what we did in Tokyo. And you're rich now, you can afford the flight.”

He laughed. “That's true. Tell you what, I'll come out today.”

“Uh, maybe you should wait just a few…”

He laughed again. “I'm pulling your leg, man. You two have a lot to talk about and I don't want to be in the way. Plus I reckon you'll need some of the old conjugal time together. So I'll tell you what. You call me in a few days or a week, and if everyone's amenable it'll be my pleasure to come out and pop some of the bubbly.”

I found myself thinking of Tatsu. I said, “You're a good friend to me, Dox. Thank you.”

“Don't mention it, man. I'll see you soon, here or there.”

I caught a cab to the airport. I watched through the window as the city's famed beaches went by, and was pleased to think that in just a little over half a day I would be walking along their Mediterranean counterpart.

I thought about my son. I wasn't going to have the relationship with him I'd been hoping for. I couldn't be part of his life. But forever? That's a long time. Maybe Dox was right. Blood matters, and not just in the way Midori had suggested. I couldn't be with my son today, but in five years? Ten? I didn't know. The uncertainty wasn't a happy prospect, true, but it was better than accepting that I would never see him at all. It was better than if he had never even existed. It was a hard path ahead, I thought, but on balance, I ought to be grateful for it.

And Tatsu had told me to watch over my boy. I wanted to do that. Not just for the child. And not just for myself, either. But for Tatsu. Fate had denied him a life with his son, and it had been important to him that my fate be different. I would try to make it so.

Still, I couldn't deny the justice in Midori's urge to keep Koichiro from me. I had told her Yamaoto and the two thugs in New York were the last, that it was over, I was out. But Dox was still in the life, and so, probably, was Delilah, and if either of them ever needed me I'd have to be dead not to come running.

And then there was Kanezaki, and the “favor” I owed him. I didn't know what it was, but it was a safe bet it would involve more than watering his houseplants while he was out of town.

But why think about all that now, on my way to see Delilah? Barcelona had been an interlude before. It could be one again.

No, that wasn't quite right, I realized. Barcelona hadn't been an interlude. It had been…anarmistice.

But that was all right, too. An armistice wasn't so bad.

It was better than being at war. And if I could find a way to another armistice, and then another, maybe I could string them all together, and one day they'd actually add up to peace.

One day.

ONCE AGAIN
, I've written a book that has been made much better through the generous contributions of many friends. My thanks to:

My agents, Nat Sobel and Judith Weber of Sobel Weber Associates, and my editor, Dan Conaway (aka Mad Max Perkins) of Penguin, for always steering me toward the truth and never letting me get lazy.

Michael Barson (master of Yubiwaza) of Penguin, for introducing Rain to New York's Ear Inn, and for doing such an amazing job of getting out the word on the books.

Massad Ayoob of the Lethal Force Institute, for sharing his awe-inspiring knowledge of and experience with firearms tools and tactics, for the great instruction at the LFI I (see you at II, Mas), and for helpful comments on the manuscript.

Tony Blauer, for teaching Rain the SPEAR technique he uses in the combat sequence outside Midori's apartment, and Mike Suyematsu, certified Blauer PDR instructor and a guy who shares Rain's roots, for terrific CQC instruction and for helping me choreograph the SPEAR sequence.

Matt Furey, for again providing some of the Combat Conditioning bodyweight exercises that Rain uses in this book to stay in top shape (and that his author uses, too).

Dan Levin, for sharing his remarkable knowledge of Japanese swords and swordsmanship, and for helpful comments on the manuscript.

Peyton Quinn of Rocky Mountain Combat Applications Training and author of
A Bouncer's Guide to Bar-room Brawling
and
Real Fighting
, for his concept of the previolence “interview.”

Ernie Tibaldi, a thirty-one-year veteran agent of the FBI, for continuing to generously share his encyclopedic knowledge of law enforcement and personal safety issues, and for helpful comments on the manuscript.

Novelist Marcus Wynne, for sharing his experience with knives (particularly the FS Hideaway), tactics, and the Special Ops community.

Again and always,
sensei
, Koichiro Fukasawa of Wasabi Communications, a singular window on everything Japan and Japanese, for years of insight, humor, and friendship, and for helpful comments on the manuscript.

Yukie Kito, for introducing Rain to Shinagawa, a part of Tokyo with which Rain was insufficiently familiar, for keeping an eye out for Dox in the Shinagawa Station Starbucks, and for helpful comments on the manuscript.

Patricia Escalona, Sylvia Fernandez, Carlos Ramos, Blanca Rosa, and everyone else at Roca Editorial, my Spanish publisher, for introducing Rain to the bars of El Born, Torre d'Alta Mar restaurant, La Florida Hotel, and so many other marvelous places in the marvelous city of Barcelona.

Naomi Andrews, for guiding me on all things French and Parisian, and for helpful comments on the manuscript; Joshua Geller, for sharing his expertise on the New York jazz scene; Lori Kupfer, for continued insights into what sophisticated, sexy women like Delilah wear and how they think, for advice on New York and Paris museums, art, and shopping, and for helpful comments on the manuscript; and Chad and Christi, for making Rain feel so welcome at Milk & Honey.

Roberta Parks, M.D., Owen Rennert, M.D., Evan Rosen, M.D., Ph.D., and Peter Zimetbaum, M.D., for offering no-longer-reluctant expert advice on some of the killing techniques in this book, and for helpful comments on the manuscript.

The extraordinarily eclectic group of philosophers, badasses (mostly retired), and deviants who hang out at Marc “Animal” MacYoung's and Dianna Gordon's www.nononsenseselfdefense.com, without whose imagination and expertise Rain and Dox could never have prevailed against the sumos. In particular, thanks to Dave Bean, for sharing his encyclopedic knowledge of all things forbidden, including a firebomb sequence that didn't quite make it into the final version of this story; Wim Demeere of the Grinding Shop, for his friendship, great CQC instruction, and enthusiasm for John Rain; Dr. Maude Dull, for saving lives when she can and comforting the bereaved when she can't, and for her unusual attempts to get Rain to kill a pig by natural causes (next time, Maude, I promise…); Jack “Spook” Finch, Mr. Lawsey, Lawsey himself, veteran of the Vietnam War's Easter Offensive, Operation Just Cause, Operation Desert Storm, and Silver Star awardee, for sharing his experiences with “the cost of it,” for teaching Dox to carry more blades than a combine, and for helpful comments on the manuscript; Montie Guthrie, for sharing his knowledge and experience with firearms tools and tactics, for becoming sexually stimulated by the “love scenes,” and for helpful comments on the manuscript; and Michael “Mama Duck” Johnson, for helping Rain find a knife in New York. A special thank you to Marc MacYoung and Slugg, experts on criminal behavior, operator mind-sets, combat tactics (Delilah's “finishing move” in Barcelona, for example, is Marc's), and tradecraft, without whose experience, insights, and stern beyond-the-call-of-duty comments on the manuscript John Rain might not have survived this story.

My friends at Café Borrone in Menlo Park, California, for serving the best breakfasts—and especially coffee—that any writer could ask for.

Eve Bridberg, Vivian Brown, Alan Eisler, Judith Eisler, Shari Gersten and David Rosenblatt, Tom Hayes, novelist J. A. Konrath, Sarah Landis, Doug Patteson, Matt Powers, Sandy Rennert, Ted Schlein, Hank Shiffman, Pete Wenzel, and Caryn Wiseman, for helpful comments on the manuscript and many valuable suggestions and insights along the way.

Most of all, to my wife, Laura, who helps me conceive and revise these books, and then enjoys them, like no one else. Thanks, babe.