“You…you’re…” I said, stupidly, my game plan suddenly shredded.

“I love you,” she said again.

There was a long pause.

“I don’t know what to say,” I managed to mumble.

“The traditional response is, ‘I love you, too.’ You can try that, if you want.”

I swallowed. “Tell me about Boaz,” I said, hoping she would accept it as a kind of answer.

“He has something that can get you onto the boat safely. And Dox off it. He’s on a private plane. It’s fueled and ready to go, and he can meet you anywhere. You just have to call him and tell him where.”

There was another long pause. I said, “Give me the number.”

She did. I jotted it down.

“I, uh, I’ll…” I said.

“Just help Dox. And protect yourself. We can talk about the rest later.”

“Wait,” I said. “I…”

But she had already clicked off.

I called the number. A voice I recognized said in gruffly accented English, “Boaz here.”

“Hello, Boaz,” I said.

“Shalom, Rain-san,” he said, and I imagined his irrepressible smile. “I was hoping you would call.”

“This line is secure?” I asked, hoping the answer was yes now that he had used my name.

“Of course. Where are you?”

“That depends. What do you have for me?”

“Delilah didn’t tell you?”

“Not specifically.”

“Then I’ll just say this. It’s a hostage rescue technology developed by our Sayeret Matkal commandos. Top secret. And just what you need.”

“What’s it going to cost me?”

“We want Hilger dead. He killed Gil in Hong Kong, as you know, and we’ve been looking for him ever since. Delilah says you have actionable intelligence pinpointing his location. If that’s true, the Sayaret technology is yours to use. I can bring it to you.”

Actionable intelligence? I thought. Maybe now, but not when Delilah had contacted Boaz. Well, she’d told him what she thought was necessary to get him involved.

“You’re not worried about CIA retaliation?” I said, stalling for time so I could think about whether to tell him where to find me.

“Hilger’s not CIA anymore, as you know. He’s a freelancer now. That makes him vulnerable.”

Not exactly a comforting statement, from my perspective. Goddamnit, how was I going to handle this…

“I’m in Singapore,” I said, feeling I was losing control of the situation. First Kanezaki, then Delilah, now Boaz…Christ, why not just throw a party?

“I’ll be there in three hours. Tell me where.”

“Can I reach you on this number?” I asked.

“Of course, it’s a mobile, GSM.”

“I’ll call you. Be somewhere in the Orchard Road shopping center.”

After the usual assuming-the-worst precautions at and en route from the airport, adjusted to account for the extensive public camera coverage courtesy of the Singapore government, I made my way to the Grand Hyatt near Orchard Road, Singapore’s upscale shopping district. It was about eighty degrees and humid, and I relished the tropical heat after the arctic conditions in New York. The area in front of the Towers was bustling with well-dressed Chinese, Malays, Indians, and foreigners, and I caught snatches of conversation in a half-dozen tongues. Cars and taxis were lined up patiently at traffic lights in the rush-hour congestion, and I almost smiled at the distinct absence of honking horns. It seemed these people had found a way to get along.

I took the elevator to the tenth floor, then the stairs down to seven. I moved along the empty hallway watchfully until I came to Kanezaki’s door. I knocked, then took several steps back. Despite what my rational mind was telling me, I hated showing up where I was expected. Especially after what had happened outside Accinelli’s apartment.

Kanezaki opened the door and looked out at me, a slightly quizzical expression on his face. “You going to come in?” he said.

I nodded and made my way into the room. The shades were down, and I noticed immediately the sliding doors to the bathroom were open. Likewise the closet. He was being courteous, as well as sensible. When you’re dealing with someone looking for a threat, you’re asking for trouble if you don’t let him see your hands.

Kanezaki locked the door and turned on the DO NOT DISTURB sign. Then he put a nylon duffel bag on one of the twin beds and gestured for me to help myself. Inviting me to reach into the bag, instead of doing it himself, again showed experience and good sense.

I dropped my carry-on and took a look. Inside was a 45 SOCOM HK Mark 23 with Trijicon night sights, a laser aiming module, Knight’s Armament suppressor, two spare mags, one hundred rounds of Federal Hydra-Shok, and a Wilcox tactical thigh holster. Also night-vision equipment. Same gear he’d gotten Dox and me for our raid at Wajima a year earlier.

“I told you, something concealable,” I said, hefting the HK, racking the slide to check that the chamber was empty. With the attached suppressor, the damned thing would be a foot and a half long.

“I do the best I can,” he said. “I thought you liked the SOCOM.”

“I like it fine. I just don’t want to walk down the street with it in broad daylight.”

“This is going to go down during the day? We don’t need the night-vision equipment, then.”

“No. Although better to have it and not need it.”

“Well, the SOCOM is what I can borrow from the armory without anyone asking questions. Look, there’s a pair of fishing coveralls, too. The thigh rig will fit inside with room to spare. Slice a hole at the hip and you’ll have easy access.”

I pulled out the coveralls he was talking about and draped them open. Yeah, I supposed they would serve. He even had disassembled rods and a tackle box inside, obviously for cover at the yacht club. I saw a baseball cap and shades, too, along with gloves, binoculars, and the requested medical kit.

“You’ve thought of everything,” I said, not displeased.

He shrugged. “Two heads are better than one. Look in the tackle box.”

I did. In addition to a full complement of fishing gear, there was a Benchmade Mini-Reflex with a three-inch blade. I pressed the catch and the blade sprung into place.

“Nice,” I said.

“Don’t get caught with it. It’s illegal except for active duty military and law enforcement. You could get in trouble.”

I laughed and pocketed the knife. “What about the body armor?”

“In the closet.”

I glanced over. Two blue vests hung from a pair of hangers. I walked over and hefted one. “Christ, it’s light,” I said. “You sure this is any good?”

“Dragon Skin. It’ll stop a 7.62 round at twenty-four hundred feet per second.”

I nodded, liking the sound of that. “You’ve got two in here,” I said.

“I’m going with you.”

I looked at him, and saw he was serious.

“No,” I said. “It’s not necessary. It’s not even a good idea.”

“I’ve thought it through. I don’t see how you can do it alone. Figure at least two fixed defenders, maybe more, and…”

“Do I seem to be getting old?” I asked.

“What? No. I mean, the same as usual.”

“At the rate I’m going, I half expect someone to try to take my arm when I go to cross the street.”

“Why, who else is trying to help you?”

“Never mind.”

“Anyway, it wouldn’t matter if you were twenty. That’s not the point.”

I thought of Boaz. “I’ve got something that’ll change the odds.”

“What?”

“Let’s just say you’re not my only low friend in high places.”

He didn’t say anything.

“Look,” I said, “it’s not that I’m not grateful. But you and I have never operated together before, not when it comes to kicking down doors, anyway. We’re as likely to get in each other’s way as we are to do each other any good. Trust me on this, okay?”

He didn’t answer.

“You’re an ops guy, Tom, and you’ve turned into a damned good one. But you’re not a shooter. Play to your strengths. You’ll live longer.”

We were quiet for a moment. He said, “You’re still going to need someone to drive. I’ve got a van.”