The Last Assassin

37

Listening to Delilah's progress inside the club, I was both pleased and concerned. Pleased that things had turned out so that she was in a position to report precisely on Yamaoto's position. But concerned that she was closer than was ideal. Certainly she had lost some freedom of maneuver. Sure, she could excuse herself to use the restroom, but what if something held her up on the way? Or if, when she went to do it, Big Liu decided to tag along so he could speak to her privately, make a pass, whatever? There were a dozen ways this unexpected arrangement could cause problems for us.

In fact, it already had, because she was no longer free to speak and so couldn't give Dox and me the real-time updates I wanted. She'd been doing a nice job of keeping us informed under the guise of talking to the people she was with, true, but that kind of communication had its limits.

Well, she knew where Yamaoto was right now and could tell me soon enough. In the meantime, I wanted to get things rolling.

'Delilah,' I said, 'I'm going to jam the main room emergency exit door now. We'll use the basement exit, per the plan. If that's okay, clear your throat.'

She did.

'Okay,' I said. 'I'm on my way. I'll be in touch again in a few minutes.'

I picked up one of the steel bars and started moving in. I was wearing a navy suit, deep blue shirt, and a navy tie. Dark, dark, and dark isn't exactly the height of sartorial splendor, in my book, but the outfit served two purposes. Out here, it would reassure anyone who might see me that I was a fine, upstanding citizen, perhaps carrying away some refuse. I'd have to keep my right side away from an onlooker, of course, lest the suppressed HK and thigh rig spoil the effect, but in low light that would be good enough. A black ninja outfit and matching balaclava just wouldn't have conveyed as favorable an impression. And later, inside the club, with the lights out, the outfit would make me that much less visible. The rubber-soled Clarks shoes I was wearing weren't going to threaten Jermyn Street fashion dominance anytime soon, either, but they were as surefooted and quiet as sneakers. Comfortable, too.

At the end of the alley, I stopped to look and listen – all quiet – then crept over to the rear of the building. I put one end of the bar in one of the expansion gaps in the path, then quietly placed the other at about waist level on the nonhinged side of the emergency door. I played with the angle, up and down, left and right, until the fit was snug, then repeatedly shoved down on the bar until it was wedged as tightly as possible into place. I tried to pull it out, but it wouldn't budge. Okay. I headed back to my position.

'The emergency exit off the main room is jammed,' I said into the transmitter. 'So now it's up to you. I'm waiting for your signal. Clear your throat if you copy and I'll stand by.'