Hunter was a killer, a trained sniper. He wasn't someone to just sit and wait for.

Klaussen looked up the last number he'd had for Le Roux and dialed it. Le Roux picked up.

"It's me," Klaussen said. "What's going on?"

"What do you mean what's going on?"

"Yeah, what's Joe coming to do?"

Le Roux said he didn't know what Klaussen was talking about.

"I know there's a hit on me," Klaussen said. "Give me a reason. Tell me why. If you are going to kill me, tell me why. I want to know if I died for an illusion or for a stupid reason. Or maybe you're mentally ill, I don't know."

Le Roux stopped playing dumb. "I did an investigation," he said. Three hundred thousand dollars had gone missing from the Somalian operation. The remaining employees had pointed to Klaussen. Le Roux cited as proof the condominium that Klaussen was living in, in Dubai.

"Listen, I'll send you all the documents, the financial reports," Klaussen said. "Every dollar is accounted for during the period I was there. So please, I know you're smart enough. I know nobody can cheat you. But check them again. I'm going to call you back in two days. And you tell me again that I took three hundred thou- sand dollars. If you can show me one dollar that I took from you, send Joe, it's fine. But make sure he's ready. Because I'm going to wait for him." He hung up the phone and emailed Le Roux the records he'd maintained on the project, including a list of serial numbers of all the cash ever spent under his watch.

Then Klaussen looked up the website of the CIA, the first agency that popped into his head, and sent an email to a generic address. In it, he reported that he'd worked for a man named Paul Le Roux, that he had information about large-scale international criminal- ity, and that he was willing to talk. No one replied.

A few days later, Klaussen called Le Roux back, and before he could say anything, Klaussen launched into a prepared speech. "I