by Barry Eisler
“Actually,” he said, “one more thing. Keep your passport with you. And a lot of extra cash. You don’t want to be reliant on ATMs, and you never know when you might have to get out of town suddenly.”
“Anything else?”
“Hell, yes, anything else. I know low people in high places. And some of them know even lower ones in even higher places. We’ll figure out what’s going on here. And we’ll take care of it.”
“You’re talking about K.?” she said. It was how he’d initially referred to Kanezaki. She’d since learned his actual name, but for whatever reason they’d stuck with the abbreviation.
“Yeah, K. That boy is consistently an intel gold mine. But someone else, too.”
“Who?”
“A friend. Who against formidable odds once rescued me from a jam with some maximally unpleasant people. And who knows more about killing and surviving than anyone I’ve ever known.”
“More than you?”
“Let’s just say, a lot of what I know I’ve learned from working with him. Though don’t quote me on that, because he can be insufferable about his talents, and I don’t want to feed his Yoda complex.”
There was a pause. Then she said, “Thank you, Carl.”
“It’s nothing. I’ll reach out to him as soon as we’re off the phone.”
“No. I mean . . . thank you for you.”
He wanted to tell her he’d missed her. Really missed her. That he hadn’t fully realized how much until he’d heard her voice right now. And how worried it made him to know she was in trouble.
But shit, he was being stupid. “Nothing to thank me for,” he said. “If you hadn’t dropped those goons in Sorm’s nightclub, I wouldn’t even be around for you to enjoy my conversation.”
“If that was a debt, you already repaid it.”
“All right, then. I’m going to help you just because I care. And that’s never going to change. Can you handle it?”
There was another pause. She said, “Yes.”
He felt himself getting stupid again and pushed it away. “All right,” he said. “Let me get in touch with K. and the other friend I mentioned. And depending on what we learn, I might just pay you a visit. Sounds like you could use a bodyguard right now.”
“I don’t need a bodyguard,” she said, and he realized he should have known a comment like that would make her prickly.
“My God,” he said. “Will you really deny me every last dignity, and force me to confess that the bodyguard thing was just a ruse to conceal my longing to see you again?”
She gave him one of those soft laughs, probably knowing he wasn’t being completely facetious. “I don’t know what to do with you,” she said.
“Pardon me, but the drop-down menu of my mind just offered up so many enticing possibilities that for a moment my brain froze.”
She laughed again.
“You might not need it,” he said. “And I know you don’t want it. But will you stop being so selfish? You called me, and now I’m concerned. If you won’t let me get involved, I’m just going to lie awake at night.”
He imagined her smiling. After a moment, she said, “You win.”
He nodded, glad that he was going to get to see her, and relieved that she was being sensible. “Get a new phone. And call me in a few hours. I ought to have a better idea by then of what’s going on.”
He clicked off.
He considered for a moment. He knew she was too proud to admit how scared she must be. He hoped knowing she could count on him was at least something of a comfort.
But she wasn’t the only one who wasn’t admitting to being scared. Anyone who would bring down a damn plane to silence an enemy wasn’t just capable. They were committed. And god-awful ruthless on top of it.
Well, they better be. Because as far as he was concerned, anyone intent on harming Labee was about to get a lesson in what ruthless really meant.
chapter
seventeen
RAIN
For the next half hour, I followed Horton’s directions and kept to back roads. Horton and I had ditched our phones, and Larison’s sat phone was still off, though probably untrackable regardless, so that was covered. And the car didn’t have a GPS navigation system, so no vulnerability there. Still, a near-hit like the one we’d just been through shakes you up. Because if you hadn’t spotted the danger before, how could you be sure you were past it now?
Eventually, we came to an empty campsite. We parked under a stand of trees, with a granite cliff to our backs. It was inherently comforting to have some cover and concealment, though if we had to face another minigun-and-rocket-equipped helicopter, a little rock and some tree branches were going to be about as useful as tissue paper.
We got out of the body armor and put it in the trunk. I felt strangely naked without it, given what we’d just been through, but at this point there was likely more risk of a park ranger calling in some suspicious militia types than there was of another attack.
I hoped.
At any rate, we seemed to have the area to ourselves, perhaps a consequence of the recent rains and the relative lateness of the hour. We sat at a picnic table, the tips of the Blue Ridge Mountains in the distance incongruously placid in the gray light of the setting sun.
Horton said, “You know the worst part?”
Larison and I didn’t answer, and after a moment he continued. “That Glenlivet. I wish I could have brought it with us. Could use a drink right about now.”
“Well,” I said, “at least we got to taste it.”
Horton gave me a rueful smile. “There’s that.”
“Graham,” Larison said. “He was watching you—maybe with that helicopter, probably with something subtler and more persistent.”
Horton looked at me. “Apparently so. However your conversation with him went, he must have been concerned that you and I were going to close the loop in a way he would find unfavorable.”
“Tell me what you know,” I said.
He shrugged. “As I said earlier, not that much. He told me he had a job. Very sensitive. Something that needed to look natural. He asked if I could broker an introduction.”
“How did he even know you and I were acquainted?”
“Because Ben Treven told him so.”
Treven. Another black-ops soldier who had once reported to Horton, and with whom I worked as part of the detachment Horton had assembled to stop a domestic coup.
“Why?” I said. “What’s his angle?”
Horton glanced at Larison, then back to me. “Ben has moved on from employment with the US government—in part, I regret to say, because my own manipulations made it untenable for him to stay. He’s with OGE now, and not particularly happy in the private sector. Graham was asking about you, having heard stories he thought might be myths. Ben made the mistake of acknowledging he knew you, at which point Graham dangled all sorts of career advancement if Ben could make it work out. Ben’s been chafing at no longer being on the inside, and he rightly blames me.”
I didn’t detect any incongruities. At least so far. “He called and said you owed him.”
“That’s right,” Horton said. “He didn’t have contact information for either of you, otherwise doubtless he wouldn’t have used me as a middleman. I spoke with Graham, then reached out to Daniel here. You both know the rest.”
Larison said, “You trust Treven?”
Horton shrugged. “If he weren’t trustworthy, he would have been one of the men you killed in the woods around my house just now. Or he would have killed you.”
Larison shook his head. “You had it right the first time.”
I couldn’t disagree. Treven was exceptional. But Larison was supernatural.
“Regardless,” Horton said, “the fact that Graham didn’t find him suitable for this particular mission ought to tell you everything you need to know.”
“It tells me some things,” Larison said. “Not everything. You didn’t just train him, Hort. You were some kind of
father figure. You’re not objective about Treven. You never have been. And if you can’t realize that, it’s a bad fucking sign.”
Again, I didn’t disagree with Larison, but I didn’t see a benefit to his getting in Horton’s face more than he already had—especially because of the way Horton was now looking at him.
“Killing you himself is one thing,” I said, looking at Horton, trying to interrupt any ugliness. “But how’s Treven going to react if he learns Graham tried to do it?”
“If you’re wondering whether we have a man inside,” Horton said, still staring at Larison, “right now, I wouldn’t want to bet either way.”
“Graham told me the job was three people in law enforcement,” I said, doing the conversational equivalent of getting between two people who are heading toward blows. “A Fed, a local, and a consultant. Does that mean anything to you?”
Horton broke the stare with Larison and looked at me. “No. Was there anything else?”
“The work had to look natural,” I said, relieved that we seemed to be back on track. “Which makes sense, since he was intent on involving me. The time frame was tight—maybe three days. He claimed the job would be easy because they had extensive intel and could help control the environment. And the local law enforcement was a woman—a Seattle cop.”
Horton shook his head. “Still doesn’t mean anything to me.”
“Try this,” I said. “The price was a million US.”
“A million?” he said, raising his eyebrows. “That’s a hell of a premium, even for three. I’d be surprised you didn’t want the work, if I didn’t know about your reticence regarding women.”
“And the diamonds we took from you,” Larison said, giving him the shark’s smile.
Fortunately, Horton ignored the taunt. “So three jobs, a million US, and it was critical it all looked natural because Graham went to a lot of trouble to ferret you out. Now, why natural?”
“Blowback, obviously,” Larison said. “The targets are high-profile. And connected in some way, such that if all three were seen to be assassinated, it would reveal something the people behind it wanted to keep obscured.”
“Agreed on all that,” I said. I looked at Horton. “And the fact that Graham was devoting significant resources to watching you, presumably to ensure that you didn’t get a visit from me, also suggests this whole thing is intended to conceal something big. Not to mention the fact that he was willing to send in a helicopter gunship to sleepy Coleman Falls to make sure our conversation didn’t get past a single tumbler of Scotch.”
“I had to guess?” Larison said. “I’d guess a joint federal–Seattle law enforcement operation that threatened some aspect of Graham’s empire.”
Horton nodded. “Could be that. Or a law-enforcement operation that threatens some government program. The Pentagon or CIA wouldn’t want to be directly involved in the assassination of multiple law-enforcement agents. Sure, the plan was for things to look natural, but why take a chance on leaving fingerprints when you can bring in a reliable contractor as a cutout?”
I nodded. “And if the risk is big enough, the contractor doesn’t want to take it, either. He brings in a subcontractor.”
“That’s right,” Horton said. “And whatever the pay was for OGE, or whatever the stakes, by contrast Graham was treating a million dollars like walking-around money.”
Larison did one of his periodic scans. “Great, so this thing is obviously big. But we still don’t know shit about the specifics. Without which, you might want to go to the car and get back into that body armor. We’re going to need it for a while.”
“Treven,” I said. “How much do you think he knows?”
Horton rubbed his chin for a moment. “When I spoke to him, he claimed not to know anything, other than that Graham wanted you for your ‘natural causes’ expertise.”
“Probably telling the truth,” Larison said. “If this is as big as we think, why would Graham share it with the hired help?”
“Agreed,” I said. “Still, Treven might have pieces. The relevance of which he’ll be able to see only if we put our heads together.”
Larison cracked his neck. “Which brings us back to the question of whether we can trust him. I’d say the answer is no.”
“I can call my CIA guy,” I said, meaning Kanezaki. “His intel is typically gold. Albeit usually with a price to match.”
“Why don’t I reach out to Ben first,” Horton said. “He’s the most directly involved. Even if it turns out he’s untrustworthy, what could he tell Graham that Graham doesn’t already know? With all the bodies back at what’s left of my house, he knows we survived. And he knows we’ll know he was behind it. We might not learn much from Ben, but we wouldn’t be risking anything asking.”
I considered. “If Graham is monitoring other potential vulnerabilities the way he was monitoring you, you might create danger for Treven the way we created it for you.”
Horton shook his head. “Graham already knows about that connection. He exploited it in getting Ben to reach out to me in the first place. He’s probably expecting me to be in touch at this point. If there’s danger to Ben, it exists either way.”
We were all quiet for a moment. Larison reached into his bag, pulled out the satellite phone, and powered it up.
“Hold on a second,” he said. “There’s a text. Your buddy, Dox. He wants me to call him.”
I shook my head, wondering if maybe I’d misheard. “Why is Dox texting you?”
“I told you. He wants me to call.”
“What I mean is, I didn’t know you were in touch.”
“Not often. But yeah, he sometimes calls to shoot the shit. Guy likes to talk. It annoyed me at first. But . . . like I said, he grows on you.”
“Well, call him,” I said. “If we’re up against all of OGE, we could use the help.”
Larison input the number, waited a moment with the phone to his ear, then said, “Hey. Just got your message.”
A pause. He looked at me. “Have I got a way of getting in touch with him? I guess so. He’s sitting right next to me.”
What the hell?
Another pause. “You’re the joker, not me. Here, I’ll put him on.”
He handed me the phone.
“Yeah?” I said, feeling distinctly uneasy.
“Sir, it’s come to our attention that you are part of a core demographic in need of our miracle new penis-enlargement supplement. For a limited time only, we are offering double doses for the low introductory price of just nine ninety-nine a month. And sir, given the demographic you are unfortunately a part of, I feel confident in assuring you our supplement would be a bargain at twice the price.”
The Texas twang was unmistakable. So was the salutation. I sighed. “Are you going to tell me next you’re not just the president of the company, but a customer, too?”
He laughed. “That’s pretty good, partner. I think retirement must suit you. I don’t know if you’ve grown anything else, but it sounds like you’ve grown a sense of humor. Now where the hell have you been? I sent you a message on the secure site last night.”
“I’ve been traveling. Why are you . . . how did you know who I’m with?”
“I didn’t. I just didn’t know how else to get in touch with you because you won’t even leave a damn sat phone turned on, and you weren’t responding on the secure site. From the sound of things, I got lucky. Why didn’t you call me if you were going to get the band back together?”
“I was planning on it. Things have been developing a little faster than I’d like. Is everything okay?”
“Things are fine with me. But I’ve got a friend who needs some help, pronto. That’s why I’ve been trying to reach you. And you’re traveling, you say? That’s my bad luck. I’ve got a little layover at a major airport in your neck of the woods. Would have been nice to see you. Well, maybe we’ll still get the chance.”
I was still struggling to connect all the dots. He knew I was in the Tokyo area, so the
airport would have been Narita. But where was he going? And why the sudden urgency trying to reach me?
“I’ve got a bit of a situation here myself,” I said. “Which is why I was going to call you. Who’s your friend?”
“A nice lady I met and partnered with while doing some contract and related work recently in your overall Southeast Asia region.”
Dox was a dictionary of euphemisms, but I’d never known him to use “partner” for other than something both professional and serious. “Nice lady,” on the other hand, could mean anything from someone he admired from a distance to a girl he was shacking up with. And as hardheaded as he was in almost every other way, I knew Dox could be a sucker for a damsel in distress.
“Partnered with?” I said. “I’m sorry, I just survived a helicopter attack and I’m a little rattled.”
“Helicopter attack? Who’d you piss off this time?”
“It’s a long story and I’ll fill you in later. Who’s your friend? What kind of trouble?”
“A police detective who seems to have stumbled onto something so nefarious the powers that be are now intent on killing her to cover it up. I mean, they even—”
“Wait a minute, a Seattle police detective?”
“Yeah, how’d you know?”
“The guy behind the helicopter attack I just mentioned. Less than a week ago, he tried to hire me to kill a Seattle cop. And a federal agent, and a consultant. I told him no, but—”
“Well, fuck me running. That’s my gal. The agent and the consultant were part of the same law-enforcement operation she was working on. And that plane that got blown up, or whatever happened, the agent and the consultant were on it.”
“Hold on. You’re telling me that—”
“Yeah, I’m telling you that. Sounds like you were a damn plan A—kill all three of them and make it look natural. But you said no, so they went to plan B. Kill two of them in a plane crash and blame it on ISIS or whoever. Conceal a murder in a massacre. And kill my gal the old-fashioned way, with bullets, but she’s got a ton of enemies due to her years of dedicated police work and her murder gets attributed to that. No one makes the connection—that all three of them were killed because they uncovered a child-pornography ring right in the middle of the damn Secret Service.”
