by Barry Eisler
Larison shook his head in disgust again. “Jesus, when did you turn into such a fucking ostrich?”
Treven leaned toward Larison. “Same time you turned into such a Boy Scout. And you call me a dumb shit. That’s fucking hilarious.”
Larison’s eyes narrowed. I thought of how Dox had miraculously defused the tension the last time we’d all worked together, with a crazy Cleavon Little impersonation. But I didn’t have anything like his over-the-top sense of humor.
“I don’t know about either of you,” I said, this time not trying to puncture a silence but instead to interrupt a pattern, “but speaking just for myself, yeah, saving that school . . . that meant something to me. Treven. Tell me you don’t ever feel bothered by the cost of it. Or wish there were some way you could atone.”
Treven scanned the woods. “Maybe I do, but at least I don’t whine about it.”
I shook my head, tamping down my urge to hit back. “You sure do make it hard for anyone to help you.”
He laughed. “Oh, that’s what this is about?”
“No,” I said. “That’s incidental. But also unavoidable. Because if you’re in denial about working for an outfit that blows up civilian planes to protect child predators, it’s going to eat at you.”
“Let me explain something to you,” Treven said. “I like my gig with OGE. I like the work, I like the benefits, I like what the future holds. And no offense, but I’m not going to jeopardize all that because a couple of burnouts I happened to work with a long time ago think it would be good for my soul.”
He looked at Horton. “Hort, you owed me. A lot. And all I asked in repayment was that you make a couple of phone calls. Which you did. So great, we’re square. Whatever might have gone wrong in your transaction wasn’t my doing and isn’t my problem. So thanks for the visit, but I’m getting cold.”
Larison was watching Treven. The irritation was gone from Larison’s expression, replaced by an odd flatness. I could imagine his calculus: If you’re not with us, you’re against us. And I could imagine the destination to which that logic must have already led him.
As formidable as he was, that was Larison’s one weakness: you could read the danger he radiated. If I had decided to kill Treven, there would have been no changes in affect. I would have kept trying to cajole him right up until it was done. But when Larison made a decision, if he wasn’t ghosting up on you from your flanks, you’d have a chance to know his intent before he acted on it. For most people that wouldn’t be enough to make a difference. For Treven, though, it might.
Which meant things at our church meeting were on the verge of getting ugly.
Horton must have recognized it, too. He said, “John’s right, son. And with due respect to Daniel, you’re not dumb. But you are the youngest in this group. It makes me sad to see you intent on repeating the mistakes of people like me, who really were dumb and now know better.”
He stood and added, “I know you want to believe this thing doesn’t have anything to do with you. A few hours ago, I was telling myself the same. Then a helicopter turned up and rocketed my house to ruins. So if whatever this thing is turns around and bites you on the ass, like it seems to do for anyone who touches it? I’ll still have your back. Even if tonight, you didn’t have mine.”
The rest of us stood—slowly and with hands out front, I was relieved to see, everyone apparently still intent on good, reassuring manners, despite all the harsh exchanges.
Horton, Larison, and I started moving toward the car. “You coming?” I said to Treven.
“I’ll walk back,” Treven said. “Fewer chances of us being spotted together.”
It was a reasonable concern. But I thought it was secondary to what he must have made of that flat expression I’d seen on Larison’s face.
The three of us spread out as we headed to the car. We had to move a little oddly, not wanting to turn our backs on Treven.
We got in, Treven eyeing us closely the whole way, just as we were eyeing him.
“Hey,” he called out as I started the engine.
I looked at him.
“If any of you shows up in my life again, I’m going to assume it’s not for another talk. Because we have nothing more to talk about.”
Larison started to say something, probably not something diplomatic. But Horton got there first. “Remember what I said, son. If you need me, don’t be too proud to reach out.”
chapter
nineteen
LIVIA
The morning after the attack, Livia and Lieutenant Strangeland headed from Strangeland’s place to meet Charmaine Best, the chief of police.
Livia was nervous. She’d barely slept, which wasn’t a huge surprise. But it wasn’t just the aftermath of the attack. Staying with the lieutenant, which would have been weird under any circumstances, was dialed all the way to surreal given that the reason behind it was the possibility of another attempt if Livia tried to go home.
She’d met Strangeland’s partner—Mia, a trauma surgeon with the University of Washington medical system. It was interesting to get a glimpse of Strangeland’s personal life, and Mia had been welcoming enough, but the woman was on her way to work when Strangeland and Livia had arrived, and the meeting had been rushed and awkward. Their house was nice—a single-family place in Crown Hill, lots of books and LP records and a homey vibe Livia wouldn’t have associated with the lieutenant. Of course, how much did she know about Strangeland really? Maybe as little as the lieutenant knew about her.
So she’d lain on the guest-room bed for a few hours, the attack playing over and over in her mind, trying to beat back her fears about what would happen if the investigation went wrong, or what might be discovered about her even if it went right, and who the hell could be after her, and if they actually blew up an airplane as part of a cover-up, and what she was going to do, and on and on and on. Until she’d finally broken down and done what she’d realized earlier she should do, which was to ask Carl for help. And it was the strangest thing—as soon as they were done talking, she felt so much better, and immediately fell asleep.
And twenty minutes later, Strangeland had knocked, because they had an appointment to see the chief and needed to get moving.
Livia had never met the chief, but of course she knew of her—SPD’s first black police chief, a twenty-six-year veteran of the force, respected by the rank and file. A reputation for standing up for her officers, even with the scrutiny of the DOJ settlement monitoring and in the face of media distortions and second-guessing. Which was somewhat comforting under the circumstances. Still, all that was just reputation. There were no guarantees.
She’d asked Strangeland what to expect. And Strangeland was uncharacteristically enigmatic. “You’ll like her,” she said. “But don’t let her lull you. Remember that old saying, Don’t trust anyone over thirty?”
Livia nodded.
“Well,” Strangeland went on, “let’s just say the brass is all over thirty.”
Best immediately rose from behind her desk when her assistant ushered in Livia and Strangeland. Livia was impressed by that—none of the I don’t have to get up for you power games rampant within most bureaucracies. In fact, Best came over and gave Strangeland a hug, saying, “Donna, good to see you, thanks for coming,” as though this meeting might have happened somewhere other than in the chief’s own office.
Then she turned and extended her hand to Livia. “Detective Lone, it’s an honor to meet you. I’ve heard nothing but outstanding things.”
“Thank you, Chief Best,” Livia said, feeling out of her element in the midst of all the wall photographs of Best shoulder to shoulder with the mayor, the governor, and various other VIPs, and the views of the city and Elliott Bay beyond.
“Please, call me Charmaine.” She gestured to a couch and chairs in the corner of the room. “Why don’t we sit over here? And can I get you anything? Coffee?”
Strangeland, who as far as Livia knew had never refused a coffee in her life, said, “Coffee
would be great, Chief. Appreciate it.”
“Just a water for me,” Livia said, thinking it was better to accept some form of hospitality, but feeling wired enough as it was. “Thanks.”
Best called out, “Lloyd, could you bring us a pot of coffee and a pitcher of water? Thank you.” Then she turned to Livia. “How are you feeling?”
The woman’s concern and compassion were reminiscent of Strangeland’s. The difference was, Livia knew that with Strangeland, it was genuine. With the chief, who had to be some kind of politician to get where she was, anything was possible.
“I’m okay. Thanks.”
“No, Livia. How are you feeling?”
The woman really knew how to project empathy. She must have been a great interrogator. Which, at the moment, wasn’t exactly a comfort.
“I’m still . . . processing,” Livia said.
Best nodded. “Of course you are. That’s going to take a while. You know, I had my own officer-involved almost twenty years ago. Clean shoot, returning fire after one of those ‘routine’ traffic stops. A man named Elbert Tidbury, who it turned out had an outstanding warrant. But still, it was a real nail biter before I was cleared. And that was all long before the DOJ settlement. But Detective Phelps is one of the best: methodical, dispassionate, and smart as hell. Exactly the kind of cop you want to clear the case—and clear the air.”
Livia nodded. If the chief had heard anything preliminary from Phelps, she was keeping her cards close.
Lloyd brought in a tray with the beverages, set it down, and left, closing the door behind him. Best gestured to the couch. “Please.”
They sat. Best poured coffee for Strangeland. She didn’t ask about cream or sugar—obviously, she knew the lieutenant well. Which only increased Livia’s discomfort about the unfamiliar terrain. The brass knew each other, had a history together, while Livia was bumping up against all that for the first time. And while Best’s hominess didn’t seem like an act, exactly, there had to be some level of calculation behind it. In a social setting, putting people at ease was gracious. When you did it in an interrogation room, it was intended to encourage the suspect to open up.
“Now,” Best said, filling the two water glasses, “tell me more about what happened with the Child’s Play operation. And what Agent Smith said to you before getting on that doomed flight.”
Livia filled her in. When she was done, Best was silent.
Strangeland said, “Something’s rotten here, Charmaine.”
Best nodded. “I agree.”
Strangeland set down her coffee. “I mean, the Bureau shutting down a joint op—conducted right here in Seattle, with an SPD officer attached—without a word to you first? And that would be bullshit enough. But two shooters coming at Livia and that plane going down a few hours later? Something is way fucking wrong about this, if you’ll pardon my language.”
“Agreed again.”
“Good. Thank you. Now, what are we going to do about it?”
Livia glanced at Strangeland. The lieutenant was pushing it a little hard, and maybe, in her concern for Livia, forgetting that she was talking to the chief, not to one of her officers.
But Best seemed not to be put off by it. “I already have a call in to J. J. Arrington, the head of the Bureau’s Criminal Investigative Division. As head of the VCAC, Agent Smith reported to him.”
Strangeland nodded. “What about the head of the VCAC International Task Force? They would have been working with Smith to liaise with overseas counterparts. The Child’s Play operation involved multiple foreign jurisdictions. Smith wasn’t the only VCAC person who might shed some light.”
Best pursed her lips in the first sign of what Livia thought might be irritation. “I understand how you feel. But the way to get cooperation from the Bureau isn’t to go around the person in charge. Which is why I’ve started with Arrington.”
“Okay, good, but in the meantime, Livia’s in danger.”
Best nodded. “And that’s why I’m going to have two SWAT officers assigned for close protection twenty-four-seven until we’ve ascertained who, if anyone, the attackers were affiliated with.”
For an instant, Livia thought she saw something ripple across Strangeland’s expression—discomfort? Suspicion?—and then it was gone. But maybe it was just Livia’s own projection, because although she was relieved to hear Best describe the two as “attackers,” the thought of being shadowed by SWAT officers . . . she hated it. She didn’t want to be watched. She didn’t want to be seen.
Strangeland glanced at Livia as though reading her mind. “Don’t even think about trying to say no to that, Livia.”
Best raised her eyebrows. “Is that even a possibility?”
Strangeland shook her head. “No. It’s not. Detective Lone sometimes has a hard time accepting help from people who care about her. But we’ve been making progress on that.”
Livia said nothing, knowing it wasn’t a battle she could win. And that fighting it would have looked strange. What cop in her position wouldn’t want some kind of protection, at least until more was known?
But she had a feeling the real route to solving this thing, whatever it was, went through Little, and Carl and the friend he’d mentioned, and Kanezaki, and whatever contacts they had. Having a couple of SWAT guys on her back wasn’t going to make those channels any easier.
“What else can I do?” Best asked, and Livia had to admit, the woman’s reputation for standing by her officers seemed well deserved.
“I’ve been thinking about that,” Strangeland said. “And what we can infer about why Livia was attacked. It seems the most likely explanation is that someone is intent on preventing a front-page scandal about a child-pornography ring operating out of the Secret Service. I think the right way to defuse that motive is to make a very public stink.”
Best’s expression was neutral. “I don’t follow.”
“Well, I think maybe you, or even the mayor, could give a press conference, announcing what Livia was working on and what she uncovered, and that the two Bureau employees she was liaising with were on that plane. And that we believe it’s all connected. We’d make it harder for them to move against Livia again. Because if anything happened to her, it would be proof of the allegations. It would bring a ton of heat. They’d see they’d missed their opportunity, and back off.”
Best nodded for a long moment as though considering the idea, but Livia sensed that what she was really considering was how to phrase her refusal.
“It’s an interesting idea,” she said after a moment. “But can you imagine the reaction if we were to publicly accuse the Secret Service—the Department of Homeland Security, for God’s sake—not just of trying to murder a Seattle cop, but of blowing up a US airplane, all to conceal a child-pornography ring that we suspect but are nowhere near being able to prove the Secret Service might somehow be involved with?”
“Of course I can imagine,” Strangeland said. “But—”
“And that’s just the guaranteed cost. Let’s set that aside for a moment and consider the potential benefit. We have no way of knowing that publicity would make these people back off. Even if this isn’t all a coincidence—and we don’t know that—upping the stakes might make them want to silence Livia even more. Maybe right now, they’re thinking that with the contract hacker gone—who, from what you’ve explained to me, was ideally positioned to connect Child’s Play with the Secret Service in the first place—and no one asking too many questions, maybe it’s not worth another attack on Livia.”
Strangeland nodded her head quickly. “Yeah, but they don’t know—”
“This is exactly my point. They don’t know how much the contractor told Livia. How much of a threat she is. If she becomes a focal point for scrutiny, they might reassess. And we would have caused that.”
Livia didn’t necessarily agree. But anything that kept her out of the news was fine with her.
Strangeland said nothing. Livia sensed she knew she’d lost and was struggling
with the urge to go on fighting regardless.
Best reached out and touched Strangeland’s hand. “Donna. I have the utmost gratitude and respect for your devotion to your officers. For your desire to find some way to protect your detective. But a press conference isn’t the way to do it. And neither would an anonymous call to a sympathetic reporter, most of whom, believe me, I know personally. No news organization anywhere would run a story as thinly sourced as what we have, and no one would pay any attention even if they did.”
That was a not-so-subtle warning: If you’re thinking about trying to end-run me on this? Don’t. I’ll know it was you.
Strangeland nodded. Livia saw that her coffee was only half-finished. It was about as glaring a sign as Livia could reasonably imagine of the depth of her distress over the situation.
“I know it’s not what you wanted,” Best continued. “But Detective Phelps’s investigation, my inquiries with the Bureau—which I will escalate if necessary—and, most of all, SWAT protection, are, in my opinion, the right way to proceed.”
Livia knew it was over. And in case Strangeland didn’t, she quickly said, “Thank you, Chief. Charmaine. I really appreciate all you’re doing.”
Best stood and Livia followed suit. Livia felt the hug coming, and forced herself not to recoil. There were other huggers on the force, and as uncomfortable as the contact made her, she had some practice concealing it.
But maybe Best had some notion, because the hug was notably brief. Strangeland stood and received one in return. Somehow it seemed devoid of the warmth that characterized the one Best had delivered at the outset.
Best walked them to the door of the outer office. But like the hugs, the homey courtesy felt different to Livia now. Less natural. More performative.
“If there’s anything else you need, Donna,” she said as they reached the doorway, “I want you to let me know. Livia, that goes for you, too. Whether it’s through your lieutenant or directly. You know how to reach me.”
