The Killer Collective

by Barry Eisler

  “I didn’t say it. You would have thought I was laying it on too thick.”

  “You didn’t say it because you didn’t want to sell past the close. Anyway. Show me the video. I should know what this is all about.”

  Livia took a laptop from her bag. She set it on the counter and spent a minute configuring it. Then she rotated it so the screen was facing Delilah and held her finger over the “Play” button. “I’ve watched it too many times already,” she said. “I don’t need to see it again.”

  She pressed “Play.”

  For a moment, Delilah couldn’t believe what she was seeing. Literally, couldn’t believe it, was sure it must be something else. Then she realized it was her mind, trying to defend itself from horror, looking for a way to believe this was anything but what it obviously was. The reality of it hit her like a blow to the stomach. She threw a hand over her mouth, lurched to the toilet, dropped to her knees, and threw up.

  Livia hit “Stop” and the child stopped screaming. Delilah breathed heavily for a moment, then retched again, thinking My God, my God . . .

  Her stomach did a slow roll, but then seemed to achieve some stability. When she was sure it wasn’t going to happen again, she spat, stood, and flushed.

  “Well,” she said. “You certainly proved your point. You must have enjoyed it.”

  Livia looked at her, and it was the oddest thing—the woman seemed to be fighting tears.

  “There is not one thing I enjoy about those videos,” she said. “Except punishing the people who make them.”

  There was a knock on the door. “Everything okay in there?” John said.

  “Fine,” Delilah said. “Just Livia and I, getting to know each other.”

  “Oh. Okay, good. When you’re out, maybe I could take a quick shower.”

  “Yes. And then we should go.”

  There was a pause. He said, “Are you coming?”

  “Yes.”

  Another pause. Then, “Thank you.”

  Delilah looked at Livia. “I’m glad I can help.”

  chapter

  thirty-nine

  RAIN

  Per the plan, we met outside the Grande Galerie de l’Évolution. Dox, Horton, and Larison were already waiting at the top of the stairs as the rest of us approached through the garden. As soon as Dox saw Delilah, his face lit up in a delighted grin and he started heading down.

  “Hey there,” he said, which for Dox was practically tongue tied. He gave her a hug—affectionate, certainly, but briefer and more deferential than one of his typical bone-crushers.

  “Dox,” she said, smiling at him. “You know in Paris, it’s more the kiss.” She mimed the double cheek kiss.

  “Well, we can do that, too,” he said, and promptly did so.

  She laughed. I knew she didn’t mind the hugs—on the contrary. The comment was more a when in Rome reminder. But good luck with that with Dox.

  It felt right to be back with the two of them. More than right. What the hell had been wrong with me, to walk away from people who had my back the way they did? I needed to come to grips with that. And make sure it never happened again.

  Horton shook Delilah’s hand with a genteel “It’s a pleasure to meet you, ma’am.” Larison did so with only a wary nod. As soon as the introductions were done, Larison said, “I have a suggestion.”

  We all looked at him.

  “Hort’s people came through with five Beretta APXs and bellyband holsters. Extra magazines, too. Hort has one set and Dox and I are each carrying two, and we’re starting to clank when we walk. There’s a restroom next to the library inside. Single toilet stall. Why don’t we use it one after the other to get you and Livia equipped. Quick drop, no public exchange.”

  I nodded to Horton. “Glad your people came through.”

  Dox said, “Partly came through. Still would be good to have a proper rifle on hand.”

  “Well,” Horton said, “if you don’t want the pistol . . .”

  Dox shook his head. “Roger that, my bad. Didn’t mean to sound ungrateful. Just want to make sure we have the full range of options.”

  Larison used the stall first, leaving one of the Berettas for Livia, then Dox repeated the exercise for me. Everyone was keeping one eye on the two approaches to the library, but no one followed us in.

  When we were done with the hardware, we took a stroll down the long sand-and-gravel paths of the gardens, symmetrical rows of trees to our sides, the branches forming a canopy against the sun overhead. The benches beside the paths were occupied by tourists and Parisians—pensioners snoozing or reading; mothers with infants, chatting; young people, probably cutting classes, smoking and laughing and holding hands.

  Dox took the opportunity to throw an arm around my shoulder. “Proud of you, son.”

  I glanced at him and said nothing.

  “I mean, I knew the second I saw you two that you’d kissed and made up.”

  Still I said nothing.

  “And thank God, too, ’cause I’ll bet you haven’t been laid since the last time you saw her. Not many women are as charitable as Delilah, and that’s a fact. You’re a lucky man.”

  Saying nothing seemed not to be working, so I tried “Thanks.”

  He laughed. “Okay, I’m done giving you a hard time. Seriously, man, I’m happy for you both. You two are made for each other. The only person who couldn’t see it was you.”

  “I thought you were done giving me a hard time.”

  “What? That’s not a hard time. It just feels hard ’cause it’s the truth.”

  We paused by a thick cluster of trees. Between the six of us, we had complete coverage of every approach to our position. But the gardens were peaceful, just wanderers and daydreamers enjoying the sunny afternoon.

  “Ben checked in,” Horton said. “He and Graham arrive tomorrow morning. He says he wants to meet.”

  I nodded. “What do you think?”

  Horton glanced at Larison. “You know what I think.”

  Larison said, “I think Treven’s full of shit. How do we know he doesn’t show up with an army of OGE operators in tow?”

  I looked at Horton. “Why doesn’t he want to just use a phone?”

  Horton shrugged. “Would you?”

  I glanced around the gardens and saw no problems. “Generally no, but I’d prefer a phone to a face-to-face I thought might be unacceptably dangerous.”

  “For what it’s worth,” Horton said, “I had the same misgivings, and expressed them to Ben. He told me he wanted to do it face-to-face, and if we had a problem with that, it was up to us, and we didn’t have to hear what he had to say.”

  “I can’t say I like the sound of that,” Dox said.

  Livia nodded. “Same.”

  “I understand how you feel,” Horton said. “So I’ll tell you what. Since I’m the only one who seems convinced Ben wouldn’t double cross us, I’ll meet him myself. The risk will be mine alone.”

  Larison glanced at him, and I could tell he wasn’t happy about the idea. Not because of an excess of concern about Horton’s welfare. But because he distrusted Horton only slightly less than he distrusted Treven.

  “There’s another possibility,” Delilah said.

  We all looked at her, and she went on. “There are six of us. We can monitor the route. If there’s a problem, we abort before Colonel Horton is even in position.”

  “Please, call me Hort,” Horton said. “Or Scott, if you like. I haven’t been a colonel in a long time.”

  Delilah nodded. “Hort, then. John, you remember Le Piano Vache, near the Pantheon?”

  It was a jazz bar I had introduced her to—one of the places I had found during my explorations of the city. I nodded, having some notion of where she was going.

  “It’s a narrow street and there are only two approaches,” she went on. “If they meet there, the rest of us can monitor the route. The Sainte-Barbe Bibliothèque side, and the Rue de la Montagne Sainte Geneviève side. That little restaurant, L’�
�curie—it’s right on the corner. I could sit at one of the sidewalk tables with a view of the entire approach. The Bibliothèque side would be a little trickier, but four of you could have the street covered.”

  I looked at Larison. After a moment, he said, “I like it. With one change.”

  “Yes?” Delilah said.

  “Aborting is fine,” Larison said. “But if Treven brings company, I don’t see any reason we should let any of them just walk away. I don’t mean to tell anyone else here how to protect yourselves, but what works for me is, you only get to come at me once. I don’t let people walk away from that. I don’t give second chances.”

  I had no problem with that. I looked at Horton. He said, “That’s fair.”

  I nodded. “Tell him . . . you’ll meet on the south side of the Pantheon at nineteen hundred. There are a bunch of hotels on that side, all with views of the whole Place du Panthéon. Shouldn’t be hard to find a room. If we can’t, we’ll figure out something else. You’ll be out somewhere on foot, someone else will be in the room watching the street. If Treven shows up and the spotter sees no problems, you come out from hiding. Then the two of you walk to Piano Vache, with the rest of us all already in position to see whether anyone is ghosting along behind you. And we don’t have to worry about anyone setting up at the bar before you get there.”

  Horton smiled. “I like it.”

  “Seven o’clock is early,” I said. “The bar won’t be crowded. None of the nearby restaurants will be, either, and Delilah won’t have a problem getting an outdoor table at L’Écurie. You’ll walk right past her. If for some reason she can’t get a table, there are a few other places nearby that would also work, though not as well. We should walk the route, though—now, and then again later, to note any time-of-day changes we might need to take into account. Also, I know not all of us are familiar with Paris, so we’ll want to go over escape routes, bug-out points, and backup plans.”

  Dox nudged Livia. “What did I tell you?”

  I knew he was ribbing me about the micromanaging. I didn’t care. “Better to say it now,” I said, “than regret it later.”

  Livia looked at me and inclined her head toward Dox. “He micromanages, too.”

  “I do not,” Dox said. “I give appropriate instructions for the consideration and benefit of my peers.”

  “Well, for the consideration and benefit of my peers,” I said, “let’s go see the terrain we’re talking about.”

  “One thing,” Livia said. “I’ve noticed a good number of surveillance cameras around the city.”

  I nodded, glad she was pointing it out, since I’d been about to and it would have just become fodder for the micromanagement cracks. “Yeah,” I said. “Not nearly as bad as London, but they’re around. What are you thinking?”

  She pulled a baseball cap and shades from a pocket in her cargo pants. “I picked these up while I was wandering the area around the hotel. Wouldn’t hurt for everyone to do something similar. And maybe when we get close, one of us can go ahead and see what kind of surveillance environment we’re wandering into.”

  Once upon a time, I had a video-camera detector, courtesy of my late friend Haruyoshi “Harry” Fukasawa. But emerging technology had eventually outpaced it, and sadly Harry was no longer around to implement any updates.

  “Good idea,” I said. “I don’t remember any cameras near the bar, but . . .”

  “It’s possible it’s changed since you were last here,” Livia said, “and if it has, it could only have gotten worse.”

  I would have expected a cop to have a more positive view of surveillance cameras. But I saw no reason to point it out.

  “Agreed,” I said. “We’ll stop at a few tourist stores along the way for hats and shades for anyone who doesn’t already have them. And why don’t you make the initial pass? Seems like you have a good eye for where to look for the cameras.”

  Piano Vache was about fifteen minutes away on foot. Delilah walked ahead with Horton and Larison. I was unsurprised that she was taking the opportunity to get to know them, and to make sure everyone got comfortable and familiar with everyone else. Dox, perhaps recognizing the possibility of mutual assured destruction, didn’t make any more cracks about Delilah and me.

  Delilah was already carrying a scarf and sunglasses, but the rest of us picked up caps and shades in a handful of stores along the way. Near the end of Rue Descartes, with Piano Vache a couple of minutes away, I said, “Left here, then your second right—Rue Laplace. The bar will be on your right. Obviously, what’s directly in front of the bar is most relevant, but make sure to have a good look up and down the streets on either end of Rue Laplace, too.”

  I looked at Dox. He held up his hands in mock surrender and said, “I didn’t say anything.”

  The rest of us grabbed a couple of tables at a place called Le Petit Café. Everyone got coffees, but I was done with caffeine for the day and stuck with an orange pressée.

  Twenty minutes later, Livia was back. “All good,” she said quietly, sitting and pulling her chair in close. “Nothing on Rue Laplace, nothing up or down either of the streets running perpendicular to it. Of course, I could be missing something, but if so, it’s well hidden.”

  “Okay, let’s stagger it,” I said. “Two by two. And regroup here in thirty minutes to compare notes.”

  A half hour later, we were back. Everyone was reasonably satisfied with the terrain and our ability to monitor the approaches to the bar. I saw one thing missing, and I was pleased that Larison brought it up first.

  “What if Treven is carrying some kind of beacon?” he said. “It could be anything—his phone, a commercial GPS tracker, something connected to Wi-Fi. In which case, no one follows him. They just show up ten minutes after he arrives.”

  “Come on,” Horton said. “What would be the point? Best case from their perspective, they’d drop me. Meanwhile, the rest of you would still be at large. And you’d all know Ben is a rat. They’d be showing their hand for almost no winnings. I appreciate the concern, but since it’s my risk, why don’t you just let me take it?”

  “What about this?” Livia said. “The place directly across the street has a second-story terrace. Maybe twelve feet up, with a trellis on the corner, a streetlight, a concrete lip . . . I could be up and over in five seconds, with cover and concealment and an elevated position directly over the entrance.”

  Larison said, “What are you, some kind of monkey?”

  She stared at him, and he added, “I meant it as a compliment.”

  “I was looking for places we could set up,” she said. “Not just for cameras.”

  I glanced at Horton. “Can your local contacts get us any kind of body armor?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Earpieces, lapel mics?”

  Horton nodded. “I don’t think that should be a problem.”

  I looked at Larison. After a moment, he shrugged. “It’s up to you, Hort. You’re the one who trusts Treven.”

  chapter

  forty

  DOX

  The hotel room was nice, but Dox wouldn’t have minded twin beds instead of the king. Not that he didn’t want to share a bed with Labee—literally and otherwise—but he wanted her to be comfortable. And despite the crazy thing that had happened that night in Rayong, when they’d been stressed and on the run and she’d just taken him the way he guessed she needed to, she was still protective of her space.

  On the other hand, he wasn’t exactly consumed with regret that circumstances had conspired to force the issue. Although really, it wasn’t like they’d be in the bed much together anyway. Dox thought it was excessive, but John wanted everyone to sleep in shifts, just in case they’d overlooked something in their security and the wrong people decided to show up in the wee hours. John had gotten them all a second room in one of the Pantheon hotels they were going to use for countersurveillance. And then, when in front of everyone Delilah had said, “John, why don’t you stay at my place—three in one of t
hese Latin Quarter hotel rooms is going to be very tight,” Dox had been tempted to make a crack, something along the lines of Oh, no, you know John, I’m sure he’d prefer to stay close to the rest of the team and watch the street through the curtains, or maybe something about Delilah taking one for the team by shacking up with John. But instead, he’d just looked at her and smiled, because he was happy it seemed to be okay for them for the moment, and he hoped it would last. And she’d given him a subtle smile back, along with a small shake of the head, like she was saying, You better not say anything smart, and he just kept smiling and shook his head back, like he was saying, Oh, no, I would never.

  He’d taken a shower, which was heavenly, then put on one of the hotel’s fancy robes, to find the lights low and Labee looking out through the curtains. He would have liked to think she’d turned down the lights to create a romantic atmosphere, but he knew it was just so she wouldn’t be silhouetted from the street.

  He eased himself into the plush chair in the corner and sighed. “My lord, I needed that.”

  She nodded. “Why don’t you crash first. I’m pretty wired.”

  She sounded tense—probably about sharing the room. That was all right. He figured he’d just keep talking until she felt reassured.

  “Nah, that’s okay,” he said. “I’m a little wired myself. What’d you think of Delilah? Glad you two finally met.”

  She kept looking through the curtains. “She doesn’t trust me. She thinks I’ve manipulated all of you into a war that’s not yours.”

  “Hmm,” he said. “I’m very fond of Delilah, but I don’t believe her view is fair or accurate.”

  She looked at him. “You don’t think I’ve manipulated you?”

  “You asked me a favor. Where I come from, we don’t call that manipulation. Especially when the person asking is someone who saved your life.”

  “Yeah, but the favor was just to help me. And then I told you I didn’t want your help if . . . you know. If it didn’t involve taking down Child’s Play.”

  “Sure, I suppose that might have been manipulative, if I wasn’t already determined to help you in that regard. I mean, not to sound selfish or anything, but helping you kill Sorm and those other traffickers in Thailand was about the best thing that happened to me all year. Besides meeting you, that is.”