The Chaos Kind

by Barry Eisler

  Diaz shook her head. “I tried. All he would say is if I didn’t get him out of jail right away, there would be what he called ‘a shot across the bow.’”

  Dox had heard that kind of thing before. “Well, he would say that, wouldn’t he?”

  Labee looked at him. “That doesn’t mean it isn’t true.”

  “Fair enough,” Dox said. “I guess we’ll find out soon enough. Unless the people who took him can get him to reset the system beforehand.”

  Diaz looked at Dox. “Who are you? How are you involved in this?”

  Dox gave her a quick rundown, doing his best to leave out anything that could be used against him in the proverbial court of law.

  When he was done, Diaz said, “I can’t believe this shit goes on.”

  “Me neither,” Dox said. “And I’m part of it.”

  They were quiet for a moment. Labee said, “But why would Hobbs have believed Schrader’s lawyer? I mean, would they really have conspired to murder an assistant US Attorney, and to break Schrader out of prison, based just on the lawyer’s say-so?”

  “No,” Diaz said. “Schrader said the lawyer showed Hobbs excerpts. Proof.”

  Dox realized something. “Wait a minute. If the damn lawyer has some kind of highlight reel, anybody who’s trying to roll this thing up by disappearing Schrader is likely to make a run at the lawyer, too. Do we know who or where this person is?”

  “Yes,” Diaz said. “Her name is Sharon Hamilton. She’s been in Seattle since Schrader’s arrest. Staying at the Four Seasons.”

  “And where’s that?”

  “Downtown,” Labee said. “Fifteen-, maybe twenty-minute drive.”

  Dox pulled out his burner. “Larison and Manus might be able to get there faster than that. And if we all get there together, it’ll be good to have backup. Alondra, do you know Hamilton’s cellphone number?”

  “Yes,” Diaz said. “But . . . shit, it’s on my phone. I left it in the library near the courthouse.”

  “Good,” Labee said. “That was the right move.”

  Dox’s mind was racing. He was getting a bad feeling about Hamilton. He looked at Diaz. “Can you get it from someone in your office? Or by calling Hamilton’s office?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Not Meekler,” Labee said. “I don’t want you talking to him right now, or having to answer his questions. We don’t know who’s in on this.”

  Dox thought of Kanezaki. “Well, try who you can,” he said. “And even if you can’t manage it, maybe my contact can get the number just from Hamilton’s name, and he can track it for us, too. But let’s get someone over to the hotel first.” He called Larison’s burner.

  Larison picked up instantly. “Everything okay?”

  “Copacetic. I mean, copacetic’s a relative term this morning, but you know what I mean. You getting along okay with our new friend?”

  “We’re fine. Nice to spend time with someone quiet for a change.”

  Dox would have laughed, but he was too concerned about Hamilton. “Okay, here’s the deal. I need the two of you to get over to the Seattle Four Seasons pronto.”

  “You want us back in Seattle? After the park, I thought the idea was for us to stay out.”

  “Hey, we’ve been improvising on everything today, why should we stop now? Anyway, Schrader’s lawyer, Sharon Hamilton, is staying at the hotel. And for reasons I don’t have time to get into right now, I think she’s in danger.”

  “Well, what do you want us to do?”

  “I’d say for starters kill anything that looks dangerous.” He covered the microphone and said to Diaz, “Kill being a euphemism, of course.”

  He put the phone back to his ear. Larison said, “At least this time you’re not asking me to just hit someone with an umbrella.”

  “I don’t care how you do it. The main thing is, if we want to figure out where this opposition is ultimately coming from, we need to know what Hamilton knows. That’ll work best if she’s alive and not disappeared by whoever took Schrader. Now head over there double time. I’m doing the same, and I’ll see if K. can confirm a cellphone location, too. If Hamilton’s not at the hotel, I’ll call you back.”

  He clicked off and looked at Labee. “You got a nav system in that Jeep of yours? I don’t know how to get to the hotel.”

  “I’ll drive you.”

  “No, I don’t think that’s—”

  “I’ll drive you.”

  If there’s one thing he’d learned about Labee, it was the futility of arguing. “Can Alondra stay here?”

  Diaz said, “I’m coming, too.”

  Labee shook her head. “Bad idea.”

  “I’m the only one Hamilton knows,” Diaz said. “She won’t listen to you. Or go anywhere with you.”

  Dox said, “How about if you just call her at the hotel? See if you can reach her in her room and tell her to stay put and not answer the door.”

  “Even if I reach her, if you go without me, she won’t know who you are.”

  Dox stood and called Kanezaki. “Well, whoever’s going, let’s make it quick. I got a bad feeling about Hamilton, and we might be too late already.”

  chapter

  thirty-two

  DOX

  Labee drove and Dox rode shotgun. Diaz, in the back, used Dox’s burner to call the Four Seasons. She asked for Hamilton’s room, waited, then shook her head and clicked off. “Not in the room,” she said.

  Dox had already tried Kanezaki but hadn’t been able to reach him. And no one in Hamilton’s office had been willing to share the cellphone number. “Damn,” he said. “If she’s not at the hotel, and someone else is geolocating her cellphone, we’re wasting our time. Alondra, you said you have the number in your cellphone. You left it in a library? Where?”

  “Near the courthouse,” Diaz said. “Just a few blocks from the hotel. Livia, swing by. I’ll use it just to call Hamilton. I can ditch it again afterward.”

  Labee glanced at Dox, obviously not liking it.

  “It’s a small risk,” he said. “Remember, it’s not just that we need Hamilton’s intel. If whatever she knows falls into the wrong hands, that’s doubly bad.”

  Five minutes later, they pulled up in front of the public library. There were people marching past with signs—SAVE THE CHILDREN and THE STORM IS COMING and DEEP STATE PROTECTS PEDOPHILES. Schrader’s bizarre prison release was in the news, and it was stirring up the QAnoners.

  Diaz moved as though to get out. “No, ma’am,” Dox said, scoping the area. “Tell me where the phone is and you stay put. Just in case there are any unfriendlies in the area.”

  “Behind a book called Recursion, by Blake Crouch. Level three. Fiction.”

  Dox went in while Labee circled the block. He found the phone no problem and made it back to the Jeep without incident. “Haven’t turned it on yet,” he said. “Let’s wait until we’re moving.”

  They pulled away and Diaz called Hamilton. Dox eyed the sideview. He didn’t see anyone tailing them, but there was too much traffic to be sure.

  “Sharon,” Diaz said. “This is Alondra Diaz. I—no, I didn’t have my cellphone with me, I just picked it up. Listen—no, I don’t know where Schrader is. I had nothing to do with—listen to me, this is important. It’s critical that I meet you right away. Where are you?”

  A pause, then, “Where in the hotel? I tried you in the room.”

  She glanced at Dox. “The restaurant? That’s—” A pause. “I don’t know why you can’t reach Meekler, I haven’t been to the office. Are there other people in the restaurant?”

  Another pause. “Can you just answer me? I think you’re in danger. Did you not hear about what happened in Freeway Park this morning? It’s not just about me. They might be coming for you, too.”

  Another pause. “I don’t care if you think I’m being paranoid. Will you just stay put? In the restaurant. Near other people. I’ll be there in a few minutes and I’ll tell you more. Okay? Good. Just a few minutes.”

&nb
sp; She clicked off and powered down.

  Dox called Larison from a burner. “Where are you?”

  “About a minute from the hotel. You?”

  “Not far behind. We reached Hamilton. She says she’s in the hotel restaurant. I couldn’t reach K., so I don’t have independent confirmation, but there’s no reason to think Hamilton’s lying. Why don’t you pull up and send Manus in to have a look. You stay with the van. It’s not personal, just—”

  “I know. I get noticed.”

  “It’s one of your charm points. I’ll be right behind him. If it all looks good, we’ll send in Diaz, who’ll be functioning as our bona fides, and we’ll escort Hamilton out.”

  “Understood. By the way, we’re passing protestors. I think they’re heading to the courthouse.”

  “Yeah, we saw a bunch, too. Schrader’s release and all the denials, I guess. The good news is, it’ll probably draw police resources. Give us a little more room if we need it.”

  “Agreed. Call me if anything changes.”

  He realized he wouldn’t know Hamilton even if he saw her. “What does Hamilton look like?” he asked Diaz. He handed her his phone. “Here, see if you can find a photo.”

  Diaz worked the phone, then handed it back to him. It was the cover page of Hamilton’s law firm website—Hamilton, Barrett & Brown. An exceptionally thin, fiftyish white woman standing between a couple of men who, other than their jowls, looked cut from the same corporate cloth. Long brown hair, arms crossed confidently as she smiled for the camera.

  Two minutes later, Labee stopped at a traffic light. “The entrance is on Union,” she said, pointing. “One block up. But see that shop across the street, Fran’s Chocolates? You can access the lobby through there.”

  “Roger that. And since Larison is already by the lobby, can you swing around and wait in front of Fran’s? Better to have options.”

  “Yes. Be careful.”

  He smiled. “I love when you show you care.”

  She punched him in the arm. “Get out.”

  He cut across the street and went into the chocolate shop. It was an upscale place, the chocolates laid out under glass like jewelry. A pretty brunette was standing behind one of the displays. “Hello,” she said, with a nice smile. “May I help you with anything?”

  Dox looked around as though perplexed. “I’m sorry, I thought this was the hotel.”

  “Oh, you can access the lobby right there.” She pointed to a double set of wooden doors.

  “Well, thank you,” Dox said. “I’m pressed right now, but I hope to be back to sample some of your delicious-looking confectionaries.”

  He hadn’t intended any double entendre, but the way she smiled again made him think maybe it had come across that way. “I hope so, too.”

  She really was pretty. He was never going to stop loving women. Unfortunately, the one he was in love with seemed unable to conquer her ambivalence. Well, thoughts for another day. He put his hand on the butt of the Wilson and went through the doors and into the hotel lobby—

  A large man was standing there, facing the chocolate shop entrance, his back to a pillar and his hand inside his jacket. Dox made him instantly. Unfortunately, he made Dox just as fast. Also unfortunately, action beat reaction, and on the assumption that the hand inside the jacket was already holding a gun, there was no way Dox could beat him to the draw.

  Dox glanced around the lobby. It was bustling with tourists and an early lunch crowd. He looked at the guy and smiled. “Well, what do we do now?”

  The guy didn’t smile back. “We wait.”

  “Couldn’t we just talk through our differences? Why does there have to be so much hostility?”

  If there was one thing Dox was good at in this world, it was rattling someone with insouciance and non sequiturs. Well, in fairness, he was a hell of a marksman, too. And he liked to think he knew how to make a woman happy. But this was a moment for the insouciance and non sequiturs.

  The guy was pretty cool in response. “I’m not hostile. Just doing a job.”

  “Happy in your work?”

  “Never really thought about it.”

  “They say the unexamined life isn’t worth living.”

  “Yeah? I think my chances of living are good. Yours, not so much.”

  Dox saw movement along a flight of stairs above where the guy was standing. He glanced up and saw Manus on the way down. Manus paused, watching them.

  The guy saw where Dox was looking but didn’t follow his gaze. “You think you’re going to make me look? What’s next, my shoelaces are untied?”

  “Of course not,” Dox said. “I can tell you’re way too smart for that.” And then he kept moving his lips, but without making any sound. Use the Espada. No noise.

  “What’s that?” the guy said.

  “Sorry, I’m just praying to the good lord. I mean, what else can I do”—he started enunciating very carefully—“with you holding a gun on me under your jacket and all.” And then silently, Drop him right now, please.

  For a big man, Manus moved remarkably smoothly and quietly. He continued down the stairs. As he came to the landing just behind the pillar, Dox caught a flash of the Espada’s steel blade. Manus was holding it like an ice pick, close to his body.

  Manus turned the corner. He did a quick witness check, left and right. He pulled abreast of the pillar and into the guy’s ambit of vision. The guy saw him and started to turn. Too late. Without any hesitation at all, Manus drove the Espada backhanded up into the guy’s midsection. The blade must have pierced the diaphragm, because the guy folded up instantly, making not a sound beyond a single loud wheeze. Dox rushed in and grabbed the guy’s right arm. But there was no need—the guy wasn’t trying to get his gun out, he wasn’t trying to do anything except maybe make the wheezing sound and twitch and shudder.

  “I like my chances fine, asshole,” Dox said. He reached inside the guy’s jacket and took his pistol. He got some blood on his sleeve in the process but it wasn’t too bad, he was just glad old Manus hadn’t cut the guy’s throat. They lowered the body to the floor, Manus leaving the knife in until the last moment to keep the blood flow down.

  Dox heard a woman’s voice from the lobby behind them. “Oh my God!”

  He looked up and saw a woman in a floor-length leather jacket watching them, her expression horrified. He realized he’d gotten more blood on himself than he’d thought. “Get a doctor!” he called out. “This man’s bleeding. I think it’s hemorrhagic fever, probably Ebola!”

  The woman backed up so fast she might have been jerked with a rope. Dox passed the pistol to Manus. “I think they were waiting for Hamilton to leave so they could snatch her nearer the exit,” he said, so softly he was practically just mouthing the words. “Meaning there’s likely to be more opposition nearby, here or right outside. You ready?”

  Manus nodded once. Larison was right, the man was quiet. And even more, reliable.

  They stood. A cluster of people had gathered, chattering in confused tones and watching. The staircase concealed some of what was happening, but it was clear there was a body on the floor. And a lot of blood.

  “I wouldn’t get too close,” Dox said. “Thankfully I’m immune to Ebola from my time combatting the disease in Africa, and am no longer infectious myself. I’m pretty sure.”

  “Ebola?” he heard someone say, and the cluster was suddenly gone. But the lobby was abuzz now with agitated voices.

  He and Manus came from around the stairs and headed toward the restaurant. The people who had seen them with the body gave them a wide berth. Everyone else was looking around, confused and uncertain. A guy in a blue blazer, probably hotel security, rounded the front desk and rushed past them. Dox kept his head moving, looking for more opposition, but so far he didn’t see any.

  No way to get Diaz in here now. Well, so much for their bona fides. They were going to have to improvise again.

  chapter

  thirty-three

  LARISON


  Larison was directly across from the hotel, standing inside the glass doors of a place that arranged brewery and roastery visits for tourists. He’d asked if they wouldn’t mind his waiting for a friend there, just to get in from the rain. It wasn’t raining anymore, but they told him no problem. He might not have had Dox’s ability to go unnoticed, but people didn’t like to argue with him, either.

  He’d parked illegally just around the corner. He wasn’t worried about a ticket—they had rented the van using fake credentials. And he wasn’t expecting to be there long enough for anyone to get a tow truck.

  He saw two people rush out of the hotel. They started talking urgently with the bellman while pointing back into the lobby. Several more people rushed out behind them. Something was going on. Maybe Hamilton had decided not to come quietly.

  To the right of the hotel was a viewing deck looking out over the waterfront, and a long flight of stairs alongside it. Two big men came racing up the steps and toward the hotel entrance. Larison glanced left, to the street corner, and didn’t see any other problems.

  He walked out of the tour shop and crossed the street, head swiveling. Still no one else who looked like trouble. He broke into a jog as the two men reached the hotel entrance. They got stuck there for a moment because more people were running out. One of the men eased a pistol from a waistband holster. Larison was already holding his, covered by the rain parka draped over his arm.

  The men squeezed through the doors, Larison just behind them. Inside, he saw Dox and Manus, about to head into the restaurant. Amid the weirdly incongruous lobby music, the atmosphere was agitated. People looking around anxiously, a lot of confused chatter about Ebola. He smiled. Fucking Dox.

  He scanned and saw a body to the left, a sizeable pool of blood around it. His smile broadened. Manus.

  One of the men nudged the other and pointed to Dox and Manus. The second man eased out a pistol.

  A woman with two kids crossed in front of Larison. He sidestepped and closed on the two men. They were less than twenty feet from Dox and Manus now.

  Ahead, Larison saw a guy in a wheelchair take note of the two men. The guy’s gaze zeroed in on one of their pistols. He pointed and yelled, “He has a gun!”