The Chaos Kind

by Barry Eisler

  Larison pointed to the curtains. Livia nodded and swapped in a fresh magazine. Larison did the same. They aimed and opened up with a wide pattern of shots—reconnaissance by fire. The material fluttered as the rounds tore through. She heard glass shatter.

  They raced forward and raked back the curtains—nothing. Livia spun. Carl was in the doorway, sweeping the corridor. He turned back, saw her, and pointed up to the walkway. She nodded. She and Larison moved back halfway toward the door and covered the walkway while Carl headed silently up the spiral staircase.

  He padded along one side of the walkway, then disappeared from her view as he crossed overhead. A moment later, he called down. “Both dead. We’re good.”

  Diaz was scrunched up on her butt along one end of the desk, her knees drawn to her chin. Livia ran over and squatted next to her. “Are you all right?” she said.

  Diaz nodded, panting. “Holy shit. I don’t know how you do this for a living, girl, but I’m going to stick to being a prosecutor.”

  Livia glanced around. Where was Schrader? She saw his feet poking out from behind the desk. She stood and went around. “Andrew, are you all—”

  She stopped. Because Schrader was anything but all right.

  His shirt was covered in blood, and the carpet under him was soaked with it. “Oh, boy,” he said. He was panting, but his tone was weirdly calm. “I think somebody got me.”

  Livia dropped to her knees alongside him. She heard a hissing from his chest. Pink froth bubbled up around a hole in his shirt.

  “Sucking chest wound!” she shouted. She tore open his shirt. She saw two entry wounds—one in the stomach, one in the right side of his chest.

  A moment later, Carl was beside her. He pulled off the backpack, dumped the contents on the floor, and grabbed a chest seal. “Wipe him off,” he said. “Or it won’t stick.”

  Livia tore open a package of gauze and did the best she could to mop up the blood around the chest wound. She heard Larison say, “I’ll cover the door.”

  Carl slapped the plastic seal in place over the wound. Instantly Schrader’s breathing got a little less labored. They checked his back—no exit wounds.

  “We need to hurry,” Carl said. “That dressing’s got no vent. Don’t want a—”

  “Tension pneumothorax,” Livia said. “I know.” She tore open a bandage and placed it over the stomach wound. Schrader cried out. Carl was already sliding a roll of elastic gauze under his back. They looped it around several times, securing the bandage.

  Carl looked at her, and she knew what he was thinking: without immediate medical attention, Schrader wasn’t going to make it.

  “Help me get him up,” Livia said. “Into his chair.”

  Carl looked dubious, but he didn’t argue. Together they hoisted a groaning Schrader into his desk chair.

  “Andrew,” Livia said. “Come on. Let’s reset the system and get you to a hospital.”

  “Oh,” he said, his voice still weirdly calm. “It hurts.”

  “Is there a sequence?” Livia said. “The access code, the biometrics . . .”

  Schrader moaned. “Access code first.”

  “What is it?” Livia said. “Tell me the numbers.”

  “Oh, wow, it hurts . . .”

  “Come on, Andrew,” she said, her voice rising, “what are the numbers?”

  “Oh,” he said again. “This is what it feels like to be shot.”

  Diaz put a hand on Livia’s shoulder and leaned in. “Andrew,” she said. “You promised to help. Those girls were nice to you, remember? Tell me the access code.”

  “Nine . . . ,” Schrader said. “Eight . . . five . . . two . . . one . . . four.”

  Livia punched in the digits. There was a beep, and a red light at the top of the keypad turned green.

  “Which finger?” Livia said, dragging the fingerprint reader over.

  Schrader extended his right hand, forefinger out. It had blood all over it. Livia swore. She turned to look for gauze, but Carl had already grabbed a roll. He tore it open and wiped off Schrader’s finger. Livia pressed it down on the reader. Another beep, and a red light at the top of the device turned green.

  She grabbed the retina scanner and held it to his eye. Another beep, another red light going green.

  She grabbed the microphone and held it near his lips. “Say the phrase, Andrew. We’re almost there. You’re almost done. Just say the phrase.”

  He was very pale and his lips were growing blue. He was probably bleeding internally. And his breathing was getting worse again. Livia didn’t need Carl to tell her. The punctured lung was leaking air into his chest cavity. Tension pneumothorax, as Carl had feared.

  “Come on, Andrew, say the words!” she said.

  He nodded. “Little Miss Muffet,” he panted. “Sat . . . sat on a tuffet.”

  Livia looked at the red light at the base of the microphone. It blinked three times . . . and then stayed red.

  “Is there more?” she said. “Do you need to say more?”

  Schrader didn’t answer. She felt Diaz’s hand on her shoulder again.

  “Say it with me,” Diaz said, looking at him. “Little Miss Muffet, sat on a tuffet . . .”

  “Eating . . .” Schrader panted. “Eating her curds and whey.”

  The light stayed red again. “Is that it?” Livia said.

  Schrader nodded weakly.

  “It didn’t work,” Livia said. “Do you have to say the whole thing together?”

  “Y . . . yes.”

  Livia held the microphone closer to his lips. “Then do it! Come on, Andrew, it’s just a rhyme. You’ve said it a hundred times before. Just say it.”

  He looked at Diaz. “I can’t breathe. Am I . . . am I going to die?”

  “No,” Diaz said, though she must have known it was a lie. “You’re going to be fine. And you can still do the right thing, Andrew. Don’t you want that?”

  “I’m scared,” he panted. “Can I have more of that cocktail?”

  “As soon as you say the words,” Diaz said. “Just say them, Andrew. You’re not a mean guy. You’re a nice guy. Come on now. Little Miss Muffet . . .”

  Tears leaked from the corners of his eyes. “Please, it hurts.”

  “Come on!” Livia shouted. “Little Miss Muffet! Just say the words, say the fucking words!”

  “We need to take that seal off,” Carl said. “Or vent it. Labee, look at him.”

  She was looking. The veins on the sides of his neck were bulging. She knew he had only minutes. Maybe seconds.

  Diaz touched the side of his face and turned his head so he was looking into her eyes. “Andrew,” she said, so calmly it was almost a coo. “Say the words with me. Like you promised. Just a few words and we’re done. Ready? Little Miss Muffet . . .”

  Schrader said it with her. “Little Miss Muffet . . .”

  Livia was gripping the microphone so hard it was beginning to shake.

  “Sat on a tuffet . . . ,” Diaz and Schrader said together.

  “Eating her curds and whey,” Diaz said. But Schrader didn’t finish. He made it through eating, then stopped, his breathing fast and shallow.

  “It’s no good,” Carl said. “He’s going into shock.” He pulled a catheter out of its packaging.

  “Say the words!” Livia shouted.

  Carl shoved her aside. “Damn it, Labee, he’s not going to be able to say anything if we don’t get that air out of his chest!” He felt for the space above the third rib and plunged in the catheter. There was a loud hiss as the air around Schrader’s injured lung whooshed out.

  Little Miss Muffet, Livia thought, as though she could will Schrader to say it. Little Miss Muffet, come on . . .

  Schrader moaned, and for a moment, she thought he might rally. But then his breathing got faster, and shallower. His skin went gray and his eyes rolled up.

  There was a portable defibrillator in the medical kit. Livia grabbed it and tore open the zipper.

  “Give it up,” Larison s
aid from the doorway. “He’s not going to say the words. He’s not going to say any words. Ever. And even if he could, you could give him all the beta blockers in the world and that voice-stress analyzer isn’t going to buy it. We gave it our best shot. Now we need to get the fuck out of here.”

  Carl put a hand on Livia’s arm. “Larison’s right,” he said. “Labee, come on. He’s done.”

  “Help me shock him,” Livia said. “It’s just a few words, we could—”

  “He’s done,” Carl said again. He started policing up the medical gear and shoving it into the pack. “He was bleeding internally. We can’t do anything for him. Nobody could.”

  All at once, Livia felt the familiar dragon of hate flare up inside her. She grabbed Schrader by the shoulders and shook him. “Say the fucking words!” she screamed. “You created this fucking doomsday device, now help us reset it or tomorrow those girls are going to be violated all over again!”

  Schrader’s head lolled to the side. Froth bubbled from his mouth. She might as well have been shaking a rubber doll.

  Diaz put a hand on her arm. “Livia. Come on. We did the best we could.”

  Livia looked at her.

  “We can’t win every round,” Diaz said.

  Livia knew that, of course. At least intellectually. But what Diaz didn’t understand was that every time Livia lost a fight, every time she couldn’t save someone from some horror, it was like losing Nason all over again.

  But she would deal with that later. Like always. For now, there was nothing to do but leave.

  And wait for what would happen to those girls, tomorrow at three o’clock.

  chapter

  sixty-one

  RAIN

  Rain listened while Dox briefed him from the road. The bad news was the plan had failed. Schrader had been shot before he could get anyone into his system. The good news was no one else had been hurt. Apparently Dox and Livia had both been hit, Livia at Schrader’s house and Dox earlier, but their vests had prevented anything beyond bruising.

  “What’s the plan now?” Rain said.

  “Still under discussion,” Dox said. “We already made an anonymous call about where Schrader can be found. That ought to take the pressure off Diaz at least.”

  “Are Rispel and the others going to know Schrader didn’t help you before he died?”

  There was a pause. “That’s a good point. I was thinking there might at least be some upside when the dead-man switch triggers again tomorrow and releases a batch of videos. But maybe they won’t be so sure it’s a dead-man switch. Maybe they’ll think it’s us. Hard to say. I guess we’ll find out if someone tries to kill us all again. Goddamn. I’m sorry I dragged you and Delilah into this, I really am.”

  “How’s Livia?”

  “Taking it hard. Most of the girls Diaz interviewed were afraid to cooperate. And now they’re going to be tabloid fodder, and worse, for the rest of their lives.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Yeah, I won’t lie to you, it feels like we won every battle but maybe . . . maybe we lost the war. The worst part is, apparently with Schrader dead, those videos might not even be admissible in court against the men who appear in them. Diaz says there are ways around it, but anyone charged will claim hearsay or lack of foundation or some such. Besides which, nobody’s going to want to prosecute the men after Schrader’s death any more than they did before it. I mean, the attorney general? The director of National Intelligence? So realistically, if the girls won’t testify, and maybe even if they do, the men won’t face charges. Well, at least maybe they won’t get invited to the same dinner parties.”

  Rain wondered whether to say anything, then decided Dox would be hearing about it soon enough regardless. “We saw a news report. Unnamed senior intelligence officials talking about deep-fake Russian disinformation campaigns. Obviously laying the groundwork for dismissing any videos that get released as fake news, a Kremlin kompromat plot . . . That kind of thing.”

  Dox laughed harshly. “Almost can’t blame them. It works every time.”

  Rain tried to think of something comforting to say, and couldn’t.

  “You talk to Tom?” Dox said. “Maybe he’s got something new.”

  “I left him a message.”

  “Well, I doubt even old Kanezaki could pull a rabbit out of this hat. I’d like to think I’m missing something, but right now, I figure the best we can hope for is a stalemate. And eventually, when that system is done automatically spitting out every last video, hopefully no one will think there’s any benefit to be derived from killing any of us. Toothpaste being out of the tube and all that.”

  “Do we even know what that time frame is?”

  “Schrader said every other day, with yesterday being the first release and tomorrow at three o’clock West Coast time being the second. But we don’t know how many overall. Might have to hunker down for a while.”

  Rain had never heard the big sniper sound so down. “Dox. It’s not your fault.”

  Dox gave another harsh laugh. “Is this like that scene in Good Will Hunting? ’Cause we can’t hug it out over the phone.”

  “You know I don’t get your movie references.”

  “Never mind. I appreciate the thought.”

  “It’s not just a thought. It’s true. If you want to blame someone, blame Kanezaki. But come on, nobody could have foreseen this. It’s just one of those things that went sideways.”

  “You foresaw it. You’re the one with the good sense to retire. Or at least to try, despite all my interference.”

  “Listen, you know the only reason I keep you around is because you’re funny, right? If you’re going to get maudlin on me, it’s over.”

  Dox laughed again, a little less harshly this time. “Thanks, partner. All right, let me get with the team here and figure out our next move. And tell me if you hear from Tom.”

  Dox clicked off and Rain briefed the rest of them. The atmosphere in the room was bleak.

  When he was done, Maya said, “It’s weird. I was wondering how Schrader was going to access the videos. Now we won’t know.”

  Rain looked at her. “What do you mean?”

  She shrugged. “I’d just be surprised if the underlying material were localized or easily accessible. That would risk it being compromised. Which, okay, fine, maybe Schrader could be that thoughtless or sloppy. But he wasn’t. Someone put a lot of thought into this—integral biometric and encryption safeguards, the dead-man switch, the escalating series of warnings . . . Evie, what do you think?”

  Rain had heard the two women talking earlier. Apparently when she had been with NSA, Evie had been involved in the creation of what was then called God’s Eye, now known as Guardian Angel. And the two of them had used the program together to track down where Rispel was having Schrader held.

  “Agreed,” Evie said. “We’re talking about a complex, robust, redundant system.”

  Rain wasn’t sure where they were going. “Regardless of where the underlying material is kept, why wouldn’t Schrader have access? He’s the one who created the videos, right?”

  “Sure,” Maya said, “but that’s like . . . Look, you know how to shoot cellphone video, right?”

  The way she was dumbing it down gave Rain an odd, slightly out-of-body feeling. He realized that to someone as young as Maya, he must have seemed like a creature from prehistory. And maybe she wasn’t completely wrong. Would this be what it felt like when people talked to you and assumed you were slightly senile? Christ, no wonder he’d been trying so hard to retire.

  But all he said was “Everyone does.”

  “Right. But then if I asked you to make sure the footage was both set to automatically release if certain conditions weren’t met and also unstoppable by any foreseeable opposition, what would you do then?”

  “I’d ask someone like you. But I thought Schrader was some kind of technology genius.”

  “That’s his reputation,” Maya said. “Or was. But did you ever see tha
t movie Being There, or read the Jerzy Kosinski book?”

  Rain shook his head. “But I know the story.”

  “Then you get the idea,” Maya said. “Sometimes a simpleton is so pristinely simple that people think it must be something else. I mean, Schrader would go to conferences and ask things like ‘What do we mean really when we say down? Or up?’ And attendees would treat it like it was some galaxy-brain insight into something everyone else takes for granted.”

  “It’s true,” Evie said. “People act like he’s a genius, but so much of that is because of money. I once talked to him at a conference on facial-recognition technology. Everyone was fawning over him and I thought I was missing something. There was no there there.”

  “Did you read the paper he submitted?” Maya said.

  Evie nodded. “Of course. It was after talking to him that I realized someone else must have written it. He got all this obsequious coverage in the press. But probably he bought that, too.”

  “Wait a minute,” Rain said. “Why didn’t you say any of this earlier?”

  Maya shrugged. “You guys had this plan. They were already on the way to Schrader’s house. And I thought maybe I was missing something.”

  “I don’t know that you were,” Rain said. “From what you’re telling me, probably Schrader could have reset the system. But the rest . . . Now it sounds like they were asking for a tour of a building from a guy who never even went inside it, let alone drew up the plans. Is that accurate?”

  Maya looked at Evie. They both nodded.

  “But somebody designed it,” Delilah said. “Who?”

  Rain looked at her. He’d dragged her into this shitshow, and once she’d aired her concerns, she set them all aside. He’d caught the way she’d been looking at him earlier, when he was talking to Yuki. The expression somewhere between irritated and jealous. He’d been expecting a lot of questions. But there hadn’t been any. In the end, all she cared about was backing him. He didn’t know how he was going to make it up to her. But he would.

  For a moment, no one said anything. Then Maya looked at Evie and said, “Grimble?”