The Chaos Kind

by Barry Eisler

  But these videos were something else entirely. They weren’t knowledge. They were power itself. And power like that could only be entrusted to someone who would know how to wield it wisely.

  Someone like himself.

  chapter

  sixty-five

  DOX

  Dox was standing between Larison and Labee, reviewing documents about Grimble’s compound they’d printed and laid out on a table. It had been a short flight from Seattle, made shorter by the fact that Dox had passed out cold before the private plane Kanezaki had secured had even left the runway. Well, smoke ’em if you got ’em, as the saying went, and he’d learned as a Marine it was even truer when it came to sleep.

  They were in an empty building now, part of a nondescript office park north of San Jose International Airport along Route 101. Another item Kanezaki had scored for them, complete with a kitchen someone had left stocked with breakfast items and plenty of coffee. Dox wouldn’t have said so out of fear it would come across as condescending, but he was proud of the man. When they’d first met, Kanezaki had been nothing but a green CIA case officer. But since then, he’d been betrayed, disillusioned, blooded, and repeatedly promoted, and through it all had managed to assemble a private network that would have been the envy of any gunrunner, smuggler, trafficker, or other outlaw Dox had ever heard of.

  Larison was reading a news article about the compound. “Look at this place,” he said. “Twenty-three acres. A three-acre pond with two artificial waterfalls. Ten buildings, including a guardhouse, guesthouse, bridge house, boathouse, teahouse—”

  “Everything but a henhouse,” Dox said.

  “—a barn, and a moon pavilion, whatever the hell that is. The main residence is modeled after an early seventeenth-century Kyoto palace. Thousands of tons of materials imported from Japan. Everything hand-planed and joined on the site without using nails or any other machine-made materials. Is this guy insane?”

  “When you’re that rich,” Dox said, “I believe they call it ‘eccentric.’”

  “What about security?” Labee said.

  Larison put down the article and picked up his coffee mug. “I know of the outfit. Gorgon Security. They’re full service—threat assessments, investigations, and site security, including for estates like Grimble’s.”

  “How good?” Labee said.

  Larison sipped his coffee. “Good enough. Some ex-military, a lot of ex-cops.”

  Labee pointed to the blueprints on the table. “There are two posts. The guardhouse, on the northwest end at the Mountain Home Road entrance, here. And another structure on the southeast corner of the property, behind the main residence, here. How many guards in each?”

  Larison flipped through a sheaf of papers. “One each. And two more patrolling the perimeter, so no fixed location. Total of four, all armed.”

  Dox pointed to a blown-up satellite map of the area. “The shortest distance to the main residence is here at the southeast corner. We can get there from this other road, Manzanita Way. We’d have to cross someone else’s property, but these lots are all the size of small countries and there’s ample tree coverage. I’m not worried about being seen. Kanezaki could get us intel on security at the various houses backing up on Grimble’s property. I doubt any of them has more than an alarm system and maybe a dog, but it doesn’t matter—we’d select the weakest link and cut through there.”

  “Speaking of dogs,” Labee said, “are we sure there’s no K-9 patrol?”

  Dox shook his head. “No mention of it. Which is good, because you can bypass an alarm system, and you can make a person shut up by sticking a gun in his face, but for security a barking dog is hard to beat. Even a little yapper, let alone a squad of trained Dobermans. But probably Grimble figures that four gunmen on the property is plenty. I mean, what are his real concerns? Gawkers? At worst maybe a kidnapping attempt? I’m surprised he’s got even this much. Tell you the truth, I was hoping all we’d have to do is hop a fence or something.”

  Diaz was standing off to the side, sipping her coffee. “Have we ruled out just calling Grimble, and explaining what we need?”

  Dox gave her an appreciative nod. Diaz was smart, and impressively adaptable. She’d adjusted pretty fast from assuming disputes were something to be settled in a courtroom to realizing a lot of them got handled more the old-fashioned way.

  “It’s tempting,” he said. “We have the number, it’s how we know he is where he is. But look what happened at Schrader’s house. Plus the hotel, plus with Manus’s people. Plus with that poor girl Ali. Someone’s been a step ahead of us, at least some of the time. And if that someone is monitoring Grimble’s communications, we’d just be tipping them off.”

  “It’s not just that,” Labee said. “What if we were to call and couldn’t persuade him? Or worse, what if he decided to do something on his own, release the videos or something like that, as a way of protecting himself. I don’t want him to have time to think. I want him reacting. And I want us to be there so we can monitor how he’s reacting. And press him, if he needs pressing.”

  Diaz nodded. “I get it.”

  Larison picked up the coffee carafe. “Anyone need a refill?” Diaz nodded and extended her mug. Larison refilled it, then his.

  “Look at the placement of cameras,” he said. “If we go in from the southeast side, there’s no way to make it to the main residence without being picked up. In fact, there’s no way to get to the main residence from anywhere without passing at least one camera. And according to the paperwork Kanezaki hacked from Gorgon, the cameras are monitored in real time in the main guardhouse.”

  “True,” Dox said. “Probably by a minimum-wage guy focused more on his paperback novel or porn stash than on the camera feeds. But right, we can’t count on that. We’ll need a distraction.”

  Larison nodded, and Dox knew they were both thinking the same way: if there was one thing that could distract a man from his ostensible duties, it was the sight of Delilah.

  He heard a car in the parking lot and looked up. Larison and Labee both drew their guns, then went to the window and peeked through the blinds. “Anyone here order a bicycle?” Larison said.

  Dox drew the Wilson and went over. There was a van marked PALO ALTO BICYCLES under a streetlight in the empty parking lot. Two guys got out of the van, opened the back door, and took out a couple of bicycles. They set them down, dropped a duffel bag alongside them, got back in the van, and drove off.

  “Can’t say I like that duffel bag,” Dox said. “But I think it’s a safe bet this was all Kanezaki’s idea. Recon, maybe.”

  He and Larison went out and brought in the bikes and the bag. They opened the bag on a table and examined the contents. Helmets, riding clothes, water bottles, and other gear. Dox looked at it all, shaking his head. “I don’t get it. Bicycle cosplay, maybe.”

  Twenty minutes later, they heard another vehicle in the lot. They repeated the exercise at the window. This time it was a pickup truck with a trailer attachment. The trailer had WOODSIDE EQUESTRIAN stenciled on the side.

  “Huh,” Dox said, unable to come up with anything else. The rest of them seemed equally dumbstruck.

  A stout man in a cowboy hat got out and went to the back of the trailer. He opened it and escorted out a horse.

  Dox glanced over at Labee and Larison. “Are we all seeing the same thing?”

  Larison continued to stare out the window. “I think someone is delivering us a horse.”

  “That’s fine,” Dox said. “Long as I’m not hallucinating.”

  Another pickup came into the lot and stopped, its engine idling. The man waved to its driver, then took hold of the horse’s halter and led the animal to the front door. He knocked.

  Dox and Larison stared at each other. Try as he might, Dox couldn’t come up with what to do. Or even to say.

  Diaz broke the logjam. She went to the door and called out, “Yes?”

  “I have a horse here,” a voice called back from the other side of t
he door in a light Mexican accent. “It’s from Tom.”

  Diaz glanced at the rest of them, but no one seemed able to offer guidance. She gave a quick Whatever shake of her head. “Put your guns away,” she said. As soon as they had complied, she opened the door.

  “Buenos días,” the man said. “I am Miguel. May I come in?”

  Diaz glanced over, but again no one offered anything. She stepped aside and said, “Please.”

  The man came in, followed by the horse. It took a few seconds before they were both completely inside. Diaz closed the door behind them.

  “Thank you,” the man said. “This is Margarita. Usually she stays in the stables. But Tom told me to bring her in. You don’t mind?”

  Margarita swished her tail, but other than that seemed not terribly interested to find herself in an office. Diaz glanced around impatiently, and, when no one offered to help, switched to Spanish with the man. Dox followed most of it. Tom had asked Miguel to drop off the horse. The tack was in the pickup; the pickup and the trailer were theirs; here are the keys; try to get her back to us by three, when the kids arrive for their riding lessons.

  Miguel turned to the rest of them. “She’s a good girl,” he said. “Very gentle. Give her a sugar cube and you’ll have a friend for life.” He turned to Diaz and doffed his hat. “Hasta luego, señorita.”

  “Muchas gracias, señor,” Diaz said. She closed and locked the door behind him. They watched the man get in the second truck, and kept watching until the taillights were gone.

  Dox turned and looked at Margarita. It was a reasonably surreal sight. “Well,” he said, rubbing his chin, “as Nicolas Cage put it in Con Air, ‘On any other day, that might seem strange.’”

  Diaz was stroking Margarita’s shoulder. Margarita dropped her head. “That’s good,” Dox said. “That means she likes you.”

  Diaz smiled, still intent on the horse. “Yeah?”

  Dox nodded. “You bet. Though it doesn’t exactly answer the question of what she’s doing here. Maybe old Kanezaki thought this outfit needed a mascot. Well, they ought to be here to explain soon enough.”

  chapter

  sixty-six

  DELILAH

  Delilah slept well on the flight from Virginia. Hunger was the best seasoning, and exhaustion the best soporific.

  The first pale light was showing in the eastern sky as they left the plane and walked onto the tarmac. There were three vehicles waiting. A gray Toyota minivan. A FedEx truck. And a bright yellow Porsche 718 Cayman GT4.

  Kanezaki reached under the truck, felt around for a moment, and retrieved a magnetic lockbox. “Okay,” he said, opening the lockbox and taking out a set of keys. “No fighting over the cars. The Porsche is for Delilah.”

  John was scanning the parking lot. He was attuned to good clothes, but cars meant nothing to him. Delilah appreciated both.

  She looked at Kanezaki. “Your idea of a low profile?”

  He handed her the keys. “More hiding in plain sight. You won’t be out of place in Woodside. Shit, you can drive a stick, right?”

  She cocked an eyebrow.

  “Sorry,” he said. “Of course you can.”

  Dash, who had been staring at the car, signed something to Evie. Evie looked at Kanezaki. “Are we going far?”

  Kanezaki shook his head. “Fifteen minutes up the highway.”

  Delilah didn’t know sign, but she caught the drift. “It’s okay with me,” she said to Evie. “If it’s okay with you.”

  Evie smiled and nodded to Dash. The boy laughed delightedly, and he gave Delilah a double thumbs-up.

  “Why don’t I take the FedEx truck?” Kanezaki said to the rest of them. He handed John a set of keys. “You take the minivan. The others should be waiting for us. It’s an office park on O’Brien Drive in Menlo Park, straight up 101. Follow me. I doubt anyone’s going to get lost, but if there’s a problem, each vehicle is outfitted with encrypted walkie-talkies. No cell towers, no way to track a signal. Good to go?”

  Delilah got in the Porsche with Dash, who was all smiles. Resilient kid, she thought. Just twenty-four hours earlier, he and his mother had killed someone who was trying to do the same to them. Or to do them some kind of harm, anyway. If he’d been Israeli and the IDF had gotten wind, they’d be eyeing him for Sayeret Matkal. If that worked out, Mossad would recruit him for Kidon. For whatever reason, the thought made her sad.

  He buckled his seatbelt. “We don’t really have to stay behind them, do we?”

  She smiled at him. “This time, I think yes. But maybe we’ll get a chance to drive her properly later. Would you like that?”

  “Yes!”

  “Okay. We’ll see.”

  They all moved out. Dash had a point—keeping the race-bred machine behind a minivan at fifty-five miles an hour, the engine growling as though enraged at being so unfairly hobbled, was frustrating.

  “You’re French?” Dash said.

  She looked at him so he could read her lips. “These days, yes. It’s complicated.”

  “Is John Japanese?”

  “He was born there.”

  “Are you married?”

  “What? No.”

  “Oh. You look like you’re married.”

  Out of the mouths of babes, she thought. She glanced at him. “I have to watch the road.”

  He smiled—an innocent smile, or was there something more in it?—and said, “It’s okay.”

  Ten minutes later, they were pulling into a parking lot behind a low-slung, unremarkable collection of office buildings. A few landscape management and auto-repair shops, others with names more suggestive of technology startups. A door to one of the places opened—Dox. Delilah killed the engine and stepped out of the Porsche.

  Dox gave her a big grin. “Darlin’, that car’s almost as pretty as you.”

  She smiled back, surprised at how good it was to see him, even under the circumstances.

  Kanezaki got out of the FedEx truck. Dox gestured to the Porsche and said, “No more Priuses at the rental place?”

  Kanezaki laughed. “A friend with a collection.”

  The others were getting out now, too. Dox said, “Come on in, y’all. I’ve got too many hugs to give in the parking lot. The rest of the gang is waiting inside.”

  They filed in. The first thing Delilah noticed was a horse at the far end of the space, with a pretty Latina—Diaz?—standing alongside it, stroking its shoulder. But before she could process the incongruity, Dox gave her a big hug, then moved on to Kanezaki and Rain, switching to handshakes for Evie, Dash, Manus, and Maya. Once everyone was in, Kanezaki closed and locked the door, then stood at the corner of the window, keeping an eye on the parking lot.

  She saw Larison hug Rain, cocking his head at Dox and saying, “His influence.” Rain was smiling and laughing, and she realized how attached he had grown to these people—and how attached she had become, too. For a moment, she felt guilty about having tried to stop him, and was relieved he hadn’t let her.

  Livia came over and offered her hand. “Delilah. It’s good to see you.”

  Delilah summoned a smile. “And you, Livia.” They shook. With someone else, la bise, the French kiss, would have felt natural, and though they had parted that way the last time they had seen each other, in Paris, in general Livia had a standoffish air, and Delilah had no desire to make either of them uncomfortable.

  They might have stood there having not much to say to each other, but Larison came to the rescue. “Hey,” he said to Delilah. “Sorry again for dragging you into this. But . . . I’m glad you’re here.”

  It was adroit of him to apologize for what Delilah still thought of as more Livia’s war than anyone else’s. After all, Dox had stepped in with Kanezaki in an attempt to keep Livia out of it, and the rest of the dominos had fallen from there. Delilah knew this wasn’t the generous view she had managed at the airport in Virginia. The truth was, Livia just rubbed her the wrong way. Delilah had known plenty of zealots in her time—the term came
from a sect of Israelites that had resisted the Romans—and no matter how noble their intentions, in the end they were always willing to sacrifice anyone else for whatever the sacred cause.

  She smiled—no effort with Larison—and kissed him on both cheeks. “Daniel. I won’t deny, I’m glad, too.” She glanced over at Diaz and the horse. “I’m sorry, am I seeing that correctly?”

  Larison nodded. “It’s a long story. Actually, I don’t know the story. We’re hoping Kanezaki can explain.”

  Delilah saw Evie and Dash and waved. “Evie, Dash, let me introduce you.” They came over, and the extra people diluted the initial awkwardness with Livia. Dash, who was a natural elicitor, immediately started asking Livia questions about being a cop. Larison told Evie he was glad that she and Dash were all right and that John had been there to help. It was interesting to see how relaxed Larison could be, even charming. He must never have had people he trusted. And now he did. Not so unlike John.

  Delilah noticed Maya standing a bit awkwardly, holding her dog. Larison must have seen as well, because he excused himself and walked over. “You must be Maya.”

  She nodded. “Yes.” The dog shrank back a bit in her arms.

  “Daniel Larison. That was some impressive intel you got us. Thanks.”

  Maya gave him an uncertain smile. “You’re welcome.”

  Delilah could tell the girl was nervous. Probably just at the collective decades of killing experience suddenly assembled around her. And probably particularly in the presence of Larison, who even when he was relaxed had an unpredictable quality, some potentially explosive thing, just below the surface.

  “What’s your dog’s name?” Larison said.

  Maya looked at the dog, then back to Larison. “Frodo.”

  Larison raised his eyebrows. “Frodo, huh? Well, I think I get how you’re feeling, Maya. ‘I wish the Ring had never come to me. I wish none of this had happened.’”

  Maya’s face lit up in a surprised smile. “You’re a fan?”

  “Of course. From way back.”

  Her smile faltered. “It does feel a little that way. But . . . I want to help.”