by Barry Eisler
Hort cut the lights and the ignition and looked out through the driver-side window. “Not a bad spot to dump a body,” he said. “I do hope you’ll hear me out first.”
“I’m listening.”
“You mind if I have a cigar?”
Treven squeezed the grip of the Glock, reassured by its familiar heft. “Whatever you like.”
Hort thumbed the switch for the driver-side window, then eased a canister and a cigar guillotine from his front pants pocket. He unscrewed the canister, slid out a cigar, and expertly clipped one end with the guillotine. He tossed the clipped end through the open window, put the cut end in his mouth, slid a wooden match out of the canister, popped it with a thumbnail, waited a moment, then slowly lit the end of the cigar, rotating it methodically to get it going evenly. When he was satisfied, he waved the match out and held it until it was cold before tossing it, too, out the window.
“Cuban Montecristo,” he said, settling back in the car seat. “Forgive me, I only have the one.”
Treven kept the Glock on him. “Enjoy it.”
The implication was clear and there was no need to say it. It’s probably your last.
Hort blew out a cloud of the sweet-smelling smoke. “I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking I’m behind these false flag attacks. That I’m part of it.”
“You’re going to tell me you’re not?”
“Not in the way you think.”
Treven’s eyes were adjusting to the dark. A gibbous moon was rising, its pale light glowing down on the road surface and reflecting on the reservoir below them. “Explain, then.”
“Did Rain brief you on what I told him this coup is supposed to be all about?”
“Yes.”
“What did he tell you?”
“The system is broken. The plotters wanted a pretext for seizing power so they could fix everything and then give it back. You thought the whole thing was insane, and wanted us to take out key personnel to stop it.”
“I’d call that an accurate summary.”
“But then we found out the personnel you had us take out weren’t part of the coup. They were opposed to it.”
“That is also accurate.”
“Then what the hell are you doing, Hort? Whose side are you on?”
Hort sighed. “The plotters are correct in believing the system is broken. They are also correct in believing that without immediate and radical surgery, the patient will surely die. But they are incorrect in believing a coup is what’s required. A coup would kill the patient in the name of saving her. What is required is something slightly different.”
“What?”
Hort looked at him. “An attempted coup.”
Treven didn’t respond. He tried to take what he already understood and sort it through the new framework Hort had just suggested. “You’re saying…you wanted the coup to start?”
Hort nodded. “And then to stop. And to be exposed for what it really was.”
“Why? What does that accomplish?”
“Maybe nothing. In which case, the republic shrivels and dies more or less on schedule, just as it was going to anyway. But maybe, maybe…people wake up.”
“To what?”
“To how close they were to losing everything they ought to cherish but have in fact come to take for granted. Did you watch my little speech at the White House?”
“Yeah.”
“When I talked about how we would never surrender our liberties if terrorists were explicitly demanding we do so? That’s the truth. You know that, right?”
“I guess so.”
“Well, I was giving the country a little preview there. Shaping the battlefield.”
“I don’t follow.”
Hort drew on the cigar, held the smoke in his mouth, then slowly blew it out through the window. “The republic is being bled dry by a national security complex so grotesque and metastasized even Dwight Eisenhower wouldn’t have recognized it in his worst nightmares and most dire predictions. People are okay with this state of affairs because they don’t sense something is being taken from them. But if this country’s oligarchy is exposed for what it really is, and for what it’s really doing, there’s a chance people would fight back. A chance. You understand?”
Treven thought. “You’re saying even if someone would willingly give something up, he’ll fight to preserve it if he thinks someone is trying to steal it.”
“Precisely.”
“Then why did you resign?”
“Because, when this thing is snuffed out, the disgusted and disillusioned masses will need a hero. Someone of unimpeachable character and battle-hardened judgment. Someone who has demonstrated by his actions and his sacrifices that he is a selfless servant of the nation who cannot be seduced by power or anything else.”
Not for the first time, Treven realized Hort was accustomed to operating at levels of manipulation, deceit, and strategy that Treven found alien. He didn’t know whether to feel envious, or relieved.
“That speech,” he said. “Dox said it sounded like you were running for office.”
“In a sense, I was.”
“What office?”
“If things go well, a blue ribbon commission will be formed to investigate the causes of the attempted coup, identify the plotters, and recommend changes to ensure such a thing can never happen again. I will be the head of that commission. And I will ensure that its work is in the best interests of the nation.”
Treven squeezed the grip of the Glock as though reminding himself it was still there. “But…you said you wanted the coup to be exposed for what it really was.”
Hort chuckled grimly. “Well…for what it almost really was.”
“What does that mean?”
“Following the recent string of attacks, it’s important the citizenry believes an insatiably greedy oligarchy was to blame. Even though the truth is, most of the oligarchy is pleased with the status quo and wouldn’t want to change it. The main thing is that people understand how close they came to losing everything. And that they never know I was involved in steering the course of events.”
“Because then you wouldn’t be able to steer anymore.”
“That’s right. And if I couldn’t, then this whole thing might go haywire. The coup could become permanent. At a minimum, the innocent could be punished along with the guilty.”
“But you are guilty.”
“Yes, I am. I have the blood of countless Americans on my hands now. I slaughtered them, men, women, and children, no matter that it was for a larger purpose, and if there is a hell, I will rightly burn there forever.”
He drew on the cigar and held the smoke for a moment as though trying to calm himself. Then he blew it forcefully out through the window.
“But while I am alive, I am determined to ensure their sacrifice was not in vain. And for that, I need your help. Because you have put me in an untenable position.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I wasn’t planning on resigning my position and making my speech quite so soon. I needed that position in order to continue to steer things in their proper direction. But then you people went and kidnapped my daughter and forced my hand.”
“I still don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“What I’m talking about is, Dan Gillmor, the new head of the National Counterterrorism Center, who has been running the jihadist groups behind the attacks, is not yet satisfied that the country has been driven sufficiently insane for it to accept a suspension of the Constitution and the imposition of martial law. He has one more attack in mind. Which he believes will provide him with the blank check he craves.”
Treven felt the blood drain from his face. “A school.”
Hort looked at him. “Yes, that’s right. A mass casualty attack on an elementary school. With that, the president will be able to do anything he wants, and the rest of the government and the people will encourage him to do so. The coup will become a fait accompli. I will no lo
nger be able to stop it.”
Treven was so angry he could have shot him. “Goddamn it, Hort, what the fuck were you thinking?”
“It doesn’t matter what I was thinking. What matters is where we are.”
“Bullshit. Why did you have to resign now?”
“Because I could not have disappeared to Los Angeles on the very day the president made me his counterterrorism advisor if I hadn’t. Because I believe there is only a slim chance I will be leaving this meeting alive, and coming out here to die without first having set the example I needed to set would not have been productive.”
“So you’re risking the lives of, what, dozens of school children? Scores? On top of all the people you’ve already killed? To save your own daughter?”
There was no response.
“You know what we should do, Hort? We should put a bullet in her head so you can know what it’s going to be like for all the parents that you’ve done the same thing to. The same. Fucking. Thing.”
The interior of the car was silent. A lone cricket chirped outside.
“Please don’t do that,” Hort said quietly.
“The only reason I won’t is because I’m not like you.”
“I know that, and I’m grateful. But Larison is. Please, don’t let him.”
“Larison can do what he wants.” He wasn’t sure whether he meant it, or whether in his anger he was just trying to torment Hort.
“Listen to me. I have given you the diamonds. You can kill me now, if that’s what you want. Put me in the trunk and drive me to wherever Larison is so he can piss on my body, I believe he would enjoy that. But if you care about your country, let me live just a little while longer. There’s no one else who intends to put things right. And no else in a position to do so.”
Treven shook his head in disgust. “You are the most self-serving, lying hypocrite I’ve ever known.”
“I’m aware my request that you let me live long enough to set things right is self-serving. I can only say that if you prefer, you’re welcome to shoot me here instead. Either way, please, Ben. I’m asking you. Let my girl go. She didn’t do anything to you, or to anybody. You don’t even know her. Please. Just let her go.”
His voice broke and he stopped. He cleared his throat, blew out a long breath, and wiped the back of his hand savagely across his cheeks, one way, then the other.
For a while, they sat silently, Hort’s cigar slowly dying in the darkness.
“The others,” Treven said, aware he was conceding something and that Hort would recognize as much. “They don’t want just the diamonds. They want you to clear us. Get us off whatever hit lists you’ve put us on.”
“I’m a civilian now, Ben. I can’t do anything anymore. I could though, as the head of the commission I mentioned.”
Treven stared at him. “You’re unbelievable.”
“I thought you might find it to be another disgracefully self-serving statement,” Hort said. “But it is a fact.”
Treven didn’t respond. Once again, it was what he expected from Hort. But that didn’t necessarily make it a lie, either.
“Look at it this way,” Hort said. “You have the diamonds. And I’m a civilian now, you can get to me anytime. Let me finish what I have begun. Help me stop the school attack. And let Mimi go. What’s the downside to you? Just let her go.”
Treven watched him. He’d never seen Hort look so diminished. He wasn’t sure if it was some objective thing that had happened to the man, or if it was the new light in which he was seeing him.
“Why’d you try to take us out at the Capital Hilton?” he said, after a moment.
“I didn’t try to have you taken out. I told you, I was after the others.”
“I’m not buying it. You would have told me.”
“How? You had no cell phone, at least not one you were ever using. And you didn’t check in with me.”
It might have been true. Impossible to know for sure. But he hated that he wanted to believe it.
“Whatever. Why’d you try to have the others taken out, then?”
“You know why. They know too much. About my involvement. About everything.”
“So do I.”
“I told you, you’re the only one I trust.”
“Even if I believed you, and I don’t, the others? As far as they’re concerned, you’re as motivated to kill them now as you were before. Maybe more so.”
“It may be that I still have the motivation. But I no longer have the means. You have to get it through your head, I’m just a civilian now. You have the diamonds, you can go anywhere you want. And as I said, you can always come after me later. You could even come after my daughter if I do anything to cross you. I don’t see what I could reasonably do to stop you.”
Treven thought. They’d all agreed that if he had the opportunity as expected, he should kill Hort. Maybe they’d discover afterward that the “diamonds” he’d given them were fake, like the ones he’d given to Larison. Maybe they’d still be hunted by a national security state on steroids. But if having his own daughter in jeopardy wasn’t enough to get Hort to play ball this time, the working assumption was that nothing ever would. This way, they’d at least have the satisfaction of knowing he’d died before they did.
The problem was, a lot of what Hort had told him made sense, if sense was the right word for it. The situation wasn’t what they’d been assuming it to be. Hort alive might be more useful to them than he would be dead. He might be able to stop the coup and set things right, as he’d put it. Without him, this fucking thing he’d set in motion would probably take on an unstoppable life of its own, if it hadn’t already.
And there was that school to think about. How was he going to feel, if he knew about something like that and let it happen anyway? He’d done a lot of dark things in the course of his job, he knew, a lot of ambiguous things. Some of them kept him awake at night. Some made him wonder about punishment and reckonings and even hell. But he could honestly say everything he’d ever done was intended to keep Americans safe. Sometimes he felt like that knowledge was all that kept him sane in the face of what the task sometimes required. So what was he supposed to do now? How would he live with himself if some people blew up a school—a school, for Christ’s sake—and he could have stopped it, but didn’t? Compared to that, the possibility of someone blackmailing him with some bullshit video suddenly seemed unimportant.
He wasn’t sure. He didn’t trust his own motivations much more than he trusted Hort’s. And he didn’t know what the others were going to say. They’d made an agreement, and these weren’t the kind of people who took you to court for a breach of contract.
“Shall I finish this cigar?” Hort said. “Is it my last?”
Treven hoped he wasn’t being played. If he was, he supposed he was a three-time loser. He would deserve whatever he got.
“Just tell me about the goddamn school,” he said.
Waiting for Treven made for a stressful night. Dox brought in pizza; we ate; and then, to pass the time, we watched the news, which was nothing but breathless so-called “terrorism experts” fantasizing about the latest existential threat and how it could best be combated, along with blow-dried talking heads obsessing over the semiotics of Horton’s stunning departure from the Rose Garden earlier that day.
As the evening went on, Larison had gotten paranoid, becoming convinced that Hort had brought a team that had snatched Treven and tortured our location out of him. He’d pointed his Glock at Kei and had sworn if anyone breached the door, she was going to be the first to die. To which Dox had said, with uncharacteristic menace, “Put your gun away. You’re scaring her.”
“She should be scared,” Larison had answered.
“Well, congratulations then, because she is. Now, like I said, put your gun away and stop talking like that. There’s no need for it.”
Larison looked at him. “Don’t tell me what to do.”
Dox pulled his Wilson Combat. “Son, this time I’m not doing Cl
eavon Little for you. You get in a mess with me, you’re going to have to find your own way out.”
“Both of you, shut the fuck up,” I said, deliberately playing the alpha. If it worked, and they accepted my dominant position, it would give them a reason to listen and a means of saving face. If they didn’t accept my position, things were about to get a whole lot worse.
There was a long and tense silence. Then, reluctantly, Larison slid his Glock back in his waistband. Dox, watching Larison unblinkingly, slowly did the same.
I motioned Larison over to the bathroom. “Give us a minute,” I said to Dox.
We went inside and I closed the door behind us. “Look,” I said quietly. “He’s got a soft spot for girls, and when you scare her like that, it presses his buttons.”
“That’s his problem.”
“All right. But you’re a professional. What’s the upside for you? What are you getting out of it?”
He didn’t answer.
“My point is, it’s not like you. We’ve spent a decent amount of time together at this point—two hits, a cross-country drive, a snatch—and you’re always in control. What’s got you running so hot now?”
He looked away. “I don’t know.”
“You want to talk?”
He laughed. “You trying to be my shrink?”
“I’m trying to be your friend.”
“Well, don’t.”
I looked at him. “How many people do you know who would understand the shit you’ve done? And how it weighs on you?”
Again, he didn’t answer.
“Look,” I said, “do what you want. But you have to stop running so hot. It’s making Dox jumpy, and it’s starting to make me jumpy. If I can help, let me help, but either way, we all need you cool. I need you cool. Like you usually are. Okay?”
After a long moment, he nodded. “Okay.”
We went out and returned to waiting. No one waved any more guns. I was going to have to do something about Larison, and I didn’t know what. Shake him? Shoot him? How could I get through to him? I thought, if I ever work with a team again, just kill me, and then had to stifle a crazy laugh because, with this team, that was exactly the problem.
