by Barry Eisler
“You knew the president was going to appoint you.”
“Of course.”
“Because you had information that would ensure the right people made it happen.”
“Correct.”
“But you leaked that cyanide was involved.” I still saw no advantage in mentioning to him that we hadn’t even used it.
“‘Leak’ wouldn’t be quite the right word. That information was disseminated very selectively.”
“To make us suspects. So we would be removed.”
“Yes, although in retrospect I’m not displeased my attempts failed.”
“And this was because, how did you put it? We could contradict you.”
“Also correct.”
“But we could contradict you now.”
“I’m hoping you won’t. But even if you try, I don’t think it’ll go well for you. I have assets now, and as I said they are set to grow dramatically. I don’t think you would want to pit your public word against mine. And even if you could damage me that way, and I don’t believe you could at this point, it would draw attention to all of you, and I think you’ve had enough of that. If I were you, I would just quietly enjoy my newfound wealth.”
If it was a threat, it was a subtle one. I said, “Why do you keep saying your assets are increasing? What does that mean?”
“Yes, that was the second thing I wanted to mention. In the coming days, as news of the false flag, oligarchy-inspired nature of recent events leaks out into the establishment media, you will read a variety of very flattering pieces about me. About my courage and insight and integrity. Did Treven brief you on our conversation about a blue ribbon commission?”
“Yes.”
“Well, the commission is already in motion. With the brand I have begun to establish and am having the media help further, and as head of the commission, I will be a very powerful force for good in this country.”
I didn’t answer. I was thinking, you can still be gotten to.
He laughed. “I know what you’re thinking. And you’re right. So let me just ask you this. Give me a year. I expect it’ll take me that long to make sure things are running smoothly. If you don’t like what I’m doing, you can always come after me sooner. But if you do approve of my purpose and my performance, and you do want to extract some measure of good from the recent horrific events of which, whether you like it or not, you have been a part, then you will let me finish my work. After that, I plan to retire. I have a place in Virginia. Very quiet and secluded. I like to sit alone out there on the porch in the evening, enjoying a whisky and sometimes a cigar. I imagine I will live there quietly, alone with the agony of my hellish culpability. Until someone decides to relieve my agony with a bullet.”
“Yes,” I said, after a moment. “Until then.”
We all split up after that, saying our farewells under an indifferent blue sky outside the Des Moines Greyhound station. But for the sounds of traffic from the nearby highway, the area was quiet, even somnolent. No one was around to notice us amid the cracked pavement and boarded-up brick buildings, the weeds creeping up over the curbstones, the trees swaying in the slight breeze, their leaves on the verge of autumn.
Kanezaki had a lot of explaining to do at headquarters, but I imagined he would not only survive it, but turn it to his advantage. He was becoming increasingly formidable, and I couldn’t help feeling some pride in his development. He’d acquitted himself well at the granary, and, for all I knew, his determination had saved my life. Certainly it had saved me the unpleasant task of rushing the guy behind the truck. I told him how well he’d done, and asked him how he was feeling.
“A little bit…shocked,” he said. “Numb. I wasn’t really thinking. I didn’t know what happened at first. I got knocked down, and then I got up, and I just…shot him.”
I smiled. “They say you can’t keep a good man down.”
He looked a little sheepish. “I don’t know how to feel about it.”
“Different people feel different ways. In a few days, you might find yourself upset. You might not feel anything at all, other than satisfaction and relief that you put him away before he did you. Either way, if you want to talk to someone who knows a little about these things, get in touch, okay?”
He nodded. “Thanks for that.”
“And pass along my thanks to your sister for getting us out of the hotel in D.C. She was really something.”
“I will,” he said. “She asked after you, by the way. She’s settled down since we were kids, and I think she’s happy, but I guess deep inside, she’s still got a thing for bad boys.”
I laughed. “What’s her story, anyway?”
He blew out a breath. “That’s a long one. I’ll tell you another time.”
The way he said goodbye, making sure everyone knew how to contact him, I knew what he was thinking. He had himself a clandestine collection of ice-cold killers. With that, plus his intelligence reach, who knew how much he could accomplish?
I thought about disabusing him. But then I thought about how many ops he’d dragged me into over the years, and decided it was foolish to tempt fate.
Dox went to his place in Bali. Said he wanted to kick back for a while and enjoy his ill-gotten loot.
“You’re not going to call Kei, are you?” I asked him as we said goodbye.
I thought he was going to deny even considering it, or maybe deflect me with a joke. Instead, he said, “There was something special about her, partner. There really was. But no, I’m not going to call her. It would be wrong.”
“Yeah,” I said, respecting his regret and his resignation. “It would be.”
“What about you? You fixing to go to Virginia and pay your last respects to Horton?”
“Maybe,” I said.
“Because he tried to set us up?”
“Yes.”
“Well, ordinarily in a situation like this, I’d say hell yes, let’s take care of business. But this time…”
“You’re thinking about his daughter?”
He nodded. “Yeah, I think we made her suffer enough. I really hate the idea of taking her daddy away from her. But also…I don’t know. I just feel like, what’s the point? We got a good outcome. Plus, what if he really is trying to set things right in the corridors of power and such?”
“That’s exactly what he wants us to wonder.”
“What if it’s true?”
I was still ambivalent. “Larison might have ideas of his own, you know.”
“I’ll let Larison worry about Larison. I only worry about you. Besides, I think he’s going to leave old Horton alone.”
I wondered about that. “Why?”
“Just a feeling. He got his diamonds back, didn’t he? I don’t think revenge is going to be a huge priority for him, even if he’d never admit that, even to himself.”
“I guess we’ll find out.”
“I guess we will. You did a nice job, Mister Rain, as head of our little band of brothers. I wasn’t sure you had it in you.”
I laughed. “I don’t know about that. How many times did we almost blow each other’s brains out? Which we would have at least once, if it hadn’t been for you.”
“Well, I won’t deny doing a hell of a Cleavon Little impersonation just when it was called for. But think of it this way. With someone else in charge of this crew, we wouldn’t have almost blown each other’s brains out. We would have done it.”
I thought he was giving me too much credit, but I didn’t say anything one way or the other.
“Okay, Mister Modest,” he said, “time to go. Try not to miss me too much, okay?”
“I’ll try.”
“Hell, come on out to Bali. Now that you’re single again, you can enjoy my island properly. I know all the best spots and the prettiest ladies. Unless you think you’re going to crawl back to Delilah.”
I laughed to cover my confusion and told him I’d see him in Bali. That much, at least, I was sure of.
It was a little awk
ward with Treven. He was still active-duty military, and he didn’t say where he was going. I had the feeling the life wasn’t for him, but that neither was retirement, not even with a tax-free twenty-five million. I thought maybe he was just someone who needed a structure, and a direction, like a train needs a set of tracks.
I still wondered for reasons I couldn’t quite articulate whether he might have been working both sides of the op at one point. Maybe it was that he didn’t kill Horton when he could have. At the time, I couldn’t fault his reasoning, but I also suspected reason wasn’t the real basis for his reluctance. I sensed the presence of some kind of attachment there, something between him and Horton. Or maybe what I sensed was just Treven trying to cling to that structure I thought he needed, a structure that had always given him purpose but that events were peeling away from him. Maybe the fear of losing that structure had caused him to reach out to Horton at some point, to try to play both sides against the middle. But I supposed it didn’t matter anymore. I didn’t want to admit it to myself, but a part of me was glad I would probably never know. I didn’t want to have to do something about it. It was easier to let it go.
Larison was also sketchy about his next moves, and I assumed he was going to his lover. I hoped it would work out for him. My own attempt at romance with a civilian had resulted in the civilian in question trying to have me killed. And she was the mother of my child. Of course, I said nothing to him, neither about his personal life nor about Horton.
He thanked me when we said goodbye, and I wasn’t sure for what—for keeping his secret; for keeping him from walking away from us in a way he would have regretted; for taking the chance I had taken in trusting him.
“Don’t mention it,” I said. “It was all just self-preservation.”
“Bullshit,” he said. “I owe you.”
“Owe me what? You brought me in on an op that made me twenty-five million.”
He didn’t answer right away, and I realized he was thinking his original plan hadn’t involved my keeping the diamonds. And that his recollection of whatever he’d originally planned must have been producing uncharacteristic stirrings of conscience. I thought I’d been lucky things had worked out as they had. It could easily have gone another way.
“I don’t know where I’ll be, exactly,” he said. “But if you need me, I’ll have your back.”
Coming from Larison, an offer like that would be as rare as it was meaningful. I appreciated it, and I told him so. I had a feeling I’d see him again, and I told him that, too.
And so our detachment dissolved. For a time, anyway.
I went back to Tokyo, of course, as I always seem to, like a salmon swimming upriver to the spot where it was born. I settled in, and enjoyed the feeling of a lull in my life. The city continued to recover steadily from the trauma of the earthquake and tsunami, and I gave an impossibly large and appropriately anonymous amount to relief efforts in the north. Revelations about the corruption that led to the Fukushima reactor meltdown were astonishing, even for a cynic like me. Still, nothing seemed to come of it. Japan, it seemed, at least in terms of apathy, was not so different from America.
Because there, too, the news was astonishing. Revelations, indictments, charges of treason. Most of it true, as Horton had foretold, the lies woven so carefully into the fabric that no one who didn’t understand the entire tapestry would ever spot them. Horton, again as he foretold, developed an enormous following. There were calls for him to run for president. To his credit, I supposed, he demurred, and I imagined that what people believed was his noble resistance to the allure of power would one day burnish his legend.
But despite all the revelations and arrests and the outrage, I didn’t really see all that much change. The wars kept grinding along. There were no populist revolts, no peasants with pitchforks storming the Capitol or burning the barons of Wall Street, even in effigy. There was talk of a third party—a second party would have been the more accurate way to put it, I thought—but nothing meaningful came of it. Though Wikileaks was the conduit for everything that was coming out, the New York Times and all the others were getting the credit, as though they would have touched any of it if Wikileaks hadn’t forced them, exactly as Kanezaki had said. Overall, people seemed to want to understand perfidy as a problem with personalities rather than as something insidious in their institutions.
Horton kept at it, working the levers of his popularity and power, but I had the sense the commission, far from being a vehicle he could steer as he wanted, was more a vessel that was gradually coming to control and contain his ambitions. I wondered how disappointed he was, and whether, in the dark, quiet hours of the very early morning, he ever lay in the sleepless grip of something like despair, the souls of all the lives he’d cut short pressing in close upon him.
I wasn’t worried about his coming after any of us. I thought he’d been telling the truth when he’d said he didn’t think we could do him much damage. And killing one of us without killing us all would have been dangerous. If any of us decided he was a threat again, Horton would have a real problem to contend with. And then there was his daughter, of course. Maybe she’d told him Dox was a softie. But Horton wouldn’t know about the rest of us. Would he really risk reprisals? I doubted it.
Watching his faraway machinations from my haven in Tokyo, as remote as the Marvel Comics Watcher on the moon, I wondered whether Horton had misread his own country. Maybe democracies, maybe all cultures, had life cycles, the same as the humans who comprised them. And maybe there were things cultures could do to extend their lives—the equivalent of exercise and eating right, or, to analogize to what Horton had done, the equivalent of radical surgery—but those things would, in the end, matter only at the margins. Maybe, regardless of the efforts of the exceptional few, the genes hidden and inherent in a culture’s own DNA would dictate a length of years, and make inevitable the onset of sclerosis, and senility, and death, as ineluctably as the Fates cutting the thread of an individual life.
I didn’t know what I wanted. I trained at the Kodokan and reflected at quiet shrines and enjoyed my jazz clubs and coffee houses and whisky bars. I took long, nocturnal walks through the damascene city, and considered what I’d been part of, and what I’d almost caused. I wondered about my son and I missed Delilah. I thought about Horton. I made no decisions.
I was sleeping better than I had in a while. I hoped it would last.
Although the D.C. Capital Hilton was in fact the home of the 10th Annual Convention of the American Constitution Society, there is no garage level in the hotel. Other than this detail, all locations in this book are described as I have found them. Photos and more on my website: www.barryeisler.com.
My thanks to:
Lara Perkins, for being an amazing editor and handling all the business stuff so well, too.
Stephen Blower, Kodokan Fourth Dan, for his devastatingly elegant judo—and his generosity in describing (and demonstrating) what it’s like to play at Rain’s level.
Mike Kleindl of Tokyo Food Life, for introducing Rain to L’Ambre and so many other fine Tokyo establishments.
Dave Camarillo, author of Guerilla Jiu-Jitsu, for helping me choreograph the Tokyo sequence where Rain takes out the contractors, and for being a great teacher and friend, too.
Ken Rosenberg, for helping with financial aspects of the backstory.
Novelist Victoria Dahl, for Dox’s very wrong phrase, “straining the gravy.”
Dr. Peter Zimetbaum, for the usual invaluable help on cardiology issues.
Elke Sisco, for assistance with the German dialogue.
Daniel Velez, for assistance with the Spanish dialogue. Albóndigas.
Koichiro Fukasawa and Yukie Kito, for assistance with the Japanese.
Novelist J.A. Konrath, because without his encouragement this novel might have been published by a legacy publisher, meaning you would have had to wait until next year to read it.
Novelist Lee Goldberg, for Los Angeles culinary, cultural, and tra
nsportation advice.
Ron Winston, for sharing his peerless expertise on diamonds.
Clint Overland, a good man who’s done some bad things, for his insights into the attraction of using terrible skills for a noble end.
The extraordinarily eclectic group of “foodies with a violence problem” who hang out at Marc “Animal” MacYoung’s and Dianna Gordon’s www.nononsenseselfdefense.com, for good humor, good fellowship, and a ton of insights, particularly regarding the real costs of violence.
Jeroen Ten Berge of JeroenTenBerge.com and Rob Siders of 52Novels. com, for terrific cover design and formatting services.
Tracy Mercer and the Four Seasons Palo Alto, for generous hospitality, endless jasmine tea, and perfect feng shui.
Naomi Andrews, Alan Eisler, Judith Eisler, Montie Guthrie, Tom Hayes, Mike Killman, novelist J.A. Konrath, Lori Kupfer, Dan Levin, Doug Patteson, and Ted Schlein, for helpful comments on the manuscript and many valuable suggestions and insights along the way.
Most of all, my wife Laura, a very patient woman and an awesome editor, too. Thanks, babe, for everything.
Much of the backstory and the technology, and many of the incidents, described in this book are real. Here’s a partial bibliography.
The media-lobbying complex.
http://www.thenation.com/doc/20100301/jones/print
The president’s assassination list, including American citizens.
http://www.salon.com/news/opinion/glenn_greenwald/2010/01/27/yemen/index.html
http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2010/01/26/AR2010012604239.html
The president’s claimed power to indefinitely imprison American citizens without charge, trial, or conviction.
http://www.salon.com/news/opinion/glenn_greenwald/2009/05/22/preventive_detention
Coup plots in Turkey.
