Barry Eisler - The Detachment

“It doesn’t,” Treven said. “It has no impact on the first, and prevents him from doing the second. So my guess? The stunt was already in the works. It has nothing to do with his daughter. It’s about something else.”

That sounded right. “Okay,” I said. “But what?”

No one said anything. Dox turned to Kei. “Darlin’, if you have any insights into what that was all about just now on the TV, this would be a great time to share them.”

She didn’t respond at first, and I realized that seeing her father, whether because of what he had done, or just because of her circumstances, had affected her. She was trying to master her emotions.

“Maybe you’re just missing something incredibly obvious,” she said, after a moment. “My father’s an honorable man.”

Dox smiled sadly. “Well, respectfully, you don’t know him the way we do.”

“No,” she said. “You don’t know him the way I do.”

We were all quiet again. I checked the secure site. There was a message from Horton.

“He’s coming,” I said. “Tonight, with the diamonds. Expects to arrive at LAX around eight o’clock on a private jet. Says he can’t risk commercial because of the diamonds. The TSA is going apeshit, everything’s being hand-searched. Says he’ll meet us anywhere we want.”

“He gave you his itinerary?” Treven said.

I nodded. No one had to point out the significance. Either Horton was trying, pretty obviously, to lure us into a trap. Or he was telling us we could kill him without resistance, if we’d just let his daughter go.

But it had to be the second one. He knew we wouldn’t expose ourselves more than necessary. Only one of us would show up for the diamonds. The rest would be somewhere else, holding a decidedly non-metaphorical gun to his daughter’s head.

“He told me his announcement would set our minds at ease,” Larison said. “What are we missing? I don’t see it.”

No one responded. I didn’t think we were going to figure it out. We’d just have to ask Horton. And then I realized.

“We’re not supposed to see it,” I said. “He wants a chance to talk to us. Whoever goes to pick up the diamonds, Horton wants it to involve a conversation, not just an exchange of a bag.”

“What does that get him?” Dox said.

I looked at Kei. “I don’t know. But we need to decide who’s going to meet him.”

Dox stood. “Hell, I’ll do it.”

I wondered if it was a bluff. I knew he felt protective of Kei, and was worried about Larison.

“No,” I said. “I want Horton to feel that special tingling sensation you can only fully appreciate when you wonder whether a former Marine sniper is watching you through a scope right that very second.”

“I can’t,” Larison said. “Much as I’d like to. Of the four of us, the one Hort fears most is me. Because he knows, with me, it’s personal. If you want to ensure compliance, you want him to picture his daughter, alone and helpless with me.”

I didn’t particularly care for the thought of Larison alone with Kei, but I couldn’t disagree with his assessment.

Treven said, “I’ll go.”

The truth was, I would have preferred to handle it myself. I didn’t trust Treven. He’d been exceptionally quiet on the subway in L.A. when we’d first discussed going after Horton, and he’d been right at the Capital Hilton, when he’d accused me of suspecting he had a hand in our being set up about the cyanide. But I had no way of knowing, and besides, I didn’t want another confrontation. Whatever the relationship between the four of us, it plainly hadn’t yet evolved to the point where disagreements could be settled without the possibility of a firefight.

Strangely enough, I wasn’t unduly concerned that Treven might abscond with the diamonds. A hundred million dollars is a lot of money, true. But you wouldn’t live long to spend it if Larison, Dox, and I were after you. Better to settle for an already galactic twenty-five million and live to enjoy it, too. I imagined Larison had performed the same calculus and had arrived at the same conclusion.

“You’ll have to do a hell of an SDR,” I said. “We don’t know-”

He held up a hand. “How he tracked us in Washington. I know. Satellites, drones, surveillance cameras, etc. I’ll be careful.”

I nodded again, recognizing I was micromanaging, unable, it seemed, not to.

“He’ll want to know when his daughter will be released,” Larison said. “Tell him only after we’ve had the diamonds certified by an expert. If he thinks he’s going to hand off another bag full of plastic, I’m going to make him pay.”

“The diamonds are only half of it,” Dox said. “How’s he going to call off the heat now that he’s just a civilian? And how would we even know, one way or the other?”

I realized Larison didn’t care about heat. He only wanted the diamonds. That wasn’t an entirely new development, but still, it made me uneasy. I sensed I was going to have to do something about him, something extreme. But I didn’t know what. Or maybe I just didn’t want to face it.

I looked at Treven. “Horton’s going to give you assurances regarding the heat. We just don’t know what form those assurances will take. Let’s assume for the moment they’ll be worth something, because if they weren’t, he’d be putting his daughter at greater risk. So whatever he says, you just tell him you’ll pass the information along to the rest of us, and we’ll get back to him.”

“He’s not going to like that,” Treven said.

Larison smiled. “He’s going to hate it. But he’ll have no choice. He’s not going to risk sending you back to us empty-handed.”

Then he looked at Dox and said, “Not as long as I’m here, anyway.”

Treven sat in a corner of the vast, ornate waiting room of Los Angeles’ Union Station, waiting for Hort. The Glock was concealed in an unzipped black hip pouch on the large, mahogany-and-leather chair next to him, but he wasn’t expecting any immediate trouble. Even if Hort hadn’t just left the government and resigned his commission, his options were fairly limited. Bring in a team for a snatch? They’d have to drag Treven out through the station, assuming they survived the preceding firefight. A straight-up hit? That would get Hort nothing, except maybe a dead daughter. No, the most likely scenario-next to Hort trying nothing at all, given the way they had him by the balls-was that Hort would have forces hanging back and hoping to follow Treven to wherever Kei was being held. Which is why they’d told Hort via the secure site the meeting would be at Union Station. With its multiple levels and points of ingress and egress; its numerous train, subway, and bus lines; and its proximity to three highways and countless surface roads, it would take an army to properly cover the place.

He’d been a little surprised when Rain had agreed to let him be the one to meet Hort. The man had good instincts, and had zeroed in on Treven at the Capital Hilton. But he never had anything firm to go with, and probably had decided he would just have to keep his suspicions in reserve. For the time being, anyway.

He watched all manner of people coming and going along the tiled floors and through the huge archways, the sounds of their cell phone conversations swallowed up amid the high, beamed ceiling and art deco chandeliers, and periodically drowned out by announcements about the importance of being watchful and immediately reporting any suspicious activity. There was a tension in the air that reminded him of the immediate aftermath of 9/11: people hurrying more than normal, as though passage through a train station had become the equivalent of a lethal game of musical chairs; expressions pinched and suspicious and fearful; eyes darting, trying to read faces to which their owners previously had always been happily oblivious. There were cops positioned everywhere, and a half dozen soldiers patrolling in Army Combat Uniforms, their M-16s held ready. Not Hort’s men, though. These were reservists, and to an operator like Treven, the difference between a part-timer and a JSOC black ops vet was the difference between a kid playing touch football and an NFL pro. Hort’s guys were invisible right up until the moment they were pulling a bag over your head or putting a bullet in your brain. These guys were nothing more than security theater. Their purpose was to look butch, and reassure a jittery public that Something Was Being Done, and Treven supposed they were ably carrying out the role.