by Barry Eisler
She looked at him. “Which is?”
He shrugged. “Take control of the Russian assets. Double them. Run them. Have them do your bidding, for the good of the nation, not Russia’s to the nation’s detriment.”
“What kind of bidding did Arrington have in mind?” she said.
Graham sighed. “Himself as CIA director, for one thing. For him it would feel like Steve Jobs returning to Apple. He’d have guaranteed confirmation support from Fenwick and Hamm in the Senate, and an unlimited black-ops budget after that.”
“So Arrington had a lot to gain,” Rain said. “Personally gain.”
Livia didn’t mind the interruption now. They obviously couldn’t stop themselves, for one thing. But more importantly, she’d gotten what she needed. The rest was mostly mopping up.
Graham looked at Rain. “I suppose so.”
Rain nodded. “But aren’t you leaving out what was in it for you?”
“What do you mean?” Graham said.
“The president?” Rain said. “And the Senate majority leader and the chairman of the Armed Services Committee? You would have finally gotten all those privatized wars you’ve been agitating for. It would have made you a billionaire.”
Graham shook his head. “I already have more money than I can spend.”
Carl laughed. “The only people who say that are the ones who have more than they need and not as much as they want.”
“Regardless,” Graham said, “look at our endless wars. Are you really going to try to argue they’ve been effectively prosecuted by the government? Can’t you see the private sector would do better?”
Carl laughed again. “That’s what I like, an argument for the effectiveness of the private sector by its chief representative, who is currently zip-tied on the floor of a van with his face beat up and surrounded by a bunch of irritated people pointing guns at him.”
“That’s one way of looking at it,” Graham said. “Another is, you’re the private sector, too. And you’ve done pretty well for yourselves.”
“Well, that’s fine,” Carl said, “but you don’t hear any of us saying it means we should take over entire wars, do you?”
“My point,” Graham said, “to go back to the beginning of this conversation, is that our interests—yours and mine—aren’t naturally adverse. I’ve given you what you wanted. You have nothing to gain from killing me. And a lot to gain if I’m still alive. I need good people. Especially after all the ones you’ve recently removed from my employ. Now, I’ve shown you my bona fides. Let me go, and I’ll show you more. I’ll kill Arrington myself.”
“Lord,” Carl said. “I thought you two went way back.”
“We do,” Graham said. “But this is business.”
“I don’t think so,” Horton said. “How could anyone ever trust someone like you?”
“You can always trust me to be smart about business. And all of us working together is obviously smart business.”
Livia looked at Rain. He shrugged as if to say, Your call.
She knew what that call was. But Larison got there ahead of her. He raised the blanket-wrapped pistol and shot Graham in the head. Everybody jumped, startled at the report, which was loud in the confines of the van even with the padding around the gun. Graham slumped to his side, blood running from one of his ears, an expression of perfect surprise frozen on his swollen face.
Larison looked at them. “What? You weren’t serious about letting him go, were you?”
No one said anything, and Larison added, “For fuck’s sake, he killed Treven.”
Horton said, “You didn’t even like Ben.”
Larison shrugged. “That was when he was alive. Anyway, sorry if I got a little ahead of things there. Hope I’m not out of sync with anyone else’s sensibilities.”
“If you hadn’t done it,” Livia said, “I would have.”
Carl said, “Hear, hear.”
Rain looked at Livia. “Can you really use those files to bring down Arrington? And the Secret Service ring? And Barkley and the other senators?”
She considered for a moment. Then she said, “No. But Homeland Security can. And B. D. Little will make them.”
chapter
fifty-two
RAIN
I was standing naked in front of Delilah’s bedroom window, looking out at the sky, now pink with the rising sun, the eastern glow silhouetting the somnolent rooftops of Paris.
We’d dumped Graham’s body, then torched the van in a separate location, using a jug of petrol we’d bought earlier. And then rendezvoused here. Delilah was on the bed behind me. The others were in the living room, probably still too juiced to sleep.
Delilah got up and put her arms around me. “That was . . . okay,” she said.
I turned my head and kissed her. “It seemed like you were still angry at me.”
“I’m always going to be at least partly angry at you.”
I looked at her. I couldn’t tell if she was serious or joking. “Really?”
She paused, then said, “Yes.”
“Why?”
“I don’t like the power you have over me.”
I nodded. “I think I get it. I don’t like yours over me, either.”
“Yes, but you didn’t come back to me because you wanted to. It was because you needed something.”
I paused, then said, “Maybe what I need from you isn’t as obvious as what you think.”
She gave me a small smile. “We’ll see.”
We were quiet for a moment. I said, “What’s . . . going to happen with Kent?”
“Kent has a dozen women all over Europe. He’ll find a way to comfort himself.”
I looked at her. “There aren’t any women like you.”
She laughed. “What, do you feel sorry for him?”
“No. But . . . I can sympathize. I know how I’d feel if you found someone you preferred over me.”
“For a long time, I wished I could.”
“I don’t want you to wish that anymore. I’m glad you’re out of the life. And that I’m retired. I’m glad it’s not too late.”
She laughed again.
“What?” I said warily.
“Is this what you call retirement? Danger, and intrigue, and killing?”
“That part is done.”
“Yes? And how many times have you told yourself that?”
Not for the first time, her intuition made me uncomfortable. “You know, Dox once made a similar point.”
“He did? Well, I’m not surprised. He’s much more insightful than he likes to let on.”
“Do all the people who know me, know me better than I know myself?”
“John. It’s not that you don’t know yourself. It’s that you won’t admit to yourself what you know.”
My discomfort increased. “Which is?”
“You look for ways to balance your karma. To alleviate suffering where before, you caused it.”
I supposed her words wouldn’t have been so disquieting if they hadn’t been true. I tried to come up with something to say. Finally, I managed, “I’ll . . . think about that.”
She shrugged. “Well, Paris is a good place to think. It’s where Rodin sculpted Le Penseur, no?”
I smiled, thinking I didn’t deserve her. I wondered if that was why I had pushed her away. I’d have to think about that, too.
But with her. Not by myself.
“I’d have to give up my place in Kamakura,” I said. “It’s a minka—an antique Japanese farmhouse. I had it reconstructed, all from the original timbers. I think you’d like it.”
“Why don’t you show it to me? You’ve seen my Paris. Are you afraid to show me your Tokyo?”
“I can’t tell if you’re being literal or figurative.”
She frowned. “Why don’t you answer as if I’m being both?”
I nodded, feeling I was on the edge of a precipice, excited to leap but also afraid.
“I’d love to show you my Tokyo,” I said. “But .
. . it’s a labyrinthine place. I’ve spent most of my life there, and I still don’t understand it.”
“Do we not have time?”
“No, we do. We do. Just don’t think this means you’re done showing me Paris, okay?”
She looked at me for a long moment, then said, “Paris can be labyrinthine, too.”
I nodded. “I know. It’s one of the things I love about it. One of the things I missed.”
She didn’t say anything in response. She just took my hand, and led me back to the bed.
chapter
fifty-three
LIVIA
They dispersed one at a time the next morning, having agreed it would be safer to leave Paris separately.
Livia had checked in with both Little and Strangeland. Little told her he was going to press for indictments, starting with the three Secret Service agents referred to Justice, and working his way up from there. The same route Arrington had taken, but with public prosecution as the goal, rather than private exploitation. And Strangeland said she had a way of backing up Little’s play. Livia didn’t like the two of them closing the loop, but there wasn’t a lot she could do.
“Phelps told me you’re all but cleared in the officer-involved,” Strangeland had said. “But no progress on the identities of your attackers—not the two at the Ravenna-Bryant academy, not the two South Park snipers, either. We finally got access to the IAFIS, and guess what?”
“No matching prints?”
“Correct. You ask me, if there ever was a match in there, somebody deep-sixed it. But I’ll tell you what. You and I know who the assassins were working for. Maybe we can’t prove it, but the way I see it, they’re dead and you’re safe. For now, I’ll settle for that.”
So much had happened in the last week. The park rapist, the attack at the academy, Phelps and the FIT investigation . . . it felt surreal, like something she’d dreamed more than something that had actually happened. “And the chief?” Livia said. “The two of you . . . it’s all right?”
“Well, like I told you, she wasn’t thrilled you weren’t around for her SWAT bodyguards to monitor. But what could she do? You were on administrative leave. And she’s going to be even less happy in a day or so, but I’ll tell you about that when you’re back. Speaking of which, your leave is about to end, and I’m not going to be able to cover for you anymore.”
“I’ll be there tomorrow.”
“Good. Take a little time to get caught up. And then you and I are going to have a long talk.”
Livia had known that was coming. Strangeland already knew a lot, and seemed inclined to keep it between the two of them. But some of what she was likely to ask about would lead to more questions, which could in turn lead to areas the lieutenant might feel she couldn’t look away from.
But there was nothing to be done about that now. “How’s the weather?” Livia said.
“Still dry. No attacks in any parks. Let’s just get you back here. And back in the saddle.”
And then it was time for the goodbyes.
Larison was the first to go. He shook hands with everyone—except Carl, who he hugged, and of his own volition, too.
“Thanks for having my back outside Piano Vache,” he said to Livia.
“Thanks for having mine,” she said. She realized she had come to like Larison a lot. She was glad they’d gotten past their rough patches.
He nodded. “I don’t forget. Ask these jokers. If you need me, say the word.”
He turned to Delilah. “He might not show it,” he said, inclining his head toward Rain, “but he’s crazy about you. It was tormenting him so much he tried to talk to me about it. Me. Can you imagine?”
“Thanks,” Rain said. “Appreciate that.”
Delilah laughed, then kissed Larison on both cheeks.
“Come out to Costa Rica,” he said. “That goes for all of you. It’s peaceful there. You’d be amazed.”
Livia didn’t see that ever happening. But she was also surprised to realize she didn’t want to rule it out.
Horton was next. He had already collected Larison’s gun, and now he took the others, too, along with the commo gear—his contact had told him the hardware was a loan, not a gift.
“Time to go,” he said. “And see whether my homeowner’s covers helicopter rocket attacks.”
“You going to be okay?” Rain said.
“I expect the police will have some questions about my whereabouts at the time of the attack, and my knowledge of what happened. But I have a good lawyer, and a bad memory. And I have a feeling there’s going to be a whole host of reasons the government will prefer to overlook what happened, and attribute it all to a mysterious fire or other natural disaster.”
Livia had some experience with government decisions to overlook the obvious. And efforts to publicize it as something else.
“What about Treven’s brother?” Rain said. “You want me to follow up on that?”
“I’d rather do it myself, if you don’t mind. I owe him that much.”
There was another round of handshakes. And then Horton, too, was gone, and it was just Rain and Delilah, and Livia and Carl.
Livia wanted to talk to Kanezaki. There was something she needed from him—needed so much she was afraid to even ask for it. But she didn’t see an alternative.
“Hey,” she said. “We haven’t checked in with Kanezaki since just after Piano Vache.”
“Right,” Rain said. “I was going to update him via the secure site.”
Livia nodded. “Can we try calling him anyway?”
She thought Rain was going to ask why, but he glanced at Carl and then just nodded. Carl put the sat phone on speakerphone and called.
“It’s about time,” Kanezaki said by way of a greeting. “I really don’t like to get my information about what you’ve been doing in Paris from CNN. They’re reporting Oliver Graham as kidnapped.”
“Hey, Tom,” Carl said. “That’s why we’re calling. CNN is way behind, you can’t rely on those guys at all. I mean, kidnapped? That’s ancient history. He’s dead now, too.”
They filled Kanezaki in on everything that happened and all they’d learned, including that Little was going to blow it all wide open. Kanezaki seemed glum at the prospect, saying only “I see.”
“Tom,” Livia said, her heart kicking up a notch as she got closer to what she needed to ask for. “Can I call you that, Tom?”
“Of course. It’s what all the people who drag me back and forth across this side of the law call me.”
She considered mentioning that it wasn’t always so clear who was doing the dragging, but decided to let it go. “I know you’re in the intelligence business,” she said. “And I know what we learned would have been powerful intelligence for you—if it stayed secret. Can I ask, is that what you were thinking just now? Because you sounded a little down when we told you about Little.”
“Well, it’s academic at this point,” Kanezaki said. “Little and Homeland Security Investigations have those Justice Department files. I expect it’s only a matter of time before indictments start coming down. But yes, none of what you’ve told me is particularly useful to me now. Still . . . for what it’s worth, it’s not a hard thing for me to look on the bright side about.”
“You’re a good man, Tom,” Carl said.
Kanezaki laughed. “Whenever you say that, you always ask for something.”
Livia swallowed. “I do have something to ask you,” she said.
Kanezaki didn’t answer right away. Maybe he’d been joking, and was surprised by the gravity in her tone. “Okay,” he said.
“I’ve got a case,” she said. “A serial rapist. He’s in Seattle now. And the next time it rains, which in Seattle will be soon, he’s going to do it again.”
Carl was looking at her, unease in his expression.
Kanezaki said, “What do you need from me?”
She was encouraged that he said need instead of want. But they weren’t there yet.
&nbs
p; “You mentioned some programs. Programs that give you access to everything a person buys, everything he searches for on the Internet, everywhere he goes.”
Another pause. “You know I can’t confirm or deny—”
“Come on, Tom,” Carl said, and though he still looked uneasy, Livia realized that whatever doubts he might have had, he must have decided to back her play. “I heard the scuttlebutt a few years back. Some program called God’s Eye. Stupid-ass name if you ask me. They might as well have called it ‘Government Looking Down Your Throat and Up Your Ass.’ Just going to scare people when the news leaks, instead of lulling them. But whatever.”
“In fact,” Kanezaki said, “there was a program called God’s Eye. But it was shut down.”
“Uh-huh,” Carl said. “And in my experience, programs your ‘intelligence community’ loves but that public pressure forces you to shut down, don’t get shut down, they just get renamed.”
A long moment went by, and Livia had the sense that Kanezaki might be smiling. “Well,” he finally said. “Again, I can neither confirm nor deny, but I might have heard something about a program called . . . Guardian Angel.”
Carl laughed. “Glad to see you people finally hired a decent marketing team.”
“I can give you a lot,” Livia said. “I know what this guy does. What he searches for. What he buys. How he moves around. I know everything about him, but it’s all parameters, I don’t have the specific data. Eventually I’ll have that data, and I’ll catch him. But only after he’s ruined who knows how many more lives.”
Kanezaki said, “Unless.”
Livia gripped the phone, hoping and trying not to. “Yes.”
“I’m not promising anything. But . . . give me the parameters.”