The Chaos Kind

by Barry Eisler

  “And I suppose that applies to the others, as well.”

  “That’s our thinking. So unless you have any other concerns, we’re going to proceed as planned. By the way, how’s old Manus?”

  Rain glanced over. Manus was signing with Dash. Evie was watching Rain.

  “He seems good. They’re all good.”

  “Tom told me what happened. I really appreciate you and Delilah helping out. And I’m not trying to gild the lily here, but I think this could work out well. That Manus is a damn force of nature. He saved my ass earlier, and I for one would be proud to welcome him into our little band of brothers.”

  “There is no band. I’m retired. Or anyway, trying to be.”

  “All right, well, if you ever decide to get off the shuffleboard court, or shit happens, or whatever. I’m just saying, Manus is solid. Give him my best, will you?”

  Rain nodded at Evie. “I’ll give him your best.”

  “Thank you. And if you talk to Tom, see if he can get ahold of another of those private jets he flew you and Delilah out here on. When we’re done with Schrader, Larison and I are going to need to vamoose, and I think we’re a little hot right now for commercial travel.”

  “Anything else? You want me to order you a pizza? You need a back rub?”

  Dox laughed. “I told you you’ve gotten funnier. I’ll let Larison know. I think it’s his influence as much as mine.”

  “You be careful, all right?”

  “You bet. And you know I love you, too.”

  Dox clicked off, saving Rain the trouble of trying and failing to come up with a snappy reply.

  Dox had a way of keeping things light, but Rain hadn’t been joking about the shortcomings of the plan. Or, given the level of the players threatened by those videos, the stakes. He understood the logic. But at the same time, the whole thing felt like an attempt to snuff out an oil-well fire by dumping high explosives on it. If it worked, great. If it didn’t, you just bought yourself an even bigger fire.

  chapter

  sixty

  LIVIA

  Thirty minutes out from the compound, Livia said to Schrader, “All right, Andrew, time for your cocktail.” She wanted to make sure it had fully taken effect by the time they arrived.

  Schrader looked doubtful. “What’s in it?”

  “I’d like to say Bombay Sapphire,” Carl said, handing him the plastic bottle. “And a dash of vermouth. But as it happens, it’s mostly just beta blockers. You know what that is?”

  Schrader nodded. “I know people who use them. For anxiety. And high blood pressure.”

  “Exactly,” Carl said. “Now maybe you’ve gotten to know us well enough to understand we’re not like those people who were holding you before. On the other hand, you’ve had a rough time of it, and we’re not old friends who you’re maximally comfortable with, either. So we need to make sure your voice is stress-free when you go to reset your system. You get it?”

  Schrader didn’t look mollified. He glanced at the bottle. “How do I know this is what you say it is?”

  Livia wanted to say, You don’t. Now fucking drink it. But Carl had a different style, and he was doing fine on his own.

  “Why would I lie?” Carl said. “You think we’re trying to poison you? Or knock you out? What would be the point?”

  “I guess,” Schrader said. “Could you at least untie me? How am I going to drink it?”

  “I’m going to hold it for you,” Carl said. “Now drink up and we’ll have you back at that jail in no time.”

  “Couldn’t you just let me go?”

  “Andrew,” Diaz said from up front, “where would you go? The marshals would pick you up in a day. It’s much better if you cooperate.”

  “I guess,” Schrader said again.

  Livia sensed that Diaz meant it. But probably only because she hadn’t thought it through. Schrader knew who Diaz was, and he could describe the rest of them. He could put them at the Lake Tapps house, where five people had been shot to death. He had no reason to keep quiet, and every reason to tell the whole story. Even to embellish it.

  She didn’t know what Carl was thinking. But it didn’t matter. Larison was never going to let Schrader walk away.

  And the truth was, neither was she.

  Dox held the bottle and Schrader drank the contents. “Good job,” Carl said. “How was it?”

  Schrader smacked his lips. “Okay. A little menthol taste.”

  Carl patted him on the shoulder. “Sounds like Bombay Sapphire has nothing to fear.”

  It occurred to Livia that Schrader didn’t understand how dire his position was. Despite everything he had done, he seemed fundamentally a child. Probably the first time he had surreptitiously filmed the men he was blackmailing, he had conceived it as a prank. Or maybe it was something he got off to sexually. Just a “harmless” hobby no one would ever even know about. But over time, as he realized there were other possibilities, it got more sophisticated, and more dangerous. Almost every home-invasion rapist Livia had ever arrested had started out peeping. And there were home invaders who had originally intended only to steal property but who, upon seeing the complete power they had over their bound, terrified victims, wound up escalating to rape.

  In some ways, though, Schrader’s fundamentally infantile nature made him worse than the freaks she hunted. Most of the freaks had been horrifically abused as children, their humanity methodically beaten out of them. Livia didn’t care about that, either—most abused children didn’t go on to be abusers themselves, instead transcending their circumstances—but at least there was an explanation. But the ones who ruined lives for money? Or status? Or as some kind of grift? The casual, thoughtless, banal ones. Yeah. They were even worse.

  The property was on the south end of the island, in one of the more heavily wooded and secluded enclaves. Once they were off Route 305, with its double yellow line, the streets grew increasingly narrow and overgrown, and soon they were on a single-lane gray-top road. The sun eased out from behind the clouds, and streaks of light lit up the autumn yellow in the trees. “I feel so calm,” Schrader said. “That was awful before, what they did to me. It was like I was drowning. But it’s okay now. What did you give me again?”

  “Klonopin and Propranolol,” Carl said.

  “When this is over, I’m going to get a prescription.”

  “Well, I know a guy who can hook you up. But first things first. Any staff in your house, or anyone else we might want to warn about our arrival?”

  “Maybe. The housekeepers, the groundskeepers . . . and the cook. And the helicopter pilot. And my driver.”

  “But you’ve been gone for a while now,” Carl said. “What do they all do when you’re not around?”

  “The maids . . . they clean when I’m not there. I don’t like to be bothered.”

  “And the rest?”

  “It depends.”

  “Are your people loyal to you?”

  “I pay them well.”

  “Well, for our purposes, that’s going to have to amount to the same thing. If someone sees you, are they going to call the police?”

  “Not if I tell them not to.”

  Livia looked at him. “Andrew. Where is the encryption keypad?”

  “In my office.”

  She glanced at Carl. “We’ll be in and out fast.”

  “We better be,” Larison said.

  “What about cameras?” Carl said. “I’m guessing you have a security system?”

  Schrader nodded. “There’s an alarm. And Nest cameras outside.”

  “Are they set to record?” Carl said.

  “They’re more for show,” Schrader said.

  Livia kept a poker face to conceal her disgust. Schrader had no problem planting cameras in guest rooms to film children being raped. But his own privacy was sacrosanct.

  “Give me one of your burners,” Livia said to Carl. “I’ll download the app and confirm nothing is recording.”

  “Andrew,” Diaz said,
“you’ll have to give us your username and password. Will you do that?”

  “I guess so,” Schrader said.

  By the time they reached the gate to Schrader’s property, Livia had downloaded the app and accessed Schrader’s system. She confirmed the cameras weren’t recording and turned them off completely.

  There was a keypad alongside the gate. The driveway beyond snaked to the right, hiding whatever might be at the end of it.

  Carl and Larison scanned the surroundings. Diaz rolled down the window and looked at Schrader in the rearview. “What’s the code?” she said.

  “You’re not lying to me, are you?” he said. “I mean, shouldn’t I talk to Sharon or something? She always tells me not to talk to anyone when she’s not there.”

  “Do I seem like I’m lying?” Diaz said.

  Schrader shook his head. “No.”

  “Good. Because I’m not. And we’ll talk to your lawyer after for sure. But we have to take care of this first. So tell me the code, okay?”

  He recited six digits. Diaz punched them in. The gate swung open. She rolled up the window and they drove through.

  They followed the winding driveway for almost a minute before the house came into view. It was enormous, some sort of French chateau style, surrounded by manicured lawns and topiary. Livia found it both hideous and entirely fitting.

  Larison looked at Schrader. “You don’t have a key. Are we going to need another breach charge? Or is there an easier way in?”

  “The garage,” Schrader said. “There’s a keypad by each bay. The same code as the front gate. Use the far one, it’s for visitors.”

  The garage had six bays and was attached at ninety degrees to the house. “Back up,” Livia told Diaz. “Off to the side, not right in front of the door. We’ll need to clear the garage first. And if there’s someone in there, you want to be out of the way and pointed in the right direction. Engine running.”

  Diaz positioned the van. Carl shouldered the medical pack, and he, Larison, and Livia got out. There was a light breeze and the air smelled of salt water and fallen leaves.

  Livia and Larison stood at the sides of the bay, guns out, while Carl held the Wilson in one hand and punched in the code with the other. There was a mechanical whine and the door started to rise. Carl tried to move in front of Livia, but she wouldn’t budge. “Behind me,” she said.

  “Damn it, you know I hate that.”

  “Hurry.”

  He grumbled, but did as she said.

  The door reached the top and the mechanical whine stopped. Larison nodded to her. Simultaneously, they swung around each end of the garage, guns up. Carl was right behind her.

  Other than five fancy cars so gleaming Livia wondered if anyone ever drove them, the garage looked deserted. They squatted to check, then moved through to make sure. When they were satisfied, Carl went out and waved to Diaz. She backed in the van and they closed the garage door as soon as it was inside.

  They got Schrader out. “Now can you untie me?” he said.

  Carl looked at Livia. She nodded. “Okay,” he said. “I’m going to cut those flex-ties off you. I really hope you’re not going to do anything dumb. None of us wants to shoot you, Andrew. You’ve been through plenty already.”

  “I’m not going to do anything dumb. But I need the bathroom.”

  “That’s fine,” Carl said. “One of us will escort you.”

  “I have to go number two.”

  “As I said, Mr. Larison will escort you.”

  Larison shot Carl a look. Carl smiled.

  “That’s gross,” Schrader said. “I don’t want someone watching.”

  “Hold it in if you want,” Larison said. “I won’t complain.”

  Schrader shook his head. “I can’t.”

  Larison glared at Carl. “Then let’s get it over with.”

  Another keypad, and they were inside as vast a kitchen as Livia had ever seen. Stone floors, high ceilings, top-of-the-line appliances. But like the garage, it was too spotless, and somehow soulless. A space designed to impress, but not really to live in. “If we run into a problem,” Livia said to Diaz, “get behind something solid if you can. If you can’t, then get low and get out of the way.” She turned to Schrader. “That goes for you, too.”

  “Why would there be a problem?” Schrader said.

  “In case you haven’t noticed,” Diaz said, “there are a lot of people looking for you.”

  There were fewer obstructions than in the garage, and the kitchen took them only a minute to check. They proceeded into a hallway as long as a bowling alley.

  “You always leave all the lights on?” Carl said, sweeping left and right with the Wilson.

  Schrader looked up as though noticing all the recessed lights for the first time. “I don’t know. I think so.”

  Partway down the hallway was a bathroom. Larison took Schrader in. While she waited, Livia glanced around. Marble floors, wood paneling, leather sofas in case, what, someone got tired traveling down the endless corridor and needed to sit? The notion of one person living in a place like this disgusted her. She didn’t begrudge people success. But when she thought about how little there had been in the village she had grown up in, and how happy she and Nason had been, at least before what her parents had done . . . she couldn’t help but find this sort of excess both sickening, and a sickness.

  After a few minutes, Schrader emerged from the bathroom, Larison behind him. Larison glared at Carl, wrinkled his nose, and said, “Expect payback.”

  Carl laughed. “This was payback. For you mocking me for having to ride a damn three-wheeled motorcycle.”

  Larison half smiled, half grimaced. “Oh, we’re not done with that.”

  They followed Schrader down the hall, passing innumerable rooms as they moved, their footfalls echoing off the high ceiling. Livia and Carl checked each room they went by, but they were all empty. Larison stayed in the hallway, making sure no one surprised them from the front or behind.

  “Seems quiet,” Carl said as they walked. “Would you say a little too quiet? ’Cause when they say that in the movies, the next line is always We’ve got company.”

  “I told you,” Schrader said, “the maids work when I’m gone. I don’t know where everyone else is. I haven’t been in jail before. Or at least, not in a long time.”

  They came to another doorway, inside of which was another enormous, overdecorated room. “My office,” Schrader said.

  They followed him in. Everything was dark, polished wood—the floor, the bookcases, the ceiling twenty feet above. On the walls were paintings of hunting scenes in heavy gold frames; above them, a second-floor walkway encircling the room, its bookcases filled with volumes doubtless read by no one. A spiral staircase. Chandeliers. Thick oriental rugs. Two leather couches and a half-dozen upholstered chairs. And a wooden desk as long as a city bus, two giant computer monitors perched on top of it.

  And between the monitors, a keypad, a microphone, and a fingerprint reader. And a vertical, elegantly curved device of polished metal. The retina scanner.

  “I get it,” Carl said. “A place for quiet, solitary contemplation. Reminds me of my ancestral home in Abilene.”

  Larison was always quiet, but there was something especially still about him now. He was looking at the far end of the room. There was a fireplace, on either side of which was a set of thick floor-to-ceiling curtains. Drawn curtains. In the rooms they had passed, the curtains had all been open.

  Livia pointed to Diaz, then swung her finger over to the end of the huge desk. Diaz must have seen the concern in her eyes because she nodded and immediately took cover. Schrader looked at Diaz, then at Livia, obviously not getting it. Livia pointed to the desk as she had for Diaz, shaking her finger for emphasis. But the idiot just kept staring at her. “What is it?” he said. “What’s wrong?”

  Carl picked up on the problem, too. Unlike Larison and Livia, though, he kept talking. “Not that I don’t have concerns,” he said, “Frankly
, I’m not sure this property is adequate for my current needs. Is it equipped with a separate gymnasium, for example?”

  Schrader looked at him, his expression perplexed. “Yes, but I don’t really use it.”

  Livia and Larison eased deeper into the room, toward the windows, using the massive chairs and the edges of bookshelves for cover whenever possible, glancing up at the walkway, then back to the curtains as they moved. Livia heard Schrader call out to them, “It’s okay, there’s no one here.”

  Livia kept moving. Carl, shut him up—

  “That’s what concerns me,” Carl said. “The absence of adequate staff. I mean, how do you keep it clean? Do you have one of those Roombas, or what? Been thinking about getting one for my folks for Christmas.”

  “Roombas?” Schrader said. “No, there’s a whole staff. I mean, a Roomba would—”

  “Above you!” she heard Carl bellow, followed immediately by a solid Bambambam! from the Wilson.

  She glanced up just in time to see a man crumple behind the railing of the walkway. Then Carl was shooting again. She spun toward the curtains. Two men were racing forward, firing pistols, trying to reach a pair of chairs for cover—

  A round sizzled past her, and something slammed into her chest with a thud she felt through her entire body. She was hit. No time to wonder if the vest had stopped it. She returned fire. Larison was shooting from her right. One of the men ahead of them cried out and blood erupted from his head. He went down. Livia saw movement from above her on the walkway to her right. She swung the Glock up and fired. Carl was shooting from behind her. The man got off two wild shots and twitched as she and Carl hit him. He fell back, out of her range of vision.

  The last man reached one of the chairs and dove behind it. She and Larison hugged opposite walls and kept moving in.

  The room was suddenly silent. The man must have realized his comrades were done and his position hopeless. A second went by, probably while he was screwing up his courage, or maybe swapping magazines. Then he burst up with a scream—

  Livia and Larison put a dozen rounds in him before he’d even gotten his sights on them. He flailed, fired three wild shots, and went down.