by Barry Eisler
They walked into a bright, air-conditioned lobby—stone floors, a ceiling open all the way to the fifth floor, piano music playing from hidden speakers. The bar was off to the left, and it sounded lively. On the right, three receptionists stood behind a dark wood-and-marble counter.
They strolled over to the nearest of the three, a young Tico in a navy suit. “We need a room for the night,” Ben said, his voice quiet, slightly conspiratorial.
“Certainly,” the man said. “We have king-bedded rooms, twin-bedded rooms …”
“Twin beds would be fine,” Paula said.
Ben’s face betrayed nothing. But inside, he wanted to smack her for being so stupid.
The receptionist worked the keyboard. “I’m sorry, the only rooms we have available now feature a single king-sized bed.”
“A king-sized bed would be fine,” Ben said calmly. If Paula uttered one single word of protest, he was going to find something and gag her with it.
“Very good, sir,” the receptionist said. “And how many keys will you require?”
Simultaneously, Ben said, “One,” and Paula said, “Two.”
Ben stared at Paula and said, “One,” the single syllable sounding like a growl.
Paula stared back but didn’t respond.
“And what credit card will you be using?”
“I’ll just use cash.”
“All right. And we’ll require some form of ID. A passport, or …”
Ben pulled out his wallet and put three hundred U.S. on the counter.
“I’d just be more comfortable if there were no record of the transaction,” he said. “And please, keep the change.”
The receptionist looked down at the money for a moment. He produced a magnetic key in a paper sleeve and handed it to Ben with a gracious smile.
“Your room number is here,” he said, gesturing to the sleeve. “The elevator is just past the bar. Enjoy your stay.”
“Thank you,” Ben said, glancing at the card. Room 535. “I’m sure we will.”
They walked over to the elevator. As soon as the doors had closed and Ben had inserted the room card and pressed the button for five, he said, “What were you thinking?”
She looked at him. “What’s your problem this time?”
“My problem is, what do you think we look like? We’re supposed to be a horny couple shacking up here to have sex. And you’re asking for a room with separate beds. You can have the goddamned bed, I’m happy to sleep on the floor.”
“I don’t see that my request was incommensurate with—”
“With two people who came here to fuck?”
“Maybe you snore. Maybe you thrash in your sleep. There are a lot of reasons two people might want to sleep in separate beds after they make love.”
“Yeah? Not in my experience.”
“Well, if you can find girlfriends so patient they can tolerate your personality generally, I expect they might be able to tolerate you in other ways, too.”
“Yeah, well likewise, I can think of all kinds of reasons a guy might want to get up and go home after he was done fucking you. But that’s not the point. The point is, most people who come to a hotel to have sex prefer to do it in the same bed. What you did was a mistake. Mistakes like that get you noticed. Getting noticed gets you killed.”
Paula took a deep breath as though to answer, but stopped when the doors opened. There was no way anyone could have anticipated them here, but out of habit, Ben swept the area with his eyes before moving out of the elevator. They walked down the corridor and Ben let them into the room.
As soon as he had double-locked the door, Paula said, “And you’re lecturing me about getting noticed? The first thing you did in Taibbi’s bar was practically castrate his bouncer. And then every chance you got to get in Taibbi’s face, too, you did. Yeah, that’s you, Mr. Invisible.”
Ben walked past her into the room. Marble bathroom on the right. King bed in the room past it; dresser, flat-screen television, desk on the left. He glanced out the window at two massive, kidney-shaped pools in the courtyard below, then pulled shut the curtains and turned to her. “We’ve been over this already. When I need to be direct, I’m direct. When I need to be invisible, I’m invisible. If you don’t know the difference, you’re a goddamned amateur.”
Her lips were pressed tightly together and she was breathing so hard her nostrils were flaring. Ben realized he needed to back off. Not that what he was saying wasn’t true, but true didn’t mean it was helpful.
“Look, you’re smart in a lot of ways, I can see that. And you’ve got good instincts, you know how to play a role. But you need to use your head, too. Why can’t you be smart enough to see this isn’t your ordinary investigation? That right now you’re operating outside the world you’re accustomed to? Did you not hear Taibbi when he was talking about what happened to his men? When was the last time you were investigating someone who could ghost up behind you, sever your carotid, and walk away from the arterial spray before your body even hits the floor? I’ll tell you when the last time was. Never. Otherwise you’d be dead. And Larison is only half of it. We don’t even know who else is after him, or whether they might take an interest in us, too. Do you get it? You’re smart and you’re good at what you do, but right now you are out of your league and if you want to stay alive, you need to listen to me when I talk to you.”
“You are so condescending, it makes me want to wipe the smugness right off your face.”
“Is that how you break the cycle of violence?”
She closed her eyes and let out a long breath. “I hate that I’ve let you make me this angry. You’re not worth it.”
He knew he shouldn’t respond, but he couldn’t help it. “If I’m not worth it, why are you angry?”
She opened her eyes. “Exactly. I’m going to take a bath. Do you need the bathroom first?”
“Yeah, actually, I do.”
“Fine. And when you’re out? I do expect you to sleep on the floor.”
“With pleasure,” he said, walking past her.
He closed the door, took a leak, and furiously brushed his teeth with the toothbrush and toothpaste the hotel had provided. If she had a problem using the same toothbrush, she could just go without, he didn’t give a shit.
She’d been stupid in the lobby. But …
What was the point of unloading on her like that? He could have just pointed out her error. She wasn’t thick, she would have gotten it.
Was he trying to get back at her for some of the things she’d said in the van on the way from Jacó? That crap about how he took things personally, that the job alone couldn’t justify the way he piled on … it had stung. Which, of course, meant there was probably something to it.
And wasn’t the thing she’d criticized him for exactly what he’d just done to her? If his goal was to explain operational behavior, he could have just explained it. What did insulting her have to do with that?
And if explaining hadn’t been the point, what was?
You wanted to hurt her. Because she hurt you. She challenged you, so you had to put her in her place.
Was that really it? Because, when he put it like that, it sounded so pathetic.
He spat and rinsed his mouth, then looked at himself in the mirror. He wondered if anyone ever looked in the mirror and saw an angry, thin-skinned, petty reflection staring back.
Probably not.
Well, maybe this was part of what Hort had been telling him about. Getting greater self-control. Because how could you have greater self-control if you didn’t have greater self-awareness?
All right, fine. But what if you wound up not liking the self you were becoming aware of?
He didn’t want to think about that.
He washed his hands, soaked a washcloth, and wiped his face and eyes. That sense of unseen forces, and now all this thinking about his own behavior and what might lie behind it … he didn’t like it. He thought maybe it was better before, when he just did what he was told
and acted the way he wanted and fuck anyone who had a problem with it. It had all been working out pretty well, hadn’t it?
Sure. And your daughter thinks you’re dead.
“Come on,” he said, out loud. “It was supposed to be a rhetorical question.”
He chuckled, but without much mirth. Now he was talking to himself. He’d think a question, and a voice in his head was actually answering. And then he’d responded to the voice. What was he going to do, start having conversations with himself?
He needed a vacation. He needed something. That shit with Obsidian, and then the Manila city jail … he was just stressed out, that was all. Who wouldn’t be?
You wouldn’t be. Not before.
“Will you knock that shit off?” he said, out loud again.
He opened the door and walked wordlessly past Paula. “Everything all right in there?” she said.
“Yeah, what do you mean?”
“Sounded like you were talking to someone.”
“I don’t …” He shook his head and laughed. “I was being an asshole a few minutes ago. I’m sorry.”
She looked at him, and he had no idea what she was thinking. After a moment, she said, “Forget about it,” and then went into the bathroom.
When he heard the bath water running, he called Hort and briefed him on everything that had happened. He assumed she was doing something similar on her end, but there wasn’t much he could do about it.
“Nico, huh?” Hort said.
“Yeah, Nico. What do you think that’s all about?”
Hort laughed. “You mean could a hard-ass operator like Larison also be a swish?”
Ben felt a little embarrassed. “Well … yeah.”
Hort laughed again. “Of course he could. And he wouldn’t be the only one, either.”
“You’re shitting me. There are gays in the unit?”
“Of course there are. And personally, I don’t care. All I give a damn about for any soldier is soldiering. Who a man wants to sleep with couldn’t matter less to me.”
Ben thought for a moment. He supposed what Hort was saying was true. He’d just never considered it before. It was hard to imagine any of the men he worked with could be gay, let alone an operator like Larison.
“It fits, though,” Hort said.
“What does?”
“Larison living a secret life. You asked about his motives, remember?”
“Being gay is a motive?”
“Not being gay as such. But having to live in the closet? Knowing you’ll face a discharge if anyone finds out, despite all your heroism in the field, despite the personal costs of what you’ve endured, despite how many American lives you’ve repeatedly saved? Look at what happened to Dan Choi, for God’s sake. The man was an Arab linguist, too. You know how badly we need those? I’ll tell you, we can make a terrorist talk, but we can’t get him to talk in English. And the army got rid of Choi anyway, just for being gay, a good man who wanted to serve his nation. It would take a better man than I am not to develop a grudge about that. And keeping that kind of secret, living a double life, especially with the kinds of pressures men like us already have to bear up under … I told you, I saw the signs. I guess I just didn’t know how bad it was.”
“Well, what do we do about this guy Nico? He’s our connection.”
“I need to get his coordinates to the NSA. We’ve got enough now to figure out who he is, where he lives and works, all his particulars. If we’re really lucky, we’ll uncover something linked directly to Larison. Even if not, it sounds like this guy could be our big break. Good work, son.”
Ben felt that embarrassing flush of pride he always got when Hort praised his performance. He said, “Assume we get Nico’s particulars. What do we do then? Snatch him, exchange him for the tapes?”
There was a pause. “I don’t know yet. That decision is likely to be made above our pay grade.”
Ben was intrigued, both by the pause and by the reference to “our” pay grade, as though the two of them were not just on the same team on this, but also somehow equal.
“Okay,” Ben said.
“You should know,” Hort said. “There’s also been some discussion about his wife and son.”
“You mean a snatch?”
“That’s what I mean.”
It wasn’t his place to say, and he almost didn’t. But the thought of taking a kid, and the wife, too, Marcy … it just made him queasy. It wouldn’t be right.
“I don’t know, Hort. Snatching a kid? I mean, come on.”
“I agree. And I’ve made the argument that it would be worse than immoral—it would be tactically stupid. From everything you’ve learned, I think we can assume the wife and son wouldn’t even be a pressure point. Larison didn’t provide for them, the woman said it wasn’t a happy marriage—”
“Marcy. Her name is Marcy Wheeler.”
“I know. And after what you’ve learned about Larison, I’m wondering whether the boy is even his. Anyway, the bottom line is, Larison cared about them so much he faked his death and disappeared. I doubt he’d lose a whole lot of sleep if someone were threatening them now.”
Okay, that was good. Didn’t sound like anyone was particularly inclined to go after Larison’s family. Probably just the kind of pseudo tough-guy talk he imagined suits liked to pleasure themselves with. And Hort certainly wasn’t for it.
“What do you want me to do in the meantime?” Ben said.
“There’s nothing you really can do, except sit tight. How’s that FBI agent, Lanier? She giving you any trouble?”
“All kinds of trouble. But nothing I can’t handle.”
“Well, let’s see what we learn about this guy Nico and what the powers that be want to do after that. After tonight, it might make sense to shake her loose.”
“Roger that.”
There was another pause. Ben said, “Is everything … are we getting some kind of interference on this?”
Hort said, “Why do you ask?” and oddly, Ben imagined him smiling.
“I don’t know. Just … I was thinking about what’s on those tapes. A lot of people must be sweating.”
“They are. And I’ll tell you about people who are sweating. The sweat gets in their eyes, makes it hard for them to see clearly.”
“Anything I need to worry about?”
“Worrying is my job. Your job is to get some sleep now. I might be calling you in just a few hours with an update.”
“Okay.”
“Again, good work, son. What you’ve done might have cracked this thing wide open. I’m proud to say I work with you.”
Coming from Hort, this was extreme praise. Ben was simultaneously touched that he would say it, and also concerned about what was going on in the background that could be making him feel, what? Sentimental? Or like he needed an ally?
“Well,” Ben said, thinking of Obsidian, “there are still a few things you and I need to work on. But … thank you.”
“Just get some sleep now. We don’t know what’s going to happen tomorrow.”
Hort clicked off. His parting words were of course a simple statement of fact, but they were also somehow ominous.
Ben thought about just getting in bed and telling Paula they could either share or she could sleep on the damn floor. But that feeling of unseen forces was still torquing up his paranoia. The hell with it. He grabbed an extra blanket from the closet, folded it into a sleeping pallet, and placed it along the wall on the hinged side of the door. He grabbed a pillow from the bed and tossed it onto the pallet. Yeah, he’d sleep better this way. Because if anyone breached the room, the bed would be the initial focus. It would be interesting to see Paula sweet-talk her way out of that particular cycle of violence.
And then he felt bad. Yeah, she was driving him crazy. But he didn’t want anything to happen to her, either. If the room were breached, that bed would be the initial big red X. She thought no one ever saw her coming? She didn’t know some of the guys he worked with. In night vis
ion goggles, she’d show up just fine.
Paula emerged from the bathroom wearing a hotel robe, beads of water clinging to her face and neck. She looked good.
Ben sighed. “I know I’m wasting my breath, but it probably wouldn’t be the worst idea to drag the mattress on the floor and put it up against the door. A bed is just too easy to key on when you breach a room.”
“Are you expecting company tonight?”
“If I were expecting it, I wouldn’t be here. It’s just some extra insurance, that’s all. This thing is big. And a little weird, somehow. Can’t you feel that?”
“Well, it’s definitely a little weird. My team is being treated in an Orlando hospital for injuries inflicted by the man with whom I’m spending the night in a San Jose hotel. Whose identity, I might add, remains a mystery. So yes, you could say it’s out of the ordinary.”
“If you want to move the mattress, I’ll help you.”
“It’s fine where it is. But thank you.”
Ben nodded and looked away. He was surprised at how much he wished he could get through to her. But he didn’t see how. “Well, if you’re done with the bathroom,” he said, “I’m going to take a shower.”
“Feel free.”
He walked to the bathroom and paused at the door. “I’m going to leave it open, okay?”
“What?”
“I’m sorry, with the water running, I won’t be able to hear what’s going on outside the door. I can deal with not seeing or not hearing, but not both. So no peeking. Unless you want to.”
She looked at him for a long moment. “Either you are a certified paranoid, or an incorrigible exhibitionist.”
“Well, I’m not an exhibitionist, as far as I know.”
He paused, trying to find the right words. “I know you think I’m a prick, and you’re probably right. But I can tell you this: my radar’s pretty good. It’s saved my ass more times than I can count, and right now, it’s telling me that something is … going on with these tapes that we can’t see. It’s making me jumpy. And if you were smart, you’d be jumpy, too.”