Inside Out: A novel

by Barry Eisler

  He wasn’t worried about CIA opposition—he knew they’d thrown everything they had at him in Los Yoses and all of it was gone now. It would take them time to regroup. But the carnage in the capital was outlandish enough to possibly lead to a heavier than usual police presence at airports. Safer, for now, to leave the country by land. He’d stop late tonight, find a place to stay, shower, shave, buy some fresh clothes in the morning, and cross the border looking presentable instead of like the half-mad, juiced-up death machine he felt like now.

  His working theory was that the two teams were CIA Ground Branch. He hadn’t recognized any of them from ISA selection, and he’d been around long enough to have known at least a few faces if ISA had indeed been part of the op. Or maybe they were contractors. It didn’t matter. If they were CIA, the opposition was now thinned by an even dozen. If they were contractors, it meant the CIA was hurting for operators in the first place and had to reach out to the private sector. Either way, he’d bought a little time.

  The one thing he wasn’t sure of was the guy he’d seen outside Nico’s office, crouched between two parked cars, a pistol steadied against the hood of one of them. He’d looked vaguely familiar, but he was wearing a baseball cap and shades and Larison couldn’t be sure. Someone he’d reviewed during selection? Maybe. But if the guy was ISA, why hadn’t he taken the shot? Larison had been wide open, and the guy had just watched him go by. Was he afraid of the dead-man trigger on the tapes? He ought to have been. But who was he, and what was he doing there?

  An hour outside San Jose, he stopped at a gas station and refilled the bike. And then, shivering under a dripping corrugated awning, his wet skin broken out in gooseflesh, he called Nico at the condo. The phone rang twice, then Nico picked up.

  “Aló?”

  Larison spoke in English. “Nicky, it’s me, Daniel.”

  “Daniel? What … why are you calling?”

  Larison almost never called him on the phone. Everything was by an anonymous email account, which Larison accessed only from random places. And never any proper names or identifying details.

  “I … heard something on the news. A big shooting in San Jose.” He felt a little catch in his throat and paused. “I was worried about you.”

  “Yeah, there were these crazy shootings right outside my condo and my office! I was in the office, we thought it was firecrackers at first. But when we looked outside, there were these people shooting at each other. But I’m fine. The police think it was drug traffickers. Crazy, huh?”

  Larison swallowed and closed his eyes. God, he wished he could just be there right now. The door locked … the jazz Nico liked playing softly … the smell of the apartment that was coffee and the old couch and Nico himself … the living room lit only by the light of Nico’s desk lamp. Larison liked to watch him while he worked. He liked the purposefulness of it, and the innocence of the task. Sometimes Nico would look up and catch Larison watching, and his face would open up in that beautiful, boyish smile.

  “Daniel?”

  “I’m here.”

  “When can you come to see me?”

  A tear slipped down Larison’s face. “Soon.”

  “How soon?”

  “I’m … working on something big right now. The thing I told you about before, it’s almost done now. When it’s over, I’ll come to you.”

  “But you sound sad.”

  “I just have a lot going on. I’ll explain more soon.”

  “Okay.”

  “Nicky?”

  “Yes?”

  “If this thing I’m working on doesn’t go well, you might … hear some bad things about me.”

  There was a pause. “I don’t understand.”

  “I can’t explain now. But no matter what you hear, I don’t want you ever to doubt, it scares me that you would doubt …”

  “Daniel, what is it?”

  Larison blinked hard to clear his eyes. “I love you. Promise me you won’t doubt that.”

  “I never would. I love you, too.”

  Larison blew out a long breath. “Thank you.”

  “I wish you would say it more often.”

  “I know. I’m going to. I will.”

  “But what—”

  “I have to go. I’ll call soon, okay?”

  “I miss you.”

  “I miss you, too. Bye.”

  He clicked off, turned off the sat phone, and zipped it up in the backpack. Then he dropped to a squat, put his face in his hands, and let himself cry hard for a minute. When it was out, when he felt purged, he got on the bike and rode back into the rain.

  30

  Bad Idea

  Ben and Paula stopped at a place called Villas Rio Mar in Dominical, on the central Pacific coast. Paula had found it on the iPhone. The place had separate bungalows, which would enable one of them to check in and the other to slip inside unnoticed afterward. Probably this far from San Jose it didn’t matter, but Ben didn’t want the staff to see a white man and a black woman checking into a hotel together. Just in case anyone had reported their general description after the shootings in Los Yoses. And besides that, though they’d done what they could to clean the gore off Paula’s face and hair, she still looked like hell.

  Ben checked in while Paula waited in the car. He explained to the nice woman at the counter that his bags were in the trunk, that he’d get them later because of the rain. Yes, it was a late reservation—turned out the place where he’d been planning to stay was sold out. So glad they had a room at this hour. And did they take cash? Wonderful. He paid in advance for three nights. It wasn’t the kind of place anyone stayed at just overnight, and he didn’t want to do anything more unusual than he already had. He’d come up with another story tomorrow, when he checked out.

  He walked across the grounds to the room just to make sure there was no one around and that he could slip Paula inside unnoticed. It was all clear. Either they didn’t have many guests that night or the rain was keeping people inside, or both. There wasn’t a lot of illumination, either—mostly just footlights along the paths connecting the thatch-roofed bungalows, all of it surrounded by impressively dense rain forest.

  The room was clean and bright, with absurdly cheerful bedspreads depicting blue night skies and yellow moons and stars. He’d gotten a double this time, and was glad he wouldn’t have to sleep on the floor. Two beds, a small desk, and a chair. More than enough. He found a side path that bypassed reception, propped open the gate, and went back out to the car.

  “We’re good,” he said. “Follow me.”

  He took her inside and locked the door behind them. Under the bright lights of the room, she looked at herself in the mirror. She still had flecks of brain in her hair. She closed her eyes and grimaced.

  “I’m going to take a shower,” she said.

  “Good idea.”

  She pinched two spots on her shirt, pulled it away from her body, and looked at the stains. “And can you … is there a gift shop, or something? Can you get me something to wear?”

  “No problem.”

  She gave him a faint smile. “Not another halter, okay?”

  He returned the smile and nodded. “I’m going to grab something to eat, too. Do you …”

  “No. I don’t want to eat.”

  “No problem. I’ll bring something anyway, okay? You might change your mind later.”

  She looked down at herself. “That’s hard to imagine.”

  “I know. But just in case.”

  The restaurant was closed, but the bar was open, and the bartender told him they could put together a plate of this and that. “Dos,” Ben said. “Estoy muerto de hambre.” Make it two. I’m starving.

  While the bar put together the food, he went to the gift shop next to reception. They didn’t have much in the way of clothes—mostly bathing suits and surfing regalia—but he found a blue sundress he thought would do the trick. They could worry about getting her something else tomorrow. He bought the dress, along with a short-sleeved b
utton-down shirt for himself.

  He picked up the food from the bar along with two bottles of Imperial beer and went back to the room. From the sound of it, Paula was still in the shower. He sat on the floor with his back against the bed and wolfed down an enormous plate of chicken, rice, and beans, all covered with a tangy sauce he’d never tasted before, and polished it off with a beer. It was delicious.

  When he finished, she was still in the shower. He knocked on the door and said, “Paula? You all right?”

  “I’m fine,” she said. “I’m … I’ll be out in a minute.”

  “I got you something to wear.”

  “Just leave it out there. There’s a hotel robe.”

  “Okay.”

  A few minutes later, she came out in a white terry cloth robe. Her hair was wet and her face looked raw. Ben understood instantly. She’d been in there scrubbing under the hottest water she could stand.

  “You all right?” he asked again.

  She shook her head. “I’m never going to get that smell off me. Blood, and … it was brain, wasn’t it?”

  “It’s just in your head now. It’s not on you anymore. And it’ll fade, I promise.”

  She nodded and stood there uncertainly. “Come on, sit down,” he said. “See if you can eat something. It’ll make you feel better.”

  She sat next to him, holding the bathrobe close as she did, and he pulled the plastic wrap off the remaining plate of food. She took a hesitant bite, then another. “Damn,” she said. “That’s pretty good.”

  She started digging in and he popped the cap off the other Imperial. He was glad she was eating. They hadn’t had anything in over fourteen hours, and he knew from experience that no matter what was going on in your mind, you had to tend to your body.

  “Okay if I put your contaminated clothes in a laundry bag?” he said. “We’re going to need to get rid of them.”

  “Please. I don’t want to look at them again. I’d burn them if I could.”

  He found a plastic laundry bag in a drawer and went into the bathroom. Her clothes were in a pile on the floor. He picked them up and dropped them in the bag. Nothing had come off on the floor. The blood was dry. He dropped the bag in front of the room door so they couldn’t forget it when they left and sat down next to her again. She’d eaten about half the food and finished the beer.

  “I can’t eat any more,” she said. “Thank you. That was good.”

  “No problem.”

  “Why are you being so nice to me now?”

  “Am I?”

  “Yeah. Usually you’re an asshole.”

  “That’s just a cover. Underneath, I’m really a very caring person.”

  She laughed. “Seriously.”

  He shook his head. “That’s a hard thing, what happened to you today.”

  “But you’re used to it.”

  He shrugged. “Yes. But that doesn’t mean you are. Or that you should be.”

  “So you’re going to stop being nice tomorrow?”

  “You won’t be over it tomorrow.”

  “When will I?”

  “I don’t know. It’s different for different people.”

  “How was it for you?”

  He paused, remembering. “At the time?”

  “Yes.”

  “It was so chaotic, I didn’t even have time to think. But … exhilarating.”

  “Will you tell me about it?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “It’s a long story.”

  “I don’t think I’m going to fall asleep anytime soon.”

  “It was Somalia. The battle of Mogadishu. Did you see the movie Black Hawk Down? Or read Mark Bowden’s book?”

  “I saw the movie.”

  “Well, that’s what it was. Bowden did a good job. So did Ridley Scott. No one had time to think. It was just a nonstop firefight.”

  “But afterward.”

  “Like I said, exhilarated. And devastated, because I lost friends.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Comes with the territory.”

  “Stop being such a hard case.”

  “I’m not. It was a long time ago. I don’t like thinking about it. Anyway, it was different for me.”

  “How?”

  “I was trained. I was prepared. You haven’t had any of that. You’ve never seen anyone die before, have you?”

  “My mother.”

  “I mean killed.”

  “No.”

  “Well, seeing a dozen or so people shot to death in front of your eyes is shocking even if you’ve been prepared for it.”

  She nodded and didn’t answer.

  He got up and squeezed her shoulder gently. “Going to take a shower. Be back in a few.”

  He brushed his teeth, then took a scalding shower, soaping up and scrubbing off the day’s sweat and grime, the hot water loosening up his muscles and accessing the fatigue underneath. Post-combat parasympathetic backlash was a bitch, and he was coming down from an entire day fueled by adrenaline. His mind was still on fire from all that had happened, but his body was starting to get the upper hand.

  He pulled on a hotel robe when he was done, turned off the light, and went back out into the bedroom. Paula had turned off all the lights but the little one on the desk. She was lying on her side on one of the beds and Ben thought she must have fallen asleep.

  He walked around to the side of the bed to see if her eyes were closed and was surprised to find her awake, her face streaked with tears that shone amid the shadows.

  “Hey,” he said. “You okay?”

  She didn’t answer.

  He squatted down next to the bed and put his hand on her arm. “What is it?”

  She shook her head. “I just don’t know what the hell I’m doing.”

  He didn’t know what to say. He tried, “You’re doing fine.”

  “I mean, I’m a law enforcement officer. Fourteen people were killed today. I saw you kill two of them. And I’m not doing anything about it.”

  “There’s nothing to be done.”

  “I don’t know what my role is anymore.”

  “You’re doing a good job. I didn’t mean it cruelly before when I said you’re out of your element. You’re law enforcement, and you just got dropped into a combat zone. You’re trying to learn your way.”

  She nodded and a fresh flow of tears ran silently down her face.

  He squeezed her arm. “Paula.”

  She didn’t answer.

  He got up and walked around to the other side of the bed, then lay down next to her. He stroked her arm.

  “I can’t stop thinking about it,” she said. “I can’t get it out of my head.”

  “I know.”

  “His … his brains …”

  Her voice rose on the last word and then choked off. She curled up and shook with silent tears.

  “Shh,” he whispered. “I know. I know.”

  A sob caught in her throat and she cried harder.

  “That’s it,” he said. “Let it out. Let it out. That’s what I do, when I can’t take it anymore.”

  She coughed out a laugh through her tears. “You do not.”

  “Of course I do. All soldiers are crybabies, because we deal with so much shit. We just don’t tell anyone. It’s bad for our image.”

  He realized he’d acknowledged he was a soldier, but decided it didn’t matter.

  She laughed again, then cried harder. He put his arm around her, took her hand, and pulled her close. “Shh,” he said again. “It’s okay.”

  She gripped his hand and pressed back into him. He was suddenly acutely aware of the feel of her ass through the material of the robe.

  Oh, fuck, this wasn’t good. He didn’t want to let her go—it would have been awkward, and anyway he seemed to be making her feel better, but …

  She shifted slightly, and the feel of her body moving against him was like a current of electricity against his skin.

  Post-combat hard-
on, he thought. That’s all it is. Should have seen that coming. Don’t be stupid now.

  She shifted her hand to the back of his and pulled him closer, pressing his forearm across her breasts. A shock wave of lust coursed through him.

  Don’t be stupid, don’t be stupid …

  She moved his hand lower. “Please,” she whispered.

  “Paula … ,” he said, his mouth close to her ear.

  “I just … I need to feel something. Please.”

  Somehow his hand had slipped under her robe. She pressed it tightly against her breasts. Her skin was warm and smooth. He could feel her heart pounding.

  “You’re upset,” he said, his voice low, his throat thick. “I don’t know if … I don’t think we should …”

  He stopped, not sure what he was saying, feeling like he was babbling. His hand moved. He felt a hard nipple against his palm. He wanted her so much it made him groan.

  “No,” he said, panting. “No, no, this is a bad idea. A bad idea.” Somehow he pried his hands off her and sat up. “Paula, no.”

  She sat up and turned to him. The robe had opened partly, and in his peripheral vision he could see the muscles of her neck, her breasts contoured in shadow, the skin smooth and dark against the white terry cloth. He was massively hard and knew he’d never done anything as difficult as not reaching out and tearing the robe off her and throwing her back on the bed and—

  “Fuck you, then,” she said.

  He shook his head, not comprehending. “What?”

  She slapped him. Hard. His head rocked back and he saw a white flash behind his eyes. He was so stunned by it that she managed to slap him again before he could do anything to stop her, another powerful, stinging shot from the opposite side. A red haze misted his vision and he felt his scalp tighten with anger. She drew back her arm again, her hand balled into a fist this time, and as the punch came forward, he snaked an arm inside and deflected it. He pushed her onto her back and straddled her. She twisted an arm free and punched him in the mouth. She couldn’t get any leverage behind the blow but it smashed his lips into his teeth and hurt like hell.