The Detachment - Barry Eisler [67]
“Then one of the networks. ABC, CNN, whatever.”
He laughed again. “Did you catch Jeremy Scahill’s report about the Agency’s secret prison in Somalia? The seventh floor had apoplexy, it was so dead-on accurate. They used Barbara Starr and Luis Martinez to discredit it. ABC and CNN, the watchdog media.”
“Then call Scahill.”
“The people we’re up against will just instruct the networks to ignore or discredit him. The networks work for us, John. Which I admit is mostly useful and I’ve taken advantage of it many times myself. But it’s working against us right now.”
“Wikileaks, then.”
“Now you’re making sense. But I don’t have any proof. Get me some.”
“No. I don’t want to get further into this. I want to get out.”
“You’re telling me you’re not going to make Horton pay for setting you up?”
I didn’t answer.
“You think he’s going to stop coming after you? You know as well as I do that he’ll be more motivated now than ever.”
Again I said nothing.
“Damn it, John, let me help you.”
I was in a box and I couldn’t see a way out of it. “Goddamn it. How?”
“I’ll come to you. Put you in the trunk of my car and drive you out of the city.”
“The trunk? There are four of us. What kind of car do you have?”
“Honda.”
“What model?”
There was a pause. “Civic.”
I looked over at the collective mass of Larison, Treven, and Dox. “No way,” I said.
“You’d be amazed what you can fit into a tight space with a little Crisco,” Dox offered, apparently having intuited what we were talking about.
“You have a better idea?” Kanezaki said.
“We’re talking about eight hundred, maybe nine hundred pounds. You couldn’t get us all in there with a chainsaw and a blender. And even if you could, the back of the car would be riding suspiciously low.”
“I’ll borrow my sister’s minivan. You can all hunker down. As long as no one stops me, no one will see you. It’s built to hold seven, the shocks won’t even be noticeably compressed.”
That sounded more promising. “When can you be here?”
“Where are you?”
If it had been anyone but Kanezaki, I would have been suspicious of a setup. But I trusted him as much as I did anyone other than Dox. Plus, I had no choice.
“Capital Hilton,” I said.
“She lives in Chevy Chase. It’s not that far, but we’re getting into rush hour now.”
“Can you have her meet you someplace in between and swap cars there?”
“That’s a good idea. I’ll be there in an hour. Maybe less. If there’s a problem, I can’t reach her or she’s out with her kids somewhere, or whatever, I’ll call you.”
“Leave a message on the secure site. My phone will be out of commission.”
“Right, okay.”
“We’ll meet you in the lowest level of the parking garage. Away from the elevators.”
“Got it. See you soon.”
I clicked off and disabled and pocketed the phone. Larison, Treven, and Dox had moved out from between the beds and away from each other. Everyone’s arms were loose and their hands open. They looked liked gunslingers in a western a half-second away from drawing.
“What the fuck is going on?” Treven said.
I didn’t like the accusatory tone I heard in the question, and reminded myself to be extra calm in my response. Four armed, dangerous, and suddenly distrustful men in a small room…if things got out of hand, it was going to be very bad.
“You were right,” I said, looking at Larison. “Horton set us up. Shorrock has been replaced by one of Horton’s guys, and Finch is about to be replaced by Horton himself. The government just issued some kind of all-points terror alert saying the four of us killed both of them with cyanide. We were just put on the presidents’ kill list. And they know we’re in D.C.”
“Horton and that damn cyanide,” Dox said. “So that was just supposed to incriminate us and sound scary to the public, too?”
I nodded. “Yeah. And the hell of it is, I never even used it. And no one else…”
I stopped, realizing I’d missed something obvious. Dangerously obvious.
Treven’s eyes narrowed.