tapes on Al Jazeera, forget about just guaranteeing al Qaeda’s monthly recruitment numbers, it’ll ignite the whole Muslim world.”
“Oh, man.”
“So now we have three overlapping investigations. The CIA, which caused this monumental goat-fuck to start with. The Justice Department, which if they recover the tapes will, with all their good intentions and by-the-book behavior, wind up doing the same damage the blackmailer is threatening.”
“And me.”
“I’d call that
us
. But yes.”
Ben nodded. He couldn’t deny, he liked the sound of the plural better. “Us, then.”
He thought for a minute. The whole thing had been so smoothly delivered. But there was something missing at the center of it. Something obvious.
“Why?” he said.
“I told you, I can’t trust the others.”
“No, I’m asking you why not one of the other guys in the unit. Why’d you come to me?”
“Well, for starters, I had to get you out of a hellhole in Manila.”
“The real reason.”
Hort sighed. “I’m dealing with manpower issues right now, that’s why. Most of the ISA is tied down in Afghanistan and Iraq. Among the ones who aren’t, two are recovering from injuries you inflicted when you met up with them in California. And another operator you might remember, Atrios, isn’t reporting in again, ever.”
Ben was glad Hort hadn’t tried to bullshit him about how special he was. The truth was, there wasn’t a man in the unit who wasn’t in some way the best.
He thought again. There was something nagging at him… and then he realized.
“This whole time, we’ve been talking about ‘the blackmailer.’ Singular. You used it. And you didn’t correct me when I did.”
Hort smiled. “Is that right?”
“You know who it is.”
Hort’s smile broadened. “Just don’t forget who trained you, son, all right?”
Ben felt an absurd flush of pride and tried to ignore it. “Who?”
“A good man with a lot of demons, demons that finally got the better of him. His name is Daniel Larison. You never knew him, but he was part of the unit. One of the originals, in fact. He was one of the few people who had access to the tapes.”
“So why isn’t everyone looking for him now?”
“Because he died in the bombing attack on Prime Minister Bhutto in Karachi on October 18, 2007.”
There was a long pause. “He faked his death?”
“I believe he did. He had contacts in Pakistan’s ISI and he could have had foreknowledge of the attack.”
“And not warned anyone?”
“I told you, the man has demons.”
“Damn. How many people died in that attack?”
“About a hundred and forty, and three times that burned and maimed. Larison was in Karachi on temporary duty. Shortly before the attack, he reported he was going to meet a contact at Bhutto’s rally. But that might have been deception, and he could have left the country under a false passport after. The bomb was big enough to make it impossible to identify all the remains, one of which was assumed to be Larison’s based on knowledge of his movements and on other factors. Anyway, we couldn’t inquire too closely without getting into a pissing match with the ISI about placing operators unauthorized on their soil.”
“Yeah, but they know we—”
“They know, and they don’t want us to remove their ability to deny that they know. Anyway, if anyone could have pulled this off, it was Larison.”
“What’s his motive?”
“Well, there’s a hundred million dollars in play. That’s a lot of motive right there.”
“Would you do what he’s doing for a hundred million?”
“It doesn’t matter what I would do. It’s what Larison would do. Like I said, the man had demons. He saw some shit in the course of his work that mandated time with a shrink, but he would never see one.”
Hort paused, and a ripple of sadness seemed to pass across his face.
“Yeah, he shouldered an unfair burden, and the weight was causing cracks. He was a serial steroid
“Oh, man.”
“So now we have three overlapping investigations. The CIA, which caused this monumental goat-fuck to start with. The Justice Department, which if they recover the tapes will, with all their good intentions and by-the-book behavior, wind up doing the same damage the blackmailer is threatening.”
“And me.”
“I’d call that
us
. But yes.”
Ben nodded. He couldn’t deny, he liked the sound of the plural better. “Us, then.”
He thought for a minute. The whole thing had been so smoothly delivered. But there was something missing at the center of it. Something obvious.
“Why?” he said.
“I told you, I can’t trust the others.”
“No, I’m asking you why not one of the other guys in the unit. Why’d you come to me?”
“Well, for starters, I had to get you out of a hellhole in Manila.”
“The real reason.”
Hort sighed. “I’m dealing with manpower issues right now, that’s why. Most of the ISA is tied down in Afghanistan and Iraq. Among the ones who aren’t, two are recovering from injuries you inflicted when you met up with them in California. And another operator you might remember, Atrios, isn’t reporting in again, ever.”
Ben was glad Hort hadn’t tried to bullshit him about how special he was. The truth was, there wasn’t a man in the unit who wasn’t in some way the best.
He thought again. There was something nagging at him… and then he realized.
“This whole time, we’ve been talking about ‘the blackmailer.’ Singular. You used it. And you didn’t correct me when I did.”
Hort smiled. “Is that right?”
“You know who it is.”
Hort’s smile broadened. “Just don’t forget who trained you, son, all right?”
Ben felt an absurd flush of pride and tried to ignore it. “Who?”
“A good man with a lot of demons, demons that finally got the better of him. His name is Daniel Larison. You never knew him, but he was part of the unit. One of the originals, in fact. He was one of the few people who had access to the tapes.”
“So why isn’t everyone looking for him now?”
“Because he died in the bombing attack on Prime Minister Bhutto in Karachi on October 18, 2007.”
There was a long pause. “He faked his death?”
“I believe he did. He had contacts in Pakistan’s ISI and he could have had foreknowledge of the attack.”
“And not warned anyone?”
“I told you, the man has demons.”
“Damn. How many people died in that attack?”
“About a hundred and forty, and three times that burned and maimed. Larison was in Karachi on temporary duty. Shortly before the attack, he reported he was going to meet a contact at Bhutto’s rally. But that might have been deception, and he could have left the country under a false passport after. The bomb was big enough to make it impossible to identify all the remains, one of which was assumed to be Larison’s based on knowledge of his movements and on other factors. Anyway, we couldn’t inquire too closely without getting into a pissing match with the ISI about placing operators unauthorized on their soil.”
“Yeah, but they know we—”
“They know, and they don’t want us to remove their ability to deny that they know. Anyway, if anyone could have pulled this off, it was Larison.”
“What’s his motive?”
“Well, there’s a hundred million dollars in play. That’s a lot of motive right there.”
“Would you do what he’s doing for a hundred million?”
“It doesn’t matter what I would do. It’s what Larison would do. Like I said, the man had demons. He saw some shit in the course of his work that mandated time with a shrink, but he would never see one.”
Hort paused, and a ripple of sadness seemed to pass across his face.
“Yeah, he shouldered an unfair burden, and the weight was causing cracks. He was a serial steroid
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