The Chaos Kind (John Rain #11)(105)

“I’m just one of the guards. You know, I watch out for intruders. Trespassers, that kind of thing.”

She cocked an eyebrow. “I hope you don’t think I am one.”

She heard John in the earpiece. “Dox is past the cameras.”

Larry laughed. “No, of course not. I mean, maybe technically. But people stop in front of my post all the time. The mail, deliveries. Not so many journalists, though.”

“I’m right outside the booth,” she heard Dox say quietly. “Say the word and I’ll leap into remarkable action.”

“Now,” Delilah said.

Larry cocked his head at the non sequitur. In the earpiece, she heard Dox say, “Don’t go for your weapon. Don’t go for your mic. Just slowly raise your hands, ’cause I’ll shoot you if you don’t.”

She heard footsteps behind her, moving quickly. Larry looked. His mouth dropped open.

“Do not move or I will kill you,” she heard Larison say.

She glanced back and saw him moving in smoothly, his gun up in a two-handed grip just below his chin, the attached suppressor intimidatingly long. “If you reach for anything,” he continued, “including that push-to-talk button on your shirt, I’ll shoot you in the face. Do you understand?”

Larry blinked. “What the hell is this?”

Larison stopped ten feet out. “It’s an opportunity for you to stay alive.”

She heard John issuing instructions—prone out, facedown, hands behind your back. He and the rest of the team were in the other booth.

Larry’s eyes were wide, and focused completely on the muzzle of the suppresser, which Delilah knew from experience he was currently perceiving as roughly the circumference of the opening of a cannon. She slipped behind him, unfastened his holster, and removed the gun. Larry seemed almost unaware of it.

“Do you want to stay alive, Larry?” Larison said.

“Yes,” Larry said, as Delilah eased the gun into the tote.

“Good,” Larison said. “Then you’ll comply with all my instructions. Can I count on you to do that?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Raise your hands high. Palms forward, fingers splayed.”

Larry complied.

Delilah unclipped Larry’s microphone, pulled out his earpiece, and detached his belt radio. She disconnected the microphone from the radio and placed both in her tote. “Maya, Evie,” she said. “We’re ready for you.”

She tried to insert Larry’s earpiece into her free ear. It was too big. She grimaced and pushed harder. No good. She pulled off the silicone tip and replaced it with a smaller one from her bag. Just right. She couldn’t help but smile. John had made them walk through everything, hitting every assumption with a barrage of What if possibilities. He did micromanage. But on the other hand, he was the one who had asked, What if the guard’s earpiece is too big?

The channel was silent. “No chatter,” she said. “John, your guard didn’t get off a warning.”

“Keep your hands up,” Larison said. “Turn around. Walk back into the booth.”

Larry was breathing hard. “Listen, man. You know what they pay me for this job?”

“I need you neutralized,” Larison said. “I can do that by handcuffing you in the booth, or by shooting you in the head here. Tell me which you prefer, because to me it’s all the same.”

Delilah had to give Larison credit. She’d never known anyone who could deliver a threat more credibly. And it was true—he had voted to shoot the guards, on the simple utilitarian grounds that shooting them would have been safer and faster. Livia and Diaz immediately objected, and their refusal carried the day. Larison had tried to persuade Dox, saying, “The last time we agreed to less-than-lethal, you were an inch away from becoming a human shish kebab. You’re going to risk that again?”

Dox had sighed. “Daniel, it’s the right thing to do. Just a bunch of minimum-wage rent-a-cops, we don’t have a beef with them.”

To which Larison had thrown up his hands and exclaimed, “I am not carrying another umbrella or selfie stick. I’m going to point a gun at people, and if they follow my instructions immediately and to the letter, okay. If they don’t, that’s okay, too. And if that’s not okay, then tell me now, because there’s only so much insanity I can tolerate.”

“It’s okay,” Dox had said. “And I for one wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“You’re all still nuts,” Larison had growled, but the matter was settled.

Larry swallowed. “Handcuff me.”

Larison nodded. “Then turn around and get back in the booth. Now.”

Larry turned and headed toward the booth, hands still in the air. Larison did a quick scan of the area and followed him.

Delilah heard wheels on the stone driveway and looked—Evie, driving the truck, Manus riding shotgun, Dash and Maya in back, Margarita in the horse trailer. Delilah didn’t like the presence of all the civilians, and especially a child. But they might need Evie’s technical skills. And with Rispel and potential ambushes in the mix, Manus wouldn’t leave Evie or Dash, and of course Evie wouldn’t leave Dash, either. Delilah thought back to her one for all and all for one comment to John. That had been in Paris. It seemed forever ago. But it was certainly the truth, and then some.