The Chaos Kind (John Rain #11)(73)

“A movie,” Larison said. “Wesley Snipes. Telling a human about vampires.”

Dox smiled. “This is one of the reasons I like partnering with you, amigo. John never gets my cinematic references. I mean, you were the only one in the room who was with me that time when I did Cleavon Little. If you hadn’t laughed, we’d probably all be dead right now.”

“It was pretty funny.”

“Thank you.”

“You want to finish explaining how Kanezaki got this intel?”

“Right. Well, Maya got back into the system remotely. I don’t know all the details, but according to Kanezaki, using Guardian Angel to maximum effect is as much an art as it is a science, and he says Maya is quite the artist. She used cellphone data, satellite imagery, Bayesian probability, and who knows what else. Apparently Evie helped—she was some kind of tech wizard at NSA. But the gist of it is, they have three guys holding Schrader right now in a house just twenty miles from here. And the question is, what do we do about it?”

“Why do we need to do anything?” Larison said. He knew the question might come across as aggressive. He didn’t care. He liked to test people. If they folded from a little pushing, what would they do when they were being shot at?

Livia looked at him. “What do you propose instead?”

“I’m not sure I’m proposing anything. They’ll torture Schrader, and either they’ll get what they want from him, or they won’t. Either way, it plays out and the storm passes. I mean, Diaz isn’t in danger anymore. That was only when she was going to prosecute Schrader.”

“I don’t want this to be about me,” Diaz said.

“Fine,” Larison said. “We can make it about me.”

“Nobody’s keeping you here,” Livia said.

Not for the first time, Larison admired her balls. “I never said otherwise. But here’s the way I see it. If you call the marshals and they recover Schrader, we’re right back where we started, with Diaz a target. And maybe all the publicity about Schrader’s release and recapture will offer some protection in that regard, but maybe it won’t. Or we can just do nothing. Schrader’s the focus now. The people holding him will either get control of the videos, or the videos will be uploaded. And Schrader is toast either way. Why do we care?”

Diaz looked at him. “You don’t care about powerful men trafficking children?”

That annoyed him. “What, are you going to try to shame me now? You know what these two are about to pitch, right? The three of us go to this house, kick down some doors, get in a gunfight, and drag Schrader out, sirens howling behind us.” He looked at Dox and Livia. “Is that about right?”

“Hopefully absent the sirens,” Dox said. “With surprise and violence of action, I think we could be in and out faster than that.”

“Oh, well, that’s great. Count me in, then. These things always work according to plan. I mean, look at how it went in the park yesterday.”

“Look,” Dox said, “I’m not saying we didn’t have to adapt—”

“‘Adapt’? If Manus had reacted a second earlier, that fucking sword he carries would have a new sheath. Your body.”

Dox grinned. “That’s why I had us hold hands. Told you it would work.”

Larison shook his head. Fucking Dox. There was just no arguing with him. It could be endearing, but it could make you crazy, too.

“I don’t know how to kick down doors,” Diaz said. “So I can’t help you. I would if I could. For what it’s worth, I say we call the marshals. I have a case and I want to prosecute. I’m not afraid of the risks.”

Larison looked at her. It would have been easier if he didn’t like her.

“You should be,” he said. “You have no idea how lucky you got yesterday.”

“You’re wrong,” she said. “I do know. I’m just not going to let it stop me.”

“Christ,” Larison said, “am I the only person in this crew who ever makes any sense?”

“Maya and Evie uncovered plenty more,” Dox said. “How about if I finish the briefing, and then everyone can offer somewhat more informed opinions.”

No one said anything, and he went on. “It turns out that yesterday evening Washington time, a series of text messages and emails were simultaneously delivered to a whole passel of powerful men. Captains of industry, politicians, Director of National Intelligence Pierce Devereaux, and—wait for it—our very own attorney general, Uriah Hobbs.”

“Holy shit,” Larison said. “The dead-man switch?”

Livia nodded. “It’s real.”

Larison looked at her. “What were the messages?”

“Nothing incriminating this time,” Livia said. “Just photos of empty rooms. Guest rooms. Maya matched them to archived real-estate advertisements. They’re all in Schrader’s houses. And a text, warning that the next message will have people in it, and will be widely disseminated.”

Larison tried to think it through. “The shot across the bow Schrader told Diaz about.”

“Exactly,” Dox said. “And the people who got those messages got the message. ‘You better get me out of prison right quick if you don’t want video of you raping little girls all over the Internet.’”