The Chaos Kind (John Rain #11)(81)

She watched for another minute. A television crew had managed to get behind the house and was showing footage of one of the walls. There was a large hole blown in a second-story wall. Windows broken on the first floor. Evidence of a coordinated, professional entry by a trained team.

She stared at the screen for another moment, then exited the site. She tried to think.

Somehow, someone had gotten intel on where they had been holding Schrader.

Devereaux?

Maybe. But her gut told her otherwise. Her gut told her Kanezaki.

It made sense. He had sabotaged the initial operation. He’d lied to her afterward. And he was missing now, incommunicado. Rispel had people watching his house, and he hadn’t gone home. His cellphone was off. He was a prick, but obviously he wasn’t stupid.

And it wasn’t just him. His little spy, Maya, was also in the wind. Rispel had sent a contractor to her house, and the idiot had shot the wrong person—another officer, as it turned out. Maya had given a statement to local police and then disappeared, probably with Kanezaki. Rispel sensed it wouldn’t be long before Devereaux found a way to incorporate the shooting of a young intelligence officer into the tale of Russian disinformation he was spinning.

All right. Assume they have Schrader now. What’s their next move?

Kanezaki was after the videos, of course. How could he not be? Anyone who controlled that information would have almost undreamt-of power.

She had to assume they’d learn from Schrader everything Sloat had been able to extract. So it stood to reason that their next move would be what hers was going to be. A team had come for Schrader that very morning. They were going to bring him to his Bainbridge Island house, drug him, and have him reset the system. Then more interrogations until they had enough information to take control of the videos themselves.

So. With Schrader in hand, why wouldn’t Kanezaki do the same?

It wasn’t a sure thing, of course. Schrader had six houses, and apparently he could reset the system from any of them. From his private plane, too. Kanezaki might not use the Bainbridge Island house.

But she thought he would. The dead-man switch meant time was of the essence. The nearest house would be tempting. Kanezaki would confirm it wasn’t being watched, just as she had. At which point, he’d go for the low-hanging fruit.

In fact . . . it might just make sense to let him pick it. And then take it from him, before he’d even gotten a taste.





chapter

fifty-eight





LIVIA


Ten miles west of Lake Tapps, Livia started to let out her breath. The sirens were long gone. Realizing they were out of danger, they all got a little giddy. Even Livia was laughing. “How the hell did you move that refrigerator?” she said to Carl. “It must have weighed three hundred pounds.”

“I think more,” he said, rubbing his back. “But I’ll tell you, when I heard the shots and realized what that hombre was shooting at us, that refrigerator felt about as light as a can of Diet Coke.” He turned to Larison. “How about you? How’d you get pinned down up there?”

“Bad luck,” Larison said. “The guy was in another room, so the breach charge surprised him, but he wasn’t stunned. He had good cover and all I had was a bureau that seemed as small to me as I’ll bet that refrigerator felt to you.”

“Yeah,” Carl said, “we had some shit luck, too. Dropping a flashbang in an empty room. About as useful as shouting, ‘Good morning.’ And to a house full of guys with automatic shotguns, too.”

They all laughed again. Schrader, his wrists flex-tied behind his back, started crying.

Carl looked at him. “You all right?”

Schrader shook his head and glared at Larison. “Why did you kick me?”

Larison looked taken aback. “You were screaming. How’d you want me to shut you up?”

“Who cares if I was screaming? There were already explosions!”

Larison looked at Carl as though expecting help. Carl said, “Well, he has a point.”

“And those men,” Schrader said. “They hurt me.”

Carl looked at him with what seemed genuine concern. “What’d they do to you?”

“They put me in the bathtub. And wrapped a towel around my face and poured water on it. Again and again.”

Carl glanced at Livia and Larison, then back to Schrader. “It’s called waterboarding. I had it done to me once and I still have nightmares. Nobody deserves that.” He glanced at Livia again, then added, “Well, almost nobody.”

Diaz said, “What did you tell them, Andrew?”

“Can you untie me?”

“Later. What did you tell them?”

He sniffled. “I don’t even remember.”

“Okay,” she said. “But if you want my help, you better help me.”

Schrader didn’t answer. He just sat there, weeping. Livia had questions of her own, but Diaz knew what she was doing. And it was generally better to have one person leading an interrogation.

“It’s okay,” Diaz said. “It’s okay. What did they ask you? Start with that.”

Schrader shook his head. “The videos. The system. What I told you about at the detention center.”

“Okay,” Diaz said. “What did they want to know?”