Inside Outt

thought that Hort’s approach to everyone involved assessment, and maneuver, and exploitation, and the realization that Hort probably wasn’t atypical in that regard, at least among a certain class of player… it was making Ben feel naïve, and concerned, and disgusted, all at the same time.
    The waiter brought the wine. Hort tasted it and nodded. The waiter filled their glasses and moved off.
    Hort raised his glass. “Good work.”
    They touched glasses and drank. Ben barely tasted the wine. What he really wanted was a hot shower. And about thirty hours of sleep. And to not think anymore.
    Ben set down his glass. “I was followed from the airport.”
    Hort nodded. “I wondered. There was something on the news about a shooting in Arlington. You think I had something to do with that?”
    Ben shook his head. “No.”
    “Good. Although I wouldn’t blame you.”
    It was awkward feeling so suspicious of Hort. He supposed he needed to get used to it. “I need to ask you some questions,” he said.
    “I want you to. It’s why I brought you here. So we could talk.”
    “Larison told me about the Caspers. About Ecologia.”
    Hort took a sip of wine. “I thought he might.”
    “Why didn’t you tell me?”
    “You needed to find out in your own way.”
    More manipulation, then. He was seeing a side of Hort he’d never adequately appreciated. Or that he’d been willfully blind to. “How… you were involved in that?”
    “Yes.”
    Ben waited. Hort said, “In the last administration, JSOC was reporting directly to the Office of the Vice President. There was a special class of detainees the CIA had rendered out of various Asian and European countries. Highly secret. Unacknowledged. People we picked up in targeted operations, not the wholesale bullshit we used to populate Guantanamo. The vice president wanted a specialist to interrogate them. One man, to keep things compartmentalized, to have a single source who could assemble the pieces and see through the lies. I went to Larison.”
    “Larison tortured them.”
    “That’s… what it turned into.”
    “That’s what you meant before. When you told me not to give in to that temptation.”
    “That’s right. And I hope you were listening.”
    “Did you get anything from them?”
    There was a pause. Hort said, “Nothing we couldn’t have gotten using the A
rmy Field Manual
. If we’d wanted to. But like I told you, the vice president and his crew were after more than just the results.”
    “And when they were done, they couldn’t let them go.”
    “That’s right. Once the original mistake was made, we were faced with a variety of unpleasant choices. The least unpleasant was the Ecologia program.”
    “When was this?”
    “September 2006. The same time the president acknowledged the existence of the black sites and the fourteen high-value detainees being moved from the sites to Guantanamo. And there was a bonus: the administration needed some actual bad guys in Guantanamo, which the black site detainees provided.”
    “A distraction?”
    “Misdirection. All the president was doing was announcing what was already widely known. The black sites became the story, and while public attention was focused there, Larison was quietly eliminating the Caspers, the black sites’ premier occupants.”
    “You used Larison for it.”
    “To maintain the compartmentalization. Plus, I thought he was hardened at that point. Another mistake. In fact, he was suffering. But too tough to admit it.”
    “But… that means he would be on the tapes.”
    “I doubt he cares at this point. Or if he did, he could just have deleted or obscured his face.”
    Ben was as fascinated as he was appalled. What Hort was telling him had really happened. It didn’t get more inside than this.
    “How did it work?”
    “The program?”
    “Yes.”
    Hort shrugged. “The CIA was holding the Caspers in various secret prisons—Thailand, Romania, Lithuania, a prison within a prison at Bagram. They were identified only by a number. Larison would show up with the prisoner’s number and an authorization code. And the guards would turn the prisoner over.”
    “Like an ATM.”
    “Same concept. But without records of deposits and withdrawals.”
    They were quiet for a moment. Something occurred to Ben. He said, “Giving Larison fakes… was that authorized? On the call you had me listen in on, the national security adviser was on board with giving him the real thing.”
    Hort smiled.