Inside Outt

outbursts at idiots, his judgment… Yeah, he knew the way it would be played. He’d played it that way dozens of times himself. Of course, knowing how the game was played and being able to defend yourself when you had become the game’s object were two different things.
    He pulled the thumb drive and put it back in his safe. Well, he’d checked his insurance policy, only to discover a massive deductible. Only to realize he
was
the deductible.
    But that was okay. He had the one other policy, the ultimate policy. The audiotapes he’d thank God had the sense to make that morning at Arlington National—and other times, too.
    But he’d play that card only if he had to. Only if he’d run out of every other option.
    His secure line buzzed and he snatched up the phone. “Ulrich.”
    “Okay to talk?” It was Clements.
    “Go.”
    “The photo you sent. His name is Ben Treven. He’s an army guy.”
    “So not one of yours?”
    “Definitely not.”
    Ulrich should have known the guy wasn’t Agency. If he’d been Agency, he would have been bringing up the rear, not closing in on the target.
    He stared at the photo on his screen. “You think he’s one of Horton’s?”
    “Hard to say. His MOS is classified. Even just the photo took some doing to match. I could try to find out, but asking would reveal that we know.”
    “Well, it really doesn’t matter what he is. He wasn’t part of the original program, he’s answering to I don’t know whom, and it looks like he’s already five steps ahead of you in finding whoever is trying to leverage those tapes. Now, listen. I’ve got other information to forward you. How fast can you get your Ground Branch team to San Jose, Costa Rica?”
    There was a slight pause. “Four hours, if that. Where are you getting this information?”
    “Don’t worry about that—the information is solid, that’s all you need to know.”
    “No, that’s not—”
    “I don’t know what name Treven is traveling under, but now that you know what he’s looking for, you should be able to anticipate him. Find out what he knows and who he’s working for, get him out the way, and find those fucking tapes.”
    There was another pause. Clements said, “Let me clarify something for you, Ulrich. You don’t give me orders anymore. You’re just a lobbyist now. The only reason I’m even talking to you is out of courtesy.”
    “Yeah?” Ulrich said, his voice rising, some dark part of his mind suddenly joyous at the prospect of having someone to bully, to dominate. “Well, let me clarify something for you. You’re talking to me because you need me to run political interference for you, which I have. And because without the information I just gave you, you couldn’t find your own ass with both hands and a flashlight. And because if someone smarter than you doesn’t tell you what you need to do, you’re going to be in newspaper headlines in less than five days and in a prison cell not long after that. You got it? Are we clarified now?”
    Silence on the other end of the line. Ulrich slammed down the receiver, stood, and paced back and forth for a minute, concentrating on his breathing, trying to calm himself. He knew he shouldn’t have snapped at Clements: it would chafe worse now than in the days when one of his tirades had been backed by the power of the office of the vice president, and so was apt to be counterproductive. But damn, it had felt good to be in charge again, giving orders and not suffering idiots, if only for a moment.
    He went back to his desk and forwarded Clements the information he would need. He hoped he was making the right call. Treven was obviously cleverer than the CIA, and so logically stood a better chance of recovering the tapes. The question was, what would he do with them if he did? Ulrich decided he couldn’t take that chance. He didn’t trust the CIA, but at least he understood their motives.
    JSOC just felt like a wild card. He’d deal with them accordingly.

CHAPTER 13
The Sound Was Always the Same
    L arison shot bolt upright on the mattress, his body slicked with sweat, the awful screams still ringing in his ears. His heart was pounding combat hard and he was practically hyperventilating.
    A dream. Calm down, it was just one of the dreams.
    He grimaced. God, if he could only take a pill. Anything to dull the sound of those screams, to obscure the terrorized faces behind them.
    He realized he was gripping the Glock. Must have snatched it up without