Inside Outt

himself with an antagonist. Damn.”
    “Plus five more in front of the office.”
    “I told them. I told them.”
    Ben heard only anger in Hort’s voice. Nothing that indicated he’d known about the two guys in the brown sedan.
    “I had the shot,” Ben said. “I could have taken him out. Not in time to save anyone, but still.”
    “Your orders were only to observe. Technically, you weren’t even supposed to be there.”
    “I did. I’m just… saying.”
    “I understand how you feel. But if you’d dropped him, the deadman trigger would probably have published the tapes already. You did the right thing.”
    “I tried to get to the second team. I couldn’t reach them in time.”
    “I’m sorry, son.”
    “There’s something else. As we were pulling away from the office, a car pulled up. Brown sedan, I didn’t get the make, not that it would matter. Two guys got out. Caucasian. American, from the accents. They knew Lanier’s name. It was a hit.”
    There was a pause. “A hit? You sure they weren’t Ground Branch, part of the snatch team?”
    “I’m sure.”
    “You’re okay?”
    “I’m fine. They’re not. I didn’t have time to check for ID, and I doubt they would have been carrying any. But you need to find out who those guys were and who’s coming after Paula and me.”
    “Roger that. How’s Lanier?”
    Ben glanced over. “She’s okay.”
    “Do you need anything?”
    “No, we’re good. Unloaded the van, we’re going to find somewhere to bunk down for the night.”
    “Good. Get some rest. Stay safe. I’m going to find out what I can and get back to you.”
    “What’s our next move? Larison’s still out there.”
    “I know. And maybe now, these idiots will listen to me when I tell them how this needs to be handled. Before we lose any more people.”

CHAPTER 29
Doubt
    L arison rode hard to the southeast, rain splattering against his visor and soaking his shirt. He’d dosed himself with Benzedrine to counter the post-combat parasympathetic backlash and felt like he could ride forever. With light evening traffic and breaks at a minimum, he would reach the Panamanian border in about five hours. The weather was slowing him down for the moment, but the wind was blowing north and he could see breaks in the clouds ahead of him. With luck, he’d be riding out of it soon.
    He wasn’t worried about CIA opposition—he knew they’d thrown everything they had at him in Los Yoses and all of it was gone now. It would take them time to regroup. But the carnage in the capital was outlandish enough to possibly lead to a heavier than usual police presence at airports. Safer, for now, to leave the country by land. He’d stop late tonight, find a place to stay, shower, shave, buy some fresh clothes in the morning, and cross the border looking presentable instead of like the half-mad, juiced-up death machine he felt like now.
    His working theory was that the two teams were CIA Ground Branch. He hadn’t recognized any of them from ISA selection, and he’d been around long enough to have known at least a few faces if ISA had indeed been part of the op. Or maybe they were contractors. It didn’t matter. If they were CIA, the opposition was now thinned by an even dozen. If they were contractors, it meant the CIA was hurting for operators in the first place and had to reach out to the private sector. Either way, he’d bought a little time.
    The one thing he wasn’t sure of was the guy he’d seen outside Nico’s office, crouched between two parked cars, a pistol steadied against the hood of one of them. He’d looked vaguely familiar, but he was wearing a baseball cap and shades and Larison couldn’t be sure. Someone he’d reviewed during selection? Maybe. But if the guy was ISA, why hadn’t he taken the shot? Larison had been wide open, and the guy had just watched him go by. Was he afraid of the deadman trigger on the tapes? He ought to have been. But who was he, and what was he doing there?
    An hour outside San Jose, he stopped at a gas station and refilled the bike. And then, shivering under a dripping corrugated awning, his wet skin broken out in gooseflesh, he called Nico at the condo. The phone rang twice, then Nico picked up.
    “Aló?”
    Larison spoke in English. “Nicky, it’s me, Daniel.”
    “Daniel? What… why are you calling?”
    Larison almost never called him on the phone. Everything was by an anonymous email account, which Larison accessed only from random places. And