Inside Outt

plan?”
    “Larison has the number of the phone I gave you. He’s going to call you at 1800 with instructions on where you’ll be flying. We’re refueling and servicing the jet you just came in on and it’ll be ready.”
    “What does he know about me?”
    “Not a single thing outside you’re a guy delivering a package. From his standpoint, you might as well be a pizza delivery man.”
    “Hell of a pizza.”
    “Yeah. I’ll meet you on the Crystal City Metro platform in one hour with the diamonds. Yellow Line, in the direction of Huntington.”
    Ben wondered if Hort was choosing such a public location to reassure him again. It wasn’t really necessary. If Hort had wanted to set him up, there had been plenty of opportunities already. Or he could have just left him in the Manila city jail.
    “I’ll be there,” Ben said.
    An hour later, on the Crystal City platform, amid bored, oblivious commuters walking and waiting beneath the science fiction hush of the vaulted concrete ceilings, Ben spotted Hort coming toward him in civilian clothes, a backpack over his shoulders. He saw Ben and walked over.
    They shook hands. Ben eyed the backpack. “Is there really a hundred million dollars in there?” he said.
    “There is. Twenty-three pounds, in case you’re curious. Don’t lose it.” He slipped the pack off and handed it to Ben.
    “Don’t I have to sign for this?”
    “Are you kidding? We give out bricks of hundred-dollar bills in Iraq and Afghanistan like we’re handing out lollipops and solicit work through no-bid contracts and there’s that three-trillion-dollar stimulus… at this point, a hundred million in the black ops budget is nothing but a damn rounding error. The only thing unusual is that we’re using diamonds instead of cash.”
    A train pulled in with a hiss of pneumatic brakes and a recorded announcement of its arrival at the station. Ben watched commuters flowing on and off like zombies in a horror movie.
    “The Fed had a hundred million worth of diamonds just lying around?”
    “No, what you have in that bag is another triumph of government-private sector cooperation. Someone at the CIA had the admittedly excellent idea of engaging Ronald Winston.”
    “Winston?”
    “Son of the late Harry Winston. World’s premier diamond expert. We needed someone with deep contacts in the markets in Africa, Amsterdam, Tel Aviv, New York, someone who could cajole a few Saudi princes. And also someone monumentally discreet. Apparently there’s only one man who fit the bill, and that’s Winston. He personally certified every stone in this bag and I took possession directly from him.”
    “What was Winston’s cut?”
    “I’m sure he was well compensated. Being indispensable, and discreet on top of it, puts a man in a position to charge a premium.”
    “I guess that’s true.”
    “Now, listen. It’s just you on this. There’s no one else. So if anyone tries to interfere with you, you stop him. Anyway you have to. Remember, you’re carrying a hundred million in there in untraceable, easily convertible stones. Plenty of people would like to get their hands on that, never mind the tapes.”
    “Roger that.”
    “You’re armed?”
    Ben nodded. “Same Glock you set me up with when I was Dan Froomkin, FBI. It was on the jet where I left it.”
    “Good. We can’t have Larison thinking we’re fucking with him again. The connection you uncovered in Costa Rica gives us a lot of leverage, and that’s important, that’s our insurance that if we let him walk away happy, he won’t release the tapes. But no sense antagonizing him, either. If another team from Blackwater shows up and tries to take him again, he might just decide the hell with it, we’re never going to give him what he wants, he might as well just release the tapes and the hell with the rest. We don’t want him in that frame of mind.”
    His phone buzzed. He glanced down, saw the call was blocked. He looked at Hort.
    Hort said, “Anyone else have this number?”
    “No. Just you, as far as I know.”
    “It’s him, then. Calling early again to keep us jumping. Go ahead.”
    Ben accepted the call. “Hello.”
    “Is this the courier?”
    The same low, raspy voice Ben had heard on the conference call. The same confident tone. It was him. Larison.
    Ben looked at Hort and nodded. “Yes.” After all the circling around, the listening in on other people’s calls, it was strangely satisfying to be engaging Larison