The Detachment

cigar, and expertly clipped one end with the guillotine. He tossed the clipped end through the open window, put the cut end in his mouth, slid a wooden match out of the canister, popped it with a thumbnail, waited a moment, then slowly lit the end of the cigar, rotating it methodically to get it going evenly. When he was satisfied, he waved the match out and held it until it was cold before tossing it, too, out the window.
    “Cuban Montecristo,” he said, settling back in the car seat. “Forgive me, I only have the one.”
    Treven kept the Glock on him. “Enjoy it.”
    The implication was clear and there was no need to say it. It’s probably your last.
    Hort blew out a cloud of the sweet-smelling smoke. “I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking I’m behind these false flag attacks. That I’m part of it.”
    “You’re going to tell me you’re not?”
    “Not in the way you think.”
    Treven’s eyes were adjusting to the dark. A gibbous moon was rising, its pale light glowing down on the road surface and reflecting on the reservoir below them. “Explain, then.”
    “Did Rain brief you on what I told him this coup is supposed to be all about?”
    “Yes.”
    “What did he tell you?”
    “The system is broken. The plotters wanted a pretext for seizing power so they could fix everything and then give it back. You thought the whole thing was insane, and wanted us to take out key personnel to stop it.”
    “I’d call that an accurate summary.”
    “But then we found out the personnel you had us take out weren’t part of the coup. They were opposed to it.”
    “That is also accurate.”
    “Then what the hell are you doing, Hort? Whose side are you on?”
    Hort sighed. “The plotters are correct in believing the system is broken. They are also correct in believing that without immediate and radical surgery, the patient will surely die. But they are incorrect in believing a coup is what’s required. A coup would kill the patient in the name of saving her. What is required is something slightly different.”
    “What?”
    Hort looked at him. “An attempted coup.”
    Treven didn’t respond. He tried to take what he already understood and sort it through the new framework Hort had just suggested. “You’re saying…you wanted the coup to start?”
    Hort nodded. “And then to stop. And to be exposed for what it really was.”
    “Why? What does that accomplish?”
    “Maybe nothing. In which case, the republic shrivels and dies more or less on schedule, just as it was going to anyway. But maybe, maybe…people wake up.”
    “To what?”
    “To how close they were to losing everything they ought to cherish but have in fact come to take for granted. Did you watch my little speech at the White House?”
    “Yeah.”
    “When I talked about how we would never surrender our liberties if terrorists were explicitly demanding we do so? That’s the truth. You know that, right?”
    “I guess so.”
    “Well, I was giving the country a little preview there. Shaping the battlefield.”
    “I don’t follow.”
    Hort drew on the cigar, held the smoke in his mouth, then slowly blew it out through the window. “The republic is being bled dry by a national security complex so grotesque and metastasized even Dwight Eisenhower wouldn’t have recognized it in his worst nightmares and most dire predictions. People are okay with this state of affairs because they don’t sense something is being taken from them. But if this country’s oligarchy is exposed for what it really is, and for what it’s really doing, there’s a chance people would fight back. A chance. You understand?”
    Treven thought. “You’re saying even if someone would willingly give something up, he’ll fight to preserve it if he thinks someone is trying to steal it.”
    “Precisely.”
    “Then why did you resign?”
    “Because, when this thing is snuffed out, the disgusted and disillusioned masses will need a hero. Someone of unimpeachable character and battle-hardened judgment. Someone who has demonstrated by his actions and his sacrifices that he is a selfless servant of the nation who cannot be seduced by power or anything else.”
    Not for the first time, Treven realized Hort was accustomed to operating at levels of manipulation, deceit, and strategy that Treven found alien. He didn’t know whether to feel envious, or relieved.
    “That speech,” he said. “Dox said it sounded like you were running for office.”
    “In a