The Detachment

understood. He would have done the same. As far as Rain knew, Larison and Treven could be under orders to tie up loose ends by eliminating Rain and Dox once Shorrock was done. They weren’t, though Larison’s actual plans weren’t so far off from what Rain probably suspected. Regardless, it was natural that Rain would be careful. Assassinating the assassins was practically SOP for a job as high-profile as this one.
    Larison had called Hort from a sterile phone while on the road and briefed him. Hort told him to check in when he knew more, but hadn’t asked where he and Treven would be meeting Rain and Dox. Hort would understand that Larison had the same concerns about Hort that Rain had about Larison.
    The car was a gray Ford Taurus rented at LAX, with no navigation system or automated toll payer that someone might use to track them. Treven was driving, nice and easy, not a mile over the speed limit, just a couple of white guys heading back to California after a few days of gambling. Larison looked out the window at the passing brown hills and dusty chaparral and considered how much he ought to tell him. A lot, he decided. There was no other way to properly motivate him. But he had to do it cleverly, and with certain key omissions. Treven’s instincts might be blunted by an excess of infantile patriotism, but he was far from stupid.
    He turned and looked at Treven. “So what has he got on you?”
    Treven glanced at him, then back to the road. “Who?”
    “You know who. Hort.”
    There was a pause. “Why do you think he’s got something on me?”
    “Because Hort has something on everyone. It’s how he works.”
    Treven didn’t answer. Larison said, “You know what he has on me.”
    Treven nodded.
    Larison said, “You know what he told me will happen if I ever release those torture videos?”
    Treven nodded again. “Your friend will be killed.”
    Larison was weirdly grateful that Treven would be so oblique. The man knew perfectly well what Nico was to Larison. For an instant, Larison imagined what it would be like to be able to trust someone with his secret, and then, with a scary, giddy rush, what it would be like not to have to keep it a secret at all.
    He shook off the feeling and said, “He told me they would send contractors to rape Nico’s nieces and nephews and mutilate his parents and sisters and brothers-in-law. Bring down the wrath of God on his entire extended family, every last one of them. And then tell Nico why it had happened, how it had been my fault.”
    There was another pause. Treven said, “Then don’t release the tapes.”
    “Yeah? And what is it you’re not supposed to do? Who’s getting fucked on your side to keep you in line?”
    Treven didn’t answer.
    Thinking he needed to push a little harder, Larison said, “Do I really need to point out that we have similar problems? Which might have similar solutions, if we try to solve them together?”
    “Meaning?”
    “How can I answer that if you won’t tell me what he’s got on you?”
    They drove in silence. A revelation of Larison’s own to build trust, the possibility of working together to create hope, silence to draw Treven out. If the man was going to open up, this would be the time.
    Come on, Larison thought. Talk. Once you start, you’ll keep going.
    He had just begun to think he’d miscalulated when Treven said, “You know that former vice presidential chief of staff you told me about? The one who was tortured to death in his office?”
    Larison smiled. “Ulrich.”
    “Yeah, David Ulrich.”
    Larison’s smile lingered. “I thought you might have been the one who did him.”
    “I wasn’t. But I was in his office shortly before it happened, and I tuned him up pretty hard. Hort says the CIA has security tapes that place me there at the time of his death.”
    “You believe him?”
    “There was no other way for him to know I was there.”
    “Well, then, I’d say you have a real problem on your hands. Unless you don’t mind being Hort’s fuckboy for the rest of your life.”
    “It’s the CIA that has the tapes.”
    “Hort told you that?”
    Treven didn’t answer.
    “Because that’s what he would tell you. You know that, right?”
    Again, no answer.
    “Look,” Larison said. “I’d lay good odds Hort has those tapes himself. He’s not going to tell you that, otherwise you know he’s the one squeezing your nuts. Instead, he positions himself as the guy who’s trying to help you relieve the