The Detachment

assassination list, don’t you know that? There’s a NOFORN addendum to this alert that says you’re on it. All four of you. They’ll shoot you on sight. And if you do wind up captured, there’s Guantanamo, Bagram, Camp No, the Salt Pit…and those are just the ones that have been disclosed. There are others they can put you in the Red Cross has never heard of, let alone visited, you understand? You’ll have a number, that’s it. No one will know your name. John, some of these places, you might as well be on another planet, or in another dimension. You get there, you’re just—”
    “I need to go. I’ll call you.”
    “Wait. Let me help you.”
    “Why would you do that?”
    “Because you’re the only ones who can stop this thing now.”
    “Bullshit. Spill it to the media. Don’t you have contacts at the New York Times?”
    He laughed. “You think the Times would do anything with this, even if I had proof? They sat on Bush’s illegal domestic surveillance program until after he was safely reelected. Their editor-in-chief asks the White House for permission to publish, for God’s sake, and is proud of it, too.”
    “Then one of the networks. ABC, CNN, whatever.”
    He laughed again. “Did you catch Jeremy Scahill’s report about the Agency’s secret prison in Somalia? The seventh floor had apoplexy, it was so dead-on accurate. They used Barbara Starr and Luis Martinez to discredit it. ABC and CNN, the watchdog media.”
    “Then call Scahill.”
    “The people we’re up against will just instruct the networks to ignore or discredit him. The networks work for us, John. Which I admit is mostly useful and I’ve taken advantage of it many times myself. But it’s working against us right now.”
    “Wikileaks, then.”
    “Now you’re making sense. But I don’t have any proof. Get me some.”
    “No. I don’t want to get further into this. I want to get out.”
    “You’re telling me you’re not going to make Horton pay for setting you up?”
    I didn’t answer.
    “You think he’s going to stop coming after you? You know as well as I do that he’ll be more motivated now than ever.”
    Again I said nothing.
    “Damn it, John, let me help you.”
    I was in a box and I couldn’t see a way out of it. “Goddamn it. How?”
    “I’ll come to you. Put you in the trunk of my car and drive you out of the city.”
    “The trunk? There are four of us. What kind of car do you have?”
    “Honda.”
    “What model?”
    There was a pause. “Civic.”
    I looked over at the collective mass of Larison, Treven, and Dox. “No way,” I said.
    “You’d be amazed what you can fit into a tight space with a little Crisco,” Dox offered, apparently having intuited what we were talking about.
    “You have a better idea?” Kanezaki said.
    “We’re talking about eight hundred, maybe nine hundred pounds. You couldn’t get us all in there with a chainsaw and a blender. And even if you could, the back of the car would be riding suspiciously low.”
    “I’ll borrow my sister’s minivan. You can all hunker down. As long as no one stops me, no one will see you. It’s built to hold seven, the shocks won’t even be noticeably compressed.”
    That sounded more promising. “When can you be here?”
    “Where are you?”
    If it had been anyone but Kanezaki, I would have been suspicious of a setup. But I trusted him as much as I did anyone other than Dox. Plus, I had no choice.
    “Capital Hilton,” I said.
    “She lives in Chevy Chase. It’s not that far, but we’re getting into rush hour now.”
    “Can you have her meet you someplace in between and swap cars there?”
    “That’s a good idea. I’ll be there in an hour. Maybe less. If there’s a problem, I can’t reach her or she’s out with her kids somewhere, or whatever, I’ll call you.”
    “Leave a message on the secure site. My phone will be out of commission.”
    “Right, okay.”
    “We’ll meet you in the lowest level of the parking garage. Away from the elevators.”
    “Got it. See you soon.”
    I clicked off and disabled and pocketed the phone. Larison, Treven, and Dox had moved out from between the beds and away from each other. Everyone’s arms were loose and their hands open. They looked liked gunslingers in a western a half-second away from drawing.
    “What the fuck is going on?” Treven said.
    I didn’t like the accusatory tone I heard in the question, and reminded myself to be extra calm in my response. Four armed,