The Detachment

Kanezaki’s sat phone buzzed. It was Horton. Kanezaki handed the phone to me.

“Thank you,” he said. “I do not deserve to be the beneficiary of your acts, but I am.”

“How so?”

“I’m certain that very soon, I will be sent to hell, one way or the other. But in the meantime, you have given me the tools I need to redirect this thing as I always hoped, and to turn it into a force for good.”

“All the people who were killed in those attacks,” I said. “I’m glad it’ll have been for the greater good.”

I felt vaguely hypocritical saying it. On the other hand, I’d never bombed a bunch of innocents.

“It would have been worse if it had been for nothing,” he said. “Or for less than nothing.”

“Well, then, you got what you wanted.” I thought, but didn’t say, you’re still going to die. But I supposed he knew that. He’d already acknowledged as much.

“There are two things I want you to know,” he said.

“All right.”

“First, I have introduced into proper channels the notion that you four men were inadvertently placed on the president’s kill list. That your presence there was due to an intelligence failure that itself was the result of your intrepid penetration of the organization sponsoring these attacks. That in fact it was you, all of you, who ignored the danger of a mistaken nationwide manhunt to continue your mission and save the children at that school. You will face no further hostilities from any American military, intelligence, or law enforcement personnel, or otherwise.”

I wished I could believe him. “I thought you said you didn’t have that kind of juice since you resigned.”

“Given my background and since my speech, I am not without influence. And my influence is set to grow.”

“You knew that at the time. When we had your daughter. But you didn’t say anything.”

“You wouldn’t have believed me. And besides, you needed to give me something to work with. Which you have. The wreckage of that drone is currently in the custody of local Lincoln law enforcement. The federal government will have a hard time taking it away from them and disappearing it, given the magnitude of what just happened in their community.”

“There’s more evidence on the way,” I said.

“Such as?”

“Photos and videos of Gillmor. All uploaded to Wikileaks. You couldn’t stop it now if you wanted to.”

“Stop it? I welcome it. In fact, I have uploaded my own judicious trove of information to the good people of Wikileaks, who will see to its proper dissemination more faithfully than the New York Times or Washington Post ever would.”

“What information?”

“Hard evidence of who was really behind this coup. Along with some unrelated but probably even more damning evidence of the sexual and financial improprieties of the individuals identified. With more such evidence to come.”

I thought back to what he had told me about Finch, about how he was an information broker. Had Horton somehow acquired…?

And then it hit me. “You,” I said. “You’re the information broker. Not Finch.”

“That is correct.”

I wasn’t connecting the dots. “Explain.”

“The best way to tell a lie is to conceal it in a lot of truth. Which is why throughout this thing, nearly everything I told you has been true.”

“Then why did you have us kill Shorrock and Finch?”

“Because they were trying to stop the coup, of course.”

I thought for a moment. “And they thought you were, too.”

“That’s right. But we wanted to stop it in different ways. And at different times. And besides, they were the only ones with knowledge of my direct involvement. If I hadn’t had them removed, then when I became America’s hero by declining the president’s offer as I did, they would have been in a position to contradict me. As it stands, I can make clear that they were in fact killed by the plotters because they were trying to stop the coup.”

“But they were killed by the plotters. By you.”

“I recognize there’s some irony at work here.”

“So the reason you needed them to die of what looked like natural causes-”

“Was twofold. First, I didn’t want Finch to conclude from Shorrock’s death that he might be targeted for opposing the coup, too.”

“Because that would have made him harder to get to.”

“Yes. And second, because when the president named me his new counterterrorism advisor, I couldn’t have any questions about whether I might have had something to do with Finch’s death.”

“You knew the president was going to appoint you.”

“Of course.”

“Because you had information that would ensure the right people made it happen.”

“Correct.”

“But you leaked that cyanide was involved.” I still saw no advantage in mentioning to him that we hadn’t even used it.

“‘Leak’ wouldn’t be quite the right word. That information was disseminated very selectively.”

“To make us suspects. So we would be removed.”

“Yes, although in retrospect I’m not displeased my attempts failed.”

“And this was because, how did you put it? We could contradict you.”

“Also correct.”

“But we could contradict you now.”

“I’m hoping you won’t. But even if you try, I don’t think it’ll go well for you. I have assets now, and as I said they are set to grow dramatically. I don’t think you would want to pit your public word against mine. And even if you could damage me that way, and I don’t believe you could at this point, it would draw attention to all of you, and I think you’ve had enough of that. If I were you, I would just quietly enjoy my newfound wealth.”

If it was a threat, it was a subtle one. I said, “Why do you keep saying your assets are increasing? What does that mean?”

“Yes, that was the second thing I wanted to mention. In the coming days, as news of the false flag, oligarchy-inspired nature of recent events leaks out into the establishment media, you will read a variety of very flattering pieces about me. About my courage and insight and integrity. Did Treven brief you on our conversation about a blue ribbon commission?”

“Yes.”

“Well, the commission is already in motion. With the brand I have begun to establish and am having the media help further, and as head of the commission, I will be a very powerful force for good in this country.”

I didn’t answer. I was thinking, you can still be gotten to.

He laughed. “I know what you’re thinking. And you’re right. So let me just ask you this. Give me a year. I expect it’ll take me that long to make sure things are running smoothly. If you don’t like what I’m doing, you can always come after me sooner. But if you do approve of my purpose and my performance, and you do want to extract some measure of good from the recent horrific events of which, whether you like it or not, you have been a part, then you will let me finish my work. After that, I plan to retire. I have a place in Virginia. Very quiet and secluded. I like to sit alone out there on the porch in the evening, enjoying a whisky and sometimes a cigar. I imagine I will live there quietly, alone with the agony of my hellish culpability. Until someone decides to relieve my agony with a bullet.”

“Yes,” I said, after a moment. “Until then.”

We all split up after that, saying our farewells under an indifferent blue sky outside the Des Moines Greyhound station. But for the sounds of traffic from the nearby highway, the area was quiet, even somnolent. No one was around to notice us amid the cracked pavement and boarded-up brick buildings, the weeds