Ben didn’t answer. Hort said, “Okay, next. Health care reform.

Why?”

“So more people will have insurance.”

“Wrong. By requiring more people to purchase insurance, the government creates new customers for the insurance companies and big pharma.”

Ben nodded, unsure. He still didn’t understand where Hort was trying to lead him.

“And the AIG bailout was a way of funneling money to Goldman Sachs, which was owed thirteen billion by AIG and would have gone under without it. Hell, the government does this for its own, too. Without bulk mail subsidies, there would be no junk mail, and the post office would have nothing to deliver. And how do you think Halliburton and all the rest have made out from Iraq and Afghanistan? Think that’s just a coincidence? None of this is even new, by the way. The Marshall Plan wasn’t about helping Europe. It was about creating new customers for American corporations.”

He took a sip of wine. “People don’t realize it, but we have corporate interests so large they have foreign policy concerns. These corporations will pay for intel. And they’ll pay for action. Hilger, for all the good he was doing, was beholden to several of them. With a hundred million in start-up capital, we’ll be independent.”

Ben shook his head, thinking this couldn’t be true. “But… I mean, we’re not supposed to be independent, isn’t that right?”

“Theoretically, yes. We’re supposed to be beholden. The question is, who are we beholden to?”

“Well… Congress, I guess. I mean, I know they’re a pain in the ass, but…”

“Congress? You know what the turnover rate in congressional elections is? In the neighborhood of two percent. Even the North Korean Politburo has a higher turnover rate than that. So who are we beholden to? Not the people. In a democracy, voters choose their leaders. In America, leaders choose their voters. There’s no competition anymore.”

“Come on, Hort, Republicans and Democrats… they hate each other, right? There’s competition.”

Hort laughed. “That’s not competition. It’s supposed to look that way, so people think their interests are being looked after, they have a choice, they can make a difference, they’re in charge. But they don’t.”

“That doesn’t make sense.”

“I’m afraid it does. You see, there’s more money to be made in cooperation than there is in competition. It’s the same dynamic that leads to cartels. You can argue that the cartels should be competing. But they don’t see it that way. Their profit motive enables them to rise above the urge to compete. In the service of the greater good, naturally. People who think there’s actual friction, and real competition, between Democrats and Republicans, or between the press and politicians, or between the corporations and their supposed overseers, they’re like primitives looking at shadows on the wall and believing the shadows are the substance.”

Ben thought of Ulrich. Were he and Horton the same team? Is that what all this talk about cooperation meant?

“I went to see Ulrich,” he said. “Just now. Larison said I should.”

Hort smiled, obviously pleased. “I know you did,” he said. “And how was the late Mr. Ulrich?”

Ben looked at him, thinking he must have misheard. “What?”

40. Three Numbers

Ulrich cleaned himself up in the restroom. Now that the shock of the encounter was wearing off, pain was beginning to manifest itself. His jaw hurt, his nose hurt, and two of his teeth were loose. He felt nauseated and shaky.

What was killing him was the way he was being whipsawed. Hope, despair, then back again… you could reach the point where you just wanted it to be over, never mind how.

If what Treven had told him was true, there was still a chance. Talk to Horton, make a deal of some sort. Yes, there would be concessions-painful ones, certainly. But no one wanted those tapes out. In the end, that’s what would matter. He’d call Clements, brief him, coordinate. They’d come up with something.

He walked back to his office. Clements was waiting inside, standing in front of his desk, examining the shattered remnants of the phone. Ulrich jumped when he saw him. “Christ,” he said, “What are you doing here? I was just going to call you.”

Clements looked at him. “The door was open.”

Ulrich walked in. The door closed behind him. He turned and saw two burly men in dark suits that looked like they didn’t get worn very often. He noticed someone had closed the drapes.

“Is this supposed to scare me?” he said.

“Just some private security. We’ve been using Blackwater for a lot of projects lately.”

“What do you want?”

“I want the audiotapes you made.”

“You can’t have them.”

“I need you to open your wall safe.”

“Even if I were inclined to open it for you, and I’m not, and even if the tapes were in it, and they’re not, it wouldn’t help you. I told you, I made copies. They’re with a friend. Who will release them if anything happens to me.”

“The problem is, I don’t believe you. Look at you, you look down your nose at everyone, Ulrich, there’s no one you trust that much. And you had them handy the other day when you were on the phone, right here. Remember? You reminded me recently it was a secure line. I’m calling your bluff.”

Ulrich didn’t answer. The burly guys started to move in. Ulrich opened his mouth to scream for help and Clements nailed him with an uppercut to the solar plexus. Ulrich went down, wheezing.

“It wouldn’t have mattered if you’d screamed,” Clements said. “We’ve checked all the nearby offices. Everyone’s gone home. We checked the soundproofing, too. It’s very impressive.”

The Blackwater guys dragged him over to his desk. Clements watched, flexing his fingers open and closed. “I can’t tell you how long I’ve wanted to do that,” he said. “That, and more.”

They pinned him stomach-up against the desk, his feet dangling just above the floor, each Blackwater guy securing an arm and shoulder. Clements opened a case on the floor and took out a battery-operated power drill. “I want that combination,” he said. “One way or the other.”

Panting, Ulrich said, “You’re bluffing.”

To that, Clements only smiled.

“You won’t get away with this,” Ulrich said. “The cameras in the lobby-”

“We’ve taken care of the cameras. When we’re done here, I’m going to call some of my favorite Washington Post op-ed columnists and leak a few choice details about what you’ve been up to, and what terrorist group might have done this to you. Nothing that could be proven, of course, but you know how those columnists like to traffic in rumors. Makes them feel like they’re savvy, isn’t that what you said? And it’s not as though you’ll still be around to set the record straight.”

He fired up the drill and came closer. “The good news, Ulrich, is that you’re going to be seen as a martyr. We’ll use your death to sow public fear and get more of what we want. See what I’ve learned from you? I hope you’re proud.”

Ulrich tried to kick, but the Blackwater guys braced his legs with their knees. He started to tell Clements to wait, just wait for a second, they could figure this out, discuss it, but one of the Blackwater guys covered his mouth with a callused palm. Ulrich struggled desperately, but the Blackwater guys were too strong, and too experienced. He tried to say something, anything, to reason with Clements, to beg him, to get him to just wait, wait, they didn’t need to do this, he could explain, please, just listen to me! But he could only grunt into the meaty hand crushing his swollen lips and loose teeth.

Clements came closer. The sound of the drill was horrifically loud. Nothing was working. He felt a wave of horrible panic. He struggled harder. He began to scream. Clements reached him with the drill. The Blackwater guys pushed down harder. He watched through bulging eyes over the top of the hand smothering his mouth as Clements placed the drill against his left knee. And then the pain was so shocking, so total, that his thoughts were obliterated. The pain consumed him.