Sergeant Smith clapped him on the shoulder and said, “You’re coachable, kid. Nice work. Let’s try this a few more times.”

Rapp was in the midst of reloading the weapon when by chance he turned his head and looked over his left shoulder. About sixty feet away, in the shadows of a big pine, a man was watching them. With the poor light Rapp couldn’t be certain who it was, but he thought it might be the guy he’d seen on the porch earlier in the morning. Rapp turned back to Sergeant Smith and was about to ask him who he was when he thought better of it. It would be a mistake to confuse a little one-on-one instruction with friendship.

CHAPTER 14

DR. Lewis walked into the office, offered a faint smile to his visitor, and closed the door behind him. He’d been watching the new recruit intently for the past three days. At twenty-three he was the youngest project they had attempted to run through the program, and from what he’d seen the last few days the man showed a great deal of promise. Before sitting, Lewis glanced down at the notepad and pen sitting in the middle of the desk. Next to them sat a file with Rapp’s name written in large black letters. It was impossible to miss and intentionally so. They knew surprisingly little about the man, but then again how much could you really know about someone this young—this untested? If he listened to the irascible Hurley, inexperience was a curse, and if he listened to the more pragmatic Kennedy, it was a blessing. Lewis didn’t know who was right, but he had grown tired of listening to them bicker.

Moving behind the desk, Lewis sat in the worn leather and wood desk chair and leaned back. The chair emitted a metal squeak. The doctor ignored it and moved his eyes from the subject to the contents sitting on his desk. There were many tools in his trade—little tricks that could be used to test the people he was assigned to evaluate. Some were subtle, others more overt, but all were designed to help him get a better glimpse into the minds of the men they were recruiting. The file on the desk had been a test. Lewis had spent the last five minutes in the basement watching the recruit via a concealed camera. Rapp had sat sphinxlike in the chair. He had glanced at the file only once and then adopted a relaxed posture that spoke of boredom. Lewis didn’t know him well enough to gauge whether it was sincere, but there was something about this Mitch Rapp fellow that suggested great possibilities. There was a casualness on the surface that helped mask something far more complex.

Lewis considered reaching for the notepad and pen. It was a way of establishing authority, and creating stress for the subject. Making him feel the pressure of possibly giving incorrect answers. Lewis decided against it. From what he’d witnessed over the last three days, it was highly unlikely that the ploy would fluster this one. Nothing else had so far.

Going on a hunch, Hurley clasped his hands behind his head and casually asked, “You know what you’re getting yourself into?”

Rapp looked at him with his dark brown eyes and shrugged as if to say it wasn’t worth acknowledging the obvious.

“I don’t read minds,” Lewis said, only half serious. “I’m going to need you to verbalize your answers.”

“Hopefully, you’re going to turn me into a weapon … a killer.”

Lewis considered the straightforward answer and then said, “Not me specifically, but in essence, yes, that is what we are going to do.”

Rapp gave a slight nod as if that was just fine with him and continued to look right back into the bright blue eyes of the man who had been watching him from a safe distance.

“Do you have any reservations?”

“Not really.”

Lewis placed his palm on the desk, and after staring at the back of his hand for a long moment said, “it would be normal if you did.”

Rapp cracked a thin smile. “I suppose it would.”

“So do you have any reservations?”

It was a pretty vague question, and Rapp didn’t like vague. “In terms of what?”

“This is a big commitment. Most of your friends are probably taking jobs with Kodak or Xerox.”

More than a few of them were, but Rapp simply nodded.

Lewis noted that Rapp was not jumping out of his chair trying to please him with earnest answers. Nor was he displaying the open disrespect that many of the candidates would employ as a defense mechanism. He was striking the perfect balance. Lewis decided to skip his standard twenty minutes of preamble and get to the heart of the matter. “Have you ever wondered what it’s like to kill a man?”

Rapp nodded. He had spent more time wondering about it than he would ever admit to this guy, or anybody else.

“Do you think that’s healthy?”

This time Rapp let out a small laugh.

Lewis noted the classic deflection technique, but didn’t want to seem judgmental, so he smiled along with Rapp. “What’s so funny?”

“I can answer your question six ways, and depending on your mood, you might find all of the answers acceptable, or none of them.”

“How do you mean?”

“It’s all in the context.”

“Context is important,” Lewis agreed. “Give me an example.”

Rapp thought about it for a moment and then said, “If I’m lying awake at night thinking about killing the guy who broke into my car and ripped me off, it’s probably safe to say that I have some anger issues, and a poor grasp of what constitutes just punishment.” Rapp put his tanned arm over the back of the chair and looked out the window for a second, wondering how much he should admit. “But if I lie awake at night thinking about sticking a knife through the eye socket of a terrorist who’s killed a couple hundred innocent civilians,” Rapp shrugged, “I think that’s probably not so far out there.”

Lewis appreciated the blunt answer. Wanting a deeper reaction, he asked, “Do you miss your girlfriend?”

Rapp gave Lewis a disappointed look and shook his head.

“What’s wrong? Did I say something that offended you?”

“No … not really…”

“From the look on your face it would appear that I did.”

“I volunteered for this, but I hate playing all these games.”

“Games?” Lewis asked with an arched brow.

“You’re a shrink, right?” Rapp didn’t give him a chance to answer. “You’ve been watching me for the past three days. I’ve noticed that you seem to be paying a lot of attention to me. More so than the others. You choose your words carefully, and you’ve undoubtedly read that file that’s sitting on your desk. You know why I’m here.”

Lewis hid his surprise that Rapp had guessed his profession. “It’s my job to ask questions.”

“But why would you ask if I miss her? Don’t you think that’s pretty obvious?”

“So that’s why you’re here?”

“I’m not here because I miss her. I miss my father, who died when I was thirteen. I miss my grandparents, and someday I’ll miss my mom when she dies, and maybe if I get to know you, I’ll miss you, too. That’s part of life. I’m here for a very obvious reason. One that I’m sure you’re already aware of.”

Lewis noted how he had taken charge of the conversation, but was willing to let this play out. “Revenge?”

“I prefer retribution, but it all depends on the definition you choose.”

Lewis was pleased that he’d made the distinction. He was intimately familiar with the difference between the two words. “I’d like to hear your definition.”

“Revenge is more wild, less calculated … deeply personal.”

“And retribution?”

Rapp thought about it for a moment and then answered in a very clear voice. “Retribution is a punishment that is morally right and fully deserved.”

“And the men who conspired to bring down Pam Am 103?”

Rapp leaned forward, placing his elbows on his knees, and said, “Every last one of them deserves to die.”

Lewis looked at the file on the desk and asked, “You’re Catholic?”