Kill Shot (39 page)

“Bramble, or Victor as most of the men call him, has become increasingly difficult to deal with.”

“Most of the people in this outfit are difficult to deal with,” Stansfield said without a hint of humor. “But continue.”

“He is not well liked.”

“I assume you mean by Mitch.”

“Yes, and pretty much by everyone else.”

“That’s not true,” Stansfield interjected. “Stan and Victor get along fine.”

“That’s because Victor is his trained dog,” Kennedy said.

“And Stan would say the same thing about you and Mitch.”

“Victor and Mitch are very different people.” Looking at Lewis she said, “Explain.”

Lewis nodded and turned his focus on Stansfield. “In my last report I outlined several serious concerns about Victor. I have noticed an extensive contempt and abuse of the rights of others. He is deceitful and lies to his colleagues with ease, especially if it will lead to his own personal gain. He is extremely irritable and aggressive and is prone to fighting even at the least hint of a slight. He has a reckless disregard for the safety of others, often manifesting itself in practical jokes that only he finds humorous. He shows almost no remorse when he hurts one of the recruits . . . in fact I think he takes a perverse joy in inflicting pain on others.”

Stansfield drummed his fingers on the ledge in front of the glass for a second. “You just described a good portion of the men I’ve worked with over the years,” he lamented.

Lewis cleared his throat. “On the surface it may sound like that, and you undoubtedly have worked with many tough men who share one or two of these qualities, Stan being chief among them, but I can assure you, there are seven traits that outline antisocial personality disorder and Victor has all seven.”

Stansfield looked away from the interrogation and regarded the doctor. “How many does Stan have?”

“Three . . . maybe four.”

“And me?” Stansfield asked with a straight face.

“Only one,” Lewis said, and then with a slight smile he said, “but then again I would need more time to properly observe you . . . but I wouldn’t worry. As a general rule you need to have at least four of the traits to be classified with the disease.”

“And Mitch, how many does he have?”

“Just one or two.”

“This assessment of yours . . . how serious is it?”

“Very.”

“And you’re confident that if I brought in someone else for a second opinion that person would reach the same conclusions.”

“Very confident.”

“Can this problem be resolved with treatment?”

Lewis waffled for a second and then shook his head. “It would take a great deal of time and effort and the patient would have to be willing.”

Looking through the glass Stansfield asked, “And do you think Victor would be willing to undergo treatment?”

“No.”

Stansfield stared through the glass and said, “Stan’s not going to like this.”

“No he isn’t, but he’s blind to the realities of the problem. This is far bigger than Stan and who he likes or dislikes. I put all of this in my report. People like Victor are extremely volatile. They usually end up in jail, or financially ruined, or both.”

Stansfield stepped back from the glass. “We don’t recruit Boy Scouts to this work. You two both know that. The Boy Scouts are all over at the FBI. We need guys who are willing to bend the rules . . . do certain things that your average mentally stable individual would never consider.”

Lewis nodded and said, “And you hired me to keep an eye on things . . . to make sure we have guys who know not to cross certain lines, and I’m telling you Victor will cross any line as long as it helps him get what he wants.”

“You know I called Stan last night and I told him to pull Victor and his team?”

Lewis nodded.

“Victor claims they were in the process of packing up when Rapp sent in the decoy.”

“I’m aware.”

“Do you believe him?”

Lewis measured his response. “I’m not sure I believe anything Victor says.”

“Anything else?”

“It’s one thing to have him down at the farm brutalizing recruits . . . but turning him loose in Paris . . .” Lewis shook his head. “That was a bad idea.”

“And why didn’t you bring this to my attention sooner?”

“I did put much of this in my most recent report.”

Stansfield turned his cold, gray, calculating eyes on the doctor. “I receive a lot of reports. Why didn’t you come to me?”

Lewis sighed and said, “I wasn’t there when he was recruited, but over the past year, I’ve grown increasingly concerned. And then there’s Stan to consider.”

“What about him?”

“The two of you are very loyal to each other.”

“We have a history, Tom, but I know how Stan ticks.”

“Permission to be brutally honest, sir?”

Stansfield knew this was the Green Beret coming out in the doctor, and he also knew that if he was asking for permission it was to say something that would be highly critical of Stansfield. He had never been afraid of the truth so he said, “Permission granted.”

“You have a blind spot where Stan is concerned. I have tried repeatedly to bring certain things to your attention and so has Irene, but you brush us off. I understand that the man has a storied career, and he undoubtedly has his uses, but putting him in charge of the recruiting and training of these men, I fear, was a huge mistake. And Victor is exhibit A. The man should have washed out years ago.”

Looking back through the one-way glass, Stansfield asked, “So what do you recommend I do about this problem?”

“Send Victor packing and do it as quickly as possible.”

“And if he doesn’t want to quit?”

The blue-eyed shrink and former Green Beret hesitated for a second and then said, “You should have him eliminated.”

This was far more serious than Stansfield had expected. He knew Lewis as a thoughtful man who was very thorough about his recommendations. This was the first time in three years that he had suggested such a thing. Stansfield had no illusions about who he was. He’d killed men before and he’d ordered men killed. It was part of his job description. “I’ll take all of this under advisement.” Stansfield left the mirror and then stopped and looked back at Lewis. “And what would you have me do with Stan?”

Lewis had some very strong opinions on the subject, but he was not so presumptuous as to think that he should offer them to Stansfield. “You know him better than any of us, sir. I think you are more than capable of making that decision on your own.”

The faintest of smiles creased Stansfield’s mouth. “You’re a smart man, Tom. I appreciate your honesty.”

J
IM
Talmage had his equipment set up in the observation room where he could monitor Bramble via cameras and sensors that were attached to various parts of the subject’s body to measure blood pressure, pulse, skin conductivity, and respiration. Talmage knew he could fool a polygraph 100 percent of the time and he knew Hurley could as well, because they’d practiced on each other. Having operated in Indian country for much of their careers, it was a job requirement should they be dragged in by another intelligence agency or worse, a terrorist organization. Being able to trick the polygraph could often mean the difference between life and death.

Stansfield appeared at Talmage’s side. “How’s it going?”

Talmage shook his head. “Not good.”

“He’s lying?”

“I’m not sure . . . that’s the problem.”

“Is he being evasive?” Stansfield asked.

“Yeah, but it’s more than that. I think he knows just enough to beat the machine, and it’s not helping that Stan’s doing a shitty job.”

“How so?”

“I’ve seen him press a lot harder than this. I can usually predict his next question. You need to get the guy thinking about one thing, get him leaning in a certain direction, and them slap him in the face with an accusation, try to trip him up and see how he’s going to react.”

“And he’s not doing that.”

“Nope. He’s letting this guy tell his story. Every once in a while he’ll go back and review something . . . ask him for clarification.”

Stansfield was no novice when it came to polygraphs. He’d been given more of them than he could count and he’d ordered thousands. There were a lot of different techniques. Talmage had just described a technique they called giving the subject enough rope to hang himself. “That doesn’t sound unusual.”

Talmage shook his head and frowned. “Some people do it that way, but I can’t even count how many of these I’ve done with Stan. This isn’t his style. He’s like a street fighter. Nothing’s off-limits. Once he starts, he attacks and keeps attacking until he’s got the guy so flustered he wouldn’t dare lie to him.”

Stansfield considered the situation and then asked, “Should I pull him?”

Now Talmage got really uncomfortable. “That’s up to you, boss, but if there’s any criticism it better come from you. I don’t feel like getting my head bitten off.”

“Got it.” Stansfield didn’t show it, but he was extremely unhappy that he’d let Hurley create an environment in which everyone was afraid to express an opinion. He turned to Kennedy and Lewis and said, “Why don’t you two go check your voicemail? I need to have a word with Stan.” He patted Talmage on the shoulder and said, “Tell him to take a break.”

Talmage leaned forward and pressed the Transmit button on the microphone. “Guys, let’s take a break. Victor, can we bring you anything?”

Victor asked for a black coffee.

Talmage looked through the glass at the big oaf. He should know better. “You know we can’t give you coffee.”

“Fine,” the voice came over the speakers, “I’ll take water.”

Hurley got up and left the interrogation room. A moment later he joined Stansfield and Talmage. He looked at Talmage and said, “I think it’s going pretty well. How do the readouts look?”

“Like shit.”

Before Hurley could respond, Stansfield said, “Would you mind telling me what you’re doing?”

“What are you talking about? I’m trying to get the truth out of him.”

“I don’t think you are,” Stansfield said, without any extra emotion.

Hurley’s face twisted into a pissed-off scowl. “Listen, this ain’t my first rodeo. I don’t stick my nose in what goes on in the rarefied air of the seventh floor at Langley. Just let me do my job like I let you do yours.”

“Let?” A touch of anger crept into Stansfield’s voice. “You seem to be confused about something, Stanley. I’m your boss. I’m your superior. I’m the one who gives orders. I don’t just let you do your job, my job is to manage you. You don’t let me do anything. You’re my subordinate. Do you understand that?”

“I don’t understand what the fucking problem is. I’ve been warning you for two years that Rapp was going to blow up in our faces and lo and behold it happens, and now everyone’s pissed at me. I don’t need this shit. Victor is telling the truth. It’s obvious, and the rest of you better wake up and figure it out.”

“We don’t know if Victor is telling the truth, because you’re going so easy on him, Jim can’t get any readings that are worth a crap.”

“What the fuck would you know about interrogating someone?”

Stansfield stared right through him, didn’t speak for at least ten seconds, and then said, “Here’s what you’re going to do, Stan. You’re going to go upstairs and get some fresh air, have a smoke, and then you’re going to come to one of two conclusions. Either you’re right, we’re all wrong, and you have all the answers, or you’re going to figure out that you’ve become an insufferable ass whom no one can work with.”

Hurley lifted his chin and said, “You know I don’t need this crap.”

“You’re wrong again. We’re all sick of taking
your
crap. We’re all sick of your attitude, so remember, I’m your boss. If you go upstairs and fifteen or thirty minutes from now, you still think we’re all idiots and you’re the only smart guy, then I want you to walk out the front gate of this Embassy and never come back. I don’t care where you go as long as you stay the hell out of Virginia. But if you can somehow get it through your thick head that you don’t have all the answers, and decide that you’re going to stop biting people’s heads off, then come back down here and we’ll get serious about this interrogation.”

Hurley had known Stansfield for nearly thirty years. He had never seen his friend this upset, and it bothered him. He took a step back and uttered a word that rarely left his lips. “I’m sorry. I think my nerves are a little shot.”

Stansfield nodded. “Go upstairs. Clear your head and then make your mind up.”

Hurley left the room sullen and dejected, and for once Stansfield didn’t care. He looked through the glass at Chet Bramble and thought about the man’s dossier. Stansfield had read it years ago, but he still had it memorized. Much of what Lewis had deduced was already in that file. Bramble had major issues with authority and rules. It was what had eventually gotten him bounced from the army. Stansfield was of the opinion that highly moral, well-balanced individuals would never do what his team did for a living, so he was willing to look the other way with regard to certain personality faults. Now he feared he had let his standards slide too far, or he’d at least given Hurley too much latitude. Either way, the blame lay squarely on his shoulders.

Lewis and Kennedy were good people. They had sound judgment and were in control of their emotions. Bramble most certainly wasn’t. He was a brawler like Hurley. They were the type of men who could be trusted to handle very dirty jobs. The results weren’t always pretty but they got the job done. Rapp, on the other hand, was measured and precise. All of his kills until now had been minimalist in the best way. Stansfield was still in the process of comparing the two men when Kennedy came bursting into the room. “Sir,” Kennedy said, “you need to listen to this.” Kennedy grabbed the handset of a secure phone and began punching in a long string of numbers. “I just received a message on my service.” She handed him the phone. “It’s Mitch.”

Stansfield grabbed the handset and listened. “We need to meet. I finally figured out I can trust you. Don’t believe anything Victor says. I sent someone in my place last night. I wanted to see how he would be treated. I had no idea how bad the reception would be. I thought at worst he’d be roughed up. Unprovoked, Victor popped him and then did the same to the guys he was working with. Two locals showed up and he popped them, too. My guess is he’s blaming me for all of this. His word against mine . . . well, there’s only one problem. I have a witness. Someone your boss knows and trusts. I want to come in, but I don’t want to see anyone other than you. Leave me a mobile number where I can reach you and have the boss ready to hear me out. And this is my only offer. If I see Stan or Victor anywhere, I’m done, and if anyone tries to find me a lot of people are going to get hurt.”