Then Abu Ghraib happened. He saw the way the brass and the politicians closed ranks to blame the enlisted personnel. He remembered reading an article by a guy named Jonathan Turley, about how the rank and file always got scapegoated, about the abdication of command responsibility. He started to think about what he was doing, and about what the politicians would do if it leaked. Graner, England… how was he any different? He’d be the perfect fall guy, especially for the Caspers.
He didn’t want to accept it. He wanted to believe what he was doing was different, that he was different, and that anyway it would never leak, it was too closely held. But he knew that was all bullshit. Nothing was more important in combat than avoiding denial and engaging reality, and the habit of combat helped open his eyes to political reality, too. Eventually it would all come out. They’d need a fall guy then. The fall guy would be him.
Once he realized it, he could see it clearly. They’d talk about his temper, which ironically was why they’d had him working the Caspers in the first place. They’d call him a steroid freak. They’d dig for other dirt. If they discovered his secret, they’d crucify him with it. Rogue. Sadist. Nutcase. Homo. They’d say he volunteered for this detail so he could be alone with detainees, so he could work out his twisted fantasies on naked, helpless men. And then, to prevent him from talking, to prevent him from revealing what he knew about the Caspers and taking everyone else down with him, one morning he’d be found hanging in his cell.
Yeah, that’s the way it would happen. If he let them.
So he found a way to not let them. A way to protect himself, bring down the hypocrites who were going to set him up, and create a new life for himself-and for Nico-all at the same time.
His heart rate had returned to normal. He turned off the light and lay back down on the mattress. He kept the Glock in his hand.
All he had to do now was stick to the plan. After that, Costa Rica. Costa Rica was where the dreams would stop.
He just had to get there.
14. Projection
At some point during the flight, Ben nodded off. He was still recovering from three near-sleepless nights in the Manila city jail and a lot of time zone shifts after, and he was glad for the chance to get a little shut-eye.
When he woke, Paula was looking at him the way he’d been at her earlier. “What?” he said, scrunching up his face and blinking. “Was I drooling?”
She cocked an eyebrow and gave him a bored look. “Not that I noticed.”
He saw she was holding an iPhone, like his. “You like it?” he asked, gesturing with his head.
“Love it. Does just about everything but shoot bullets.”
He laughed. “iBullets. Maybe one day.”
He looked out the window. The sun was low in the sky. He checked his watch. Damn, he’d been asleep for almost an hour. They didn’t have far to go.
“So how’d you get into this line of work?” he asked, sitting up and cracking his neck.
“What, you mean a nice girl like me?”
“I don’t think you’re nice.”
“Oh, but I am.”
“All right, a nice girl like you, then.”
She looked at him for a long moment. He couldn’t tell what she was thinking, and he thought maybe she wasn’t going to answer. But then she said, “Nine-eleven happened during my senior year of college. I was planning to go to grad school for an M.A. in psychology-psychology was my undergraduate major-but I decided to do something to make a difference, instead.”
“How’s that working out for you?”
“Making a difference?”
“Yeah.”
“It’s hard, sometimes. Getting anything done in this bureaucracy is like trying to swim in molasses. But I’ve found ways.”
“You work in the D.C. headquarters building?”
“I do. Do you know it?”
“Visited on a school field trip when I was a kid.”
“You grew up in the area?”
“For a while. Among other places.”
“But you know Washington.”
He remembered a family excursion to the city when Alex had still been in a stroller. The five of them had stayed in a single room in a cheap hotel off Dupont Circle. Alex wanted to start at the zoo. Katie wanted the ballet. Ben wanted the war memorials. Their dad wanted the Smithsonian. Their mom had tried to negotiate the resulting hairball. It had rained the entire weekend and even Katie couldn’t stop the fights. Ben had been back maybe a half dozen times since then, never staying for longer than he had to.
“I know it well enough to know I’d rather be somewhere else,” he said.
“And where is that?”
“Why, you thinking about visiting me?”
“Just making conversation.”
Her questions were innocuous enough, but they were making him uncomfortable. He didn’t want to tell her too much. Harmless details could sometimes be assembled into a meaningful mosaic.
“How about you?” he said. “Why the FBI? Why not CIA, or the military?”
“Because I believe in law and order. Plus I don’t like violence. Law enforcement’s about breaking the cycle of violence.”
He briefly wished someone had told that to the Manila cops who’d exhausted themselves beating the crap out of him. With every passing hour, the memory of those four days felt increasingly bizarre and improbable. But still, every time he thought of it, the cops cuffing him and later whaling on him, the heat and stink of the prison, the feeling of being swallowed up by some huge, insentient beast, cut off from anyone who knew him, anyone who cared-
“And you?” she said.
“What about me?”
“Why the military?”
“Military? I don’t know anything about the military.”
“My ass, you don’t,” she said, shaking her head.
He liked the thought of her ass, which he’d had a few opportunities to appreciate during their unlikely time together. He smiled to let her know.
She cocked an eyebrow and gave him the bored look again. “My God, you’re really just fourteen years old, aren’t you?”
“It feels like sixteen, actually, but I could be off by a little.”
“Actually, I think fourteen is generous.”
He smiled. “I thought you said before you didn’t have time to flirt with me.”
She snorted. “What makes you think I’m flirting with you?”
“Aren’t you?”
“I certainly am not.”
“Yeah, you are. Otherwise you wouldn’t have denied it so fast.”
“Oh, dear. Romeo here can’t go wrong. When a woman says she’s interested, she’s interested. When she says she’s not interested, she’s still interested. Did you know that grandiosity and megalomania are primary characteristics of narcissistic personality disorder?”
“Don’t get me wrong. I don’t mind.”
“Well, I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself.”
“So, are you married?”
She squinted at him. “Are you for real?”
“You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.”
“Oh, thank goodness. For a moment there, I thought you had subpoena power or something.”
“Well?”
“Let’s just keep this professional, all right? I don’t think we need to start getting to know each other’s personal lives and all that.”
“Suit yourself. You’re the one who was flirting.”
“Please.”
“So you’re not married.”
“No, I’m not married.”
“Why not?”
“What are you, my grandmother?”
“Does she ask you that?”
“All the time. But she has an excuse. She’s senile.”
“Do you date?”
She laughed. “What is this, twenty questions? Why are you asking me this bullshit? Seriously.”
“I’m interested in you.”
“You’re not interested in anyone but yourself. You’ve got that written all over you.”
She seemed to mean it, and because it wasn’t the first time he’d heard such a thing, the comment bothered him enough to make him want to ask what she meant. But he knew if he did, he’d lose the initiative. Initiative toward what, he wasn’t really sure.