American Assassin

Lewis could be heard clearing his throat and then saying, “Even if that were true, I don’t see it excuses your breaking Victor’s arm.”

“I never said it excused anything. What I said is that you are playing games with us. You leaves files lying around, tell us one set of rules and then let Victor break them. You were in the barn, how was it okay for Victor to punch Fred in the face?”

“We will deal with that separately. This is about what you did.”

“I saw the way you reacted when Victor punched Fred in the nose.” Rapp paused and looked down at his hands. “Do you know what I think … I think Victor doesn’t fit in.”

“How so?”

“Based on what I’ve seen since I’ve been here, there are just two logical conclusions where Victor is concerned. Either Victor is a recruit just like the rest of us or he’s part of your evaluation process.”

“Part of the process?”

“He works for you guys. He’s one of the instructors.”

“And why would we do that?”

“So you could get a closer look at us. You put Victor in with us, and his job is to tempt us into making mistakes. Ask us who we are and where we’re from. Try to get guys to screw up so you can get rid of the guys who don’t have the discipline.”

“Interesting.”

“Either way it isn’t good. If I understand this program correctly, Victor is not the kind of guy you’re looking for. So if he is a recruit, and you guys can’t see that, I’m not sure I want to work for people who can’t grasp the obvious.”

“And if he is one of the instructors?”

“It’s a pretty fucked up way to train disciplined men.”

“Let’s assume you’re correct for a second. Knowing all of that … you decided to break his arm.”

Rapp shook his head. “I had my suspicions before, but I wasn’t sure. After I broke his arm, I saw the way you and the other instructors reacted, and I pretty much knew he was one of you.”

There was a good five seconds of silence and then Lewis asked, “Do you think you have a good moral compass?”

Rapp let out a small laugh. “Here we go with your vague questions.”

“I know, but please try to answer this one.”

“You mean do I understand the difference between right and wrong?”

“Yes.”

Rapp hesitated. “I would say pretty much yes.”

“But?”

“Here … at this place … it seems like that line keeps getting moved.”

“Can you give me an example.”

“That angry old cuss … the one my recruiter warned my about … well, I’m not here five minutes and the two of us end up in the barn … He’s telling me to quit and save all of us the effort. I tell him no and suggest we should find out if I have what it takes. He very clearly tells me that the head and groin are off limits while we spar. We lock horns and twenty seconds into it I have him beat. He was about two seconds from blacking out when he grabbed my nuts and practically turned me into a eunuch. He never said anything to me about it. In fact I haven’t seen him since. Then you have Victor ru

“I didn’t threaten you.”

“You said Sergeant Smith thinks I should get the boot. I’d say that’s a threat.”

Lewis hit the stop button and turned to face Hurley. With arms folded, he said, “That was one of the more difficult sessions I’ve conducted. Do you know why?”

Hurley shook his head.

“Because I agreed with virtually everything he said.”

CHAPTER 18

STANSFIELD stood at the end of the dock, looked up at the moon, and ran through the list of transgressions. Although he didn’t show it, and he never did, he was livid with what was going on down here. He had allowed Hurley far too much latitude, and while much of his anger was directed at the snake eater, more of it was directed back at himself. How had he not seen the signs earlier? This place, this operation, all of it was his responsibility. Ke

There’d been a few bumps over the years, occasions when Hurley had let him down, but even the great Ted Williams struck out every now and then. They had met in Budapest in the summer of 1956 just as everything was heating up in the unwilling Soviet satellite. Stansfield was in his thirties and was quickly rising through the ranks of the fledgling CIA, while Hurley was in his early twenties, fresh out of training and thirsting for a fight. Stansfield saw firsthand in the run-up to the Hungarian Revolution that Hurley had a real aptitude for mayhem. He was talented, and wild, and a lot of other things, some good and some bad. But one thing was undeniable. He knew how to get at the enemy. Engage them, upset them, bloody them, and somehow make it back with nothing more than a few bumps. In the espionage business it was easy to fall into a safe daily pattern. Begin the day at your apartment, head to the embassy for work, a local café for lunch, back to the embassy, maybe a cocktail party at another embassy in the evening, a stop at a local café for a nightcap, and then back to your apartment. You could safely move about a foreign capital without ever risking your job or your life. Not Hurley. When he landed in a new place he headed straight for the rough part of town. Got to the know the prostitutes, the barkeeps, and most important, the black-marketeers who despised their communist overlords. Hurley fed him daily reports about the rising contempt among the citizenry and proved himself to be a first-class field operative. He became Stansfield’s indispensable man.

Tonight, however, Stansfield was having his doubts. Budapest had been a long time ago. Sooner or later all skills diminished. The obvious transition was to move him behind a desk, but that would be like asking a race horse to pull a plow. It would kill him. Stansfield looked back up at the house. He had silently left the meeting and walked down to the lake on his own. A simple hand gesture was enough to tell his bodyguards to wait at the top of the small hill. Hurley would know to come find him. He did not have to be asked.

Stansfield could tell his old colleague was well aware that he had disappointed him. He was as down as he’d seen him in many years, and it could have been because of a variety of factors. At the top of the list was probably that shiner on his face. Stansfield had to bite down on the right side of his tongue when he’d found out that Ke

Looking back on it now, Stansfield could see where the mistakes had been made. He had allowed Hurley to create a cult of personality down here. His own little fiefdom of Special Operations shooters. All of them were extremely talented and useful, but as a group they had the ability to create a toxic stew of contempt for anyone who had not walked in their shoes. Even Doctor Lewis, a snake eater himself, had voiced concern. Ke