“No.”
“Is your mother still living?”
“No.”
“Father?”
“I have no idea.”
“You didn’t get along?”
“He walked out on us when I was young.”
“Did your mother remarry?”
“No.”
Dr. French made some notes before resuming the interview.
“Getting any deep psychological insights, Doc?” Morelli asked.
“Thirteen so far,” French answered with a smile.
“Touche,” Morelli replied. He was trying to upset George, but he was smart enough to see that the doctor wasn’t biting.
“Why don’t you tell me where you went to high school?” French asked.
“St. Martin’s Prep.”
George looked surprised. “You must have been pretty well off.”
“Scholarship boy.”
“So your grades must have been good.”
“A’s mostly.”
“Any sports?”
“I did a lot of stuff in junior high. No organized sports at St. Martin’s. I concentrated on my grades pretty much and kept to myself.”
“What subjects did you enjoy?”
“Science, math. I liked physics.”
“Did you like St. Martin’s?”
Morelli shrugged. “Some of the teachers were pretty sharp. The kids were from a different world. We didn’t have much in common.”
“Did you have any close friends?”
A cloud descended over Morelli’s features. “I don’t want to get into that.”
“You knew Vanessa in high school,” Ami said.
Morelli looked upset. “Yeah, Vanessa. I knew her. But I’m not going there, so you can move on.”
“Okay,” Dr. French said agreeably. “What about college?”
Morelli did not answer.
“Mr. Morelli?” George prodded.
“No college. It was during ’Nam. I was drafted.”
“You didn’t want to go in?”
“I don’t know what I wanted. It was complicated.”
Ami thought that Morelli sounded sad and bitter.
“Where did you go through basic training?” Dr. French asked.
“Fort Lewis.”
“This was your usual basic training?”
“Yeah.” Morelli paused, remembering something. “There were the tests. I don’t think they were part of the normal training.”
“What tests?”
“We all took tests during basic training; IQ, language proficiency. Like that. At first, we took the tests in a group, but I started getting singled out after a while. I’d be called in on a Saturday morning or midweek night, and I’d take these tests with two or three other guys. We were told not to talk about them. They were real strict about that. But I did talk to this one guy once. He was curious about it, too. It turns out his folks were Russian emigrants, so he was fluent. He knew that one of the other guys spoke an Asian language and another one had majored in Russian in college.”
“And you?”
“That’s what I couldn’t figure. I had high school French and my grades were good, but this guy spoke Russian like a native.”
“Did anything else unusual happen in basic?”
“Well, it wasn’t unusual. It was just unexpected.”
“And that was?”
“My posting. We were asked to indicate a preference for AIT,” Morelli said. When Ami looked puzzled, he explained. “Advanced Individual Training. I indicated OCS-officer candidate school-first, then Special Forces. I got Fort Holabird. It’s just outside Baltimore.”
“What went on there?”
“Intelligence training.”
“And you didn’t indicate a preference for that?”
“Nope. But mine was not to reason why, right? So I went along with the program.”
“What did you learn at Fort Holabird?”
“Intelligence stuff. How to tail someone, how to break and enter, electronic surveillance.”
“Bugging?”
“And other nifty skills.” Morelli smiled. “We got to go on these field trips.”
“Give us an example.”
“Oh, I’d pick a name out of the phone book and follow the mark all day. Another time I bugged a business. I broke in at night and put the bug in place. We listened to hours of the most boring shit. A few nights later I broke in again and took it out.”
“What would have happened if you were caught?”
“One guy was. The army smoothed things over. If it was cops, it was okay because they knew we did this stuff from time to time. If it was a civilian, they’d send over a colonel with a chest full of medals. First, he’d appeal to the guy’s patriotism, then his pocketbook. If that failed, he’d let the guy know how difficult life can be, in a very subtle way, of course.”
“Did anything happen at Fort Holabird that was unusual?” Dr. French asked.
Morelli nodded. “Around the end of my fourth month I was called out of training and told to report to an office on the base. There were two Green Berets waiting for me, both in full dress. They told me that they wanted me to apply for Special Forces training. They said that they were very impressed by my records and felt that I’d fit the mold. It was all low-key and very flattering. I was led to believe that I’d been singled out from all the others, and they hinted at clandestine missions and high-risk assignments.
“You have to remember that I was just a kid and very impressionable. Both of the Green Berets were out of a John Wayne movie. Their chests were covered with decorations. And there was the mystique of the Special Forces.”
George smiled. “I assume that you signed up.”
“You bet. As soon as I finished up at Holabird I went to Airborne at Fort Benning, Georgia, for three weeks to learn how to jump out of planes. After that it was the Special Warfare Center at Fort Bragg, North Carolina.”
“What did you do there?”
“Intense physical and survival training. There were five-mile obstacle courses; we learned how to repel off mountains and build rope bridges; that sort of thing. The survival training was a bitch. They’d drop us in salt water in a remote coastal area. We’d learn how to get to shore and survive off the land. You know, what type of plants were edible in the region, how to build a fire, real Boy Scout stuff.
“Then there was specialty training. Your basic unit in the Special Forces was the A team. That’s two officers and ten enlisted men. Each A team member has a specialty. There are combat engineers who train with explosives, medics, radio operators, language experts, weapons experts, and an expert in psychological operations. That was me.”
“What exactly did you do?”
“I learned how to use medical and agrarian assistance, assassination, and fear to bring people around and get noncombatants to work for us, and I learned how to interrogate prisoners.”
Morelli paused for a moment, as if he had recalled something that he wished he had not remembered.
“Anything else?” Dr. French asked in an effort to get the conversation going again.
Morelli’s eyes refocused on the psychiatrist. “Practical operations,” he answered. “My team would go out as a unit. We trained in Alaska and Panama; cold weather, jungle climates. After I finished up at Fort Bragg, I went to Fort Perry in North Carolina for training in advanced interrogation techniques. Then back to Bragg.”
“Did you ever get to put your training to use?”
Morelli looked wary, but he nodded.
“What were some of your assignments?”
“I’d rather not say.”
“Is that because they were classified?”
“I’m not going to discuss my assignments.”
“All right.”
Dr. French made some more notes. Ami thought Morelli’s energy was decreasing. He closed his eyes while French wrote on the pad, and his last few answers had been given quietly.
“Ami told me that you were in Vietnam.”
Morelli looked at Ami when he nodded.
“And you were a prisoner of war?”
Morelli nodded again.
“How long were you a prisoner?”
“About two weeks.”
George tried to hide his surprise. “Why so short a time?”
“I escaped.”
“Where were you captured?”
“I’d rather not say.”
“This was Vietcong?”
“I’d rather not say.”