Schrader had been surprised at the fuss. He did not think what he’d done had been anything special. It was part of the job. It was what he was paid to do. Find a problem. Solve the problem. That’s how he always described himself: a problem solver. Whatever it takes. He always figured that if he had a card with a motto on it, that’s what would be printed in neat little letters underneath his name.
Whatever it takes.
The other two killings had not been nearly so productive or celebrated. The first one had come at a raid of a militia camp in Montana. Some idiot came running straight at him, gun pointed, as if it were some kind of cowboys and Indians movie. Schrader calmly fired twice, both bullets found their target, and the idiot went down. The next killing came while preventing a terrorist attack on Dulles Airport. Or a supposed terrorist attack. One man was detained by airport employees when he refused to have his carry-on bag searched. The man shot and wounded a security guard, then escaped and, luggage in hand, ran to the boarding area. The FBI was summoned and the guy was quickly surrounded. He was given an order to drop the bag and step away. Instead, he frantically went to open the overnight luggage and the agents, including Schrader, opened fire. The lunatic died instantly and Schrader received credit for the kill. When the bag was later searched, nothing was found. No bombs, no weapons, nothing that could remotely be considered dangerous. No drugs, even. Schrader never found out the cause of the man’s panic and he never had a burning desire to discover it. He’d done what he had to do. That was the way Hubbell Schrader saw not just his job but life: You do what you have to do.
Whatever it takes.
After Schrader killed the guy at the militia camp, the Bureau sent him to a shrink. He had four sessions and they talked about his sleep habits and his relationship with his wife and kids and any anxieties he might have. He told the shrink he was sleeping fine, his relationships were good, and he didn’t have any anxieties. After the fourth session, she said she believed him and he was returned to active duty. He went through the same thing after the event at the airport, only this time it took only two sessions. They didn’t bother to head-shrink him after the shooting of the kidnappers. They just promoted him. He had no guilt, no remorse whatsoever, felt no questioning about his motives or his actions over any of those five deaths.
The sixth victim was different.
Schrader didn’t exactly feel bad. . but he felt something.
It wasn’t the same as the others. Yes, it was in the line of duty. But still, things weren’t as clear-cut. It wasn’t a life-or-death situation. There was no immediate danger to another person. This one was a lot more complicated. He’d killed someone because he’d been told to kill someone. Because the target was a potential threat.
The question was: to whom? Schrader had been told that he was a threat to the security of the United States. But he wasn’t totally convinced of that. He had doubts.
Maybe that was it. Maybe that’s why he was feeling edgy. Hubbell Schrader had never had doubts before. But this was definitely different. He hadn’t killed a rabid militiaman or a kidnapper or someone he thought was going to blow up an airport waiting room.
He’d killed a cop. A bomb squad cop.
Chuck Billings. Not a bad guy. Smart.
Too smart.
Still. .
And then there was the airport manager. Lockhardt.
He couldn’t claim credit for that one. He hadn’t actually pulled the trigger. But he’d sanctioned it. And Lockhardt wasn’t part of the game. Lockhardt was a civilian. He’d just gotten caught up in the shit. He’d been a threat to talk. And this was a new world. A brand-new world where threats had to be taken as seriously as deeds.
Preemptive action. That’s what the new world was about.
Even so. .
Doubts.
Son of a bitch.
There was one other thing Hubbell had never experienced. Both shrinks, when he’d been ordered to visit them, had noted this, too, and passed the information on to his superior: Schrader didn’t seem to have any fear.
He had to admit, that was pretty much true. He was not afraid of getting hurt or, for that matter, of dying. If either thing occurred, so be it. It was part of the job description. When you do what you have to do you also have to suffer the consequences.
Because Schrader had never specifically experienced fear, he wasn’t really familiar with its symptoms or its warning signals. That’s why he felt so uncomfortable now. The man whose office he was standing in made him feel strange in a way he’d never felt around anyone or anything else. The man made the hair on the back of Schrader’s neck stand on end, and he caused a slight shiver to creep its way down along Schrader’s spine.
Schrader wasn’t sure if this was fear-whether he was, in fact, afraid of this man.
But he thought it was a possibility.
And that in itself was quite something. More than enough for Schrader to pay very close attention to everything the man was saying.
“What about the woman in Rhode Island?”
“She’s being watched,” Schrader said.
“What does that mean?”
“It means we’re making sure she doesn’t do anything she shouldn’t be doing.”
“Phones tapped?”
“Yes.”
“Surveillance?”
“Yes,” Schrader said. He rolled his eyes just slightly.
“You like your job? Running the New York bureau?” the man across the desk asked.
“Yes, sir.”
“Then let’s can the attitude. ’Cause you’re a phone call away from losing it. Got it?”
“Yes, sir,” Schrader said.
“How about our. .” The man waved his arms, searching for a description.
“Our guest from overseas?” Schrader made sure his facial expression didn’t change one bit.
“Yes.”
“He’s well taken care of.”
“What do people call you? Is Hubbell short to anything?” The man smiled now, doing his best to be warm and friendly. “Do people call you Hub?”
“My wife calls me Hubie. Like the basketball coach. Most people just call me by my name, sir.”
“Hubie. . I like that. It’s an uncommon name. It’s fitting. You’re an uncommon person.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Hubie. . I know that certain elements of this job are distasteful to you. As they are to me. But these are distasteful times. People don’t always know what’s best for them. In the long run. People don’t look at the big picture, they don’t always understand it.”