“Nice shooting,” Waller said as he unhooked the target. “Nearly every round in the kill zone. Only two strays outside the bottle.”
“I thought I nailed every shot.”
“You shot fifty rounds and missed two, Harp. That’s a ninety-six. You only need eighty to qualify. Combined with what you did this morning on the pistol qualification course, you’re shooting for top-of-the-class honors.”
“Mind if I shoot another few magazines?”
Waller smiled. “Get this through your thick head: you did great. A whole lot better than I expected. It’s not like riding a bicycle. I mean, you never forget the skills, but unless you shoot regularly, you get rusty, lose your edge. But you’re as sharp as you were six years ago. It doesn’t look like you missed a beat.”
They proceeded into the firearms cleaning room, which was lined with wall posters displaying exploded schematics of guns in the FBI arsenal. Squeeze bottles with solvents and lightweight lubricating oil sat on metal tables beside stacks of gauze pads, wire brushes, and cotton swabs. After the instructor reviewed the Glock’s cleaning protocol with them, Payne checked his weapon in the gun vault across the hall.
“What’s on the agenda now, coach?”
“Now,” Waller said, “we take a stroll into town.”
“Town?”
They walked outside and followed Hogan’s Alley Street, a paved walkway that cut through the densely wooded Academy grounds. Up a hill was a blue phosphorescent posting that read
HOGAN’S ALLEY
RESTRICTED AREA
They continued walking and passed another series of signs that were nailed into one of the trees on the left side of the path. They read:
SUCK IT IN!
HURT
AGONY
PAIN
LOVE IT
ATTITUDE
INTEGRITY
“Part of the physical training course for new agents,” Waller explained.
They followed the winding path until it widened into a roadway at the edge of “town,” where a large wooden gazebo stood surrounded by flowers and shrubs.
“Hogan’s Alley,” Waller said as they headed toward one of the buildings. “A five-million-dollar mock-up town where new agents train in a role-playing type environment. You never know what’s going to happen when you get the call to report here. Anything goes.”
Ahead of them were buildings with facades that read DOGWOOD INN RESTAURANT, BANK OF HOGAN, and ALL-MED DRUGSTORE. As they walked up behind a blue Ford that was parked at the curb with its front doors open, they noticed an agent crouched behind the hood of the vehicle, shotgun trained ahead on some unseen danger emanating from the bank.
“If I hadn’t told them we were coming, it would automatically be assumed we were part of the exercise,” Waller explained. The agent with the rifle glanced at them, recognized Waller, and turned his attention back to the developing drama.
“So this is like a movie set?”
“No, these buildings are real. Even though the facades are fake, the bureau maintains offices inside each of the buildings. Our photo and graphics labs are in the real estate office, the video lab is in the movie theater, and so on.”
“I’d like to get in on a few of these training exercises.”
“Already on the agenda for next week. Meantime, tomorrow morning we’re scheduled to review HRT procedures—”
“HRT?”
“Hostage Rescue Team.”
Payne nodded. “Shouldn’t that agent wait for backup before going in?” Payne asked as he observed the man leave the cover of his unit and begin making his way toward the bank.
“Yup. He’ll get clipped in a minute.”
“Bad decision.”
Waller nodded to the agent-in-charge, and they turned left on North Broad Street to head back toward Jefferson Hall, the main Academy building, which included a portion of the dorms. After walking for a moment in silence, Waller turned to Payne. “You okay with all this so far?”
“Seems like second nature.”
“That’s the point,” Waller said with a smile. “It is.”
21
“You can’t escape me by closing your eyes, Doctor. But if you’d like, I can put the blindfold back on.”
Lauren opened her eyes and turned so she was nose to nose with Steven. The evil of the man chilled her soul. “Leave it off,” she said forcefully.
“A little sensitive, are we?” He stood up and moved away from her, which instantly made Lauren feel better. “Truth is, I wasn’t going to put it back on even if you begged me. But please do. Beg me. It would make the fantasy so much better.”
“You’re not really into sadism, Steven. It’s an act.”
“My name is not Steven, doctor. It’s Hung Jin.”
“You don’t look Asian.”
“Chinese. And I don’t care what you think.” He walked away from her and leaned against the wall of the cabin. “It’s time to get down to business. We can play later.” A wicked smile curled the left side of his mouth.
Just then, it hit her — the patient she had flashed on earlier, the one from her private practice. It was a middle-aged man with a goatee — Chipper Ford — who had a type of dissociative disorder known as MPD… multiple personality disorder. He had the same pattern of breathing as Hung Jin. Lauren remembered studying Ford’s respirations when he lapsed into an agitated personality state, and flashing on the idea that if there was a correlation between MPD and respiratory patterns, it could be a new diagnostic aid… and the topic of a research paper. Ford’s demeanor, the way he held his head when he looked at her, was similar as well. Of course, it didn’t mean that Hung Jin suffered from the same disorder. But still…
He dragged a wooden chair across the rough, dirt-covered floor and sat down in front of her. “Business first, pleasure second.” He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. “Question number one. Where is Harper Payne?”
“Who?”
Hung Jin stood quickly and swung his arm in a short, underhanded arc. The stomach blow caught her off guard. Her breath was gone, and whatever liquid was in her stomach was threatening to jump through her throat. And the pain was just beginning to set in. As Hung Jin leaned over her, he pulled upon a portion of the coarse rope that surrounded her torso, tightening its clench and preventing her from getting a full breath.
“Please,” she begged. The pain was intense and increased each time she tried to force air into her lungs. “I’ll tell you what I know. But I don’t know… that name.”
Hung Jin sat back down and studied her for a moment.
“Business first, pleasure second,” he said in a whining, almost singsong manner. He craned his head toward the ceiling and raised both arms up, as if beckoning toward the heavens. “This is too easy!” he shouted.
Lauren gritted her teeth and pulled on her wrists in a futile attempt to loosen the ropes.
“Yes! Do you feel it? I used special knots that my Chinese master taught me. They tighten when you try to free yourself. They’re quite effective. But don’t take my word for it. Go ahead and pull.”
Lauren instinctively turned away. She knew this man was unstable. That much was evident during their hypnosis session. Could MPD be the cause — or the symptom? It was a guess at best. MPD affected abused individuals who developed an alternate personality as an escape mechanism. Hung Jin certainly fit the profile. But she needed more of a psychiatric basis to support such a diagnosis. Yet she felt that was what she was dealing with here. Although it was based on something unscientific — intuition — she did not have much to lose by playing what seemed to be her only hand.