Bimsdale knew there was no point in further resistance. He’d already taken a chance by answering his boss back. He waited patiently till the squad was dismissed, then made his way over to the mat without looking at Sebastian.
‘Excuse me, Sergeant, could I challenge you?’
Quincy Jerome looked at him dubiously. ‘Who exactly are you, son?’
Bimsdale explained.
‘Okay, Arthur. How do you want to do this?’
Bimsdale had taken off his suit jacket and shoes, and placed his pistol and shoulder holster carefully on the floor. ‘I don’t suppose you’d let me throw you and then pretend you got concussed?’
‘You don’t suppose right,’ the sergeant said, with a laugh. ‘You FBI dudes are really something.’ He stepped back quickly as Bimsdale launched a high kick at his throat.
The contest lasted longer than Sebastian had expected. He knew from his assistant’s file that the young man had done well on every module at Quantico, but he assumed he’d been putting on a show for the examiners. After twenty minutes, during which Bimsdale almost put Jerome down several times, he walked over to the dojo.
‘All right, gentlemen,’ he said, clapping his hands.
Both combatants were breathing heavily and Arthur Bimsdale’s tie had come undone.
‘You’ve made your point,’ Sebastian said to his assistant. ‘Go and have a shower, then meet me at the science block.’
‘Yes, sir,’ Bimsdale said, voice louder than usual.
‘So, Sergeant,’ Peter Sebastian said when they were alone, ‘what do you think?’
Quincy Jerome wiped his forehead with his forearm. ‘Not bad for a Bureau guy.’
‘Not Bimsdale. How’s Matt Wells coming along?’
The sergeant grinned. ‘Sorry,’ he said unconvincingly. ‘Yeah, Wells is in pretty good shape. Someone taught him some useful moves.’
‘Any sign of him losing control of himself?’
‘You mean like some kind of robotic fighting machine?’
‘That’s exactly what I mean, Sergeant.’
‘Nope. He gets into the zone well and stays pretty cool.’
Sebastian considered the reply. ‘All right. Give him daily sessions at the range from tomorrow.’
‘Just pistol, or rifle, too?’
‘Both. And Sergeant? Make sure he knows that at least two weapons will be trained on him all the time he’s armed.’
As Sebastian walked away, Quincy Jerome wondered, not for the first time, exactly what kind of game was being played around him.
Bimsdale was alone in Rivers’s office when his boss arrived.
‘Impressive, Arthur,’ Sebastian said. ‘You’re wasted working for me. You should be in a field office, leading the charge.’
‘Not me, sir,’ the young man replied. ‘I can learn so much from you.’
His superior gave him a questioning look. ‘Tell me, how does fighting square with your Episcopalian principles? Your file says you shot a man in Montana.’
Bimsdale nodded. ‘He was threatening to execute a hostage.’
‘So you killed him and got a reprimand for excessive use of your weapon.’
‘The hostage was an eight-year-old boy, sir. He’d been…’
Sebastian raised his hand. ‘I read the file, remember. I asked about your religious beliefs.’
The young agent held his superior’s gaze. ‘So did the recruitment board. I told them that being an Episcopalian would affect my performance only in positive ways.’
‘What does that mean?’ Sebastian asked, as the door opened.
‘Ah, there you are,’ Rivers said. His glasses were perched on his bald head and he had a sheaf of papers under his arm. ‘All’s well in Washington, I hope.’
Sebastian nodded, glancing back at his assistant as if to say that their discussion would be resumed. ‘Bring us up to speed on the subject Matt Wells, please, Doctor.’
The scientist sat down at his untidy desk and tried to find a space for the papers he was carrying. ‘Matt Wells,’ he said, as if the name was unfamiliar. ‘Yes, yes, Matt Wells.’ He dug out a laptop and opened it, then pulled his glasses down. ‘Indeed,’ he said, peering at the screen. ‘Response to the latest trigger was good, definitely improved on the previous one. Evidence of deep conditioning minimal.’ The doctor looked up. ‘Of course, you realize that the very nature of such conditioning militates against us finding traces of its presence.’
Sebastian nodded. ‘And your drug regime?’
‘Substantially curtailed now. The effects became counterproductive as the subject gained more conscious control over his reactions to triggers.’
‘So Wells is functioning like a normal human being again?’
Rivers considered that. ‘What is normal, I wonder? According to the report you provided, the subject’s behavior prior to what happened in the cathedral was largely rational.’
‘That was what made the attacks on the President by him and Karen Oaten so disturbing. They were impossible to predict.’
‘And you are wondering whether they still have it in them to behave like that.’
‘Of course. That’s what all this is about, no?’
The scientist pursed his lips. ‘To be frank, I don’t know. I’d say it was unlikely, given the treatment both have received, but I can give no guarantee. Of course, we have treated the female subject less intensively because of the pregnancy.’
‘Would you say allowing Matt Wells to shoot on the range was a risk?’ Sebastian asked.
‘Undoubtedly, but probably a small one.’
‘Just as well. I’ve already authorized it.’
Arthur Bimsdale looked shocked. ‘Did you, sir?’
‘Yes, I did, Special Agent. I’m sorry, should I have asked your permission?’
There was an awkward silence.
‘All right, Doctor,’ Sebastian continued. ‘Two final questions. Has your treatment in any way compromised Karen Oaten’s chances of giving birth successfully?’
Rivers sniffed. ‘Considering the state she was in when she arrived, I’d say it’s remarkable that she’s done as well as she has.’
‘Which is hardly an answer, but never mind. Two, is Matt Wells capable of functioning reliably outside the camp?’
This time the scientist was taken aback. ‘I was led to understand that the therapy was open-ended.’
‘Nothing’s forever, Doctor,’ Sebastian said, getting to his feet. ‘This time I’ll need a clear answer.’
Rivers pushed his glasses back onto his cranium and stared at the two men. ‘I’ll give you your answer. No, I do not think he would be reliable in the outside world and I will take every possible step to see that he remains here.’
With that, Peter Sebastian headed for the door.
Seven
One had a Mossberg shotgun and the other a Smith amp; Wesson Sigma pistol, but I tried to blank them out, the soldiers who were covering me. Quincy Jerome was standing behind them, carrying an M4 carbine. There was only one thing to do. I pulled down my ear protectors.
I took aim at the target that had started to move toward me up the lane of the range. It had been nearly two months since I’d fired a shot, but I remembered the training Dave had given me. I had taken up the correct stance, feet apart and legs bent at the knee, and was holding the Glock 17 in a doublehanded grip. I took a breath and fired off nine shots, a second between each one.
The target kept on coming, stopping a yard in front of me.
‘Suck on that, Quincy,’ I said, looking over my shoulder.
The big man strode up. ‘Shee-it. You’re even better with a moving target. Everything in the inner head ring and five, no, six, nose shots.’ He clapped me on the shoulder. ‘You don’t need no refresher course, man.’
He didn’t know about Sara. She was a better shot than I.
‘How about some rifle shooting?’ I asked. When he’d showed up at our place earlier on and told me that the range had been approved, he hadn’t specified which weapons I’d be able to use. I hadn’t pressed him, but had tried to find out who had given the okay. He didn’t say Sebastian’s name, but he did nod when I mentioned the Bureau. Although it hadn’t struck me at the time, I wondered about that now. Did the army take orders from the FBI? It didn’t seem likely, even though they shared the camp. Presumably Sebastian had gone to a senior officer.