Spitzer said, “Does that mean nine times out of ten? And under what circumstances do you not follow orders?”
“Actually higher than nine times out of ten. And I don’t follow orders when my gut tells me not to.”
“Your gut? Can you elaborate?”
“Sure. My gut.” She pointed to her belly. “That thing right here. It gives me tingly feelings when something is off. It’s also useful in holding and then digesting food.”
“And you listen to this instinct always?” asked Spitzer.
“Yes.”
“What is it telling you now?”
This query seemed to catch Reel off guard. She quickly regrouped. “That both of us are wasting our time.”
“Why?” Spitzer wanted to know.
“Because my being here is bullshit. I’m not being evaluated for redeployment. I’m damaged goods. I was sent here for another reason.”
“To be punished, like you said.”
“Or killed. Might be the same thing to some.”
Spitzer looked at her skeptically. “You actually think the agency wants to kill you? Aren’t you being a bit paranoid?”
“I’m not a bit paranoid. I’m a lot paranoid. I have been most of my life. The mind-set serves me well.”
Spitzer looked down at the file she held. “I guess I can understand that given your background.”
“I’m sick of people defining me by where I came from,” snapped Reel. She rose and paced the small room while the other woman watched her closely. “Lots of people have shitty backgrounds and grow up normal and accomplish a great deal. Lots of people born with silver spoons turn out to be worthless, bad people.”
“Yes, they do,” said Spitzer. “We’re all individuals. There are no hard-and-fast rules. You have accomplished much, Agent Reel. I think you would have done so whether you were born with a silver spoon or not. I believe it’s just how you’re wired.”
Reel sat down and studied her. “Right,” she scoffed. “You really think that?”
“You yourself just said that you were sick of people defining you by your upbringing. Or lack of one.” She stared at Reel expectantly.
“If you’re waiting for me to spill my guts, Doc, you’re going to be disappointed.”
“I wouldn’t expect a field agent with your level of experience to be loose of lip.”
“So what I am doing here?”
Spitzer said, “I’ve been instructed to perform a psych eval on you. I know you’ve had them done before. Nothing more, nothing less.”
Reel sat back. “Okay.”
“Do you agree that following orders is important if the agency is to be functional?”
“I do.”
“And yet you chose not to follow orders.”
“I did. Because the agency also expects me to exercise my judgment. Orders are handed out by humans. Humans make mistakes. They issue their orders from the safe confines of their offices. I’m in the field, where it is hardly ever safe. I have to make decisions on the fly. I have to execute the assignment in the best way I see fit.”
“And does that sometimes include not executing the assignment?” asked Spitzer.
“It could.”
“And what about creating your own assignments for your own purposes?”
Reel appraised the other woman from under half-closed eyes. “I see your briefing has been more complete than you let on.”
“It is a very tight need to know. I have always felt that is the only way I can do my job. But I’m here to listen far more than talk.”
“So you know what I did.”
Spitzer nodded. “I do.”
“Were you also told why I did it?”
“Yes. Although some of the facts seem to be in dispute.”
“You mean the truth versus the lies?”
“I would like to hear your side,” answered Spitzer.
“Why? Why does that possibly matter?”
“It’s part of the eval. But if you don’t want to go into it—”
Reel impatiently waved this away. “What the hell? If I don’t, I suppose it’ll just be another mark against me, not that they need one.” She leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees and clasping her hands. “You ever have a close friend of yours murdered?”
Spitzer shook her head. “Fortunately, no.”
“The shock of it just takes hold of you. You go through all the stages of grief in what seems like a few seconds. It’s not like an accident, or illness, or old age. It’s like someone shot you as well as your friend. They took both our lives, just like that.”
“I can see that.”
“No, you really can’t. Not unless it’s happened to you. But when it does, all you want is revenge. You want to take the hurt you’re feeling, this acid hole in your belly, and hurl it at the person responsible. You don’t just want to make them suffer. You want them to die too. You want to take from them what they took from you.”
Spitzer sat back, looking uncomfortable but curious. “Is that how you felt then?”
“Of course it’s how I felt,” said Reel quietly. “But unlike most people in that situation, I could do something about it. I took the pain and I hurled it right back where it belonged.”
“And two people died. Two members of this agency, in fact.”
“That’s right.”
“So you played the roles of judge, jury, and executioner?”
“Judge, jury, and executioner,” repeated Reel, her eyes hooded again as she stared over at the other woman. “But I’ve been playing the executioner role for years. You people here have been handling the judge and jury parts. You decide who dies and you tell me. And then I do it. Sort of like playing God, isn’t it? Who lives, who doesn’t?” Before Spitzer could say anything Reel added, “Do you want to know how that makes me feel? You shrink types always like to know that, right? How we feel about every little thing?”
Spitzer slowly nodded. “I would like to know.”
“It makes me feel great. The agency does the heavy lifting. They decide who bites the bullet. I just carry out the order. What could be better?”
“So how did it make you feel to play all three roles?”
The smile that had emerged on Reel’s face slowly disappeared. She covered her eyes with her hands for a moment. “I didn’t care for it as much.”
“So not a role you can see yourself playing in the future?” asked Spitzer.
Reel glanced up. “Why don’t we cut the bullshit and just face reality, shall we? It’s not a role. This is not play-acting. The guy on the floor with the bullet in his head doesn’t get back up when the curtain drops. My bullet. My kill. He stays quite dead.”
“I take it you don’t enjoy killing.”
“I enjoy a job well done. But it’s not like I’m a serial killer. Serial killers love it. They’re obsessed with the opportunity for domination of another human being. The rituals, the details. The hunt. The strike. I’m not obsessed with any of it. It’s my job. It’s what I do as a profession. For me it’s a means to an end. I build a wall around it, do it, and then move on. I don’t care who the target is. I only care that it’s the target. It’s not a human to me. It is a mission. That’s all. I don’t read any more into it than that. If I did, I couldn’t do it.”
A minute of silence passed, punctuated only by Reel’s accelerated breathing.
Finally Spitzer said, “You were recruited into the agency at a young age, with no college behind you. That is highly unusual.”
“So they tell me. But I guess you don’t need a degree to pull a trigger.”
“Why did you choose to do so? You were a very young woman, barely at the age of majority. You could have done many other things in your life.”
“Well, I didn’t see many other options, actually.”
“That is hard to believe,” countered Spitzer.