“All right.”
Her stomach was knotted, but she would say the words. She would ask the question. “If you think these people are justified in what they’re doing, if you think their targets deserve what they get, why would you risk this? Why would you take this chance with your own welfare to help me stop them?”
“For Christ’s sake, Eve, you’re like a goddamn chessboard. Black and white.” Temper was there, bubbling in a way she knew meant it could spurt out any moment.
“I don’t think that’s an unreasonable question.”
“You wouldn’t. Why do you think that I think this is justified? I feel no twinge of remorse or pity for someone like Fitzhugh and suddenly I’m the side of terrorists?”
“I didn’t mean it exactly like . . . Maybe I did.”
“You think I’m capable of finding any justification in what happened to that poor boy,
Halloway?”
“No.” She felt vaguely ill. “But the others.”
“Perhaps I can believe the pure philosophy of it. That evil, real evil, can and should be destroyed by whatever means possible. But I’m not stupid enough, and not quite egocentric enough to believe there can be purity in the spilling of blood. Or that it can be done, in general, without law and courts and humanity.”
“In general.”
“You would pin that, wouldn’t you?” He nearly laughed. “We can’t think just the same on this issue.”
“I know that. I guess it shouldn’t bother me. But it does. Damn it, Roarke, it does.”
“So I see. I can’t be pure for you, Eve.”
“I don’t want that. This whole thing has me tangled up. Maybe because I can’t feel pity for someone like Fitzhugh or George either. I can’t feel it, and at the same time I’m outraged, I’m insulted that anyone, anyone felt they had the right to sit back and push a button that murdered them. Then call themselves guardians.”
“I’m not saying you’re wrong. I don’t believe you are. But my morals, we’ll say, are more flexible than yours. Even so, to make myself clear to you as you seem to need it, I don’t subscribe to their means, their methods, or their agenda. If and when you confront evil, you do it face-to-face and hand-to-hand.”
As she did, he thought. As he had himself.
“And you don’t flog your message to the public like you were selling a new line of bloody sports cars. Eat some of that sandwich, will you?”
“I guess maybe we’re a little closer on this than I figured.” Steadier, she picked it up, took a bite. “God, what’s in this?”
“I’m fairly sure it’s everything. The boy eats like food’s about to be banned and he best gulp it all down while he can.”
She took another bite. “It’s pretty good. I think there’s corned beef in here. And maybe chocolate.”
“Wouldn’t surprise me in the least. Are we back on track now, you and me?”
“Yeah. Much as we ever are.”
“Before we leave this topic, I’ll tell you one more reason I did what I did this afternoon.”
“Because you like to show off?”
“Naturally, but that isn’t what I was going to say. I did it because whatever else I feel or believe or don’t, I believe in you. Now, why don’t you have some coffee to wash that back, then we’ll show you what we’ve got.”
She wasn’t an e-man, but she could follow the basics. Even, if she pushed, the slightly more complex. But when she studied the printout of the data Roarke had been able to access from Cogburn’s now-toasted unit, she might have been trying to decipher hieroglyphics.
“It’s really jazzed,” Jamie told her as he monitored the progress of the decoding program he’d devised. “Totally. Whoever built the program is an ultimate. No Chip Jockey could’ve done it. It’s even beyond Commando level.”
“While I agree, I doubt very much if this is the work of one programmer. The one thing we are sure of is this took superior programming knowledge as well as medical. Neurological.”
“They’d need a team,” Feeney agreed. “A first-class lab, equipment, and deep pockets. Isolation chamber.”