The Target (Will Robie 3)

The lights came on and the man stared down at the pair strapped to the long boards.

“An hour, impressive,” he said.

His name was Andrew Viola. Up until the year before he had been the chief trainer at the Burner Box, and before that a legendary CIA field agent who’d had a hand in some of the most complex and dangerous missions of the past twenty-five years. He would be fifty on his next birthday. He was still fit and trim, although his hair was an iron gray and his face heavily lined. And scarred from one mission that had not gone according to plan.

He looked over at Amanda Marks, who had been observing the entire process with a look of slight revulsion. “Not for the weak of stomach, or heart,” he said.

“And I didn’t exactly understand the purpose. Did we really expect them to sign a confession?”

“Not my call. I was told to do this and I did it. CIA lawyers and upper management can figure out the rest.”

“This was my mission to run,” she said.

“And it still is, Amanda. I’m not stepping on toes here. But I had my orders. And”—he glanced down at Robie and then Reel—“unlike some, I always follow orders.”

“So what now?”

“My work here is done until I’m called up again. So I might see these two again before they leave here. If they leave here,” he corrected himself.

“They both believe they were brought here to die,” said Marks.

“And you don’t think that’s a possibility?” asked Viola, looking mildly surprised. “Recruits do die here. It’s rare, but it happens. This is not summer camp, Amanda.”

“That’s different. Accidents happen. And Robie and Reel are not recruits. They are vets and battle-tested. But if the purpose from the start was—”

He cut her off. “Don’t try to think too much about it. Just do your job. You’ll be happy, and so will the higher-ups.”

“And that doesn’t bother you?”

He glanced sideways at her. “Maybe in the past. Maybe. But not anymore.”

“What changed?”

“We were attacked. The Towers fell. The Pentagon was hit. Planes crashed. Americans died. Now I try to see the world only in black and white.”

“The world is not black and white.”

“That’s why I said I try to do it.”

He turned and left the room.

Marks came forward and stared down at the two unconscious agents. She thought back to her meeting with Evan Tucker before coming here. The director had been understandably clear on the outcome he wanted. On the surface it appeared fair and evenhanded. If they passed the test, they passed. They would be redeployed. Simple and straightforward.

But then this had come—the order for the waterboarding to be conducted by Viola. The man was excellent at his job, Marks knew. But he had, well, a ruthlessness, a moral compass that did not seem to actually encompass any morals at all. That bothered her.

A signed confession admitting to murder and treason?

That had to have come from Evan Tucker. No one else in the agency would have dared issue such an order. So the rules had changed. Tucker was using the Burner Box not only to test and break Robie and Reel. He also wanted them to admit to acts that would result in their imprisonment. He had not told her this part of the plan. He had been wise not to, because Marks would have refused.

This seemingly simple thought stunned her. She had never before refused to carry out a direct order. It was just not something one did. Failing to do that had been the cause of both Robie’s and Reel’s current troubles.

Am I becoming like them?

She heard Robie and Reel moan and then they started to come around.

She turned to one of her men. “Take them back to their room. Let them sleep. I’ll give directions for when their next testing will begin.”

This order was carried out immediately. She watched Robie and Reel being carried back to their room.

Their prison cell, more like it.

Maybe their death row.

Chapter

16

ROBIE WOKE FIRST. THERE WERE no windows in the room so he had no idea what time it was. Their watches had been taken from them up on arrival. He slowly sat up and rubbed his aching head. He leaned over from the top bunk and saw Reel still sleeping in the lower berth.

Robie swallowed with difficulty and cringed when he tasted the remnants of the vomit still in his mouth and throat.

“Sucks, doesn’t it?”

He looked down again to see Reel staring up at him.

“Not something I’d want to go through every day.”

He swung his legs over the edge, dropped to the floor, and sat down on her bunk. She curled up her legs to give him room.

“To what purpose?” she asked. “They couldn’t really believe we’d sign a confession.”

Robie looked up at the listening device, but Reel shook her head. “I don’t care if they hear.” She sat up and said in a loud voice, “Not confessing to jack shit!”

She looked back at Robie, who was smiling.

“What?” she demanded.

“Nothing. Well, I just like your subtle style, Jessica.”

She started to snap something back, but then stopped. And laughed.

He joined in for a few seconds.

And then they both grew quiet as footsteps approached.

The door opened and both of them immediately drew back, balled tight, hands up, reflexes ready. Taking them again would require a fight.

However, only Evan Tucker stood there.

Robie shot Reel a glance. Her look was so ferocious that he was afraid she was about to attack the DCI. He was actually putting out his arm to forestall this when she said, “Good morning, Director. Did you have a nice sleep last night? We did. Best in years.”

Tucker managed a tight smile at this comment and then sat down in the chair opposite them. His suit was wrinkled and the collar of his shirt was slightly grimy, as though his journey here had not exactly been at first-class levels.

“I know what happened to you last night. I ordered it.”

“Good to know,” said Robie. “So is that a confession? Because I thought the use of waterboarding was illegal.”

“It is illegal for purposes of interrogation on detainees. Neither of you are detainees and it was not done for interrogation purposes.”

“We were asked to sign confessions,” Reel pointed out.

“A subterfuge only. There were no confessions for you to sign.”

“That’s not what the guy said last night. And the terms of the confession he recited were pretty specific,” noted Robie.

“He had his script and he stuck to it. But there was no confession.”

“So what was the point of the thing, then?” demanded Reel.

“To see if you two can still cut it. The mission you’re to be deployed on entails the risk of being caught. And the enemy is known to use waterboarding among other interrogation tools to break prisoners. It’s not all about being able to shoot straight.”

“And so this had nothing to do with the hard-on you have for me, Director?” said Reel. “You really expect us to believe that?”

“I don’t care what you believe or don’t believe. I’ve made my position on you very clear. You murdered two of my people and got off scot free. I think that stinks. I think you should be in jail, but it’s not my call. I still have my job to do and so do you. My job is to keep this country safe against outside threats. You two are tools that I have at my disposal. I will deploy you as necessary. If I think it wise to push your butts to the wall and then through it, I will do so. If you feel you can’t cut it, then you can tell me right now and we cut out all this bullshit.”

He stopped talking and looked at them expectantly.

“And if we want out?” said Robie.

“Then that can be made to happen. But chances are very good that your partner will be prosecuted for murder. And you as an accessory.”

“So if we s

tay in and maybe get killed, either by the other side or our own people, we don’t end up in court?” said Reel.