Andrew Peterson: Forced to Kill

The room looked plain, nothing fancy. A table and some chairs.

“Armed guards are always present during detainee interrogations,” Maas said. “And of course, an interpreter. Very few speak English.”

Nathan saw a camera mounted on the wall above the two-way mirror.

“Does anyone have any questions at this point?”

Thorny said, “Not a question, a comment. You run a tight ship, Rear Admiral Maas. I’m damned impressed.”

“Thank you, General. I never directly interact with the detainees. We try to create a stress free environment. Having a woman present isn’t conducive to that, especially a woman in a command position. Brigadier General Porras is largely responsible for the successes we’ve had here. He’s well versed in the Muslim culture and traditions. All of our people who interact with the detainees are.”

“I wish we lived in a world where none of this was necessary,” Thorny said.

“Maybe someday, General. This way, please.”

She took them around a corner to another door. Inside, two levels of seating offered eight to ten people ample room to observe the questioning. A small speaker mounted above the mirror allowed the occupants to hear the sessions. Admiral Maas spoke quietly to an MP before closing the door. Not surprisingly, the room became dark. Nathan had a ton of questions, but kept quiet.

“This is a soundproof room, but I recommend we keep our voices low.”

In a way, this felt harder than directly interacting with his former tormentor. Somehow, it seemed… what? Cowardly? No, cowardly wasn’t the right word. Underhanded? That didn’t fit either. He had no reason to be afraid of Montez. Perhaps this was one of those human experiences that words just couldn’t describe. He calmed his thoughts and relaxed his hands. Harv gave him a questioning look and he made sure to nod when Porras wasn’t looking.

The next ninety seconds stretched into a timeless ether of conflicting feelings.

The door to the interrogation room opened and a rather short and ordinary looking man-dressed in a bright orange jumpsuit-was escorted in and ordered to sit down. His manacled hands were placed on the table and secured to a steel ring. Shaven to the skin, he showed no signs of the long black ponytail he’d once prized. Five-day-old stubble was all that remained. His eyes appeared sunken and hollow. Lifeless. He looked broken, like a death row inmate.

Suddenly his eyes flicked upward. Montez seemed to look right through the mirror. Of course, in reality, he could only see himself.

Like the image, Monty? Do you see yourself clearly now?

“Is this your man?” Thorny asked, completing the act.

“Yes, General,” Harv said. “He looks different without his hair and the stapled cuts on his face and scalp, but it’s definitely Colonel Montez de Oca.”

Nathan stared. Couldn’t avert his eyes. Conflicting emotions assaulted him. Surprise. Satisfaction. Anger. Disgust. And unexpectedly, sadness. He actually felt pity. The once-proud man, brilliant in his own way, had been reduced to a common prisoner with a bleak and hopeless future. What goes around comes around? He’d never really believed it until now. Did evil beget evil? How many people never realized it until too late, until facing the ugly moment of truth when they saw themselves for who and what they really were, monsters disguised as human beings.

Nathan winced at the flashback of the savage whipping he’d endured, at the casual way Montez had yawned during the worst of it. He hated what he’d discovered about himself. There was no rationalizing or justifying it. And no amount of psychobabble could explain it. The other . Was that vicious part of his soul born that day, or had it always lived inside him?

Maybe it didn’t matter.

Now it was Montez’s turn.

Nathan wondered if this manacled man sitting before him was evil in the truest sense of the word. Maybe, maybe not. That judgment was reserved for God, not Nathan McBride. But one thing was certain. Montez would have the next forty years to contemplate it.

Holly’s words echoed again. You don’t have to fear him anymore.

Seven simple words with such deep meaning.

The following day, Holly picked Nathan and Harvey up at Lindbergh Field. Thorny had graciously offered his jet for their flight home and refused to accept no for an answer. A C-130 was leaving Gitmo for Andrews that same afternoon and his former commander insisted on taking that jump-seat ride they’d talked about. Besides, you didn’t argue with a four-star, especially Thorny.

After an emotional parting with Harv in Rancho Santa Fe, they headed over to La Jolla. His Clairemont house was out of commission until repairs from the firefight with Montez’s men could be completed.

His giant schnauzers, Grant and Sherman, were overjoyed to see their alpha human-and the newest pack member.

Too tired to expend any effort, Nathan and Holly warmed up some frozen spaghetti. He broke the rule and gave Grant and Sherman a piece of bread from the dinner table.

They left the dishes in the sink, settled onto the library sofa, and enjoyed a comfortable silence petting the dogs. When they’d first met during the Bridgestone case, they’d taken a two hour ride into the Sierra Nevada Mountains. Holly had made a favorable impression on Nathan that day, being frank and honest and never needing to engage in small talk to fill voids in the conversation. Something he found refreshing. And rare. Nothing had changed about her since then. Well, not nothing. It pained him to see her walk with a cane. The bombing had aged her unfairly, made her look weak. Life can be so cruel to good people.

When he spoke, his voice was just above a whisper. “Have you ever wondered how different your life would be if, years ago, you’d made a single different choice?”

“You mean a career choice? Since the bombing of my field office, I’ve thought about it a lot.”

“Are you where you want to be?”

“Yes. Are you?”

“The pivotal choice in my life was joining the Marine Corps. It sounds cliched, but I needed to be my own man.”

“Your father didn’t approve?”

“He never believed I was serious about the Corps as a career. But I was, Holly. I loved it. I enjoyed the structure and stability. The sense of family. I think I’m genetically predisposed to the military. When I look back on it, it was the first time in my life I’d been truly happy. I didn’t want to do anything else.”

“If you had it to do all over again, would you make the same choice?”

“That’s what I’ve been struggling with. My gut says yes. But what if, on my twenty-second birthday, I hadn’t walked into the recruiter’s office and applied for OCS? What if I’d never become a sniper? Not many officers become scout snipers. Would I’ve still been recruited by the CIA and become an operations officer? The answer scares me.”

“Why?”

“Because deep down, what I did for a living?” He put a hand on his chest. “It’s who I am.”

“Aren’t you being unfair to yourself? I mean, just because you-”

“Killed people? I had a job to do. We did, Harv and I. There’s no sugarcoating it. It’s what we did. And we were really good. We took pride in our missions, in getting the job done. But it’s hard to feel good about killing people. I’ve really struggled with it over the years. Harv too.”

“The fact that you’re having this inner debate speaks volumes about you. I’d be concerned if you didn’t question it.”

“I appreciate you saying that.”

“I mean it.”

“I know you do.” He lapsed into a long silence. “Seeing Montez in Gitmo… I felt pity for him.”