Mustapha’s Daily Goods
Tehran, Iran
June 15, 3:14 p.m.
Rudy and I talked for nearly ten minutes.
“Joe,” he said when I’d finished telling him about Krystos, “what else could you have done?”
“Nothing,” I snapped. “That’s my damn point. What choice did I have except to kill them? I’m not saying that I was wrong, or that I did it wrong. But I made a joke while I was doing it. Jesus.”
“I think we both know that your sense of humor is as much a weapon for you as your fists or your gun. It protects you. It keeps the pain at arm’s length.”
“Except when it doesn’t.”
“Except then, yes,” he conceded. “Tell me, though, does any defense work all the time?”
“Running away?”
“Joe…”
“I know, I know. I just can’t seem to square this in my head.”
“A long time ago,” he said, “or what seems like a long time ago, when we joined the DMS, we talked about this. About how violence always leaves a mark. Only the immoral or mentally unbalanced can kill without taking some harm themselves.”
“We both know where I stand on that score.”
“You are psychologically unique, Joe,” Rudy corrected, “as is everyone. You are the end result of the damage you received and the work you’ve done to understand it and adjust to its presence in your life.”
“Doesn’t address the morals issue.”
“No, but it’s connected. When you were thirteen you had the common moral worldview shared by people of your age, gender, ethnicity, nationality, and family environment. When you were fourteen your worldview was knocked askew and you suffered intense physical and emotional trauma. As a result your morality underwent an adjustment. As you entered into a study of martial arts and learned to control your rage while developing dangerous combat skills, you began to understand that there were times and circumstances under which you would be willing to do harm to others. You knew then that if you ever confronted the teens who raped Helen and nearly killed you, that you could do great harm to them without suffering emotional harm from the act. This is not an irrational view given your history. Then, when you entered the military, your worldview was adjusted for you during basic and advanced training. You adopted the soldier’s view of violence, and had you gone into battle I have no doubt that you could have fought and killed without feeling that you were committing immoral acts.”
“It’s not as simple as that.”
“Of course it isn’t. I’m generalizing here to make a point,” he said. “After the army you entered the police academy. You learned another version of the worldview and adopted a new attitude toward when violence might be appropriate. And there was an adjustment of that when you became a detective and began working on the counterterrorist unit. The step into the DMS was an extraordinary one, Joe. Massive. The very first day you were in multiple firefights. Each time you have had to adjust your emotions and your worldview to allow for the reality of more and different kinds of killing. I know that with each step we have had to take a little time to explore what this is doing to you. And you know the warning I’ve given you several times.”
“I know.”
It was the kind of warning he, as a psychiatrist and a moral person, was honor-bound to give: be prepared for the day when you cannot do this anymore.
After Grace had been killed-after I’d tracked down her killer and torn him apart-I thought I’d reached my limit with this kind of work and this kind of life. Then the Seven Kings case blew up in my face and suddenly I was ankle deep in blood again. As much as I hated being a part of that fight, I discovered the ugly truth that it defined me. Not the killing. No, not that. It was the fight itself. It never seemed to be over and until it was, how could I, in good conscience, lay down my gun and let the innocent fend for themselves? How could I do that and not go crazy myself? Church had been a warrior in this far longer than anyone else I knew. During the Kings thing he tried to explain it to me. He said, “The darkness is all around us. Very few people have the courage to light a candle against it. We hold a candle against the darkness. Like the unknown and unseen enemy we fight, people like you and me-we are the darkness. In some ways we are more like the things we’re fighting than the people we’re protecting. We are part of the darkness. Granted our motives are better-from our perspective-but we wait in the darkness for our unseen enemy to make a move against those innocents with the candles. And by that light, we take aim.”
I repeated those words to Rudy.
“I remember you telling me this. And I remember when you decided that this was, in fact, who you were.”
“Sure, and that’s all very noble, very grand, but can I say that I’m that kind of warrior and measure it against cracking a joke while I shoot a bound prisoner who’s praying for mercy from God?”
Rudy began to answer, but there was a discreet tap on the door.
“I have to go, Rude.”
“Joe-we need to finish this conversation.”
“Yeah,” I said. “I know.”
I hung up, got to my feet, and pulled my gun from my waistband.