mental makeup that excels in combat. Certain aspects of that makeup could be taught, so that day-to-day soldiers are more efficient on the battlefield, but there are other aspects that can’t be learned. You have to come wired a certain way. As we drilled down and began identifying what those mental markers were, our results began to shape the screening process for certain compartments within the Special Operations community.”
Compartments . Harvath found the word choice interesting, as if it were something that needed to be contained. “So the military was looking to select for its most lethal killers.”
“That was part of it, but as you know, Special Operations is about a lot more than just killing the enemy. In my case, we were also trying to teach the Army’s SF teams what to screen for when they infiltrated foreign countries and worked with insurgent groups. Our Green Berets needed mini-Ph.D.s that would help them evaluate the potential in the combatants they were supporting. In essence, they needed to be able to rapidly assess if they were helping elevate and train the right people, or if there were better candidates for certain positions. Like I said, I found it to be fascinating work.”
“The Agency must have thought so, too, at some point if you ended up over there, right?”
“They did,” said Wise, taking another sip of his drink. “It was at a time when they were experimenting with a lot of interesting programs. They made me an offer that the Army couldn’t even come close to matching, so I moved over to Langley.”
“Where you continued what you had been doing for the Army?”
“But with much bigger budgets.”
“Off book or on?” asked Harvath, referring to where the money had come from for these interesting programs.
“What do you think?”
Completely black and off the books, thought Harvath. Wise’s area of expertise was not something the CIA would have likely wanted congressional input on. The politicians would have only watered it down, if not shut it down completely. Members of Congress barely understood the complexities of the military battlefield. What they knew of the intelligence battlefield you could fit in a shot glass.
“Okay, so you’re Dr. Kill, armed anthropologist,” Harvath continued. “Why am I here?”
Wise had been called that so many times, he’d lost count. Normally, it made him smile. This time, though, his face was dead serious. “You’re here because Reed Carlton thinks I might be able to help with your case.”
“Can you?”
“Maybe, but first I want to see how much you know about your victim.”
“Victims,” Harvath replied. “Plural.”
Wise shook his head. “There may be hostages, plural, and a dead body, singular ,” he said, gently chastising Harvath for correcting him, “but the object of all this is a singular victim and the sooner you understand that, the closer you’ll be to solving your case.”
CHAPTER 17
B OSTON
M ASSACHUSETTS
H e had spent the afternoon taking pictures. He liked taking pictures. He took shots of King’s Chapel, the Old North Church, and the Paul Revere House. In the Granary Burying Ground, near the grave of Sam Adams, he found a Gothic-inspired woman with black lipstick and nail polish who let him photograph her posing provocatively against several of the headstones. After the fourth one, she offered to take him someplace nearby and perform a sex act on him for fifty dollars.
She was a junkie who wanted to get high. He offered her ten dollars just to see what she’d say. She told him to fuck himself and flipped him the middle finger as she walked off. She came back ten minutes later as he was getting ready to leave and told him she’d do it for twenty. She didn’t know it then, but she had been smart to approach him in broad daylight in an open, public space. Had this happened at night, had he been drinking or off his medication, things would have ended much differently.
He didn’t know what her
Compartments . Harvath found the word choice interesting, as if it were something that needed to be contained. “So the military was looking to select for its most lethal killers.”
“That was part of it, but as you know, Special Operations is about a lot more than just killing the enemy. In my case, we were also trying to teach the Army’s SF teams what to screen for when they infiltrated foreign countries and worked with insurgent groups. Our Green Berets needed mini-Ph.D.s that would help them evaluate the potential in the combatants they were supporting. In essence, they needed to be able to rapidly assess if they were helping elevate and train the right people, or if there were better candidates for certain positions. Like I said, I found it to be fascinating work.”
“The Agency must have thought so, too, at some point if you ended up over there, right?”
“They did,” said Wise, taking another sip of his drink. “It was at a time when they were experimenting with a lot of interesting programs. They made me an offer that the Army couldn’t even come close to matching, so I moved over to Langley.”
“Where you continued what you had been doing for the Army?”
“But with much bigger budgets.”
“Off book or on?” asked Harvath, referring to where the money had come from for these interesting programs.
“What do you think?”
Completely black and off the books, thought Harvath. Wise’s area of expertise was not something the CIA would have likely wanted congressional input on. The politicians would have only watered it down, if not shut it down completely. Members of Congress barely understood the complexities of the military battlefield. What they knew of the intelligence battlefield you could fit in a shot glass.
“Okay, so you’re Dr. Kill, armed anthropologist,” Harvath continued. “Why am I here?”
Wise had been called that so many times, he’d lost count. Normally, it made him smile. This time, though, his face was dead serious. “You’re here because Reed Carlton thinks I might be able to help with your case.”
“Can you?”
“Maybe, but first I want to see how much you know about your victim.”
“Victims,” Harvath replied. “Plural.”
Wise shook his head. “There may be hostages, plural, and a dead body, singular ,” he said, gently chastising Harvath for correcting him, “but the object of all this is a singular victim and the sooner you understand that, the closer you’ll be to solving your case.”
CHAPTER 17
B OSTON
M ASSACHUSETTS
H e had spent the afternoon taking pictures. He liked taking pictures. He took shots of King’s Chapel, the Old North Church, and the Paul Revere House. In the Granary Burying Ground, near the grave of Sam Adams, he found a Gothic-inspired woman with black lipstick and nail polish who let him photograph her posing provocatively against several of the headstones. After the fourth one, she offered to take him someplace nearby and perform a sex act on him for fifty dollars.
She was a junkie who wanted to get high. He offered her ten dollars just to see what she’d say. She told him to fuck himself and flipped him the middle finger as she walked off. She came back ten minutes later as he was getting ready to leave and told him she’d do it for twenty. She didn’t know it then, but she had been smart to approach him in broad daylight in an open, public space. Had this happened at night, had he been drinking or off his medication, things would have ended much differently.
He didn’t know what her
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