“I can’t speak for them. I just know that in my heart I wanted all of them to die, and that that’s exactly what happened in the end.” He paused and took a huge breath. “A lot of them were teenagers. Not that much older than the children we rescued.”
“The age of soldiers everywhere,” Dom said. “They made their choices.”
“From a damned short list. Slave, overseer, or death.”
A moment passed. The two men respected each other enough not to deal in platitudes. “What could you have done differently?” Dom asked, finally.
It was the question Jonathan had asked himself a thousand times, and the answer continued to elude him. “Become an insurance salesman out of college?”
Dom chuckled politely, but didn’t respond. He let the question-and all that it represented-hang in the air.
Jonathan drained his scotch and looked up at the ceiling. “I’m not an assassin, Dom. I don’t want to become one.”
Dom settled more deeply into the sofa and crossed his legs. “Let’s talk about that,” he said.
The conversation went on for hours.
