“Why would the government be involved in an assault on a school?” Venice asked.
“Clearly, they wanted those boys.”
“But they’re only children. What could they have done to deserve this?”
Jonathan suspected that they hadn’t done anything-at least not knowingly. There are only so many reasons to kidnap someone. When governments get involved, the list boils down to three: to extort information; to ensure silence; or to leverage cooperation. He chose not to mention any of the options to Venice.
Instead, he said, “I need any and all information you can find on the shooters and on the children. Those boys have something in common-a shared secret-and we need to know what it is.” He paused for a breath and a change in topic. “What about the hippie?”
Venice pointed toward the closest room. “He’s in there,” she said. “He’s not talking, though. His name is Harvey Rodriguez. Born in Venezuela, moved to the States when he was fifteen. He’s a child molester.”
Jonathan recoiled.
Venice handed him the file. “It’s all right here. In fact, there’s a lot in there. You should give it a read before you talk to him.”
He took the folder, but held Venice’s gaze for a couple of seconds before he opened it. Was there anyone left on the planet who just wanted to let kids grow up normally?
“Don’t tell Boxers about this,” Jonathan said, hoisting the file. “He’ll kill him.”
“And that would be bad because…?” She headed for the stairs.
It took Jonathan only a few minutes to absorb the basics of Harvey Rodriguez’s file. When he was done, he opened the door and entered.
Despite the availability of a chair and a desk, Harvey stood in the corner, his back to the wall and his arms folded across his chest. An empty plastic water bottle lay on its side on the desk next to a full one. “You have no right to hold me here,” he said in a rush as soon as Jonathan crossed the threshold. It was as if he’d been rehearsing the line and needed to say it quickly before he lost his nerve. “You’re not a cop. You can’t make me stay.”
Jonathan cocked his head, then shrugged. “Leave,” he said, stepping aside and clearing the way.
Harvey’s eyes narrowed. “You’re serious?”
“As a heart attack. As far as I’m concerned, we’re protecting you, not imprisoning you. You want to leave, leave. The easier a target you are on the street, the less I have to worry about you bringing trouble here.”
Harvey hesitated.
“Seriously,” Jonathan said. “Go.”
The hippie’s eyes darted, as if looking for the scam. Then they grew wide as the reality dawned on him. “People are going to try to kill me if I leave,” he said.
Jonathan helped himself to a folding metal chair on the front side of the desk. “It certainly seemed to be on the agenda a while ago,” he said.
“Where’s the boy?”
“Someplace that’s none of your concern. Why don’t you take a seat?”
“He’s the one they were after,” Harvey said. “They left him for dead. Did you know that?”
“And you saved him. You did a good thing. And now I’m saving you.” He paused for effect. “Unless you want to leave.”
Harvey thought on that for the better part of a minute. “You know I can’t do that.”
“I do.”
“What am I supposed to do?”
Jonathan took his time answering. This was a negotiation of sorts, and as in all negotiations, the elements needed to be put in terms of the other party’s best interests. “I’d like to think you’d accept this hospitality for what it is.”
“You put me in the basement.”
“Only because it’s out of sight,” Jonathan explained. “Things are happening here that don’t yet make much sense to me. But I know this: If people are willing to kill a child, they’re willing to kill anyone.”
Harvey’s face turned wistful as his eyes focused on a point that didn’t exist in the real world. “I don’t like people,” he said. “Never had much use for them. Then this happens right in front of me, and I’m stuck holding the bag.” His eyes rolled up to bore through Jonathan. “Does that make any damn sense to you?”
Jonathan liked this guy. He couldn’t articulate why, but he liked him. “There’s a lot in this world that doesn’t make sense to me, Harvey.” He let a beat pass. “Like how a man like you-a Marine Corps medic-ends up molesting children.”
Harvey’s jaw set at Jonathan’s accusation, but his eyes just remained tired. “You’ve done your homework,” he said.
Jonathan nodded. “I have. And I have to tell you that knowing this makes me wish you’d died out there with the others.”
Harvey’s eyes went red. He said nothing.
“Is it true?” Jonathan pressed.
“It’s true that I’m a registered sex offender, yes.”
Jonathan scowled. “Is there a ‘but’?”
Harvey smiled without humor. “Not one that you’d be interested to hear.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because nobody’s interested in hearing it. I’m a kid toucher on the record, and that’s all that matters.”
“That’s a lot,” Jonathan said.
Harvey glared through Jonathan’s brain. “You tell me what your mood dictates,” Harvey said. “Do you want to draw conclusions, or do you want to hear the truth?”
“The truth always works for me.”
Harvey sat in the chair on the opposite side of the desk from Jonathan. He took his time assembling his thoughts, then launched into the story. “I had… difficulty in 2004 after the first battle for Fallujah. I don’t know if you know anything about military operations, but that was pretty intense. They called it ‘urban warfare’ and I guess it was, but to me ‘urban’ means city. Fallujah was like a thousand years old. I was with Company K, three-five, and we caught nothing but shit for days on end.”
Jonathan recognized “three-five” as Third Battalion of the Fifth Marine Regiment.
“Those Hadji fuckers were everyplace. We took a lot of casualties. I was up to my elbows in brains and intestines for days on end. I’d get one Marine packed up for transport and then another one would get hit. It was fucking awful.”
It was also the most intense urban combat that United States armed forces had ever encountered, Jonathan didn’t add, although he had studied it. He’d been separated from the Army for more than a few years by the time Operation Iraqi Freedom was launched, but he’d stayed in touch with many of his buddies who were still on active duty. The American press denied people at home the story of the stunning victory, choosing instead to concentrate on U.S. casualties and collateral damage, but the strategy and tactics developed during that weeklong battle would be studied in military textbooks for generations to come.
Harvey continued, “Anyway, if you’ve never been there, it’s hard to describe how something just breaks inside of you. I just wasn’t the Marine I thought I was. One day I was a damn good medic-and I mean damn good, even thinking of a way to use G.I. benefits to get to medical school-and then I just couldn’t do it anymore.”
He stripped the cap off his water bottle and took a long pull. “They called it PTSD, post-traumatic stress disorder. That’s a great name when you’re using it on someone else. When it’s you, it just feels like ‘crazy.’ They sent me to Bethesda for a while, but then they drummed me out. I was fine with that, but what was I going to do for a living? I didn’t want nothin’ to do with the blood-and-guts business anymore, so I thought I’d try to help kids. You know, the future of the world?”
His bitter sarcasm triggered a humorless chuckle. “I took a job at a community health club in Braddock County, up near Brookfield.”
Jonathan recognized it as a neighboring county in Northern Virginia.
“I taught swimming, did some lifeguarding. Even taught first-aid courses. It was exactly the kind of gig I needed. Kids are basically, nice, right? They live in a world where the only violence is the stuff you see on TV. They’re refreshing to be around.”
