We met Rudy during his psychiatric residency at Sinai in Baltimore. Helen was having one of her frequent breakdowns and Rudy did some amazing work with her, pulling her back from the brink time after time. He also helped me work on my internal wiring. Unfortunately the darkness was too much for Helen, and one day she let it take her.
I kicked in her door and found her.
Her death nearly killed me. Nearly killed Rudy, too. He’d never lost a patient to suicide before. We were already best friends, and that friendship probably saved us both. Since then we’ve become closer than brothers- certainly closer than I am to my own brother. Rudy is the only person in whom I place total trust.
He’s also the person who helped me make sense of the wreckage in my head. As I healed, I began to realize that I was not completely alone inside my mind. Over time three distinct personalities emerged. One was the Civilized Man, and Rudy says that he is my idealized self, the version of me that I wish could survive in this world. Optimistic, compassionate, nonviolent; and he’s been taking a real beating over the last couple of years as I hunt bad guys for Mr. Church. Then there is his complete opposite, the Warrior. Or, as I sometimes think of him, the Killer. He’s the part of me that was born on that day when the children that Helen and I had been were destroyed. He is ruthless, highly dangerous, and unrelenting. His bloodlust is intense and constant, and although he can be glutted, his hunger will eventually come back. I have to keep a real eye on him, especially while working for the DMS, because the more evil I see in the world the harder it is to rationalize putting him in a cage.
The third personality is the one that I believe truly defines me. The Cop. He’s not a cynic or a wide-eyed idealist. He’s rational, cool, calculating, and balanced. He emerged even before I joined the police; in a lot of ways he has a Samurai vibe. Skilled, but self-controlled.
They’re always with me, and Rudy taught me how to manage them. How to make them more fully a part of a whole rather than disparate entities. I’m not entirely convinced I’ve managed that.
I trust Rudy’s judgment, though. In that and in most things. When I got my gold shield with Baltimore PD, my father-then the commissioner-arranged a consultant’s position for Rudy, which later expanded into a full-time gig. Rudy specialized in trauma cases, which is something he really dug into after Helen’s death. He was in New York after the towers fell, working with survivors and families and with the legion of heroes who risked their lives to search through the rubble. He was in New Orleans and Mississippi following Katrina, in Thailand after the tsunami, in Haiti, and in Japan. He knows that he can’t save everyone, and every lost soul gouges a deep mark into his own soul, but he saves more of them than anyone else.
When Mr. Church hijacked me into the DMS, Rudy became part of the deal. I often think that he does a lot more good with quiet conversations and a patient ear than I do with a pistol. Which is very much as it should be.
“I’m okay,” I said. Rudy grunted, knowing that I was lying. He’d let me get away with that as long as I was in the field, but once I got back home I’d have to fess up. I’d need to by then.
“Joe-Mr. Church called me late last night and told me about the hikers.”
“Yeah.”
“That was well done,” he said. “That one will really matter.”
“All part of the job.”
“No,” he said, but left it there. Knowing Church, he would probably have Rudy sit down with the hikers.
“Why’d Church call you in on this?” I asked.
“I think he wanted Circe more than me. This is her field more than mine.”
“Not if the nukes go off,” I said.
“Mother of God.”
“Speaking of Circe-how’s she doing?”
Dr. Circe O’Tree was a PhD in a handful of overlapping subjects including Middle Eastern history and religions, cults, anthropology, psychology, and a few others I’m probably forgetting. She has more letters after her name than anyone I’ve ever met. She was also Mr. Church’s daughter, a fact that was shared by only a few people and that I’d only found out by accident. Although Circe now worked for the DMS, she and her father had been estranged for years. I was under very specific orders from Church not to mention the family connection. To anyone. Ever. He didn’t actually come out and threaten to disappear me, but I didn’t want to push the issue.
“She’s wonderful,” said Rudy.
I smiled. I’ve never seen Rudy happier. Even though I hadn’t yet heard him throw around the L-word, whenever he looked at Circe there were little red hearts floating all around him.
“Tell the missus I said ‘hi.’”
“Cowboy,” he warned, but I laughed at him. Laughing felt good. It felt like I was still in the real world.
My phone pinged softly. Someone else was trying to reach me.
“Hey, Rude… I have another call coming in. I’ll talk to you soon.”
I disconnected and looked at the screen. No caller ID. Church said he would have Abdul, our local asset, call me, so I punched the button.
“Hello,” I said in Persian.
“I see you got a new battery for your phone,” she said in English. “Sorry I made you throw out the last one.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Golden Oasis Hotel
Tehran, Iran
June 15, 9:03 a.m.
It was her. Same voice, same hint of an Italian accent. A bit more pronounced now. I fought the urge to check my body for laser sights. There were none, but I moved out of the line of sight of the hotel window.
“What is it now?” I asked. “You want to set me up for a playdate with Satan?”
She laughed. At least someone thought I was funny. “No,” she said, “you said you wanted to meet me.”
“I do.” I tried not to sound too eager. I used my thumbnail to slide back a panel on the side of my phone. I pressed a button that activates a trace. “Name a place. I’ll buy the coffee.”
“Sorry… it will have to be over the phone. I want to ask a question.”
I almost laughed. “Why on earth would I want to answer one? Last time we chatted, you put a laser sight on my balls.”
“I could have shot your balls off. I did not. You can check if you like. I’ll wait.”
“Okay,” I said, “admittedly you get some Brownie points for not blowing my balls off. Thanks bunches, but it’s hardly a basis for enduring trust.”
“‘Brownie points’? You are a strange man, Captain Ledger.”
“You have no idea.”
“Maybe I do.”
Before I could respond to that she came at me out of left field. “What did Rasouli give you?”
“What makes you think he gave me anything?”
“He said he wanted to give you something.”
“Okay, there’s that. He’s your boss, why don’t you ask him?”
She made a gagging noise. “God! I would rather shoot myself than work for such a cockroach.”
“Didn’t look that way an hour ago.”
“Eh,” she said dismissively. “It was contract work. Believe me, Captain Ledger, it is all I would ever be willing to do for him.” With her accent she pronounced my last name as “La-jeer.” I liked it. Made me feel exotic and mysterious.
“Even so,” I said, “why not ask him?”
“He doesn’t know me. I’m a voice on a phone to him. Why would he trust me?”
“Why would I?”
“I am asking very nicely,” she said.
Despite everything, I laughed. She did too. “I’ll think about it.”
