Faith closed the connection before saying, “Tell that to his family.”
***
Commander Thomas Holbrook, USN (ret.) sat placidly in the interview chair opposite Faith.Turk stood on guard, although with shackles anchoring the former Naval chaplain to the floor and the table, there was no chance of Holbrook doing something stupid.Part of Faith regretted that.There were few things in her mind as evil as using religion as an excuse to kill people.
Michael entered the room with a cup of water.A bendy straw like the kind you’d find attached to a juice box stuck out of the cup.He set the water in front of Holbrook, then took the seat next to Faith.
“Thank you, Special Agent,” Holbrook replied.
He steadied the cup with his hands, then bent down to the straw.When he finished sipping, he released a contented sigh and straightened.“I have already signed a written statement, but if you’d like to record a verbal one, that’s all right with me.”
“This conversation is being recorded,” Faith said, “and it can be used against you in court as can anything you say, but I don’t need another confession.I just need to know why.”
“Of course.”Holbrook sighed.
His smile faded.For a while he was silent.Faith nearly broke the silence to ask if he planned to answer her question or not.Just before she opened her mouth, though, Holbrook asked, "Did you serve Special Agent Bold?You have the demeanor of someone who served."
“I did.Six years with the Marine Corps.Two tours in Iraq.”
Holbrook nodded.“Can you hear them scream?”
Michael scoffed.“All right.We’re done with that.Forget about this guy, Faith.He’s just another whack job trying to justify his sickness.”
Faith didn’t scoff.She knew exactly what Holbrook was talking about.“No.Not those who served with me, anyway.But I hear others sometimes.Those I’ve lost in performance of my duty to the FBI.Do you hear voices?Do they tell you to kill and bury these men?”
Holbrook smiled, but his eyes were haunted.“From time to time, I hear them scream.They don’t speak to me.Even God doesn’t speak to me.Not the way you and I are talking right now.I feel the Holy Spirit guide me, but I don’t hear words.”
“The screams.These are from men you’ve lost in combat?”
He shook his head.“Men who live when they should have died.Men who lost their comrades but were denied the chance to die a warrior’s death with them and awaken to the glory of God and the special table he has set for those who sacrifice their lives in service of their country.I heard them scream every day until I realized that God’s will was for me to deliver them from Satan’s hand and usher them to the gates of Heaven.”
Michael scoffed again, and Holbrook looked at him.“It’s not something a nonbeliever would understand.I don’t expect either of you to understand.But when I liberated Paul Martinez, a weight was lifted from my shoulders.The screams stopped.I looked at his face, peaceful and free for the first time in decades, and I knew that I had found my calling.”
He took a deep breath and looked over them, as though God was smiling down at him from Heaven.“You may not agree with my actions, Bold, but even if you don’t hear the screams of your lost comrades, you must know the sort of guilt and pain that plagues those who survive when their brothers and sisters in arms perish.”
Faith recalled her conversations with Stan Merchant, Maria Fuentes, and Martin Coster’s widow.“I do.”
“Then you understand why I had to do what I was called to do, even if it meant losing my freedom.”
His eyes met Faith, pleading for her to understand, to tell him he was a good person, or at least not a bad one.She wouldn’t give him that relief.
“They had families, Thomas.People they loved.People who loved them.They had friends.They had careers.They had lives.They survived the hell of war and came home to find something meaningful in spite of what they suffered.Yes, they still hurt sometimes.Yes, they had bad memories.But they weren’t defined by those memories.They made something better of themselves.You?You let those screams turn you into a murderer.”
Holbrook’s left eye twitched.“I was following the will of God.”
“You should read His Book sometime,” Faith suggested.“It might give you an idea of how God feels about murderers and about people who change His message.”
She stood.She’d satisfied her curiosity.As usual, it didn’t make her feel any better than she did before.
Holbrook remained silent as the three of them left the interrogation room.She glanced back at him as she walked through the door.His eyes were haunted again, and his fingers pressed into the table.Perhaps he was hearing different screams this time, the screams of those his victims left behind.
Or maybe not.Maybe it was too much to hope that he would feel guilt for what he did.
The agents stayed silent for the first half of their journey back to Philadelphia.Michael broke that silence with a predictable statement that Faith had absolutely no interest in hearing.
“It wasn’t your fault, Faith.”
She sighed and tried to play along, hoping it would end the conversation.“Yeah.I know.”
