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Rapp gave a nervous laugh and checked his watch. "Do you have a few hours?"
"You know laughter is often a defense mechanism used to deflect."
Rapp thought of Doc Lewis. "I've heard that somewhere else recently."
"This isn't a good time to deflect."
Rapp noticed the concern on the old man's lined face. He fidgeted with his hands and then said, "This isn't exactly a topic I'm used to discussing."
"No ... you're right about that." Stansfield himself had never spoken to a soul about the men he had killed. It simply wasn't his way. There were others, though, whom he had worked with over the years, who were quite different in that regard. Some spoke with an intensity that was more academic, as if they were simply trying to perfect their craft for the sake of perfection. Others took a more lighthearted or twisted approach to their play-by-play analysis of how they had killed a man. The best ones, Stansfield had always felt, were the ones who kept it to themselves.
"This is very important," Stansfield said. "How are you up here?" The old man tapped his temple.
"I think I'm fine."
"No problem sleeping?"
"No, in fact I've slept better than I have in years."
"Good. I want you to understand something very important. Hamdi Sharif chose to get into the arms business, and he knowingly sold weapons to terrorist groups that were going to use those weapons to kill innocent civilians."
"I know."
"I am every bit as responsible as you for his death."
Rapp frowned and gave him a look that said he wasn't quite buying it.
Stansfield had expected that. "Who do you think sent you on that operation?"
"I don't know."
"I did. I was the judge and the jury. You were merely the executioner. Never forget that." He spoke with intensity for the first time in the entire conversation. He was almost pleading for Rapp to grasp the gravity of what he was saying.
Finally Rapp no
dded, even though he wasn't sure he fully grasped the man's meaning.
Stansfield stood and said, "Why don't you go home now?"
"What about their decision?"
"Don't worry. I'll smooth things out. Just try not to cause any problems for the next few months."
CHAPTER 27
THANK God," Lewis announced upon seeing Stansfield enter the room. "I can't spend another minute trying to talk sense into these two."
With pure disappointment, Stansfield glared down the length of the table, first at Hurley, who was on the left, and then at Kennedy, who was directly across from him. They were both on their feet. "Sit," he commanded. Kennedy sat. Hurley remained standing. "The first person who raises his voice is being sent to Yemen for the rest of his career."
"You can't send me anywhere," Hurley snarled.
Stansfield directed his full attention to Hurley and communicated his resolve with an icy stare that silently communicated the fact that he could do a lot worse than sending his ungrateful ass to Yemen. Of the three, Hurley was the only one who had seen this look before. It had been nearly three decades ago but Hurley still remembered that his stupidity had almost cost him his life, and if it hadn't been for Stansfield's magnanimous attitude he would have died that day. Hurley slowly sank to his seat.
"Have I failed you two so poorly that it has come to this?" Stansfield said in a calm but disappointed voice. "You scream at each other like children trying to bully their way to victory." He cocked his head in Kennedy's direction. "I expect far more from you. What did I tell you about losing control of your emotions?"
"That it's a weakness."
"Correct. And how has it worked for you this evening ... screaming at one of the most hotheaded men in all of our nation's capital? Did your logic become more clear? Did your points carry more weight? Did you somehow persuade him to see things your way by shrieking at him like some wild banshee?"
