American Craftsmen by Tom Doyle Read Free Book Online

shit out of them.” I laughed. “I don’t blame ’em. We once produced pure evil, and they’re terrified we’ll do it again. But we’re useful. So they’ll never really hurt me, unless they mean to kill me.” I turned to go, but my disgust at this American’s willingness to torture harmonized with the darkness inside me, and I needed to give voice to both.
    “Doctor,” I said.
    “Yes?”
    “Don’t let me see your fucking face again. Ever.”
    *   *   *
    “Satisfied?” asked Hutch, shutting off the tape.
    “He sounds more than a little paranoid,” said Endicott.
    Hutch raised her brows ironically, but Endicott refused to take the bait. “He still wants to quit,” he said.
    “Horse shit,” said Hutch. “He’ll change his mind.”
    Endicott nodded, but thought, And when he leaves, he’ll be the general’s problem, and you won’t be able to protect him anymore.
    *   *   *
    The next day, I went back to the old schedule. Night terrors, breakfast, my father in the study. Today, Dad smiled sadly. “Looks like you’ve got a visitor coming. I’ll get out of the way.”
    A familiar man stood at attention in the study’s doorway. Sergeant Zee. “Hello, sir. I hope you don’t mind my stopping by.”
    I must have gaped. “Sir?” repeated Zee.
    I pulled myself together. “No, Sergeant, I don’t mind at all.” I managed a smile. “Please, at ease. Have a seat. I’m not exactly on duty here.”
    “Thank you, sir.” Zee sat on the edge of an overstuffed chair, somehow preserving his military posture. I sat on the small sofa.
    “So, they let you out of quarantine,” I said.
    “Yes, sir,” said Zee. “It was a difficult month.”
    “Yeah, I understand. You’ve probably noticed my accommodations.” I patted the sofa. “The padding is nicer, but it’s a cell all the same. And not much company.”
    “Yes, sir,” said Zee. “That’s part of why I wanted to see you.”
    “I appreciate that, Zee. I’m glad to see you. But how did you know?”
    “Well, sir, as I tried to tell you, I’d served on a few missions like yours,” said Zee. “They gave me the order to kill you, rather than let you be captured.”
    “Yes, I guessed that. Still, to get permission to come here…”
    Zee said, “I didn’t need permission, sir.”
    I felt a cold hand reaching for my heart. “How’s that?” A stupid question.
    “I’m dead, sir,” said Zee. “I’m sorry, I thought your father would have mentioned it.”
    “No,” I croaked. “Must have slipped his mind.” Shit. I easily missed the ghostly about ghosts. I had once spent a whole evening with a friend at a bar before finding out the next day that he had been dead for weeks. “Your death,” I said. “Something to do with our mission?”
    “Yes. I remembered it all, over and over again.”
    “You killed yourself,” I said.
    “Seemed to make sense at the time. I left a note. ‘I’m sorry.’ That was it. I left behind my wife and kids.” Zee’s image flickered as his calm lapsed. “Seemed to make sense at the time.”
    “What’s happened to the others?”
    “They’re more or less OK. They don’t remember much. They’ve been discharged or placed on light duty. They don’t quite understand why, but their survival instincts told them not to fight it too hard. So why are you fighting it, sir?”
    “I tried to resign,” I said. “They won’t let me go.”
    The ghost considered. “Then think about this, sir. Was it worth it? Your target was protecting a little shit town that no one cared about—not us or them. He just wanted us to stay away. You show up, and it makes him crazy, makes him sacrifice them all, just to stop you.”
    “I think about it all the time.”
    “Well, think about this too. I have my last orders. I’m not going to let you feel any better until you’ve stopped, sir.”
    “You’d serve a terrorist sorcerer?”
    “Oh no, sir. I’ve been watching you, and listening. It’s you who’s going