Primary Target. Джек Марс

Of course it was. But he didn’t need all this talk. Sound like anybody we know? When he left here, he went home, killed his wife, his three-year-old daughter, and then put a bullet in his own brain.”

      A pause drew out between Luke and Riggs. None of the other men said a word. The guy was a button pusher. For some reason, he saw that as his job. It was important that Luke stay cool and not let Riggs get under his skin. But Luke didn’t like this kind of thing. He felt a surge building inside him. Riggs was moving into dangerous territory.

      “Is that what you’re scared of?” Riggs said. “You’re worried you’re gonna go home and blow your wife’s brains all over the—”

      Luke was up from his chair and across the space between him and Riggs in less than a second. Before he knew what had happened, he had grabbed Riggs, kicked his chair out from under him, and thrown him to the floor like a rag doll. Riggs’s head banged off the stone tile.

      Luke crouched over him and reared back his fist.

      Riggs’s eyes were wide, and for a split second fear flashed across his face. Then his calm demeanor returned.

      “That’s what I like to see,” he said. “A little enthusiasm.”

      Luke took a deep breath and let his fist relax. He looked around at the other men. None of them had made a move. They just stared dispassionately as if a patient attacking his therapist was a normal part of their day.

      No. That wasn’t it. They stared like they didn’t care what happened, like they were beyond caring.

      “I know what you’re trying to do,” Luke said.

      “I’m trying to break you out of your shell, Stone. And it looks like it’s finally starting to work.”

* * *

      “I don’t want you here,” Martinez said.

      Luke sat in a wooden chair next to Martinez’s bed. The chair was surprisingly uncomfortable, as if it had been designed to discourage loitering.

      Luke was doing the thing he had avoided for weeks—he was visiting Martinez. The man was in a different building of the hospital, yes. But it was all of a twelve-minute walk from Luke’s own room. Luke hadn’t been able to face that walk until now.

      Martinez was on a long road, a road that he seemed to have no interest in traveling. His legs had been shredded, and could not be saved. One was gone at his pelvis, one below the knee. He still had the use of his arms, but he was paralyzed from just below his ribcage down.

      Before Luke came in here, a nurse whispered to him that Martinez spent most of his time crying. He also spent a lot of time sleeping—he was on a heavy dose of sedatives.

      “I just came to say goodbye,” Luke said.

      Martinez had been staring out the window at the bright day. Now he turned to look at Luke. His face was fine. He had always been a handsome guy, and he still was. God, or the Devil, or whoever was in charge of these things, had spared the man his face.

      “Hello and goodbye, right? Good for you, Stone. You’re all in one piece, you gonna walk right out of here, probably get a promotion, some kind of citation. Never see another minute of combat because you were in the psych ward. Ride a desk, make more money, send other guys in. Good for you, man.”

      Luke sat quietly. He folded one leg over the other. He didn’t say a word.

      “Murphy stopped by here a couple of weeks ago, did you know that? I asked if he was going to see you, but he said no. He didn’t want to see you. Stone? Stone’s a suck-up to the brass. Why should he see Stone? Murphy said he’s gonna ride the freight trains across the country, like a hobo. That’s his plan. You know what I think? I think he’s gonna shoot himself in the head.”

      “I’m sorry about what happened,” Luke said.

      But Martinez wasn’t listening.

      “How’s your wife, man? Pregnancy coming along good? Little Luke junior on the way? That’s real nice, Stone. I’m happy for you.”

      “Robby, did I do something to you?” Luke said.

      Tears began to stream down Martinez’s face. He pounded the bed with his fists. “Look at me, man! I have no legs! I’m gonna be pissing and shitting in a bag the rest of my life, okay? I can’t walk. I’m never gonna walk. I can’t…”

      He shook his head. “I can’t…”

      Now Martinez began to weep.

      “I didn’t do it,” Luke said. His voice sounded small and weak, like a child’s voice.

      “Yes! You did it! You did this. It was you. It was your mission. We were your guys. Now we’re dead. All but you.”

      Luke shook his head. “No. It was Heath’s mission. I was just—”

      “You bastard! You were just following orders. But you could have said no.”

      Luke said nothing. Martinez breathed deeply.

      “I told you to kill me.” He gritted his teeth. “I told you… to… kill… me. Now look at this… this mess. You were the one.” He shook his head. “You could have done it. Nobody would know.”

      Luke stared at him. “I couldn’t kill you. You’re my friend.”

      “Don’t say that!” Martinez said. “I’m not your friend.”

      He turned his head to face the wall. “Get out of my room.”

      “Robby…”

      “How many men you killed, Stone? How many, huh? A hundred? Two hundred?”

      Luke spoke barely above a whisper. He answered honestly. “I don’t know. I stopped counting.”

      “You couldn’t kill one man as a favor? A favor to your so-called friend?”

      Luke didn’t speak. Such a thing had never occurred to him before. Kill his own man? But he realized now that it was possible.

      For a split second, he was back on that hillside on that cold morning. He saw Martinez sprawled on his back, crying. Luke walked over to him. There was no ammo left. All Luke had was the twisted bayonet in his hand. He crouched down next to Martinez, the bayonet protruding from his fist like a spike. He reached up with it, above Martinez’s heart, and…

      “I don’t want you here,” Martinez said now. “I want you out of my room. Get out, okay, Stone? Get out right now.”

      Suddenly, Martinez started screaming. He took the nurse call button from his bedside and began ramming it with his thumb.

      “I want you out! Get out! Out!”

      Luke stood. He raised his hands. “Okay, Robby. Okay.”

      “OUT!”

      Luke headed for the door.

      “I hope you die, Stone. I hope your baby dies.”

      Then Luke was out in the hall. Two nurses were coming toward him, walking but moving fast.

      “Is he okay?” the first one said.

      “Did you hear me, Stone? I hope your…”

      But Luke had already covered his ears and was running down the hall. He ran through the building, sprinting now, gasping for air. He saw the EXIT sign, turned toward it, and burst through the double doors. Then he was running across the grounds along a concrete pathway. Here and there, people turned to look, but Luke kept running. He ran until his lungs began to burn.

      A man was coming the other way. The man was older, but broad and strong. He walked upright with military bearing, but wore blue jeans and a leather jacket. Luke was almost on top of him before he realized he knew him.

      “Luke,” the man said. “Where you running to, son?”

      Luke stopped. He bent over and put his hands on his knees. His breath came in harsh rasps. He fought for big lungfuls.

      “Don,” he said. “Oh man, Don. I’m out of shape.”

      He