Read Online The Target by David Baldacci - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: David Baldacci
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door.
A uniformed escort waiting outside the room accompanied Reel back to her quarters.
Robie was not there. She opened her duffel and quickly dressed, mindful of the eyes watching her from the devices on the wall.
Reel took out a Sharpie pen from her duffel and wrote on the wall:
Déjà vu Orwell’s 1984.
Then she sat and waited for the footsteps to come. And for the door to open.
It wouldn’t be long. She doubted Marks had built a refreshing nap into their itinerary.
Next, she wondered where Robie had gone. Had they split them up deliberately to try to turn one against the other?
Barely five minutes went by and then two things happened.
The footsteps came and the door opened.
It was the same young woman who had come for Robie. “Agent Reel, if you would accom—”
Before she could finish Reel was up and past her through the door.
“Let’s get this over with,” she called out over her shoulder as the surprised woman hurried to catch up with her.
Robie sat across from the man in an office lined with bookcases. The light was low. There were no windows. Soft music played in the background.
The man across from him had a beard, was bald on top, and fiddled with a pipe. He had black glasses that he let slide down near the tip of his nose. He pushed them back into place and held up his pipe.
“No-smoking policy extends even here,” he said by way of explanation. “I’m addicted to it, I confess. Sorry state of affairs for a psychologist. I help others with their issues and I find I can’t solve my own.”
He held out a hand across the desk. “Alfred Bitterman. Psychologist. I’m like a psychiatrist, only without a medical license. I can’t prescribe the big-gun drugs.”
Robie shook his hand and then sat back. “I take it you know who I am.” He eyed the thick file in front of Bitterman.
“I know what the file says. That is not the same as knowing the man himself.”
“Enlightened statement,” said Robie.
“You are a veteran of this agency. You have accomplished many things. Some would say impossible things. You have received the highest official commendations the agency can bestow on one of its own.” Bitterman leaned across the desk and tapped his pipe against the wood. “Which raises the question of why you’re even here.”
Robie instantly started to glance around the room. Bitterman shook his head. “No surveillance,” he said. “It’s not allowed.”
“Who says?” asked Robie.
“The highest authorities at the agency.”
“And you trust that to be the case?”
“I’ve been here a long time. And in my work I have been privy to a lot of secrets, many from people high up in the agency.”
Robie looked interested in this. “And this gives you protection how? Something happens to you those secrets get sent to the media?”
“Oh, it’s not really that melodramatic. And it’s far more self-serving. You see, none of these ‘higher-ups’ would ever want these secrets to be recorded and later come out. Thus great pains were taken and multiple eyes ensured that the psychologists’ offices here are free from surveillance of any kind. You can speak freely.”
“Why do you think I’m here, then?”
“You have undoubtedly pissed off upper management. Unless you have another explanation.”
“No, I think that one covers it.”
“Jessica Reel is here as well.”
“She was an instructor at the Burner.”
“I know she was. A damn good one too. But she’s a complicated person. Far more complicated than most who come through here, and that’s saying something, for they’re all complicated, in a way.”
“I know something of her history.”
Bitterman nodded. “Did you know that I did her entry psych evaluation when she first came to us as a recruit?”
“No, I didn’t know that.”
“After reading her background file, but before meeting her, I was convinced that she could not pass the psych eval. There was no way. She was too screwed up by life’s
A uniformed escort waiting outside the room accompanied Reel back to her quarters.
Robie was not there. She opened her duffel and quickly dressed, mindful of the eyes watching her from the devices on the wall.
Reel took out a Sharpie pen from her duffel and wrote on the wall:
Déjà vu Orwell’s 1984.
Then she sat and waited for the footsteps to come. And for the door to open.
It wouldn’t be long. She doubted Marks had built a refreshing nap into their itinerary.
Next, she wondered where Robie had gone. Had they split them up deliberately to try to turn one against the other?
Barely five minutes went by and then two things happened.
The footsteps came and the door opened.
It was the same young woman who had come for Robie. “Agent Reel, if you would accom—”
Before she could finish Reel was up and past her through the door.
“Let’s get this over with,” she called out over her shoulder as the surprised woman hurried to catch up with her.
Robie sat across from the man in an office lined with bookcases. The light was low. There were no windows. Soft music played in the background.
The man across from him had a beard, was bald on top, and fiddled with a pipe. He had black glasses that he let slide down near the tip of his nose. He pushed them back into place and held up his pipe.
“No-smoking policy extends even here,” he said by way of explanation. “I’m addicted to it, I confess. Sorry state of affairs for a psychologist. I help others with their issues and I find I can’t solve my own.”
He held out a hand across the desk. “Alfred Bitterman. Psychologist. I’m like a psychiatrist, only without a medical license. I can’t prescribe the big-gun drugs.”
Robie shook his hand and then sat back. “I take it you know who I am.” He eyed the thick file in front of Bitterman.
“I know what the file says. That is not the same as knowing the man himself.”
“Enlightened statement,” said Robie.
“You are a veteran of this agency. You have accomplished many things. Some would say impossible things. You have received the highest official commendations the agency can bestow on one of its own.” Bitterman leaned across the desk and tapped his pipe against the wood. “Which raises the question of why you’re even here.”
Robie instantly started to glance around the room. Bitterman shook his head. “No surveillance,” he said. “It’s not allowed.”
“Who says?” asked Robie.
“The highest authorities at the agency.”
“And you trust that to be the case?”
“I’ve been here a long time. And in my work I have been privy to a lot of secrets, many from people high up in the agency.”
Robie looked interested in this. “And this gives you protection how? Something happens to you those secrets get sent to the media?”
“Oh, it’s not really that melodramatic. And it’s far more self-serving. You see, none of these ‘higher-ups’ would ever want these secrets to be recorded and later come out. Thus great pains were taken and multiple eyes ensured that the psychologists’ offices here are free from surveillance of any kind. You can speak freely.”
“Why do you think I’m here, then?”
“You have undoubtedly pissed off upper management. Unless you have another explanation.”
“No, I think that one covers it.”
“Jessica Reel is here as well.”
“She was an instructor at the Burner.”
“I know she was. A damn good one too. But she’s a complicated person. Far more complicated than most who come through here, and that’s saying something, for they’re all complicated, in a way.”
“I know something of her history.”
Bitterman nodded. “Did you know that I did her entry psych evaluation when she first came to us as a recruit?”
“No, I didn’t know that.”
“After reading her background file, but before meeting her, I was convinced that she could not pass the psych eval. There was no way. She was too screwed up by life’s
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