Free Even by Andrew Grant Page B

would contain one thing in particular.
    I wasn’t disappointed.
    It was the psychological evaluation the navy had carried out during my recruitment. I’d never seen it before. Normally, they’re guarded like the crown jewels. I started at the beginning.
     
David is an adaptable realist, relying on what he sees, hears, and knows for himself. He is hardworking, righteous, fiercely independent, and convinced that his cause must win above all else. David is optimistic and positive, living mainly in the here and now. He pushes others as hard as he pushes himself, and would prove a challenging adversary
.
     
    “Turn over,” Rosser said. “Check the parts I’ve marked out.”
    Three sections on the next page were outlined in yellow.
     
David appears not to be overly concerned with the needs of others, and may resort to extreme practices if anything threatens to get in his way
.
     
    David’s rather impersonal approach to life may leave little time, tolerance, or compassion for other people. He may adopt an “if you’ve got a headache, take an aspirin” attitude, which indicates a lack of empathy
.
     
    David dislikes being told what to do, or how to do it. He may frequently rebel against the rules, and in so doing will strongly resist attempts by others to regulate his behavior
.
     
    “What do you think?” Rosser said. “Makes you an ideal candidate for the hired help, doesn’t it?”
    “Because a shrink thinks I may lack empathy?” I said.
    “No. We know why you got involved. And it clearly had nothing to do with empathy. Mitchell?”
    Mitchell Varley, the guy on Rosser’s left, lifted up a slim black briefcase and balanced it on his lap. He popped the catches and took out a small, clear Ziploc pouch. It contained a fragment of charred paper about an inch wide. He held the tiny bag at arm’s length for a moment, gripping it between his finger and thumb, then gently placed it on the table.
    “You have some ash in a bag,” I said. “Should I be impressed?”
    “We searched your hotel room,” Varley said. “Guess those bill wrappers didn’t burn quite as good as you figured. This was from a ten-thousand-dollar block. Enough in the room for five of them. What was that—the down payment? Half before, half after? That’s the normal deal?”
    “So a hundred thousand dollars was the price of Michael Raab’s life,” Rosser said. “Question is, have you got what it’ll cost to save your own?”

 
     
     
EIGHT
     
     
     
    It was early in December when we moved away from Birmingham.
    I remember the date because I’d just been given a part in the school nativity play. It was my first one. I was going to be Joseph. The plot wasn’t too convincing, but acting it out sounded fun. I was disappointed to miss the chance, at first. But at my new school we heard all sorts of other Bible stories. Some were much better. David and Goliath, for example. That was the best of all.
    The hero shared my name, for a start.
    And when the chips were down, I liked how he stepped up and faced his enemy alone.
     
    The reflection of Rosser’s pale, humorless face floated in the polished granite like a ghoul hovering over a giant overturned gravestone.
    “Downstairs, was the death penalty mentioned?” he said.
    “It might have been,” I said. “I can’t remember. People are threatening to kill me all the time. And yet, here I am.”
    “Good. Because I’ve changed my mind. I’ve got something else lined up for you.”
    “An apology? A first-class ticket back to London?”
    “An eight-by-ten cell,” he said, reaching to his left and slowly drawingthe edge of his hand across the shiny surface. “Think about it. That’s about a quarter of the size of this table.”
    “I don’t see a judge in here.”
    “Eight feet by ten. Your whole world. Twenty-three hours a day. How long would you last?”
    I didn’t answer.
    “Not long, a guy like you,” he said. “So this is what you’re going to do. Go back downstairs