“And if you were on a case where they had to watch your back…”
“I’d expect them to do their jobs best they can. Regardless of who’s in danger.”
“No emotion in the equation,” Rudnick said.
Uzi considered this a moment. Of course, Rudnick was right. “What’s your point?”
“You are very direct, Uzi.” Rudnick leaned forward onto the armrests of his chair, ran his tongue across his lips, and said, “My point is that we all have to coexist with people in life. It doesn’t matter if they’re coworkers, or friends, relatives, spouses… even the checker in the grocery store. We’re a race that thrives on human interactions. We have to make an effort to communicate with the people in our life, and to realize they have feelings just like you and me.”
“Doc, this guy didn’t follow orders. Do you understand what that means, what the significance of that is?” Uzi realized he was out of his seat and shouting. He sat back down and cleared his throat.
Rudnick stared at his patient. “Tell me.”
Uzi looked away. “When people don’t follow protocol, you can’t rely on them, you can’t predict outcomes. Things spiral out of control. People get killed. Innocent women and children get killed.” Uzi swiped at a tear that was losing its grip on his eyelid.
Rudnick sat there, locked on Uzi’s face, no doubt analyzing his little tirade. After a few moments of silence, he said, “Uzi, I think there’s more here to examine than just Agent Osborn’s actions on a maneuver in the field last week. What do you think, hmm?”
Uzi sniffled, took an uneven breath, his gaze buried in the carpet at his feet. “There’s nothing to examine. This case is taking all my energy, that’s all. I’m tapped out.”
“Tell me about the innocent women and children that get killed when procedures aren’t followed.” Rudnick’s voice was calm and melodic as usual, but there was an underlying force beneath its surface.
“Nothing. It was nothing. I didn’t mean anything by it.”
Rudnick sat there, said nothing.
The time ticked by, a million images and thoughts blurring through Uzi’s mind. How could he understand? How could I begin to explain? “Rules are made to be followed,” Uzi finally said. “There’s a reason for them. They’re tested in the field, modified when they don’t work.”
“Is that the official Bureau position, or your own personal feelings?”
“The Bureau likes order, protocol. They have a four-thousand-page procedural manual.”
“I get the impression that you take these… rules very seriously, perhaps more seriously than most. Was it always that way? With the Mossad?”
Uzi’s head snapped up. Instinctively, he glanced around the room to see if anyone was listening. Of course, they were alone. “The Mossad has nothing to do with this. Even if it did, I couldn’t discuss it with you.”
Rudnick’s brow crinkled. “Remember, Uzi, that whatever we discuss here is confidential. I couldn’t tell anyone even if I wanted to.”
Uzi’s mouth curled into a frown. “I respect your ethics. I just— I just can’t trust them with certain things.”
Rudnick’s face flushed. “I make that statement with a depth that goes beyond usual doctor-patient confidentiality — which should be enough by itself to allay your fears.”
“Tell you what, doc. You tell me a secret. Something about yourself that means a great deal. Something you wouldn’t want anyone else to know.”
“I don’t see—”
“If I know something about you, and you know something about me, we each have motivation to keep the secret. Standard fare in intelligence. Kind of like having someone by the balls.” Uzi forced a smile.
For the first time, Rudnick looked uncomfortable. He seemed to shrink into himself. His shoulders slumped, his head shifted forward, and his eyes appeared to lose their brilliance. He sat like that for a long moment, then started speaking without looking at Uzi. “Very well. But I cannot explain why this is something that carries great meaning to me. I must show you. May I?”
Uzi shrugged.
Rudnick slid back his sport coat sleeve, unbuttoned his shirt button, and extended his forearm in Uzi’s direction.
Uzi remained back in his chair, glancing at the doctor’s thin, age-spotted skin and scraggly gray arm hairs with modest interest. But when he saw what was there, he immediately leaned forward. “Is that—”
“A tattoo? Yes. A concentration camp number? Yes again. Buchenwald.”
Their gazes met. Uzi suddenly saw his doctor in a different light. “You’re a survivor?”
Rudnick grunted. “I guess that describes my entire life, not just my time as a Nazi prisoner.”
Uzi leaned back. “And this is a secret?”
“It’s deeply personal, Uzi. Something I can’t explain and wouldn’t want to, if given the opportunity. I lost my mother and father, my two sisters, and my aunt and uncle. Everyone dear to me was taken, right before my eyes. Every possession lost, every value destroyed.” He stared off at the wall behind his patient before continuing. “If I were as good a patient as I am a psychologist, I’d have gone for counseling decades ago. Let’s just say no one knows what you now know. Aside from my son and late wife, no one has seen this tattoo.” Rudnick pulled his sleeve down and fumbled with the button. “I showed you this as proof that I also would not do anything to jeopardize the security of the State of Israel.” Having refastened the button, he shrugged his sport coat back into position. “Though I have to tell you,” he said with a hint of amusement, “most people accept doctor-patient confidentiality as proof of my silence.”
“I’m not most people.”
“There’s another reason why I showed that to you, Uzi.” Rudnick leaned forward, resting his elbows on the chair arms. “Following orders blindly is not always desirable. If there’s one thing of value we learned from the Nazis, it’s that. I doubt Mr. Shepard would argue. I also happen to know for a fact that every FBI agent I’ve ever known or treated has bent the rules at one time or other. It’s the intent that matters.”
Uzi looked away. He did not like being cornered. “The situations are totally unrelated.”
“Unrelated, yes,” Rudnick said. “But the underlying concepts are the same.”
“You don’t understand, you can’t understand. You can’t possibly understand.”
“Try me.”
“No.”
“Try me, Uzi.”
“No, I… I can’t.”
“How long can you go on with this bottled up inside you? How long until your body, your mind can’t take it anymore?”
Uzi looked away; his face felt flushed. “You’ve held it in for decades. Why can’t I?”
“No,” Rudnick said. “I treated it. I knew how to deal with it and I did so. Even though seeking outside counsel would’ve been better, what I did worked for me. But we’re not here to talk about my treatment. We’re here for yours.” The doctor paused, then said, “Perhaps now is the time to return to that question I asked you, the one about your reason for living.”
Uzi shook his head slowly. “I’m going to leave if you don’t change the subject.”
“Just talk to me, Uzi. I promise you it’ll help—”
“It won’t help anything!” Uzi was on his feet again, hands grasping clumps of hair. He turned and began to pace. “Why are you doing this to me?”
Rudnick stood and blocked his patient’s path. He grabbed Uzi’s wrists and said, “I’m not doing anything. You’re doing it to yourself.” His volume had risen to match Uzi’s.
Uzi stood there, burnt-red emotion coloring his face, his knees shaking. “Don’t you see? If I’d followed orders, if I’d done as instructed and followed protocol, my wife and daughter would still be alive today!” He was a volcano erupting. He had reached critical mass and there was nothing he could do to stop it. The emotions flowed out of him, hot and painful lava overriding everything in its path.