Selfer had scooted closer, also leaning forward, elbows on his knees, speaking low. “I couldn’t believe it when they told me, I truly couldn’t. You wanted me to keep you out of a stockade. Me. I was the one you called for.”

More tears came, splashing hot on Lett’s wrists, blurring his view of the floorboards. All he could do was shake his head.

“You’ve had certain troubles. The war returns inside your head. You are not well. Then I read reports that you have voiced threats to people. Very important people. I’m told there are reports of you claiming you wanted to kill Ike Eisenhower, even President Truman. Good Lord, Lett.”

Had he done that? Was it on the boat, or sooner? In Belgium? He did have blackouts. Blackouts were always worse than benders. Blackouts brought out matters a man could never take back.

“But, you know something?” Selfer continued. “I know better. I know plenty better. Because I know you. I know what I saw in you and still do.”

Lett had stopped shaking his head.

Selfer whispered now. “You’re not just any man, despite your afflictions, your demons. You have special skills. They can take you places. Better places.” He patted Lett on his right knee, held it there a moment. “We’ll keep you out of a hospital. You’ll be undergoing certain treatments here.”

“I see,” Lett muttered but had no clue what he was supposed to be seeing.

“Now, I have to admit—I have a stake in this, too. Your failure could reflect on me. Understand? I brought you onboard, touting you as a prime candidate for our duty roster. My hero from the European Theater. So, your success . . . well, it will happen.”

“What is this place exactly?” Lett said.

“It’s a training camp. For a new intelligence agency. It’s all hush-hush. I don’t know that much myself.”

“What’s your role?”

“Well, I’m like the camp manager, for now. More administrative than tactical. Expecting to move up soon, so we’ll see. Not the snazziest post but it was a way in the door. But never mind that. What matters for you is you. Now, their training for you, it goes far beyond anything you’ve had before. What anyone has.”

“I just want to be cured of this. Goddamn it . . .”

“I can cure you. We can. Do you have to make me confess it? I don’t like what the war made you do—what I made you do. There, I said it.”

Lett stared. He wiped at his face.

“The first step of treatment is therapy. I’m told there will be a method of talking things out. There will come medication. You’ll feel cured. After that comes another step. We will retrain you. And then you will help us. You’ll be fulfilling your end of your bargain—the one you yourself asked for.”