Beautiful Monster.

Chechnya.

May of 1990.

It was the middle of their vacation, a quiet trip to a luxury resort. On a warm afternoon, perhaps while they prepared to go out to eat for lunch or take a walk in the nearby nature preserve, there was a knock at the door. Raymond Fobbs opened it, probably expecting a hotel staffer to tell him some arbitrary news about the pool being out of order. He was laughing and there was a grainy outline at his leg – one of the kids, curious about the visitor.

Raymond saw immediately that this visitor was not with the hotel. He stood in all black, holding a handgun, a hood pulled snug over his face. Raymond might have realized then what that loud banging he heard moments ago was, or perhaps that was the last thing on his mind. His first reaction was to reach down and shove that little grainy outline back into the room.

But he was too late, and the door was already open. Raymond received a vicious crack to the head and fell back into the room. His attacker was joined by allies approaching from off camera, storming into the room and overwhelming anyone in their path.

It was quiet for several minutes after that. Other views showed the front desk attendant sitting upright in his chair, a hole blasted through his face. Some guests were scurrying down hallways, having seen the invaders and decided to stay as far from them as possible. Outside, a large white van was parked beside the Fobbs' rented car.

When the invaders emerged, one had Raymond over his shoulder, and another was walking his wife out, with a firm grip on the back of her shirt. She was bound, gagged, and terrified. Seven-year-old Evan Fobbs was carried out next, apparently unconscious or deceased, as he hung like a ragdoll over the shoulder of his captor. Ian Fobbs was last, also unmoving, with darkened blotches on his face and arms that were thought to be blood. He left a dotted trail of it down the hotel hallway, and out of sight. From there, each camera picked up the group until they were put in the van and shut away. It was maybe the last time the family would ever seen sunlight, the last time they would all be together.

Just like that, they were gone. Four people, stolen like valuable paintings, shut away in some dark cellar with no food, no water, no warmth.

It made me absolutely sick.

"People will try their damndest to convince you there's a line between right and wrong." Larry rewound the tape for the fourth time, chewing on a straw, a hard crease in his forehead. "Picture a battlefield instead. You got your sheltered people on one side, and your cold people on the other. Some people go their whole lives never seeing something like this, never imagining that someone would do it, that someone would have the balls to do it."

Larry seemed reverent of that statement, a strange emotion for such a harsh observation. He was one of the cold people – it was painfully obvious when you knew him as well as I did.

It was impossible not to agree with him. I had seen cruel things already, but through the eyes of someone younger, someone softer. I could watch this tape now and let the rage grow with every intention of destroying the monsters responsible. I could think of how angry I was, and still sip from a mug of bitter black coffee. But not the old me, not the innocent me.

Larry paused as Evan was brought out, studying the screen. He wanted desperately to know if the children had been alive when they were extracted – not for any sentimental reasons, but because he needed to know if there were four hostages, or two. He had been pining over it for hours, trying to make up his mind. Once he came to a conclusion, he would stick with it.

"But those same people will form a mob," Larry said, picking up where he had left off and letting the video roll. "If some nice, sweet old lady got a bullet to the forehead, you can bet your ass the locals will find the bastard who did it and string him up. Or worse."

He paused again where the younger boy came out, squinting at the still image for a time before he started rewinding over and over to see it again.

"You know, a whole town will stand by and watch a kid get his hands cut off for stealing food, torch a man and watch him burn…" Larry let the tape play at last, rejoining me on the nearby couch. "Kid, you look at these guys. These are not the people you should be afraid of. It's those out there, all those sheltered people."

Larry was a beautiful monster. He was clever and bold, a keen mind with a wealth of knowledge. He could throw together explosives with any common objects and scale buildings like a deadly little lizard. But when he spoke, it was easy to pick out the mania. He had seen dark things, done dark things, and he drank at night to forget about them. He said the things he did were for his country, for the mission, but I could see an almost rebellious streak in his rants. Sometimes it was like he barely believed his own words, like he was trying to just as hard to convince himself as he was to convince me. But there was no denying the man was effective. He had completed two successful missions since the last time we met, whereas I had only managed to hang around waiting for the last men to surrender in the compound. Larry had been across the world already.

"Final verdict?" I asked as the tape came to an end.

Larry rubbed his forehead with his fingers, looking at the screen, which now showed only snow. He looked a lot older when he was focusing like this. "Four hostages."

"When they called-"

"Bad guys lie, kid," Larry interrupted. "You can listen all you want – trust, but verify. If they want money, they'll ask for four payouts no matter who was alive."

He was quiet for a moment. I reached over and turned the television off.

"Why do you think they left the tape?" he asked me suddenly.

I looked away from Larry to think, because it was easier when those cold blue eyes were not boring into mine. His question had never occurred to me.

"Did they just… not bother?"

"No, they did it for a reason." Larry stood, drawing the tape from the player and setting it on the nearby table. In their small, squat little room, there were over a dozen more all labeled for the time and date of the incident. "What were you thinking, when you saw it for the first time?"

"I thought they were bold, and careless."

"Bold is what they were going for." Larry nodded his approval. "They want us to start off on the weaker ground, to feel intimidated by their little show. If they can walk up and put a bullet through the attendant like that, and leave a trail of toddler blood out the door, what else could they do to those people? The idiots back home are already trying to bend over for them."

His words struck me. "So, you don't want to pay the ransom?"

"You saw the tape. No way in hell those guys are handing them back. No… they'll keep them alive long enough to do photo ops to get their money, and then they'll dig them a shallow grave."

"But we came-"

"I know your mission, kid. Sadler told me." Larry smiled, patting me hard on the shoulder. "Your straight-laced buddies want to do the exchange."

"Not the whole thing."

"No, not the whole thing. But he wants it big and dirty – damn special forces apes." He made a face, "No offense. But situations like this require a more delicate touch. Why do you think they sent me here?"

It was hard to really like Larry. He was a snake, and not at all shy about it. He was strangely intense and not particularly friendly. He had strange passions and pitfalls. But after he saved me from losing a foot in Kenya, I came to trust him, and even to admire him. He was a wildcard, an unconventional soldier who got the job done without the strings of government holding him down. He had the power, the knowledge, and the skills to do incredible things.

He put his hand on my shoulder and squeezed, his grip like iron.

"I want you on my team for this one, kid."

I smiled despite myself, despite the video we had just watched. Larry put a strange faith in me that I had never experienced before.

Sadler was going to hate this, but the mission was not just about following orders to me – and Larry had this magical way of getting what he wanted. I had seen the tape, seen that brutality, and now I wanted to get that family home alive. Raymond Fobbs was an important US asset, but he was also a husband, and a father. I was going to take whatever path led to success.

Larry smiled in response and picked another tape off the table.