Protocol 15

Chapter 9

9

SHE'S READY

FBI Academy, leadership reaction and obstacle course. September 1.

“Come on, Baker! Make that hill one more time!” the instructor yelled.

Jana’s lungs burned and her spine screamed in pain, but her face looked like gritty steel. If there was one thing she resolved of herself, it was to never let them see her pain. And certainly, never let them see the demons that now prowled inside her, lurking in the deep recesses of her mind. The demons only came in the quiet times, and Jana did whatever she had to do to keep them at bay.

Through the dirt-trodden trails, woven between pine trees, the hilly “leadership reaction and obstacle course” snaked through the woods of the Marine Corps base like an angry child who was never satisfied. It formed a loop with no start and no end. And, like a spoiled child, it demanded and demanded. The trail knew no mercy and felt nothing of the agony it extracted as pounding feet coursed through its veins. It lived and breathed and demanded food in the form of sweat and toil. And when it didn’t get what it wanted, it threw a lashing tantrum and would not stop until it had blood.

Jana chugged further and further up the last daunting hill, the one Quantico trainees had nicknamed the widow-maker. The hill was one hell of a piece of work. But the hill wasn’t the problem. The problem was that FBI trainers liked to end their training runs with the widow-maker. The instructors pushed each trainee to his or her breaking point across the unforgiving woodland trails. Then, when the trainee was about to c***k, the group would round the last bend toward the widow-maker. In every training class, more than one trainee would succumb to the hill’s sheer size and power. To them, it represented a monster that exposed their true fear. But to Jana, the hill was just another challenge, one that the male instructors thought the females couldn’t conquer. It represented one more mocking sneer in a male-dominated culture, and she was determined to be viewed as an equal.

The worst part for the newest trainees was how the instructors would charge them up the hill at the highest speed possible, burning out every last ounce of breath, fortitude, and pain. Then, the trainees learned the truth—once they reached the top, the run was not over. It was just their assumption. In true FBI fashion, instructors would point them down the hill, then back up, and repeat. If ever there was a place that could push a recruit past their breaking point, this was it.

Jana hated it and loved it at the same time. It represented another a*s for her to kick, another challenge she would eat for breakfast, another notch in her belt. Her silent motto had been yes, I’m a girl—try to keep up.

She looked down from atop the hill at the r****e of male trainees still slogging upwards. Some looked like they were running while standing still, and one was on all fours, crawling upward in a never-ending fight to reach the top. Back when Jana herself had been a new FBI trainee, she thought it pathetic to see another trainee literally crawling up the widow-maker. But now, watching this man, something changed in her thinking. Instead of feeling disgust, Jana felt a jolt of inspiration. The trainee was in an epic struggle against himself, and he wouldn’t give up. He was well past his physical limits, yet he fought on. It catapulted her back to her time in the intensive care unit when she had overheard her physician say, she’s a fighter and it’s the fighters that survive.

Jana ran down the hill toward the man. She’d seen him before. He was the typical age for a new trainee, around twenty-eight, and was a little out of shape. But he had a fight in him that came from somewhere deep down. He’s got guts, and guts is enough, she thought. She dropped onto all fours next to him and began yelling, “Come on! Don’t let this hill beat you! You’re better than this! One hand in front of the other. One at a time, you can do this, that’s it!” Other trainees already at the top turned around, then went down to join Jana to cheer on their classmate. Soon, everyone joined in. It was a glimpse into the spirit of the word “teamwork,” and into a brotherhood few people ever see.

At the top of the hill, two instructors wearing embroidered golf shirts and navy-colored FBI ball caps nodded to one another. One said, “She’s almost ready.”

The other replied, “Thank God. Call the director.”

“Call the director? What are you talking about?”

“He’s been calling to ask about her progress every damn day for the last three weeks.”