“Mules?” Seven said aloud as he stared at the name on his father’s baseball uniform.
“Yup, mules,” Harris replied as he picked up the bag and the box from the seat next to Seven. He sat down and placed the items in his lap. “Do you know what a mule is, Seven?”
“A donkey?” Seven replied, thoroughly confused by the situation.
“No, a mule is a hybrid of a donkey and a horse. They never occurred naturally in nature. They were bred in in order to do a certain job. They were bred to have the endurance of a donkey and the strength and power of a horse. They were created to perform certain tasks that other animals couldn’t do. Your father was a mule. I was a mule. That’s me in the right-hand corner. I was the shortstop.”
“Harris, what the fuck is going on?” Seven said, raising his voice.
“Most of those guys in the picture are dead or missing now. There’s only a handful of us still around.”
“Harris, what the fuck is going on?” Seven said again, loud enough for his voice to echo in the arena.
“It was a short-lived secret government program from the sixties. The idea was to take boys off the street and train them to do special work for the government. All the kids came from shelters and orphanages. None of them had any family ties or anyone who would miss them or look for them if they disappeared. The kids were gathered up and put through a detailed psychological screening. They took the most qualified, mentally and physically, and sent them to mule training in Missouri. The training program was disguised as a community college baseball team. We were all housed and trained at a remote facility in rural Missouri. It’s funny that no one ever asked about the baseball team at the college or wondered why they never played any games. We were trained at the facility for two years. We each had our specialty. Gilbert was trained as a sniper and assassin, and he was really good at it. They taught