underwater demolition, parachuting, reconnaissance, the works. But his speciality was sniping. He was the best sniper in the SEALs. He served with distinction in Operation Desert Storm, but he found it harder to function efficiently in peace-time.”
Howard nodded. “There wouldn’t be much use for his skills, I suppose,” he said.
“That’s the case with all our men,” said Walsh. “Ensign Tucker gave you the tour, right?”
Howard nodded.
“We give them the most testing training exercises you can imagine,” Walsh continued. “We keep them at the peak of their abilities, but we can’t give them the real thing. It’s not like the British SAS, they can keep their skills sharpened by taking on the IRA. The Germans have the Red Army Faction and what’s left of the Baader-Meinhof gang, the French have to deal with Basque terrorists, the Italians have the Red Brigade. We don’t have home-grown terrorists, during peace-time our men are like Formula One racing cars with the engine running and nowhere to go.”
“And Lovell couldn’t cope with it?”
“Ensign Tucker can brief you on that better than I,” said Walsh. “I’ve only been with SEAL Three for eighteen months.” Walsh looked over at the ensign, who nodded curtly.
“In my opinion, he was finding it progressively more difficult to cope,” said Tucker. “Snipers are a breed apart. It’s like no other form of warfare. Killing in the heat of battle isn’t difficult, Agent Howard. The body’s self- defence mechanism takes over and you kill without thinking. It’s kill or be killed. It’s easy to stab a man in the stomach if he’s coming at you with a knife. But a sniper kills from a distance, he’s usually in no danger himself, yet he gets to see the victim close up. The sniper looks through his scope and sees the eyes of his victim. You have to be a special sort of man to kill like that and to stay sane. Seaman Lovell, like all of our snipers, underwent regular psychiatric evaluation, and it became clear from them that he was no longer performing effectively. That’s not to say he wasn’t as accurate or as effective a sniper. He was. If anything, he was getting better.”
“So what was wrong?”
Tucker sucked air in through clenched teeth. “I think he missed it.”
“Combat?”
Tucker shook his head. “The killing. Combat we could offer, even if it was make-believe, but we couldn’t allow him to kill.”
“But how was that a problem?” asked Howard.
Tucker smiled tightly. “Shooting targets wasn’t enough for him any more,” said the ensign. “He’d developed a taste for hunting humans. He kept talking about it, describing kills he’d made, relishing the details.”
“War stories?”
“More than war stories, much more,” said Tucker. “He was becoming obsessive. Don’t take it from me, take a look at the psychiatric reports.”
Howard looked across at the lieutenant. “Can that be arranged?”
“I’ll have the BUPERS file sent to you,” said Walsh.
“BUPERS?” Howard felt that he was constantly having to ask the SEALs to explain their jargon. Like most groups, they used a verbal shorthand to exclude outsiders. He understood, and didn’t object, because that was exactly the way FBI agents and cops operated.
“Sorry, it stands for Bureau of Personnel. Their file should have everything you want.”
“What sort of operations was he involved in? You mentioned Desert Storm?”
Tucker took a step forward. “Lovell was in one of two platoons of East Coast SEALs who were sent into Kuwait prior to the invasion by the Allied Forces. He recorded twenty-eight confirmed hits, but much of the time he was working alone and so many went unrecorded. He claims to have killed more than fifty, most of them high- ranking Iraqi officers.”
“What weapon did he use?”
“Barrett Model 82,” said Tucker.
“Was it after Desert Storm that he began to have psychological problems?”
Tucker looked uneasy. “I think it would be safer to say that Desert Storm opened a door for him, and he didn’t want to close it. It was the first time he’d actually killed a man with his rifle.”
“And he enjoyed it?”
“I don’t think enjoy is the right word. It was a challenge, a way of testing himself. And after the Gulf War, he no longer felt his abilities were being tested to the full. On his return to California he made several requests to be transferred to Seal Team Six. He was refused. There isn’t much love lost between SEALs on the West Coast and those on the East Coast. That’s when the psychiatrists began to express concern about him continuing on active service.”
“Was he especially close to anyone in the SEAL unit? Someone I could talk to?”
“His dive buddy was Lou Schoelen, another sniper,” said Tucker.
“Can I see him?”
“He quit, about two months after Lovell left.”
Howard wrote the name down in his notebook. “Can I see his BUPERS file, too?” he asked Walsh.
“Of course,” said the Lieutenant. “There’s no indication that the two resignations were connected, though.”
“You said he was a sniper. Did he also use the Barrett?”
Walsh looked at Tucker, who shook his head. “No, Schoelen preferred a Horstkamp.”
Howard’s ears pricked up at the mention of the rifle type. “What sort of man is Schoelen?” he asked.
“A bit of a loose cannon,” said Tucker, “but a damn good SEAL. The only real blot on his record was his phone-hacking. He was originally trained in electronics by the Navy and he used his specialist knowledge to abuse the phone system. The phone company caught him selling little black boxes which let you dial around the world for the cost of a local call and they wanted to prosecute. We managed to persuade them to let us handle it internally.” He grinned. “He suffered on the Grinder, believe me.”
“Is there anyone else Lovell was close to?”
“Not really,” said Tucker. “They were both pretty much lone wolves. Like I told you earlier, normally we stress teamwork in the SEAL units, but snipers are always loners. It goes with the territory.”
“How good a sniper was Lovell?”
Tucker shrugged. “He was the best I’ve ever seen. He can consistently hit a target at two thousand yards with his Barrett. Probably further, it’s just that it’s harder to find ranges beyond that distance. He claimed to have taken out an Iraqi colonel at more than three thousand yards in the desert. There were no witnesses, though.”
“Three thousand yards?” said Walsh. “I never heard that. That’s damn near two miles. No sniper can make a two-mile shot.”
“That’s what he said, sir,” said Tucker. “And he rarely exaggerated.”
“Was Schoelen as good a sniper as Lovell?”
“Almost. I mean, he’s a world-class marksman, but Lovell is something else.”
Howard took the photograph of the sniper with the Barrett rifle from his pocket and handed it to Walsh. “I know the quality isn’t very good, but is this Lovell?”
Walsh held the picture at arm’s length and slowly brought it closer to his face. He squinted his eyes, frowned, and shrugged. “That could be anyone, Agent Howard,” he said.
“Yeah, I’m sorry, it was taken from a long distance away and we’ve had to blow it up.”
Walsh handed the picture to the ensign. “Is the face in shadow or is that a beard?” Tucker asked.
“We think it’s a beard,” said Howard.
“Lovell didn’t have a beard, not while he was here. We don’t allow facial hair, it gets in the way of the mask. But he could have grown it after he left, of course.” He narrowed his eyes as he scrutinised the photograph. “I can tell you one thing, that’s definitely a Barrett in his hands. There’s no mistaking its profile.”
“Yeah, that’s what put me on to him,” said Howard. “I showed it to another sniper who recognised it and said that it was Lovell’s favourite weapon.” Howard rubbed his chin. “This might sound a crazy question, but I don’t suppose he took his rifle with him, did he?”
The two SEALs laughed. “I hardly think so,” said Walsh.
“Out of the question,” agreed Tucker, “but you can buy them through most firearms dealers.”
“Do you have any idea what he’s doing now?” Both men shook their heads. “Do you think he might be selling
