limited sprint, doubting that he could keep up with Seaton if he increased the pace any more.
Seaton in turn, was digging as deep into his heart and lungs as he could but he knew that if Stratton pushed on ahead one step more he would not be able to stay up with him. His motivation for the race was anger and frustration but with himself, not with Stratton. The night before, talking with Stratton in the kitchen, had been the first time he’d lied to anyone about his military career and how he’d got into the CIA and he was not sure why he had done so. In the past, when the subject had come up, he’d simply avoided the details, which was only to be expected of him and befitted his clandestine aura.
Why Seaton had felt the need to build up his image in Stratton’s eyes was something that he could not understand at the time. Lying in bed later that night, unable to sleep because of it, he had finally had to accept that it was because Stratton intimidated him. Stratton made Seaton’s own perceived shortcomings more obvious and appeared to do with ease what Seaton had failed at with every effort. Normally, Seaton was confident, often ebullient and even inclined to act superior about who he was, what he did for a living and for his country. In many ways there was no reason for him to feel otherwise for he occupied an important and privileged position. But his importance became invisible as far as he was concerned when in the company of men like Stratton. He knew it was ridiculous but he could not help it because the feeling couldn’t be dismissed as entirely psychological.
Seaton had gone to the Rangers but he had never actually joined them as he had said, and that had been after, not before attending a SEAL selection or BUDS (Basic Underwater Demolition). The biggest lie – by omission, that was – was that he had failed the selection during Hell Week, the most distressing and painful five and a half days that took place three weeks into the course. After limited sleep, endless beastings and constant berating from the SEAL directing staff Seaton began to complain of a gut problem. He was invited by the duty corman to step down from the course and start another at a later date, which was standard practice for a candidate suffering from any malady. But the thought of having to go through it all again only filled Seaton with dread. The stomach disorder had been a fabrication and he had hoped that as an officer he might somehow slide through. But it didn’t work like that in the SEALs.
Faced with no other way out Seaton went to the ‘drop area’, a decision he was to regret eternally, and rang the infamous ship’s bell that announced to all who heard it that the student whose hand gripped the white toggle had quit. For weeks after, Seaton stuck to his story of a painful gut and even managed to gain some sympathy from friends when a doctor recommended rest and medication. But what Seaton had failed to comprehend at the time, although he did some years later, was that no matter what the physi cal dilemma, no one ever gave up, and to actually ring the bell in order to quit was regarded by some as a more cowardly option than suicide – which would have been cowardly enough.
By leaving the navy and joining the army Seaton hoped that there would be little chance of meeting anyone who knew of his failure. Then, as if he had forgotten why he had quit the SEAL selection, he signed up for the Rangers, the toughest US army unit by reputation. It appeared that Seaton had the mettle to attempt such rigorous selection courses but not enough to see them through. It was at this point, before the course had begun, that Seaton’s father had died and at the wake he’d got drunk with his uncle, a CIA department deputy in Cuba who subsequently organised an interview with the Agency based on Seaton’s proclaimed ambitions. Although Seaton had never started the Rangers course he was technically seconded to the unit when he got the call to attend CIA selection – hence the grounds for the second untruth he’d told: that he’d been a Ranger lieutenant.
During Seaton’s entry phase into the CIA his uncle had managed to hide all reference to his nephew’s failed BUDS selection, believing that he’d had a legiti mate reason to quit and that it would be unfair to have his reputation tainted simply because of a medical disorder. Seaton now focused his ambition on joining the CIA’s Clandestine Service for which he had adequate qualifications, what with his Mideast MBA as well as his military background.
Unfortunately, problems arose from Seaton’s polygraph test and he was suspended from the course pending investigation. The queries stemmed from a series of questions presented by the polygraph interrogation officer about any attempts that Seaton might have made to join a secret organisation other than the CIA. The officer was ignorant of Seaton’s failed SEAL selection and when Seaton gave a negative response the polygraph reacted unfavourably. Once again, it took his uncle’s intervention to smooth things out and after resitting the test and completing the course Seaton was eventually accepted into the Agency but on a probationary level only. However, within six months he had proved himself, all was seemingly forgotten, and he was given his first NOC (Non-Official Cover) posting in Iran.
And that was where Seaton’s past failures, psychological or other -wise, should have been forgotten, after he’d succeeded in gaining an enviable position in a top-secret government organisation. But the ghosts apparently remained. It seemed that Seaton had never truly disposed of his latent desire to be a front-line field oper -ative of Stratton’s stature. This might have been because he had failed to recognise the special drives of such an animal, drives that he himself did not possess in sufficient intensity.
Seaton exacerbated his dilemma that morning by first painting Stratton as a hero to his sons – who were indeed greatly impressed – and then by deciding that his only means of establishing his superiority was to challenge the man. None of these actions were planned and were symptomatic of a deeper problem. Seaton never understood the difference between not being good enough and not fitting in, something that Stratton would have explained to him if he had asked.
Seaton suddenly tried to bump Stratton off the path and headed up a steep incline. But since Stratton was on the inside and kept his footing he was in a position to gain the summit first. Seaton realised his situation and lashed out with an arm, in desperation more than malice, a blow that Stratton only just managed to block. As he kept up his pace Seaton took another swing, catching Stratton on the ear.
Stratton saw red and retaliated viciously, catching Seaton on the side of the face with the back of his fist. The blow stung and Seaton’s blood rose as he made a grab for Stratton’s shirt.
Stratton tried to wrench Seaton’s hand away as they reached the crest together, both near exhaustion, spattered with mud and breathing fiercely. Stratton let loose with his fist, connecting with Seaton’s jaw with enough force to make him lose his balance and drop to the ground.
‘What’s your problem?’ Stratton yelled, nearly out of breath.
Seaton scrambled to his feet, breathing fiercely, his fists clenched as though he was itching for a fight. ‘
‘What are you talking about?’ Stratton asked, confused by Seaton’s hostility and waiting for his next attack.
‘I know why you came here,’ Seaton said, spitting mud from his bloody mouth. ‘You want to punish those two goons who killed Sally – and you want me to get you the information to do it.’
‘That’s not why I came here!’ Stratton said.
‘Bullshit.’
Stratton was growing angrier at Seaton’s sudden madness.
‘Do you deny that’s what you plan to do?’ Seaton persisted.
‘I’ve made no plans of that kind.’
‘Then you’re making them now.’
Stratton couldn’t fathom where this was coming from – or going to. If Seaton was that worried all he needed to do was warn the FBI. It had to be something more. ‘You don’t think they deserve to die for what they did, do you?’ Stratton asked, testing him.
‘That’s not your job.’
‘No one else seems to want to do it,’ Stratton replied.
‘Why did you come here?’ Seaton asked.
‘To find out if the Feds were going to do anything about Sally’s murderers.’
‘And now that you know they’re not?’
‘Is that true?’ Stratton asked, wondering what else Seaton knew.
‘I didn’t give you the whole file, but yes, that’s true – for the time being, at least.’
Stratton was beginning to dislike Seaton. ‘Tell me something,’ he asked. ‘If it had been Julie they’d killed, right in front of your boys, how would you feel?’
‘That’s not what this is about.’
‘It’s
