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. ‘Mine?’ he shouted. ‘It’s yours I’m worried about.’
‘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 exactly what it’s about,’ Stratton said. ‘Let me make it easier for you. If it’d happened in another country, Kosovo for instance, Julie murdered by the KLA just for being on the wrong road at the wrong time, would you’ve had second thoughts about tearing them apart?’
Seaton didn’t say anything. Some of the wind had been taken out of his sails.
‘Jack and Sally were the closest I’ve had to family for as long as I can remember. Their kid is in a child-protection centre at this very minute, wondering what the hell just happened to his life. Now, I don’t know what the hell I want to do or what I’m supposed to do. Maybe I came here because I thought you might know – but all I found was some psychotic arsehole who seems to be even more confused about life than I am right now. Let’s just forget the whole thing.’
Stratton stepped back and started to walk away.
‘Why didn’t you ask me for my help?’ Seaton shouted.
Stratton stopped and looked back at him.
‘You don’t think I’m good enough, do you?’ Seaton said.
Stratton suddenly saw something in Seaton that he had not expected to find, though he had seen it many times in others. Bizarre as it might seem, Seaton was trying to prove himself. It was not uncommon when working with non-SF to find them trying to prove themselves, sometimes in odd ways, or acting in what they assumed was an SF manner. But Seaton was an established CIA operative, an enviable position for most, yet he was displaying classic signs of resentful inferiority.
‘You’re not in a position to help me,’ Stratton said, avoiding the real issue.
‘What does that mean?’
‘You have a family, for one thing,’ Stratton said. ‘Anyway, when I have the choice I work alone.’
‘What if I was to tell you that I think those Albanians should pay?’ Seaton said.
‘I’d say that makes little difference since I don’t know if I should or could do anything about it.’
‘So why don’t you ask me for my help?’
‘You don’t get it, do you, Seaton? This belongs to no one but me. If you want to help, I don’t want anyone to know.’
Seaton looked confused but at least he was no longer taking it personally – or at least Stratton hoped not. Whatever was happening here, Stratton wanted to keep Seaton on his side. Part of the job, after all, was making allies.
‘Let’s just forget this visit ever happened, okay?’ Stratton said. He then turned away and broke into a jog along the track, leaving Seaton to watch him go.
When Stratton was out of sight he checked through the trees to find the sun which had been at their backs on leaving the house. Following it should eventually bring him back to the main road that they had initially crossed and then it was either left or right to Seaton’s street.
Stratton soon emerged from the wood onto the highway and found the house shortly after. The boys were out the back, hosing down their bikes as he took off his shoes and socks and went into the house. He could hear someone in the lounge, caught a glimpse of Seaton’s wife and went up the stairs to avoid her. Within ten minutes he had showered and got dressed. Without saying goodbye to anyone he headed out of the house and up the road. Within half a mile a taxi appeared. Thirty-five minutes later he was stepping into the airport departure lounge and heading for check-in.
The next flight to Los Angeles was in an hour and a half. Stratton made his way to the gate, took a seat in the waiting area and tried to relax. But his thoughts would not allow him a second’s rest: Josh and the problem of getting him back home, Vicky and his hopes of making her into an ally, and Jack’s ghost sitting behind him wondering what Stratton was going to do about the two Albanian thugs – all these concerns threatened to overwhelm him.
The time dragged by and eventually the gate came to life with the arrival of airline staff. This was followed shortly by an announcement for all Los Angeles-bound passengers to proceed to the gate and board the plane.
Stratton waited for the last few people to head down the tunnel towards the entrance to the plane, which he could see outside through the large plate-glass windows. As he stood and picked up his bag he saw Seaton, dressed in a tracksuit, his face still smudged with dirt, heading towards him, carrying a manila envelope.
They stared at each other. Seaton stopped in front of him, a smear of dried blood still on the side of his mouth where he had wiped it.
‘I’ve been called a few things in my life but never a hypocrite,’ Seaton said.
He held the manila envelope out to Stratton. ‘It’s the complete file, Ardian and Leka’s details and the latest FBI report. If you decide to do something you’re probably gonna have to forget Leka. He’s in a Santa Monica lock-up awaiting arraignment for beating up his girlfriend a couple of nights ago. He did it in public and she’s still in hospital. The police are pressing the charges and he’s going to go down for it.’
Stratton took the envelope.
‘When you’re done with the file, burn it,’ Seaton urged.
The last call for Stratton’s flight blared over the speaker system. Stratton and Seaton stood in awkward silence for a moment.
‘Would you promise me one thing?’ Seaton asked.
Stratton looked at him, unsure if the CIA agent was stable or not.