SEALS SNIPER

BY

STEVE MACKENZIE


                  
Other Avon Books in the
 SEALS Series
(# 1 ) AMBUSH!
(#2) BLACKBIRD
 (#3) RESCUE!
 (#4) TARGET!
(#5) BREAKOUT!
(#6) DESERT RAID
  (#7) RECON
(#8) INFILTRATE!
 (#9) ASSAULT!          I,_



 Coming Soon f

(# 11 ) ATTACK!

(# 12) STRONCHOL~



Avon Books are available at special quantity discounts for
bulk purchases for sales promotions, premiums, fund raising
or educational use. Special books, or book excerpts, can also
be created to fit specific needs.

For details write or telephone the office of the Director of
Special Markets, Avon Books, Dept. FP, 105 Madison Avenue, New
York, New York 10016, 212-481-5653.

SEALS #10: SNIPER is an original
publication of Avon Books. This
work has never before appeared in
book form. This work is a novel.
Any similarity to actual persons
or events is purely concidental.

AVON BOOKS
A division of
The Hearst Corporation
105 Madison Avenue
New York, New York 10016
Copyright O 1988 by Kevin D.
Randle

 Published by arrangement with
the author''

Library of Congress Catalog Card
Number: 88-91577'
ISBN: 0-380-75533-5 _',,,'

All rights reserved, which
includes they reproduce this book
or portions thereof in any
forever except as provided by the
U.S. C~rigF] Law For information
address Sharon larvis & Co., Inc.
260 Willard Avenue, Staten
Island, New York 10314.

First Avon Books Printing:
November 1988

AVON TRADEMARK REG. U.S. PAT. OFF. AND
IN OTHER COUNTRIES, MARCA REGISTRADA,
HECHO EN U.S.A.

Printed in the U.S.A.

 K-R  10 9 87 6 54 32
1




The wind was blowing out. That was
evident by the score which had the
Cubs up by seven runs and still
batting in the third inning. Navy
Lieutenant Mark Tynan sat in a
fairly uncomfortable chair with a
stiff back and cigarette burns on
it, his feet propped on the bed, and
watched as another fly ball sailed
over the ivy-covered wall and the
chain-link fence behind the
bleachers to land on the street.
Three more runs crossed the plate as
the camera cut to the kids who were
chasing down the souvenir.

  Tynan, a young man who was just
over six feet tall, had a deep tan
from the recent time spent in the
tropics. Tynan had blue eyes and
dark hair that was longer than
regulations said it should be. He
was a slender man who was sitting
there in khaki pants, blue shirt and
dark shoes. Not the Ho Chi Minh
sandals made of truck tires that
were the rage on college campuses,
but leather things that looked
nothing like those made in Vietnam.

  He was wondering what to do with
the rest of the afternoon and
wondered why he hadn't gone down to
Wrigley Field to watch the game in
person. Television was fine and the
instant replays made it possible to
see things that he missed as he
glanced through the paper or stared
out the window, but there just
wasn't a hell of a lot to do

                  1
                  
2 SEATS

in a motel room. Sometimes it seemed
more confining than a prison cell,
even with its color TV, telephone
and vibrating bed.

  Tynan stood and moved to the window
that looked out over a parking lot
that was mostly vacant in the middle
of the afternoon. Sunlight flashed
from a couple of windshields. A
young couple, dressed in shorts and
T-shirts, walked along the sidewalk
hand in hand, ignoring the traffic
on the street near them and the roar
of jets on the approach path to
O'Hare.

  There was a sudden cheer from the
TV and Tynan turned in time to see
another fly ball make it to the
street. The Cubs now had a twelve
run lead and the flags were standing
straight out. The score was
beginning to look lilce something
from a football game: twenty-one to
seven.

  "Christ," said Tynan. "I've got to
get out of here. If only for an
hour."

  But there wasn't any place to go or
anything for him to do. Class did
not start until the following
Monday, and home and family were too
far away for a quick visit. The only
alternative was to wander the halls
of the motel, and that was even more
depressing than staying in the room.
He returned to the chair and sat
down, focusing on the television.

  The knock at the door came as a
welcome surprise. He was going to
shout at it, telling whoever was out
there to come on in, but instead
walked over to open it. Doors in
motels were set to lock
automatically.

  Ignoring the peephole, Tynan turned
the knob and stepped back as he
opened the door. The person standing
there was not who he had expected.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

  "Thank you, Mark. I'm very happy to
see you too. I drop everything I'm
doing so that I can fly up for a
visit,

IS 8

.

bribe fourteen different people, and
that's the best reception I can get?"

  Tynan closed the door and watched as
Stevie King walked into the room, glanced
at the bed and then sat down in the only
chair. She put her purse on the small
desk, crossed her legs slowly and said,
"Well?"

  Tynan studied her closely. A tall, slim
woman with long, light brown hair, now
bleached nearly blonde by the same
tropical sun he'd been under. She had
blue eyes and thin features, her nose
almost pointed. She smiled, showing
perfect teeth. She wore a white blouse
and a short, dark blue skirt and hadn't
bothered with stockings.

  Tynan moved toward the TV and turned
down the sound. The Cubs had finished
batting, but the run production in the
game didn't seem to let up. The opposite
side had two n~nners on and the batter
had just put a foul ball into the stands
four hundred feet away.

"Wall," said Tynan, "I'm glad to see you,
Stevie."

  "Glad to see me," she said shaking her
head. "You overwhelm me. "

  Tynan couldn't help smiling. "Let me
get over the surprise, first. I'm more
than a little surprised. Now, I'm damn
glad to see you. Just how in the hell did
you fidd me?"

  "Not that hard. I called your parents
and they said you were in Chicago still,
just as you said you'd be, and I did a
little detective work from there. And
then flew on up."

  Tynan sat on the bed and studied her
carefully. She was a good-looking woman
who seemed to have just escaped for
summer break from college. Tynan knew
that it wasn't true and that she held a
Ph.D. in cultural anthropology. She
taught on the faculty of the college.

  "You know," he said, "that I'm assigned
to a school here that begins in the
morning."

"School?" she repeated. '~What kind of
school?"

~ sews

  Tynan scratched at the back of his
neck and glanced at the TV screen
where the players were parading
around the diamond again, suggesting
that another ball had escaped from
the park. "That's a damned fine
question, because I don't have the
faintest notion."

  "Oh, so it's classified," said
King, winking at him in a
conspiratorial manner.

  "No, it's not that. If it had been
classified, I could have told you
that. I just don't know what in the
hell it's about. "

  King recrossed her legs, letting
the hem of her skirt ride higher on
her thigh. She grinned evilly then
and sat back in the chair. "So what
had you planned on doing before
class began in the morning?"

  "Not a hell of a lot. " He leaned
forward and turned off the TV, even
as another ball bounced on the
street to the delight of the kids
waiting there to grab it.

  King got to her feet and stepped
closer to Tynan. She felt his lips
brush hers and said, "Finally, a
hello kiss. "

"Caught me off guard."

  "Thought all you SEALS were
supposed to be fast on your feet,
quicker than lightning and more
deadly than a cobra. "

  He slipped a hand between them,
found one of the buttons on her
blouse and undid it. He let his
fingers push the material out of the
way and felt the soft, smoothness of
her skin.

  "Aren't you getting a little ahead
of yourself here?" she asked
breathlessly.

"I can always stop," said Tynan.

"Oh, no. I didn't mean to imply that
you should stop. "

  Tynan attacked the rest of the
buttons and slipped the blouse from
her shoulders. She smiled and
stepped closer so that Tynan could
reach around her. He glanced over
his shoulder so that he could see
the hooks on her bra. When

SELLS 5

he had it unfastened, she let it
slide down her arms and drop to the
floor. She then unhooked her skirt
and let it fall away, pooling around
her feet.

  She took a step to the rear and sat
on the bed. She leaned back on her
elbows and looked up. "Well?"

  Tynan stood there and looked at her
nearly naked body. It was a good
body, with no fat on it. A slender
body, lightly tanned, a pale band
around her hips, but not one on her
chest. She sunbathed without a top.
He didn't want to move or to talk. He
just wanted to stand there and look
at her.

"Well?" she said again.

  Tynan unbuttoned his shirt and took
it off. He sat down next to her and
kicked off his shoes and then pulled
off his socks. He rolled to.his side,
pulled her toward him and then kissed
her deeply.

"Now," she said, quietly. "Now."

  An hour later, Tynan was worn out.
He looked up at the ceiling and felt
his heart hammering in his chest.
There was a coating of sweat on his
body that was soaking into the
bedspread. He glanced to the left.
King lay on her side, an arm under
her cheek, her hair damp with sweat.

"Wow," she said. "That was quite . .
. a workout."

  "Oh, yeah," said Tynan. "Oh, yeah.
Quite the workout. "

  She rolled to her back and put her
hands under her head. She took a deep
breath and let it out slowly. "Now,
what is the plan of the day?"

  Tynan finally forced himself to sit
up and then looked at her naked body.
He tore his eyes away and said, "I
think that we should get something to
eat and then I've got to get some
rest. Class starts tomorrow."

"Uh-huh. "

"What are you planning to do? You
have a room?"

~ SEAIS '
    = ~

  "Well," she said, waving a hand, "I
think I have one."

  Tynan couldn't help smiling. "Okay,
but did you plan to get one of your
own?"

"Do I need one of my own?"

  Tynan stood and snagged his pants
off the floor. He was going to put
them on but decided that he needed a
shower first. He draped the pants
over the back of the chair. "You're
certainly welcome to stay here, if
you want.')

  "Your enthusiasm is simply
overwhelming." She pushed her damp
hair from her forehead. There were
beads of sweat at her hairline, on
her upper lip and across her chest.

  "Dinner," said Tynan, trying to
divert the conversation and his
attention from her body.

"We should have some."

  "Great," said Tynan. He disappeared
into the bathroom and turned on the
shower, holding a hand under the
spray to test the temperature. He
played with the faucets until he had
it where he wanted it and then
pulled the curtain closed, but he
stayed on the outside. He turned and
looked at himself in the mirror.

  King appeared in the doorway and
said, "You never told me what this
class is all about."

"You going to join me in the
shower?"

  "Of course, but you're not going to
dodge the question that easily. "

  Tynan unwrapped the soap and tossed
the paper into the tiny wastebasket
tucked under the counter. "But I
told you as much as I know. Some
kind of special training that the
Navy ordered me to attend. They gave
us no indication about it. I can
speculate but I don't have any real
idea. "

  King passed him, pulled the curtain
aside and stepped into the tub,
moving forward so that she was under
the spray. She ducked her head,
letting the water soak her hair as
she fanned it out.

SEdUS 7
               - - -
  Tynan joined her, stepping close,
his hands on her shoulders. He took
the washcloth she handed him and
washed her back carefully, slowly.
When she turned, he did the same
things to her chest and belly. They
took turns washing one another and
when they finished, they took turns
drying each other just as slowly.

  Then they went out for dinners They
ate slowly and sat at the table,
drinking wine and talking. Not much
time had passed since they had last
been together, but they still had a
lot to catch up on. Tynan was
interested in what had been learned
about the Mayan city they had
discovered in Honduras. A lost city,
still inhabited by descendants of the
Mayans but virtually unknown to the
outside, modern world.

  Stevie King, holding a wine glass
in one hand, leaned back, glanced at
the ceiling and then told Tynan
exactly what they had learned about
the Mayans. Things that had been
suspected were now confirmed. The
reason for the mass exodus from some
of the cities was now known, and
there were indications that the
Mayans had told their descendants
about their hidden treasures. King
thought that another expedition into
Honduras might uncover them.

  She leaned forward, put the glass
down and said, "You'd be surprised
about it. There is such a richness of
information. We're learning so much."
She lowered her voice. "And I'm
really not supposed to talk about it.
If the fortune hunters learned about
this, they'd swarm over the area like
vultures. The loss to science would
be impossible to calculate."

  "That's fine," said Tynan. He
wanted to know more about it, but not
right at that moment. There were
other things intruding. "You want to
get out of here?"

"Sure. "

They returned to the motel and as
Tynan locked the

8 SEALS

door, King turned on the television.
She sat down and stared at it,
watching the news.

"Anything interesting going on?"

  She shook her head as the pictures
of helicopters landing in a rice
paddy came on. The reporter was
talking about a major sweep and
rising American casualties in the
war in Southeast Asia.

"When's it going to end?" she asked.

  "I don't know," said Tynan. "When
it's politically expedient for the
administration to end it. When the
President will reap the largest
reward for getting us out."

"You don't really believe that, do
you?"

  Tynan dropped into the chair and
took off his shoes. He glanced at
the screen, but the newscaster had
already moved on to another story.
He shrugged then and said, "I'm
afraid that I do believe it."

"Then why do you stay in the Navy?"

  The last thing that Tynan wanted to
do was get into a discussion of
politics and the war with a woman
who taught at a university. Their
opinions and thoughts had to be a
hundred and eighty degrees out of
phase. There was no common ground.
She believed the war in Vietnam was
wrong, and Tynan was one of those
who had to fight it.

"I stay in the Navy because it's my
job."

  She smiled at that and said, "But
it can't be that challenging for a
man of your intelligence."

  Tynan felt his blood boil because
she was asking the question that his
parents had asked when he had
visited them. It was the question
that his friends in the business
world asked when they put down their
drinks long enough to talk. They all
said that because he was
intelligent, he should get out of
the Navy and find a real job. Build
a career selling shoes or radios or
cars and worry about production
quotas and sales figures and keeping
the grass green around his house.

SEALS 9

  Then he laughed and said, "If you
want to talk about this, we can, but
I'd rather just go to bed. "

  "Someday we're going to have to deal
with this. I think that you're
wasting your talents in the Navy."

  "Okay," snapped Tynan, a little more
harshly than he meant to. "The Navy
may not be the best career in the
world, but it is mine. So far it has
been interesting and as challenging
as anything that you could name. I
don't know from one day to the next
what is going to happen." He grinned
again and added, "Besides all that,
if it hadn't been for the Navy, we
never would have met. You have to
admit that my talents were of great
value in Honduras."

  "Mark," she said quietly, ''I don't
want to fight about this. It's just
that I have a problem with what you
do and what you represent."

  "Just remember one thing," said
Tynan, leaning forward, his elbows on
his knees, "I don't represent any-
thing. My opinions and beliefs have
nothing to do with the job I do. I'm
like the TV station forced to carry
political messages that don't
necessarily reflect the views and
opinions of that station."

  "But how, in good conscience, can
you do that?" she asked.

  Tynan ran a hand through his hair
and stared at the floor. "Because I'm
willing to serve in the Navy means
that you can sit there and make those
statements. We buy that freedom with
our service." He held up a hand to
stop her protest. "Sometimes we're
called on to do things that may not
be right, or may not be moral, to the
way some people think, but because
we're there, willing to do that, they
can make their pronouncements. I
think serving in the Navy is one of
the best things that I can do. It
offers me an opportunity to do
something that I enjoy. It offers me
a chance to get paid for something I
enjoy."

He looked up and studied her again.
The light blouse

10 SElLS

molded itself to the curve of her
breast. He looked at her legs and
then down at her thin ankles. He'd
done it again: gotten into a
political discussion with a
beautiful woman.

  "I don't understand you," she
said. "I don't understand at all."

  Tynan moved toward her and pulled
her to her feet so that he could
kiss her. "You don't have to
understand. You just have to be
here."

  "And you don't care that I'm in
the street protesting the war?"

  "Oh, hell yes," said Tynan. "I
care, but what I do ensures that you
can hit the street protesting. I may
think that you're misguided in your
protests, but you have the right to
do that, and it's one of the reasons
that I'm in the Navy."

  She threw her arms around him and
kissed him, forcing her tongue into
his mouth. She held on and then
finally released him. "If you can
take that, then I can take what you
do."

"At least it's interesting," said
Tynan.

  He had no idea how interesting it
was going to get when the school
started the next morning.

                  2

Jason Bainbridgesat in his office, a
cup of steaming coffee near his left
hand, and studied the reports that
had gathered overnight. He blinked
in the bright light from overhead
and then rocked back so that he
could put his feet up on the desk
top. A burnt-orange wall that formed
the front of his cubicle stopped
short of the ceiling. To one side,
on the top of his desk was a phone,
a stack of in-out baskets, an
appointment calendar and several
books.

  Bainbridge was a young man with
long hair and a neatly trimmed black
beard. He had small bright eyes, an
eyebrow that covered both eyes and
met over the bridge of his nose and
an intense look. He was a small man
with wide shoulders and narrow hips.
He had on a worn and faded blue work
shirt and worn and faded blue jeans.
His feet were slightly dirty in his
Ho Chi Minh sandals.

  During the six months he had worked
at the firm, there had been
suggestions that he clean up his act
or he would be out on his ear. He
had ignored them, telling the boss
that what a man wore did not equate
his worth as a human being or his
ability to do his job. His clothes
were comfortable and when he was
comfortable, he worked harder. "And
isn't that what it's all about?"

                 11
                  
12 IS

  "That and the proper image," said
the man, staring up at Bainbridge.

  "But we're an advertising agency,
for Christ's sake. It's not like
we're actually doing something that
will help the human race. We're not
performing brain surgery or search-
ing for the cure to cancer."

  "If that's your attitude, maybe
you'd better find yourself another
job."

  Bainbridge had come close to
walking out then, just as he had
come close to punching the man in
the face. He had wanted to hammer
the man into oblivion. He had wanted
to see him spit broken teeth as
blood washed over his face. He had
wanted to see him lying on the floor
as Bainbridge tried to kick his head
in, but that hadn't happened.
Instead, Bainbridge, realizing that
he would need the job for another
six months, had held his anger in
check.

  He had swallowed his pride,
confessed that he understood and had
gone home to change. But slowly he
had slipped into his old habits, and
if it hadn't been for the quality of
his work, they would have filed him.
If it hadn't been for the number of
political candidates who used the
agency's services, Bainbridge would
have quit.

  He stood up and stretched, looking
over the top of the wall, and saw a
sea of empty desks. No one ever got
in before eight. They sometimes
stayed until midnight, but they
didn't come in early. Bainbridge
left his cubicle and walked among
the desks and cubes, checking out
the material and files left in the
open. He read some of them, made a
few notes and then returned to his
own desk.

  He was amazed at the things people
confessed to the ad agency. Deeds
that would put them out of office if
the public knew. Deeds that were
dark and disgusting and the perfect
thing for blackmail. A politician
who needed public support couldn't
stand the slightest smear to his
name but still confessed all to the
agency so they could be

SEdUS13

prepared for damage control, if that
became necessary. It was almost as if
they had a need to confess to
someone, and the ad agency was the
perfect place to do it. Since the
agency wanted the business, they
overlooked the man's shortcomings.

  Bainbridge unlocked the bottom
drawer of his desk and added a few
facts to the already huge file of
little things that could help him
build his career. They ranged from
the man who liked to visit
prostitutes and take pictures of
their crotches, to the man who had
been caught shoplifting as a
teenager. Not much really, but
damaging in the times of campaign
when the smallest indiscretion could
mean a defeat.

  lust as he was closing the drawer
and locking it, the door to the
office opened and a young woman
entered. She was tall, five eight or
nine, had long straight hair and blue
eyes. Bainbridge didn't know her
name, but he knew that she worked
there, lost in the sea of humanity
that kept the doors of the agency
opened. She was a cold, Bluff woman
who rarely talked to her fellow
employees.

  Bainbridge stepped out of his cube,
stretched, raising his hands high
over his head and said, "Good
morning."

  "Morning," she said as she took off
her light jacket and hung it up.

"You're in early," he said.

  She turned and looked at him and
then shrugged. She stepped around him
and moved to the opposite end of the
huge room, turning on a small
fluorescent light that sat on her
desk. She didn't look back or say
anything else.

  "Bitch," muttered Bainbridge. He
stood there, watching her back for a
moment, and wondered how it would
feel to slip his fingers around her
neck and begin to squeeze, slowly at
first, then tighter and tighter until
her face turned red and then blue as
she struggled to breathe.

"Most satisfying," he said quietly
and then returned to

14 SEALS

his desk. The woman would be sorry
that she had snubbed him. She and
everyone else would one day wish
that they had been kinder, nicer to
him because he wasn't going to
remain a fifth-rate worker in a
third-rate agency in a second-rate
city. Someday things would change
for him. That was the purpose of the
files and the information and his
hanging on in the dead-end job that
he hated so passionately.

"Not for money," he said to himself.

  Never for money, because money was
too easy to spend and was too
quickly gone. Money could buy
friends, but when the cash had
vanished, so did the friends. No, he
just wanted to be friends with some
of the men and women whose names
graced his private files. A kind
word from them, in the right place
at the right time, and he would be
moving up into positions of
importance and prominence.

  Tynan was up with the sun. He
climbed slowly, carefully out of bed
and then stood at the bathroom door
looking back. King lay on her side,
facing him, the sheets arranged so
that he could see a bare shoulder
and a bare thigh. He studied her for
a moment and wished that the damned
school didn't start for another
twenty-four hours. He could think of
things that he would rather do.

  Inside the bathroom, he turned on
the light and then brushed his
teeth. He filled the sink with hot
water, shaved and then washed his
face. He donned the uniform that he
had hung on the back of the door the
night before so that he could dress
without waking King. Finished, he
left that room and moved carefully
to his suitcase.

  "How long before you have to
leave?" asked King in a voice fogged
by sleep.

  "Don't know. Jacobs is going to
come by and pick me up. He's got an
official car."

SEALS 15
                   -
  She threw off the sheet and then sat
up, not bothering to cover herself.
"You sure that he'll be here soon?"

  Tynan shook his head and then
studied the floor as if the patterns
in the rug had become fascinating.
"I'm afraid he'll be here soon. Much
too soon."

  King started to stretch, lifting her
hands high over her head and arching
her back. Then, almost as if to prove
that Tynan's information had been
right, there was a knock on the door.

Tynan turned and looked at it. "He's
arrived."

  King leaped from the bed and
scurried into the bathroom. She
started to close the door and then
peeked around it. "See you tonight?"

  "Of course." Tynan moved to the door
and opened it. "Come on in," he told
the big man.

  Donald was a chief petty officer in
the Navy and, like Tynan, a SEAL. He
had black hair, brown eyes and a
round, almost moon-shaped face. He
spoke with a husky voice and in a
Southern accent. The tattoo on the
inside of his left forearm, was the
result of a fight in Saigon and then
a trip to the tattoo parlor. It said
Sat Cong, and almost no one knew what
that meant.

"Ya'all about ready?" asked Jacobs.

  Tynan turned to the combination TV
stand and luggage rack, picked up his
cap and checked the lieutenant's bars
fastened to it. As he put it on, he
said, "All ready."

  Jacobs grinned at him and then
knocked on the bathroom door.
"Morning, Dr. King."

  As they closed the door and entered
the hallway, Tynan began to laugh.
"Oh that was a dirty trick. And what
if it hadn't been Stevie?"

  "Well, sir, I heard her voice and
recognized it. Figured I'd give her
something to think about today. Keep
her on her toes, so to speak."

"Thanks a lot," said Tynan.

16 SEALS

  They left the motel and stepped
into the bright light of the early
morning. There was a chill in the
air and a light fog that was burning
off quickly. Jacobs took him to the
light gray car that said U. S. Navy
on the door. Just under it was the
warning, For official use only.

  Jacobs unlocked the passenger's
door and Tynan climbed in, leaning
across to open the driver's side. As
Jacobs climbed behind the wheel, he
asked, "You have any idea what this
whole thing is about?"

  Tynan shrugged and said, "I haven't
heard a thing. I was hoping that you
knew something. I thought all you
CPOs stuck together sharing
information."

  Jacobs started the engine, dropped
the car into gear and pulled
forward, toward the parking lot
exit. As he watched the traffic,
waiting for a spot to open, he said,
"This is the first time that I
haven't gotten something early from
one of my friends. Hell, everyone
talks about the schools, but no one
knows shit about this one."

  Tynan looked at his watch and said,
"We'll know more in about an hour."

  They had been taken to a small
classroom at the Glenview Naval Air
Station. It was an old building with
dirty tile on the floor, walls
painted in a faded gray and light
fixtures that hung from a ceiling
ten feet over their heads. The
classroom had three rows of tables,
chairs on one side facing the front
where there was a raised platform
and a lecture. Behind the lecture
was a blackboard, but nothing was
written on it.

  Tynan and Jacobs had been the first
to arrive and had been escorted to
the room by a yeoman who looked as
if he still belonged in high school.
He opened the door to the classroom
and told them, "Take any seat. The
instructor will be here in just a
few minutes."

As the yeoman lefts Tynan searched
the room, but there

SEALS

was absolutely nothing in it to give
him a clue about the nature of the
class. The posters on the walls were
standard Navy-issue. How to wear the
uniform and the ribbons and one that
suggested Naval Aviation was a career
for the future. And a large painting
of Naval Aviation destroying the
Japanese fleet at Midway during the
Second World War.

  Tynan moved to the front and took a
seat close to the bank of windows
that looked out on a parking lot.
"Well, we still don't know shit."

  Jacobs took the chair next to Tynan
and turned as the door opened. Two
more men entered, both enlisted. One
of them was a huge, beefy man who
looked as if he played professional
football. The other was smaller and
darker.

"What in hell is going on here?"
asked the big man.

  "We were hoping that you'd be able
to tell us," said Tynan. He stood and
held out a hand. "Tynan."

"Dennis Davis," said the big man.

"Bruce Harison," said the other.

  "This is Donald Jacobs," said
Tynan. "Where are you all coming
from?"

"Coronado," said Davis.

  Two more men entered then. They
were a Mutt and Jeff pair, one of
them tall and thin and the other
shorter and stockier. The tall one
had black hair and dark eyes, and the
shorter had brown hair and brown
eyes. Both looked as young as the
yeoman who brought them in so that it
was beginning to look like a high
school reunion. The taller was named
Alan Meyer and the shorter was
Charles Starkey.

  They took seats and sat quietly for
a few moments. Meyer suspected that
they were being groomed for some kind
of covert mission into North Vietnam,
but Tynan shot that down.

"We wouldn't be here if we were. We'd
be in Washing

18 SEATS

ton or in California. At the least,
the facilities would be a little
more secure than this."

Meyer nodded and fell silent.

  Finally the door opened for the
last time. A small man in a gray
suit entered. He carried a zippered
portfolio and walked straight to the
front of the room. He had black hair
that looked as if it had been oiled
and a full beard. He wore black
horn-rimmed glasses. He didn't speak
as he moved to the front. With
precise, measured movements, he set
his case on the lecture and opened
it with three short strokes. The
zipper rasped as the men waited.

  When he finished, he looked up and
then said, "Is this everyone?"

  Tynan looked at the others and then
shrugged. "We don't have a clue."

  "Yes." The man pulled a sheet of
paper from his case, looked at Tynan
and said, "You're the lieutenant?"

"Tynan, yes."

  He called the roll and then put the
list away. He turned, saw that there
was no chalk for the blackboard and
shrugged. He leaned on the lecture,
his hands clasped, and stared at the
dirty floor.

  "My name, for those of you who
don't know, is Harlan Sumner-Gleason
and it is my task to train your
minds in a few of the new techniques
that have been learned in the last
couple of years. The course syllabus
calls for three weeks of instruction
and practical experience before
you're returned to your respective
units, unless things progress at a
high level. Then your assistance can
be extended for a longer period."

  Tynan nodded as Sumner-Gleason
spoke, but the words were nearly
meaningless. They said nothing other
than that Tynan and the men were
stuck in the classroom in Chicago
for a minimum of three weeks.

Sumner-Gleason spoke for a few
minutes more, saying

-- SEWS 19

the same basic thing but never
telling them what they would be
studying. He spoke about a special
diet that would be distributed and
used for the first week. Later,
another would be given to them to
guide their eating for that point on,
and he expected them to follow it for
the rest of their naval careers. He
talked of special exercises and
special training and mind-altering
techniques that did not require the
use of drugs. Everything would be
natural.

  When he wound down, he stood up
straight and began shifting the
papers around in front of him. With
everything arranged, he launched into
the class immediately. His voice
boomed dramatically as he lowered it
an octave for emphasis.

  "First," he said, "you can get rid
of the coffee and cigarettes. During
the period of this instruction, I
will tolerate no coffee, no alcohol
and no smoking."

  ."Now wait a minute," said Davis,
getting to his feet. "You can't come
waltzing in here and suddenly tell us
that we have to break the habits of a
lifetime. Just who in hell are you
anyway?"

  Sumner-Gleason grinned as if he had
expected the resistance. "I have, in
my case here, orders that come from
your various commanding officers and
from your Bureau of Personnel. It
dictates that you will accept my
instructions completely and follow
them to the letter. You will not
sneak off and drink coffee and smoke
cigarettes because I will be able to
tell if you have, and you can be
court-martialed for it for the breach
of training."

"Oh, bullshit," said Davis.

  "No bullshit," said Sumner-Gleason.
"I have the appropriate documents,
and the highest priority has been
assigned to this project. Men of your
background and training are not
wasted in worthless and futile
gestures. No, gentlemen, this is no
bullshit."

He stared at Davis until the big man
sat down again and

20 SEALS

then said, "Let me phrase this in
the vernacular. You fuck around with
me and I'll have your ass in my
briefcase."

  Before things could get too far
out of hand, Tynan stood up. He
glanced at the other men, waiting
for them to turn their attention to
him, and then said, "You haven't
told us much about this assignment.
What exactly are we going to be
doing for three weeks?"

  "During the next three weeks,"
said Sumner-Gleason trying to sound
important, "we are going to be
training your minds and we are going
to be working on developing and
enhancing your esper capacity."

"Our what?" demanded Harison.

  "Your ability to use extrasensory
perception in your normal military
duties. "

"Oh, bullshit," said Davis again.

                  3

Bainbridge sat there for ten or
fifteen minutes and felt the rage
burn through him. He stared at the
burnt orange of the divider and
tried to bore a hole through it with
his eyes. The woman had no right to
snub him. It wasn't like she was
someone important or even very
special. She was just another lowly
worker, a drone who came and went
with the rest of them. Her sweat was
no sweeter than anyone else's.

  He stood up and looked over the top
of the wall. She was still sitting
there, trying to look so important
and busy. Trying to impress the boss
with her loyalty and her dedication.
Bainbridge moved around the wall and
through the maze of aisles, his eyes
focused on the nape of her neck. As
he approached, he could see the fine
brown hairsthat were swept upward
into the complex, interwoven hairdo.

  She didn't hear him coming. Her
attention was focused on the papers
in front of her. One hand gripped a
cup filled with coffee and the other
held a yellow pencil that she tapped
against her forehead.

  Bainbridge stepped right up behind
her and looked over her shoulder,
reading the paper that she studied.
Some bullshit about the demographics
for the audience of a local

                 21

-
22 DEALS
                         -
show. They weren't capturing the
all-important teenage market who had
more disposable income than the
lowerstatus adults who would be
watching. Targeting should be
changed in that specific time slot
for the show.

  As she lifted the cup to her lips,
Bainbridge grabbed her by the neck.
He lifted, the muscles of his arm
bunching with the effort. She came
up easily with a grunt of pain and
surprise. The cup tumbled from her
fingers, splashing on the desk and
her file folders.

"Hey!" she gasped.

  Bainbridge spun her and caught her,
forcing his lips to hers. She put a
hand against his chest and pushed,
but he just pulled at her harder,
holding her tighter, almost squeez-
ing the breath from her.

  She struggled, pulling and then
pushing, but she was caught tightly
in his bear hug, her head tilted
back as she tried to avoid his lips.
She jerked right and left, but it
did no good. Then she brought one
knee up abruptly, as if by accident.

  Bainbridge felt a flash of pain of
the almost effective blow. He pushed
her away from him and bent at the
waist, supporting himself on the
corner of her desk. His face was a
pasty white and there was the sudden
sweat of pain on his forehead. He
raised his head slowly, his eyes
ablaze with liquid fire.

"There was no reason for that," he
hissed.

"Stay away from me or I'm going to
the boss. "

  Bainbridge raised his voice to a
high, squeaky pitch. "I'm going to
tell." Then a blackness descended
over him. He was looking at her
through the wrong end of a
telescope. She was a shadowy,
threatening figure in the distance.
Without thinking, he balled a fist
and swung. There was pain in his
fingers and hand and a satisfying
pop.

The woman staggered back, a hip
against her desk.

 SEALS           23

-
There was a wetness spreading on her
face as the pain blossomed and
expanded. Her eyes were hot with
tears.

  "You say a word to anyone, bitch,
and I'll beat you senseless. I'll
pound your head into a pulp, and if
you're lucky I'll kill you."

  She dropped to her knees, a hand
covered in blood from her nose. She
looked up at him and said, "Please."

  Bainbridge stared down at her. The
front of her blouse was red from
blood and the sleeve stained brown
from the coffee she had spilled. One
of the stockings had run, showing
pale skin. He felt the rage and hate
course through him and wanted to
reach down to pound on her. He wanted
to see her lying on the floor unable
to move, bleeding from a dozen
wounds.

  But then calm reason took over. If
he did, he would be out of a job and
he would find himself set back in his
plans. He would spend a year or two
trying to repair the damage that was
so unnecessary. It had been a
momentary lapse, one that could be
covered if he could impress on her
the importance of keeping her mouth
shut.

  Her head was bowed now and she had
one hand to her face, trying to stop
the flow of blood. For a moment
Bainbridge hesitated, unsure of the
next move. He wanted to reinforce
what he had told her, but he didn't
want to push too hard, afraid that
she would panic and talk. That she
would go to tell the boss as she had
threatened. He turned and left her
sitting on the floor, crying.

  A few minutes later she stumbled by
him, heading for the door. She didn't
glance his way and he pretended not
to notice her. The next few hours
would tell. If the police arrived, or
if he was summoned into the boss's
office, he would know that she had
talked. If not, it meant that she had
been sufficiently scared by him and
that everything would work out just
fine. As long as she didn't talk.

As soon as the outer door closed, he
rocked back in his

24 SEMS

chair and laced his fingers behind
his head. He laughed out loud and
felt great. If anyone had asked him
why, he wouldn't have been able to
define it exactly. He would have
mumbled something about bending
another person to his will, forcing
her to obey his orders, even when it
was so obvious that something should
be done to him.

  That was what it was all about.
Making other people do what you
wanted them to do. Forcing your will
on them and having them talce it
because you were so much more
powerful and so much smarter than
they were.

  The day had started much better
than he'd had any reason to hope it
would.

  The first hour of the lecture was
only a history of the study of ESP,
including the Rhine studies at Duke
University. They looked at the
suggestion that some people have an
ability to read minds, predict the
future, communicate over long
distances, move small objects with
their minds, and even a brief talk
of ghosts. It was a discussion de-
signed to open the mind to the realm
of the paranormal. But in the end,
it contained only anecdotal science
and nothing of substance.

  Tynan sat there and listened to the
lecture, wondering if someone was
pulling a gag. An elaborate gag. But
he couldn't figure out why the Navy
would spend several thousand dollars
on the joke.

  Sumner-Gleason kept right on
talking, telling of predictions that
came true and mind reading that
worked, documented cases that defied
explanation.

  "Established science has a tendency
to dismiss, out of hand, anything
that it finds hard to accept.
Science needs something that can be
taken into the laboratory and mea-
sured. It needs something that can
be duplicated time and again. And,
because of the charlatans, science
rejects, out of hand, claims from
the paranormal."

SEUS 25

  "If that is true," asked Davis,
"then how did you convince the Navy
to fund this course?"

  Davis leaned forward on his notes
and clasped his hands together as he
stared at the floor. "I'm afraid that
the Navy came up with this on their
own. It is designed to facilitate
communication among members of the
teams during the underwater
activities. "

  Davis roared with laughter and
said, "I thought that was why we had
radios."

  Sumner-Gleason grinned and shrugged
but still looked slightly
self-conscious. "I can only tell you
what I know. It is their belief that
an enhanced esper capacity will be of
benefit to you." He glanced at his
watch. "If there are no further
questions, let's take a ten-minute
break. Be back in your seats by seven
after the hour."

  As Sumner-Gleason headed out the
door, Jacobs turned to Tynan and
asked, "Just what in hell do they
expect from this? We can't be
expected to take it seriously."

  Davis pushed his way to the front
and sat on the table in front of
Tynan. "Well, sir, what do you say?"

  "Don't look at me," said Tynan. "I
don't think I accept this hocus-pocus
any better than the rest of you."

  "But what's the purpose behind
this?" asked Jacobs. "That crap about
being able to communicate better
underwater just doesn't hold up.
We've hand signals and radios that
allow us to do that. "

  Tynan shrugged and said, "You all
know as much about it as I do."

  Davis sat down close to them and
said, "I think there is something to
this ESP."

  "So what?" snapped Jacobs. "It
makes no difference that we believe
in it or not. It's not something
that's going to help us complete our
missions."

  Tynan spoke up then. "You all know
as well as I do that strange things
happen out there in the field. I know
a

28 SEALS
          -
guy who could follow people through
the jungle without fail. If the
trail vanished, he was always able
to think of something, and that
would get us where we wanted to go.
No one could explain how he did it.
Hell, he couldn't explain how he did
it."

  "That doesn't make it ESP," said
Jacobs. he picked up clues that were
so subtle that he didn't consciously
see them. A bent blade of grass or
something like that. Enough of those
kinds of things that he could figure
it out, he just wasn't aware of the
process."

  Meyer, who had been sitting there
quietly, said, "Then how do you
explain this? A friend of mine,
David Thompson, one day decided that
he was going to get killed. He gave
away everything he owned, told his
friends how he wanted the funeral
handled and where he wanted to be
buried. Two hours later he was dead
in an ambush."

"Oh, come on," said Jacobs.

"I was there," countered Meyer.

  Starkey shook his head as if trying
to ward off the evil spirits and
said, "Anyone want a Coke?"

  Tynan pulled a handful of change
out of his pocket and said, "Sure,
I'll take one."

  "That instructor said we weren't
supposed to eat or drink anything
that wasn't on the official diet,"
said Harison.

  "They haven't given it to us yet,"
said Tynan, "and I want a Coke."

  Starkey picked up the money and
left the classroom. As he did, Meyer
asked, "Anyone got an explanation
for that? For the guy who knew he
was going to get killed and then
went out and got killed?"

  "Probably did it to himself," said
Jacobs. "He was so sure that he was
going to die that nothing he could
do would change it. Walked into the
ambush by being stupid. If he hadn't
been so sure, he might not have done
it."

"Besides," said Tynan, "we all know
guys who said

SEALS 27

they were going to die the next day
and didn't. You only remember the ones
who were right, for whatever reason,
and forget all about the ones who were
wrong."

  "It wasn't like that," protested
Meyer. "He knew. Tbe others didn't
give away everything they owned and
didn't begin to make arrangements for
their funerals."

  "I sometimes know things in advance,"
said Davis, quietly, almost as if he
wasn't convinced of it himself.

"Oh, really," said Jacobs.

 -"Sometimes, I know that things are
going to happen

before they do. Just once in a
while."

  "Then why don't you tell me who is
going to win the World Series and I'll
bet everything I own on it. Make a
bundle in Vegas."

"It doesn't work that way," said
Davis.

  "It never does," said Jacobs
sarcastically. "All you guys have a
hundred excuses about why you can't
predict something tbat'll make you all
rich. Bullshit about ruining the gift
by trying to capitalize on it." He
shook his head in disbelief. "What a
pile of shit."

  "No," said Davis. "What I mean is
that I can't control it. If I could, I
would be in Vegas playing roulette,
picking the winning numbers every
time. It comes in flashes. Things that
I don't understand."

"Like what?" asked Jacobs.

  Davis shrugged. "Tbe space shuttle
Challenger is going to blow up.
Explode, killing the whole crew, and
everyone is going to see it happen on
TV."

  "Tbe space shuttle?" said Jacobs.
"What in the hell is the space
shuttle?"

  "I don't know exactly," said Davis.
"I just know that it's going to be
part of our space program in the
future. After it explodes, there is
going to be very little left of the
space program."

"When?" asked Tynan.

28 SEW

  "I don't know. I can just see some
of the events around it and then a
few afterward. I don't know when or
anything else about it. Just a huge
explosion in the middle of the
morning and pieces of it begin
raining out of a cloudless, blue
sky, leaving trails of white smoke."

"What else?" asked Jacobs.

"We're not going to win in Vietnam."

  "Now you're talking bullshit," said
Jacobs. "There is no way that a
third-rate, hell a fifth-rate,
country can beat us in Vietnam. "

  "And you're right," said Davis,
"except that they won't beat us.
We'll negotiate a peace with them
and a couple of years after we get
our people out, they'll invade the
south and we won't do a damned thing
about it. We're going to let the
news media and the college kids beat
us."

  "Okay," said Tynan, "I've heard
enough of this bullshit now. I'm
sorry, Davis, but I just don't
believe this. You come up with a
bunch of shit that can't be tested
or examined and expect us to swallow
it. Sometime in the future the
Challenger will be destroyed, but
you're not sure about it. You don't
know what it is but it's going to
happen. 't

  "But it's true. I've seen it. And
what about that woman in Washington,
leane Dixon. She predicted the
assassination of John Kennedy . . .
"

  "After the fact," said Tynan. "I
saw nothing about it in print before
the President was shot. And if I'm
not mistaken, she also said the
Russians would put the first men on
the moon. That was wrong. "

  "Maybe not," said Davis. "Maybe
their men were killed getting there
so the Soviets just kept quiet about
it. She never said they would be
alive when they got there. "

  "Now you're splitting hairs," said
Tynan. "She flat out blew that one.
"

  Starkey returned with the Cokes and
set them down on the table. "Come
and get them."

SEUS 29

  Tynan grabbed one of the Cokes and
pulled the pop-top free. He dropped
it into an ashtray and took a deep
drink. He set the can down and said,
"It's going to take a lot more to
convince me than some half-baked
research into the subject. Especially
when almost everyone seems to agree
that there isn't much to the
subject."

  Sumner-Gleason returned then, saw
the Cokes and shook his head.
"Gentlemen, I thought that we had
agreed that we wouldn't be violating
our bodies with the various drugs and
sugars that so readily abound in our
world."

  "Hell, I don't remember us agreeing
to anything yet," said Jacobs.
"Besides, Coke isn't a drug."

  "Now that isn't exactly true. It
contains caffeine, which is a mild
drug."

"Found in nature," said Jacobs.

  "Again true, but irrelevant. After
today, gentlemen, we'll have to
adhere to the diet, but I'm willing
to compromise. One last night of
unhealthful food and drink and then a
proper diet. Now "

  "Before we get started," said
Jacobs, "could I ask a question?"

"Sure," said Sumner-Gleason.

  "Well, during the break, we were
talking about some of this stuff,
predictions of the future and the
like, and I was wondering what you
thought about it. Not the bullshit
that you have to hand out in your
lectures, but what you really thought
about it. "

  Sumner-Gleason stepped up on the
stage and leaned on the lecture. He
glanced to his left, out the windows
and onto the parking lot. Finally he
looked at the assembled men and said,
"What I should tell you is that I
believe in all this material. That I
have researched it thoroughly and
that I'm convinced there is something
to this."

"But " prompted Jacobs.

"But, I just don't know. The fakes
and the charlatans

30 SEUS

and the quacks have so saturated the
field that it is hard to find
anything that I can take seriously.
I heard you mention Jeane Dixon, and
there is good evidence that she did
predict the assassination of Kennedy
before it happened, but then she
missed on Bobby Kennedy. Not a word
about his death. Instead she said
his political fortunes were on the
decline. Too many of the predictions
are vague so that they can be fit
into almost any set of
circumstances."

"Then you don't believe," said
Jacobs.

  "That is not what I said. Besides,
you've moved off the track. I'm here
to enhance your capabilities for
communication with one another and
not for predicting the future. It's
not really the same thing."

  "Nice try," said Tynan, "but we're
going to want an answer to the
question and not a lot of fancy
footwork."

  "All right," said Sumner-Gleason.
"I believe that the jury is still
out on this. There is too much
information about strange things for
it to be completely discounted, and
there do seem to be techniques for
increasing the PSI potential in each
of us. We'll try all that and see
where it takes us, but I'm skeptical
of the outcome. "

"Then we're wasting our time," said
Jacobs.

  "Well, you're being paid for your
time and we might learn a few things
that will help you in the future,
but I'm not expecting a great
breakthrough here. We'll just roll
with the punches and see where they
take us. "

"Great!" said Jacobs. "Just what I
wanted to hear."

-
                  4

Bainbridge had no intention of
returning to work after lunch. There
were too many other things that he
wanted to do, things that had to be
done in person for them to have the
necessary impact. Besides, no one
would miss him, and since the police
hadn't arrived, the woman obviously
had kept her mouth shut.

  He grinned as he thought about her
return. A different blouse and skirt,
her hair combed differently, and
glasses instead of her contact
lenses. She had worn a different coat
to the office and hung it up next to
the first one. She had glanced at
him, and when she saw him watching,
had looked away and hurried past.

  For several minutes he waited to see
what would happen, but she sat at her
desk, cleaning up the mess that she
had left there. Paper towels from the
washroom to soak up the coffee that
hadn't dried and then damp towels to
scrub the rest. Papers ruined by the
liquid were set to one side to be
sorted out when they were dry.

  When coworkers came over, she smiled
at them, laughed with them, but stole
glances at him. She made no move to
go into the boss's office and the
police never arrived. His threat had
been effective. Maybe it was time to
visit her at home and see how
cooperative she could become.

                 31
                  
32 SEALS

. _ _

  At lunch he had waited for her but
then had not spoken to her. He had
wanted to see her face. There was a
slight discoloring on her cheek,
almost concealed by the heavy makeup
she wore. She had rushed by him and
he had felt like laughing at her.

  After he had eaten, he drove to the
underground parking lot just off
lower Wacker Drive and circulated
until he found the car he wanted. He
sat there, waited until someone else
pulled out and then parked where he
could watch the target vehicle. It
belonged to a man just beginning to
work his way up the Democratic Party
machine. A small cog who, if he
caught the right breaks, if he came
to the attention of the right
people, might one day be a major cog
with a great deal of influence in
Democratic politics. Bainbridge was
investing in his own future by
waiting for the rising star.

  For the rest of the afternoon he
sat there, waiting, sometimes
listening to the radio, sometimes
reading the paper, but waiting
nonetheless. He watched the
elevators at the fat end of the
garage and he watched the car that
sat vacant. There were people coming
and going, but none of them
interested Bainbridge.

  Finally, just after six, the door
of the elevator opened and
Bainbridge saw his victim. A young
man in a light suit, white shirt and
bright tie. His hair was fashionably
long and he was accompanied by a
young woman in a bright dress that
ended short of her knees, boots and
a waistlength coat. They were
talking together, laughing, neither
of them aware of the world around
them.

  Bainbridge opened his car door and
moved to intercept them. He kept one
hand in his pocket and searched the
garage for signs that there were
others around to heat. As he neared
them, he said, "Mister Holbrook?"

The man stopped and turned toward
him. "Yes?"

  Bainbridge grinned and said, "I'd
like a moment of your time, if you
don't mind. "

SEUS 33

  He flashed his teeth and said, "See
my secretary for an appointment." He
turned to go.

  "I seriously doubt you want me to
come to your office. That would leave
a record. "

"I'm very busy."

  "This will take only a moment and
then you can be on your way. "

  Holbrook looked at the woman with
him and then handed her the keys.
"I'll be there in a minute, Sara."

  She shrugged, took the keys and
headed toward the car. When she was
out of earshot, Holbrook asked, "Now
what is this all about?"

  Bainbridge extracted the papers and
held them up so that Holbrook could
read them. As his eyes widened,
Bainbridge took the first sheet off
so that the second was visible.

"What do you want? Money?"

  Bainbridge snorted once. "Money
isn't going to do me any good. I have
money and I can get more. I just want
to be friends. Meet your friends, get
introduced in the right places to
make new friends."

  "Ten thousand dollars and you give
me those papers," said Holbrook.

  "You can have them now, without
money," said Bainbridge. "I have
more. Copies of them."

  "And if I don't give you what you
want, they'll be published?"

  "Of course. And a bright future
will be ruined, something that
neither of us wants. On the other
hand, a little cooperation that won't
hurt in the least, and I forget all
about these papers. "

  Holbrook wiped a hand over his
face, which was suddenly bathed in
sweat. He could feel it dripping down
his sides, turning his shirt clammy.

"One little indiscretion," said
Holbrook.

  "Except the lady complained to your
superiors and you bought her off."

34 SEALS

  "She started it. It was all her
idea, including taking the pictures.
She even brought the camera. I had
to do something about those damned
pictures."

  "You're unmarried and the pictures
would be embarrassing, but you
should have told her to go fish. Now
it's too late. Anything you do is
going to sink you. You've maneuvered
yourself into a position from which
you can't recover if this manages to
reach the press."

"Unless I do business with you,"
said Holbrook.

  There was the sound of a horn and
Holbrook turned to see that Sara was
growing impatient.

"You'd better make a decision and
make it quickly."

"No money?" asked Holbrook.

  "None. I just want a few
introductions into the power
structure. That's all. Nothing that
is going to hurt you in any way.
Then I forget all about the
documents and you can go back to
your mundane life."

"How do we handle this?"

  Now Bainbridge grinned broadly.
"I'll call you and you let me know
what's going on. You refuse the call
and your name will appear in the
paper. You try to get even, you send
muscle around, your name will appear
in the paper. If you treat me right,
no one has to know. Hell, it's not
even morally wrong. I just want a
little help."

  The horn sounded again and Holbrook
nodded. "Okay. You call me and I'll
answer."

  Holbrook hurried across the floor
and got into the car parked there.
He leaned to the right, kissed the
woman and then the lights came on.
They pulled out and drove toward the
exit ramp.

  "It's beginning," Bainbridge told
himself. It had been so easy that he
was wondering why he hadn't started
six months earlier. Not that it
mattered now, because he had
started.

 *  *  *

so 35
                  -
  When the class was let out, about
four, Tynan and Jacobs headed for the
parking lot where they had left the
car. Sumner-G1eason had told them
that the nature of the class was
classified and that they weren't to
discuss the material outside of that
room. Tynan realized that the reason
for the classification was not
because the information was secret
but because the Navy didn't want to
see a number of newspaper articles
about training their men in ESP.
Already under fire for trying to
train dolphins to retrieve torpedos
and for their somewhat haphazard
investigations into unidentified
flying objects, no one wanted more
criticism about ESP.

  But, as they got into the car and
Jacobs started the engine, he asked,
"What do you think of all this?"

  Tynan leaned his head back and put
a foot up on the dashboard. He then
rolled down the window to cool the
car's interior and said, "How in the
hell should I know? It seems to me
that the Navy wouldn't endorse
something like this if there was
nothing to it."

  "But we have no way of knowing
that. You know how the military tends
to leap on fashionable bandwagons.
This guy, Sumner-Gleason, might have
sold them a bill of goods and there
wasn't someone around with the balls
or the brains to tell him to fuck
off."

  "Then we treat it like any other
training we received during our Navy
career. You pay attention in class,
learn what you can and then use that
which seems to be useful and forget
about the rest."

  Jacobs backed up and turned,
pulling toward the street. He entered
the traffic, slowed at the gate and
then turned to the south along a
tree-lined street with residential
houses set well back. There were
almost no people visible. It might
have been because it was too hot in
the afternoon sun, or that no one was
around to be seen outside. Everyone
was still at work or school or out
shopping.

36 SE US
                         - -  - -
  "So we just fuck around here, in
Chicago, for two, three weeks and
then go back to our units," said
Jacobs as they slowed for a light.

  "Better here than in the jungle
practicing survival," said Tynan.

  "I don't know. What about this diet
thing that he's going to give us?"

  Tynan shrugged as Jacobs started
again. Tynan said, "Have a steak
tonight, drink a beer and be
prepared to live on slim rations for
the next few days."

  "Just like going into the jungle,"
said Jacobs. "Hey, you have plans
for tonight?"

"Stevie and I will think of
something."

  "Oh, sure. I wasn't thinking." He
stopped for another light, turned
and then entered the motel parking
lot. As he pulled up to the door, he
said, "This is certainly better than
being housed on base or living in
the jungle."

"Anything would be better. See you
tomorrow?"

"Pick you up about seven?"

  "That's fine." Tynan watched the
car pull away and then entered the
motel. He walked down the hallway, a
feeling of dread building in his
gut. At first he attempted to
dismiss it and then tried to focus
on it, bring it to the surface. Had
he been thinking about it, he would
have realized that this was the kind
of extrasensory perception that
Sumner-Gleason had talked about
during the afternoon. An unfocused
feeling of impending doom that Tynan
had learned to pay attention to.
Something was not right and he was
aware of it.

  Earlier, before the first class,
Tynan would have thought nothing of
the feeling. He would have been
alerted by it and assumed there was
something wrong with his environment
that his mind had detected but that
his eyes and ears had missed. His
unconscious mind was talking to him.

But then, he was in the hallway of a
motel and there

SEW 37

should be no danger. He moved to the
side so that one wall was close and
moved along it until he reached the
door to his room. He pulled the key
from his pocket and glanced right and
left. The hallway was empty.

  He slipped the key into the lock and
pushed the door open so that it
bumped into the wall, proving that no
one hid behind it. He entered, saw
that the drapes were drawn, but a
light near the bed burned. Then in
the chair he saw King. She was
wearing nearly nothing and pretending
to read a magazine.

"You home, dear?" she asked.

  Tynan nodded and then glanced to the
right, into the bathroom, but no one
hid there. As he moved deeper into
the room, the feeling did not desert
him, but then, it didn't intensify
either. It was just there, a vague
reminder that something bad was about
to happen.

  When he was sure that there was no
one in the room other than King, he
tossed his key into the middle of the
bed and moved to her. She stood,
displaying her body for him. Light
from the lamp reflected off the
smooth skin of her thighs and bare
stomach. He wrapped his arms around
her and kissed her deeply.

"You smell great," he whispered.

  "Of course," she said. "Did you
want to take your shower now?"

  "You suggesting that I don't smell
great? You suggesting that I need a
shower?''

  "No," she said, a smile on her
face. "I just wondered if you wanted
a chance to relax a little before . .
."

  Tynan reached around and unhooked
the wisp of material that was
masquerading as a bra. She took it
off and tossed it to the floor. Tynan
used his hand, rubbing her chest
lightly until he felt her nipples
stiffen and harden. He bent slightly
and kissed them. She purred deeply in
her throat.

J8 Is

"What's the rush?" she asked.

  "I missed you today. Had to sit in
class and listen to lectures about a
dozen boring things, and all I could
think about was you."

  King moved to the rear and sat down
on the bed. She slipped up so that
she was leaning against the
headboard. She hooked her thumbs
into the waistband of her panties
and started to push them down, but
then stopped, grinning wickedly.

  Tynan sat down on the corner of the
bed and studied her body as he had
done many times before. He reached
out and touched her leg, just above
the knee, letting his fingers play
against the soft skin on the inside
of her thigh. He had been going to
ask her what she knew about ESP,
figuring that a social scientist
versed in anthropology would know
something about the subject, but
then didn't. Other thoughts came to
him.

  King lifted her hips and slipped
the waistband of her panties down,
adjusting them so that they could be
pulled off but so that they still
covered her. She didn't spealc.

  Tynan moved then, letting his hand
climb higher and higher on her leg.
He touched her panties and realized
that she was more than ready for
him. She shuddered under his probing
hand, her eyes closed and her head
back.

"Now," she said.

  Tynan stood up and stripped his
shirt. He kept his eyes on her,
watching the rise and fall of her
chest as the breath came rapidly.
Her hands were at her sides,
clutching at the bedspread, balling
the cloth in her fists.

  "I've been thinking about you all
day too," she said. "It's been so
hard to concentrate."

  Tynan sat down and took off his
shoes, dropping them on the floor.
He felt King reach around his waist
and try to work the buckle on his
pants, but the military buckle had
been designed by the same people who
had designed bra

               SEALS 39
-
snaps. It was almost impossible for
someone else to open. He pushed her
hands out of the way and opened the
buckle himself.

  Again Tynan stood and kicked off
his pants and took off his socks. He
joined King on the bed, stretching
out beside her, kissing her on the
mouth and then the chin and throat
and then working his way lower,
lingering on her breasts and then on
her belly button. King groaned and
shifted and Tynan moved with her, the
feeling of dread suddenly gone,
pushed from his mind by other, more
pressing thoughts.

  Later, as they lay together, a
light coating of sweat on them, an
inner peace spreading through them,
Tynan remembered his feeling. He
probed for it, touched it and
realized that it was still there, in
the background, like a vulture
waiting for something to die.

  She rolled closer to him, her head
on his chest, and asked, "What are
you thinking about?"

  He hesitated for only a moment and
then said, "I was wondering what you
knew about ESP."

Davis avoided the others until he
got into the parking lot outside the
classroom, and then he saw them
again. Before he could duck back,
they spotted him and waved him over.

  "Going out to fmd something to eat
and then downtown, into the city.
You want to come along?" asked
Harison.

  "Nab," said the big man. "Thought
I'd head on back to my room and
catch some sleep. "

  "Women," said Meyer. "We are going
in search of women. Young, able,
willing women who hang around in
bars drinking alcoholic beverages."

"Not tonight," said Davis. "Maybe
tomorrow."

  Meyer shrugged and said, "Tomorrow
we won't be allowed to drink beer or
eat real food and that fag instruc-
tor probably won't want us chasing
women. It has to be tonight or we
aren't going to have the
opportunity. "

  Davis rubbed a hand over his face
as if to wipe away sweat. He glanced
up, into the late-afternoon sky, and
said, "Well, tonight I'm tired and
just want to head back to the motel.
Maybe tomorrow. "

"Suit yourself," said Meyer.

As the men climbed into a car, Davis
walked over to the

SEMIS 41

rental vehicle that he had paid for
himself. He didn't like being in a
strange city without some kind of
transportation. It limited him to the
military base and his quarters. For
a couple of bucks, he could rent a
car and cure the problem. He didn't
mind the money it cost him because
the freedom it gave him was more than
worth the cost.

  He walked over to his car and
unlocked the door. He turned and
watched as Meyer, Harison and Starkey
entered their vehicle. As they drove
by, Harison raised a hand to wave at
him and then they were out the gate.
When they were out of sight, he
climbed behind the wheel of his car,
started it and then joined the line
that was heading off base.

  The trip to his motel was quick and
within minutes he was in his room,
out of uniform, relaxing in his
underwear. In one hand he held a Coke
and in the other, the TV Guide.
Afternoon television was designed
with the kids and their mothers in
mind, except for WON-TV, which had
the Cubs playing again. Davis turned
on the game, more for the background
noise it would provide than for the
entertainment value it held. The Cubs
weren't doing much to entertain. The
wind was blowing in.

  As he watched, the images on the
screen began to shimmer and shake and
roll. For an instant he believed that
the TV was broken and then realized
that he was slipping from
consciousness. The images of the
players in baseball uniforms changed
to men in military unifatms, black
pajamas and web gear. They carried
AK-47s instead of baseball bats.
There weren't nine of them, but more
like fifty of them, and the
close-chopped grass of the manicured
playing field changed to the rough,
vegetation-choked fields of the
Central Highlands, jungle that
towered overhead and filled with wild
life that called and screamed and
fled. Water dripped and the light
that could filtered down in bright
rays that looked painted in the air.

42 # -
  Sweat born of heat and fear
blossomed on his body, now dad in
the tiger-striped fatigues that were
not regulation issue. He had a band
tied around his head to absorb the
sweat and could feel the weight of
his rucksack on his back. Cotton
filled his mouth as he tried to
breathe deeply and silently. The
muscles of his thighs arched as he
crouched in the jungle, hiding from
the Viet Cong and North Vietnamese
regulars. His fingers were wrapped
around the stock of his weapon.

  As the scene solidified around him
and the motel room faded into the
background, Davis knew that he was
not dreaming or hallucinating. He
was seeing into the future. His own
future, which told him he would soon
be back in Vietnam. Unlike the
feelings of deja vu that most people
experienced, Davis had a full set of
memories that he could draw on. He
knew how he'd gotten there, and how
long he would have to stay there. It
was like walking into the middle of
a movie that he had never seen, but
one where he'd read the book. He
knew what had happened up to that
point, without having to experience
the film, just

he knew what had led him to that
particular portion of the jungle of
South Vietnam.

  The heat and humidity of the jungle
was teal. He felt the sweat drip and
he felt the sickness caused by the
heat. There was a lightheadedness
that he tried to ignore as he
watched the enemy slipping through
the foliage. Without a sound or a
word, he slid his hand along the
stock of his weapon so that he could
snap off the safety, moving it to
the full-automatic position.

  The pointman of the enemy unit
halted for a moment, a patch of
sunlight on his shoulder. He stared
into the vegetation, as if suddenly
aware of the Americans hiding behind
it, but then started forward again.
He wore a pith helmet and chest
pouch that held spare magazines. The

 SEW             43

-
khaki of the pouch contrasted with
the black of the silk pajamas. On his
feet were sandals made from old truck
tires.

  Davis could see his face easily. A
young man with a random pattern of
long whiskers on his chin. He had a
rounded face, brown eyes and
jet-black hair. He was a short man,
only an inch or two over five feet,
and a thin man, probably not weighing
more than a hundred pounds

  He walked on, past Davis, leading
his patrol into the ambush. The rn~un
body appeared, wonning its way
through the dense jungle and out into
the open area marked by the patch of
sunlight. Davis froze, waiting for
the blast that would signal the
springing of the ambush.

  Four days. Davis suddenly knew that
he had been in the field four days
and that when he got back to the ship
he would be sent on R and R. He was a
last-minute replacement for another
man who had suddenly gotten sick.
Vomiting and chills that suggested a
serious illness and not goldbricking.

  And then time seemed to stand still.
The jungle fell silent, as if
anticipating the coming battle. The
explosion of the claymore mine ripped
through the quiet just as the steel
ba11bearings ripped through the
enemy's flesh. Thae ware screams and
cries and curses. M-16s began to ham-
mer and the men in front of him began
to dance. Bullets tore into them,
causing them to jerk and twitch and
fall to the ground. Blood spurted.
Bodies, torn apart by the curtain of
steel, collapsed.

  Davis raised his weapon and opened
fire on full auto. He swung the
barrel along the line of the enemy's
march. One man's head exploded and
the body dropped. Another whirled,
fell and rolled away. Firing from the
enemy suddenly increased. Bullets
were snapping through the jungle
overhead. Leaves, bits of bark,
splinters of wood

44 ~

began to rain down. Sound filled the
air. There was the rattling of
weapons. Explosions from grenades.
Scum and shouts and orders. Noise
rose and combined until it was
almost a single, long detonation.

  When his weapon was empty, Davis
ducked and dropped the magazine to
the jungle floor. He slammed another
home and popped up, searching for a
target. A round snapped by his head
and Davis spun. He fired at a VC
lying on the ground and saw the
jungle floor erupt, the dirt splash
almost like water in a rice paddy.
The man rolled and returned fire,
his weapon chattenag like an angry
monkey.

  Davis aimed at the downed man and
fired a single shot. Two rounds were
short. Davis aimed higher and fifed
again. The man jerked once and roped
to his back. He leached upward, into
the sky, and then collapsed. Blood
Mead from his wounds, soaking into
the thick, green vegetation.

  F'nag increased around him, AKs on
full auto, aDsweriDg the M-16s. The
chattering built and mingled and boa
came one long explosion. There was a
sudden bunting in his shoulder.
Davis felt the flaring heat burst
outward, engulfing his whole chest,
and knew that he had been hit. He
dropped to the ground and rolled
once. Somehow the noise had seemed
to dim and the SUD wasn't nearly as
bright. He lost his weapon, having
dropped it when the rocod hit him.

  With his right hand he Aped for his
rifle, but couldn't find it. The sun
seemed to have set and it was dark
out. And then the sound faded
completely.

  Davis was confused by all this
because his visions neva ended that
way, and suddenly he knew he had
witnessed his own death in Vietnam,
sometime in the future, sometime in
the next year or so. Killed in an
ambush that he and his fellow SEALS
had set.

SEALS 4S
              -
  He sat in his motel room, transfixed
by the images, or the lack of them,
the fear building in him, clawing at
his gut. Blackness of nonexistence,
and then suddenly brightness, a
glowing, white light that seemed to
be like looking down a long tunnel. A
calmness gripped him and he felt
himself floating upward.

And then the vision faded.

  Davis sat there, his T-shirt soaked
with his sweat. The TV made a slight
noise as the announcers called the
Cubs baseball game. The Coke he had
been holding was spilled on the
carpet. Davis just couldn't move.

  He knew the date and time that he
was going to die. He knew it like he
knew his own birth date. He would
live to twenty-six years, seven
months and twelve days. And then he
would be killed in action by the Viet
Cong in an undeclared war in
Southeast Asia.

  But there was no fear attached to
the knowledge because he knew what
would happen after he died. He had
seen that too. He stood up and moved
to the bathroom so that he could
throw some cold water on his face. He
glanced up into the mirror and saw
that he was pale. Sweat was beaded on
his forehead and his hair was
plastered to the side of his head.
Even the air-conditioning in the
motel room couldn't dry it.

"Well, why not?" he asked out loud.

  He returned to the main room and
sat down in the chair. With the
knowledge he now had, could he change
the futures When it came time to go to
Vietnam, he could refuse. They would
throw him in jail, but then he
wouldn't die in that ambush. Or, once
in Vietnam, he could make sure that
he didn't go on that patrol. Hell,
that would be easy. He could arrange
his R and R so that he wasn't around
to participate, or he could be sick,
or he could volunteer for something
else before the patrol came up.

                SEUS

His knowledge was going to be his
salvation. He could prevent his own
death.

  In all the time that he had been
aware of his gift, he had never been
in a position to make a change in
the future. The events that he saw
were so far removed from him that
there was no way to prevent them.
The death of the President wouldn't
have been stopped by a letter sent
to him. No matter how Davis had
worded it, the President would still
have gone to Dallas and the Secret
Service would have assumed that
Davis's warning was some kind of
strange death threat, one of
thousands they had to deal with.
Nothing he said or did would have
stopped the President from going to
Dallas.

  He stood up and moved to the
television and slapped a hand
against it, turning it off. He felt
weak in the knees and sat down on
the bed.

  Never had he had the chance to
change anything. He had known when
playing cards if he should draw or
if he should stand. He had known,
sometimes, what cards the others
held. He had known if he should fold
or if he should play. But that
wasn't the same as changing the
future.

  He sat there thinking about it and
realized there was no question in
his mind that he believed everything
he had seen. It wasn't a question of
some kind of strange hallucination.
Each time he'd had a vision like
that, it came true. WeU, not every
time, because some of the events had
not happened, such as the end of the
war in Vietnam.

  Now, with only a little more than
a year to live, he wondered if there
was something else he should be
doing, rather than letting the
military run his life for the last
few months. He should be out, living
life to its fullest, because there
was so little of it left.

He grinned and thought about the
stories of terminally

SEALS n
         _

ill patients who had run up huge
bills, who had a good time, knowing
that the companies would never be
able to collect from them. He had no
assets and his parents or girlfriend
wouldn't be held responsible for his
bills. The debts would die with him
and the little money he had would be
distributed among his creditors. Any
claims would be filed against the
estate which was next to nothing now.

  But that was something he would
think about in the future, tomorrow
or the next day. He got off the bed
and turned on the TV again. He saw
that the Cubs were batting and then
didn't care to watch the end of the
game. He knew the Cubs would hold a
lead until the top of the ninth, lose
it, tie it up in the bottom of the
inning and then win the game in the
eleventh on a two-out home run with
one man on. Knowing what would happen
sure took the fun out of sports.

  The funny thing was that it didn't
always work. Most of the time he knew
the outcome, but sometimes he didn't.
It wasn't that he thought one team
would win and then the other
surprised him, it was that he didn't
see a clear winner. That meant there
must be other factors that hadn't
come into play. Someone could change
the outcome by a super effort and
somehow that effort had not been
determined by the fates or by God or
by whatever controlled the outcome of
the game.

  Davis shrugged and got up off the
bed. He moved to his suitcase and
picked up his clothes. He put them on
and forced all the thoughts of ESP,
precognition and the future from his
mind. He would go to the motel's
restaurant, have dinner and return to
watch television.

  Tomorrow, he would listen to what
Sumner-Gleason had to say and he
would talk to the lieutenant, tell
him some of what he knew and see if
he could come up with a

48 SEALS
                                 -
plan to save his life. Then he'd
have to concentrate on the latest
vision because they usually came at
random. He'd have to learn to
control the ability better so that
he could check on his progress in
saving his own life.

  But that was for tomorrow. Now
there was dinner to get through. And
the night. For some reason he felt
that it was going to be a long
night.

-
                  6

The class the next day started with
another lecture. SumnerGleason again
reviewed the progress that had been
made in paranormal studies. He
ignored the ghost stories and the
demonologists and stuck with the
investigations of ESP. He talked
about Rhine again and then displayed
a series of five cards, each with a
symbol on it. There was a square,
wavey lines, a star, a circle and a
cross. A person with no esper
ability, by sheer chance, should
guess between twelve and twenty
right for every hundred shown. Those
experiments had been carried out
over a period of years by others.
The results were now a standard used
to gauge the ability of new
subjects.

  "So, before we launch into the
training sessions, I want to conduct
a test to determine if any of you
possess a latent talent," he said
finishing the lecture. He stood
there and grinned at them.

"And then?" asked Tynan.

  "And then we'll begin a study
session and, at the end, take the
tests again to determine if there
has been any improvement in the
scores. We need to build a file on
each of you as a control. Now, who
wants to go fret?"

  No one said a word. Everyone
suddenly found something interesting
to study. Tynan wanted to watch the

                 ~9
                  
50 SEdUS
                                 -
people outside. Iacobs was cleaning
his fingernails. Davis and Harison
were reading the course syllabus and
the last two men were looking at the
back wall.

  "It's not that big a deal," said
Sumner-Gleason. "Lieutenant, why
don't you go first. Show the men that
this isn't anything dangerous."

  Tynan shrugged. "Sure." He stood up
and waited for the instructor.

  Sumner-Gleason picked up his cards
and a clipboard. He started for the
door, stopped and said, "We'll want
to have a little privacy."

  Tynan followed the man out. They
walked down the hall and entered a
small office. Inside there was a
single table that had a partition in
the center so that it looked like a
ping-pony table with a very high,
opaque net. There were chairs at
either end of the table. A
fluorescent light hung from the
ceiling. The walls were painted a
light gray and there were no pictures
on it. There was nothing in the room
to distract either the subject or the
researcher.

"Have a seat," said Sumner-Gleason.

  Tynan pulled out the chair and sat.
He stared at the partition made of
plywood and painted a sickening color
of green. The paint had been spread
on it so thick that it was impossible
to see the grain of the wood. It was
a solid, blank wall.

  Sumner-Gleason sat down on the
other side of the wall. He raised his
voice, although it wasn't necessary.
"We'll go through this two times.
First time through, I won't say
anything to you except ~Next.' You'll
have no idea how you did. Second time
through, I'm going to tell you if you
were right or wrong. See if positive
reinforcement, even as limited as
that, improves your score
significantly. Now, any questions?"

  Tynan folded his hands and stared
at the top of the table. "Just one.
You really believe in this?"

SEALS 51

  "I don't disbelieve," said
Sumner-Gleason. "I keep an open mind
and see where it leads. I conduct
experiments to learn more about it.
If you're ready . . ."

"Go ahead."

  They started then. Tynan
concentrated, trying to figure out
which card Sumner-Gleason was
holding. At first there was nothing
there and he guessed. Later an image
would form in his mind, an
impression, and he would guess that
symbol. Sometimes there wouldn't be
much and Tynan would pick at it,
trying to figure out which card. As
they progressed through the session,
Tynan realized that the first
impression, the one he sometimes
resisted, was the one he should be
using. Forget everything else, just
take the first image and use it.

  When they had gotten through all
one hundred, SumnerGleason said,
"That's it."

"How'd I do?"

  There was a moment of silence and
then he said, "I make it nineteen
right, though most of those were
toward the end of the run."

"That significant?"

  "Not at all. Too many misses for it
to be significant. If you're ready,
we'll start the second run."

"Go ahead."

  Again they started and Tynan
followed the plan he had developed
with the first group. If he received
any kind of impression, that was what
he said. He didn't concentrate on
trying to figure something out. He
tried to open his mind, to make it
receptive.

  And as they went through the cards,
it seemed that Sumner-Gleason was
saying "Right" more often than not.
He seemed to be getting better. When
the test ended, he sat patiently,
waiting for the other man to make a
count.

"What'd you do differently,
Lieutenant?"

Tynan grinned and told him.

S2 SEWS

  "Your score is better, though it's
not earth-shattering. Better than
statistical probability. You might
have a latent talent there that can
be developed."

"So what happens now?"

  "I test one of the other men and
you can go back to the classroom.
Then, just before lunch, we'll
discuss the diet plans and a couple
of simple exercises that might help
to mprove any talent you have. "

"I meant what do I do now?"

  "Nothing. We just continue the
testing and then, if there are any
kind of positive results from the
others, we can form a plan. ~ there
isn't, then we may have to devise
another strategy. "

  Thinking about the discussion that
the men had held the day before,
while Sumner-Gleason was out of the
room, Tynan asked, "What do you
think about precognition? About
predicting the future?"

  "I think that I have never seen any
good evidence that it can be done. "

  Tynan slid back his chair and put
his feet up on the table to relax.
"I remember that a mind reader came
to town about three weeks before his
show, sealed a piece of paper in an
envelope and said that he'd written
down the headline of the local paper
for the day he'd be back."

  "And when they opened it, the
headline was there," finished
Sumner-Gleason.

  "Not exact, but close. How'd he
know i! there isn't any
precognition?"

  "Simple sleight of hand. If someone
else opened the envelope before the
magician touched it, I'd be
impressed, but I'll bet dollars to
donuts that the man had some excuse
to hold that envelope before it was
opened, maybe claiming that he
wanted to make sure it was the same
envelope they had sealed up earlier.
If he touched it, he switched. It's
one of the oldest tricks."

SEALS 53

  "Shit, I thought it was a good one.
I mean, I thought there'd be no way
to do that if he couldn't really
predict the future."

  Sumner-Gleason stood up and walked
around the partition. He sat on the
edge of the table, his clipboard in
one hand. "Let me tell you a little
story. I saw a man on TV who claimed
to have psychic powers, said that he
could bend spoons with his mind. He
wouldn't do it in the laboratory
where slow-motion cameras could
record everything, but he would do it
on national television. Hell, it was
an impressive demonstration. He bent
spoons, forks, keys, a whole host of
things."

"Proving that he had a power," said
Tynan.

  "Then," said Sumner-Gleason,
ignoring Tynan's words, "a stage
magician came on and said there was
nothing to it. He'd use his powers
and repeat the trick. He bent spoons,
forks, keys, everything. But before
the host could speak, the man
declared it was a trick and that no
psychic power had been involved. If
you knew how to do it, it was
simple."

"What'd the psychic say?"

  "Denied that it was a trick.
Admitted that the magician could do
it. Hell, the man had done it, but
also said that he, the psychic, was
using no trickery, though the magi-
cian obviously was."

"Stalemate," said Tynan.

  "No, the magician finally won. He
suggested that if it was mental power
that bent the spoons, there was no
reason it couldn't be done in the lab
where scientists could watch and
cameras could record. That would
prove there was no trick once and for
all."

"What'd the psychic say?"

  Sumner-Gleason snorted. "Claimed
that surrounded by all that
skepticism, he wouldn't be able to
perform. Too much negative energy."

S' SEALS

  Now Tynan nodded. "So much bullshit
because the cameras were sure to
catch him faking it."

"Exactly. "

  Davis, the next test subject,
entered the room and took a seat.
Sumner-Gleason explained the
procedure to him, and before they
even started, he saw a parade of the
cards in front of him. Not only
could he see the cards, but he could
predict the order in which they
would appear.

  He sat there, waiting as
Sumner-Gleason droned on and on,
telling him about the test. Davis
already knew about it. In high
school he had read up on the
subject, trying to learn how unusual
his gift was.

  But then they were into the test
and Davis was concentrating on the
cards, on the stars and squares and
wavy lines, until the partition in
front of him began to shimmer and
glow and faded away. No longer was
he seeing the cards and the walls
and the room; he was looking off
into another high-tech room filled
with computer screens and glowing
images. There were bright maps and
blindly warning lights. There was a
small man standing near one of the
consoles, giving orders. The dark
hair was sprinkled with gray, as was
his neatly trimmed beard. He had
bright eyes, glowing with
anticipation, a single eyebrow and a
pointed chin. There was an intense
look on his face. It was obvious
that he was in charge and that he
was important. Three men in business
suits stood close to him, and right
behind them were six military
officers.

  Davis didn't recognize the room and
he didn't understand the importance
of all the computers. But then he
knew he was watching the War Room at
the Pentagon and that the world
situation had deteriorated to the
point where the nuclear holocaust
was only hours away.

  The man surrounded by his aides and
bodyguards was the President of the
United States. A man who had not
been

SEIUS 55
                  -
elected to the office but appointed
to the presidential cabinent. When a
terrorist bomb four weeks earlier had
killed the President, Vice President
and the Speaker of the House, the man
had risen to the top. The natural
order of selection had been voted
down because the President Pro Tem of
the Senate was gravely ill and
expected to die soon. And the fact
that he belonged to the other party
hadn't helped.

  As he watched the scene, Davis knew
that the man had engineered
everything except the illness of the
President Pro Tem. That had been a
convenient coincidence. Everything
had come together for a man who had
planned and connived and blackmailed
his way to the top in the admin-
istration. Now he stood in command of
a military force with the power to
destroy the world a dozen times over.
And he was a man who would not
hesitate to use that power.

  The faces of the people in the room,
many of them lighted by only the glow
from the computer screens, were full
of fear. A few of the women were
openly crying; one man was shaking
with fear. All knew that the world,
as they knew it, was going to cease
to exist in a very few hours.
Families, friends, neighbors were
about to die in a flash of light and
fire. The towns, cities, farms,
everything were going to be turned
into ruins. The fear was almost
visible.

  Davis could pick out snippets of
conversation: the President
conferring with his advisors,
intelligence officers talking about
the state of readiness of the Soviet
forces. But then something he didn't
understand: the enemy in the coming
war was not the Soviets but someone
in the Middle East. A rogue power
with a few missiles and nuclear
warheads. It made no difference that
the enemy had only a few weapons and
no delivery system. The war would

56 SE.US

escalate until the Soviets and the
Americans were trying to destroy each
other.

  "Mister Davis," said Sumner-Gleason,
his voice unnaturally loud. "Do you see
the shape on this card?"

  Davis didn't hear the words. He was
watching as the President grinned and
said, "Don't give them the chance. Hit
them first."

  "We don't have the capability for a
preemptive strike," said one of the
military officers.

  "We can do enough to them to limit the
damage they do to us. We can take out
enough of their weapons so their
retaliatory capability is reduced."

  "Providing those weapons are still on
the ground when ours hit," said one of
the generals. "If they launch on
detection, then their weapons will be
airborne, and they can get their whole
missile fleet into the air before one of
ours hits any of their silos."

  The President slammed a fist onto the
top of a computer console, cracking the
screen. There was a flash, a popping and
a shower of sparks. He glared at the man
who had spoken and demanded, "Who do you
think you're talking to?"

The officer remained mute.

  "You will take my orders and execute
them. If you fail, then it is you who
will be executed."

"Yes, sir."

  The President turned and Davis got a
good look at his face, a face filled with
hate and rage. Davis knew that he
wouldn't forget what the man looked like.
Not ever.

  "President Bainbridge," said one of the
women sitting at a console, "I have a
launch detection. "

  And then the vision faded. Gone in a
flash, replaced by a card with a star in
the center of it.

  "Mister Davis, do you see the card?"
asked SumnerGleason again. Then he asked,
"Are you all right?"

-
SEW

  "Star," said Davis, his voice low,
husky. He was drenched in sweat, his
body clammy from it. He felt
lightheaded, sickened. A President
named Bainbridge was going to destroy
the world, tear down civilization in
a demented attempt to control the
world, in a demented attempt to rule
Supreme.

"And now?" asked Sumner-Gleason
prompting him.

"Circle. "

  He wiped the sweat from his face.
There was a hollow feeling in his gut
and there were chills running up and
down his spine. He felt as if he'd
just done a hundred pushups or hiked
twenty miles with a hundred pounds on
his back. He was exhausted and
panicked and sickened.

  The germ of an idea came to him
then. Not a fully developed idea but
one that he could act on. He would
have to learn whether or not he could
change the future. He had the
information he needed to do it. He
knew the man's name and then suddenly
he knew that the man was in Chicago
with him, working downtown but
already beginning to make his first
moves, moves that would take him to
the President's office.

"Mister Davis, are you
concentrating?"

"Star again. And next will be the
wavy lines."

  He sat forward and leaned his
forehead on his arms. He closed his
eyes and wondered if he should try to
find Bainbridge. Talking would do no
good. The man would laugh at attempts
to talk him out of the course that
would lead to the White House. It
would be like trying to talk an armed
robber out of robbing you. He
wouldn't listen and the only way to
stop him would be to take action.

"Are you all right?" asked
Sumner-Gleason again.

  Davis opened his eyes and lined his
head. He stared at the instructor and
said, "I'm fine."

"You didn't miss any until you
stopped talking."

58 SEW

  "I know," said Davis. "I've always been
very good at guessing games."

"It's more than that."

  "Of course. I know it and now you know
it," Davis looked as if there was more
that he wanted to say but didn't. He fen
silent.

  "I'm going to want to explore this
further. Can you do this all the time?"

"Yes, sir. Most of it."

"Is there something wrong now?''

  Davis almost blurted out what he had
seen, but then didn't. Sumner-Gleason
might understand the mechanics of ESP and
precognition, but he was a civilian. That
meant that he was someone who couldn't be
completely trusted. He was an outsider
who understood nothing of the military
mind.

  "It's hard," he said. "The concentration
is hard, and you wanted to continue for
so long."

  "Uh-huh," said Sumner-Gleason. "So this
isn't some thing that you can do all the
time."

  "I can do it anytime," snapped Davis,
"but I don't like to. It makes my head
hurt. "

  Sumner-Gleason puUed a handkerchief from
his pocket and mopped his face with it.
There were things that he wanted to say
but knew that he didn't have to hurry.
Davis would be around for another three
weeks, and if things went as well as they
were now, Sumner-Gleason was sure the
Navy would let him continue. He would
have to be patient; that was the key to
the whole thing. To Davis, he said,
"That's all I have for now."

"Then I can go?"

  "Yes, but please don't mention your
success to the others just yet. I don't
want to adversely influence their
results. "

"Yes, sir."

.

SEsUS 59

  Davis opened the door and stepped
into the hallway. Once out of the
room, he felt like collapsing. So
much was coming at him so quickly
now. Yesterday the Vietnam episode
and today the end of the world. So
much to understand, so much for him
to Do, and yet there was never any
doubt in his mind. He knew that a man
named Bainbridge would one day,
twenty-five years in the future,
launch an atomic war.

  "But can I do anything about it?"
he asked himself out loud. And then
he wondered, Should 1?

Bainbridge stood in the boss's office,
staring at the desk and wondering how
the woman had had the courage to infonn
on him. He knew that he was in trouble
because he hadn't been asked to sit
down, yet. Instead, he stood there, on
the light blue carpeting, watching his
boss, William P. Smith, who read from a
typed sheet.

  Smith was a heavy man, almost fat. He
had a round face and a receding
hairline. There were beads-of sweat on
his face. He sat there, in shirt
sleeves, sweat stains under his arms.
His de was loosened and he hadn't
spoken except to tell Bainbridge to
stand there.

  The woman, a handkerchief clutched in
her hand, sat in one of the four chairs
that lined the wall. She had her head
bowed so that he couldn't see her face.
She wore a short skirt, a light blouse
and high-heeled shoes. It was obvious
that she was crying about the
confrontation.

  "All right, Jason, what do you have to
say for yourself?" asked Smith.

  Bainbridge almost laughed. This was
all so stupid. He decided to bluff his
way through it. No one was going to
believe a woman who sat in the corner
and cried almost hysterically.

"Say about what?" he asked innocently.

 60                 :

-
  "Rachel here," Smith said flipping
a hand in her direction, "chime that
you hit her yesterday morning.
Bloodied ha nose and hurt her. "

  Bainbridge shot her a glance and
then looked back at Smith. "I'm
supposed to deny this?"

  "You're supposed to tell me the
truth. There is no room in this
business for this kind of employee
infighting." Smith wiped his face
again and added hastily. "When you
leave here, only one of you will
still have a job."

"That's not fair," said Rachel. "You
can't fire me."

  Smith looked at her and said,
"Young woman, 1 will not dismiss Mr.
Bainbridge on your word alone. That
would be exceedingly unfair. I will
hear both sides of the story before
I make a decision."

  "There is no story," said
Bainbridge. "I don't know what she's
talking about. I don't have the
faintest idea of what's going on
here."

  Smith consulted his notes and said,
"Rachel has accused you of striking
her yesterday. Of trying to force
your affections on her, and when she
rejected you, you struck her in the
face, bloodying her nose."

  Now Bainbridge did laugh. It was a
laugh without mirth, without humor.
"I still don't know what she's
talking about. Do I look like the
kind of man who would strike a woman
or try to force myself on ha?"

"You were angry," she said, ha voice
rising.

  "This was yesterday? Then where was
everyone?" asked Bainbridge.

"A good question," said Smith.

"It was early, before they arrived."

  "Oh," said Bainbridge, his voice
holding a slightly mocking note.
"You sat here yesterday and no one
noticed that your nose was
bleeding?',

  "I went home and changed," she
said. "You know that. You saw me
go."

62 Is

  Bainbridge turned and said, "Do I
have to stand here and listen to
this? She is obviously lying, though
I can't think of why she would want
to lie."

  "I'm not lying. You are." She
stared at him, her face a mask of
rage. "I'm not going to let you get
away with this. "

  "Mr. Smith," said Bainbridge, ."I
have work to do and I don't see the
point in listening to these lies.
The woman has an ax to grind. Maybe
it's because I never asked her out
for a drink."

  "I wouldn't go out with you if you
were the last man alive on~the
planet. "

  Bainbridge shrugged but didn't
respond. He had manipulated her into
losing her temper, undercutting her
own arguments. He knew that his best
course was to stand there quietly,
respectfully, and let Rachel destroy
herself.

  She was on her feet, now leaning
over Smith's desk. Her eyes were red
from crying. "You can't let him do
this. He struck me and threatened
me."

  Smith looked from her face to
Bainbridge and then back again.
Finally he said, "Jason, you can go.
I'll speak to you again this
afternoon."

"Are you sure, sir?"

  "Of course. Go on back to your
desk. You're doing a fine job for
us. "

"No!" yelled Rachel. "No!"

  "I think it would be best for
everyone if you cleaned out your
desk today. We'll give you a week's
severance pay, but I'm afraid that
we won't be able to give you a
positive recommendation. "

"That's not fair," she said.

  "It's more than fair. You come in
here with an unsubstantiated story
and make demands that I fire a
valued, hard-working employee. He's
done nothing to indicate that he hit
you or has even talked to you. "

Is 88
                  -
  Bainbridge moved rapidly to the door
and theo closed it on his way out. He
heard Rachel's voice once but
couldn't tell what she was saying.

  At his desk, he sat there grinning
to himself. It was the calm facade
and the ability to lie easily and
convincingly. People just didn't
understand the nature of lying.
Adolph Hitler had said that if you
tell a lie often enough, people would
believe it. And the bigger the lie,
the more likely they would believe
it.

  A moment later Smith's door slammed.
Rachel stomped out, her back rigid.
She marched to her desk, jerked open
a drawer and began pawing through it.
She tossed everything that belonged
to the company on the floor.

  Two other women moved toward her,
but she spun on them with such fury
that they stopped dead in their
tracks. They glanced at one another,
unsure of what to do, and then
retreated, leaving Rachel alone.

  Bainbridge sat down again and then
watched the door, waiting for her. As
she left the building for the last
time, he moved to intercept her. She
stopped when he spoke to him,
focusing all the anger on him.

  "I told you what would happen," he
said quietly. "You wouldn't listen. A
piece of advice, next tune you go
after someone, maintain your cool,
have all the facts lined up on your
side, and . . Pi He stopped talking,
looked around to see that no one was
near them to hear his last bit of
advice. "And lie through your teeth."

"Puck you!" was all that she said.

  Sumner-Gleason had a hard time
concentrating on the rest of the
tests. He had never deluded himself.
He knew that he was not gifted in PSI
talent but felt that he needed to
concentrate on the task if the
subject was going to have a chance to
determine the symbol on the card. It
was his belief that those with high
esper ratings during the simple

64 SEUS

test picked up their indications of
the symbols by reading the mind of
the sender. It hadn't occurred to him
to turn the cards face down on the
table and point to them.

  So now, with Harison in the room
with him, trying, with no success, to
guess which card was being held,
Sumner-Gleason felt his mind
wandering. Never, but never in the
seven years that he had been involved
in psychic research, had he found a
subject like Davis. He had never seen
anyone score a hundred percent on the
test. Seventyfive percent, eighty
percent, but never a hundred percent.

  Harison, on the other hand, was
scoring so poorly, it was almost as
if he could read the cards and then
picked any of the other four symbols.
Rarely had anyone scored so poorly,
and Sumner-Gleason wondered if it had
anything to do with his lack of
concentration.

  He hurried through the tests,
thanked Harison and then called a
halt for the morning. He could take
it no longer. As soon as he had let
everyone go for lunch, he rushed back
to his office and picked up the
phone.

"Dr. Bannon, Sumner-Gleason here."

"Yes, Harlan, what can I do for you?"

  "I've had some startling results on
the preliminary phase of the initial
tests. A subject who was able to
ascertain the. correct symbol every
time."

"No opportunity for a trickster?"

  "I wouldn't see how. I controlled
all the conditions of the test. I
selected the facility and the subject
wasn't aware that the tests were
going to be held. The preliminary
results are quite exciting."

  "Yes, Harlan, they sound exciting."
Except that Bannon's voice didn't
convey any excitement. ''What is your
next move there?"

  "Obviously, I must determine if the
subject can repeat the performance.
It might have been a fluke, though I
doubt it. I believe his scores are
going to be consistent."

SEW 65

  "Belief is not a word that I like
hearing in a scientific
conversation," Bannon cautioned.

  "Of course not," agreed
Sumna~leason. "However, without
making the tests, I must speculate on
the alreadyobserved data. That
speculation suggests that the
subject's scores will remain
consistent. "

  "A long-winded way of saying the
same thing though more acceptable."

"Yes."

  "Will you be bringing the subject
here for further ter,ting?"

  "That may not be as simple as it
seems," said SumnaGleason. "I don't
'believe he is comfortable with his
gift and therefore will resist our
attempts at further study."

  "That sort of an attitude makes me
suspicious," said Banoon.

  "And me; however, I will do what I
cao. If he continues to perform at
this high level, I think that we
might have the beginnings of an
important papa."

  "Don't let your expectations Rio
wild, Doctor," cautiooed Banoon
again. "This is a vary preliminary
stage and we've seen other subjects
who have performed almost as well
faulter as the tests became
increasingly difficult."

  "Yes, I know. Anyway, I just wanted
to advise you of the situation here."

"Thank you. Good-bye."

  "Good-bye," said Sumna~leasoo. He
hung up slowly and then sat staring
at the phone. Not exactly what he had
expected with the call, but then
Bannon was probably jealous of his
discovery. With Davis, it would 'oe
possible to prove that certain forms
of BSP did exist. Davis was a very
rare person. Someone who had no
reason to show off, a man who hadn't
tried to exploit his gift, a man who
had not sought them out. By carefully
handling the case, he would be able
to demonstrate, in the laboratory,
ova and

66 SEALS

over, that there was such a thing as
ESP. Men who had postulated theories
with less success were widely known
in the field. Sumner-Gleason would
be able to prove their theories and
see his name rise to the top.

  He got up and left the tiny office,
wondering exactly what he should do.
The excitement of the discovery was
coursing through him. He wanted to
run or shout or scream but didn't.
Instead, he slowly walked down the
hallway, telling himself to remain
calm.

  But he felt a pressure to do
something, to do something
immediately. If he didn't act right
away, the discovery would somehow
get away from him. It was a feeling
that he couldn't explain. It was the
kind of feeling that he normally
ignored and was the closest that he
would ever come to experiencing the
psychic phenomena personally.

  The SEALS sat in the classroom,
shooting the shit. Tynan was
relaxing in one corner, looking out
the window and wishing that he had
brought something to read. He'd been
involved in enough military classes
to know that they sometimes didn't
get going on time. Everyone was ex-
pected to be there promptly, ready
to learn, but then the instructor
would be someplace else, doing
something else, so that ten,
fifteen, twenty men would be
standing around restless and bored.

  He remembered one mandatory class,
driven by the civilian-world
perception of the military. Everyone
was going to be taught something
about human relations. They had to
be there at eight in the morning.
Tynan, with thirty other men,
arrived on time, but the instructor
hadn't gotten there until an hour
later. He'd gotten the time wrong,
so thirty sailors sat around with
nothing to do, wasting the
taxpayer's money.

  This was the same thing, with
Sumner-Gleason off trying to learn
who had psychic ability and who
didn't. The rest

-
of them sat there with nothing to do
but wait for the return of the
instructor.

  As he watched a civilian woman
walking across the parking lot, a
woman dressed in as little as she
could possibly wear and not be
arrested, Davis sat down next to
him.

"Sir, can I talk to you for a
moment?"

  "Sure. What's on your mind?" Tynan
hadn't taken his eyes off the woman,
who had stopped walking and seemed
to be waiting for someone.

  Davis didn't speak again right
away. He followed Tynan's gaze and
saw the woman. She waved at someone
and then hurried from sight.

  "Sir, it's a personal matter.
Something that I'd rather not
discuss here, in the classroom."

  "Maybe you should wait until you
get back to your own unit then."

  "No, sir, it's something that has
to be taken care of here, while I'm
able to do it."

  Tynan looked at his watch and saw
that they would be breaking for the
day in a few minutes and said, "Why
don't we talk about it during
dinner. I'll get the car from Jacobs
and you and I'll go find something
to eat."

"That would be fine, if you don't
mind, sir."

"Meet me in the parking lot then."

"Yes, sir."

  As Davis left, Jacobs slipped into
the chair that he had vacated. "What
was that all about?"

  Tynan shrugged. "Seems he has a
problem that he wants to discuss
with me. I don't know what it is."

  Jacobs glanced at Davis and then
looked back to Tynan. "Maybe he got
his girl pregnant."

  "That a major problem in today's
society? That something you couldn't
handle yourself?"

"I guess not."

08 SEUS

  "Then give me the keys and let me
have the car. I'll find out about it
later."

"How am I supposed to get around
tonight?"

  Tynan grinned. "You'll just have to
rely on your friends over there.
I'll pick you up in the morning.
You'll get to sleep late that way."

  "Yes, sir." He pulled the keys from
his pocket and then grinned. "Make
sure you fill it before you return
it."

"You mean that we don't get to use
the base POL?"

  "Oh yes, sir. They'll fill it at
the motor pool, if you drive it over
there. It's just that you have to
hassle with everyone to get it
filled because no one wants to help
you get it done."

"Fine," said Tynan. "Happy to do
it."

  Jacobs looked at his watch and
said, "It time for us to get out of
here?"

  "Close enough," said Tynan. "If
Sumner-Gleason wanted us to hang
around after sixteen hundred, he
should have said something. " Tynan
stood and raised his voice. "That's
it, gentlemen. Let's cut out and be
back here at zero eight hundred. "

-
                  8

Tynan had suggested that they pick
up King so that she could eat with
them, but Davis had refused. He told
the lieutenant that it was something
personal, and once Tynan knew the
whole story, then he might not want
to have King involved.

  Davis was nervous. The only thing
that he really knew about Tynan was
that he had gone through the same
training, gone to the same school
where the huge sign dominates all,
including their lives: THE ONLY EASY
DAY WAS YESTERDAY. Tynan had been
through it all, and that made him
someone to be trusted, if only
because of the black beret and the
special insignia that they sometimes
wore. A man who wouldn't doubt his
word, no matter how far out the
discussion went, because under it
all, they were brothers.

  As they drove through the
residential area that surrounded the
air station, Davis tried to figure
out how much he should say and how
much he should hold back. The others
had joked about his predictions of
the future but it had been good
natured in a classroom where
everyone tended to exaggerate. Now
he was about to take it farther.

  They stopped outside a brick
building that had few windows and a
door made of smoked glass. There
weren't

                 08
                  
70 SEW

many cars in the lot because it was
fairly early to be getting dinner.
Another hour would signal the
beginning of the dinner rush.

"This look good to you?" asked
Tynan.

"Looks just fine, sir."

  Tynan got out, locked his door and
watched as Davis did the same. Davis
got the door and they entered.
Inside it was cool and dark. There
was quiet music coming from a
jukebox stuffed into a corner.
Around the walls were booths with
high backs that would provide some
privacy. There were tables with
checkered table clothes and glowing
candles on them. It was a nice,
quiet, relaxed place.

"Take the one that suits you," said
Tynan.

  Davis moved as far from the door as
he could get, taking in the rear a
corner booth that was partially
shielded by poked plants hanging
from the ceiling. One great fern had
thick branches that reached to the
floor.

  As they sat down, Tynan asked, "You
want to eat or just a beer?"

"Beer would be fine."

  A waitress, dressed in a red
uniform with white trim, appeared,
took their order and then vanished.
A moment later she was back with a
pitcher and two frosted mugs. Tynan
poured, took a deep drink and then
said, "Okay, what's on your mind?"

"You don't beat around the bush, do
you, sir?"

  Tynan set his mug down and leaned
back. He closed his eyes for a
moment and then said, "I have,
waiting for me at the motel, a
beautiful, intelligent young woman.
She is waiting for me to take her
out. Now, I'm as sociable as the
next man, but you don't hold a
candle to her."

  Davis smiled. "I understand." He
fell silent, studied the pattern of
the table cloth and said, "You went
through Coronado. You went for the
swims and the runs and the

SEALS 71

exercises and came back bone tired
and covered with mud and shit. You
went through all that, just as I
did."

"Yes," agreed Tynan.

  "You know what a man has to do to
get through that. You know that the
hustlers, the fakers, the macho
types, the bullshit artists don't
last very long."

"Agreed," said.Tynan, nodding.

  "Those of us who make it have
something in common. You might say
that we're all something special."

  Tynan picked up his beer and drank.
As he set it down, he asked, "There a
point to all this?"

  "Yes, sir, there is," said Davis.
He picked up his glass and drank half
the beer in a single, massive gulp.
He belched once, wiped his lips with
his napkin and then began to speak
again. "You remember yesterday that I
. . . "

  And then he stopped. Somehow what
he had been going to say was not
exactly what he wanted to say. It
would leave everything out in the
open, for Tynan to see and reject
without an opportunity to hear all
the evidence. To hear what was coming
to the forefront.

  "Let me change that," said Davis.
"I want to talk about something
that's related to the main issue but
is going to sound like it's out of
left field."

  Tynan didn't answer him
immediately. He watched the waitress
come at them again. With so few
people in the place at the moment,
she wanted to get them served while
it was easy. Tynan waved her off and
then said, "Go ahead, remembering
that I have a lady waiting."

  "Then let me ask you this. If you
had been in a position to know what
Adoph Hitler was going to do before
he did it, would you have shot him?"

  Tynan grinned and then picked up
his beer, draining the mug. "My gut
reaction is to say, 'Of course.' But
then I think about everything else.
How would I know for sure? Who am I
to judge this man before he ever
commits any of

n SEW

the outrages that he commited? By
the time you could see the direction
that he was going, it was too late."

  "Let's say that you knew. Let's say
that there was no doubt that if he
lived, he would plunge the world
into war and that he would kill,
literally, millions. That he would
start a world war. Would you shoot
him?"

"This is an idle exercise," said
Tynan.

"Yes, sir."

  For a moment they sat in silence.
Tynan watched Davis, who was staring
now at the bubbles in the beer. He
was watching that with such an
intensity, that Tynan was no longer
sure that Davis knew where he was.

  To break the mood, Tynan said, "I
suppose that if I knew what Hitler
was going to do, I might be inclined
to try to stop him. The problem is
that we don't know if he was the
worst one to have in the position he
held. You have to admit that toward
the end there, he was one of the
best things we had working for us.
His demented ideas and ridiculous
plans cost him the war. His mistakes
saved thousands of allied lives."

"What do you mean?"

  Tynan shrugged. "Hitler kind of got
the ball rolling. He put together
everything. The man was a genius in
that respect. But then, toward the
end, he started making decisions
that weren't the best for Germany.
The Sixth Anny, I believe, was
surrounded in Stalingrad. The
commander wanted to retreat but
instead Hitler made him a field
marshal, telling him that a German
field marshal had never been
captured. It threw away an entire
German army. Someone else might have
told the commander to retreat and
consolidate."

"Then you're saying that you
wouldn't shoot Hitler."

  Tynan poured himself another beer
and watched as the head built and
foam dripped down the outside of the
glass. He wasn't sure he wanted to
go on with the discussion. It

SEALS 73

had taken a decidedly strange turn
and he wasn't sure thathe wanted to
continue. Off-duty hours were
supposed to be for fun, not deep
philosophical discussions.

  Finally Tynan said, "I really don't
know. It would depend on so much. I'd
have to believe that ridding the
world of him would be the thing to
do, but you're talking about playing
God. Suddenly you're the judge, jury
and executioner. 1,

"But look what he did."

  "Yes, now," said Tynan, "with
hindsight, knowing, I wouldn't have
any regrets. I'd pull the trigger.
But put me into 1928 or 1930 and I
just don't know."

  "If you'd seen what was going to
happen, you wouldn't pull the
trigger?"

  Tynan felt his head begin to spin.
He could see exactly what Davis was
asking. If he knew that he could
prevent the horror of World War II
would he do it. The answer had to be
yes. There was nothing else it could
be.

  "Yes, I'd pull the trigger. It's
that doubt that would be in my mind
and there would never be any way to
find out if you were right or wrong.
Once the trigger was pulled, history
would, or rather the future would
change. Maybe Hitler would become a
national hero and the German army
would sweep over Europe anyway. Maybe
they would view the death of their
leader as the first round in the
beginning of the war so that it
started no matter what had been done.
Who knows what the result would be."

  "I would think," said Davis, "that
you'd have to pull the trigger. There
is no way to work around it."

"This leading someplace?" asked
Tynan.

  Davis shrugged, unsure of what to
do or what to say. The conversation
hadn't gone in the direction that he
had expected it to. Now, it would be
impossible for him to blurt out the
real reason for his questions. Tynan
wouldn't

74 ~

understand. Hell, there wasn't
anyone in the world who would
understand. Who could understand.

  To cover his confusion, Davis
poured himself the tot of the beer. He
drank some of it and then Eked, "What do
you think of an this ESP stuff that
we're being hit with?"

  "I think that it is a big wore of
our valuable time," snapped Tynan.

"Then you don't believe in it?"
asked Davis.

  Tynan shook his head and said, "Did
I say that? I jwt don't think that
it's something they can teach w. And
I don't see how it's going to be
helpful."

  "You still don't believe that I
can, sometimes, predict the future?"

  Tynan stared at the man and asked,
"Is that what this is about? I'm
sorry, but no, I don't believe it. I
do believe that there are things
happening that none of us can
explain, and I'm not calling you a
liar, but until I see some proof of
what you claim, I can't accept it."

Davis nodded. "Fair enough."

  "I hope that I haven't insulted you
with my attitude," said Tynan, "but
you have to look at it from my point
of view. Until I have some proof,
there is no reason for me to believe
that you can predict the future. "

  "No, sir. None at an." Davis
finished his beer and wondered how
it had gone so wrong. He had thought
that Tynan would listen to him and
accept his story, if only because it
came from a fellow SEAL. Maybe the
bond wasn't as strong as he had
thought it was.

  And then he realized he wasn't
being fair. He'd hit the lieutenant
with so much that was so strange
that it wasn't possible for him to
understand it all. But the bond had
been strong enough that Tynan had
listened to him and hadn't laughed
at him. Maybe that should be enough.

  "There something else on your
mind?" Eked Tynan, looking at his
watch.

SEALS 75

  "No, sir. I just wanted to let you
know that I believe in this ESP
stuff. I have it. I can guess the
cards that are being held up and I
can sometimes see the future. Not
always, and not always exactly right,
but I can see it."

  Tynan smiled. "Then you're in the
right place. Maybe you should talk
with Sumner-Gleason about this."

  Davis dug in his pocket and pulled
out several bills. He dropped them on
the table and said, "Maybe I will."

"You need a ride?" asked Tynan,
standing.

  "No, sir. I'll walk on over to the
motel. It's not that far and I can
use the exercise." He ignored the
fact that he had left his car at the
naval base. He'd retrieve it the next
day, or maybe he'd take a cab over to
get it. He wouldn't let Tynan know
that he'd left it there so that he
could talk to him.

"Okay," said Tynan. "See you in the
morning."

  Tynan left the restaurant feeling
strange. The conversation with Davis
had bothered him more than he'd let
on. After the discussion of ESP
they'd had the day before, coupled
with Davis's claims of precognition
and the Navy's obvious endorsement of
the topic, Tynan was worried. There
was something more bothering Davis
than he'd talked about, but Tynan had
handled the situation poorly. He
hadn't given Davis the opportunity to
express himself. It was that damned
question about Hitler. What could the
relevance of that be? Was Davis
suggesting that he had found a way of
killing Hitler before he started the
war?

  Tynan sat in his car, the key in
the ignition, but hadn't turned it
on. He thought about what Davis had
said and wondered exactly what the
answer should be. He knew that
killing wasn't the problem. He'd done
that before in the line of duty. He'd
sneaked up behind enemy guards and
used a garrote to kill them, or a
knife to cut their

78 ~

throats, or had shot them at close
range with a pistol. It wasn't
killing.

  Maybe it was the magnitude of the
death. Killing Hitler wasn't really
the question. It was changing
history that came into play. That
was the hesitation. That was the
reason that he didn't have a
straight answer to the quesdon. Take
history out of the equation and he
would have no remorse in killing the
man. If anyone had ever deserved
killing, it was Adolf Hitler. It was
the result of that death on history
that frightened Tynan. Without
Hitler, things for the allies could
have been much worse than they were.

  Finally he started the engine and
backed up. As he did, he saw Davis
emerge from the restaurant. His face
was pale and he looked as if he were
going to pass out. Tynan pulled
toward him and leaned across the
seat to roll down the window on the
passenger's side.

"Hey, you feeling okay?"

"Yes, sir. I'm fine."

"You want a ride?"

"No, sir, I want to walk. Thank you
anyway."

  Tynan shrugged and rolled up the
window. He drove off, stopped long
enough to look back and then pulled
out bto the tragic.

  He drove back to the mob l in a
daze, thinking about everything
Davis had said. Talk of Hitler and
changing history and knowing the
future. It was like he had been
caught up in a science fiction novel
where conventional science was lost
to flights of fantasy. ESP and
predichug the future were things
that should be left to the science
fiction writer and the tabloids that
were found in grocery stores. It
wasn't something that Navy personnel
should be worrying about.

  He pulled into the space in front
of his motel room and parked the
car. He went inside and headed to
his room. As he dug his keys from
his pocket, he thought about King

36 - n

and her background. Cultural
anthropology. She would have looked
into this sort of thing and would
have some kind of an opinion. If
nothing else, she would know where to
look for more information about it.

  He opened the door and all thoughts
of ESP and Hitler and predicting the
future dented him. King was sitting
on the bed, her back against the
headboard. She turned toward him and
smiled wannly. She wore no clothes;
she was there, waiting for him
without a stitch.

  "Good af~won," she said. "You're
late." She grinned and added, "I'm
cold."

  Tynan kicked the door shut and
moved toward her. He sat on the edge
of the bed and leached to kiss her.
"Sony,'' he said.

  "You stopped off with the boys for
a beer. I'm bere floes to death and
you're drinking beer." The smile
didn't leave her face.

"Yes, but not much, and it was for a
good cause."

  "Well don't tell me about it now,"
she said. "I've other things on my
mind."

"Right," said Tynan. And suddenly, so
did he.

                  9

Davis returned to his motel room
convinced that he was on his own. He
couldn't ask his friends to help
him, no matter what their background
was. They wouldn't understand and he
wasn't convinced that he would be
able to tell them the truth. If he
did, his next stop might by the
psychiatric ward at the Great Lakes
naval facility. He grinned at that
and figured what the hell, it had a
good view of Lake Michigan. Then,
since he'd never been there, he
wondered if it did. His ability
seemed to leave him wondering on
that point.

  As he entered his room, he tossed
his hat at the bed sad then sat down
staring at the thick phone book. The
logical move was to look up
Bainbridge's name in the book and
give him a call. Talk to the man for
a minute, thirty seconds, as he
claimed that it was a wrong number
and see what that did for him. See
if it provided him with anything
more.

  He crossed to the bed, sat down on
it and lifted the phone book from
its nest under the nightstand. A
heavy thing, three inches thick of
just white pages. He flipped through
it, looked for Bainbridge's number
but couldn't find it.

                 78
                  
~ 7.

  "Of course," he said out loud. "The
asshob's got an unlisted number."

  He slapped it shut and then opened
it again, letting his finger run down
the column for Bunbridge. He looped
to pick up something, maybe a sister
or by or pi, but bis mind remained
blank. No clues about Bainbridgc and
his whereabouts now.

  At random, he flipped open the book
and agun At bis finger slip across
the columns of names and number,
unsure of why he was doing it. When
he cone to a listing for R. SuDivan,
he stopped Ad looked at the number.

  "R. Sullivan," he said and felt that
it was impotent. And then he knew it
was a woman's number. The singe
initial gave it away. Rachel was her
name, he knew, even though that
wasn't listed in the book. Rachel
SuDivan bad something to do with
Jason Bainbridge. Davis didn't know
what it was, but he knew there was a
connection.

  He leaned over and snagged the
phone. Again he checked the number
and then dialed it, not knowing what
he was going to say to her if she
answered. He wuted wbib it rang,
suddenly hoping that she wouldn't be
home.

Finally she Answered. "Hello."

"Rachel SuDivan, please."

"Speaking. "

  "Miss Sullivan, this is going to
sound very strange, but I need your
help to locate a Jason Bainbridge."

  There was no response, but the phone
seemed to grow cold in his hand. He
felt that she was about to bang up
and added hastily, "He's not a friend
of mine. I don't trim I'd like him,
but I've got to find bim."

  For a few seconds more, there was no
answer and finally she spoke. "Why?"

  "Why indeed," said Davis. He bad no
answer for tbat. He had no answer for
the dozens of questions that she
could ask him. And then be knew what
to say. He saw the dialogue as
clearly as if it bad been written
down for bim.

80 SElIS

  "Because he is a disgusting, evil
man and there is something that
needs to be done."

"Who are you?"

  Davis decided to take a chance. "My
name is Davis. I'm with the Navy."

  Again there was silence, but she
had stayed on the line. "Are you
going to hurt him?" she asked, her
voice quiet, the words almost lost
in the buzz of static on the line.

  Now it was Davis's turn to remain
silent. Finally he said, "I'm going
to get even with him. Or rather I'm
going to try, but I'm going to need
some help."

"What can I do?"

  "Meet me for a drink somewhere." He
thought about the pizza place where
he'd talked to Tynan and suggested
it.

  "That's across town," she said.
"How will I know you?"

"I'll know you. An hour enough
time?"

"Yes."

  Davis hung up then and leaned back.
He drained his mind and tried to
focus on Bainbridge but there was
nothing there. He tried to conjure
up the image that he'd seen earlier,
of Bainbridge in the War Room, but
nothing came. He could see the
scene, as a memory of the earlier
vision, but he could see nothing new
about it. Everything was the same,
faded slightly because it was now a
memory. There wasn't the brightness,
the richness of a vision as it came
to him, and it seemed that he was
living it. just the dull images of
an already partially forgotten
memory.

  He stood up finally and moved to
the closet, where his civilian
clothes hung. He grabbed a shirt and
blue jeans and went into the
bathroom to change.

  Tynan was lying on his back, his
hand under his head, staring up at
the ceiling. King was next to him,
also

~ 81

staring up. Both were covered with a
light Coating of sweat from their
activity.

  After five minutes, Tynan rolled to
his side so that he could look at
King. Finally he said, "Got a
question I want to ask you. "

"Go ahead."

"What can you tell me about ESP?"

  She laughed and said, "I thought
you were going to ask about something
a little more romantic than that."

  "Nonnally I would come up with
something," said Tynan, "but tonight
I want to ask you if you believe in
ESP."

  She sat up and then leaned over the
edge of the bed, snagging the shirt
that Tynan had worn. She slipped it
around her shoulders and then slipped
back so that she was aghast the
headboard.

  "The very term cowers a multitude
of talents, abilities and beliefs. To
reject everything out of hand is not
good science. There are aspects of it
that I don't accept and others that
I do."

"Like?"

  "Well, I know the Russians are
experimenting with astral projection
. . ."

"What in the hell is that?"

  She grimed at him and said,
"Out-of-body experiences. There are
some people who claim that they can
project their souls, or their
personalities, or their essence, out
of their bodies and experience things
far away. I think the Soviet plan is
to train people to do that and then
spy on their enemies. Send them out
to learn state secrets."

  Tynan had to laugh. The image of
some Russian invading the Pentagon,
a ghostly shape to spy on them,
seemed fuMy. He shook his head and
said, "You're kidding."

  "Not at all. They really believe
it, or maybe more accurately, they're
really trying it. If it works, then
it puts them one up on everyone."

82 SEALS

"Could we see them?"

  "That's the point where we get into
a strange area. They might appear as
a ghostly image and therefore give
rise to stories of ghosts. It might
just be mental energy that you
couldn't see, but might be able to
sense on some subliminal level. "

  Again Tynan laughed. "Well, I've
always suspected that the Pentagon
was haunted. "

  "The Soviets are also doing
research on mind-reading techniques,
telekinesis and the like. They're
doing research into a dozen areas of
the paranormal, and they're spending
a lot of money on their reseach. "

  "Fine," said Tynan. "That doesn't
mean it's anything real. "

  "Now," she said, her voice
beginning to sound like that of a
professor lecturing an undergraduate
class, "there are things that we
don't begin to understand. I've seen
native rituals, ceremonies in Africa
where the paranormal seems to work
quite well. "

  Tynan got up, found his underwear
and slipped it on. He moved to the
combination luggage rack and TV
stand, where the cans of Coke stood.
He opened one, took a drink and then
turned to face King.

  "Wouldn't you say," he asked, "that
the reason those rituals work is
because the people believe they will
work? It has nothing to do with the
supernatural or paranormal but with
the psychology of the situation?"

  "Very good," said King. "There is
something to be said for that
explanation. Some of the trials by
ordeal work because of the
psychological beliefs of the people.
But there are other things that
can't be easily rationalized by
modern science or conventional
thought."

  Tynan nodded and took a deep drink
of the warm Coke. "Then your answer
to my question is that you don't
know. That no one really knows."

SE" 83

                 ~-

  She shrugged. "I would think that
such an answer would give you the
information that you need. In other
words, I don't reject anything out of
hand. I know there are fakes and
frauds, but that doesn't mean that
everyone is a fake or a fraud;
sometimes it seems that ASP, that the
paranormal, influences the lives of
the people who experience it."

"What about leane Dixon?"

  King shrugged again. "There is good
evidence that she did predict John
Kennedy's assassination before hand.
But in the predictions that have been
widely reported since then, her score
isn't all that great. Some of the
others have been so far off the mark
that it seems impossible that anyone
would listen to her anymore. "

"So we have nothing concrete, but the
jury is still out."

  King nodded and added,
"Scientifically speaking, it is
incumbent on those who claim a
paranormal ability to prove that such
an ability exists. Science should not
be required to prove that it doesn't
exist. When that begins to happen we
have bad science and bad results."

"Meaning?" asked Tynan.

  "Meaning," said King as she stood
up, "that the current state of
affairs is that the paranormal
doesn't exist. Those who say they
have talent should summit to
scientifically structured tests, in
the laboratories."

  "So that scientists can claim that
there is noting to the abilities."

  King moved closer to Tynan. The
shirt she wore over her shoulders no
longer covered her. There were
flashes of her naked body beneath the
material, and even with that, Tynan
didn't want the discussion to end.

  Kind said, "Most scientists have no
ax to grind. They want to study the
phenomena in the laboratory so that
they can [eprodu" the results. If you
claim that you can move an object
with mental power alone and show that
on a

84 SEA S

stage, then you should be able to do it in
the lab. But everyone who has submitted to
laboratory tests has been caught using
trickery. Each of them has been proven a
fraud when the cameras roll. That is why
science is skeptical. "

  "Well," said Tynan, slipping his hands
around her waist, "thanks for clearing that
up."

"Do you understand what I said?"

  "Of course," said Tynan nodding. "You said
that science studies the phenomena but
doesn't believe in it be cause they can't
test the results in the lab. They can't
reproduce the results in the lab."

  "It means that those who predict the
future must give scientists the predictions
before the events. None of this sealed
envelope shit. It means that those who
claim telekinetic power must be able to
demonstrate the talent in the lab with the
cameras running. It means that objective
proof must be offered to science."

"And that hasn't happened?"

  "Not yet, though Rhine is getting some
good results at Duke." She shrugged then
and adW, "Although I understand that some
of his results are being questioned ww.
Others haven't been able to reproduce his
work so that his methodology is being
questioned."

  Tynan suddenly decided that he didn't care
about Rhine and his results at Duke. He
didn't care about ESP and scientific
research. He reached up and pushed the
shirt from King's shoulders so that she
stood there, in the half light given off by
the bathroom fixture, completely naked.

"You hungry?" he asked.

"Not for food."

  Bainbridge slowed the car once, looked
over the woman standing at the corner of
the building and decided that he didn't
like her. The look was wrong. She was too
hard,

 .                                     .

SEALS SS

too experienced. There was nothing
innocent left in her after years on
the street. She'd make sure that he
had his pleasure because that way she
could earn a bonus, but that wasn't
what he wanted. He wanted someone a
little less hard.

  He turned the corner and pulled to
the curb. He sat there, watching as
the people circulated on the street.
There was a pool of light from a
single lamp that illuminated the
trees and bushes of the park,
creating a back drop for the city.
There were no colors visible, just
blacks and whites, and the motion of
the people as they moved across the
background like extras in an old
film.

  Bainbridge leaned over and opened
the glovebox. He took out a pack of
cigarettes, shook one free and put it
between his lips. He pushed in the
lighter and then glanced up. She was
coming across the sidewalk at him. A
young, tall woman with long hair and
knee-high boots. Her short skirt
looked like a wide belt so that most
of her thighs were bare. He liked the
way they jiggled when she walked. She
walked up to the car and tapped on
the passenger's window. Bainbridge
rolled it down.

  She leaned in, giving him a clear
view down her loosefitting blouse.
"You looking for a good time?"

  Bainbridge looked up, into her face
and into her eyes. There was a
quality there, behind the bluster and
the bravado. Not innocence, but
vulnerability. That was it. She had a
look of vulnerability.

"Sure," he said. "What's it going to
cost me?"

  "Hey," she said, "who said anything
about money? I show you a good time,
maybe you can show your appreciation
a little later. That way everyone is
happy."

"A hundred dollars is all that I have
to spend."

  She nodded once and then reached in
to open the car door. As she slipped
in, she managed to let her skirt hike
up so that Bainbridge could see her
lace panties. "I got a place close
by," she said.

- -
"You come to my place," he said.

"I don't know about that."

  "I got only the hundred on me, but
I have more at home. An extra fifty
and you stay the night."

  She grinned, showing pearly teeth.
Someone had spent a great deal of
money making sure that her teeth
would be perfect when she grew up.

  Bainbridge dropped the car into
gear, glanced over his shoulder and
pulled into traffic. As he did, the
girl slid over so that her hip was
against his. She reached down and }et
her fingers play across his thigh
until they touched him and felt his
response. She then looked up into his
eyes, and smiled, showing her
dimples.

"You're sure ready, honey."

  Bainbridge reached for her hand and
stopped the caresses. He held on to
her and said, "We can wait for a
moment. It's not that far. "

  He pulled into an underground
parking garage, drove down several
levels and then stopped, pulling into
a space. He got out his side and
waited for her. Together they wallced
across the darkened floor and out
into a pool of light near the
elevator. As he punched the button,
he got a better look at her face. She
couldn't be more than nine teen, if
that. Her skin was smooth,
unblemished, and her long dark hair
seemed to shimmer with an eternal
light. She had big blue eyes that
gave her a look of innocence. She was
absolutely perfect.

  They rode the elevator in silence.
Bainbridge studied his victim,
thrilled with his selection. It had
been so simple. She had come to him,
asked him if he wanted a good time.
The search was getting easier every
time.

  They walked down the hallway,
brightly lighted and carpeted with a
new shag. Bainbridge opened the door
and pushed her in. She stumbled once
and then caught her footing.

SEALS 87

"Hey," she said as she turned to face
him.

  Bainbridge rubbed a hand on the wall
until he found the light switch. When
the lamps came on he pointed at her
and demanded, "Strip."

  "Sure, honey. Glad to." She grinned
and began to slowly unbutton her
blouse. She glanced up, smiled and
then went back to work.

"Now. I want you naked."

  She picked up the cue and hurried to
get out of her clothes. She dropped
them on the floor and then stood,
facing him, completely naked. "There.
You like?"

  Bainbridge moved toward her,
standing in front of her, only inches
away. He gazed into her eyes, holding
her attention that way. He doubled
his fist and struck her, hard, in the
stomach. For an instant there was a
frozen look of pain on her face and
then she fell to the floor, landing
on her side. Her mouth worked like
that of a fish out of water as she
drew her knees up and wrapped her
arms around her belly.

  "Now," said Bainbridge. "We'll get
down to business." He stood over her,
waiting for her to regain her breath.
Slowly she began to move, getting to
her knees.

  The girl then let out a startled
cry. She tried to pull away from him,
frightened by the look on his face,
by the glow in his eyes. She knew
that she had made a mistake now, and
hoped that it wouldn't prove to be
fatal. She prayed that he would just
beat her up. That he wouldn't kill
her.

  Bainbridge grabbed at her, but she
pulled away from him. He grinned
evilly and said, "You're making it
harder on yourself. You're making me
angry and that will make it so much
harder on you."

  That made no difference to her now.
She glanced at the door, measuring
the distance and the angle and
wondering if she could get by him and
out. She feinted one way and

# SEALS

went the other, but Bainbridge
wasn't fooled. He grabbed her
shoulder, spun her and struck again.
A painful blow ust below her right
eye. The light faded slightly,
become ing a dun glow. The images
were suddenly in a soft focus. No
longer was she exactly sure what was
happening around her. She fell to
the carpet and lay there for a
moment, stunned.

  Bainbridge moved in, picked her up
and began hitting her repeatedly.
The blows were hard, just enough to
rattle her, to stagger her. She
stood in front of him, wobbling back
and forth, no longer feeling
anything. Then he hit her a final
time in the belly, twisting his fist
as he struck. She fell to the floor
unconscious.

  For a moment he stood there lodring
down at her. A little blood on her
face from a split lip. More from her
nostrils, some of it splattered on
her shoulders and her chest. She
wimpered once but didn't regain
consciousness. She didn't move at
all after she fell.

  "We have a full night of fun ahead
of us," he told her, but she didn't
move.

                 10

The moment Rachel Sullivan walked
into the pizza parlor, Davis
recognized her. Even if he hadn't
been able to use his psychic
ability, he'd have known her from me
bruises on her face. BainWdge hadn't
hit her more man two or three times,
but he had managed to blacken her
eyes. There was a bruise on her
cheek and swelling.

  Davis moved across me floor and
stepped to her just as me hostess
reached her. Davis smiled at bow
women and said, "She's wim me."

  The hostess nodded and retreated.
As she did, Sullivan asked, "Are you
Davis?"

"Yes."

  She looked at me floor. "I don't
know why I came here. I'm not in me
habit of meeting strange men in
restaurants so far from my home.
It's just not a survival trait for a
young woman alone."

  "I have a table," said Davis,
ignoring her remark. He lead her to
the corner where only a few hours
before he'd talked to Tynan about
shooting Hitler before he could
start me Second World War. He
watched as she slid in on her side
of me booth and men sat down
opposite her. There was a beer
sitting mere, in front of him.

"Would you like something to eat or
drink?"

                 88
                  
"Just a Coke."

  "Uh-uh," said Davis. "I ordered a
pica. Mushrooms and onions. "

  "How'd you know that I love
mushroom and onion pizzas?" she asked
suspiciously.

  Davis took a deep drink of his beer
and then set the glass down
carefully, staring at it. He wasn't
sure what to tell her, what she'd
believe. There was something black
hidden deep in her mind and he
thought that it was a hate of
Bainbridge. A deep-seated fear of the
man and a hate of him. He reached out
and touched her hand and felt another
psychic presence. She had a weak
ability that she kept suppressed
almost as if afraid of it. It had
been the son that she had hated
Bainbridge fro n the moment she set
eyes on him. She hadn't known why she
had reacted so strongly to him, but
she had.

  Before he had to say anything,
before he could say anything, the
pizza arrived. The waitress set in it
the center of the table and looked at
Sullivan. "Can I get you something to
dnsk with the pizza?"

"lust a Coke."

  As the waitress disappeared, Davis
said, "I need to learn something
about Bainbridge. I need to learn
everything about him. I need to know
him."

"Why?"

  Davis shrugged and said, "I have
to." He knew that it sounded lame but
hoped that her hate for the man would
not cause her to probe further. Her
hate should mask her good sense so
that she would talk to him.

  The waitress returned with the
Coke, and then took off. Davis pulled
a slice of pima free, using his left
hand to jerk the strings of cheese
away, and took a big bite. Tears came
to his eyes and he took a deep drink
of his beer. "Hot!" he said
unnecessarily.

She sipped her Coke and then got a
slice of pizza. She

SEALS $1'

set it on the small plate in front of
her to let it cool. "What do you want
to know?"

  "Where he works. What he does. Where
he lives. Anything that you can tell
me."

  To gain some time to think, she used
her fork to cut the pizza. She took a
bit and chewed it slowly. "I'm not
comfortable with this," she said
finally.

  Davis drained his glass and sat
back. "I understand that. But this is
information that I need to know."

"Why?"

Davis laughed. "A good question."

"I'd like an answer."

  Davis knew that he'd reached the end
of the rope already. She wasn't going
to talk to him and was growing
suspicious of him. He wished that he
could see the immure diate future now.
That might give him a clue about how
to proceed. It would also tell him ff
he would get the information, but his
mind was blank. Nothing WaS coming at
him and he wondered if she was
automatically, subconsciously throwing
up a screen that kept him from acting.

  "I'm going to tell you a story that
is going to seem impossible to
believe. I'm going to tell you
everything and all that I ask is that
you keep an open mind until I finish.
Then, if you don't want to help, you
go ahead and leave. I'll still spring
for the pizza and the Coke."

"I'm listening," she said.

  So Davis took a chance and filled
her in on everything, telling her
about his success with guessing games
and on the standard esper tests. He
told her of his flashes of the future
and how Bainbridge was going to gain
the presidency near the turn of the
century. He told her of the coming
war, how Bainbridge would live for
that because he would see it as a way
of controlling the world. Bainbridge
might see most of the world destroyed,
but when it was over, he would believe
that he would rule it all. More than

|2 - #MS

any other man had ever ruled at one
time and it made no difference to
hhn that three quarters of it would
be Abbe and that seventy percent of
the population would be dead. He
would rule toe whom thing.

  All the time he talked, she
listened. There was never any
indication that she didn't believe
hi n. OccasionaUy she stopped him to
ask questions but then would fan
silent, eating the pizza and
listening to his story.

  When he finally finished, she
asked, "You Ply be" lieve an this?"

"I do," he said.

"And why should I?"

  "For one thing, it was the way that
I found you. I was using the phone
book, trying to find Bainbridge's
add and when I failed, I was
flipping through it and your name
popped up at me almost as if it had
been written in bright red letters.
The rest of the page seemed to fade
away. I knew that you would have
something to tell me."

"Uh-huh," she said and then fell
silent again.

  There were things that Davis wanted
to say. Ways that he could prove his
case, but he knew that it was time
to let her think. If she said no, he
would have a chance to recover from
it, and if she said yes, there was
no mason Id lamp pressing. It would
be time to begin to plan.

"What do you plan to do?" she asked.

  "Let me ask you something first. If
you had known, in 1930, what Adolph
Hider was going to do, would you
have tried to kill him?"

  It was a long evening for the girl.
Bainbridge kept her on the edge of
consciousness, using his fists and
then cold water, waiting patiendy
for her. When it seemed that it was
all over, that Bainbridge had done
enough, had enough pleasure, he
reached down to find something else.
There was never a chance, after the
first few minutes, for her to get
away. She was never conscious enough
to think of it.

                SEWS

  Finally, Bainbridge was finished,
drained, almost exhausted. He sat on
the couch, leaning back, his head
resting against the wall. He'd
turned off the lights and had opened
the curtain. Through the picture
window he could see the lights of
Chicago spread out in front of him,
almost as if it were a black cape
covered with jewels laid at his
feet, sparkling lights of greens and
reds and yellows. Through the sky a
single light moved, giving the
impres sion of some kind of glowing
ship from outer space.

  The girl, lying on her side, blood
splattered on her body which was now
covered with bruises, groaned once.
She lifted a hand and let it fall
back to the carpeting.

  Bainbridge stood, glanced at her
and moved through the living room
into the kitchen. He opened the
refrigerator and took out a bottle
of champagne. Holding a town over
the top of the bottle, he opened it
with a dull pop that sounded like a
shot from a silenced weapon. He took
down a glass, splashed some of the
wine in it and then tasted it.

'Excellent," he said.

  He filled the glass and then walled
back into the living room. His
clothes were scattered on the floor
where he'd thrown them in the heat
of his passion. He kicked them aside
and then knelt next to the girl. She
opened her puffed and swollen eyes
but said nothing.

  "I'm mally very sorry for the pain
that you've suffered, but it is
something that you have brought upon
yourself. Your selected occupation
means that you are the plaything for
anyone with the money to pay. You
are a toy, and for those of us with
the money and the power, you must
play."

  She didn't respond. She felt sick
to her stomach. She felt like
throwing up and was afraid to move,
sure that motion would push her over
the edge. If she didn't move, didn't
think, then she might not get sick.

Bainbridge stood up and moved to the
window. He

94 SEALS

watched the dancing lights outside for a
moment longer and thought about the things
to come. Without turning, he said, "You
will be well paid for your suffering
tonight. Forget about the hundred dollars.
I will give you a thousand. Of course, you
will then have to forget about everything
that happened here."

  Bainbridge turned, but the girl still
hadn't moved, and he wondered, briefly, if
he had permanently injured her. Maybe
there was a spinal injury and the girl
couldn't move. That would mean he'd have
to kill her, finish the job. There was no
way he could buy his way out of the
trouble that a permanent spinal injury
would cause. He sat down on the couch and
stared at her and wondered what it would
be like to kill her. Was she conscious
enough to feel pain? Was she conscious
enough to know what was happening to her?

  In his mind, he planned it all out.
Strangulation seemed to be the way to do
it. His hands around her neck, squeez

 -   ing the life from her. He'd be able
to look into her eyes

and watch her reactions. Maybe he'd be
able to witness the
actual moment of death when the eyes
glazed over.

  Afterward there would be the problem of
the body. By waiting until late, two or
three in the morning, he could probably
get her to his car without witnesses. Then
he'd have to drive out of town, maybe
fifty, sixty miles to get somewhere so
that he could leave the body where it
wouldn't be discovered for a couple of
days, or with luck, weeks. Highly
inconvenient but probably worth the
effort.

  The girl groaned again but still didn't
move. Bainbridge lifted his glass to his
lips and tasted the wine. He swirled the
liquor and drank again, savoring the good
life. Fine wines, fast, expensive cars,
two luxury apartments and more money than
he would ever need. And if, for any
reason, he needed more, there were ways to
get it. Easy ways. A couple of phone calls
and there would be people

Is 86

falling all over themselves to give him
all the money he needed.

  Leaving the girl on the floor, he
walked into his bedroom. He set the wine
on his dresser and stepped into the
bathroom. He turned on the shower,
adjusted the spray and the temperature.
When it was right, he got in and washed
himself quickly. That done, he turned
off the water and stepped out. He
grabbed a town and dried himself.

  Back in the bedroom, he finished the
wine and then selected his clothes. A
work shirt, blue jeans and rnamng shoes,
but no socks. Dressed, he walked into
the living room. The girl was lying on
her back, staring up at the ceiling.
Tears streaked her face as she cried
quietly.

  Spread eagle like that, all her charms
available and visible, Bainbridge felt
his desire stir again. To the girl, he
said, "So, you are wide awake now and
maybe ready to go at it again?"

  She didn't respond. She rolled to her
side and drew her knees up, against her
chest. Her slight body shook as she
cried harder.

  "It's really too bad," said
Bainbridge. He didn't explain it to her,
but he meant that he wasn't going to
kill her. It was too much trouble to do
it and it could cause more trouble than
he was ready for. Instead he would pay
her off and suggest that any report to
the police would result in ha death. And
the police would probably do nothing
about it because she was a prostitute
anyway.

  Bainbridge kicked ha clothes at her
and said, "Why don't you get dressed
now." He sat down on the couch, an arm
on the back of it, to watch.

  For a few minutes it was quiet in the
apartment. No sound other than the
sobbing of the injured girl. She made no
effort to get up or to get dressed.
Bainbridge finally became impatient with
her.

"Get dressed now!" he ordered ha.

it,

go SEALS

  Slowly the girl moved, groaning as she
straightened her legs. With a great deal of
difficulty, she sat up and then didn't move
for several seconds. Her breathing was rough,

 ragged, and her face glistened from the
tears.                             i

  "I think you broke my ribs," she said. The
words came out haltingly, spaced, as if it
hurt to talk.

  Bainbridge was on his feet then. He stood
over her menacingly but said, "I will drop
you at the hospital if you want. Extra money
to pay the bills there. That satisfy you?
That keep you quiet?"

  She didn't answer. She reached for her
blouse and slipped it on, moving with
exaggerated slowness. Every motion, every
breath sent ribbons of pain through her. She
would gasp, groan, but she didn't speak.

  Bainbridge made no move to help her.
Instead he walked into the kitchen and poured
himself another glass of wine. Then he
watched as the girl got to her feet. For a
moment she swayed, like a tree in a high
wind, but she didn't fall. She finished
dressing, but then couldn't get her boots on.
The effort was just too much.

  Finishing his wine, Bainbridge returned to
the living room. He handed her a package
containing over a thousand dollars in cash.
The money meant nothing to him.

  The accepted it without a word. She stood
there for a moment and then took a step
toward the door.

  Bainbridge pushed passed her, opened the
door and looked into the hallway. There was
no one around, no one in the corridor. He
didn't expect anyone to be there that late.

  It seemed that she took forever to walk to
the elevator as Bainbridge escorted her. Once
inside, she sagged against the wall, but
didn't ask Bainbridge for help, and he
offered her none. When they reached the
garage, Bainbridge hurried to the car, got in
and drove back toward the girl. It wasn't
that he was thinking of the long walk to it
or how



much pain she was in but that he
could get her out of sight that much
faster. He couldn't afford
witnesses.

  Without speaking, Bainbridge drove
her back to the street where he had
found her. He pulled to the curb,
away from the street lights, and
stopped. As she tried to open the
door, he grabbed her shoulder.

  "You understand that if you say
anything to anyone about this, I'll
find you. You have been well
compensated for your time and any
pain you suffered. But if you talk,
there will be no one on Earth who
can save you."

  She didn't speak. She merely
nodded, her eyes on the street.
Safety was so close now. She wasn't
going to die at the hands of this
psychopathic madman. Now all she
wanted to do was get out and find a
way to get home. That was it. Get
out before he decided that she
should die.

  Bainbridge let her go then. She
pushed herself from the car and
staggered across the sidewalk, to
the wall of the building. As she
reached it, Bainbridge pulled away,
humming to himself. It had been more
fun that he had expected it to be.
The only problem was that the girl
had survived. Maybe next time, with
a little bit of prior planning, he
could remedy that.

                 11

When Sumner-Gleason entered the
classroom the next rnorning, he
searched the faces of the assembled
men and then asked, "Where is Mr.
Davis?"

"He hasn't made it in yet," said
Tynan.

  Sumner-Gleason moved to the front
and set his briefcase on the
lecture. He leaned forward, hands
clasped, elbows on his case and
said, "He was the only one of you
who showed any potential for this
training. He was the only one who
bad any ability at all."

  "What's that mean?" asked Jacobs.
"He really could see the future?"

  "I don't know about that," said
Sumner-Gleason. "I just don't know
about that. But he is the first
person who I ever had score
perfectly on the tests, and that
makes me think there are other gifts
he may have."

  Tynan felt his stomach grow cold as
he thought about the discussions the
night before. Sweat popped out on
his forehead and he knew that Davis
was planning something strange as
surely as he had ever known anything
else. It was the only excuse for his
absence. Davis had seen something in
the future, had some vision that he
believed demanded his action, and he
had been searching for the

                 98
                  
SEALS ~

answers the night before. That had
been the reason for the strange
behavior and the strange questions.

  There was nothing that Tynan could
have said that would have convinced
others that he was right. It was
intuition, or second sight, or an
inspired guess that was based on the
little information that he had, and
he knew that it was right. It was his
explanation of how BSP worked. There
had been clues that the eyes and ears
ignored but that the brain received.
Putting the data together, he knew
that Davis was out on some crusade
that had nothing to do with the Navy
or his mission in the Navy or this
class.

  Typan stood up. "Maybe I better try
to locate Davis and make sure that he
is all right."

  Sumner-Gleason nodded and said,
"While you do that, Lieutenant, the
rest of us can proceed with the
instruction. We've yet to get into
the dietary requirements and the
practice exercises designed to
enhance the esper capacity. "

"I'll go with you, sir," said Jacobs.

  Before Sumner-Gleason could respond,
Tynan said, "Good." He looked at the
other men and asked, "Anyone know
where Davis was billeted?"

"Candlelight Motel. Room four-oWtwo,"
said Starkey.

  "Thanks. " Tynan headed for The
door with Jacobs right behind him.

  "Lieutenant," said Sumner-Gleason,
"the man has a unique talent. I've
never seen anything like it. You'll
need to handle him carefully."

  "Yes, sir," said Tynan. "I'll keep
Blat in mind." He left the classroom
with Jacobs.

  In the hallway, Jacobs said, "Just
where are we going to search for
him?"

  "We're going to drive over and
check out the motel. Five'll get you
ten chat Davis is shacked up with
some woman and just didn't get to
class yet."

100 SEALS

  "Stupid move," said Jacobs. "With
a class as small as the one we have
here, anyone who skips is going to
be missed. And that man,
Sumner-Gleason ... what the hell
kind of name is that anyway?"

Tynan laughed. "English, I think."

  "Yeah, well, that Englishman seems
to regard our partner in crime as
the best student and that makes it
very hard for him to miss a
session."

  "Whatever," said Tynan, shrugging.
He walked down the hallway into the
bright sunlight of the early
morning. "At least this gets us out
there for a couple of hours."

  It turned out that Davis had spent
the night with Rachel Sullivan.
Neither of them had slept because
they had been too busy making plans.
Davis used a spiral-bound notebook
to write down everything that he
knew about the future world. He sat
at the small oak desk in a chair
that wobbled under his weight, and
wrote. Sullivan sat on the edge of
the bed, a Coke in her hand; waiting
patiently and watching him work. She
wasn't interested in turning on the
television or the radio.

  Occasionally Davis looked over at
her, but she was content to wait for
him to complete his task. As he bent
back to his work, he was surprised
that she had so quickly accepted
everything he had told her. She had
believed that he could peer into the
future and that he had seen a future
where most of the Earth lay in
blackened, disease-wracked ruins, a
few of the lucky and powerful
unaffected by the destruction. A few
governmental officials who managed
to insulate themselves from the
suffering of the rest of the human
race survived in relative splendor
while the rest of the human race
fought over the scraps. She had
believed it all as he told her about
it and had demanded the right to
help prevent it.

  Davis had shook his head at that
and warned her, "We're contemplating
a murder."

SEAIS 181

  "He deserves it" was all she said
as she touched the side of her face
carefully.

  They had returned to his motel room
and he had started to write down
everything in his spiral notebook.
Sullivan had asked him, "Why?"

  "It helps me focus the thoughts.
It'll help me vector in on
Bainbridge."

She hadn't understood it but she had
accepted it.

  For over an hour, Davis wrote,
turning the pages quickly, almost as
if he was reading something written
on them rather than puffing down his
own thoughts and visions. He had
organized it logically,
chronologically, starting with
yesterday's date, when he'd first had
his vision of the future where
Bainbridge would rule, and putting
down everything that he knew about
that future. He included the names of
the Presidents, how long they would
serve, the ending of the Vietnam War,
or rather of the American
participation in it, then the new
invasion by the North when the
Americans refused to help. He put
down the taking of Americans in Iran
and Jimmy Carter's attempt to get
them back. He wrote about the
setbacks in the space program, the
Russians in Afghanistan and the
Iranians and Iraqis fighting a
religious war that neither side could
win. There were Marines in Lebanon
and Americans in Grenada.

  He listed it all carefully, putting
in the dates and the circumstances,
feeling as he did that he was a
modern Nostradamus writing down a
path for the world to follow in the
future. He shook his head and
realized he was chronicling a path it
might follow. Unlike Nostradamus, he
didn't disguise the predictions in
verse but wrote in a prose style, and
although he didn't understand all the
words, he knew their value.

  When he finished, he sat back, his
hand aching. He looked at Rachel and
saw her as an old woman, sitting in a
wheelchair, staring at a Bible. She
glanced up, almost as if

102 SEALS
                             - - -
                                  -
looking at a calendar, and he knew
that she would die fifty years in the
future while the men with the power
to save her life stood around arguing
about the new hospital budget. He
felt a powerful sadness in the vision
and didn't know why. He didn't
mention it to her.

She saw that he had finished and
said, "Can I read it?"

  He pushed the notebook at her and
said, "Go ahead. You won't understand
much of it. Hell, I don't, but it's
all there. Everything that I've seen
of the future. Everything that I
could remember."

  As she read through it her face
turned pale and her breathing became
rapid. In a hushed voice, she asked,
"Are you sure about all this?"

  "Of course. It's all true.
Everything I've written down there
will happen sometime in the future,
unless I do something to stop it. "

  She closed the notebook and handed
it back to him. "Can you stop it?"

  "That's the one thing I don't know.
I've never tried before. All the
events that I've seen were things
that were out of my reach, events
that I couldn't influence. Either I
was too young, too far away or simply
powerless. Now I'm in the right place
at the right time to do something
about it."

"Is killing him the only way?"

  Davis was nervous suddenly. The
excitement coursed through him,
making him want to get up and run.
Instead he paced the room, from one
end to the other, walking rapidly and
gesturing broadly, almost as if he
were suddenly crazy. He glanced at
her and said, "People like Bainbridge
have a way of overcoming every
roadblock thrown in front of them.
Because they are unscrupulous, they
will stop at nothing: blackmail,
threats, murder, bribery. Anything
and everything to gain and hold
power. Only death will stop him."

SEALS 103

  "Then that's what we'll have to do,"
she said. "We'll have to kill him."

  Davis looked at his watch and
discovered that it was nearly six in
the morning. He wanted to get started
as quickly as possible before she
could change her mind. Or he could
change his. "How do we find this
Bainbridge now?" he asked.

  "He'll be at work in a couple of
hours. We can wait for him there and
follow him."

  "Or take him as he comes out of the
building," said Davis. ID his mind,
he saw himself with a sniper rifle,
shooting the man from five-hundred
yards. One shot to drop the man and
that would give him a
five-hundred-yard headstart. That
would get them both out of the area
before the police could arrived seal
up the scene of the crime.

  "Why can't we just walk up to him
and shoot him that way?" she asked.

"Let's do it my way," said Davis.

  Sullivan looked at the floor and
said, "But I wanted to help." She
sounded like a child who had
discovered that her mother had
already baked the cookies.

  "You'll have to help. You'll need to
use binoculars to spot the target for
me. I might be the one who pulls the
trigger, but you're going to be the
one who does the spotting so that I
can pull the trigger."

  She nodded. Davis again looked at
his watch and decided that there was
too much that had to be done. If he
went to sleep now, it would be
another day before they could act and
another day might be too much. From
what Sullivan said, it sounded as if
Bainbridge was beginning to unravel,
and if that happened, he might get
out of reach. He might get out of the
city and it could prove impossible to
fmd him before it was too late.

  Without a word to her, he went to
the yellow pages of the phone book
and searched for a gun store. He
found an

.

104 SEAL'
                           -
ad that claimed they opened early
for the morning hunter and
fisherman. Davis stabbed a finger at
the phone book and said, "Can you
find this place?"

`'Sure. "

  "Then let's go." As he left the
room, he picked up his notebook and
then stopped. Something told him to
leave it there. If everything worked
out, he could retrieve it later. If
it didn't, someone else might have a
need for it. Someone else might be
able to stop Bainbridge.

  Bainbridge awoke with the sun
pouring through the window into his
bedroom. He rolled onto his back and
opened his eyes, staring up at the
ceiling. After the night's
activities, he felt good, very good.
There was something exhilarating
about bending another person to your
will, forcing a person to do
everything that you wanted, no
matter what her personal feelings
were, and then keeping her from
reporting the excesses to the
authorities. There was a power there
that seemed to reinforce, that
seemed to revitalize him.

  He threw the sheets off and stood
up. He moved to the window and
looked out on the city, already
coming awake, the streets and
freeways and tollways filling with
people on their way to their mundane
and trivial existences. If they had
only known what it was like to live
on the edge, to control others, to
risk it all for a trifling of
pleasure that was quickly gone. If
they only knew how easy it was to
gain power.

  Bainbridge walked into the living
room and saw a scrap of clothing
that had belonged to the girl. Her
black lace panties, ripped now, lay
kicked under the coffee table. For
an instant, he thought of keeping
them, like a trophy of success, but
realized that would be foolhardy. It
was one thing to risk it all to
control the mind and body of another
and something else to risk it for a
scrap of cloth. If he felt

SEALS 105

the need for such a trophy, he could
always get another. He would dispose
of them on his way to work.

  As he fixed himself breakfast, he
turned on the television to get the
latest news. From Vietnam it wasn't
all that bad. Enemy forces had been
pushed out of their stronghold at
great loss of life for them. American
casualties were described as light.

"Of course," said Bainbridge. "They
always are."

  He drank his juice while the TV
journalists listed crimes of passion,
murders, rapes, beatings and
robberies. They talked about the
budget and the space program and
unrest in the Middle East but they
didn't mention the vicious attack on
a Chicago prostitute.

"Keep at it," he told them. "lust
keep at it."

  When he finished breakfast, he left
the dirty dishes on the table because
the maid, who came in for two hours
every day, would take care of them
for him. He walked into his bedroom
and then into the bathroom. He got
ready for work, taking his time
because Smith would never have the
guts to fire him. Not after he had
found Smith and his young secretary
locked in an embrace, the girl's
skirt hiked up to her waist and
Smith's hands in her panties.

  He laughed at the image and then of
Rachel trying to convince Smith to
fire him. He'd told her that she
handled it wrong. She just didn't
know how wrong.

  He dressed and left for the office.
On the way, while stopped at a red
light, he opened the door and dropped
the prostitute's panties into the
street, tossing them back, um der his
car. He'd seen other drivers do the
same a hundred times. Get rid of the
morning trash at the light.

  Within a few minutes, he had parked
his car and was at his desk, shoving
papers around. He couldn't
concentrate on the documents, his
mind alive with the images of the
night before. It had been a very good
night.

* * *

-
100 S6~S
                                   -
  The building was a long, low affair
made of sheet metal and painted a dull
blue. There was a huge sign that adver-
tised guns, ammo and sporting goods.
There were signs in the windows telling
customers that the prices were He
lowest in the Chicago area, and that if
it couldn't be found inside,'it
couldn't be found anywhere in the Free
World.

  Davis parked the car and walked across
the lot. Sullivan was right behind him,
unsure of what she was supposed to do.
Davis opened the door for her and then
followed her in. The interior looked
almost like a warehouse. Rows and rows
and stacks and stacks of sporting
goods. Everything from the camouflage
clothes that the weekend sportsman had
to have, to the rods and reels that
would land a shark, if there had been
any in Lake Michigan to catch. Thae
were sections for the golfer, the
tennis player and the baseball fan.
There were bats and gloves and
unifonns. There were rubber boats and
canvas tents. There were outdoor stoves
and Coleman lanterns. There were knives
and machetes and hatchets and axes. And
along one wall at the rear were
hundreds of rifles and shotguns.
Without a word to Sullivan, Davis
drifted in that direction.

  There were two clerks on duty, but
both of them ignored Davis as he looked
at the rifles. There were small caliber
and large. Lever action and bolt
action. There was an AR-15, the
civilian, semi-automatic version of the
M-16. There were mini 14s and there
were elephant guns. There were rifles
with fixed sights and adjustable. There
were scoped weapons in a variety of
calibers. Davis leaned over the glass
counter that held a few pistols, more
than a few knives and some fishing
reels. He studied the weapons until he
spotted the Model 70 Winchester that
was like the weapons used by the Marine
snipers in Vietnam. It was exactly what
he wanted.

  As the clerk came forward, Davis asked
to see the rifle. The man stopped,
grabbed a set of keys from a drawer and
then unlocked the rack where the rifle
was displayed.

                  SEI\IS 107
-
  When he handed it over the counter to
Davis, he said, "You couldn't have
picked a better rifle. The Marines are
using them to kill the Viet Cong at a
thousand yards or better in South
Vietnam."

  Davis took it and worked the bolt. It
operated smoothly. He checked the breech
and then looked into the barrel, malting
sure that it wasn't pitted by rust. He
flipped it around and sighted through
the scope.

"Finest weapon made," said the clerk.

  "A nice weapon," agreed Davis. "What
about range facilities to zero it."

  The clerk nodded and smiled. "Ah, a
man who knows his business. Well,
naturally the scope and the weapon have
been zeroed and test-fired before it was
put out on display by our expert. "

  "But everyone is different. Someone
else cannot zero a weapon for me."

  "Of course. We have a range behind the
store where you can zero the weapon if
you so desire, but it's really
unnecessary. You'll fmd that we've taken
care of that problem. It's not like
you're going to be shooting at something
a thousand yards away with your life on
the Iine. "

"Still, I'd prefer to do it myself."

"Of course."

"What about the gun-control laws?" asked
Sullivan.

  "Well, the Feds won't let us sell
rifles, or any guns through the mail,
and there are some forms for the
pistols, but for a sporting rifle, there
really isn't that much trouble. You
can't rob a store with a high-powered
rifle." The clerk laughed and added,
"Well, I suppose you could, but that
hasn't happened around here for a long
times"

  "I'd like to test-fire this before I
make a commitment on it," said Davis.

"Of course, sir."

108 IS

  "And the lady would like to find a
good pair of binoculars here."

  "Tom," said the clerk, "can you
help the lady while I take this man
out to the range?"

"Surely."

  Davis nodded to Sullivan and then
followed the clerk out to the range.
As they moved to set up the targets,
Davis realized that buying the
weapon and getting into position to
take out Bainbridge were going to be
the easiest of the tasks. Getting
away cleanly afterward was going to
be the real trick. But then, given
the stakes, he wasn't sure that
getting away was all that important.

  And then he remembered the vision
of his death in Vietnam. Maybe
getting away wasn't an option
afterall. Maybe he should get caught
so that he could save his own life.
Prison might not be that pleasant,
but it was sure a hell of a lot
better than dying in the jungle.

  With his mind, he reached out,
trying to see into his future, or
that of Bainbridge, but everything
was blank. He shook himself and
followed the clerk out to the range.
He'd worry about the consequences
later.

                 12

Tynan stood in font of the door and
knocked again. Then be put his ear
against the wood and listened, but
there was nothing but silence on the
other side of it. He glanced back at
Jacobs and said, "He's either a
heavy sleeper or he's not in there.
"

"We could go to the lobby and use
the house phone."

  "Which would do us no good if he's
not in there." Tynan nabbed a hand
through his hair. "I'm not sure what
the next move would be."

  "We could tell the manager that we
need to get into the room."

  "Why?" asked Tynan. "Because Davis
was being a bad boy and didn't come
to school?"

"Just a thought. "

  "Okay," said Tynan. "Let's try the
house phone, and if that doesn't
work, then let's write a note and
slip it under the door. Tell him to
call when he gets the chance."

"Old Sumner~leason isn't going to
like it."

  "Tough shit," said Tynan. He turned
and walked down the hall, passed the
fire extinguishers, a candy machine
that had empty over most of the
little windows, a Coke machine, an
ice machine and a bank of pay
phones. There wasn't a house phone
among tbem.

                1011
                  
110 SEALS

  They entered the lobby where they
spotted another bunch of phones
including a small white house phone.
Tynan stepped to it, tried to raise
Davis and then hung up. He shook his
head when Jacobs looked over at him.

"Now what?"

  Tynan looked at his watch and saw
that it was only the middle of the
morning. "I don't want to drive back
to the base and listen to
Sumner-Gleason talk about ESP right
now. I think I'll move the search
over to nay motel room and see if
Davis has shown up there."

  "And what am I supposed to do right
now?" asked Jacobs.

  "Drop me off there and come back to
collect me about one. We looked for
Davis, waited for him to call, but
that never happened. It's not our
fault."

"Fine," said Jacobs.

  Tynan went to the desk, got a sheet
of paper and scribbled a quick note
to Davis, telling him to call Tynan
at the motel before one or to get to
the class that afternoon so that
Sumner-Gleason wouldn't call the
Navy to cause trouble. As they left
the motel, they slipped it under his
door.

  As Tynan stood up, Jacobs said,
"Maybe we should break in and take a
look around."

  Tynan shook his head. "No reason
for that. We don't know that
anything is wrong in there. Maids
will be going in soon anyway. We'll
just wait."

  They went out into the parking lot,
got into the car with Jacobs behind
the wheel. They drove over to the
motel and Tynan got out. He went
inside, knocked on the door to warn
King that he was coming in and then
entered.

  "What are you doing here?" she
asked. She was "till in bed,
watching television.

  "I managed to escape for a while
and didn't want to go back right
away. Thought that we could fmd
something to do if we put our minds
to it. "

              Wig 111
She tossed the sheet aside and said,
"I'm sure we can.''

  It had turned out to be exceedingly
easy to buy the &. The dealer hadn't
even asked to see any identification.
Davis made it clear that he had never
been convicted of a crone and was a
good, upstanding citizen. He had paid
far the weapon with a credit card
which had eased any fean that the
dealer might have had. The little
plastic rectangle seemed to indicate
that Davis was a man of honor.

  Along with the rifle, he bought the
binoculars, extra ammo and a case
that looked more like it held fishing
gear than a high-powered rifle. Once
that was ad accomplished, they went
back out to Rachd's car, this time
she drove.

  As they pulled out of the parking
lot, she asked, "Where exactly, or
what exactly are we going to do now?"

  "Let's drive on down to
Bainbridge's office so that I can get
a look at the lay of the land. If
there is nothing there, then we'll
need to get into position to follow
him."

"Why not do that anyway?"

  "We'll see,t' said Davis. "Right
now our options ate wide open and I
want to keep them that way. This is
too important for us to screw up
because we got ourselves set on one
course of action. "

  They rode in silence for a while.
Davis leaned his head against the
back of the seat and closed his eyes.
With his mind, he reached out and
tried to make contact with
Bainbridge, or with the images that
he had seen earlier, but that didn't
happen. Too often, when he tried to
forge things, his mind remained
blank. He had to let it come to him
naturally. That was why he had such a
wide range of impressions. Those
events that had psychic energy were
easy for- him to see. Events that
affected the course of the human
race, or a large portion of the
population, were the easiest. When he
tried to narrow it, the various
streams and eddies of the psychic
world became confused, like

112 SEALS

someone was trying to project two or
three movies on the same screen.
Splashes of color and bits of sound
overrode the rest of the images, and it
was hard, sometimes impossible to pull
out a single impression.

  At the moment, there was nothing. Just
the random thoughts that flowed through
everyone's mind. Impressions from his
past, thoughts about the future, and a
sudden desire for Rachel Sullivan. He
opened his eyes and looked at her. A
good-looking woman, if you ignored the
bruises and the blackened eyes, flaws
that would heal. Then he shoved the
feelings to the side, out of his mind,
and again tried to touch Bainbridge.

  This time he was hit with a wall of
evil. If he had believed in demons, he
would have thought that he had touched
the mind of such a creature. There was
a well of evil that seemed to bubble to
the surface and then it was gone. Davis
knew he had felt the mind of
Bainbridge, had touched it briefly, and
that frightened him.

  He opened his eyes and sat up. Trying
to bury the thoughts, the feelings for
a moment, he asked, "Are we close?"

"Very," said Sullivan.

 -  Davis nodded and looked around.
Tall buildings, fif
teen, twenty stories high. Not like
the huge skyscrapers
downtown, but tall enough. There was a
park to one side,
tall trees surrounded by gardens.
Women and children and
a few men were walking or sitting or
playing.

"Pull over," said Davis.

  Sullivan didn't respond. She did as
she was told, and as soon as the car
had stopped, Davis was out. He stood on
the sidewalk, looking at one building
and then up at another. When Sullivan
joined him, he pointed and said,
"Bainbridge works in there. Uses that
door and leaves his car in the lot
right there. "

"Yes."

SEALS 113
                   -
  "Okay," said Davis. He took a step
back so that his feet were on the
grass and looked up at the rooftop of
the buildings opposite of where
Bainbridge worked. There was one that
was higher than the others. There
seemed to be a parapet, complete with
a protective wall around it, that
dominated the whole area. From there,
he could control the rooftops as well
as the streets around it. He wasn't
sure why he felt that was necessary,
but knew that it was.

"Right here," he said.

"What?"

  "It has to be here," said Davis. "It
seems right. It is right. "

"What'll I do?" asked Sullivan.

  "First thing, we've got to take the
high ground. Then you'll have to act
as the spotter. You'll have to watch
for him. Once he comes out the door,
you let me know and then I'll take
the shot as quickly as I can."

"We go now?"

  Davis smiled. "No, I don't want to
go stumbling around with the rifle in
my hands. We'll find a path up to the
hide and then come back for the
equipment."

"Hide?" asked Sullivan.

  "The place from where I'll shoot.
Called the blind by duck hunters."

"Oh."

  After Sullivan locked the car, they
crossed the street. They walked along
the sidewalk as Davis looked into the
windows of the stores there. They
came to an office building and
entered it. There was a directory on
the wall near a bank of elevators,
and although there was no guard on
duty, there was a desk for one. It
seemed that he came on after four and
left about midnight, replaced by one
who stayed until eight.

  They took He elevator to the top
floor and then found a stairway that
lead to the roof. Davis ignored the
signs that

114 SEALS

warned unauthorized people to stay
away. He opened the door and stepped
out into the morning sun.

  The tower with the parapet was off
to the right. He walked over there
and found an old, rusting
fire-escape ladder that led to it.
Davis walked to the edge of the roof
and looked down on the street. It
provided a perfect view of the door
where Bainbridge would appear, and
of the parking lot where his car had
to wait.

"It's perfect," said Davis.

  Sullivan looked down and then at
Davis. Sweat covered her face and
stained her clothes. Her skin was
pale and she looked like she was
going to be sick.

"You okay?"

"I'm fine," she said.

  "Sure. Listen, you can describe him
for me and then get out. Hell, you
really don't have to do that. I know
what he looks like. I can take it
from here alone. You've done
everything that you can."

  "No," she said, her voice taking on
new strength. "I'm in this with you.
Now, what do you want to do?"

  "Let's go back down, get some food
and then come back up here. I'll
want something to drink because it's
probably going to be hot up here by
midafternoon. Once we've got that,
we come back here to wait."

  They left the roof and rode back to
the street. They walked along until
they found a sandwich shop and
bought the food they were going to
need. The only problem was the
beverage, but it turned out they
could buy a six-pack of Coke, and
although they wouldn't be able to
keep it cold, they would at least
have something to drink.

  They returned to the car and-got
the rest of the equipment. While the
kids played in the park and their
mothers yelled at them, Davis got
the rifle out of the trunk. He
leaned it against the rear bumber
and then looked at the people around
him. They were paying no attention
to him.

SEAIS 115

If he remained calm, moved with
determination, like a man hurrying to
work, but didn't run, no one would
look at him.

  He picked up the rifle, disguised in
its case, and waited as Sullivan got
the binoculars from the backseat.
Then they walked across the street,
along the sidewalk and ducked into
the office building.

  Again, no one stopped them as they
went to the roof. They saw no one in
the hallways although they heard them
behind the closed doors. On the roof,
Davis stopped long enough to jam the
door shut, making it hands for anyone
to follow them up. Then he moved to
the ladder. He jumped, pulled it down
and then scrambled up it. He climbed
over the wall and dropped onto the
parapet, finding that it was
three-feet wide. There was a single
access door and Davis knew that he
could jam it shut too, so no one
would be able to sneak out of it and
surprise him.

  He returned to the ladder and
climbed down for more of the
equipment and food, which he carried
up with Sullivan right behind him.

  Once everything was there, he
arranged it so that he could get at
it. He took the rifle from the case
and pulled the caps from the scope.
Standing back, away from the wall so
that no one below would see the
barrel of the weapon, he looked down
into the parking lot. By taking a
single step forward, he would be able
to see the whole thing. He could also
see the door that Bainbridge would
probably use.

  He knelt and set the rifle on the
open case, making sure he didn't jar
the scope. Staying on his knees, he
looked over the top of the wall and
down into the street.

  "Now, one of us will have to keep
watch all the time. We don't want him
sneaking out while we're not looking.
It'll be best if we both watch, but
not necessary. Besides, each of us
will need time to rest."

116 SEIUS

  "You sound like you've done this
sort of thing before," said
Sullivan.

  Davis snorted once and then
shrugged. "I've had the opportunity
to use a long range rifle before on
one or two missions." He pulled the
pop-top on one of the Cokes and
drank deeply.

  Sullivan moved around so that she
could see the doorway and then
settled in to watch. There were a
hundred questions she wanted to ask,
but didn't. Instead she thought
about what they were about to do and
wondered how she had allowed herself
to be talked into it. Was it because
the man had hit her and then cost
her her job? Certainly not a capital
crime. Was it because she hated him
that she allowed Davis to drag her
into this conspiracy to murder
another man?

  She kept the binoculars on the
doorway, watching the comings and
goings of the people. She looked
into the faces of them and wondered
if she shouldn't just get out now.
Davis had said that he could do it,
but she didn't feel right about
that. If she felt strongly about
Bainbridge, she would have called it
off and gotten out. But now it was
too late. The die was cast and she
was involved even if she got out
now.

  She glanced at Davis, who was
leaning on the top of the wall, his
hands cupped over his eyes, shading
them. He glanced at his watch and
asked, "Does he go out for lunch?"

"I don't know."

  "Let's be alert," said Davis, "it's
close to lunchtime." He crouched
then, picked up his rifle, worked
the bolt and loaded it. He popped
the caps from the telescopic sight
and stepped back. For a moment he
used the sight, putting the
crosshairs on the door, watching as
a woman exited.

  As Davis crouched down, Sullivan
saw Bainbridge in the doorway. For a
split second she was silent and then
said, "There. That's him."

SEAM 117

  Davis leaned, grabbed his rifle and
stepped to the wall. As he raised the
weapon to his shoulder and swung it
around so that he was looking down
into the street, he dropped to his
right knee and used the top of the
wall for a bench rest. The crosshairs
centered on Bainbridge. As he looked
through the scope, he again felt the
evil that was coursing through the
man. The psychic energy surrounding
him was almost a visible, pulsating
evil cloud.

  Davis didn't fire as Bainbridge
turned into the parking lot. He knew
that his target would be standing
still as he tried to unlock the car.
Through the limited field of vision,
he could see no other people, just
Bainbridge, a small man with
greased-down hair, wearing a light
gray suit.

  The man stopped at the door of his
car, and as he fumbled his keys from
his pocket, Davis took a deep breath,
exhaled, took another and began to
squeeze the trigger. He kept his eye
on Bainbridge, and just as the weapon
fired, Bainbridge ducked. The bullet
smashed into the car behind
Bainbridge, shattering the window.

  "I don't believe it," said Davis.
"I don't tucking believe~it." He
worked the bolt, extracting the
cartridge.

"What? How?"

  "Shut up," snapped Davis. He swung
around but couldn't see Bainbridge.
Davis couldn't believe the man would
be smart enough to roll under a car.
Almost everyone was trying to see
what was going on, but he took cover.

"Do you see him? Do you see him?"

  Sullivan was confused, frustrated.
She raised the binoculars to her eyes
and scanned the parking lot. There
were people running, dodging and
hiding. Although only one shot had
been fired, everyone seemed to have
figured out what happened and were
running for cover. All were still
visible as they scrambled around. All
except Bainbridge. He seemed to have
vanished as completely as fudge
Crater.

"Do you see him?" demanded Davis.

118 SEdUS

.

'Rio. No!"

"I don't believe it.'`

  "What happened?" asked Sullivan.
She shot a glance at Davis and then
turned back to the binoculars.

"He dropped the keys and bent over."

  Sirens began to wail in the
distance. Far off sirens that meant
the police were on the way. Davis
didn't take his eyes off the parking
lot and the car where he thought
that Bainbridge was hidden. He
couldn't believe that the man stayed
where he was, his head down. It
showed that the man was smarter than
the average civilian. It showed that
Bainbridge knew better than to stick
his head up.

"Get up. Get up,'i said Davis.

"Now what?" asked Sullivan.

  "Keep watching," ordered Davis. He
wanted to tell her to shut the fuck
up and do her job, but remembered
she was a civilian. She knew nothing
about hying in wait for the enemy.
She was frightened and inexperienced
and talking too much, too fast. She
was nervous.

  Below, the sirens had gotten
closer. There was a squeal -of tires
and Davis knew the police had
arrived. It would be two, three
minutes before they knew what was
happening here. There would be
conflicting stories from the
civilians, but the police would soon
be able to figure it out. The two or
three minutes that they would waste
trying to learn the situation might
be all that he needed.

  It might be, but Davis didn't think
so. He'd already blown it.

- 13

The instant the window shattered,
Bainbridge knew what had happened. He
had been prepared for something like
it for years. An angry whore, a
blackmail victim, a friend of one of
the victims. Someone out to get even
with him. Someone with gun who wanted
him dead.

  Bainbridge crawled under the car,
on his belly, sliding away from the
gas tank to use the front tires as a
shield. He looked out toward the
street but could see no one there. He
waited for a second shot, but there
wasn't one. The gunman, whoever he
was, was a pro. Knew what he was
doing. But time would be working
against him now.

  Bainbridge couldn't see much, just
a few feet of the people who were
running for safety. No one was diving
under the cars. They were scrambling
for doors and the rear of the parking
lot, trying to get out of the line of
fire. Plenty of targets for the
rifleman, if he was interested in
shooting people at random. If he was
like the man in the tower in Texas,
the victim would make no difference.
The fact that he wasn't shooting
meant he'd had one target and
Bainbridge knew who it was.

  Suddenly, Bainbridge was afraid.
The killer was waiting for him. The
logic of it was inescapable. He felt
sweat bead on his body and begin to
drip. His clothes were

                 119
                  
120 SEALS

clammy, uncomfortable. There was a
knot in his stomach, a cold lump
there as he began to believe he was
about to die. He was aware of the
rough concrete and the odor of dirt
and oil and gas.

  And then came the distant wail of
a police siren. Bainbridge closed
his eyes tightly, almost as if that
could hold off the killer until the
police arrived. His lips moved in
silent prayer. He promised much, if
he could just live through the next
few minutes.

  The siren was getting louder and
then was joined by another and
another. Police from all over were
racing to the scene of the shooting.
Bainbridge pushed himself to the
rear, under the engine of the car,
until his feet hit the wall around
the lot. He stayed where he was, the
breath rasping in his throat and the
sweat soaking his clothes.

  A police car turned onto the street
and screeched to a halt. The siren
died, but the emergency lights
continued to flashy One door opened
and a police officer tumbled out,
using the car for a shield. He
crouched there, behind the door, his
eyes roaming the street and then the
buildings, not sure of the trouble
or the danger.

  From somewhere a man's voice
shouted, "He's on the roof across
the street. Behind that wall. Got a
rifle. "

  The cop tossed his hat into the car
and duckwalked toward the rear of
the vehicle. He poked his head up
and searched the rooftops for the
gunman.

  His partner crawled across the seat
and dropped out the same door. He
stepped around it and then turned,
facing the building where Bainbridge
worked.

  "You see what happened?" the cop
asked of the hidden voice.

  "Guy up there took a shot at the
people in the parking lot. Everyone
scattered and he hasn't fired
again."

The cop turned and looked up.

Bainbridge, feeling braver now,
slipped forward and

SEAIS 121

tried to peek out from under the car,
but he could see nothing. Instead, he
moved to his right and slid clear but
stayed on the ground. If the man was
on the rooftops, he wouldn't be able
to see him. Bainbridge was safe, just
as long as he didn't stand up. He'd
have to stay where he was until the
police either captured or killed the
gunman.

  Two more police cars arrived. They
blocked off the street. One of the
officers ran down the sidewalk
opposite them, so that the gunman
above couldn't see him. As long as he
stayed next to the fronts of the
buildings, the angle would be all
wrong and the gunman wouldn't be able
to see them.

  Other cops began arriving, some of
them stopping on the side streets.
They were infiltrating the area
slowly, moving from car to car to
building and back again, filling in
the gaps, surrounding the area so
that the gunman couldn't get away.
They wanted to make sure they got
him.

  From the parapet, Davis could see
everything that was going on below
him. The first cops who had arrived
had shown themselves a dozen times,
and if Davis had wanted to kill them,
he could have. Now those running
through the streets were making
targets of themselves. He could have
dropped a dozen of them. That would
have slowed them down as they tried
to figure out how to storm the tower.
But then, Davis had no quarrel with
them. He was interested only in
Bainbridge.

  He stood there, back from the wall
so that he could see down into the
parking lot, his eyes on the car
where Bainbridge hid. The man was
still there; he knew it. There had
been no chance for him to get away.

  He raised a hand and wiped the
sweat from his face. Suddenly it
seemed hotter on the parapet. It
wasn't the sun, but the situation. He
glanced to where Sullivan

122 SEWS

crouched, her head bowed as if
searching for something she'd
dropped near her feet. She hadn't
moved since he fired the shot.

  Police officers, some of them
wearing helmets, were running from
car to car. They were using the
available cover to move closer. To
Davis's trained eye, they were a
bunch of amateurs. They didn't know
how to use the cover they had. They
exposed themselves for too long and
made their destinations too obvious.
They had dealt with amateurs for so
long that they didn't know how to do
it themselves, if they ever had. He
could have dropped them as they
moved if he'd wanted to.

  He shook himself, trying to
concentrate on the task at hand, but
something else kept intruding. The
shot, no more than five-hundred,
six-hundred yards, had been a simple
one. A man used to a scope, looking
down at the target, shouldn't have
missed a stationary man. Fate had
intervened. Fate had stopped him
from killing Bainbridge.

  In that instant, Davis wondered if
the future could be changed. God, or
the spirits, or the universe, or
something had decreed that BainWdge
would launch a nuclear war, and it
looked as if having the knowledge
and the Opponunity to do something
about it weren't enough to change
it. Bainbridge still lived and
Davis's chances of changing it were
slipping away.

  From the street a voice, amplified
electronically, shouted, "You, in
the tower. We've got you spotted
now. We've got the place surrounded.
There is no way out."

  "Right," said Davis, knowing that
he could shoot his way clear if he
wanted to. The police didn't expect
that sort of thing. They expected
him to stay in the tower, taking
potshots at people as they moved
around. They weren't ready for
someone who knew how to handle the
high-powered weapon, who knew how to
kill, and who

- SEALS 123
                    -
knew how to escape and evade whether
the terrain was jungle or urban.

  "What'll we do now?" asked
Sullivan. Her voice was high, tight.
She was badly scared.

  Davis wasn't scared. He was pissed.
He'd missed a simple shot and it
didn't 100k as if he was going to get
a second one. 8ainbridge was too
smart, or too cowardly, to show
himself while the rifleman was still
out there. He'd stay put until the
danger had passed.

  He shook his head, telling himself
there was no reason to stay now.
Bainbridge was warned and safe. He
wouldn't be able to get him. The
streets were filling with cops, many
of them armed only with revolvers and
shotguns, but there were a few rifles
in the bunch. He had failed.

  "If you do not give up, we will be
forced to open f re," boomed the
voice.

"Dennis, what'll we do?"

  As she spoke, the police opened
fire, a rippling of pistol shots and
the booms of shotguns. Davis ducked
instinctively. He heard bullets snap
overhead, heard them strike the
concrete of the wall behind him. Some
of them whined off into the sky.
There were pops and snaps as the
rounds smashed into the solid wall.
Chips of rock bounced around the
deck.

  "Oh, God," said Sullivan, her voice
high and squeeky. "Oh, God."

"Relax," said Davis. "They can't hit
us."

"What'll we do?" she demanded.

  Davis laughed then. The whole
situation was stupid. He hadn't
planned on an alternative escape
route because he expected to be on
the ground before the police could
arrive. He had figured to drop
Bainbridge and then get out. Now that
wouldn't happen, not burdened with
Sullivan. She wound slow him down.
She would cause him to be

124 SEALS

caught. It had been stupid to bring her
after she bad bird-dogged Bainbridge for
him.

'4Well," he said, "I sure bucked this
one up."

6'What'll we do?

  "I've got to get out." He stopped
talking as the firing from below
tapered. He knew the police would be
trying to get up at him now. He had to
slow them for a moment.

  Without a word to Sullivan, he popped
up, put a round through the front tire
of the patrol car on the street below
him. He worked the bolt, swung the
weapon and put a bullet into the
emergency light bar, shattering it.

  As the return fire started, he dropped
down, lying flat. He listened to the
shooting. It was uncoordinated. There
was a volley of six rounds from each of
the police revohers, and then a tapering
as the men reloaded. There were quick
booms from a number of shotguns and then
silence. A few moments later, as the men
had reloaded, the firing picked up
again.

Davis laughed out loud,

"What the hell is so funny?"

  "Those guys down there aren't
coordinating their fire. In Vietnam we'd
attack when almost all of them were out
of ammo and reloading."

"What in hell are you talking about?"

  Davis turned and looked at her, a
beautiful woman who was badly
frightened. Her pale face was bathed in
sweat. Her eyes were wide open, the
pupils gigantic.

"Never mind," said Davis quietly. "lust
never mind."

  "Are we going to get out of here?" she
asked, sounding like a frightened little
girl.

  "I don't know yet," said Davis. He
shook his head and then added, "Looks
like we can't change the future."

"One hell of a time to find out," she
said.

  Davis stared at her and said, "We had
to try. With Bainbridge, we had to try."

;

SEliS 12S

"What are we going to do now?"

  Davis was about to tell her that he
had no idea what they were going to
do, and then suddenly he did. He
didn't know if it would work or not,
but it was better than sitting there,
waiting for the police to shoot them
to pieces.

  Tyn" sat at the tiny table, eating
the room service sandwich he had
ordered. King sat opposite him,
eating a salad of wilted lettuce and
pink tomatoes. In the background,
they had the TV on, waiting for the
news at noon, but neither was paying
attention to the game show in
progress.

  Tynan was wondering how much longer
he should let the class go on. It had
been three days and they really
hadn't done much except spend a great
deal of the taxpayers' money. Even
after the things that King had told
him, he wasn't sure it was worth it.
Not when there were radios and hand
signals that could do the job without
a great deal of specialized training.
He'd have to say something to the
commandant soon.

King asked, "Do you have to go back
this afternoon?"

  "I suppose I'd better. There are
three of us missing right now so that
really cuts into the class size." He
took a drink of his Coke and then
said, "I really had expected Davis to
check in by now. If there was one of
us who seemed suited for this from
the beginning, it was him."

  King shrugged and continued to eat.
Tynan looked past her at the
television and then turned his
attention to his own food. He picked
up the sandwich and then saw the
Special Bulletin sign flash.

  He leaned forward and heard the
announcer sounding breathless. "...
gunman fired one shot before police
arrived. Shots between the gunman and
the police have been exchanged, but
so far no injuries have been reported
. . ."

On the screen the camera was panning
to show the

128 SEAU

police officers crouched by their
vehicles, their weapons drawn. All
of them were looking up, at a
building across the street. The
camera pulled back, showing a dozen
policemen against the wall on the
other side of the street. They
weren't moving, just standing there,
wearing bulletproof vests, dark
baseball caps and carrying M-16s.

  The angle of the shot changed as
the camera was tilted so that it
showed the parapet where the gunman
wan

hidden. There was nothing to be seen
there. If the gunman was up there,
he was staying out of sight.

  King turned in her chair and
glanced at the TV. "What is it?"

  "Gunman downtown taking potshots at
people." Tynan thought about the man
in the tower in Texas. He'd dropped
twenty-five or thirty people before
the police got to him. Random
shooting, just firing at anyone who
moved or who came into his range of
fire, killing innocent people.

  On the television the reporter was
already drawing the parallels, but
then claimed that local police had
contained the man so quickly that no
one had been hurt. There had been
some property damage, but no
casualties.

"Doesn't make sense," said Tynan.

  The phone rang then. Tynan pushed
back his chair and leaned across the
bed to get it. "Hello."

"This is Harison. You got the TV
on?"

"Yeah, Harison. Why aren't you in
class?"

  "Nevermind that. You see the story
about the gunman downtown? Well, I
think that it's Davis."

  "What in hell are you talking
about?" demanded Tynan, although he
already knew. As soon as the words
had been spoken, he knew that they
were right. It explained the talk
about killing Hitler before he could
destroy Europe and kill millions of
people in a war.

"Dennis thought that he was on some
kind of mission.

SEALS in

Talked about it to me, just briefly,
but I know that's him down there. I
just know it," said Harison.

  "He give you any clues about the
mission? He tell you why he thought
he had to do it?"

"No sir, but I know that's him."

  Tynan shot a glance at King and
then looked at his watch. "Where are
you?"

"At the motel."

  "Okay," said Tynan. "I want you to
pick me up here as fast as you can.
Then we'll get down there and see if
we can't talk to Davis, if it is him.
Get him down from there before
someone gets killed."

"Maybe I should go by his room," said
Harison.

  "What in hell for? There's nothing
in the room that's going to help us
now."

"Yes, sir. I'll be there in ten
minutes."

  King was on her feet then. She had
moved closer to the television and
turned up the sound. The reporter was
still jabbering about no one knowing
what was happening or who the gunman
might be or what his motive was for
shooting at people.

"I'm going with you," she said.

"Why?"

"Because."

  "Not much of a reason," said Tynan.
He put on a khaki uniform shirt with
his rank on the collar. If the gunman
was Davis, he wanted him to know that
it was a naval officer he was
shooting at, if he opened up again.

"Still," said King, "I'm going."

  "Fine, but once we're down there,
you're going to have to take orders
from me."

"I've done that before," she said.

  Tynan nodded and then looked back
at the TV screen. Nothing new was
going on. Police officers were
running angled, maybe trying for a
chance to look brave on te1evi

1211 SEALS

sign. The reporter, looking scared,
was talking to a police lieutenant
now who was talking about having the
suspect pinned down. They were going
to take their time and make sure
that no one died who didn't have to
die.

  Tynan shook his head. Shove a TV
camera in the face of some people
and they said the dumbest things.
He'd seen it in Vietnam. An officer
who was normally quiet, reserved,
was thrown in front of a camera and
suddenly he was John Wayne at the
Alamo. It made everyone look stupid.

  There was a knock at the door.
Tynan shrugged and wondered how
Harison had gotten there so quickly.
When he opened it, he saw Jacobs. He
pushed by Tynan and then stopped in
front of the TV.

"Oh, you've got it on."

  "Harison is on his way over and
we're going down there," said Tynan.

"Then you already know that it's
Davis."

  Tynan stared at the man and said,
"We don't know it, but we suspect
it."

"Don't worry about it, it is."

"Shit," said Tynan. "How do you
know?"

  "Because he was talking about
assassinating someone with a
high-powered rifle and asked what I
thought would be best for the job.
Obviously, he missed his target, but
he's not giving it up yet."

"Now why do you say that?"

  "Because no one has been shot yet
and Davis is still there, waiting
for the target to show himself."

"Maybe we can talk him out of it,"
said King.

  Tynan shook his head and thought
about the conversation about Hitler.
Davis was a man with a mission, and
as a SEAL, he would not stop until
he was either dead or the mission
was accomplished.

SE1113 12!1

  Harison arrived then and pushed
open the door. "You ready?" he asked.

  Tynan grabbed his jacket and said,
"As ready as I'm going to be."

  Harison turned and headed down the
hallway. Tynan closed the door as
soon as everyone was out and then
followed. As he approached He parking
lot, he knew, just knew, that it
wasn't going to be easy to get Davis
down without someone dying.

                 14

For fifteen minutes, not a shot had
been fired. Everything was held as
it was, with the police maneuvering
on the street, trying to get all the
civilians out of the line of fire.
They were working to evacuate the
buildings so that no one would get
hurt by stray bullets if the gunman
decided to start shooting out
windows.

  Davis watched it, being careful not
to expose himself to the police guns
below him. He watched the parking
lot, but none of the officers ran
into it and no one came out.
Bainbridge was still down there
somewhere, hiding. All Davis had to
do was wait for him to show himself.

  As he watched, he noticed that it
was strangely quiet around them. The
heartbeat of the city seemed to have
been stilled. There wasn't the
undercurrent of sound that was
always present. The rumbling trucks,
the squeal of tires, the horns and
shouts and music were all gone now.
It was almost as if they were in a
western where it was suddenly too
quiet.

  "It's not going to work," said
Davis suddenly. "Not going to work
at all."

"Then what are we going to do?"
asked Sullivan.

  "One of us has got to get out of
here and complete the mission later.
It's important that we stop
Bainbridge. Maybe

                 130
                  
'' SEALS 131
                                 -
                                  -
if you go to the po1ice now and tell
them what he did, it'll be enough to
stop him in the future." But even as
he said it, he knew that it wasn't
going to be enough. Bainbridge could
dodge a single account of assaulting
a woman, especially as he began the
climb to political power. People
would ignore it. The second one, the
second case, was the one where they
would begin to listen, taking it all
seriously, but even then he might be
able to buy his way clear.

  "How?" she asked. "They're going to
arrest the both of us when they get
up here."

  "No," said Davis. "You tell them
that I took you as a hostage. There
was nothing you could do about it
because I was heavily armed and was
going to kill you."

  "No," she said. "I couldn't do
that. They'd throw you in jail."

  "Rachel, they're already going to
throw me in jail no matter what you
say or do. One of us has to be free
to act." ~

  "But if I say you kidnapped me,
held me hostage, they'll just hold
you longer."

"Hell, it won't make any difference."

"No. "

  Davis shrugged. He got to his knees
and peered over the wan. The street
was filled with cops. They were
running ad over the place, pointing
and directing and jockeying for
position. On the rooftops opposite of
him, he saw officers crouched behind
air-conditioning units, vents and
machinery over elevator shafts. There
were ten, twelve men he could have
hit, if he'd wanted to shoot police
officers.

  Again, he thought that he had to
slow them down. Keep them from
getting to him for a while, though he
couldn't have explained what good
that was going to do. He glanced at
Sullivan and warned her.

  "They're going to start pouring
some lead up here. Better keep your
head down."

132 SEALS

  As she fell flat, he aimed at two
police officers on the rooftop
opposite him, just over four-hundred
yards away. There was a thin metal
rod that looked like a radio an-
tenna. Davis aimed at it and
squeezed off a shot. The round hit
the rod and severed it. As it fell
to the rear, the two officers were
up and moving. One to the left and
one to the right. Both dived for
cover, rolling behind either the air
conditioner or a short brick wall.
Davis could still see one of them
but neither of them fired at him.

  He moved to the right, looked down
at the street and flattened another
tire of the squad car there. As he
fired, so did the police below,
their handguns popping in the dis-
tance sounding like cap guns. He
didn't bother to duck, knowing that
he was far outside their effective
range. He watched them all
scrambling for cover again.

  "That'll hold them for a while,"
said Davis. He sat down, his back to
the wall and looked at Sullivan.

"If Bainbridge moves, you won't see
him."

  "Too late now," said Davis. "He's
either gotten clear and we missed
it, or he's not going to move until
we've been taken. Either killed or
captured. "

  Two rounds struck the top of the
wall, spraying a fine gray dust. One
round whined off into the distance.
The other hit the building and
dropped to the deck.

"I never expected it to be like
this," she said.

  "We have got to make a few plans,"
said Davis. "I don't want to think
that I've thrown away my life for
nothing. You've got to get clear and
stop Bainbridge."

"How?"

  "You were my prisoner. Nothing you
could do about it," said Davis
again.

  "What if they check with the gun
store. They'll know that I wasn't
being held there. "

"Then you tell them that I told you
that if you didn't act

SEALS 133

normal I'd kill you and anyone in the
store. You had no choice in the
matter. You had to cooperate in the
store or a lot of innocent people
would have died."

  "Okay," she said. "Okay." There
wasn't much conviction in her voice.

  "You're going to have to trust me
on this one," said Davis. "The point
is that we stop Bainbridge. That's
all that's important."

"Okay," she repeated, her voice dull.

  "Fret, I'm going to have to tie you
up. When the police get here, it'll
add to the authenticity of your
story."

"I don't think so," she said.

  Davis crawled around to where she
was. The firing from the street and
the rooftops had tapered until it was
only sporadic. They could hear the
popping of the hand guns and the bull
horn instructions, but it was almost
as if it had nothing to do with them.
The rounds weren't coming close.

"Don't worry, it'll be all right."

  She sat up then and looked into his
eyes. "I don't understand any of this
now. It's like . . . like . . ." She
let her voice trail off.

  Davis knew exactly what she was
trying to say. The events had swept
them up and carried them along.
Neither of them was a murderous
person. Davis hadn't been able to
understand how a man could lie in
wait in ambush to shoot a politician.
Now he was doing exactly the same
thing, though Bainbridge was not yet
a politician.

  "It's like a bad dream," Davis
finished for her. "Except when you
wake up, Bainbridge will still exist,
still be a threat. We've got to make
sure there is one of us left to get
him, somehow, someway."

  She reached over and hugged him.
She held him tight, not wanting to
let go, even as another bullet struck
the

134 SEWS

building. Finally she sat back and
sand, "Okay, I'll do what you say.
We'll get him."

  Davis touched his lips with the
back of his hand and then said, "Roll
onto your stomach and put your hands
behind your back."

  She did as told and Davis stripped
his web belt. He touched her and then
asked, "Are you ready?"

"No, but go ahead."

  They were stopped four blocks away
by a police officer wearing an orange
vest and standing in the middle of
the street. There was a police car
parked behind him, across the road.
As they stopped, he came up to the
window on the ddver's side.

  "You'll have to detour," he said.
"We're having some trouble up ahead."

  "Yes, officer," said Tynan. "Have
you been able to identify the gunman
yet?"

'No."

  "We may know him. We'd like a
chance to help if we could," said
Tynan.

  The police officer turned and waved
another man forward. They talked for
a moment and then the second officer
leaned down. "You think you know the
man?"

"It's possible."

  "All right. You follow me, and when
I stop, you pull in right behind me."

"Got it," said Tynan.

  The police officer ran over to his
car as the first man got out of the
way. Tynan pulled around, waited and
then fell in behind the police
vehicle.

  "What are you going to tell them if
we're wrong?" asked Jacobs.

"I'll tell them that we're sorry. We
made a mistake."

SEALS 135

  They drove along streets that were
deserted. No people and no traffic.
They made one turn and the police car
pulled to the curb. As the officer
got out, so did Tynan.

"What do we do?" asked Jacobs.

  "Wait here until I get a handle on
this thing. Once we get some more
information, we can decide what we're
going to do about it."

  The police officer came over and
said, "Have the rest of the people
wait right here. You follow me."

Tynan nodded.

  They moved out, staying close to
the side of the building. They turned
a corner and Tynan saw a police van
sitting in the middle of the street,
the rear doors open. Inside were
three men, a rack of radio equipment
and a couple of TV monitors. One of
the men got out and came toward them.

"What you got, Sergeant?"

  "Man here claims to know who the
gunman is, Lieutenant. "

  The police commander looked at
Tynan and said, "That right?"

"I have a suspicion. Anyone been hurt
yet?"

  "We've been lucky. So far he's
missed, but he's come close a couple
of times."

  "If it's who I think it is, no one
has been hit because he's decided not
to hit anyone."

  "Then what's the point of all
this?" asked the police lieutenant.

"Good question."

"And another one is who are you?"

  Tynan nodded and said, "Sorry. I'm
Lieutenant Mark Tynan of the United
States Navy and I think the man you
have trapped up there is one of my
men."

136 SEALS

"You have any idea what he's doing
up there?''

  "I haven't the foggiest notion,"
Tynan lied. "But if it is one of my
men, you won't get to him until he's
ready for you to get to him."

"Now what in hell is that? Some kind
of threat?"

  "No, just the facts. He's trained
in this sort of thing. I'll bet
there isn't more than one or two
ways to get up there and he'll have
them both covered. If he's not on
the highest ground around, he's got
the hilt that anyone can get to. One
or two well-placed shots from him,
and you'll have to scatter for
cover."

"He up there to prove something?"

  Tynan shrugged. "I don't know why
he's up there, but you won't get him
until he's ready. If it's my man, I
might be able to tank him down."

  The cop stood there staring at
Tynan as if he hated him. He waited
for Tynan to drop his eyes, and when
that didn't happen, the police
lieutenant said, "Well, let's get
around there and see if we can get
this guy's identity. If you're
right, that gives us a leg up."

"Let's go and see what we can
learn."

  They moved to the corner. Around
it, Tynan could see a police car
sitting on two flat tires. The
emergency light bar on the top had
taken a hit that had shattered it.
Three policemen crouched behind it,
but they weren't paying much
attention to anything around them.

  Tynan looked up at the parapet
around the tower. There was some
visible bullet damage to it, but
there didn't seem to be anyone on
it.

"Gunman is up there."

  Tynan nodded. "lust as I said. He's
got the high ground and there's no
way for you to get at him. Only
thing is, I don't see an obvious
route of escape. Can't believe he'd
let himself get trapped up there."

   SEAIS 137
--
  "We still don't know if it's your
man," said the police lieutenant.

"No, we don't."

  Using his web belt, Davis bound
Sullivan's arms behind her. He looped
it around her elbows and drew it
tight until her elbows touched. That
done, he took off his shirt and then
his T-shirt and tore it into thin
strips, binding her wrists and then
her ankles.

  "I know that it's going to be
uncomfortable, but it's got to look
real."

  "It's all right," she said, but it
didn't sound like it was all right.

  Davis rolled her over and helped
her sit up. He picked her up and
moved her to the side, away from the
door that led into the building. He
set her down, leaning her against the
wall. He wanted to kiss her then, but
didn't.

  As he turned away, the vision of
Bainbridge came again. He;was
standing with the generals and the
Secret Service men in the War Room.
There were people crying and warning
lights flashing all over. There were
shouts of panic and there were a
couple of shots as people went
berserk, wanting to end the war
before it got started.

  All that they had done during the
day was not going to prevent
Bainbridge from finding his destiny.
Even the trick, with Sullivan
portrayed as a hostage, was not
enough. Davis didn't know if the
police failed to believe it or if she
was powerless to stop Bainbridge
later. All he knew was that
Bainbridge was going to end up
launching the war.

  Again, it seemed that the future
couldn't be changed. He wondered if
he should leave her there and try to
shoot his way clear. He might be able
to make it out, but then the image of
Bainbridge came again and he was
still in charge in the War Room,
ordering his generals to launch the
missiles. It seemed that he too was
powerless.

138 SEALS

  He moved away from Sullivan and
then glanced back at her. Her
posture was stiff. She looked
uncomfortable with her arms bound
the way they were, but the police
had to believe she was a hostage.
Even if she couldn't stop
Bainbridge, it would keep her out of
jail, and that was something. Not
much but something.

  He picked up his rifle and glanced
down into the street. He saw
movement down there but no one
seemed interested in shooting at him
now. It was quiet down there.

  He dropped to the deck and then
peeked over the wall at the roof
opposite them. There were more
police up there, armed with M-16s
and hunting rifles. They were
speeding out, getting ready to take
him.

  And then a voice boomed from the
street. "The h Lieutenant Tynan. Is
that you Davis?"

  He stood up and looked down into
the street. He saw the lieutenant
crouched behind the police car and
thought that there might be a way to
salvage it. Rachel might be
powerless to stop Bainbridge, and he
might have screwed it up by not
thinking it through, but the
lieutenant could get to Bainbridge.
Tynan was the answer. He just had to
convince the lieutenant to do
something about it.

  He crouched again and looked at
Rachel. "If anything happens to me,
you get to Lieutenant Tynan; he's
here now. You get to him and tell
him everything you know. Give him
the notebook and tell him about
Bainbridge. Tell him everything
about the man and maybe he can do
something about it."

  When she nodded her understanding,
he stood up then to wave at Tynan,
to tell him that he was going to
surrender. It was now all over, as
long as he had the chance to talk to
the lieutenant there was no reason
to keep it going.

  There was a single shot from one of
the rooftops and Davis was thrown to
the rear. He hit the side of the
building and bounced off. There was
a burning pain in his

 SEALlt          139

-
upper chest and it was hard to
breathe. A warm liquid was spreading
across his chest and his vision began
to fade as the fire spread through
his upper chest and his heart ham-
mered. He tried to sit up, but the
pout was too great. He tried to roll
over to push himself up but couldn't
do it. He thought about the old
saying that you never heard the one
that got you, but that wasn't true.
He'd heard it. Felt it first, but
then he'd heard the shot.

  In the distance, he heard a woman
screaming and didn't know what had
happened.

                 15

When the shot was fired, Tynan
dropped to the ground. He turned,
looking to the rear, at one of the
rooftops there, searching for the
gunman. He didn't see anyone up
there who might have fired.

"What the fuck?" demanded Tynan.

  The police lieutenant, who was
crouched by the open door of the
car, said, "I don't know."

  Then they heard the woman
screening. A faint, distant voice.
Tynan was on his feet. He ran around
the car, leaped over a trash can and
hit the wall. Three police stood
there, all of them scanning the
rooftops opposite them, looking for
the officer who had fired.

"How do I get up there?"

  One of the officers looked at him,
his face blank, as if he didn't
understand English.

  Tynan grabbed the man's vest and
jerked him around. "How do I get up
there?"

  "In here. Elevator to the roof. But
you can't go up there now."

  Tynan pushed past the man, opened
the door and ran to the bank of
elevators. He pushed the button, and
then had to wait. He turned, spotted
the stairway and was tempted. He
could run up the stairs. He could
get moving. But in

                 140
                  
SEINES41

the long run it would be slower. He
spun and hit the button again,
knowing that it wouldn't speed the
elevator. It was coming as fast as
the electrical motor could work.

"Come on," he hissed. "Come on."

  Two police officers entered the
lobby then, one of them dressed in
black, wearing a bulletproof vest and
a black baseball cap. "Hey, you."

  The elevator arrived with a loud
bong of a bell. Tynan stepped in and
hit the button to take him to the top
floor. As the doors closed, the
police officers ran toward him. But
then he was on his way up.

  On the top floor, he stood for a
moment and then saw the exit signs
that lead to the stairway. He ran to
it, entered and continued up. Far
below him he heard the police
officers running-up the stairs,
chasing him.

  Tynan came to another door and
found himself on the rooftop. He
hesitated for a moment and fumed.
Across the street, he could see a
dozen cops moving on the rooftops
there. liach was armed with an M-16
or a rifle. They had left their cover
and were advancing carefully, almost
as if they were an infantry company
moving on a beeline occur pied by the
enemy. They were ready for trouble.

  Tynan turned and saw the rusting
ladder that lead up to the parapet.
He ran toward it, hesitated again and
then began to climb. As he reached
the top, he heard the woman crying
and then spotted Davis. He was lying
on the deck, on his back, his head
against the wall of the building.
There was blood on his shirt and
under his body. A lot of blood.

  As he scrambled over the top, the
woman said, "Help him. Help him."

  Tynan ignored her. He crouched near
Davis and saw that he was still
alive. His skin was waxy, unnatural-
looking. His breathing was rapid and
shallow. Tynan put a hand over his
chest, pushing slightly, and Davis
began to blame easier.

142 SEdUS

  The man's eyes fluttery open and he
said, "Fucked it up, sir."

  "What in hell were you trying to
accomplish? You didn't even leave
yourself an escape route."

  Davis smiled weakly. "Didn't figure
I'd need it. Pigured to be out
before the cops arrived."

"Christ, man."

"Is he going to be all right?" asked
the woman.

  Tynan glanced at her and saw that
her arms were bound. "Who are you?"

"Never mind me. Get him some help. "

  "Room key, sir. Get my room key."
He coughed then and fell silent.

"Never mind that," said Tynan.

  Davis reached up with his left hand
and grabbed Tynan's shoulder. He
tried to pull him closer. "It's up
to you now, sir. You've got to stop
him."

66Who?"

Chider," said Davis.

  Tynan was going to say that he
wasn't making sense, but he
understood. Davis believed that he
had found someone who was going to
turn out worse than Hitler.

66You take it easy now . . ."

  66Rachel can help. She knows, but
you've got to take care of it."

  One of the police officers poked
his head over the top of the wall
then. He looked at the scene,
climbed to the parapet and picked up
the sniper's rifle.

66Get an ambulance," said Tynan.

66Just a minute here . . ."

  Tynan glanced up at the man and
roared. 6'You get an ambulance now'"

  "Yes, sir." He turned and yelled
down. 66We need an ambulance. "

Tynan looked down at Davis. There
was sweat on his

              : IS 141
                 ~-

face. His eyes were closed. Tynan
could see the pulse throbbing in his
neck but didn't think the man would
last long.

  For a moment, Davis was conscious,
seeming to be lucid. "You can't
change it," he said. "I tried. You've
got to. "

  "Who's the woman?" asked the cop as
he climbed onto the parapet.

  Tynan looked at her and then up at
the police officer. "I have no idea.
Why don't you untie her. I think this
man was holding her hostage."

  "Crazy tucker," said the policeman
as he moved toward Sullivan.

  There was a pounding on the door and
the police moved to it, pulling the
wedge free. More policemen, weapons
drawn, spilled onto the parapet, but
there was nothing for them to do now.
They spread out, looking for
evidence, trying not to kick the
shell cases around.

  "A lilac he was preparing for a
siege," said one of the officers.

  The lieutenant who had brought Tynan
into the area asked, "You know the
man?"

"Yes."

  "We'll need to get a statement from
you." He looked at the woman. "Who
are you?"

  "Rachel Sullivan. He was . . . he
had taken . . . I was his hostage."

"Fine. "

  "The ambulance?" asked Tynan. He
shil held his hand over the chest
wound, pressing harder to stop the
bleeding.

"On its way."

  The police lieutenant pointed to two
of his men and said, "Why don't you
take her down to the street and put
her into one of the cars." He pointed
at her and said, "We'll need a
statement."

1U SEALS

  "Maybe she should go to the
hospital," said Tynan. "lust to make
sure she's okay."

En the distance came the wail of the
ambulance siren.

  The police lieutenant looked at the
scene and said, "Christ, what a
mess."

  In the ambulance, on the way to the
hospital, Davis came around again.
He glanced up, at the bags of drugs
hanging above him, at the medic in
white, and then at Tynan, seated
close to him. He looked at the
lieutenant and said, "You'll have to
take care of it now."

  Tynan moved, crouching next to the
stretcher. "What in hen are you
talking about?"

  Davis reached over and tried to
touch Tynan. The lieutenant took the
wounded man's hand and asked again,
"What are you talking about?"

  The medic was there, watching.
Davis looked away, out the window,
and knew that it wasn't worth the
effort. He could see the future, but
he couldn't change it. There was no
way to convince Tynan that
Bainbridge had to be stopped. And
even if he could, there was no way
that Tynan could take care of it.
He'd learned that with his attempt.

  He turned back, coughed and said,
"Get to my room first. Get my
notebook."

"I'U do what I can," said Tynan.

"And you'll try to stop Bainbridge?"

  Tynan stared at him for a moment
and then said, "I'U do what I can. "

  Davis closed his eyes and the scene
in the War Room swam in front of him
again. Bainbridge surrounded by the
men, the generals, the computers.
There was someone crying openly,
noisily, as Bainbridge ordered the
first, preemptive strike. It was the
same vision that he'd had over and
over. Bainbridge, the man who didn't
deserve to

SIFT 145

be President, standing there as the
President, ordering the destruction
of the Earth with the casualness that
most men used ordering lunch.

  Davis appealed again, locking his
eyes on Tynan. "Promise that you'll
try to stop him."

"I promise," said Tynan.

  But the scene didn't change.
Bainbridge was still in control and
the Earth was about to be plunged
into the nuclear holocaust. Davis
tried to see beyond it, to what the
Earth would be like. Would the planet
be nothing more than a radioactive
ash, inhabited by grotesque creatures
caused by the radiation? Or would it
be a barren rock, stepped of its
atmosphere and its life by the war?
He couldn't tell.

  He felt weak. Even with the promise
that Tynan would try, nothing
changed. Bainbridge would somehow
survive to become President and that
would mean the end of the United
States, of civilization.

  He couldn't change the future. It
was there, already written and as
immutable Lithe past. That was why
people could glimpse it with psychic
abilities. There was no free will and
free determination. It was already
scripted, and the people moved
through the settings according to
that script. Forewarned was not
forearmed. It merely meant that there
were frustrated people who were
powerless to change the foreordained.

  Davis rolled ova and hoped that
death would come soon because he
wouldn't be able to stand it in
prison, knowing that the Earth was
about to die. Death was preferable to
a life, a short life in prison.

  When they arrived at the hospital,
Davis was wheeled mto an operating
room almost immediately. Police
officers swarmed all over, fighting
through the crowds of reporten,
trying to learn what had happened.
Tynan was con

146 SEdIIS
   - - -
fronted by three policemen who
demanded to know what had happened
and what Davis had said to him.

  Tynan shrugged and said, "Not all
that much. I think he was delirious
the whole time."

  He and Rachel were questioned
separately, together, and then handed
over to the reporters who demanded
more from them. Tynan said little and
Sullivan repeated the story that
Davis had given her. She was a
hostage.

"Why was he up there shooting?"

"I don't know."

"What motivated him?"

"I don't know."

"Was it random or did he have a
target?"

 "I don't know."               - ~

  It continued on in that vein until
  Tynan decided that
enough was enough. He pulled
Sullivan to the side and
they escaped into a small room that
was used by doctors to
give the bad news to the families of
patients. As they sat
down, there was a knock on the door
and Jacobs stuck his
head in.

"Got a car here when you're ready to
get out."

  "Fine," said Tynan. "Find the police
officer in charge and learn what his
plans are."

"Yes, sir."

  As the door closed, Tynan turned to
Sullivan and said, "Now what can you
tell me? I know that Davis didn't
take you hostage. You were working
with him and he gave you an out so
that you could finish the job."

  Tears filled her eyes and spilled.
She glanced at the floor and then the
ceiling and finally said, "It was
Bainbridge. He, Dennis, told me that
Bainbridge was an evil man."

  "So, out of the blue, you joined in
His . . . murder attempt," said
Tynan.

"It wasn't like that," she protested.
She told him the

SEIUS 147

whole story then, from the moment
she'd met Davis at the pizza parlor
to the moment Tynan had appeared on
the ladder.

  Tynan sat back, }caning against the
rear of the couch, looking up at the
ceiling, feeling completely drained.
"That's one hell of a story," he
said.

"Then you'll get Bainbridge?"

  Tynan thought about everything that
had passed in the last few days. The
discussions of ESP and precognition
and the history of the human race. He
thought about killing Hitler before
he could condemn the Earth to a
destructive war and thought about
changing the future. Did anyone have
die right to do it? Of course, to do
it, you had to know what the future
held, and that was the real problem.

  "Bainbridge does exist," said
Tynan, amazed at that one bit of
information. It wasn't something that
Davis had imagined. He'd seen an evil
man and according to Sullivan, the
Bainbridge they'd tried to shoot was
an evil man.

  Sullivan looked at Tynan then. She
studied his face and his eyes and
finally asked, "What are you going to
do?"

  "That's the question, isn't it?"
said Tynan. "I don't have the
faintest notion."

"But you're going to get Bainbridge?"

  "I don't know." He thought that
there was more that he should say,
but didn't know what it was. It was
the only answer that he had.

"I don't know," he repeated.

-
                 16

Tynan unlocked the door of the motel
room and stood back. He didn't want
to enter it, but there was no reason
not to. Davis had told him to get
the notebook before the police
learned about it and impounded it.
The notebook would explain
everything, the man had said.

  He entered the room and looked
around quickly. Clones were hung in
the closet. There was a suitcase
sitting on the dresser, open. There
was a pair of shoes by the bed slid
a jacket hung over the back of a
chair. There was no note" book lying
out in the open.

  Tynan entered the room and closed
the door. He stood there for a
moment, feeling like an intruder. He
took a step forward and stopped. He
glanced into the bathroom, where
Davis had left his shaving kit.

  Rather than begin the search, Tynan
sat on the bed. He stared at the
floor and then at the suitcase.
Without having to look, he knew that
the notebook was in there. It was
the only place that made any sense.

  He stood and moved to the case.
There was a pouch on the top of the
case and in it was the notebook. A
cheap, spiral notebook like kids
carried to school. Not the thing
that you'd expect to find holding
the future of the human race. Tynan
pulled it out and opened it.

                 1U
                  
               SEMS149
-
  Apparently Davis had anticipated
problems in dealing with Bainbridge.
The first page warned that he might
fail and that the duty would then
fall to whoever held the notebook and
the knowledge. Davis had written that
this was like finding a notebook that
chronicled the rise and fall of
Adolph Hitler before the beginning of
the Second World War. Here was a
chance to spare the world, spare the
human race the misery that one man
could inflict.

  "But there's no proof," said Tynan.
He then closed the notebook and moved
toward the door. He had the one thing
that Davis was afraid would fall into
the wrong bands. Before he closed the
door on his way out, he made sure
that it would lock. Then, in the
hallway, he turned to the left,
hurrying toward the parking lot.

  As he reached the car, King opened
the door and said, "You get it?"

"Right here." Tynan climbed into the
passenger side.

  King started the engine and moved
toward the street. 'It's it says"

  "I haven't read-that much of it,"
said Tynan, "but it looks to be a
diary of some kind." He flipped
through it, saw the dates on it and
added, "A future diary."

"What?"

  Tynan shrugged. He read a couple of
the passages and said, "He seems to
have listed every vision or
prediction that he's made or had or
whatever. Everything up to and
including this Bainbridge launching
the next world war."

  King pulled into trafficc and then
stopped at a light. She glanced at
the book and said, "What do you
think?"

  "I don't know. This thing is
frightening if what it says is true.
What I'm reminded of is those
notebooks that what's-his-name kept.
The journals he kept while stalking
his victims. He wrote down all the
information he found about the target
before he went out to get him."

"But that's not like this."

1SO SEMS

  "No," agreed Tynan, "but I'm
holding the motivation for the
crime."

  They started again and she asked,
"What's the crime? Discharging a
firearm in the city limits?"

  Tynan stared at her and shrugged.
"I don't know. They'll probably have
a whole shopping list of them.
Reckless endangerment springs to
mind. Attempted murder, though with
this in my hands, it's going to be
hard to prove that."

  "What'll happen to him? To Davis.
" She pulled into the parking lot of
the motel.

  "Again, I don't know. Those cops
were pretty sore about the whole
thing and I don't blame them. He'll
probably end up with a ten-year
sentence and be out in three.
Something like that. The whole point
is that no Ale was hurt."

"What about the Navy?"

  "Oh," said Tynan, "he's out.
Bad-conduct discharge, especially if
there is jail time. He might have to
put in some time in a Navy brig, but
I kind of doubt that."

King said, "Let me see that
notebook."

Tynan handed it over. "It's quite a
document."

  She read some of it and then
flipped to the end, reading the
three pages devoted to Bainb~idge
and the end of three" quarters of
the human race on Earth. When she
finished she said, "Jesus. He
believed this, didn't he?"

"I would think that his actions
today proved that."

  "What are you going to?" She turned
to face him. The engine was still
idling and the radio was playing
soMy in the background.

  Tynan turned and stared out the
windshield. He thought again about
Hitler and how it would have been
possible, just possible, to have
spared the world the Second World
War. That was if someone knew what
Hitler was going to do. Now Tynan
found himself in that positdon.
Maybe.

"The problem, as I see it," said
Tynan, "is that we

SEW 151

don't, I don't know if he's right.
Maybe all this" he pointed at the
notebook "is some kind of delusion.
Bainbridge might be an innocent man."

"Do you believe that?" asked King.

  "Shit, I don't know. There are so
many things about this whole affair
that I can't explain. Sumner-Gleason
told me that Davis scored a hundred
out of a hundred on the standard PSI
test. No one ever does that. "

"So he has some talent."

  "Agreed," said Tynan. "But what
kind of talent? We're not talking
about being good at guessing games
here. We're talking about commiting
a murder based solely on another
man's delusion."

"He tried to do something about it,"
said King.

  "Yes, but it was his delusion, it's
not mine. Right now I just don't know
what to do."

  She turned back and looked into the
notebook. "Good Lord. Do you know
what all this stuff means?"

  "Some of it makes sense, like the
fall of Saigon in 1975. Looks like
the communists will rename it Ho Chi
Minh City. And the invasion of
Grenada in what, 1982 or '83. That
makes some sense. I don't understand
the Challenger disaster, though it
appears a spacecraft explodes. Or
this AIDS thing. Some kind of
worldwide disease that sweeps across
the planet in the late 1980s."

  King grinned and said, "Well the
Cubs fans will have something to
cheer about in 1984. They get into
the playoffs, only to lose to San
Diego."

  "The book is rich in predictions,"
said Tynan. "Hundreds of them. "

  "Seems to me that this whole thing
is the answer to the question," she
said. She closed it and set it on the
seat between them.

  "I know what you're thinking," said
Tynan. "We hang on to the notebook
and see if the predictions come Sue.

152 SEW

If some of them do we then decide
what to do about Bainbridge. "

  "There are so many, of them, that
we could easily determine if he was
right or wrong."

  "What if we're not sure," said
Tynan. "What if only some of them
come true?"

"What do you mean by that?"

  "What if some of the things come
chase. Maybe Saigon doesn't fall in
1975, as he claims but in 1976.
Maybe in January. Close, but not
quite right."

  "Then that would mean that he could
be wrong about Bainbridge," said
King. "Maybe Bainbridge is the
salvation of the nation, not the
destroyer."

  "It's the shadings that I'm
concerned about. Wetie relying on
Davis to have interpreted everything
perfectly, but he might have seen
something wrong. Or maybe seen it
right but not understood it. "

  King shook her head. "Then there is
no answer. But we have here a
document that could prove to be one
of the most valuable ever written.
We can't just toss it aside and
forget all about it."

  "No," said Tynan. "We've got to
hang on to it and study it. Look for
flaws in it. About the only thing we
have going for us on this one is
time. We can sit back and see if
he's dght. If he hits on the
majority of it, then we're going to
have to do something about
BainWdge."

  "Providing that we can do anything
to change the future," said King.

  Tynan picked up the notebook and
tiffed the pages again. "If we know
about it, then we can change it," he
said.

  "Isn't that what Davis shed," said
King. "He knew what had to be done
and he failed to get it done."

  Tynan nodded his agreement and then
added, "But he went about it all
wrong. Tded to take care of it today
when

SEALS , 1S3

it didn't have to be done today.
Besides, he failed to stop Bainbridge
today, but that doesn't mean he
failed totally. He did get us
interested in the project."

  "Which means we're going to do
something about Bainbridge?"

  "It means," said Tynan, "that we're
going to study the situation, and if
it warrants action on our part, then
we're going to take it. It means that
if his other predictions come true,
then we're going to do something
about Bainbridge. "

"Providing we can," cautioned King.

"Providing we can."

  Davis came awake suddenly. There
were huge bandages on his chest and
around his arm. There were bottles
suspended in the air over him and the
quiet beep of a machine that
monitored his heart rate.

  Again he tried to see into the
future but this time he failed.
Nothing was there. He felt his heart
skip and his Oh grow cold. There was
no way to save the human race because
he couldn't change the future.

  And then suddenly he realized that
he was wrong. The future wasn't
written in stone, immutable; it was
something pliable as clay. It could
be molded into a dozen, a hundred, a
thousand directions, if a man had the
knowledge to do it. He'd failed to
stop Bainbridge, not because the
future was a rigid structure but
because he had rushed into action.
There was no reason to attack today.
Tomorrow, next week, would have been
soon enough, as long as he knew what
was going to happen.

  But he knew the future could be
changed because he had already done
it. He had seen his death in Vietnam
in a year and now knew that was not
going to be the case. He was dying
now, he knew it as surely as he knew
everything else. He wouldn't live to
see the Vietnam jungle. And if he
survived now, be would spend the next
few years in

154 SEALS

jail. There was no way for him to
end up on that patrol to die. None
whatsoever.

  And then he reached out again,
trying to find Bainbridge in the
future. Trying to find the scene in
the War Room, but it was no longer
there. It was gone, as if it had
been erased from the history of the
world.

  Tynan, he thought. The lieutenant
had finally made a decision about
it. He'd read the notebook and there
was enough there that the lieutenant
would act on the information. Tynan
would do something that prevented
Bainbridge from gaining power. Maybe
he'd use some of his friends in the
government to blackball Bainbridge,
or maybe he'd just assassinate him.
Davis couldn't see that. He just
knew that Bainbridge would never
have the power to order a preemptive
strike. He would never become
President of the United States.
Something had changed.

  Davis opened his eyes and saw two
figures standing near him.
Blonde-headed figures who he thought
he recognized. An older sister who
had died when she was eighteen and a
woman that Davis had loved once, a
woman who had moved away before they
had a chance to be together.

  A peaceful feeling washed over him,
because he knew his task was
finished, his mission over. He had
entrusted it to another who would
see it through to its conclusion.
There was no longer a reason to
fight for life, no longer a reason
to hang on.

  He closed his eyes and was aware of
the women touching him. The pain was
gone then. It evaporated and he was
tranquil. He felt himself sit up and
then swing his feet from the bed.
The tubes that had run into his
body, into his arm and into his
nose, did not bother him. He stood
up "d grinned at his sister, holding
out his arms to hug her.

  He wasn't aware that the heart
machine had stopped beeping and was
emitting a nerve-shattering squeal.
He didn't know that two doctors and
three nurses burst into

.

SEAIS 155

the room and tried to resuscitate him.
As he moved off with his sister and old
girlfriend, he didn't know that one of
the doctors had pulled a sheet over his
face or that a nurse had shut off the
monitonag equipment.

  None of that made any difference to
him because his job was done. Now it was
time for the reward.

I.

i

.; hi.

.~
›

 .,        .

$

 .            .

 THE WORLD'S MOST RUTHLESS
 FIGHTING UNIT,
 TAKING THE ART OF WARFARE    43
 TO THE LIMIT AND BEYOND!

 i
     SEALS #1: AMBUSH!                   
75189-5/$2.95US/$3.95Can
     SEALS #2: BLACKBIRD                 
75109/$2.50US/$3.50Can
 !   SEALS #3: RESCUE!                   
~7519f-7/$2.50US/$3.50Crin
     SEALS #4: TARGET 
75193-3/$2.95US/$3.95Can
     SEALS#5:BREAKOUTI                   
75194-1/$2.95US/$3.95C n
     SEALS #6: DESERT RAID               
75195-X/$2.95US/$3.96Can
     SEALS#7:RECON    
75529-7/$2.95US/$3.95C n                 if
     SEALS #8: INFILTRATEI               
75530~i/$2.95US/$3.95Can
     SEALS #9 ASSAULT!                   
75532-7/$2.95US/$3.95Can
     SEALS #10 SNIPER 
75533-5/$2.95US/$3.95Cani

 and coming soon from Avon Books
 SEALS #11: ATTACKI
75582-3/$2.95US/$3.95Can
 SEALS#12 STRONGHOLD
 75583-1/$2.95US/$3.9SCan
 Buy these books at your local bookstore or use this coupon for ordering
 Avon Books Dept BP 8cx 767. Rte 2 Dresden TN 31i225
 Please send me the book(s) I have checked above. I am enclosing S
 (please add St.00 to cover postage and handling for each book ordered lo a maximum or
 three dollar). Send check or money odor no cash or C.O.D. s pie. Prices and nuns
 teen are subject to change wlihoui notice. Please allow six to eight weeks for
deiiv~y.                            <
 Name
 Address.
 city stt'-nip                       i.
 SEALS 11/Sfi