‘A persistent young man, but elegantly persuasive. I suppose I shall have to tolerate him,’ the Colonel said, flicking away a buzzing bee.
‘He will be part of the next generation of anthropologists and useful in the promotion of your reputation,’ Lavinia replied, placating him. She placed her hand on his knee.
31
Camp Pendleton, 2002
‘FRANKLY, I THINK IT CAN HAPPEN to anyone, Professor Huntington.’
‘Call me Julia.’ Sensing that the soldier was close to confiding in her, Julia let the tape recorder roll on.
‘Yes, ma’am.’ He grinned, the smile of a child. There was a radiance about him, an innocence, and Julia couldn’t help but feel charmed.
‘Something or someone has morally wronged you—well, there is nothing more lethal than a wronged man. Now, I don’t know if this kind of thing has happened to you, ma’am. First time it happened to me, it was my wife. She betrayed me. It’s there in my file: I was married two years and I nearly killed the man I found her with. Luckily, he didn’t press charges.’
Winston Ramirez didn’t look as if he could even grow a beard, yet he’d served six years in the marines, and been involved in countless operations and one full-blown war. His file also noted that he’d been a straight A student at high school.
The youngest SEAL on record, Winston had exceeded his commander’s expectations by volunteering for four operations back to back with the barest minimum of leave. The twenty-nine year old appeared to thrive on conflict, the bloodier the better.
Half African–American and half Latino, Winston had been adopted by a middle-class African–American couple and had grown up in Ladera Heights, California. His identical twin had been adopted by a blue-collar cou
ple who lived on the other side of America, in Atlanta. Interestingly, both men had ended up in the military;Winston’s brother, Michael, was an airborne ranger. They had never met.
Winston’s case had come to her attention because, unlike some of the others in the database, he didn’t have a history of abuse or any social or economic deprivation. His adoptive parents were stable, law-abiding and, by all accounts good nurturers.
His identical twin Michael, by contrast, had grown up in an abusive household, and as a child had displayed a broad, though fortunately mild, range of anti-social behaviours. Michael had joined the army at eighteen, younger than Winston, but had attracted similar attention as his twin, and had been selected for ranger training. He had earned his wings in one of the elite airborne divisions, and had excelled under fire in frontline combat. Like Winston, he had displayed no signs of post-traumatic stress disorder. The twins showed very similar readings in their brain scans when viewing images of combat, and almost identical readings for associated heart rate and blood pressure. It was a clear example of genetic inheritance dominating over environmental nurturing.
Wrapping the tourniquet around the marine’s upper arm, Julia searched for a suitable vein.
‘What about your adoptive mother and father, Winston?’
‘Well, ma’am, they’re nice, God-fearing citizens who go to church and pay their taxes. My mom’s a primary school teacher, my dad’s an academic. They were active pacifists, funnily enough. They campaigned against the Gulf War in ’91, anti-nuclear. You know the type—well-meaning Democrats. To my way of thinking, maybe a little naive. Anyway, it nearly killed my father when I joined up. We talk now, though—just not about the army.’
‘You know your twin brother is an airborne ranger?’
‘So I’ve heard.’
She slipped the needle into his vein. He inhaled sharply, then smiled crookedly. ‘I’m not real good with needles.’
‘Almost done. I was asking about your brother…’
‘We’ve emailed but we haven’t met yet.’
The syringe was a quarter full, the entire matrix of Winston Ramirez’s lineage concealed in that small amount of blood.
‘He’s taken a posting in Afghanistan too,’ Winston went on. ‘He’s going to arrive a day after me. Between me and you, ma’am, it’s weird—like, we ask each other the same questions at the same time.’
‘But you must be excited about meeting him?’
‘I am. But also I’m a little scared—maybe we won’t get on…’
‘Twin brothers, similar hobbies, similar ambitions—you’ll like him.’
‘Maybe, maybe not.’
Julia pulled the needle out and pressed a cotton ball against the welling puncture, then taped a plaster strip over it.
Winston pulled on his shirt, then leant over and clicked the tape recorder off.