'It's not really that personal, more a point of information. It's, just what did you do in the Navy? I'm not knocking the Navy, don't misunderstand me, in fact the way you run this intelligence operation, maybe I have been wrong about Navy organization.'
'Then again maybe you haven't. The Navy does have a tendency to work by the book and to show little imagination. Perhaps that is why I am here. Then again — perhaps I never was in the Navy at all. Consider yourself, you have never been a lieutenant — but you're wearing the uniform of one right now. I suggest we leave it at that for the time being. I look forward to receiving your progress reports.'
It was probably the best answer that he could expect. Troy went down to his cubby and buried himself in the work. The papers gradually spread out to cover the desk, and even slopped over onto the floor as he tried to arrange them in some sort of coherent order. It was only after he had worked his way through the entire, laboriously detailed FBI report, that he hit paydirt. A three page evaluation of McCulloch's personality that had been analysed from his personal history and medical records by a government psychiatrist.
It was heavy going, and very Freudian. Much was made of the colonel's having left home at an early age; this opportunity to speculate about maternal rejection and sibling rivalry led to some fancy theorizing. Troy flipped through the pages until he came to the summation.
'Didn't need a shrink to tell me that,' Troy said, dropping the papers onto the laden desk, then unconsciously wiping his fingers on his trousers' leg. 'Felt that the first time I saw him. At least this proves it. But what else do I know?'
One by one he picked up what he felt were the relevant documents and stacked them to one side, away from the others. He tapped them with his fingers, speaking aloud to clarify his thoughts.