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CITATION:
  
DR. EDWARD HALLOWELL
  
TS #9773921A
SUBMISSION:
  
SUDBURY, MA
  
MARCH 1

    Next, he looked at the unredacted analysis:

    U.S. SENATE SELECT COMMITTEE ON INTELLIGENCE
    Washington, D.C. 20510
FOCUS:
  
ANDREAS, DEWEY
  
NOC 295-R
SANCTION:
  
SSCI RK667P
  
AS PER ASSIGNEE: US SEN. FURR
  
PER DDCIA GANT
  
NOVEMBER 19
FIELD VISIT:
  
JANUARY 24–25
  
FEBRUARY 7–10
ASSIGN:
  
COVER BLACK WIDOW
  
DO NOT SHARE (PER DEP DIR GANT)
SITUATION:
  
ANDREAS IS A 39-YEAR-OLD MALE SUSPECTED OF EXHIBITING TRAITS ASSOCIATED WITH POST-TRAUMATIC STRESS DISORDER (PTSD). TRIGGERING EVENTS INCLUDE DEATH OF FIANC É E DUE TO U.S. INTELLIGENCE OPERATION. GIVEN POSSIBLE PAST SOCIOPATHIC TRAITS EXHIBITED BY SUBJECT, THIS OFFICE WAS ASKED TO DETERMINE IF ANDREAS REPRESENTS A SECURITY THREAT TO THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA.
CONCLUSION:
  
ANALYSIS INCOMPLETE
  
HUMINT INSUFFICIENT
REC:
  
WITHOUT PROPER THERAPIST/SUBJECT COMMUNICATION, SANCTION MUST BE DEEMED INCONCLUSIVE. HOWEVER, ANALYSIS OF ANDREAS PERSONAL, MILITARY, AND INTELLIGENCE HISTORY SUGGESTS A UNIQUELY CAPABLE ASSET WHOSE REHABILITATION SHOULD BE A TOP AGENCY PRIORITY. ALTERNATIVELY, THE SAME SKILLS THAT MAKE HIM A PRIORITY AGENCY ASSET ALSO MAKE HIM, UNREHABILITATED, A UNIQUELY DANGEROUS POTENTIAL ADVERSARY.
CITATION:
  
DR. EDWARD HALLOWELL
  
TS #9773921A
SUBMISSION:
  
SUDBURY, MA
  
MARCH 1
    The man’s focus was interrupted by his driver.
    “You think Andreas will win?” the man in the front seat asked, nodding toward the runners as they ran up Main Street.
    The man in the backseat glanced up, meeting his eyes in the rearview mirror.
    “No.”
    *   *   *
    By the time the pack of runners reached Bog Brook, marking the halfway point in the race, there were two people out in front, and the rest of the field was scattered about, far behind. Reagan was leading, and Dewey was just a few steps behind her. The two were both panting hard and drenched in perspiration.
    Every time Reagan looked back at Dewey, he gave her a confident, relaxed smile, toying with her. He pounded the ground behind her as they ran down from the brook toward the road which, in a little over a mile, would conclude at the finish line.
    At the outskirts of town, as the dirt path popped them out onto Battle Avenue, Dewey made his move, cutting to Reagan’s left. He knew that in order to beat her, he would have to pass her suddenly, and forcefully, at a pace that was dramatically quicker. To move on her in a gradual way would only spur her on.
    By the time Dewey reached the small wooden sign marking the entrance to the Castine Golf Club, he was at least a hundred yards in front of Reagan.
    His lungs burned. His legs ached as he pushed himself harder and harder. Dewey didn’t look back. The truth is, he didn’t want to see the look in Reagan’s eyes. Part of him felt guilty about beating her. As he turned onto Main Street for the final stretch, he could hear the crowd cheering in the distance. A smile came to his face as he pushed himself toward the finish line.
    Dewey’s eyes suddenly shot left. It was a runner. Dewey hadn’t heard the approach, but it was why everyone was cheering, he now realized. He watched, helplessly, as the wiry, shirtless figure of his nephew Sam went whizzing past him, orange boot on his left foot, Bean boot on his right, his skinny arms pumping up and down as he almost seemed to take flight.
    “Oh, shit,” muttered Dewey.
    Dewey broke into a sprint, looking for the extra gear he realized he would need in order to catch up to his nephew. But it was futile. He could only watch as Sam coasted away from him. Sam seemed to pick up speed the closer he got to the