It is your work in life that is the ultimate seduction.
- Pablo Picasso
Not Yet
Auggie smiled as he ran his fingertips across the familiar, coffee-spill scented Plexiglas that was his desk. Even if he had never seen it, he still felt the nostalgia wash over him.
August Anderson was a man who lived in darkness.
He now saw nothing but darkness. The result of the heavy price every soldier fears they may one day pay, his eyes were now useless. All it had done however, was sharpen him, hone his other senses, simply strengthened him into the weapon that earned him the prize of a place in the CIA. Regardless of how "unhealthy," as naïve critics called the profession of espionage, the darkness may have been, he had grown accustomed to it, even thrived in it.
He could hear the disappointment in Campbell's voice when he had decided to turn down the job of heading the Congressional Affairs Office, but at the same time he noted a hint of something else: understanding. The man knew what it was Auggie would have given up had he taken the job.
"You're not ready to let go yet," Campbell had said. Auggie could hear the smile in his voice. The man knew what Auggie coveted so dearly.
Of course he was qualified for the job of leading the Congressional Affairs Office. He had the skills, the competence, and all the tact any half-decent reporter would eat right up. But Campbell was right: he wasn't ready; ready to leave.
He could've had it all. A nice new office (with a view he would never see), a higher pay grade, and finally the respect and acknowledgement a CIA officer deserved. He had stood there, right on the verge of accomplishment: success and a life in the spotlight… and he threw it away.
He could've had it all…except what he wanted. "The Game" had a hold of him.
In the CIA, an operative can be one of two places: the spotlight, or the field. Both came with their pains and perks.
To be the man in the spotlight was to be the one with all the attention. He is the go to guy, the one with the answers and the one everybody wants to talk to. And being the face of the "company," he of course would put on a well-dressed one. A nice office, a nice car, a nice home, everything one sought and defined as success. And above all else, he would be in a position of power: the lifeblood of Washington D.C. To rub elbows with Congress was to be a man who helped write the rules, and is the first to report history.
But to the man in field was to be something different. If the man in the spotlight is the one that first reports history, than the man in the field is the one that writes history. To be a man in the field was to be a man that played "The Game."
It was a "game" that wrote history, preserving it, changing it…or ending it forever.
The Game had a hold of him. It's dangerous, addicting, seductive claws had penetrated him deep, as it did with most all who dared to sample its tastes.
It was a world of darkness and shadows where nothing was clear and only the sharpest of minds could survive. It was an unpredictable world, and Auggie loved it. The fact was: it was a challenge, and nobody came to the CIA who didn't seek challenge. The ambitious, the passionate, the aggressive all had their places in the agency, and Auggie had come to accept his.
It was here, in the darkness, where he belonged. Of course, he had other reasons for coming back…
The bear hug of an embrace from a certain Miss Annie Walker at hearing the news of his return still brought a grin to his face. He wasn't quite ready to "let go" of her either.
Of course others were happy to have him back as well. He could even hear the smile in Joan's voice when even admitting she was relieved to have "one of her best" back.
Setting down once again in the seat that was his, he let out a satisfied sigh of satisfaction.
"Not as comfy as that big leather chair upstairs."
Auggie chuckled at the sound of Joan's voice in his doorway.
"No," he contested. "MORE comfortable."
Even with no sound, he knew the woman's grin was widened by his comment. She knew too what is meant to play the game.
"It's good to have you back."
From his chair, Auggie's ears followed sound of Joan's footsteps leaving his office before they took a detour into the wider room. His well-developed range of listening randomly eavesdropped in on various conversations of the folks around the office.
So yes, the man in the field came with little material success. Little fortune, certainly no fame, and definitely no certainties came with the job, but none of those thing really had ever interested Auggie.
As he listened, he could hear it in all of their voices: the same addiction that held him. He heard the excitement in their voices, even if it was subtle. Whether talks about an upcoming assignment, events of the world that would be the focus of their tasks of the day, or griping about the inefficiencies of the bureaucrats upstairs that he himself had come dangerously close to joining ranks with, he heard the fire in their voices.
They were on the frontlines, deep in the dark, playing "the game."
His ears rested on one particular voice, the melodic female voice he had grown quite accustomed to in his ear when relaying tactical assistance. Of course he would be lying if he said she had not played a role in his recall back to the National Clandestine Service.
Yes, they (and largely she in particular), were why he did what he did. As it was in the military, so to was it here in the CIA. He did it all for them: the people he served alongside with. Together they were all addicted to a deadly infatuation, and none sought a cure.
He'd had a way out, but the game had too strong a hold of him. He still craved its dark designs and the thrills and fulfilling satisfaction they came with.
He wondered if he ever would be finished, if he ever would hang up his spurs. But one this he did know, he wasn't done now….not yet.