*

Arthur Ashe was named after the tennis player. His parents were African-American and both played professional tennis. Neither however achieved sufficient victories to ever warrant an official ATP ranking. They turned their attention to teaching and coached at an indoor facility in Florida. From an early age, young Arthur, their son, displayed prodigious talent. At twelve he defeated his father for the first time, three years later he won the National Junior title, a title he defended twice. He was hailed the next Sampras.

A day after he turned eighteen Arthur downed his racquet for the final time. Against the wishes of his parents he enlisted in the military. Four months later, on the recommendation of the base Commander, he entered West Point Academy. Within a year, Arthur's real potential was discovered. The prowess displayed on the tennis court was excelled on the shooting range. His marksmanship established unprecedented records. He was never bettered in any physical activity and his performance in the classroom amazed the lecturers. He was a born soldier who was destined for many stars.

Prior to graduation he faced an evaluation interview. Two men in dark suits sat at a table, neither bothered with the formality of introduction.

"Sit down, Ashe."

"At West Point, it's Lieutenant Ashe." He'd not be intimidated by these men. He was a soldier, he deserved respect.

"Do you know who we are, soldier?"

"Recruiters from one of the Intel agencies, I would guess, most likely the CIA." Surprise registered on the faces of the two nameless assessors.

"Are you always such a confrontational prick?" the senior spokesman asked.

"One of the lessons here teaches: response in any situation is determined by the aggression of the opponent."

"Don't you know our recommendation today will determine your future?"

"I beg to differ. Your decision will define your integrity. Let's look at the facts. I excelled in every discipline, in the classroom, in the physical work and in shooting. I have everything you people need. I'm fluent in four languages, I have the skills and I have an arrogant abundance of self-belief. What more do I need?"

"Humility would be a good start."

Perhaps it was time to back off, time to tell the real story, of the making of a great competitor and the crushing of a young boy's dreams.

"Gentlemen, may I digress for a moment and tell you a little about Arthur Ashe. I've known only two things in my life, the importance of winning and the necessity of focusing intently on any given goal. Perfect traits for a CIA operative, wouldn't you say?

"If it's not yours, you take it. If you can't take it, you destroy it. You become a loner for two reasons. One, because no one wants to be with you and two, your inner secrets are best kept secret. Disclose nothing that can in the future be used against you.

"The more robotic you become the less likely you are to buckle to the external pressures of emotion and expectation. You distance yourself from others and remain tied to your controller, in my case my father. You don't have a life, you have a duty.

"That's why I joined the Army and not the marines. I wanted to be ordinary, wanted to be just a normal guy."

"Why are you telling us this?"

"I thought you wanted humility."

"Soldier, what we need is a measure of your capability. Not some pitiful story explaining why you're all screwed up. How nothing's your fault. Save that for your psych."

"I have two words, gentlemen," said Arthur as he stood to leave. "Fuck you."


"Sit down, Lieutenant." An adjoining door burst open. Another person of anonymity entered the room. He though wore the multi-starred uniform of a General.

"Are we finished playing games, Sir?" Arthur asked.

"Nowhere near finished, Lieutenant," the General had assumed control. The other two interrogators rose and left the room, their task completed. "Tell me, soldier. What can you bring to the Central Intelligence Agency?" Mention of the CIA was a lie, the agency the General had in mind was far removed from that organisation.

"Obedience, sir, I follow orders without question. I possess shooting skills far beyond any assassin on your books. And, in the words of several of the instructors here, I'm blessed with the instinctive abilities to overcome extreme adversity. And most important of all, I am prepared to die for my country, sir."

"We don't want heroes son. We need people who can perform under pressure, without supervision, and complete the impossible. And most importantly, these tasks have to be undertaken and accomplished yesterday without leaving any trace of evidence that might implicate the involvement of the American Military or Government.

"Are you interested, soldier?" asked the four-star? The young man impressed him. He lived up to every report the General had read. He stood tall, four inches over six feet, had a body other men dreamed about and a mind that responded immediately to challenge. His dismissal of the two suited interviewers reinforced the General's view. The tennis player was certainly worth a closer examination.



"I'm still here, General."

"Will you accompany me to Langley to undergo further assessment, Arthur?"

"May I ask one question, sir?"

"What is it, Lieutenant?"

"Why me?" asked Arthur.

"Your performance records here at West Point were brought to the attention of our recruiting staff. Our analysts then searched your background, your family history, your college achievements and your amazing sporting successes. One question stumped everyone. What prompts a young man to surrender a multi-million dollar career in sport for a life in the military? It made no sense. Was it a rebellion against your father? Or a kneejerk reaction to your first round defeat at Wimbledon? Or were you just tired of the discipline required to maintain your rapid climb in the world rankings? Number 16 now, I believe. The second highest ranking ever achieved by a seventeen year old, behind Boris Becker so I'm told," concluded the General.

"Let me assure you, sir. Walking away from tennis was no overnight decision. Nor was it a dummy spit. I guess I was just tired of being controlled. For my own sanity I needed to get away."

"Why the Military?"

"It offered a challenge. I knew what I'd face. Everyone, from fellow grunts to training Sergeants would want to break me. I was the big-headed star who needed to be cut down to size. It was the fight I needed and the fight I was determined to win. After a couple of months I won the respect I wanted, I became Private Ashe, no longer the world's no. 1 ranked junior tennis player.

"Then the contest started all over again when I was sent to West Point."

"It's not too late to apply for a discharge, Lieutenant."

You're wrong, sir. It's a way too late for that. I'm now where I want to be."

"Are you referring to the Military? Or to a career at Langley," asked the General.

"I'll leave that decision to those better equipped to assess my abilities, sir." He replied in fluent Arabic, a language he hoped the General understood.

"Spoken like a true diplomat." The General too adopted the language he'd learned in his first stint in Afghanistan.

A week later, Langley welcomed a new recruit.