Chapter 24 - Do Something Different Every Day

The time had passed without incident as Finne, now back at the helm of the Stargirl, had changed course and headed up the creeks of Maryland's eastern shore.  The breaking of the dawn over the eastern horizon had provided a beautiful view of the ancient property lines that now were cut and parceled into a broad spectrum of development varying from preserves to condos.

This particular stretch of the Choptank River was well developed and waterfront access was a at a premium.  Watermen and tourism had combined in Cambridge, MD at an expotenttial pace over the past 30 years while an equally expansive number of Washington and Baltimore vacationers made their way through the town en route to Ocean City, MD.  Finne passed under the new route 50 bridge and was crossing the right of way from the historic bridge which had been taken down at the middle years ago when the new bridge became operational.  The two ends of the bridge directly off his port and starboard were still in use as a public fishing piers.  It was now 6:00 AM and Finne counted six on the port-side pier and five on the starboard, all locals whom he knew were curious about his entry to the area.  Trolling at such a slow pace through the well traversed channels would catch most watermen's eyes as dangerous, and the slip through the cover of darkness plan was deteriorating quickly.

"Tom, its me." Sarah heard Finne say into his phone as she staggered up the ladder from the galley waking hungover and unbalanced from what she considered to be the worst sleep over her life.

"I will be out front in a few and need a ride and a place to stay for two.  Its a discreet matter." Finne continued then listened for a brief moment before hanging up.

The pounding in her head was a more critical issue then trying to figure out where they were or where they were going.  Sarah trusted Finne from the deepest parts of her soul and knew he would take care of her.  For that matter, she reached her hand up after reaching the second-to-last rung on the galley ladder and requested simply, "Help me up and get me some Advil!"

Finne was surprised by her approach yet quickly reached her and assisted her to the deck.

"How about a Bloody Mary?" He asked.

"Do you have that?" Sarah asked genuinely.

"No, but I know a good place. We're going to head back on land, ok?"

"Ok."

Ten minutes later, Sarah and Finne stepped off the Stargirl and into a twenty-one foot Boston Whaler that had pulled along side after Finne had tied off the anchor line to one of a series of identical and symmetrically aligned white spherical buoys a few hundred yards off shore from the Hyatt Chesapeake Beach Resort.  Finne told her in advance to not say anything about the past 36 hours or herself unless he specifically asked her to do so.  Nothing was said by anyone on the water shuttle ride to the dock.

Chapter 25 - Chaos Theory

Director of National Intelligence, David Williams, hung up the phone with his colleague with a terse tone of voice that was taken bitterly by Director of the CIA, Carol Thompson, as the DNI’s motorcade rolled through the gates of 1600 Pennsylvania Ave ahead of his colleague.  The time was 04:24 hundred hours, just over two hours earlier than scheduled for the President’ morning intelligence brief, and the DNI had just exploded with anger towards the  DCIA for the situation at hand.

One after another the eight dark SUVs glowing blue and red by their grill and visor emergency lights entered the compound unimpeded.  The Director of the Secret Service had been informed, en route, that the President was needed for an immediate briefing of national security matters and that the two highest officials within the Intelligence Community were about to arrive early, with urgency.  White House protective forces had been deployed well beyond the ends of Pennsylvania Ave at 15^th and 17^th Streets to allow the high speed motorcades to pass through three barriers of entry into the President’s compound without compromising the perimeter’s security.

The two Directors’ vehicles were taken through the underground garage to provide them with the most expedient route to the intelligence briefing room, eight stories below ground, within the White House nuclear bunker.  Nearly jogging, the two men and their respective Chief’s of Staff were comparing intelligence on the matter at hand. 

Far from collaborating their stories, the two were trying to determine what information they had and could any of it be corroborated.  Several points were clear: two of the country’s most valuable assets were missing after two separate assassinations or attempted assassinations within ten miles of the Nation’s Capital and the residence in which they were now entering.  All available resources within the IC were being deployed to determine the fate of the two and the operational impacts of their loss.  The potential risk to the United States included a complete halt to all ongoing justice, intelligence, and State Department operations. 

National Security Advisor, Sloan Lynch, met the two in stride.  The entire National Security Council was prepared to participate in the coming brief.  Without any pleasantries or greetings, he asked the DNI, “How many rooms do we need?” 

Director Williams replied, “Three.”  “Put the NSC on line in the war room.  I need another for The President, Carol, and I.  No need for others.  SECCOM 3 will do,” he said, referring to secure conference room 3.  “Lastly, I need the rest of the Cabinet online separately and prepared for instructions from the President.”  He added, “Get the Vice President to keep them engaged, but there are no specifics to share at this time other than the FBI bulletin published as we drove through the gates.”

Lynch had read the FBI bulletin.  He also knew far more than cable described.  The crisis unfolding was of epic proportion, and he knew that the unfolding events would have extraordinary impact on all aspects of the U.S. Government. 

Chapter 26 - The Chicken Ranch

“I thought we were going to the resort,” Sarah finally asked Finne.

“Way to much attention there.” Finne replied.  “We’re going to a nice spot for the night. Don’t worry.  Now, hold on!”

Finne throttled the 38-foot Donzi he was now captaining to half speed as they departed the resort’s no wake zone.  Tom had given him a run down of his routine with the boat, which included a fast and loud acceleration at the zone exit daily as he traveled back and forth to work from the ranch.  The engines were loud and Sarah could no longer question Finne as the twin V12s underneath them overpowered their voices.

The trip to the ranch would take 15 minutes according to Tom.  The only time they needed to slow down was going in and out of the dock on each end.  Finne knew Tom would provide him with a safe house to hideout for a bit.  He also knew Tom would ask any questions and wouldn’t leak anything to anyone asking questions.

Finne met Tom early in his career.  Tom was a junior agent with the DEA and Finne was partnered with him on a joint task force following the early Columbian cartel penetration of the U.S.  They bonded like brothers over the cases they built together.  They also owed each other their own lives more than a few times over for numerous incidents where one saved the life of the other and vice versa.  Long gone from the DEA, Tom now provided “support services” to a discreet clientele of special agents and spooks in his retirement leveraging the vast networks of assets he had developed over his career.  He was still one of the good guys, but he interfaced with the dark side when official channels couldn’t. 

Tom offered the vessel and his own quarters to the pair of hideaways knowing that they would provide them with near anonymity in this part of the bay.  The loud Donzi traversed the area shoreline so often that none of the locals gave it any attention anymore.  Any tourists that asked about it would no doubt be told it belonged to Captain “Purdy” and any number of exaggerated details of the Captain’s wealth and fame. 

Truthfully, Bruce “Purdy” Purdue was rich and his family was famous for raising and slaughtering nearly a quarter of the country’s poultry supply.  Purdy’s uncle, Frank Purdue, was the famous member of the family, although the family wealth was distributed much wider than to just his direct heirs.  Purdy was a favorite nephew of Uncle Frank.  He was given a trust fund and little responsibility other than to travel the world and “check in” on the various family cottages, chateaus, ranches, and mansions.  Purdy loved the Maryland Eastern Shore and was an excellent sportsman.  He favored Duck and Geese seasons especially, so he had purchased his own land along the waterfront and built it out to suit his needs. 

Rarely in the area, Purdy hired Tom to house sit the Maryland property and keep it in shape for the several hunts he hosted for his worldly friends.  Purdy was currently on a fishing trip in Alaska with a couple of Senators and their aides.  Tom had told Finne that the property would be free of visitors for at least two more weeks.   

Finne backed off the throttle and slowed to a glide as he entered the channel that had been excavated deep into a desolate creek extending off the Choptank.  The entry was less than 20 feet wide but well marked with proper channel markers.  “Red, right, returning,” Tom always thought to himself when coming back to port.  In this case the last navigation light was fixed to the end pylon of a heavy sea wall supporting a two-story boathouse built along the creek’s edge.  The depth measured 6 feet on the glowing dashboard instrument panel meaning that the excavation work had extended well into the wetland.  The Donzi was eased inside the structure and tied to the inside dock.  It fit perfectly, as if the boathouse was built for the boat.  A cursory scan provided Finne the sense of safety and security he had lacked for the last twenty hours.  No one could reach the boathouse except via the creek or the 200-foot boardwalk that ran up to the main house.  Ample warning of any visitors.  Finne and Sarah’s presence could go unnoticed.  Anyone on the water or on land would see only what they saw every day, Purdy’s house sitter coming and going on the Donzi and living in the boathouse.  Nice life if you can get it.

“Welcome to the Chicken Ranch!” Finne exclaimed.  “Well actually, the Chicken Ranch Boathouse.”

“Huh?” Sarah uttered, her ears still ringing from the ride over. 

“I’ll explain later.  Let’s check out the fridge, I’m starving.” Said Finne.

Chapter 27 - Margin Call

Jack’s SUV arrived at the gate at 15^th street and Pennsylvania Ave at 5:27 AM.  His vehicle was waived through the perimeter security and headed into the underground entrance of the Treasury department.  Before entering the secure parking facility that provided direct access to both the inner Treasury facility and the neighboring White House it was stopped for inspection at the strongly fortified barrier manned by the Secret Service that stood as the last obstacle before gaining access to the most secure residence in the world.  A tall uniformed agent extended his hand palm forward instructing the driver to stop.

Jack’s driver lowered his window presented identifications for himself and his passenger.  Another agent wearing Secret Service field BDUs walked a well-trained German Shepard around the vehicle checking for the scent of explosives.  The driver addressed the agent at the barrier by rank. 

“Sergeant, we’re late for an important party inside.  May we proceed?”

The agent studied the credentials the driver had extended towards him.  He recognized the SMA badges and knew that SMA agents were clear to access all areas of the facility.  Before responding he looked over at his K9 handling partner for the all-clear signal.  Thumbs up was given.

“You are clear to enter.  I assume you know where you are going from here,” he replied stoically. 

“Thank you,” responded the driver.

“I guess your motor pool guys don’t wash your trucks often, huh?” the agent added as he motioned toward the muddied tires and sidewalls of Jack’s command and control center on wheels.

“Mind your own fucking business!” Jack’s driver exclaimed as he pulled away and headed into the underground facility. 

Chapter 28 - It Takes a Village

Finne’s fridge raid had provided plenty for the two to eat, including left-over lasagna, garlic bread, and the remains of a Caesar salad Tom had prepared. He and Sarah sat next to each other on a fine leather couch on the second story of the boathouse in a well appointed game room in awkward silence.  Tom was famished and devoured his plate of food quickly.  Sarah, on the other hand, picked at the salad and pushed the lasagna around her plate with her fork feigning eating such a heavy carb meal.

Finally, Sarah broke the silence.  “What the fuck? I mean really, what the hell is going on?  You show up out of nowhere, pull me from a car wreck, then hijack me to the middle of wherever-we-are tell me you think someone is trying to kill me, but you haven’t really explained shit about anything that makes any sense.” 

Finne could see the despair and confusion wringing across Sarah’s brow and knew he had to tell her something to diffuse the conversation and keep her believing in him, even if it would be a lie.

“I know this is hard to understand.  I don’t have all the answers.  Actually, I don’t have any answers right now.  What I do know is limited, but I assure you we are both in a lot of danger.  Someone or multiple someones are trying to kill both of us.  Who is the question we need to answer.  I was given a lead that you were in danger and that is why I was out looking for you on Georgetown Pike.  The information I was given was specific.  You had been kidnapped but the car that you had been taken in crashed before your kidnappers reached their destination.  It was merely luck that I was able to reach you as quickly as I did.”

“Bullshit!” Sarah retorted.

“Believe me or don’t.  You can’t refute that the crash happened and you don’t remember how you got there.  That is common when someone is drugged like you were,” Tom responded. 

“The tip I got lead me to you, so it was real.  What I don’t know is who is behind this or what their motives could be.” 

Finne stood up and walked to the fall wall where a large oak desk was positioned in front of row of windows looking out onto the river.  A 19 inch LCD monitor displayed a colorful array of moving shapes across its screen.  Finne recognized the pattern was a standard Windows screen-saver informing him that a PC was powered on nearby.  He found the keyboard and mouse in a pull-out drawer in the center of the desk.  Finne tapped the spacebar interrupting the pattern displayed on the monitor.  To his surprise, the operating system’s desktop was presented without the need to logon through any security application. He clicked on the Firefox icon launching the internet browser.

“Cool, can I check Facebook?” Sarah asked excitedly as she got up to join him at the workstation.

“Absolutely not!” Finne responded.  “As far as anyone knows, you and I are both dead.  We need to keep it that way until we can find out what is going on.”

Sarah was not happy with his answer.  She sat back down on the couch and scowled at Finne.

“I need to check out some information that could help us.  I am not going to logon to Facebook, send any emails, nor search for anything that could be directly linked to you or me.”

“Whatever.” Sarah sighed.

Much like any U.S. Intelligence asset can determine daily priorities and communication cipher keys by browsing the weather and classified sections of each day’s Washington Post anywhere in the world, Finne knew where to locate the current status of DC based intelligence activities posted on public websites for those in the know to find.   Actually, the web is only a recent medium used to convey the ins and outs of the DC intelligence community activity.  Normally, Finne would merely need to tune his radio to WTOP and listen to the traffic reports presented every ten minutes.  Their current distance from Washington was well beyond the news radio’s broadcast range. Finne knew that he could obtain the same information from the station’s website, WTOP.com.  He pulled up the main page and then clicked on the link to the traffic sub-page.  A map of the Washington area with its beltway centered in the image was presented with color-coding indicating where traffic was congested around the region.  Instantly, Finne could see that there were major incidents at all of the areas he suspected, including the GW Parkway, the BW Parkway, and downtown at the intersection of 15^th St and Pennsylvania Ave, NW.  This confirmed for him that the CIA, NSA, and White House were dealing with a crisis, as he suspected. 

It was a third “hot-spot” on the map that drew his attention and intrigue.  The intersection of Wisconsin Ave and Jones Bridge Rd in Bethesda, MD was highlighted in a deep shade of red indicating a serious incident.  There are two significant government entities adjoining that particular intersection, Walter Reed Military Hospital and the National Institutes of Health. Finne recalled Jack’s instructions, “Go dark and avoid all military, government, education, pharmaceutical, and commercial R&D.”  There was certainly plenty of that kind of R&D sponsored by and located at both of those campuses.   

Chapter 29 - Commander in Thief

Jack walked in swift stride beside his escort, NSA Lynch, through the underground entrance to the Whitehouse fortress.

“David says you are the best! What happened?”, begged the NSA. “We’ve been briefing POTUS with nothing of substance for the past two hours. You’ve always been an ally to me, you know. …. That’s why I need to warn you Williams is hanging your neck on this one, Jack.”

The brief injection of information that Jack received confirmed his expectations for this upcoming debrief. Jack looked back at Sloan and simply replied, “Got it. Thanks.”

Without breaking pace they turned the corner in silence passing the US Marine sentry post and into SECCOM3. NSA Lynch closed the door behind the two and motioned to the conference room table. 

Seated from the head of the table clockwise were: his boss, DNI David Williams; Secretary of Defense (DEFSEC), Jonathan Eliyah “Jon-E” Gautrachs; and the President of the United States (POTUS) Angel Marion Iglesias – America’s first Hispanic President.

Jack and NSA Lynch took seats opposite the three as if seated for an interrogation. Well, in fact he expected no less. POTUS spoke first.

“What the F*#k kind of operation are you running?,” he bellowed with both a tone of exasperation and an attitude expressly to demonstrate he was in charge. “Williams tells me your operation is operating at full capacity with excessive funding, yet you loose two jurors.”

Jack inhaled slowly calming his heart to better able him to calmly present the situation – but not the facts. Jack is not only being marshaled down the path to scapegoat for the incident at hand, but he was also about to commit perjury by lying to the President and everyone else in the room.

“Mr. President, “ Jack began with confidence. “Here are the facts that I am able to confirm as of 5 minutes ago. Two of the Watchkeeper jurors are missing. All available resources are deployed to relocate them. Both were lost within an hour of each other, here within the Military District of Washington. Sheriff – using Finne’s codename – was lost leaving a retail electronics store in Reston on his way home. We were recording his existence using NRO’s nano-wave capabilities on a dedicated bird in geosynchronous orbit. He departed the playing space defined at the store in his vehicle under our watch to his local watering hole near home. All review of the evidence demonstrates he entered the bar then disappeared – Jack’s first lie and felony. His automobile was recovered and all on-board systems confirm this conclusion. Our staff in the facility never saw him enter the door.”

“Empath – referring to Sarah – was abducted in a downtown nightclub she frequented nightly while under visual and neuropathic surveillance. She no trace of her abduction or whereabouts could be determined until 45 minutes ago. A vehicle was identified via MPD and Secret Service video crossing the Memorial bridge that matched a vehicle and plate parked 2 blocks from the nightclub within the abduction window. Said vehicle was found nearly split in half from bumper to bumper impaled upon a hardwood tree in Great Falls, Virginia. Inside the vehicle four mutilated cadavers were identified. After a scrutinous review of the body parts, we found two arms bearing tattoos of affiliation with local MS13 gang-members and Mexican assassins known to be a branch of the Zeta cartel. Evidence reveals that Empath was present at the time of the impact, but her remains have not been discovered – Jack’s second lie to the group.”

POTUS began to speak but his voice was drowned by the sudden and furious inquiry by DEFSEC Gautrachs. In doing so, Jon-E Got-Rocks – as he was ingloriously known within the administration and with the general public thanks to a tabloid nickname that stuck to him during the President’s re-election campaign two years prior – demonstrated that he was the true authority in the room. And everyone knew it. Gautrachs had total control over POTUS and cared little about how much he expressed it in every manor and in front of all company. His Alpha personality and unsurpassed ego had led the sole heir to America’s largest diamond import family to charge his way through all personal obstacles and political scandals he faced unscathed. His wealth and power was used to bully his enemies into submission and destruction throughout his lifetime. Even the media – both sides - feared him, and as such provided him public cover and spin however he desired. Only the tabloids dared to cross him, though very rarely. One, Camera on America (COA) – a California-based affiliation of independent photo-journalists and internet-millionaires – recently built their existence upon the inquisition into Jon-E Got-Rocks and his affairs, literally. During the prior election cycle, COA shockingly exposed a lengthy and torrid extra-marital affair between DEFSEC and no-less than the Second Lady of the United States, Mrs. Christie Stallworth – Vice President, David Stallworth’s wife of 37 years. COA attacked Got-Rock’s character, values, and decency daily for the final 9 months leading up to the last election in hopes of derailing the incumbent President and with him his most despicable Cabinet member. The nickname Jon-E Got Rocks – referring to both his family diamonds and a jab at the obvious size of the DEFSEC’s balls to be so differential to societal expectations of our nation’s leaders. President Iglesias retracted in his seat in obvious subordinance to the commander of his military.

“The Mexican’s hijacked the girl? And, this is confirmed?”

“Yes,” Jack lied in response.

Jack perceived that his lies and poker-faced delivery may have just provided the thread he needed to pull on to solve the mystery at hand. The DEFSEC hadn’t said it, but his tone and the words he had chosen to ask betrayed him, providing Jack with a clear understanding that the DEFSEC was both surprised by the information he had provided and confused as if he had expected a completely different course of events to have occurred. DEFSEC is a suspect, Jack confirmed in his thoughts.

Chapter 30 - Adjudication Constipation

NSA Lynch escorted Jack down the long corridor that extended from the secure conference rooms underneath the White House towards the exit. Both had been excused from SECCOM3 after Jack had completed his briefing to the President and DEFSEC Gautrachs.

“COUNSELOR’s suicide wasn’t even mentioned. There is no way that was an independent event, Jack. Why?” NSA Lynch inquired in a hushed voice.

“There is no evidence to suggest that COUNSELOR’s death was a homicide. We’ve reviewed extensive video surveillance of the event and it is certain she took her own life, Sloan.” Jack replied truthfully.

“It can’t be a coincidence that three jurors have been removed from service within 24 hours, Jack. Don’t lie to me. What the f#@k is going on? You should know more. How do you think this will play out? You are either keeping the details to yourself or you are right in the middle of this conspiracy.” NSA Lynch responded describing the situation with the word on everyone’s mind but yet to be uttered in any circle.

Jack stopped and turned toward the NSA with a stern face and a penetrating stare. “Sloan, I am working every angle of this investigation with all due diligence. I will not lie to you. I understand your concern. It’s my concern, as well. You need to focus on POTUS and keep his head in the game. I am counting on you to provide him with honest and unbiased advice until we resolve this situation.” Jack stated firmly then continued walking with determined pace toward the exit.


NSA Lynch knew not to follow any further and not to ask any more of Jack. Honest and unbiased advise was his duty. He lived by it. He also knew that Jack’s words deliberately revealed to him Jack’s suspicions of the President’s other advisors, specifically those within the ‘Gang of Five’ jurors, whom were the only individuals privy to the jury’s purpose and even it’s existence.

Finally alone with the elected Commander-in-Chief inside SECCOM3, DEFSEC Gautrachs confronted the President. “Mr. President, the nation’s intelligence infrastructure and capabilities are completely compromised without a sitting jury. You must take action to fill the three vacated seats immediately!,” he implored.

“Jon, I understand the urgency and appreciate the urgency.,” the President replied. “However, there is no confirmation that SHERIFF or EMPATH are dead or permanently incapacitated to serve.”

DEFSEC interrupted, “But COUNSELOR is dead, and we can only assume the worst for the other two. You need to appoint replacements.”


President Iglesias paused in deliberation before speaking. “COUNSELOR’s seat is the only one that can be reassigned at this time. I need to give the DNI and SMA the necessary time to determine the whereabouts and/or fate of the other two jurors.,” he retorted with atypical defiance of the DEFSEC’s instructions.

DEFSEC Gautrachs was shocked by the response he had been given. His blood boiled furiously within as was visible in his angrily contorted facial expression. How dare Angel reject him, he thought to himself. After several calming breaths, he replied with feigned respect, “You are right, we need to preserve the integrity of the jury. I will have the list of potential alternates for COUNSELOR’s seat for your consideration within the hour. Your decision to appoint jurors for the other two seats should not be made until we determine whether SHERIFF and EMPATH remain capable of serving.”

The DEFSEC clinched his teeth with such force that his jaw muscles bulged from underneath his fattened cheeks. The veins in his forehead throbbed angrily with each beat of his raging pulse. It took every bit of constraint he could muster to acquiesce to the inferior man in front of him.

After a short pause, DEFSEC Gautrachs continued, “Mr. President, should it become necessary to fill all three seats, you will have the opportunity to apply your legacy on the jury more so than any of your successors since its inception.”

President Iglesias considered the DEFSEC’s profound statement. It was true. Not since LBJ created the jury in the wake of JFK’s assassination had any other sitting President been in the position to reshape it’s composition as he potentially could. The effect of which, he knew, could determine the future of the United States more so than any other appointments for which he was charged. Replacing three jurors would overturn the majority and define the jury’s posture for all future decisions. Only then did he realize the magnitude of the situation and appreciate the responsibility resting with him.

“We must find the missing jurors. I want to be notified of any and all status updates immediately.” the President instructed his DEFSEC firmly before exiting the room with renewed conviction in his duties to lead the nation.

Chapter 31 - See for I as are plus one

Tom’s attention was drawn deeper than the text message he was reading and drawn to a high level of concern for his friend and partner now on the run.  He discreetly returned his pda to his right front pocket and continued his stride politely in tow of a quite obvious pair of Quantico hope-to-be-graduates straight of central casting.  The aptly dressed couple emanated the confidence they had been trained to portray.  Their outfits matched exactly with the profile of a young husband and wife with a passion for sailboats  Tom was sure that one or both had likely been a US Olympian or hopeful competitor in a small class boat category like an Albacore or one of the J-class based on the questions they tried to hide their inquiries behind.

“Mr. and Mrs. Greenman,” Tom began saying to try to close the interrogation he had been enduring, “The STARGIRL is a beautiful boat.  I don’t know about the owner’s intent, but they have only recently arrived.” Continuing to lie, “They were quite anxious to get to the hotel when they arrived.  I believe they may soon be newlyweds.   Are you staying here tonight?” Tom turned the discussion back on the two.

“Yes, tonight and maybe tomorrow,” replied the phony wife – plainly the dominate “partner” in the relationship they tried to mask with little knowledge of Tom’s background and knowledge situations just like these.

“Well, I will be happy to pass along your contact information through the front desk for the owners.  If they have any interest, they will call you directly.  Frankly, brokering yacht sales is not something I can do as an employee of the resort.  Of course, I also cannot provide you with any further personal information about the owners, nor any of the other bridal party members.” Tom dropped the last baited lie in as if he slipped up.   He wondered, were they smart enough to know what just happened, or were the pure greenhorns with shit for brains.

“Thank you,” the husband character replied hesitantly, then finished with “when’s the wedding?”

Shit for brains. 

“Saturday.” Tom replied with astonishment that was deliberately focused toward the wife figure. 

Grabbing her “husband’s” arm, she turned the two of them back towards the hotel with an obvious authority and an attitude.

That was easy, Tom thought to himself.  He actually enjoyed the fact that he knew he had unleashed a world of dumbass and heat on the jack-ass, father-of-the-groom for Saturday’s wedding whom had also arrived by sailboat with an accompanying armada of asshole friends.  Tom hoped them well, because they were about to be swarmed with attention over the next few hours. Hopefully they could keep the attention for enough time to get Finne clear from the area.

Tom returned towards the outer docks, leaving the hurrying couple headed in the other direction – towards shore and the hotel.  He stepped on and into one of the mid-sized monstrous yachts tied parallel to the bulkhead along the A dock.  He quickly dialed his home fax machine from the satellite phone he knew to be on board.

“Ring. Ring”

Finne was quickly awoken from a creeping sleep with which he had obviously lost his battles over the past hour.  Instinctively, he turned toward the clock on the wall he had marked upon arrival.  It was exactly 15 minutes after the hour.  Two rings. 

“Ring.” Exactly one minute after the first two.

Finne found the receiver on the desk side fax machine and picked it up knowing with full confidence who was calling.  It was their code. He was expecting the call.

“Hello.” Finne answered with a deepened voice – just in case.

“I was just sent a Hawkeye by txt while answering someone’s questions about a boat here in the marina.  I sent them on a bit of a tour that should keep their attention for another 12 -18 hours if they are as green as I think they are.” Tom began.  “You need to head away from here without drawing any attention. Purdy’s boat is not an option,  I am sure some freak contractor would chase that down with a bird just for the youtube video he could get from the film.”

Finne understood the severity of Tom’s frank summary of the situation.  He knew a “Hawkeye” to be an acknowledgement from friendly forces that you were on their cameras at that moment.  A txt was a common was to share the professional courtesy to fellow brothers in arms within the IC.  Tom was given a heads up that eyes were on and he confirmed at least a pair of agents asking about the boat.

“Take the pickup truck from the guesthouse garage.  The keys are under the driver’s side floor mat.  If you follow the shoreline south, you will not draw much attention.  You need to put another 50 miles between here and you right now!” Tom exclaimed.

“I get it, they have birds in the area.  I can handle a quite drive.  Sorry to have brought this nearby.  We’ll scat clean and fast.” Finne replied with a tone of confidence meant to settle his friend’s never-before-been-shaken nerves. 

“Finne, the Hawkeye came from a HQ-1 operator – referring to the Predator Drone model of aircraft. He doesn’t fly sissy stare surveillance.  He’s got missiles.  He doesn’t fuck around.” Tom finished then hung up the satellite phone receiver.  He dislodged the phone’s battery - ensuring it was shut down, then exited the yacht with just as much invisibility as with which he had boarded.

Finne hung up the line and began inventorying his possessions and formulating his plan to escape.  He turned toward the longer couch and confirmed Sarah was still safe and within his custody.  Finne was not used to dozing off in a mission environment and that angered him.  He was focused now.  He knew how to play this out.