Chapter 15 - Market Forces

Finne had frozen in shear panic and disorientation. Balancing awkwardly while bound at his ankles with his wrists strapped together behind his back he was near shock. The last several seconds had gone from worst case scenario to ... he didn't know what. Hooded in complete darkness in the middle of what he knew to be nowhere, Finne had begun to be lifted by his belt and underarms toward the sound of the roaring shredder.

Then suddnely, a series of sounds had changed everything and taken him to a higher level of distress. First, three distinct but near identical "SPIT" sounds pierced the air over Finne's right shoulder. Each "SPIT" was followed by a sound that Finne knew but had never heard so closely before. Splater and gurgles to his right, left, and directly behind him. From behind, Finne felt a spray of warm, slimy, liquid mass impact his right side from his shoulder blade to his ear. Finne was let go by all of the hands that had previously been thrusting him towards the wood chipper. Finne knew the gurgling to be the sound of massive arterial gunshot wounds and suspected that at least three of the four men that he had encountered were now dead or dying... likely from a sniper's rifle or a silenced side-arm.

Finne's instinct was to dive for the ground, but the last sounds he heard had locked his joints and sent his body stiff. "BAM..BAM..BAM.." exploded three feet in front and below him. Finne sensed the violent noise was coming from his waist level. These were definitely gunshots and Finne was sure they were directed at him. Nowhere seemed to be safe. He had frozen in shock.

"SPIT..SPIT.." Silence.

Finne's life passed before his eyes. In an instant he visualized his parents, siblings, friends, his memories of a privliged upbringing, boarding school, country clubs, ivy league dinner societies, and his social prowess amongst the DC power scene. His mind was in a state of absolute chaos. His body had gone limp and in his fleating moments before unconciousness, he thought "Am I dead?".

Chapter 16 - Codeword

Slowly awaking to the reality around him with an incredible sense of confusion and pain, Finne felt helpless. He was lying on his face exactly where he had collapsed onto the pavement. Without the benefit of his arms and hands to break his fall, Finne had taken the impact of his fall primarily to his left side. His left shoulder and ribcage felt as though they had been kicked hard and the left corner of his forehead just below his parted hairline throbbed and was no doubt the source of the blood smeared into his eye... He could not see and the thick fabric hood over his head was now constricting all of his ability to breathe. Scream, cough, breathe, roll, move, anything, help….fled through Finne’s mind as he passed back to unconsciousness.

All was black and still with an ultra high ring/squeal echoing in the nothingness that was Finne’s mind.

Then, a jolt upright and the blackness in front of him was violently replaced with harsh spot lighting from several directions. Finne could breathe, and he did at a distressed pace as if he had just finished an extensive workout. He could not see anything, though. His pupils had dilated excessively in the blackness of the hood, but now they retreated in physiological reaction to the intense brightness illuminating the scene around him.

An acrid smell pierced his nose and then lungs…ammonia…smelling salts..then a rush of adrenaline surged through his body and Finne quickly began to regain his situational awareness and the dream-like sequence of events that had just occurred. He began to see silhouettes of the bodies around him. Finne’s vision was hazy and he could not make out any details. Faces were not recognizable, but several people were now moving about within a few feet him. Finne squinted to try to see who had the gun. His nerves were still firing instructions to flee throughout the synapses of his mind and body. Then he realized that every figure he scrutinized was armed. Special Forces weaponry and tactics from his initial assessment. The black silhouettes were in-fact black jumpsuits worn by a team of soldiers that were silently securing and clearing the area around them.

Finne saw four bodies in brown jump suits being rolled into thick military issue body bags. A dark window-less van backed up to the pile of bodies and they were loaded in through the rear double doors by two soldiers in a matter of seconds. The large blood pools that remained on the road where the bodies had been looked to be as dark as midnight and not red as he had always seen before. Finne knew he was still in shock and he had no control over anything, including his capacity to rationalize what was happening.

“SNAP…SNAP…”

With each sound came freedom. First the cable tie around his hands had been cut. Next his feet. Instinctively, Finne reached for the .40 caliber Smith & Wesson he holstered on his right hip. He felt the holster but no weapon. Of course it must have been taken when he was first apprehended but he couldn’t recall losing it.

“Here is your sidearm, Mr. Seldnak.” A stoic and steady voice offered from his right. Finne’s eye’s adjusted to behold a battle-worn leatherneck stereo-type straight out of central casting approaching him with Finne’s gun extended toward him handle first. “It is fully loaded, as you left it. Fifteen in the clip and one in the chamber. Safety is on.”

Unable to make sense of this clandestine introduction, “Who?..What?..” were the only words Finne could manage to utter.

“Please come with me. I will explain.” Said the spook who handed him his gun. A dark SUV pulled up to the two men and Finne’s new acquaintance opened the rear door and extended a hand gesturing his offer to help Finne climb up into the truck. Finne accepted as he was not confident in his balance and was hoisted into rear of the cab and into his new reality.

The vehicle he was sitting in was equipped with command and control systems that Finne had never imagined before. At least ten monitors lined the entire front bulkhead between the driver and the passenger’s compartment. Each displayed a different set of images, video, data, and intelligence mash-ups that appeared harmonized and fluent across each channel. Satellite imagery on one screen plotted a configuration of thermal images in the middle of a dark void. The vehicle thrust forward and Finne watched in real time as the center thermal signature on the screen moved in tandem with the SUV. A second and third SUV followed in behind the truck in which Finne was riding and the thermal imagery reflected a three vehicle motorcade exiting a circle of smaller thermal points – likely the special ops personnel Finne could see encircling the scene of his capture/rescue/abduction. It was a single detail in the few seconds Finne glimpsed out the window of his convoy as it fled away at an accelerating pace that convinced him he was dealing with the dark world of spooks and national security and not an FBI hostage rescue team.

Finne had long hunted deer in the woods of Pennsylvania with both rifle and bow. His father introduced him to hunting and much of his thick skin for blood and gore came from time spent with his father bleedin’ deer and field cleaning carcasses after a successful hunt. Those formative experiences had ingrained the image of trophy buck being dragged back to camp by hind legs to allow the blood draining from its slit throat to trail behind and away from the body during tow. That was exactly what Finne saw over his shoulder and out the corner of his eye in an instant during the escape. One of the soldiers in black with his MP-5 slung over his shoulder, was dragging the recently slaughtered carcass of a large buck across the road spewing the lifeless animal’s blood across the road such that it mixed and masked the blood pools from the four bodies he had seen taken from the scene. How did they know they would need that and where did they find one so conveniently close to this ambush. Was the deer brought to the location already dead? Or did one of the Ranger Seal Delta Force killers out there just take one down in the woods in an instant of improvisation as they are taught to do in all of the elite military forces?

Finne understood that everything that had just taken place was precisely executed and from the amount of information streaming to the consoles in front of him, had been watched and possibly recorded by at least one set of all-seeing eyes.

“Finne, what do you remember about President Kennedy?” the man sitting across from Finne asked.

“Huh?...I was eight years old when he was shot. I remember the day just like I remember 9/11.” Finne replied.

“What do you remember about the time you met him?” was the retort.

Silence.

“I didn’t expect you to acknowledge the event. You have guarded that secret with your father since you were six years old. I am sure you now understand that I know about that meeting, what was said, and the fallout that still lingers to this day.” The master-sergeant looking man offered in a matter-of-fact and non-threatening tone.

“No one is supposed to know about that.” Finne uttered, surprising himself, as he had never even considered acknowledging what happened to anyone ever before. But if he knew, he must know a lot. Maybe more than me, Finne considered.

“Did you know my father?” Finne asked.

“Yes. It was an honor to work with him. He was a hero to this country and the small community that knows what really happened that day in the Oval Office holds him in the highest regards of honor.”

“Who are you?” was Finne’s next question.

“Consider me to be your guardian angel.”

“What should I call you?” Finne replied in frustration with the non-answer.

“Jack will work.”

“Not Colonel or Commander John?” Finne offered in an attempt to see if a military rank would be disclosed and to see how a bit of jesting would be taken.

“Jack, please.”

“Why do I need a guardian angel?” Finne inquired, although he was quite happy to have one given the rescue his angel just provided.

“Consider this your read in. The information I am about to disclose to you is classified at the highest level, truly.”

“I am cleared TS/SCI with access to compartmental programs and law enforcement intelligence. As an Inspector General with IRS am able to access…” Finne began but was interrupted.

“Watchkeeper.”

“What?” Finne interjected.

“Mr. Seldnac your clearance is codeword Watchkeeper. There is not one higher. In fact, only the President, National Security Advisor, Director of National Intelligence, Director of Central Intelligence, National Security Agency Administrator and six other living persons share the same level of intelligence access eligibility that you do. You, sir are a captain of industry within the intelligence apparatus. I am the director of security for your office. My name is Jack Wooten.”

“My office…captain of the intelligence industry…WTF? I’m a detective. I chase after the guys that steal from the revenue that feeds them. I keep the IRS clean and clear of cheats and thieves. What are you talking about?”

“Are you familiar with implanted comms?” Jack asked.

“Of course,” said Finne. “We use them as standard operating procedure during undercover work. Actually, I have always had technical difficulties with them and prefer the old-school hand signals for communicating covertly between agents during a mission.”

“Yes. The early generations of the technology did interfere with your primary implant. We had a hard time working out the dual channel interference. I assume you tended to experience high pitched static?”

“How did you know that? I never reported equipment problems after the first time in any of my paperwork because I feared that they would blame my hearing and put me on a medical review.” Finne revealed. “And what primary implant?”

Jack reached toward a keyboard in front of his seat and entered a series of keystrokes without answering.

Suddenly, Finne was aware. Streams of information began pouring into his head and his reality was permanently altered as the device lodged below his right ear deep into the tissue around his spinal chord sparking instantaneous neural activity and responses that he had never felt before.

Finne was definitely on the other side of the looking glass now.

“Welcome to the rest of your life.” Jack offered.

Chapter 17 - Semper Paratus

The caravan of vehicles had sped through the turn onto Georgetown Pike heading south east back toward Washington. They were deep into the near-river suburbs of Great Falls, VA. Finne had regained much of his senses and began to assimilate to his environment and the neurological manipulation that was intensifying his thoughts and memories. Less than two miles east, through forest trails with long histories, rapids flowed over a treacherous section of the Potomac River and down the falls for which the city were named. Finne had grown up on the other side of the river in Maryland, but spent a great deal of time here visiting the farms and estates of his friends and classmates from high school and college. Finne always considered driving Georgetown Pike to be a challenge. The two-lane stretch of road meandered through hills and turns on the edge of property lines of some of the wealthiest families in the country. On many turns the lanes narrowed and provided little room for error at any speed. Beyond the narrow gravel shoulder on either side of the winding road were drainage ditches paralleling the roads twists and turns dug two to three feet wide and equally deep.

Speed through these turns was deadly. Finne knew this too well. Less than a mile ahead of them, Finne lost one of his best friends and Princeton roommate, Nigel Astar Adams, in a single car collision attributed to speed and distracted driving. Nigel was racing up the pike late after night in Georgetown while home during their Junior year summer. Nigel’s girlfriend, a Washington debutante, was summering with a friend in Great Falls while riding and tending to her horses stabled nearby in Middleburg. That night she dumped him via a phone call to the bartender at 1789 where Nigel and Finne had spent the evening drinking the Georgetown men’s lacrosse team under the table. Nigel was a renegade and started all kinds of chaos that evening. It started at the game when Nigel made a name for himself.

Niugel scored three goals to tie the game in the last five minutes of our game against the Hoyas late that Saturday afternoon. It went into overtime. The Georgetown defense had fallen apart. During the first three quarters, Nigel played the game he was known for…feeding from behind the cage. He tallied four assists, one for each of the four goals Princeton had scored going into the half. It was during overtime when Nigel claimed his fame. The Hoyas cleanly took the face-off and charge straight at Finne who stood tall between the pipes of Princeton’s goal. He had eleven saves that had kept them in the game and now he saw numbers charging him and his defense. The center middie faked a past to the point attackman at twenty yards gaining a step on the long-pole that was trailing him. He shot high to low with enough distance that the bounce could take the shot to any corner.

Finne guessed correctly and snagged the ball on the hop as it headed toward the left pipe at his hip’s level. Nigel never had a doubt in Finne and had quietly back peddled behind the three defenders and his two fellow attackmen watching the drama of the shot and save at the other end of the field. He gestured with his stick to his left and Finne knew he was looking for the ball and he wanted now. Finne stepped and heaved the ball with all of his strength toward the other side of the field. The save and release caught everyone off guard. The fans were screaming with emotion over the save he had made. But instead of taking possession to the back of the crease where he had a few precious seconds to settle the game from within the protection of the encircled area around the goal, he had chucked the ball with only a half step forward from the front of the goal where he had cut short the Hoya’s attempt to close the game. It took a few seconds of flight for everyone to realize that Finne’s long-distance heave was not in desperation to get it away from his goal, instead it was a deliberate bullet of a toss that had crossed the midfield over the heads of the five men manning the line and over Nigel’s right shoulder where he caught it on a direct sprint toward the goal. He had a one-on-one with the goalie he had just torn apart in the third quarter. Twenty-five yards and closing, Nigel wound his stick back fully behind him looking to put everything he had into this shot. He swung the head forward from high to low with the ball held firm by the well worn-leather strings. At his full extension the head of the stick was six inches off the ground and only a short extension beyond his right foot which was reaching the ground in a full stride. The goalie stepped forward and posted his stick in front of his chest extending toward the ball. The thrust of Nigel’s shot carried him forward to the point that he began falling forward, but he managed to catch his balance and slow his stride enough to stay upright. The shot was well placed and had bounced four feet in front of the crease. Its trajectory took it over the goalie’s shoulder and stick before he could rise back up from the extension he made to meet the ball at the bounce. It sailed toward the top right corner of the goal but instead of finding the net it ricocheted of the metal goal pipe with a load “CLANG” and returned in direction towards Nigel at the same speed he had launched it. In a moment of miraculous athleticism, Nigel caught his own rebound four feet in front of his body while diving to get his stick on it. The goalie had risen to his feet and was checking his position in the goal and trying to find the ball he just heard miss his goal. By the time he realized where it was, it was too late. Finne had punched toward the goal with a quick-stick just before impacting the ground. The ball skimmed the ground directly through the goalie’s legs and into the goal. Five-hole. Princeton had won and Nigel was the player of the game.

Both teams spent the afternoon drinking together and chasing skirts on and around the beautiful Jesuit campus. At 1789, Nigel had exceeded his tolerance and was drunkenly hitting on cute brunette in a dark corner of the bar. It turned out that object of his affections not only knew his girlfriend but had grown up with her as best friends. When she learned Nigel’s real name during the sloppy courtship, she recognized him immediately, slapped his face, and left the establishment in a fury. Apparently she went next door and made a phone call to her best friend and informed her of the whole affair. That resulted in a call to the bartender who relayed the FU goodbye forever to Nigel. He couldn’t take it. He needed forgiveness and talked one of the GU players into loaning him his car and left before Finne or anyone with his best interests in mind had known. The alcohol, speed, and exhaustion didn’t mix well. Nigel was found ejected from the borrowed Triumph TR6 twenty feet into the woods. The small sports coupe was not recognizable when the first passers-by came upon it at six o’clock the next morning.

The private lanes off the right side of the road were spaced relatively close at a quarter mile distance between them. The entrances were simple and unrevealing. Most were fronted a generic mailbox set within reach of the postal carrier so he or she would never have to leave their vehicle. The property addresses were clearly visible, but rarely was a family name included. Farm names, however, could be seen on signs posted on or near the hundred year-old oak, cypress, or maple trees standing guard on both sides of the entrances to the secluded estates beyond. “Potomac Oaks”, “Cutter’s Run”, “Twin Ponds”, and “Up the River” which Finne had liked most ever since he first drove out here for a keg party thrown by friends of his from Langley High School.

This road held a lot of history for Finne and his mind was exploring it in detail.

“Jack?,” Finne asked breaking the silence.

“Yes.”

“How did you come into this position? What’s your deal?”

“Normally, I dodge this question, but you have all rights to know.” Jack replied. “I was in the Whitehouse the day you met the President.” he continued.

“Did you work on the NSC with my father?” was Finne’s next question.

“No, I was a junior agent in the Secret Service assigned to the first residence.” Jack divulged. “I had a short career in the Marines prior to that having been commissioned a first lieutenant via OCS.”

“How did you get selected for OCS?”

“I was noticed early during my enlisted days for my rifle skills. They sent me to RECON and Sniper school then pushed me through OCS and sent me to Vietnam as an officer. I was sent behind the line four times to neutralize high priority targets. I spent most of my Vietnam experience alone and in silence. Get in…kill…get out….somehow.” Jack recalled.

“Suicide crawls?”

“No one ever called it that. No one other than me and only in my head while trying to avoid being found and captured once the shot had been taken.” Jack responded with a tone of surprise in his voice.
“Have you always been able to read people’s thoughts?” Jack asked while already knowing the answer to be true.

Finne hesitated. This was a subject that caused great turmoil in his life. He was very uncomfortable with the idea that Jack knew details about Finne’s darkest secrets and seemed to be eliciting them from him.

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Chapter 18 - Love Songs

The darkness was pieced by a thin slit of light and then the pounding and pain began to throb in her head. Sarah could hear the sounds of the stereo blaring Kesha’s latest tune about love and drugs and every pulse of the bass sent pain through the back of her head like she was being kicked. For several moments she could not tell where she was. She was lying prone on her stomach but didn’t feel comfortable like in her plush bed or on the leather sofa she so often fell asleep on in front of the TV. The pressure on her shoulders and neck felts as if she were being forced down onto the surface she was lying on. Her eyes continued to open and she saw the carnage around her. Panic raced through her body. Blood spilled around her and she had no idea if it were hers. She was unable to get free from her confines.

Sarah screamed immensely. The shrill of terror she ejected lasted as long as the breath in her lungs. Again, she screamed “HELP! HELP ME! PLEASE HELP!”

Chapter 19 - Binary Systems

The energy buzzing around and within Finne’s head was dizzying. Finne felt the stimulation down his spine and throughout his body. He couldn't tell if it was just his highly sensitive nature or if it was some effect from the communication implant that had been activated by Jack shortly after he entered the SUV. Finne noticed that as Jack spoke to him the array of video monitors were influenced by specific words within the context of his speech. All ten monitors were streaming real-time and statistical data that appeared to aggregate extensive information repositories into a harmonized display of actionable intelligence. As Jack spoke the keywords “Marine…RECON…OCS…Watchkeeper” the content on various screens refreshed to add the additional attributes associated with the catalyst words. Finne was experiencing this read-in as if the intelligence were being pumped into his mind and memory like water through a fire hose. Finne had connected with the information. He felt it. He could manipulate and sort through the intricate details without effort as they were relayed to him. The effects were nearly intoxicating.

However, a different anxiety was growing within Finne. He knew that less than a mile ahead was the treacherous turn in the road known as Deadman’s Curve – the accident scene of many lost lives, mostly young inexperienced drivers traveling at excessive speeds or driving while intoxicated or distracted. Finne visited the area ahead many times in the years after Nigel was killed there. Every time he went there he found remnants of memorials identifying the various victims for whom they had been erected. It took ten years for Finne to be able to let the anniversary of Nigel’s death pass without visiting the fateful spot where he lost his roommate and best friend. Time, however, had not allowed Finne to forgive himself for letting Nigel get away from him that night. Finne could have changed things. Nigel should not have died.

The downward spiral of emotions leading Finne down a dark tunnel of guilt and remorse was halted abruptly as the SUV’s breaks were applied without warning. The divider between the driver and the vehicle’s rear compartment began to lower. As it lowered, several of the video screens Finne had been studying went dark. The four right-most monitors were now completely inactive and portions of the six that remained illuminated had dropped information that had previously been linked to the content on the darkened displays to the right. Finne recognized that the clearance level had just dropped.

As he considered the effect that the breach in the conversation had on the technology around him, the black van Finne had last seen leaving the scene of his abduction / rescue carrying the bodies of his would-be-assassins approached them from ahead and pulled alongside Jack and Finne’s SUV. The van was heading back towards the rescue scene. Finne noticed through his window that four men were inside the van now, though he specifically remembered only one man driving off with the bodies. Finne struggled to connect the dots and understand his situation. His dependable instincts were dulled. His mind had become distracted by the overload of input he was receiving.

“We’re here.” Jack informed.

“Where is here supposed to be? We haven’t passed a driveway in a quarter-mile and there isn’t another property for another half-mile past deadman’s curve ahead.” Finne replied.

“You are going to connect with someone you haven’t seen in many years who needs your help.” Jack stated.

“Why do they need my help?”

“This person is very similar to you in many ways. Their audience is equally as dedicated and as large as they get.”

“Audience?” Inquired Finne.

Jack pressed a button to his right and the driver’s security partition raised. When it shut the four dark monitors re-activated and the data seemed to spread fluidly across of the monitors from left to right again.

"The same people who want you dead are trying to kill this individual too.  Connecting the two of you provides us an opportunity to see where overlaps exists and possibly some clues to help us find them."


“The technology supporting all of the tools that surround us isn’t cheap. The budget for this operation is buried within the appropriations of various agencies within DOD, Homeland Security, Justice, even the Department of Agriculture. Within the IC, data is shared as necessary to support National Security efforts. Your audience consists of the essential personnel needed to protect you and protect the integrity of the decisions you make.”

“So this person is one of the five other Watchkeepers?” Finne asked.

“Five?” Jack interjected with a tone of surprise.

“Yes. You identified five of the highest offices within the government as possessing the clearance and stated that six other living persons beside myself did as well. I am assuming that you are one of those six, Jack, or you wouldn’t be able to read me in.”

“You described yourself as a detective earlier, but you are much more than that Finne.” Jack replied with respect for Finne’s obvious intelligence.

“No. This individual is utterly unclearable and cannot be trusted with any of the information you have received.” Jack retorted without disclosing the name of the acquaintance Finne would be re-connecting.

“Then how are they like me?”

“Andy Warhol said everyone gets fifteen minutes of fame. This individual has been in overtime for longer than imaginable.”

“Why is the intelligence community interested in them?”

“This subject’s primary audience comes from the research and academic community. The funds supporting these R&D programs come from government grant programs at NIH, NSF, and DOT among others. Additional commercial investments pour in through vendors offering to develop and pilot new tools and technologies to support the programs. Most of the science and academic community has zero visibility into our world. However, many within the IC find the entertainment and drama of true reality to be worthy of their attention off the clock.” Jack explained. “24x7 uncut reality programming. It beats watching the Simpsons.”

“Your comm link is dynamic and will integrate with accredited command and control systems. It is intended to broadcast always but receive only on command.” Jack offered while typing a quick series of keystrokes on the keyboard to his right. Suddenly the energy Finne had been experiencing throughout his spinal cord subsided and he began to feel depressed. He began to sweat excessively without provocation.”

“You will get over the withdrawal symptoms shortly. The intra-cranial transfer of data from radio signals to the electro-chemical elements that facilitate the brain’s activities produces excess dopamine and a corresponding “high” similar to that felt by a pot smoker. When it gets turned off, your body craves more. It fades quickly.” Jack said in a matter-of-fact-like manner.

Jack opened the door, stepped out and turned to see Finne exit. He pointed down the road toward in direction of deadman’s curve. “You will find your car a short distance ahead. The ignition is running. You can see the taillights from here.”

Finne’s eyes followed Jack’s arm in the direction he pointed and he saw a dull red glow penetrating the darkness ahead.

The SUV’s turned back and headed in the same direction from which they had come. Jack was alone in the darkness trying to make sense of everything he just learned.

As Finne walked toward the red lights ahead, his mind wandered back to the friend he had lost on this road. Nigel was who he wanted to connect with again, but that could never happen.

Then from deep within the black nothingness ahead, Finne’s attention turned to the sounds of someone screaming for help. Finne burst into a sprint towards the cries ignoring that he could not see further than his arms could reach into the night ahead of him.

Chapter 20 - Indigo

Finne had reached the source of the blood-curling screams at a sprinter’s pace. His breath was lost and his eyes were wide in exhilaration and horror. A dark colored luxury sedan was nearly split in two from the front fender through the rear passenger compartment evenly split apart as though sliced with the blade that was the 30 inch thick sycamore with which it had collided. The vehicle looked surgically severed except for the front wind shield which was shattered and soaked with blood and apparent human remains. A single headlight shone into the voided darkness ahead revealing at least two, possibly three mangled bodies, themselves wrapped around or split apart by the thick forest of hard-woods surrounding dead man’s curve.

Finne’s horror and panic was weighed down by the guilt he immediately felt for not saving Nigel that night. He could only imagine the graphic nature of the accident scene that killed his best friend and roommate as it had been six months after the accident before Finne built the courage to pay his respects at the scene. His senses tingled throughout his body. His spinal cord was pumping adrenaline putting him into emergency response mode. Someone was alive and Finne was too shocked to locate or even hear the screams that called him. His veins were pumping and his blood pressure had risen to a level affecting his hearing and vision. Red and blue pulsed in his view taking the midnight darkness from pitch blackness to a strobing vision of destruction.

[“Finne, this is Jack. This site is constructed to look exactly as we want it found. You are now completely dark…off the grid. Only my top three lieutenants and I know whether you are even alive. The girl in the car is also dark…for the moment. Keep her that way and keep her with you at all times. Anna has already informed the family that you are on an investigation. Do what you do and hide out. One or the both of you is going to pop back up on the grid and I need to know how and by whom. We will no longer be transmitting from or to you except with extreme prejudice. There is no time to explain now. The girl is unharmed, but has been drugged. She will remember only flashes of the events leading up to this scene. Make up whatever you want…just keep her dark as long as possible and keep her with you at all times!”

“Dark from whom,” Finne spoke aloud knowing now that at least one person was listening.

[“All military, government, education, pharmaceutical, and commercial R&D.” “We’ll handle this clean-up. Take your car. It’s clean for now. Ditch it before morning wherever it won’t be found. I won’t be riding point for you. Trust your own judgments, they have always proven to be correct in the past…You have 10 minutes before the first-responders come from Leesburg by truck. I have managed to close off a route for you from here to the beltway. Go quickly and get gone. Good luck!” Jack added.]

Chapter 21 - Frequent Flyer Program

The drive to the marina had gone quickly and without imposition. Finne’s car averaged over seventy miles an hour on the trek from Great Falls to Dangerfield Island. The call to his brother en route was short and eventually sucessful. “I need her…now!” Finne informed his younger brother Sean.

“She’s on the blocks.” Sean retorted. “I’ve got the prop off and the drive shaft pulled. The bottom is only half painted.”

“Will she take on water?” Finne asked.

Sean knowing his brother all too well had interpreted the intent o f the line of questioning. Finne was on a case and needed to hide or travel by water. By the tone in his voice he was in a hurry. “I can launch her for sail in 15 minutes. The inboard will be useless but I can put on a 15 horse power troller to get it in and out of port. You know where to find it. I will be gone…..Stay safe.”

The STARBIRD had been well under sail out the bay towards the international shipping lanes that stretched out across the globe from the Chesapeake Bay. Finne was headed to a spot just five miles off shore where several super-tankers would be anchored waiting for their port entry clearance from the port authorities at Baltimore and points beyond.

“Go Dark.” was the instruction from Jack.

Finne knew he could hide the 32 foot cruiser easily from any terrestrial based radar amongst the wide body tankers loaded tall with containers destined for the U.S. east coast and beyond. Out here on the water, Finne knew he could settle his emotions down and start to reconcile the events of the last few hours. Someone was out to kill him… and they nearly did. The were also out to kill Sarah. Why?

“Finne?!” Sarah exclaimed! “Where am I?”

Surprised she could comprehend seeing him after what she must have endured both physically and pharmaceutically, Finne calmly replied, “We’re three miles south of the Chesapeake Bay Bridge. I just dropped anchor for the night. You’ll be safe here. Are you OK?”

“What the hell happened? I remember…I remember being trapped under a dead man that I had never seen before trapped in a car that I don’t remember getting into. My head is pounding but I don’t feel wounded. WTF??"

“I don’t know what is going on either,” Finne responded in an honest and equally confused tone. “I was headed to your family’s home to see how to reach you….I was told your life was in danger….I was told to get you away before you got hurt.” Finne offered.

“A little late…Told by whom?”

Chapter 22 - Game theory and white saddle shoes

Finne stared up into the night sky wondering whether or not he was being betrayed from far overhead. He recalled the infrared satellite images in Jack’s vehicle / control center. If he had to go so dark, as to avoid Jack’s reach, he needed to go farther beyond the surveillance capabilities of the terrestrial world. Who had these capabilities at their disposal other than the government he so truly served?

Sarah’s perception was remarkable, however, her age-old habits were more predictable and reliable. Upon her inquiry about who had informed him of the dangers to her (and to him), Finne had instinctively touched his face before beginning his lie. Finne wove a tale of deception that soon caused Sarah’s eyes to glaze with indifference. Midway through his deceitful tale, Finne mentioned that the birth below likely was stocked with Jack Daniels, a strategic guess he made knowing his brother's tastes and vices. That was all Sarah needed to hear before she broke off her inquisition to find solace in a favorite bottle.

Chapter 23 - Clue Tube

Long after Sarah had settled into a deep drunken sleep in the master birth below, Finne had his newly disguised maritime hide out headed south parallel to the shore line under the minimal power of the 15 horsepower outboard motor generally used for docking and emergencies.


Finne knew he was open to inspection and more visibility under way at the late hours after midnight versus amongst the radar invisibility of the tankers, but dawn was coming and that brought with it infinitely more visibility from commercial fishing traffic leaving port, recreational watercraft, and the U.S. Coast Guard. Finne remembered Jack’s instructions clearly: go dark and avoid all military, government, education, pharmaceutical, and commercial R&D. That didn’t leave much room for friends, especially on the water. Finne had chosen the slow and steady ride under the tiny motor versus putting the STARBIRD under sail to make some minimal changes to the boat for disguise. Finne tied off the rudder and the little engine to sail forward without his control. Using a few leftover cans of paint and brushes that weren’t unloaded from the boat before setting out into the Chesapeake, he carefully leaned over the stern and painted over the name STARBIRD changing the letters B and D to G and L renaming the vessel STARGIRL. He also changed the home port from Washington, DC to Newport, VA. With daylight, the increased water traffic and the associated radio sighting reports and communications would be monitored by at least three federal and five defense agencies with interest in these waters. The name change wouldn’t get them to Florida before it was questioned, but it would get them back to the Virginia shoreline.

After he had cleaned up the deck and put all identifying information and attention drawing features below, Finne had changed course back to the East under the limited power and re-tied off the rudder and engine to sail on their own towards the distant shoreline. Thoughts of the resources deployed to save him and Sarah from intended assassination weighted on him like a lead vest. Finne knew that an equal and possibly more powerful group was still hunting them down. He needed to know more about the connection between him and Sarah. He needed to know what she had been doing and who she was connected to for the many years since he last saw her. Finne went below and looked in on Sarah. She had passed out in her clothes above the covers and was snoring. Finne let her be and returned to the galley where he retrieved a sleek black neoprene briefcase from under a hidden compartment under the galley bench. This was Finne’s stash in case of emergency. In the compartment he kept Sig Saur 40 Caliber handgun and 100 piece box of ammunition, several false identity credentials that Finne had developed under cover at TIGTA, an encrypted satellite phone, a disposable mobile phone, and a universal communication based pc in the briefcase.

While the STARGIRL slowly encroached on the shoreline, Finne logged onto the PC and started digging through various police and treasury databases looking for hits on Sarah. Finne logged into each system he used with a different user ID. His undercover identities had positioned him amongst the matrix of Treasury, Homeland Security, and Defense law enforcement and intelligence communities. With each persona, Finne had credentials to access the criminal investigative information he needed to develop a profile of Sarah. Using these identities, Finne was invisible to the grid. One thing Finne and TIGTA did well was classify and compartmentalize undercover identities and information. None of Finne’s identities officially existed and therefore could not be traced back to anyone.

Sarah was not a saint and had a rap-sheet. She had been convicted twice for DUI in her twenties. When she was thirty-three she plead guilty to a conspiracy to distribute marijuana charge and was put on two year probation – Finne guessed this was a bigger charge and she had a good lawyer. Most recently, she was convicted of reckless driving and lost her license. There was nothing in the criminal files that perked Finne’s attention. Finne decided to take a different investigative path.

He opened a web browser and opened the Homeland Security Video Network (HSVN). HSVN was a very high-bandwidth network used to share all homeland security video among the various agencies. HSVN is used for sharing and streaming everything from classified video conferencing to the distribution of field based intelligence video assets to command and control centers. The website content was highly dynamic and was configured to the specific of the user’s security clearance level. Finne was signed in under a Top Secret-SCI credential from a long closed case file. He had access to almost all of the content from closed cases but was restricted from seeing the open case video traffic based on his credential’s need-to-know. Finne knew he could surf through the open case video and likely find a hit on Sarah. She was a club girl and spent her time in public and amongst some of the most surveilled establishments in any city in the world. He didn’t, as he knew linking into an open case would draw more attention and risk exposing his identity and worse his location. Finne clicked through several discreet paths to a well known asset amongst special agents and officers within Homeland Security and its associated intelligence partners, informally known as “Clue Tube” or CT for short.

Clue Tube was a top secret implementation of the You Tube video storage network purchased from Google. Videos that hit Clue Tube were post trial investigative materials. It included all of the video surveillance assets collected and associated with each case or major program. Much like You Tube, users of Clue Tube tend to find and share videos virally amongst themselves. The intended purpose for CT was to help investigations of previously tried individuals. The main attraction to the CT video database was the infinite spectrum of bizarre human behavior. Videos of surveillance targets showering, having sex, taking a dump, fighting, singing, and living life not knowing they are being recorded. Finne generally avoided Clue Tube as it was more a distraction to him then a tool. However, he thought he could learn something from the marijuana distribution conspiracy conviction he learned about Sarah. Likely there was a lot more to the case then is summarized in the justice network. Finne began searching on Sarah and discovered a two year trove of video files associated with a much larger investigation known as “OPERATION ROCK CRUSHER” associate with suspected mob associate, Tony Gautrachs, and the Club Atlas.

Finne soon found more than he had expected and a lot more than he wanted to find.