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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