The Burdens of Truth

Praise for Etienne Bodies of Work “Etienne has created an intriguing murder mystery that I enjoyed a great deal.” —Literary Nymphs “I fell in love with the characters and their story. It had me hooked and I didn‟t want to put it down.” —Night Owl Reviews

The Path to Forever “The concept of longevity as it is presented here, with all its details and consequences, is fascinating…” —Queer Magazine Online “I for one enjoyed this book and look forward to reading the next…” —Fallen Angels

NOVELS BY ETIENNE THE AVONDALE STORIES Bodies of Work Drag and Drop Break and Enter Sleuth LLC: Birds of a Feather Magic Fingers The Burdens of Truth

THE FOREVER SERIES The Path to Forever Prognosis: Forever

Published by

DREAMSPINNER PRESS

Published by Dreamspinner Press 382 NE 191st Street #88329 Miami, FL 33179-3899, USA http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/ This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author‟s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The Burdens of Truth Copyright © 2011 by Etienne Cover Art by Reese Dante http://www.reesedante.com All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the Publisher, except where permitted by law. To request permission and all other inquiries, contact Dreamspinner Press, 382 NE 191st Street #88329, Miami, FL 33179-3899, USA http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/ ISBN: 978-1-61372-080-6 Printed in the United States of America First Edition September 2011 eBook edition available eBook ISBN: 978-1-61372-081-3

Thanks, as always, to my editor Jim Kennedy for all of his hard work.

And to my partner of many years for his support.

IN VIRGINIA AND THE DISTRICT OF COLUMBIA Ian Sanderson, PhD, Professor at Georgetown University Randy Richardson, Lt. Col., works at the Pentagon Rupert Sylvester, head of a clandestine government agency Sean Sanderson, Ian‟s son Paul Richardson, Randy‟s son Rudolph Jarvis, PhD, head of History Department, Georgetown University Jared Millar, Sgt., US Marine Corps

IN NORTH CAROLINA AND JACKSONVILLE, FLORIDA George Martin, Captain, Jacksonville Sheriff‟s Office Mike Foster, his partner Robbie Foster-Martin, their son Dan Sutton, Sheriff, Haywood County, North Carolina Cyrus Hall, local resident, Maggie Valley, NC Lucinda Hawkins, local resident, Maggie Valley, NC Zeb Hawkins, her son, college student, Jacksonville, FL

IN SOUTH CAROLINA General Cartwright, President, The Citadel

IN JACKSONVILLE, FLORIDA Carl Johnson, Sergeant, Jacksonville Sheriff‟s Office Jim Williams, his partner, CPA

IN JACKSONVILLE BEACH, FLORIDA Pete Connors, ex-Navy, college student Cody Maxwell, college student

Some truths can be a burden not easily shared Because to do so, the soul must first be bared. —Ian Sanderson

Washington, DC 1600 12 November 2010 Ian

IT

WAS Friday, it was early November, it was rainy and cold, and I was thoroughly miserable as I walked across the Georgetown University campus from my tiny office in the history department to M Street, then through the heart of Georgetown to Pennsylvania Avenue, Washington Circle, and finally 23rd Street until I arrived at the Foggy Bottom-GWU Metro Station. I wished for the hundredth time that I‟d elected to drive to work that morning, and a poem by Thomas Hood began running through my brain: No sun—no moon! No morn—no noon! No dawn—no dusk—no proper time of day— …. No warmth, no cheerfulness, no healthful ease, No comfortable feel in any member— No shade, no shine, no butterflies, no bees, No fruits, no flowers, no leaves, no birds!— November! When I was in the station, safely underground and out of the weather, I inserted my fare card in the slot in the turnstile and, when it popped back out, made my way to the appropriate platform, and waited patiently for the next outbound Orange Line train, which at that time of the day was a very short wait. Once I was on my train, I settled down, and by the time it stopped at the Virginia Square-GMU station in suburban Arlington, my gloomy demeanor

had somewhat brightened. That change in mood was short-lived, however, and went into an immediate downward spiral once I emerged from the station and contemplated the weather—it had gotten progressively worse during my subway ride. As was typical for that time of day and that kind of weather, a number of taxis were queuing up outside the station, so I decided to splurge rather than walk a few blocks in the rain. The eager cab driver became considerably less so when I gave him my address, and he managed to make it clear that a trip of only a few blocks was hardly worth his time and trouble. I gave him a taste of what my students referred to as “the look”—and it proved to be as successful in intimidating him as it was with my students in the fifteen years I‟d been teaching, and he ceased his muttering. When the taxi stopped in front of our house, I dashed up the walk, onto the porch, and out of the rain. As I opened the storm door to unlock the front door, I sensed motion at my feet and looked down. What appeared to be a FedEx overnight envelope was lying at my feet—it had evidently been propped against the front door. I picked up the envelope, tucked it under my arm, inserted my key, and used it to enter the house. Inside the house, the silence was deafening, except for the beeping of the alarm, which I quickly shut off. The boys had started their first year of college as roommates at The Citadel in September, and even after two months, it still felt odd to come home to a house that wasn‟t filled with the noise of two teenagers and their friends. In the master bedroom, I quickly spread my damp suit on the bed to dry and pulled on a set of warm-ups. Grabbing my briefcase and the FedEx envelope, I headed downstairs to the basement, after a quick detour to the kitchen to pour myself a glass of wine. The house occupied a lot that sloped quickly down from street level and ended at the edge of a rather deep ravine. This meant that the basement, as well as the two-car garage underneath the house, was at ground level at the rear of the house. I went into what was ostensibly a storage room and walked over to the built-in shelves along one wall, where I pressed a hidden button. A section of the shelves swung out on silent hinges, revealing an armored door protected by an electronic keypad. I unlocked the door, stepped onto the landing beyond, and pulled it shut behind me, knowing that when I did so, the section of shelves would automatically swing back into place. At the bottom of a short flight of steps was our private study, which we called the safe room, because it was totally secure from prying eyes and ears. My partner and I needed that level of safety because he worked with high-

level security matters at the Pentagon and often brought paperwork home with him. In addition, I had a clandestine secondary career as an analyst for one of the so-called “alphabet” agencies that dealt with security matters. No, it‟s neither the CIA, the FBI, nor any of the other agencies with which you might be familiar. The group for whom I work part-time is so secret that only a halfdozen people in DC are even aware of its existence. I settled down at my desk, set my briefcase on the floor, and took a sip of wine. Then I finally examined the FedEx envelope. Curiously, it wasn‟t addressed to either Randy or me but merely contained the street address. I opened it cautiously, upended it, and a single eight-by-ten photograph slid out onto my desk. The glossy black-and-white print was a rather grainy enlargement showing two men standing in a stream, apparently facing each other. They were obviously enjoying the act of splashing water in each other‟s direction and were totally naked. They were also partially tumescent. I sat for a long while, mesmerized by the photo, and I was so overwhelmed by the memories it invoked that I couldn‟t focus on anything else. Instead, I found myself carried back to that summer, which was forever etched in my brain under the heading “the summer before it happened.”

Blue Ridge Mountains, VA June 2005

RANDY and I had been best friends ever since chance had made us freshman roommates at The Citadel. We met our future wives during our junior year and had a double wedding immediately after we graduated. I went on to spend several years in graduate school, obtaining first a master‟s and then a pair of doctorates, one in Russian history and the other in Eastern European history, while Randy began a career with the military. That particular summer, we took our wives on our annual camping trip in the Blue Ridge Mountains—for once, our sons had been left with their respective grandparents for a couple of weeks instead of accompanying us on the trip as they usually did. It was a fun time, and the four of us took advantage of the fact that our campsite was extremely isolated. I don‟t remember who was the first to suggest we go skinny-dipping, but we eventually did so several times. That camping trip was remembered as “the summer before it happened,” because by Christmas of that year my wife was dead—killed by a

drunk driver—and Randy‟s wife had left him for another man. I spent what was left of that school year suppressing my own grief and dealing with a thirteen-year-old son who‟d just lost the mother he loved. Randy had much the same problem, given that his wife had not only left their thirteen-year-old son behind but had made it quite clear that there was no room for a child in her new life.

Arlington, VA 1700 12 November 2010

I

SNAPPED back to the present when I was hit with an unexpected rush of

sadness at the memory of the months that had followed. That was easily one of the worst periods of my life, and I‟d survived by dedicating myself to two things—my son and my work. I went to classes and taught, and I spent the rest of my time either with my son or pursuing the research for my next book. However, during the following summer, things took an unexpected turn.

Blue Ridge Mountains, VA June 2006

AS SOON as school was out that year, we took the boys camping, which was something they loved to do. We pitched a pair of two-man tents in the same remote area where we‟d all been so happy in the past. Randy and I even managed to goad the boys into skinny-dipping with us—they were nervous and uncertain at first but eventually got into the spirit of things and splashed around in the little natural pool with us nearly every day. On the last night of the trip we were all a little sad, knowing that we had to leave the next morning and return to the real world. The boys retired to their tent a little early, and so did we. The weather had turned unseasonably warm, so we were lying naked on top of our sleeping bags in order to alleviate the effect the heat was having on us—we‟d briefly discussed moving the sleeping bags outside the tent, but the ever-present mosquitoes had made doing that impossible. I drifted off to sleep very quickly but woke up some time later to find Randy clutching me, his face buried in my chest. He was sobbing quietly, and at first, I didn‟t know what to do or say. Finally, I put my arms around him and said, “What‟s the matter? Still

missing Mary Jane?” “Are you kidding?” “What, then?” “I can‟t tell you,” he said. “Of course you can,” I said. “After all these years, there isn‟t anything you can‟t tell me, you ought to know that.” “I‟m afraid you‟ll hate me.” “I doubt it.” “Okay, I‟ll tell you,” he said, “but first, hold me for a minute or two.” We shifted positions until we were lying belly to belly, arms wrapped around each other. He began to move a bit in my arms; then he sighed and said, “Oh, God, I knew it would feel like this.” “Knew what would?” “Holding you like this. Being held. It feels good, doesn‟t it?” he said. “Now that you mention it,” I said, “it does. A little weird, but good.” “I love you, Ian,” Randy said. “That‟s hardly news,” I said. “I love you too.” “No, Ian,” he said. “That‟s not quite what I meant. I love you in the way that most men love women.” “You‟re just hard up for affection.” “Please don‟t make fun of me,” he said. “I‟m serious. I love you. I think I‟ve always loved you, but I simply never figured it out before.” Before I could speak, his lips found mine, and for some strange reason, I didn‟t resist. When we finally broke apart, gasping for air, he said, “Can‟t you feel it? I‟m aroused, and I think you are too.” I felt his hand groping between our bodies, and he continued, “You feel it too, don‟t you?” “Yeah, I guess I do—in more ways than one.” We spent the rest of that night on a voyage of discovery, and I was grateful that the noisy stream was loud enough to mask the sounds coming from our tent. In the early hours of the morning, when we were finally exhausted, I found my voice and said, “You know what, Randy?” “What?” he said. “I‟ve always felt, deep down inside, that there was something missing. I didn‟t know what it was, though, I just knew, at some level, that it was

missing.” “But not anymore, right?” he said. “Yeah, not anymore. God, how could we have been so blind?” “Ditto that,” he said. Shortly before dawn, we put our practical minds to work and came up with a plan for the future, a portion of which we divulged to the boys during the trip home. We stopped for lunch at a McDonald‟s on I-81 near Winchester, and when we were settled at our table eating our food, I looked at the boys and said, “May I have your attention for a minute?” “Sure, Dad,” Sean said. “What‟s up, Uncle Ian?” Paul said. “I guess it‟s no surprise to you guys that Randy and I have both been having a hard time adjusting to going from a two-income household to a oneincome household this year,” I said. “No, Sir,” they chorused. “So,” Randy said, “we‟ve come up with a solution.” “What?” Paul said. “You and I are going to move in with Ian and Sean,” Randy said. “Cool,” Paul said. “Does that mean that Paul and I will have to share a room?” Sean said. “Yes, it does,” I said. “Does that matter?” “Nope,” he said. “We‟re always sleeping over.” “Yeah,” Paul said. “I can‟t even remember the last time that Sean and I slept alone in our own rooms.” “One more question,” Sean said. “What?” I said. “Are we gonna turn the den back into a bedroom so Uncle Randy can have it?” “There‟s no need for that,” I said. “The king-size bed in the master bedroom will be more than adequate. It‟s been a few years, but Randy and I are used to sharing quarters.” “Cool.” “Are you gonna sell the house, Dad?” Paul asked his father. “I don‟t think so,” Randy said. “It‟ll bring in enough rent to pay the mortgage, insurance, and taxes, with a bit left over, so I‟ll keep it as an

investment.” “There will be one added bonus,” I said. “What‟s that?” Sean said. “As you know, your mother had a life-insurance policy,” I said, “and I‟m going to take some of the proceeds and have a pool built in the side yard.” “Is the yard big enough?” Sean said. “Yes, it is,” I said. “Remember, I own the vacant lot next door, so all we have to do is dig up the hedge and move it to the far side of that lot.” “When?” Paul said. “As soon as your father and I can round up three or four bids,” I said. “Will it be ready before summer is over?” Sean said. “I don‟t see why not,” I said. And so it began. Within a week, Randy and Paul were settled into their new quarters, and we‟d signed a contract with a pool company. As it happened, I‟d been working for the agency for about eighteen months at that point, and when I told my contact about the pool, he set a few things in motion. Because the lot sloped so rapidly downward, a great deal of excavation and leveling was necessary. Shortly after the excavation for the pool was finished, but before any forms had been constructed or cement poured, I made an excuse to put the project on hold for a while, and a tent was erected over the site, complete with canvas walls that touched the ground. During that time, workmen came in every day, and by the time the pool contractor was allowed to continue, the safe room under the basement was in place, and all traces of its construction were gone. The pool people never even noticed that their work had been disturbed.

Arlington, VA 1700 12 November 2010 Ian

THE ringing of my cell phone snapped me back to the present. “Hello,” I said. “It‟s me,” Randy said. “Hello, Me.” “Funny man,” he said. “Where are you?” “Heading for the Metro station.” “I haven‟t been in the kitchen yet to start our supper.” “Don‟t,” he said. “Can you meet me at Dupont Circle? I‟ve got a hankering for Greek food.” “You don‟t want to stop by the house and change?” “I‟m kind of hungry and don‟t want to waste that much time,” he said. “Then I‟ll see you there.” I placed the photo on our flatbed scanner, generated a digital image of it, slipped the photo back into the FedEx envelope, and put the FedEx envelope into a slim briefcase. Carrying the briefcase with me, I carefully locked the safe-room door and went upstairs to the bedroom to change. Wearing slacks, a turtleneck shirt, and a leather jacket, I secured the house, got in my car, and headed for the Key Bridge. While I was on the bridge, I made an urgent cell-phone call. Once I was across the bridge, I drove east on M Street, turned north on Wisconsin Avenue, and eventually turned east on the first cross street that would take me straight to Dupont Circle. It took me longer to find a place to

park than it had taken me to get to the popular Dupont Circle area. Still, by the time Randy walked through the door of the restaurant, I was sitting in a booth sipping a glass of Greek wine. “Mind if I join you?” he said when he walked up to the booth. “Gee, I don‟t know. I‟m sort of expecting someone, but I guess I can trust a man wearing the uniform of a light bird.” Full colonels in the US Army wear an insignia on their collars containing the image of an eagle. Lieutenant colonels do not wear this insignia and are often referred to, not always kindly, as “light bird colonels” or just “light birds.” He took a seat, I poured him a glass of wine, and we touched our glasses together before he took a sip. “By the way,” I said, “Rupert will be joining us in a bit.” “Rupert?” he said. “Why?” “Long story, and I don‟t want to tell it twice, okay?” He must have caught the seriousness of my tone, because for once, he didn‟t argue with me and simply said, “Okay.” A waiter came to our table and took our orders. “Did we hear from the kids today?” Randy said. “Actually, I don‟t know.” “You don‟t know?” “For perhaps the first time ever, I didn‟t check my e-mail the minute I got home.” “That‟s totally out of character for you,” he said. “Why?” “I was kind of distracted.” “Now that you mention it, you sounded kind of distracted on the phone. Want to tell me about it?” “When Rupert gets here.” “Now you‟re worrying me,” he said. “Well, your worries are over,” I said. “Rupert just walked through the door.” Rupert Sylvester, my contact/controller at the agency, reminded me very much of Leo G. Carroll portraying the Professor in the Hitchcock film North By Northwest, right down to his tweed jacket. He even sounded sort of like the character. To Randy‟s annoyance, Rupert slid into the booth beside him, facing me and, more importantly for Rupert, with his back to the door—

which minimized the chances of him being seen through the window of the restaurant. “Shall I order you a glass, Rupert?” I said. “Thanks,” he said. The waiter appeared before I could summon him, and Rupert requested a glass but declined a menu, saying he couldn‟t stay that long. The waiter brought an empty glass, poured wine in it for Rupert, and left. “Okay, Ian,” Rupert said, “you asked for this meeting, and you said that it was important.” I opened the briefcase, retrieved the FedEx envelope, handed it to him, and said, “This was just inside the storm door of our house when I got home today.” He pulled the photo out of the envelope, and his eyebrows actually levitated a bit, which was most unusual for the normally unflappable Rupert. Randy saw what Rupert was holding in his hand and said, “Holy shit.” “Exactly,” I said. “Is this picture genuine?” Rupert said. “Yes and no. Randy and I went camping with our wives that summer. It was the summer before my wife died and his wife deserted him. The four of us did a fair amount of skinny-dipping in the creek.” “Yeah,” Randy said. “Somewhere, I‟ve got a number of pictures just like that, only our wives are standing beside us.” “However did you manage that?” Rupert said. “Surely there wasn‟t anyone with you.” “I‟m a bit of a shutterbug,” Randy said, “and I had a camera on a very low tripod beside our tent. Our wives didn‟t even know it was taking pictures of our skinny-dipping.” “Based on the fact that you can just see our two tents in the background,” I said, “whoever took this was in the woods across the stream.” “Somebody obviously wants something,” Rupert said. “Yeah,” Randy said, “but what, and from whom?” “Surely it has something to do with your top-secret work,” I said. “Nobody knows about my part-time work for the agency—at that point I hadn‟t even told Catherine about it, not that I kept secrets from her, but because I hadn‟t gotten around to telling her. In fact, I was going to use my earnings to buy something nice for her and tell her then.”

“We‟ll just have to wait until you‟re contacted by a party or parties unknown,” Rupert said. “Meanwhile, may I have this?” “Certainly, and Randy can get you a copy of one or two of the pictures he took.” “A negative with a date would be even better,” Rupert said. “I can do that,” Randy said. “They‟re in a locked drawer in our safe room.” “Should we try to defuse things by talking to our superiors at work?” I said. “Let‟s hold off on that for a bit,” Rupert said. “On second thought, a preemptive strike may be just the ticket. Why don‟t you mention receiving the photo and make it clear that it‟s not only doctored, but you can prove it?” “Yeah,” I said. “Georgetown is run by Jesuits, and when dealing with Jesuits, preemptive strikes are definitely called for, and the same often holds true with the military.” “If somebody wants something from one of us that badly,” Randy said, “should we take any precautions?” “What kind of precautions?” I said. “I was thinking of our boys,” he said. “They should be safe enough at The Citadel,” I said. “Yeah, but it wouldn‟t hurt to have a word with somebody down there.” “Rupert, what do you think?” I said. “It would probably be a good idea,” he said. “When would that photo have been taken?” “In June, five years ago,” I said. “As you said, you‟d only just started working with us at that time. Were you already involved in secret matters that long ago, Colonel?” “Yes, Sir, I was, but I don‟t know how many people knew about it.” “Rupert,” I said, “are our telephone and Internet connections at home still secure?” “We check them daily, and they‟re clean at your end. What we can‟t guarantee, however, is safety at the other end of the line, unless, of course, you‟re calling us.” “When was the last time our house was swept for bugs by your people?” I said. “A couple of Saturdays ago—you were there, remember?” Rupert said. “Yeah,” I said, “I guess I‟d forgotten.”

“Don‟t forget to use that little gadget I gave you,” Rupert said. “Thanks for reminding me,” I said. “I‟ll give it a shot the minute we get home.” Rupert polished off his glass of wine and retrieved a cell phone from a breast pocket. He dialed a number, waited a second, and said, “I‟ll be at the back door in five minutes.” Three minutes later, he stood and headed for the restaurant‟s kitchen. “Your Rupert is a careful guy,” Randy said a moment or two later. “Yeah, in his line of work, he has to be just that.” We finished our meal in a somewhat somber state of silence, walked to the car, and went home. While the garage door was still closing, I went through the basement, down to the safe room, and retrieved the gadget Rupert had reminded me about. I carried it all through the house, carefully watching the readout on the little screen, and I paid special attention to the master bedroom and bathroom. Finally satisfied that the house was free of listening devices, I took the little device back downstairs and put it away. By the time I got back upstairs, Randy was in the shower, so naturally I joined him. Later, as we stood in front of the vanity toweling ourselves dry, I carefully inspected our images in the mirror and said, “We‟re not in bad shape for a couple of middle-aged men.” “Speak for yourself,” he said. “I‟m still young, and I refuse to admit to middle age.” “Oops, did I strike a nerve?” “Not really,” he said, “but I resent being referred to as middle-aged. Look at us—we‟re both somewhat over six feet tall and we tip the scales at under one-ninety. We may no longer be the scrawny kids we once were, but we‟re in damn fine shape.” “Yeah, for a couple of forty-year-olds, hence middle-aged.” “I‟ll get you for that,” he said. “Promises, promises.” Later, as I turned the lights out in our bedroom, I said, “Shit, I never got around to checking the e-mail.” “Don‟t worry about it,” he said, reaching for me. “This is more important.” “Yeah, I guess you‟re right.” “You guess!” he said. “You guess this is more important?” “Shut up, and prove it.”

Arlington, VA 0700 13 November 2010 Ian

SATURDAY morning, we carried coffee and bagels down to the safe room and settled down at our desks. We checked our e-mail accounts and found nothing but junk mail. After that, we called The Citadel and gave their security guy a heads-up concerning our potential problem. Then, while I worked on my latest piece of analysis for the agency, Randy rummaged through his files for the negatives from that summer. “Here they are,” he said, holding a packet of negatives up to the light. “Geez, Randy, that‟s a fat envelope. How many pictures did you take that day?” “I had the camera set to shoot a half frame every thirty seconds,” he said, “which allowed me to accumulate seventy-two photographs in a little over half an hour. I also had a wide angle lens on the camera, and it was focused on that little natural pool because I knew that was where we would be.” “Now what?” “I‟m gonna use that nifty little device you gave me for Christmas a couple of years ago,” he said, “and transfer these negatives to digital images. Then it‟s time for Photoshop.” “Have at it,” I said, and I went back to work. I took a break around midmorning, but Randy was still hard at it. “I‟m going up to the kitchen,” I said. “Bring you anything?” “Something cold, wet, and non-alcoholic,” he said. “Will do.” When I returned to the safe room carrying two cans of Sprite, he was waiting for me with a triumphant look in his eyes. “What‟s up?” “I have the answer to at least one question,” he said. “Which question is that?” “The most important one, doofus—who took that photo?”

“Yeah, I guess that would be the most important one. So?” “Look at this display,” he said. He pointed to the large flat-screen monitor in front of him and said, “Starting with frame number ten, you can see someone moving through the woods on the other side of the stream. See?” He pointed to a blown-up image and traced it from frame to frame. “Yeah, I can see that. But I can‟t see a face.” “Patience, patience,” he said. He replaced the displayed images with a few more. “Look at the second picture. He‟s lying flat on the ground, about to aim a camera at us. You can see his face as plain as day.” “Shit. You‟re right. Do you know him?” “You‟re damn right I do,” he said. “That‟s the Basset Hound.” “Excuse me?” “I call him that because his last name is Basset and he has large and somewhat floppy ears,” he said. “And his actual name is?” “Larry Basset,” he said. “He was an alleged friend of Mary Jane‟s, and he‟s the guy with whom she ran off. I‟ll bet he‟d been fucking her all along and followed us to the campground.” “Why is that name familiar?” “Because I named him correspondent in the divorce,” he said, “and you saw the paperwork.” “Okay, Sherlock. Now that we know who he is, what does it mean?” “Damned if I know,” he said. “Could it mean that someone has been looking into our backgrounds for a weak link?” “Possibly,” he said. “The divorce file is a matter of public record— anybody could go to the courthouse and read it.” “We need to meet with Rupert again. Today or tomorrow, if possible.” “Yeah,” he said. “You did good, my boy. Follow me up to the bedroom, and I‟ll give you an appropriate reward.” “Why not here?” he said. “The floor‟s too hard, and we‟re too old for that.” “There you go with that old shit again. Speak for yourself.”

We spent the rest of the day doing our usual Saturday stuff—laundry, cleaning, grocery shopping—all the while waiting in vain for the other shoe to drop. Rupert was tied up Saturday, but when we arrived at St. Paul‟s Parish on K Street Sunday morning, he was sitting in a pew at the rear of the church. We took seats on either side of him and had a whispered conversation, after which he slipped out through a side door of the church with a thumb drive full of images and a few of the original negatives in his pocket. Our conversation had been somber, but my mood brightened when the service began—both the high church service and the music at St. Paul‟s always put me in a good mood, and this Sunday was no exception. As we walked toward the car, Randy said, “Lunch?” “Sure.” “Where?” he said. “Are you in the mood for plain or fancy?” “How about the Hole in the Wall?” he said. “You‟re on.” “The Hole in the Wall” was our name for a little restaurant on M Street. Actually, it wasn‟t really that little. We‟d nicknamed it the Hole in the Wall because it was very narrow in front. It did, however, run back some distance before expanding into a large room that wrapped around an adjacent shop. As we sat, sipping a glass of wine and waiting for our orders to arrive, I found myself reflecting on the past.

Blue Ridge Mountains, VA June 2007 Ian

AT THE

end of our first full school year as a family of four, Randy and I took the boys camping again. That first year of all of us being together had, not unsurprisingly, produced no problems whatsoever. Randy and I had been roommates through four years of school, and we slipped right back into our old pattern of togetherness almost as though we‟d never been apart. The fact that there was now a sexual element to the relationship was merely frosting on the cake.

As for Sean and Paul, they‟d practically been raised together, even though we hadn‟t always lived in the same city. And during the five years that Randy had worked at the Pentagon, the boys had become virtually inseparable. As far as we could tell, the two of them had no difficulty getting used to sharing a room on a permanent basis. Paul had totally written his mother off as a lost cause, given that she‟d made it clear when she left that her new life contained no place in it for a son, and he‟d adjusted to that fact. During that two-week period, we had a great time. We went for long hikes several times and even spent half a day following the Appalachian Trail, which passed through the area near our campsite. At an age when many teenage boys were beginning to drift apart from their parents as a sort of rite of passage, Sean and Paul were becoming closer than ever to us. That was also the summer we found the cabin. At the end of our first week, we went back to the car and drove to the nearest motel in order to have access to hot water. After a week of roughing it, a hot shower was a delicious treat, and Randy and I were able to enjoy the luxury of a decent shave. Over lunch in a local café, Sean said, “Dad, camping is fun, but we ought to look for a cabin up here somewhere.” “A cabin?” I said. “Sure, why not? A nice little A-frame cabin by a stream. We‟ve seen a bunch of them up here, and some of them had For Sale signs on them.” “That‟s a splendid idea,” Randy said. “Yeah,” I said, “let‟s do it.” So we spent our second week in the mountains cabin hunting, and by the time we headed for the interstate and home, Randy and I had made an offer and signed a contract to purchase a modified A-frame cabin nestled in a stand of trees beside a very noisy stream. We closed on the cabin a few weeks later and juggled our schedules so that we could spend an occasional threeday weekend there, acquiring furniture and generally getting it fixed up to suit us. It became our place to go every summer the minute school was out, and even when Randy had to return to DC, the boys and I would stay at the cabin, sometimes for most of the summer.

Washington, DC—Georgetown University 0800 15 November 2010 Ian

I ARRIVED at my office half an hour earlier than usual on Monday, and the first thing I did was send an e-mail to my department head requesting an urgent meeting. Then I settled down to make final preparations for my morning classes. When I returned to my office at eleven, morning classes over, there was a reply waiting for me—Dr. Jarvis would be happy to see me after my two o‟clock class. So when that class was over, I stopped by my office long enough to leave my briefcase on my desk and went to keep my appointment. “Come in, Dr. Sanderson, and have a seat,” Dr. Jarvis said when I knocked on his open door. I closed the door behind me and walked over to his desk. He stood long enough to shake my hand, and we both sat down. “What can I do for you this afternoon?” he said. “There‟s not a lot you can do at this point,” I said, “except listen to what I have to tell you—it‟s self-explanatory.” “I‟m always here to listen.” I told him the story, beginning with finding the FedEx envelope in our door on Friday up to Randy‟s discovery of the identity of the photographer. Of course, I omitted any mention of Rupert and the agency. He listened carefully to my recitation, thought about it for a minute, and said, “So you and Col. Richardson have no idea which one of you may be the target of this possible threat?” “There‟s no way to know for certain,” I said, “but given the fact that I have no money, and Col. Richardson deals with top-secret matters at the Pentagon, it seems logical to suppose that he‟s the target.”

“No money,” he said. “Hmm. Didn‟t you win a multi-million-dollar settlement against the drunk driver of the car that killed your wife?” “That‟s true. However, the lawyers got a third of it, and the balance of the money is tied up in an irrevocable trust that I set up for my son. The trustee uses the fund to pay for his education, but I can‟t touch it, nor can Sean. He‟ll get the income from it when he‟s twenty-five but will have to wait another ten years before he can access the principal. I told the lawyer to make certain that nobody could ever get their hands on it except Sean.” “That was very astute of you,” he said. “Many men would have gone on a spending spree.” “That‟s not my style, and I had a comfortable enough life as it was. Besides, Catherine and I both carried large life-insurance policies, and her insurance paid off the mortgage on the house as well as all of our outstanding debts at that time.” “Knowing how academic publications work, I‟d guess that your books don‟t bring in very much money, either,” he said. “Not enough to make a difference. I think there were something like twenty-seven copies sold of my last book, and I‟m almost certain that my mother bought twenty-five of them.” “Surely you exaggerate,” he said with a smile. “Only a little. Obscure tomes on obscure topics are hardly the stuff of best sellers. At best, they wind up gathering dust on forgotten shelves in libraries.” “Point taken,” he said. “So what are you going to do now?” “Now we wait. Because of Col. Richardson‟s Pentagon connection, we‟re going to see if someone in the intelligence community will look into this matter for us. I just wanted you to know that if an apparently incriminating photograph of myself somehow lands in your mailbox, there‟s more to the story than meets the eye.” “The best defense being a good offense,” he said. “Just so,” I said, thinking, Especially when dealing with Jesuits. “Don‟t give the matter a second thought,” he said. “Not only are you a tenured professor, but your reputation is totally without blemish. If it turns out that you‟re the target of this mischief, the perpetrators will not succeed in getting to you through this school.” “Thank you, Sir, that‟s good to know.” “How‟s your boy doing in school?” he said.

“He and Col. Richardson‟s son are in their first year at The Citadel, and speaking from experience, the first year is always the hardest. So far, they‟re adjusting to the regimen just fine. We got through it, and our boys will, also.” “And even if they don‟t choose a military career,” he said, “the discipline will serve them for the rest of their lives.” “Precisely.” “Thank you for telling me this, Ian,” he said. “My door is always open.” It was a clear dismissal, so I thanked him, said good-bye, and went back to my office, where I spent the next two hours grading papers and performing other chores. For once when I got home, Randy was already there, and he was nearly finished with cooking our dinner. “Something smells good,” I said as I passed through the kitchen. “You mean besides the chef?” he said. “All of the above.” “We eat in ten,” he said. “Let me do a quick change and I‟ll set the table.” Over our dinner, we exchanged the day‟s stories. His experience with his superiors at the Pentagon had roughly mirrored mine at school. “Any word from Rupert?” he said. “He hasn‟t called, and I haven‟t been downstairs to check my e-mail.” We finished our dinner, cleaned up the kitchen, and went down to the safe room. “Anything from Rupert?” Randy said when my computer booted up. “Give me a minute…. Yep, he says the FedEx envelope was sent from Chicago. A guy walked into one of those „you mail them‟ places, paid cash, and departed.” “I guess it‟s too much to hope that there were security cameras?” he said. “No cameras.” “Anything else?” he said. “He says they‟re looking for your Basset Hound, but he‟s no longer with your ex-wife.” “That hardly surprises me,” he said. “So we wait some more. Meanwhile, I‟ve got work to do.” “Yeah,” he said, “me too.” The week ground slowly to an end without any contact from whoever

had sent the photo and without any further progress from Rupert‟s people. However, when I opened the storm door Friday evening, there was another FedEx envelope waiting for me. I carried it inside, went straight down to the safe room, and called Randy. “Hi,” he said. “What‟s up?” “Got another FedEx envelope.” “What‟s in this one?” he said. “I‟m opening it now.” I dumped the contents of the envelope onto my desk, looked at them, and said, “Holy shit!” “Don‟t keep me in suspense, Ian,” he said. “What is it?” “Several pictures of us and the boys horsing around in our pool.” “You‟re kidding,” he said. “Not at all.” “I‟ll be home as fast as I can,” he said. “Please do that. Meanwhile, I‟m gonna call Rupert.” I called Rupert and was instructed to FedEx the envelope and the photos to him the next day—as there was nothing else to discuss, no meeting was necessary. Then I went upstairs, changed clothes, and began to prepare our dinner. When Randy got home, he gave me a quick kiss and raised his eyebrows in inquiry. “The pictures are on my desk downstairs,” I said. “You‟ve got just enough time to change and have a look at them before we eat.” I was already sitting at the kitchen table when he finally returned, and I said, “What took you so long?” “I went out to the pool for a minute.” “Why?” “To see if I could figure out where the photographer was when those pictures were taken,” he said. “And did you?” “Yep,” he said. “There‟s one really tall tree on the other side of the ravine, and it‟s the only possible site.” “That‟s a long way from the pool.” “Ever hear of telephoto lenses?” he said.

“Yeah. When do you think those pictures were taken?” “Labor Day weekend,” he said. “How can you be sure?” “Actually,” he said, “I‟m not 100 percent sure, but that was the last time the four of us used the pool at a time when none of the boys‟ friends were around.” “Which means that whoever these people are, they‟ve been watching us for a while, looking for a way to gain some leverage over us.” “Shit,” he said. “That about sums it up.” I stopped by the post office Saturday morning to pick up the mail— Randy and I both used post office boxes there, so only junk mail came to the house—and send the latest photos and the envelope in which they‟d been delivered to Rupert, using a FedEx drop box outside the post office. We somehow managed to put the latest incident out of our minds and get on with our weekend. Rupert sent me an e-mail on Tuesday letting me know that the latest FedEx envelope had originated in Los Angeles and was as much of a dead end as the first one had been. The e-mail also contained some additional and extremely interesting information. “Whoever it is certainly gets around,” Randy said when he read the e-mail. “No kidding.” “That information about the Basset Hound is very interesting,” he said. “Yeah. I wonder how long it will take to follow up on that.” “I don‟t know,” he said. “Too bad they can‟t just snatch him in the middle of the night and pump him full of drugs.” “You mean drugs as in some sort of truth serum?” “Yeah,” he said. The present whereabouts of Larry Basset had been determined, and a clandestine look at his bank account had revealed a sudden influx of money. I said, “This isn‟t Russia, you know. They actually have to build a case against him before he can be arrested. For that matter, he hasn‟t really done anything illegal—at least, not as far as we know.” “You know us military types, babe, we prefer direct action.” “I think we ought to change our plans for Thanksgiving.” “Change them how?” he said.

“Instead of the boys wasting all that time on the train coming home and returning to school, why don‟t we fly down there and get a hotel suite on Hilton Head Island?” “Savannah would be more interesting,” he said. “Savannah it is. I‟ll make the reservations right now.” “We‟re talking about tomorrow, so the flights won‟t be cheap.” “So?” “You‟re right,” he said. “Handle it, handle it.” I managed to get all the necessary reservations made. Then I threw the ball back into Randy‟s court. “Okay, reservations made. You can call the boys and tell them not to go to the Amtrak station.” “Consider it done,” he said.

Charleston, SC 1600 24 November 2010 Ian

WE FLEW

to Charleston Wednesday afternoon, rented a car, and picked up the boys at The Citadel. They were overjoyed to see us and stood beside the car blabbing for a while until I cut the conversation short, saying, “Hey, guys, we need to get going—it‟s at least a two-hour drive down to Savannah.” “We‟re going to Savannah?” Sean said as he and Paul got in the car. “Yeah,” I said. “We‟ve got a two-bedroom suite at the DeSoto Hilton, and we‟re gonna pig out at their Thanksgiving brunch tomorrow.” “Sounds good to me,” Paul said. “Me too,” Sean said. The boys were so wound up about their experiences in military college that they talked nonstop all the way to Savannah, and we collectively decided not to stop for fast food but to have a light supper in the hotel instead. We checked into the hotel and followed the bellman as he pushed a luggage cart carrying our bags into our suite. “This is great,” Sean said as I was giving the bellman money. “Yeah,” Paul said. “We don‟t have to share quarters with a couple hundred of our closest friends.” “Why don‟t we order something to eat?” Randy said. “You can unpack while we wait for the food.” The boys ordered club sandwiches, and we ordered chicken Caesar salads. We had soft drinks and a couple of bottles of wine stashed in our bags. Sean and Paul disappeared into their bedroom to unpack, and we did the same. Randy and I were relaxing in the living room of the suite when the food arrived, and as soon as the waiter was gone, I knocked on the door to the

boys‟ room and said, “Chow time.” They emerged from their room wearing muscle tees and warm-up pants, and Randy said, “Wow. You guys have really bulked up in just a couple of months.” “Yes, Sir,” Paul said, “all those pushups do have an effect.” At eighteen, both boys were as tall as Randy and me, but despite the recent muscle buildup, I suspected they were still a good twenty pounds lighter. The food quickly disappeared; then we poured each of the boys a glass of wine and settled back to really catch up on things. During a lull in the conversation, Paul looked directly at Randy and me and said, “Okay, guys, what‟s up?” “Whatever do you mean?” Randy said. “Come on, Dad,” Paul said. “You canceled our train tickets at the last minute and flew down here.” “Yeah,” Sean said, “and we know how expensive airline tickets are when they aren‟t purchased two weeks or more in advance. So what‟s up?” “Well,” I said, “now that you mention it, we do have an unusual situation we need to discuss. For the record, however, your train tickets weren‟t wasted; they were exchanged for your trip home at Christmas.” “You‟re changing the subject,” Sean said. “That‟s true. Get your laptop, Randy, and I‟ll get the gadget. It‟s time for show and tell.” We went into our bedroom and returned a minute later. Randy was carrying his laptop, and I had the gadget. While he set the laptop on the desk and booted it up, I walked through all the rooms of our suite, carefully watching the readout on the screen. “Okay,” I said, “the rooms are clean.” “I‟d forgotten about that gizmo,” Sean said. “I still use it in the house every so often,” I said. “You narrate,” Randy said, “and I‟ll do the pictures.” “It was a dark and stormy night…,” I said. “Dad…,” Sean said. “Okay,” I said. “It all began a couple of Fridays ago. It was, in fact, a cold and rainy evening, so much so that I splurged and took a taxi from our Metro stop to the house. When I opened the storm door, there was a FedEx overnight envelope containing a single photograph.” “A photograph?” Paul said.

“This photograph,” Randy said, and the laptop screen came to life. The boys, who were standing behind Randy, leaned forward for a better look. “Holy shit, Dad,” Sean said. “You guys are naked, and you‟re… you‟re….” “I think the phrase you‟re looking for is „partially tumescent‟,” I said. “Yeah,” he said. “I was gonna say something like „beginning to sprout wood‟, but your description sounds better.” “When you have a couple of advanced degrees under your belt,” I said, “you‟ll be able to come up with fancy phrases for ordinary things.” Paul said, “But who took the photo, and what does it mean? Is it even real?” “It‟s real enough,” Randy said, “but it‟s extremely misleading, because there are some things which have been cut out of the picture. I‟ll give whoever did this credit; they know how to use Photoshop. As for who took it, we‟ll get to that in a moment.” “Guys,” I said, “this picture was taken when we were camping with your mothers. It was the summer before Catherine was killed and Mary Jane ran off. Fortunately, Randy, being a shutterbug, had a camera set up on a tripod, and it took a bunch of pictures automatically.” “Pictures like this one,” Randy said, and he manipulated the computer program to show an image of two men and two women. “Wow,” Paul said, “I never saw Mom naked before…. She has nice boobs.” “My mom was no slouch in that department, either,” Sean said. “Wow, indeed,” I said. “We persuaded our wives to go skinny-dipping for the first time ever.” “Just like we did with you guys the next summer,” Sean said. “Yep,” I said. “See this little light spot on the other side of the creek?” Randy said. He used the mouse to point to the picture. “Sure,” Paul said. “I see it,” Sean said. “Here it is blown up,” Randy said. The next image showed the man lying on his stomach, looking straight across the creek. “Shit,” Paul said, “it‟s the Basset Hound.” “Who?” Sean said.

“The guy my mom ran off with,” Paul said. “His name is Larry Basset. Dad called him the Basset Hound because of his floppy ears.” “I‟m surprised you remember what he looks like,” Sean said. “The bastard came to our house one day when Dad wasn‟t there and I‟d just gotten home from school,” Paul said. “He actually helped Mom pack her clothes and drove away, taking her with him. I‟m not likely to ever forget that afternoon or that particular face.” “There‟s more,” I said. The laptop now displayed the photos of the four of us in the pool. “These were in a FedEx envelope that came last Friday,” I said. “They were taken, as nearly as I can calculate,” Randy said, “from a tree on the other side of the ravine.” Everyone was suddenly serious. “Who sent the pictures to you?” Sean said. “Who were they addressed to?” Paul said. “There was no name on the envelope, just our street address,” Randy said. “We do know that they were sent from two different places,” I said, “one in Chicago, and the other in Los Angeles. Whoever did it paid cash.” “So,” Sean said, “what does this mean?” “Our best guess is that somebody wants something from one of us. Who and what remains to be seen. There‟s been no contact,” I said. “Yeah,” Randy said, “the pictures imply the possibility of blackmail, we just don‟t know who or what they‟re after.” “You work with top-secret stuff at the Pentagon, Dad,” Paul said, “so it could be you.” “Do you still work for that clandestine agency, Dad?” Sean said. They‟d learned about that when the pool was built, there having been no way to conceal the construction of the safe room from them. “Yes,” I said, “and the only four people in the world who know about that are in this room right now.” “Other than the people you work for,” Randy said. “True,” I said. “Anyhow, we‟ve done our best to make ourselves less vulnerable to possible blackmail.” “How, Dad?” Sean said. “I had a talk with my boss at the university and told him about the

doctored photo,” I said. “And I had a talk with my superiors at the Pentagon,” Randy said. “Problem solved, then,” Paul said. “Hardly,” I said. “Anybody could get to your father or me in one very obvious way.” “How?” Paul said. “Through us,” Sean said. “Bingo,” Randy said. “If someone kidnapped one of you guys and/or threatened you with harm, they‟d have us between the proverbial rock and a hard place.” “What can we do?” Paul said. “Be careful,” I said. “Be very careful.” “If you ever go off campus, do so only with a group,” Randy said. “Sean,” I said, “if your phone rang and somebody said something like, „This is Officer Jones. Your father has been injured in an accident and he needs you‟, what would you do?” “I‟d… I‟d… shit, I guess I‟d run right there,” he said. “Exactly,” I said. “In the heat of the moment, you‟d run right into their arms without taking the time to make a couple of telephone calls.” “Yeah,” Paul said. “Now that you mention it, I‟ve seen detective shows where that sort of thing happened.” “All we‟re saying,” Randy said, “is be careful. Be very, very careful.” “At least until we find out what‟s going on,” I said. Eventually, conversation petered out, and we were all yawning. “It‟s time to call it a night,” I said. “Somebody give me a hand putting these dishes outside the door.” We placed the tray and dishes just outside our door, locked it, and went to our respective rooms, having agreed to have breakfast in the hotel restaurant at eight. The next morning, Randy and I paused in the living room long enough to knock on the boys‟ door. “Guys,” I said, “we‟re on the way downstairs.” “We‟ll be there,” Paul said. In the restaurant, we ordered coffee, toast, and juice, knowing that we were going to have a large meal at one. The boys arrived on the heels of the waiter who brought our food. They noted what we were having and ordered the same. “Are you sure you don‟t want more?” I said.

“Not if we‟re gonna pig out at lunch,” Sean said. “Yeah,” Paul said. “Did you guys enjoy sleeping late?” Randy said. “Are you kidding?” Paul said. “Our eyes popped open at five thirty, even without a bugle call over the loudspeakers.” “On the other hand,” Sean said, “we did manage to drift off again, at least for a while.” “Yeah,” Paul said, “and it felt good.” Breakfast finished, we decided to work up an appetite by taking a walking tour of the historic district, which wasn‟t difficult to do, given that the hotel was right in the middle of that area. We walked at a leisurely pace around the district for nearly two hours before we returned to the hotel to relax. When we were back in our suite, I said, “Okay, guys, now that we‟ve had a glimpse of the area, shall we take a guided tour tomorrow?” “Sure, Dad,” Sean said. “That‟d be neat.” “Yeah,” Paul said, “it‟s kind of fun playing tourist.” We had a wonderful time in Savannah, playing tourist and getting reacquainted with our sons. We toured the historic district and a couple of its houses; we explored the shops along the famous Savannah Riverwalk and marveled at the model ships in the Ships of the Sea Maritime Museum. I made a point of sweeping our rooms once a day for bugs, more to convince the boys of the seriousness of the situation than anything else. Saturday night, we had dinner at the well-known Pirate‟s House restaurant. Randy and I had a great deal of wine, so we asked one of the boys to drive us back to the hotel. When we went to bed that night, we felt closer to the boys than we had in a very long time. When Randy and I were belly to belly in our bed, I said, “I don‟t care how much this long weekend cost, it was damn well worth it.” “Babe, you just said a mouthful. For what it‟s worth, I think the boys really had a great time too.” “I agree,” I said. Sunday morning, we walked into the living room of the suite, ready to go downstairs for breakfast. There were no sounds coming from the boys‟ room, so I went to tap on their door and found, to my surprise, that it was slightly ajar. I pushed it open a couple of inches and listened for sounds of life; then I noticed a reflection in the mirror of their room, which I could see clearly from the partially opened door. I turned, pressed my fingers to my lips,

and motioned Randy over to where I stood. When he was standing beside me in the doorway, he looked a question at me. I pointed and whispered, “Look in the mirror.” His eyes grew big; then he pushed the door open and marched into the room with me following. Sean and Paul were in one of the beds, their naked bodies spooned tightly together. I cleared my throat and said, “I hope you guys aren‟t this careless in your barracks. If you are, you‟re liable to get yourselves kicked out of school.” They jumped up from the bed as though shot from cannons, and Randy said, “Babe, this wasn‟t careless, this was staged.” “Really?” I said. “Yeah. Look at those shit-eating grins. They planned for us to catch them like this.” “If that‟s true, they certainly succeeded,” I said. “Why don‟t you guys pull on some clothes and come into the living room? It seems we have something to talk about.” We returned to the living room, sat side by side on one of the two sofas, and waited. A couple of minutes later, Sean and Paul appeared clad in boxers and T-shirts. I pointed at the other sofa and said, “Sit.” They sat. “Okay, guys,” Randy said. “If this was show and tell, we‟ve certainly been shown, so it‟s time to tell. How long has this been going on?” “A little over four years,” Sean said. “Ever since that time we all went skinny-dipping for the first time.” “Yeah,” Paul said. “Something happened that week, and Sean and I figured out how we really felt about each other.” “Does anybody else know?” I said. “Are you kidding?” Sean said. “We never told anyone in high school, and we certainly don‟t talk about it at The Citadel.” “Yeah,” Paul said. “Even though we‟re pretty sure that at least two of our classmates are gay, it‟s one of those things you simply don‟t mention. You were there—you know how it is.” “Yes,” Randy said, “we were, and we do. I just hope you‟re damn careful.” “No fear,” Paul said. “Students are required to keep their doors locked at night, and we take extra precautions.”

“Extra precautions?” I said. “Our door is locked from the inside,” Sean said, “and a chair is propped up against it. If anybody used a passkey to open the door, it‟d make one hell of a racket.” “One question,” Randy said. “Both of you have always been close to Ian and myself, so why not just tell us outright?” “Dad,” Paul said, “it‟s not that easy.” “No, it isn‟t,” I said. “In fact, I once wrote a poem about the burdens of truth.” “You did!” Sean said. “Do you remember it?” “Let me see,” I said. “It went something like this: „Some truths can be a burden not easily shared, Because to do so, the soul must first be bared‟, or words to that effect.” “That was cool, Uncle Ian,” Paul said. “Yeah,” Sean said, “is that the only poem you ever wrote?” “No, but it‟s the only one I clearly remember.” “Wait a minute,” Paul said. “Dad, you called Uncle Ian „babe‟ when you guys were in our room just now.” “Yeah,” Randy said, “I guess I did.” “There must have been something in the air that week in the mountains,” I said, “because Randy and I figured out how we had always felt about each other too.” “No shit?” Sean said. “No shit,” I said. “I told you something was going on with them, Sean,” Paul said. “Yeah, you did, but I just didn‟t believe it.” “Does it bother you,” I said, “knowing that your father sleeps with another man?” “Why should it?” he said. “It doesn‟t seem to bother you that Paul and I are a couple.” I got up, walked over to where Sean sat, and opened my arms. He stood and we hugged. I said, “Kiddo, you‟ll always be my son, no matter what, and I‟ll always love you.” “I love you too, Dad,” he said.

Out of the corner of one eye, I saw that Randy and Paul were also embracing. Sean and I broke apart, and I held out my arms to Paul. As we hugged, I said, “You know, I‟ve always looked on you as my other son.” “Yeah,” he said, “it‟s kinda nice, having two dads.” We were all getting a bit misty-eyed, so I said, “Randy, why don‟t we go downstairs to breakfast? These guys can catch up with us after they‟ve showered and everything.” “Dad,” Sean said, “we showered and shaved nearly two hours ago, then we crawled back in bed and went back to sleep.” “Then go throw some clothes on,” Randy said. “We‟ll wait.” The four of us went down to breakfast in a relaxed mood. The boys sat side by side at our table, and as I watched their body language, I realized that their relationship had been there all along for us to notice. While the boys were busily eating, I said, “You know, guys, if you want to transfer to another school next year so you don‟t have to be so guarded about your relationship, I won‟t stand in your way.” “Neither will I,” Randy said. “That‟s okay, Dad,” Sean said. “We‟ve actually talked about doing that but decided against it.” “Yeah,” Paul said. “The discipline will do us good, and if we‟re gonna be lawyers, we need to learn to keep our private life private.” “Lawyers!” I said. “That‟s new. When did you decide you wanted to go in that direction?” “Yeah,” Randy said, “you‟ve both been kind of vague about your future ambitions in the past.” “We‟ve had lots of late-night discussions after lights-out,” Sean said, “and that‟s what we‟ve decided.” “Have you picked a school?” “Well,” Sean said, “if we go to Georgetown, we could live at home and save a ton of money.” “If you guys don‟t mind,” Paul said. “Mind!” Randy said. “Why in the world would we mind?” “Ditto,” I said. “I think that‟s great.”

Our breakfast having ended on a high note, we went back to our suite and relaxed for a couple of hours. Then we packed our bags and checked out of the hotel. We stopped for lunch on the outskirts of Charleston and dropped the boys off at The Citadel with ample time remaining to make it to the airport and turn in the rental car. While we were waiting to board our flight, I told Randy what I had observed with regard to Sean and Paul‟s body language and said, “We should have seen and picked up on that a long time ago.” “Not necessarily,” he said. “People see what they want and expect to see.”

Arlington, VA 1800 3 December 2010 Ian

THE

week after Thanksgiving started with us in high spirits, despite the unsolved mystery hanging over our heads. Randy and I went to work Monday still feeling warm and fuzzy from the memories of a wonderful Thanksgiving weekend, and that state of semi-euphoria carried me through the rest of the week, including most of Friday. However, everything came crashing down when I got home Friday afternoon. Randy was already there, and I followed a series of loud noises to the kitchen, where he was angrily slamming pots and pans around as he prepared our dinner. “What‟s wrong?” I said the minute I saw what he was doing. “FedEx envelope; downstairs on your desk,” he said through clenched teeth. “Here, take this with you—you‟ll need it.” He handed me a glass filled with something other than wine. “What is it?” “Go downstairs and have a look. I‟ll be in control of myself by the time you get back to the kitchen.” I hurried down to the basement, pausing long enough to take a sip from the glass he‟d given me. Shit, it’s Scotch on the rocks, this must really be serious. Randy‟s behavior had me so rattled that it took two attempts to get the combination right so that the door would open. When I finally succeeded, I hurried down the stairs and sat down at my desk. Spread across its surface was a series of photographs of Randy, myself, and the boys: the four of us walking around the historic district in Savannah; the four of us walking along the Riverfront in Savannah; both of us hugging the boys good-bye when we dropped them off at The Citadel; and with the final photograph, I knew what

had Randy so upset—it was a picture of Sean and Paul marching in formation with their classmates at The Citadel. I took a deep swallow of the Scotch and went back upstairs. “How the fuck did they get that picture of the boys in formation?” I said as I stormed into the kitchen. “We both know that area is pretty much closed to visitors.” “That, my love, is the proverbial sixty-four-dollar question.” “Don‟t you mean $64,000 question?” I said. “No. My parents grew up listening to the original radio show in the 40s, and I still use the term they always used. By the way, did you notice the time stamp on that particular photo?” “Yeah,” I said, “two days ago.” “Houston,” he said, “we have a problem.” “No shit, Sherlock. We need to meet with Rupert ASAP.” “No argument there. Let‟s meet him for dinner somewhere.” “Aren‟t you in the middle of cooking?” I said. “Babe,” he said, “I‟m so pissed that I‟ve fucked it up totally. Everything you see on the stove is fit only for the garbage can.” “I‟ll give Rupert a call and see what he can set up on a moment‟s notice.” “While you‟re doing that, I‟ll go down and scan those photos.” “Good,” I said, “and while you‟re at it, send that last one to the head security guy at The Citadel with a „what the fuck‟ type question.” “That‟s a good idea. After all, he did ask us to keep him informed when we first told him what was going on.” I called Rupert‟s number but had to leave a message. While I waited for him to call back, I went to our bedroom and changed. Randy walked into the bedroom just as my cell phone rang. It was, as I‟d hoped, Rupert returning my call. I told him about the latest FedEx package, and he agreed that a meeting was called for, and suggested a place. “We‟ll be there,” I said, and I ended the call. “We‟ll be where?” Randy said. I told him, and he said, “I like it. Rupert can slip in and out of a place that busy without ever being noticed.” “I think he likes it because it has a back door.” “Yeah,” he said.

“We‟ve got just enough time to get there.” “What are we waiting for?” he said. “A hug? We could both use one.” “You drive a hard bargain,” he said as he opened his arms. Later, as we pulled out of the driveway, Randy said, “Should we keep an eye out for anybody following us?” “Handle it, Sherlock. I‟ll concentrate on driving.” As usual when I was going into DC proper, I headed for the Key Bridge, and once I was in Georgetown, I turned north off of M Street onto Wisconsin Avenue until I reached a cross street that led to Dupont Circle and our ultimate destination—a popular restaurant located on a side street two blocks from the actual circle. As always, it took for-fucking-ever to find a parking place. When we walked into the restaurant, I spotted Rupert sitting in a booth at the back of the room. I couldn‟t actually see his face, but the telltale tweed jacket with the leather elbow patch that I could see protruding from the booth led me right to him. Randy and I settled down in the booth opposite Rupert. I started to say something, but Rupert silenced me, saying, “Wine first, talk later.” “Works for me,” I said. “What‟s this?” I picked up the bottle and identified the label as a very expensive Bordeaux. “I hope your expense account is paying for this, Rupert.” “It is,” Rupert said. “Go ahead and pour.” There were glasses at our places, and Randy did the honors. We each took a sip of the wine and uttered sighs of pleasure. “Now,” Rupert said, “the envelope, if you please.” I fished the FedEx envelope out of my briefcase and handed it to him. He took the photographs out of the envelope and inspected them one by one. “It‟s the last one that really worries us,” I said. “Yeah,” Randy said. “That area of The Citadel is supposed to be offlimits to visitors.” “So the question is, how did they take it?” Rupert said. “Yeah,” Randy said. “I sent an e-mail to the head security guy down there before we left the house. A copy of that picture was attached, and that‟s precisely the question I asked him.” “If we don‟t hear from him by noon tomorrow,” I said, “we‟ll get on the phone and make a few calls.” “What‟s the latest word on your investigation of Mr. Basset?” Randy

said. “He refuses to say anything voluntarily,” Rupert said. “Give me ten minutes alone with him, and I‟ll get something out of him,” Randy said. “Randy,” I said, “you weren‟t listening—he said „voluntarily‟. We‟ve both dealt with Rupert long enough to know that sometimes it‟s what he doesn‟t say that‟s important. So, Rupert, what did he say involuntarily?” “Using a combination of hypnosis and drugs, we learned that he was approached by a sort of nondescript-looking man who wanted information about Col. Richardson‟s ex-wife. He was more than willing to give it to them because she‟d long since left him and moved on, and he saw himself as striking back at her.” “In other words, you got no useful information?” Randy said. “Not exactly,” Rupert said. “We have an actual photograph of the man.” “However did you manage that?” I said. “One of the places in which they met had closed-circuit cameras,” he said, “and, more importantly, their film is archived instead of being recycled every thirty days.” “So do you have a name?” Randy said. “Not yet,” he said, “but we‟re working on it—running a photo through the software to compare it to a huge database takes time.” “Won‟t the Basset Hound make a fuss when he wakes up?” Randy said. “He may possibly remember feeling a tiny prick in the back of his neck as he unlocked the door to his apartment, but that‟s all. He woke up by himself in an easy chair in his living room, with no memory at all of being carried into his apartment and interrogated.” “Meanwhile,” I said, “what‟s the next step?” Rupert said, “I rather imagine that your anonymous friend or friends, having kept you in a state of suspense for several weeks, will make contact.” “Yeah,” I said, “that makes sense.” “When they do,” Rupert said, “please keep them talking as long as possible. We‟re going to start monitoring your telephone lines and recording every suspicious call.” “Which lines will you be monitoring?” I said. “Your home phone, both of your cell phones, and your office phones,” he said.

“Shit,” Randy said, “I hate all this cloak-and-dagger stuff.” “I know,” I said, “but there aren‟t any beaches to storm in this particular situation.” “Yeah,” Randy said, “but a frontal attack is such a clean-cut approach.” “When will you see your sons again?” Rupert said. “When they come home for their Christmas break,” I said. “And they‟re traveling how?” he said. “By train,” I said. “They‟ll board the Silver Meteor in Charleston, and we‟ll pick them up at Union Station.” “All right,” Rupert said. “My people will find out where this latest envelope was mailed, but I suspect it‟ll be as much of a dead end as the last two were. By the way, how are you doing on the latest piece of analysis I gave you?” “If there are no distractions, I‟ll be finished with it by Sunday evening.” “Very good,” he said. “We need all the input we can get on that particular topic.” Our food arrived, so Rupert slipped out of the booth and headed to the back of the restaurant. “I really, really hate all this shit,” Randy said. “No argument there,” I said. “All we can do is stand our ground and deal with things as they come.” “At least we got a free meal and the better part of a very nice bottle of wine out of this,” he said. “Yeah, there is that.” We consumed our meal in silence and went home. When we checked our e-mail, Randy had a reply from the head of security at the school. As far as the security guy could tell, the photograph had been taken while a group of VIPs was being given a private tour of the campus. The group had consisted of four actual VIPs and their considerable entourage. It was surmised that the entourage had been infiltrated by a party or parties unknown. “Shit,” I said, “another dead end.” “Yeah. Why don‟t we close up shop and go to bed? Maybe we can distract each other for a bit.” “Did you send these latest photos to the boys?” “Yep,” he said. “Good, then they know to be on the alert.” “Yeah.”

We spent the rest of the weekend waiting for the other shoe to drop, but nothing happened. After my last class on Monday, I was sitting at my desk tidying up. I was also planning to send an e-mail to Dr. Jarvis to bring him up to date, but he beat me to the punch by stopping by my office and knocking on my door. We shook hands, and I offered him a seat. “I haven‟t heard from you in a couple of weeks and was wondering if there had been any developments,” he said. “Yes, there have. In fact, I was just about to send you an e-mail bringing you up to date.” I gave him an expurgated account of our trip to Charleston and Savannah and said, “A FedEx envelope was delivered to the house Friday containing some more photographs.” I slid my laptop around on the desk to show him the pictures, and walked him through them. “Those boys have turned into good-looking young men,” he said. “It chills me to the bone to realize that someone was following us around, evidently from Charleston to Savannah and back to Charleston. That last photograph was taken in an area of the school which is usually restricted, but we learned Saturday that a group of VIPs and their entourage were being given a private tour of the campus that day, hence the photo. Someone in that entourage didn‟t belong there.” “What do you think will happen next?” Dr. Jarvis said. “The security people we‟ve been talking to say that the next thing will be some sort of demand. These people, whoever they are, have made it quite clear over the past few weeks just how vulnerable we are.” “If I may ask, what will you do when you get these demands?” “We‟ve been instructed to stall them as best we can, but in the end to politely decline. When that happens, I wouldn‟t be surprised if you got a call of some sort.” “If and when that happens, I‟ll deal with it.” “Thank you, Sir.” “Tell me about the boys,” he said. “What do you mean?” “What are they like?” he said. “Well,” I said, “Sean is definitely the intellectual, bookworm type. He‟s extremely bright and reads incessantly. He seems to have a voracious appetite for books and consumes them on an astonishing variety of subjects. He also has an amazing memory for obscure details from the books he‟s read, and

when he talks, you sometimes get the impression that he‟s a great deal older than he is.” “And Col. Richardson‟s son?” he said. “Paul is every bit as smart as Sean, but his interests run to all things mechanical and technical. He likes to take things apart, figure out how they work, and put them back together again.” “Interesting,” he said. “Yes, Sir. They‟re very different kids, and I look on Paul as my second son. Thank you for trying to take my mind off things.” “You‟re welcome,” he said. We spent that week in a state of anxiety mixed with anticipation, waiting to see what would happen next and worried about what it might be. Randy was waiting for me in our bedroom when I got home Friday evening. He was sitting in one of the two comfortable chairs in the room, wearing, as far as I could tell, only a robe. “What‟s up?” I said when I saw him. He stood, opened his robe, and said, “Need I say more?” I undressed very quickly, and we crawled in bed together. Later, when we were lying back with our heads propped up on a stack of pillows, I said, “That was a pleasant diversion.” “Pleasant? Pleasant! Is that the best you can do—pleasant?” he said. “All right, it was more than pleasant. It was just what the doctor ordered.” “That‟s better,” he said. “Not much better, mind you, but better.” “Fishing for compliments is out of character for you.” “Babe, this whole fucking situation is out of character for both of us. Nothing happened today. Not another envelope, not a telephone call, nada.” “Nerve-wracking, isn‟t it?” “Yep. Which is, of course, what these people, whoever they are, intend,” he said. “I wonder how long they‟re gonna leave us hanging?” “I don‟t know,” he said. “There‟s no way to know.” “Yeah. Wanta grab a bite somewhere?” “Sure,” he said. “How about Chinatown?” “That sounds good—we haven‟t had Chinese for ages.”

Our overcoats felt good as we walked to the Metro Station. To get to Chinatown, we took the Orange Line to Metro Center, where we caught a Red Line train to the Gallery Place-Chinatown station. Despite the December chill, DC‟s Chinatown was full of people, and we allowed ourselves to be caught up in the somewhat festive atmosphere of the place. We selected a restaurant that we hadn‟t previously tried and had a great meal. By the time we were back home in bed, most of the week‟s accumulated tension had dissipated.

Washington, DC—Georgetown University 1000 15 December 2010 Ian

MY LONGEST scheduled office hours during the week were on Wednesday morning, and it was during that time that the call came. The caller beat around the bush for a while, refusing to identify himself; then he talked about his admiration for my last book and even quoted a few things from it. The nonetoo-subtle punch line was, however, that I was being urged to bring pressure to bear on Randy—something to do with a project with which he was involved. The guy even had the code name for the project. I declined, politely but firmly. He told me he‟d give me a couple of days to think about it and hung up. I called Rupert immediately to ask him if his people had recorded the conversation. “Yes, they did,” he said. “When can I have a transcript of everything that was said?” I said. “Tomorrow evening, why?” he said. “Because the guy spouted some alleged quotations from my last book when he was trying to butter me up. One of them didn‟t sound like it came from the book, and I want to do some checking.” “Check your e-mail when you get home today,” he said. “I‟ll give it a rush.” “Thanks, Rupert.” When I got home, I went straight to the safe room and turned on my computer. As promised, there was an e-mail from Rupert with a transcript of the conversation in an attached file. I sent that to the printer and closed the email. Then I opened a WordPerfect document containing the final corrected draft of my last book. I scanned that document for every phrase contained in the e-mail and found all but one of them. After that, I went looking through other documents and finally found what I was looking for.

I picked up my cell phone and dialed Rupert. The minute he answered, I jumped right in and said, “Rupert, you have a serious problem. By the way, thanks for the quick turnaround of that transcript.” “What kind of problem?” he said. “Do you have a copy of the transcript in front of you?” “Yes, I do,” he said. “Referring to the quotes that supposedly came from my latest book, I‟m going to give them to you one by one. Please check them off when I do so.” “All right,” he said. I walked him through the transcript. “What now?” he said. “There‟s one quote left.” “Exactly, and that quote most emphatically did not come from my book.” “If not your book, what‟s it from?” he said. “A separate and confidential analysis of the subject matter contained in the book—an analysis that I sent to you around the time the book was being published.” “Are you certain?” “I have it on my computer screen right now, and I‟ll send it to you as a file attachment to save you the trouble of looking for it. The phrase in question will be highlighted in red. Rupert, old boy, you have a leak at your end, or perhaps a defector.” “So it would seem,” he said. “Fortunately, only a very short list of people had access to that particular analysis, which was brilliant, by the way, so we might be able to trace him.” “That ball‟s in your court. I‟m pushing the button to send you the document now.” “By the way,” he said, “that call originated from a disposable cell phone somewhere just outside the Beltway.” “What‟s next, do you think?” “He‟ll probably call you back in a day or two and exert some pressure or make a threat. These things nearly always follow a pattern.” “What shall I tell him?” We discussed several scenarios and ended the call. I was still sitting at my desk, lost in thought, when I heard Randy coming down the stairs. “What‟s up?” he said as he entered the room.

“The other shoe dropped.” “Excuse me?” he said. “I got a phone call this morning.” “No shit?” he said. “Yeah, no shit.” “What was said?” “Here‟s a transcript, read it for yourself.” He studied the document for a few minutes and said, “Oh, shit!” “My sentiments exactly.” “I was referring to the project, babe. Where the fuck did they get the name Project Gray Swallow? I mean, no more than eight people know about it. I‟ve gotta call the general about this right now.” “Before you do that, let me tell you what else I discovered.” When I had finished my recitation about Rupert‟s possible mole, he said, “Oh, shit!” even more vehemently, if that was possible. “That about sums it up.” “So there‟s a possible leak at the agency.” “Not only the agency by the sound of it. You said nobody was supposed to know about your project, and trust me, I don‟t want to know.” “Yeah, and the general definitely needs to know about this—at least the part about them knowing the name of a top-secret project.” “Are you hungry?” “I was,” he said, “but after this, I don‟t think so. Keep it light, if you can.” “Done. While you talk to the general, I‟m going upstairs and fix us something to eat.” “Go for it,” he said. By the time he came back up to the kitchen, I‟d grilled a couple of chicken breasts and steamed some vegetables. He looked approvingly at the table and said, “That‟s just what the doctor ordered.” We sat down to eat, and I said, “So what did the general have to say?” “He‟s gonna talk to a couple of people and get back to me,” he said. “That‟s not very decisive.” “Babe, this guy is a newly appointed one-star general. At this stage of his career, he‟s not gonna do much more than wipe his butt without going

through channels and asking permission from somebody.” “Surely you jest?” “Only a little. I know the type—he‟s gonna be what we refer to in the army as a „by the book‟ clown. Believe me, his future career hangs on the success of this project, and he knows it.”

Arlington, VA 1800 17 December 2010 Ian

BY THE time I got home Friday, the tension was beginning to get to me, and I was wound up tightly. The phone rang as I was hanging my suit in the closet. Randy wasn‟t home yet, so I answered it. “Have you thought things over, doc?” my unknown caller said. “There‟s nothing to think over. The answer is no.” “That‟s too bad,” he said. “Those Jesuits you work for are going to love seeing a certain picture of two naked men.” “Yeah, they‟ll probably use it as jerk-off material. Good for them.” “I don‟t like your attitude,” he said. “I don‟t like being threatened, and to save you some trouble, the Jesuits already know about the photograph, as do Col. Richardson‟s superiors at the Pentagon.” “So?” he said. “They also know that Col. Richardson happens to have a series of photographs clearly showing what was removed from the copy you sent us.” I hung up the phone and finished dressing. When it rang again, and the same caller ID showed on the display, I simply let it ring and went to the kitchen. I was in the middle of cooking our dinner when my cell phone rang. The display showed Rupert‟s name, so I answered, and said, “Did I handle that call okay?” “Yes, you did,” he said. “He called back again, but I just let the phone ring.” “Right,” he said, “and when you didn‟t answer, he called Col.

Richardson on his cell phone.” “Randy‟s probably on his way home at the moment.” “He was on the Metro when he took the call,” Rupert said. “What‟s next, I wonder?” “We wait, yet again,” he said. “Any progress looking for your mole or whatever?” “We‟ve pretty much narrowed it down to a guy who left us last year,” he said, “but we‟re having trouble locating him.” “I guess that‟s some progress, at least. It would be interesting to know how these guys knew the name of Randy‟s project.” “We‟re working on that, as well, but these things take time. Not to mention the fact that we‟re dealing with another government agency, and inter-agency cooperation is always problematic. The fact that we don‟t officially exist makes things even more difficult than they would otherwise be.” We said good-bye, and I finished what I was doing in the kitchen. In fact, I had just set the table when Randy walked through the door. “I got a call,” I said. “So did I,” he said. “I know, I just talked to Rupert.” We exchanged the details of our respective conversations with the bad guy, and he said, “God, I really hate this shit.” “Go change clothes. By the time you‟re back, food will be on the table.” When he returned to the kitchen, we sat at the kitchen table and ate in gloomy silence.

New York, NY 2000 17 December 2010 The Broker

HIS subordinate slammed the cell phone shut and threw it at the wall. “Is there a problem?” the information broker said.

“Bastards won‟t budge.” “I take it that was our little friend in Maryland calling?” the broker said. “Yes, Sir.” “Time for Plan B, I think.” “You mean the photograph?” “Yes,” the broker said. “The doc told our little friend that both the Jesuits and the Pentagon brass already know about the photograph.” “So?” the broker said. “He says they have another photograph that shows the real situation— you know, with the naked wives.” “Damn,” the broker said. “I spent a ton of money acquiring that photograph and having it altered.” “No shit? What do we do now?” “I must have that information,” the broker said. “The Russians and the Chinese are bidding against each other for it.” “Yeah.” “Tell our little friend to call Moe, Curly, and their friends,” the broker said. “Let‟s go to Plan C.” “Boss, they don‟t like it when you call them that.” “Does that matter?” the broker said. “They‟re still the four stooges as far as I‟m concerned. Call them.” “Yes, Sir.”

Arlington, VA 2000 17 December 2010 Ian

“I‟VE had a brain wave,” Randy said. “Really?” I said. “Yeah,” he said. “Are you gonna keep it a secret?”

“The boys are supposed to get on the train Tuesday, right?” he said. “Yeah.” “I wonder if the head guy down there would allow them to leave tomorrow,” he said, “presuming we can switch their tickets.” “That‟s not a bad idea. For that matter, we could drive down there and get them if necessary.” “Let‟s go give General Cartwright a call,” he said. “I‟m right behind you.” We left our unfinished dinner on the table and went down to the safe room. It took some doing, but Randy managed to get the president of the school, General Cartwright, on the telephone. When he ended the call, Randy said, “Call Amtrak right now.” “I‟m gonna be on hold with them forever, so why don‟t you go get me a glass of wine?” “On it,” he said. December is a very busy month for the heavily traveled New York-toFlorida Amtrak routes, but I got lucky and was able to exchange the boys‟ tickets. I waited for the e-mail confirmation, then printed it out and said, “Okay, call the general. It‟s done. They have coach seats on tomorrow‟s northbound Silver Meteor.” I leaned back in my chair, took a sip of wine, and listened to Randy‟s end of the conversation. He finally said, “Thank you, Sir,” and the call ended. “Success?” “Yes. The head security guy will take them to the station himself.” “Good. Let‟s call the boys and tell them the good news.” The boys were, of course, overjoyed at the prospect of having a few extra days at home. Sean summed it up, saying, “There‟s nothing happening here next week anyway, Dad. Classes are over, exams are done. They ought to let everyone go home this weekend instead of waiting until next week.” When we cleaned the house Saturday morning, we paid extra attention to the boys‟ room, and I stood in the doorway for a minute, examining the room. “I have an idea,” I said. “What?” Randy said. “Why don‟t we slide those twin beds together and center them in the room, like they do in a lot of small hotels in Europe.” “Wouldn‟t there be a danger of the beds moving apart in the middle of

the night, allowing somebody to fall in between them?” “We can fix that.” “How?” he said. “Take a short piece of wood and secure the legs together with nails.” “That would work, or we could get some of those non-skid rubber cups and put them under the legs.” “That‟s even better. In fact, I think we have some of those down in the basement.” By the time we went out to a restaurant that evening, their room had been totally transformed.

Washington, DC 0700 19 December 2010 Ian

EARLY

Sunday morning, I got online and checked train schedules; then I called an information number, just to be certain. “Well?” Randy said when I ended the call. “Train‟s running an hour late.” “Shit, we could have stayed in bed.” “No reason why we can‟t have an early morning roll in the hay right now.” “Works for me,” he said. We pulled into the parking garage at Union Station about twenty minutes before the train was due to arrive, and made our way down from the upper level of the parking garage to the concourse of the station. We were planning to have a cup of coffee while we waited, but it wasn‟t possible. “Damn,” Randy said, “the food court doesn‟t open until noon on Sundays.” “Nothing to do but sit and wait, then,” I said. “Our favorite thing,” he said. Finally, the arrival of the Silver Meteor was announced, and we walked to the arrival gate to watch for the boys. A stream of passengers walked past us, dwindling eventually to a trickle, then nothing. We stood there for a good

fifteen minutes before it dawned on us that something was wrong. It took another half hour, and several increasingly strident conversations with a variety of Amtrak employees, starting with a porter and working our way up the chain of command, but we finally determined that Sean and Paul were definitely not on the train, which, by that time, had been coupled to an electric locomotive for the run from Washington to New York City and was about to depart. We headed back to the car, fearing the worst. I said, “You drive, and I‟ll see if I can track Rupert down.” I called Rupert‟s contact number and left a message; then I finally caught him at home. He promised to check with his people and get back to me as quickly as possible. My cell phone rang just as we were pulling into our garage, and I looked at the display before I said, “Any news?” “Yes, and it‟s not good. Your boys may not have been on the train, but their cell phones are—GPS is picking up two clear signals heading north with the train. I‟m going to have someone board the train when it gets to Philadelphia and conduct a search. I‟ve already got people tracking down and questioning the crew that brought the train from Florida to Washington.” “So once again, we wait.” “I‟m sorry, but that‟s the way it is,” he said. By noon we had the story, and it was less than comforting. The train had made an unscheduled stop in rural North Carolina near a little town called Selma. About the time the engineer spotted flares ahead of him on the tracks and began to slow the train‟s speed, someone pulled the emergency cord. It was around two in the morning, and the conductor had spotted four men leaving the train at that point and getting into a van. The boys‟ cell phones had been found in a trash container in the men‟s room of the car where their seats were located, and their bags had been recovered from the overhead rack above their seats.

Somewhere in North Carolina 18-19 December 2010 Sean

PAUL and I boarded the train Saturday evening in a state of excitement—we were glad to be going home for the Christmas break, and we were especially glad to be let out of school a few days early, despite the crisis at home that had made it necessary. The security guy had stayed on the station platform until the train pulled out of the station, which we thought was nice of him. He told us that he‟d promised our dads that he would see us safely off, and he meant to keep his promise. The train had been late when it arrived in Charleston, and it was nearly ten thirty by the time we were under way. “Window or aisle?” Paul asked as we stood in the aisle beside our seats and stowed our bags in the overhead rack. “I‟m gonna sleep the whole way there, so I don‟t care,” I said. “Besides, it‟s dark out there, and there won‟t be anything to see.” “I‟ll take the window, then,” he said. “Knock yourself out.” We settled back in our seats and reclined them as far as they would go, which wasn‟t very far. The heat in the coach wasn‟t quite up to snuff, so we stayed bundled up in our coats. In practically no time, the soothing clicketyclack of the wheels crossing rail joints lulled us to sleep. Paul woke me up later by punching me in the side. “What?” I said. “I gotta take a leak,” he said. “So climb over me.” “Just move, please,” he said.

“What time is it?” “Nearly two,” he said. “Shit. Now I‟m awake too. Guess I‟ll join you in the head.” We made our way to the rear of the car and entered the men‟s room. Business taken care of, we‟d just opened the door to leave the restroom when two men pushed us back inside. They were wearing ski masks and had very large guns in their hands. “What the…,” I said, and I tried to push my way past them. One of them said, “Shut up, kid, and get back inside.” The men‟s room was suddenly crowded with four adult males in it. “If it‟s money you want,” Paul said, “you‟re shit out of luck. We aren‟t carrying any.” “We don‟t give a fuck about your money,” the man said. “Now shut up and do as you‟re told.” “Who are you guys?” I said. “Let‟s call them Thug One and Thug Two,” Paul said. “How will we tell which is which?” “Okay, then, one of them has a beer gut, so we‟ll call them Fat Thug and Skinny Thug.” That earned him an open-palmed slap to the side of his face, and Fat Thug said, “I said shut up.” “Yeah,” Skinny Thug said. “Just keep your traps shut, follow orders, and nobody‟ll get hurt.” I noticed that the train had begun to slow down, and so did they. “Train‟s slowing down. That‟s our cue,” Fat Thug said, and he reached up and yanked the emergency cord over the window. There was a squeal of metal on metal, and the train really began to slow down. “Okay, kids,” Skinny Thug said, “this is where you‟re getting off the train. We‟re gonna go out that door, turn left, and leave the car. One false move and you‟ll get a bullet. Understood?” “Understood,” I said. “Yeah,” Paul said. They herded us out the door, through the exit, and onto the enclosed platform between our car and the one behind it. Fat Thug pulled up a metal floor panel, revealing the steps below. Then he opened the outside door. “Out,” he said, “now.”

We climbed down the steps and jumped off onto the roadbed. Two other guys, also equipped with ski masks and guns, were standing there waiting, and before we had time to take a look at our surroundings, we were shoved into the back of a van and the doors were slammed shut behind us. Then I felt a prick and the world went dark. When I came to, I found myself lying on a bare mattress on the floor of a small room. My hands were tied behind my back, and I was cold because my clothes were gone, and as far as I could tell, I was wearing only my boxer shorts and T-shirt. I heard a groan, looked in the direction of the sound, and saw that Paul was lying on another mattress and was in the same pitiful state as me. I tried to sit up, but my head started spinning, so I lay back down. “Sean, are you okay?” he said. “I think so, except for being cold and miserable.” “Yeah, me too.” “Where the fuck are we?” I said. “I have no idea, but it‟s light outside.” “How can you tell?” I said, and I looked around the room. “Oh, there‟s a window, but it‟s all boarded up.” “Yeah,” he said. We struggled to our feet and almost simultaneously began to yell, “Help! Help! Help!” A door opened and Fat Thug appeared and said, “You might as well save your breath. We‟re in a very remote area, and there isn‟t anyone closer than a mile away.” “We‟re cold,” I said. “Want me to call your mommy and ask her for a blanket?” he said. “That‟d be kind of hard to do, asshole. She‟s been dead for five years.” That earned me a vicious head slap, and he said, “Watch your smart mouth, kid. You‟re in no position to complain. If you‟ll shut your trap long enough, you might notice that there are a couple of blankets in the corner of the room.” “So what happens now?” Paul said. “Finally, an intelligent question.” “And the answer is?” Paul said. “We wait. Somebody‟s gonna contact your parents in a couple of days and begin negotiations.”

“A couple of days?” I repeated. “Yeah,” he said, “a couple of days. Gotta wear them down a bit. It‟ll make them more anxious to cooperate.” “I‟ve gotta pee,” Paul said. “There‟s a bathroom right through that door and a flashlight on the floor,” Fat Thug said. “My hands are tied,” Paul said. “Too bad, maybe you can figure out a workaround. Use that flashlight sparingly; there won‟t be any more batteries when those wear out.” “Are you gonna feed us?” I said. “Eventually,” Fat Thug said. “Now, be good little boys and stay where you are—as if you‟re going anywhere or have a choice.” He laughed at his own humor and left the room, closing the door behind him. It took us what seemed like hours, but we finally managed to get our hands free. We opened the door to take a look at the bathroom and wished that we hadn‟t. It was filthy, and the toilet was disgusting. There was no running water, so flushing wasn‟t an option. After we‟d relieved ourselves, Paul said, “Close that door and keep the odor in there.” “Yeah.” We spent some more time exploring every square inch of the little room. The window was, as noted, boarded up, but there were a few gaps between the boards. Through them I could see a small, mostly overgrown yard and, beyond the yard, trees. “It kind of looks like we‟re in the mountains,” I said. “You think?” Paul said. “Take a look.” He spent a few minutes at the window and said, “Yeah, I think you‟re right.” “So what do we do now?” “We try to escape, of course,” he said. “How?” “I don‟t know, but after we‟ve had some food, we can think about it.” We retrieved the two thin blankets, wrapped ourselves up in them, and settled down to wait—for what, we weren‟t sure.

Arlington, VA 1600 19 December 2010 Ian

WE

SPENT what was left of Sunday in a state of absolute despondency. Sean and Paul had seemingly dropped off the face of the earth without a trace. No clues were found at the place where the train had been forced to stop, and the van that had been seen by the train conductor hadn‟t even left any tread marks. Randy and I settled down at our desks in the safe room and used the speakerphone to call Rupert. “Hello,” Rupert finally said after numerous rings. “Any word?” I said. “Nothing new,” he said. “I have a question,” Randy said. “What?” he said. “Has anybody wondered how they knew which train to be on? We made that change barely twenty-four hours before the boys boarded it.” “There‟s no question that your phones are safe,” Rupert said. “Did you call your sons on their cell phones?” “Yes,” I said, “but they‟re the encrypted ones we got from you last year.” “That leaves two possibilities, then,” Rupert said. “Either there are listening devices at The Citadel, or somebody hacked into the Amtrak web site.” “Would Amtrak have any way of knowing if someone gained access to their site?” Randy said. “Only if they caused some mischief on the site,” Rupert said. “If they just got into the site somehow and looked around, it might go unnoticed. I‟ll have some people look into that.” “Great,” Randy said, “and I‟ll call General Cartwright and suggest that it might be a good idea to have his office swept for bugs.” “His office,” I said, “and the security guy‟s office and… didn‟t you call both of them at home?”

“Shit, you‟re right, but I had to go through the school switchboard to do it.” “Col. Richardson,” Rupert said, “have you talked to your people at the Pentagon?” “Yes, Sir,” Randy said. “I gave my general a heads-up earlier today.” “By the way, Rupert,” I said, “do we know how the kidnappers got on the train in the first place?” “The train was booked solid,” Rupert said, “and there were no lastminute tickets sold—other than the ones you arranged for. We believe they slipped aboard at one of the stops and somehow managed to hide—they were very likely already on the train when it stopped in Charleston.” “Yes,” I said, “and there‟s no way to keep tabs on that many passengers scattered over that many cars.” “All right, gentlemen,” Rupert said, “we‟re back to waiting.” “God, I hate this part of it,” Randy said. “How long will it take them to contact us, do you think?” I said. “That‟s hard to say,” Rupert said. “They could call you immediately, or they might deliberately wait a couple of days so that you‟ll be even more frantic—and amenable to their demands.” “Shit,” I said. “Just so,” Rupert said. We said good-bye, I pushed the speaker button, and the phone went dead. “I wish I had to go to school tomorrow,” I said. “Why?” Randy said. “It would give me something to do, and might help keep my mind off of all of this.” “Point taken. Unfortunately, I do have to go to work, at least in the morning. Maybe after we‟ve had one of those interminable meetings, someone will have the good grace to let me come home.” “You think?”

Somewhere in the mountains 1600 19 December 2010 Sean

“IT‟S getting colder,” I said. “No shit, Sherlock. Figured that out all by yourself, did you?” “Hey, babe, we‟re in this together, okay?” “Yeah,” he said. “Sorry.” We‟d somehow survived the day. Skinny Thug had brought us bottles of water and a half dozen prefab sandwiches of the kind you buy at convenience stores. “Look at these sandwiches,” Paul said. “What about them?” “The labels have been removed,” he said. “So?” “I wonder why they did that?” he said. “Psychological warfare.” “Say what?” he said. “We don‟t know where we are, and they want to keep it that way. The labels would have the name and location of a company, possibly a local company, on them.” “Oh.” We‟d held off using the bathroom for anything other than taking a leak as long as we could stand it, but we‟d finally succumbed to the call of nature, held our noses, and gotten things over with as quickly as possible. I‟d never felt so filthy and dirty in my life, and I‟m sure Paul felt the same way. “What are we gonna do when that old roll of toilet paper runs out?” Paul said. “In some parts of the world they use their left hand, which is why people traditionally use their right hands when they shake hands—the left hand is considered unclean.” “That‟s disgusting,” he said. “You asked the question.” “Yeah, and because of your endless supply of useless information, I‟m sorry I did—and I‟m not gonna use my hand. Are you ready to call it a night?” “Might as well. It‟s dark outside, and there‟s no light inside.” “I‟ve got an idea,” he said. “About?”

“How to keep slightly warmer during the night,” he said. “Yeah?” “We lie down together on one mattress, share the two blankets, and pull the other mattress on top of us,” Paul said. “Sounds cozy, let‟s give it a shot.” We stood the one mattress on its side and placed it on top of the other one. Then we wrapped ourselves in the blankets, slid between them, and Paul said, “Well? What do you think?” “It‟s certainly better than nothing.” “God, you feel good,” he said. “You too. Smelly, but good. Almost good enough, in fact, to….” “Very funny,” he said, “and don‟t even think about it, at least not until we‟ve had a bath.” “No matter what happens to us,” I said, “just remember one thing—I love you.” “Ditto,” he said. “You‟ve seen Ghost too many times.” “So I‟m not original. So what?” Surprisingly, we went right to sleep and didn‟t wake up until the door banged open the next morning. “What‟s this?” Fat Thug said as the top mattress was pulled away. I sat up, rubbed my eyes, and said, “What?” “What‟s going on here?” he said. “Just trying to keep warm.” “Yeah,” Paul said, “two bodies together are warmer than they are apart. Plus, the mattress on top holds some of our body heat in.” “Clever little buggers, aren‟t you?” he said. “So how do you keep warm at night?” I said. “Ever hear of sleeping bags?” he said. “Figures.” He left the room, slamming the door behind him, and Paul said, “I think you won that round.” “A lot of good it did us.” “A psychological victory is still a victory,” he said.

Arlington, VA 0800 20 December 2010 Ian

RANDY had been gone for half an hour Monday morning, and I was already tired of moping about the house by myself. At one point, I actually sat and stared at the phone for a solid ten minutes, willing it, without success, to ring. I watched television for a while, I tried to read a book I‟d picked up in Savannah, and I even resorted to playing solitaire for a bit. Finally, just after noon, my cell phone rang, and Randy said, “Okay, I‟m on the way home to keep you company.” “Good, because that old saying is true—misery loves company.” “Maybe we can think of some way to entertain each other,” he said. “Enough with the jokes, just come home.” “I‟m walking to the Metro stop as we speak,” he said. I was in bed waiting when Randy got home, and we managed to distract each other for a while. Finally, hunger drove us from the bedroom, and we sat around the kitchen table munching on a salad that we‟d quickly thrown together.

Somewhere in the mountains 1300 20 December 2010 Sean

WE

SPENT the entire morning trying to figure out a way to escape. We examined every square inch of the room again for weak spots and found none.

Skinny Thug had opened the door at one point, tossed a couple of plastic bags on the floor, and closed the door behind him. “What‟s in the bags?” Paul said as I picked them up. “More water and sandwiches.” As we munched on the sandwiches, Paul said, “You know what? We‟ve been overlooking something.” “What?” “The bathroom,” he said. “What do you mean?” “We haven‟t examined it for weak spots,” he said. “Probably because we can‟t stand to go in there.” “It‟s worth a try,” he said. “Okay, let‟s give it a shot.” It took all of our self-control to keep from barfing, but we managed to thoroughly explore the fetid little bathroom, and it was worth it, because we got lucky. The ancient medicine cabinet yielded two equally ancient—and useless—razor blades. Unlike the floor of the room with the mattresses, the bathroom floor was covered by a crumbling layer of linoleum. The old clawfooted bathtub was under the tiny window, and when we peeled back the linoleum, we found that water had leaked from one end of the tub in sufficient quantities over the years (decades?) that the floor was totally rotten. The space between the bottom of the tub and the floor also yielded a couple of old wire clothes hangers. We managed to fashion a couple of primitive probes out of the clothes hangers and spent the rest of the day taking turns probing with them. One of us would dig and probe at the rotten boards in the bathroom while the other stood guard. By sheer dumb luck, we were both sitting on the mattresses when Fat Thug brought more sandwiches and water that evening. We sat on the mattresses, eating and drinking our water, and Paul said, “We‟ve gotta have a plan by this time tomorrow.” “Why?” “Because I think we‟ll be able to pull up some boards by then,” he said. “Won‟t that make a lot of noise?” “I don‟t think the thugs are always in the next room,” he said. “How do you know that?” “Because I‟ve been listening carefully during the times I spent standing

guard. You hear voices for a while, then you hear a door slam, then there is the definite sound of a car being started.” “Meaning they‟re going off somewhere?” “No,” he said, “I think they‟re sitting in their car with the heater running. That motor has a problem, and it makes a distinctive sound.” “What kind of sound?” “There‟s a distinct sound of valve tapping. Tap-tap, pause, tap-tap. I think that motor might even have a collapsed lifter.” “Whatever that is.” “Do you want me to explain what I learned in all those shop classes?” he said. “I‟ll pass for now.” “Anyhow, the heater thing gave me an idea.” “So what‟s your idea?” “We get a good night‟s sleep and spend tomorrow digging away at that rotten wood,” he said. “Tomorrow afternoon, we stop work long enough to listen to what‟s going on out there. As soon as we hear that motor start, we go in and pull some boards up.” “Then what?” “As soon as we think they‟re asleep, we‟re outta here,” he said. “Works for me.” Eventually, we huddled on the bottom mattress and pulled the other one on top of us as we‟d done the night before. We were so excited by the possibility of escape that it took a while to get to sleep.

Somewhere in the mountains 0800 21 December 2010 Sean

ONCE again, we were awakened by the door banging open, followed by the loud voice of one of the thugs as the top mattress was thrust aside. “Still here, I see,” Fat Thug said. “Yeah, we like it here so much we don‟t wanta leave,” I said.

“I‟m not gonna warn you again about that smart mouth, kid,” he said. Then he stomped out of the room and slammed the door. “I wonder if they get tired of pulling those ski masks off and on all the time?” Paul said. “Probably not. Chances are they‟re as bored as we are.” “Yeah,” he said, “but at least they‟re warm and bored, instead of cold and bored.” “True.” It was difficult to judge time by the limited amount of light coming through the window, but by what I hoped was midafternoon, we were ready to attempt to pull up some boards. We pulled one mattress close to the door, lay down on it, and strained to hear what was going on in the other room. We were rewarded when we clearly heard Fat Thug‟s voice say, “Christ, it‟s cold in here. I‟m gonna go outside and turn on the heater for a bit. You coming?” Heavy footsteps clomped a bit and faded into the distance; then there was the distinct sound of a motor being started. “Hear that?” Paul said. “Taptap, pause, tap-tap.” “Yeah. Okay, it‟s now or never.” “Right behind you,” he said. We dashed into the bathroom and went to work. In almost no time, we‟d made an opening in the floor large enough to slip through. “Are you sure that‟s big enough?” I said as we stared at the hole. “Yeah, I think so. I‟m gonna stick my head through the hole.” “Why?” “To see if my shoulders will make it through,” he said. I watched as he stuck his head into the hole and carefully eased his shoulders through it. When he pulled back into the room, he said, “We‟re in luck.” “How so?” “The underside of the house is open to the elements,” he said. “Meaning?” “The foundation is just brick piers,” he said, “and there‟s no wall or barrier under the edge of the house.” “I hadn‟t even thought about having to look for an opening in a foundation wall.”

“Me neither,” he said, “and that‟s a lucky break.” We pushed the broken bits of board through the hole, carefully spread the linoleum back over it, and went back to the other room. “Now we wait,” Paul said. “That‟s the hardest part.”

Arlington, VA 0800 21 December 2010 Ian

RANDY

and I were going stir-crazy and really beginning to get on each other‟s nerves, and I finally said, “Babe, this isn‟t working.” “What isn‟t working?” “This whole sitting-around-and-doing-nothing bit,” I said. “So?” he said. “What else can we do?” “We could go down to the cabin and keep ourselves busy. If you‟ll remember, there are a ton of logs under the shed that need to be split into firewood. Not to mention the fact that the place hasn‟t been properly closed up for the winter.” “We might miss a call from the kidnappers,” he said. “Our cell phones get good signals there, and we can set the landline here to forward calls.” “Why don‟t you give your buddy Rupert a call? If he blesses the idea, I‟ll go along with it.” I called Rupert and told him what we wanted to do and why. His response was, “Go right ahead. It‟ll do you good to get away.” With that in mind, we got in my Explorer and I pointed it in the direction of the Blue Ridge Mountains. We always took the Explorer when we went to the cabin because it had four-wheel drive and Randy‟s sedan didn‟t. After we‟d been on the road for a little over an hour, Randy‟s cell phone rang. I realized, by the time he‟d been talking for a minute, that it was the kidnappers. His end of the conversation became slightly strident, and he

finally said, “Ever hear the term „proof of life‟ in connection with kidnappings? Tell you what, you call us back tomorrow, and be sure you have both boys on the line so we can talk to them. Then, and only then, will we have anything else to discuss.” He slammed the cell phone shut with such force that I was afraid he might have broken it. Before I could ask him any questions, my cell phone rang, and I touched the button on my Bluetooth headset. The call was from Rupert. “Hey, Rupert,” I said. “I guess you‟re calling about the call that Randy just received.” “Yes,” he said. “How do you think it went?” “He did just what we told him to do, and it was fine. Where are you?” “We‟re on I-81, almost halfway to Staunton, Virginia. We get off the interstate there, and it‟s another thirty or so minutes to the cabin.” “Do you have Internet there?” he said. “You bet.” “I‟ll send you a transcript of the conversation and an analysis of it by one of our people,” he said. “We‟ll look forward to it, thanks,” I said. We ended the call, and I said, “Rupert says you did good.” “That‟s good to know,” Randy said. “I was afraid that I got a little carried away.” “He‟s gonna send us an e-mail with a transcript of the call, along with an analysis of its content by an expert.” “Good. That gives us something to look forward to.” “Sarcasm noted.” “Sorry,” he said. “I know, babe. I know.” We turned off of I-81 at the second of the three Staunton exits and stopped for a late lunch at one of the restaurants clustered around the interchange. The Shenandoah Valley wasn‟t as beautiful in December as it was in the summer, but anything was better than Washington at this point. After we ate, we headed in a southerly direction toward the secondary road leading up the mountains and eventually to the cabin. We didn‟t even stop at a grocery store to pick up perishables, as we‟d brought a few supplies with us in an ice chest.

Once we were at the cabin, we got the heat going and settled down to work—and there was plenty of it to be done. Our last visit there had been in October, when the leaves were changing, and we hadn‟t done any cleaning during that fairly brief visit. Rupert‟s e-mail didn‟t tell us a whole lot that we didn‟t already know, so we didn‟t waste any time on it. We went to bed that evening tired but more relaxed than we had been since Sunday.

Somewhere in the mountains 1700 21 December 2010 Sean

BY THE time daylight stopped showing through the gaps between the boards over the window, we were so tense we could hardly stand it. When Fat Thug opened the door and unceremoniously tossed the usual bags of food and water to us, we nearly jumped out of our skins. “Shit,” Paul said after the door had again been slammed shut, “I can‟t believe I‟m so jumpy.” “Hard not to be,” I said. “Yeah.” I handed him a sandwich and said, “Eat. We‟re gonna need energy tonight.” “Right.” We polished off the sandwiches and drank the water. “How are we gonna work this later?” Paul said. “I don‟t understand the question.” “When we get outside, which way are we gonna go?” “Up,” I said. “Up?” he said. “Why?” “Think about it,” I said. “There‟s obviously some sort of road or track out there. How else could they get a car in here? When they find us gone, the first thing they‟ll think is that we headed down the road.” “So we go up. How high up?” “Geez,” I said. “Unless we‟re in the fucking Alps, we climb to the top and go down the other side.” “No need to be sarcastic,” he said. “And?”

“Where‟s your Boy Scout training?” I said. “We find a stream and follow it downstream until it runs under a bridge. Gotta be roads somewhere.” “You‟ve got this all figured out, don‟t you?” he said. “Now who‟s being sarcastic?” “Sorry,” he said. “Yeah, me too.” Eventually, we lay down on the mattress, wrapped the thin blankets around our bodies, and pulled the other mattress over us, even though we didn‟t plan on sleeping. “Tell me again why we‟re doing this mattress thing tonight?” Paul said. “So the thugs won‟t see a change in how we‟re acting,” I said. “And it does keep us a tad warmer.” “Yeah, that makes sense.” Good intentions notwithstanding, we went to sleep. I woke up sometime later because Paul was jabbing me in the ribs with his elbow. “Wake up,” he said in a whisper. “Shit, we went to sleep, didn‟t we?” “Shh, we need to sit by the door and listen.” “Okay.” We crept over to the door, and each of us put an ear to a crack between the door and the frame. “I hear really loud snoring,” Paul said, still whispering. “Yeah, so do I.” “Time to go, then,” he said. “Yeah, showtime.” “Is there any water left?” he said. “I think so. Why, are you thirsty?” “We should take the bottles with us, and the blankets.” “Okay, that makes sense.” We fumbled around on the floor and found the flashlight. Using it sparingly, we crept into the foul-smelling bathroom, carrying the blankets and water bottles with us, and closed the door behind us. “That smell is really getting bad,” he said. “Yeah, don‟t ever try to tell anyone that your shit doesn‟t stink.” “Very funny.”

We pulled up the linoleum, pointed the light into the hole, and Paul said, “That bare dirt looks good.” “Yeah, let‟s get out of here.” We squeezed through the narrow hole and found ourselves lying on the ground under the house, which, fortunately, stood a couple of feet above grade. We crawled out from under the house and stood in the cold air, wrapping the smelly blankets around our shoulders as best we could. “Okay, Sherlock,” Paul said quietly. “Which way?” “We came out under the bathroom window, and it faces the same way as the window in the other room did, so we go straight ahead.” “Good thing there‟s a full moon tonight,” he said. “Yeah, even though the clouds obscure the light a little.” We made our way gingerly across the overgrown yard and almost immediately encountered an old and rusting fence. In places it was listing so badly that it was nearly horizontal, so it didn‟t present much of an obstacle. On the other side of the fence, the terrain was densely wooded with evergreen trees, so there was little or no undergrowth. “These needles on the ground are kind of easy to walk on,” he said. “Enjoy it while you can.” “Yeah,” he said. Eventually, the ground rose—gradually at first, then rather steeply. As it did, we began to feel the effects of the exertion, and I said, “We‟re getting a bit of a workout.” “Yeah, but we don‟t wanta sweat.” “Why?” “Because, it‟s cold,” he said, “and sweat will cost us body heat.” “Right.” After a while, we had to grab hold of an occasional small tree or lowhanging branch in order to pull ourselves up the ridge. The trees were now a mixture of deciduous and evergreen, and enough moonlight filtered through the bare branches of the former that we only had to use the flashlight once in a while. I tried not to think about the unknown state of its batteries. Finally, after what seemed an eternity, we reached the top and found ourselves on the peak of a ridge. “It‟s all downhill now,” Paul said as he pointed the beam of light downward. “Yeah, but look more closely.” He swung the light from side to side, then at the ground ahead, and said,

“Shit, it‟s straight down.” “We need to move along the top of the ridge until there‟s a slope on the other side.” “Yeah, but which way?” he said. “Move the light in both directions.” He followed my instructions and said, “Looks like the ridge goes up to the right and down to the left.” “In that case, I think we should go left and down.” “No argument there.” We crept along the crest of the ridge, occasionally stopping to check the terrain on the side opposite the one we‟d climbed up. “There you go,” Paul said during one of those stops. “Looks like we‟re away from that cliff or whatever it was.” “Yeah, this slope looks doable. Let‟s go.” Pulling ourselves up the ridge had been difficult, but going downhill was exponentially harder. As experienced hikers, we knew how easy it was to slip and tumble down even a moderate slope, and this slope was anything but moderate. The fact that we were not only barefoot but encumbered with a flashlight and two blankets didn‟t make matters any easier—the water bottles had long since been drained and discarded. “How long have we been going downhill?” Paul said after a while. “Sorry, I left my watch on the dresser.” “Yeah,” he said. “Are you okay? Aside from being cold and miserable, that is.” “Except for a few scratches from those vines we ran into a few minutes ago, I think so,” he said. “I wonder what they were, anyway?” “Blackberries, most likely.” The terrain had gotten fairly rocky as we made our way gingerly down the slope, and my feet were beginning to hurt, so I said so. “My feet hurt.” “Be grateful for that,” he said. “Say what!” “Your feet hurt, ergo you can feel pain, ergo you‟re still alive.” “Considering the alternative, you‟re right, and I just remembered something.” “What?” he said.

“When you get frostbite, you don‟t feel it because the affected body part gets numb.” “No numbness,” he said. “More cause for celebration.” After what seemed an eternity but was in reality only a few minutes, the incline began to get less and less steep, and suddenly we standing at the edge of some sort of pasture. “Look at this,” Paul said. “Looks like a small pasture.” “Yeah, watch out for cow patties.” “Do you hear that sound?” he said. I listened for a minute. “Water rushing over rocks? Hard to mistake that.” “Yeah, let‟s go.” “Which direction?” “We went left along the ridge,” he said, “so let‟s go to the right now.” We walked carefully through the pasture and finally arrived at a barbedwire fence that was covered with decades‟ worth of brush and vines. “Shit. We‟ve gotta get through this somehow,” I said. “How do the cows get into this pasture?” he said. “Gotta be a gate or something.” “Yeah, but which way?” “Who knows? Why don‟t we go towards the sound of that stream?” “Works for me.” We followed the fence for a while and lucked out. There was a very old and extremely rusty gate that made one hell of a racket when we opened it. “Shit,” Paul said. “Somebody needs to put a little oil on those hinges.” “Yeah, and the stream sounds a lot louder now.” “You‟re right. It looks like this gate opens into another little pasture. I wonder why?” “Because farmers leave their stock in one pasture for a while, then move them to another one to allow the grass in the first one to grow back.” “You‟re a goldmine of information, aren‟t you?” “Bite me. I read lots of stuff, and I retain.” We found the noisy little stream and followed its flow. “You know what?” he said. “What?”

“I think the moon is going down, not coming up,” he said. “So?” “If that‟s true, it means that we must have slept a lot longer than we thought we did.” “Again, so?” “If the moon‟s going down,” he said, “the sun‟s gonna be coming up, and soon.” “And here we are, out in the open and in the middle of a cow pasture.” “At least nobody‟s gonna track us across all that grass,” he said. “You think?” “We‟re barefoot. What tracks would we leave on grass?” “I‟m not sure I agree with that, but I can‟t think of a logical argument against it, so, okay.” We moved along the stream a little more quickly and eventually came to a point at which it ran under a barbed-wire fence at the edge of the pasture. There was enough ambient moonlight coming through the clouds that we could see that the pasture had been narrowing rapidly to this point. “Houston, we have a problem,” Paul said. “You think?” “There you go with the sarcasm again. Look at all those fucking vines and their nasty little thorns. We‟ve gotta get through them somehow. How do we do that?” “Yeah, looks like this pasture is in a little valley, and the valley has narrowed down to a defile with a steep slope on either side.” “Yeah,” he said, “and the fucking brambles follow the fence up on both sides.” “We could step into the stream and walk down the creek bed like we used to do at our cabin when we were kids.” “Yeah,” he said, “but that was in the summer, and you and I both know how cold this fucking stream is gonna be.” “So? We gotta do what we gotta do.” “And in case you haven‟t noticed, it‟s getting colder and the wind is rising. It kinda feels like snow.” “Best not stand around any longer talking about it, then,” I said. “We‟ve gotta find shelter, and soon.” “Yeah,” he said, “I‟m trying not to remember all the shit I‟ve heard

about the danger of frostbite.” “Yeah, sometimes a little knowledge can be annoying.” We stepped gingerly into the cold water and waded down the creek bed until we came to the fence, and Paul said, “Shit, damn brambles are here too.” “You hold the bottom two strands of wire apart, and I‟ll slip between them. Then I‟ll do the same for you.” “You might slip and get wet doing that,” he said. “You got a better idea? Hold my blanket while I do it.” He took the blanket from me, spread the two strands of wire as far apart as he could, and I bent down and gingerly stepped between them. Unfortunately, I stood up too soon and felt a stinging sensation when I did. Looking behind me, I saw that a good chunk of my boxers was left hanging on a barb. “Nothing like leaving a trail for someone to follow,” Paul said. “Shut up and hand me the flashlight.” I took the flashlight, pointed it at the wire, pulled the piece of cloth free, and tossed it into the stream, where it was immediately whisked away and out of sight. “I‟m ready when you are,” he said, handing me both blankets. I held the wire up as he had done, and he made it safely through. We eased down the creek bed a bit and stepped out onto the bank. “I may never be warm again,” he said as we used the blankets to dry our feet and lower legs as best we could. “Yeah, I know what you mean.” We moved carefully through the trees along the creek. “You know what I think?” I said. “What?” “Somebody‟s cleaned this part of the woods up pretty good, and not too long ago.” “You think?” he said. “Yeah, I think. There‟s absolutely no underbrush at all, and the only large bushes I‟ve seen are definitely rhododendrons.” “You could be right,” he said. “Carry on.” We came to a clearing in the woods and looked across the creek. It was definitely getting lighter, and Paul said, “Holy shit. It‟s our cabin.” Across the creek was a sort of modified A-Frame cabin. The ground floor appeared to be of cinder blocks, and the upper portion was definitely an A-Frame. A sizeable deck ran across the front of the cabin. “Close, but no

cigar. It‟s not our cabin, but sure looks a lot like it.” “Let‟s go,” he said. “Maybe it‟s unlocked or unoccupied.” We walked to the bank, stepped into the creek once again, crossed it, and came out onto the opposite bank. “It‟s really getting a lot colder, and the wind is getting worse,” I said. “Definitely a sign of snow coming.” We walked around the cabin and found both a garage door and a people door on the side. “Shit,” Paul said as he inspected the door. “There‟s an alarm sticker.” “Can you see through the little window in the garage door?” “I don‟t know. Why?” “If there‟s a car in the garage,” I said, “there might be somebody home.” Paul took the flashlight, pointed it through the little window, and peered inside. “Garage is empty,” he said. “I don‟t think we‟re quite desperate enough to break in. Let‟s try the other side.” We walked back to the front of the cabin and went around to the other side. “Looks like somebody has a dog,” he said. There was an open area surrounded by chain-link fence next to the cabin, and a set of steps came down from the deck and into it. “Yeah.” We made our way around to the back of the cabin and spotted a goodsized shed made of corrugated metal. Paul went to the door of the shed and said, “It‟s not locked. Let‟s see what‟s inside.” He pulled the door open, spotted a string dangling down, and pulled it. A light came on, revealing the interior of the shed, and I said, “Looks like an emergency generator.” “Good, maybe we can get it started.” “Why would we do that? The electricity is on.” “Generators are usually powered by diesel engines,” he said, “and what do internal combustion engines produce?” “Heat.” “Exactly,” he said. He prowled around the inside inspecting the equipment. I heard a click, and a light came on at the other end of the shed. “Let me give this a shot,” he said. I heard nothing at first; then there was a whine or a whirr, and the

engine came to life with a roar before settling down into a steady throbbing. The sound in that small shed was almost deafening. Paul came back to where I stood, looked out the door, and said, “I was right, it‟s starting to snow. Close that door and come around to the back of the engine. There‟s a pile of drop cloths, and we can get our feet off of this cold cement.” I followed him to the back of the shed and helped him spread the stack of drop cloths into a size that would accommodate both of us. We sat down on them, got as close together as we could, wrapped both blankets around us, and pulled the edges of the drop cloths up over the blankets. Then we leaned back against the engine housing, which was already beginning to warm up. Even the smelly blankets began to feel good. “Starting that engine was a great idea,” I said. “Only kind I have,” he said. “Smartass. I was being nice.” “So what do we do now?” “We sit here awhile and get warm.” “And then?” he said. “I‟ll think about it tomorrow.” “It is tomorrow, Scarlett. That‟s the problem,” he said. “Later, Rhett. Warmth first, plans later.” “Works for me,” he said. The diesel engine churned away behind us, the warmth it generated began to fill the shed, and we dozed off.

Somewhere in the mountains 0800 22 December 2010 The Thugs

IN

THE remote house, Fat Thug was the first to wake. He went outside, relieved himself by watering the nearest bush, and started the motor of the car. Back in the cabin, he said, “Time to get up. I‟ve got the motor running and the car‟ll be warming up.” “Yeah, yeah,” Skinny Thug said, “I hear you.”

By the time he too had taken care of nature‟s call, the car was warming up a bit, and the two of them settled down in the front seat to get warm. The constant purr of the heater motor lulled them back to sleep until two hours later, when Skinny Thug woke up with a start. “Shit,” he yelled. “What?” Fat Thug said. “We went to sleep,” he said. “So?” “Look at the clock on the dashboard—it‟s almost ten.” “Damn. I guess I‟d better go check on our guests,” Fat Thug said. “Shit. Look outside the car—it‟s snowing like crazy.” “Wonderful! That fucking house will be even colder today.” “I‟ll wait here.” Fat Thug got out of the car and went into the cabin. Two minutes later, he came back to the car at a trot. “What‟s the hurry?” Skinny Thug said. “The fuckers are gone,” Fat Thug said. “What?” “Little bastards dug a hole in the bathroom floor and got out,” Fat Thug said. Skinny Thug got out of the car, leaving the motor running, and said, “Let‟s walk around behind the house and take a look.” Minutes later, they were standing below the bathroom window. “See,” Fat Thug said, pointing. “They crawled out from under the house there.” “But which way did they go?” “Fucking snow‟s covered any tracks,” Fat Thug said. “Do you think they went that way?” Skinny Thug said, pointing toward the ridge behind the cabin. “Sure,” Fat Thug said. “They‟re gonna climb a mountain barefoot, in the dark, wearing only their underwear. They probably followed the lane out to the gravel road.” “Well, then, the car is nice and warm. Let‟s have a look.”

Blue Ridge Mountains near Staunton, VA 0800 22 December 2010 Ian

I DIDN‟T wake up until nearly eight that morning, which was almost unheard of for me, and had it not been for the very pleasant smells coming down the hallway from the kitchen, I might have slept some more. Since I was awake, I got up, pulled on a robe, and visited the bathroom before I followed the aroma of food. “Morning,” I said as I padded into the kitchen. “Good morning,” Randy said. “I thought you were gonna sleep all day.” “I probably could have done just that. That was the first decent night‟s sleep I‟ve had since Saturday.” “Yeah, me too. I guess it all finally caught up with us.” “So what‟s on our agenda this morning?” “That huge fucking pile of logs under the shed,” he said. “We‟re gonna turn as many of them as we can into decent-sized firewood.” “Hence the hearty breakfast,” I said as I surveyed the pots and pans on the stove. “Shit, scrambled eggs, bacon, and… is that pancake batter I see?” “Absolutely,” he said. “We‟re gonna get fat.” “Not after we split a million logs,” he said. We consumed an enormous breakfast, donned work clothes and gloves, and went downstairs. The ground floor of our cabin contained a garage, recreation room, laundry room, a full bathroom, and a good-sized storage area. The main floor consisted of a great room, a galley-sized kitchen, two bedrooms, and a full bathroom. Above the bedrooms was a loft, which we used as a den. We went outside to the shed, carrying axes and hatchets with us, and by eleven we had

created an enormous pile of firewood. “Okay,” Randy said, “let‟s carry the firewood around front and store it on the concrete pad under the deck. Then I think it‟ll be time for a lunch break.”

Somewhere in the mountains 1015 22 December 2010 The Thugs

THE

two thugs headed slowly down the rutted track in the car, watching carefully for any sign of tracks in the snow. When they reached the gravel road, Fat Thug, who was driving, said, “Which way?” “The fuck would I know?” “Okay, we‟ll turn right and look for them in that direction first.” They continued slowly down the gravel road until they hit asphalt and saw the first house. “I don‟t see nothing,” Skinny Thug said. “Yeah,” Fat Thug said, “and if they got this far, there‟d be a lot of activity.” “Let‟s try the other direction.” “Wait a minute. I‟ve got two bars of signal on my cell phone, and he‟s waiting for a call.” “What‟re you gonna do? Call him and say the fuckers got away? He‟s not expecting to hear from us for another couple of hours.” “Okay,” Fat Thug said, “let‟s double back and check the road in the other direction.” They retraced their route and, when the pavement turned to gravel, followed it all the way to a dead end high up on the mountain. “Well,” Skinny Thug said, “no sign of them this way either.” “Let‟s go back to the house and see if we can find a trail leading behind it,” Fat Thug said. “Aren‟t we gonna make that call?” “Not until I‟m sure we can‟t find those little fuckers,” Fat Thug said. Back at the little house, they walked around behind it and started to

make their way through the trees. Ten minutes later, Fat Thug said, “Look at that.” “Look at what? I don‟t see shit.” “The pine needles on the ground, dummy. It looks like someone‟s been through here.” “How the fuck can you tell?” “I did a fair amount of tracking in these hills when I was a kid,” Fat Thug said. “The branches of these trees are so thick that the snow hasn‟t covered their tracks. Come on.” “Come on where?” “Up, of course,” Fat Thug said. “Fuck. I don‟t wanta climb no mountain.” “Then go back to where there‟s a cell phone signal and you make the call,” Fat Thug said. “Oh, all right. I‟m coming.” With considerable effort, they made it to the top of the ridge. “What the fuck!” Fat Thug said. “There‟s a sheer drop on the other side of this. I wonder if they went over the edge in the dark?” “I guess that depends on whether they took the flashlight with them.” “Maybe we‟d better go back down to the house and check,” Fat Thug said. “Yeah, and then we‟ll have to make the call.” “Fuck.” They made their way slowly and painfully back to the little house and determined that the flashlight was missing.

Blue Ridge Mountains near Staunton, VA 1200 22 December 2010 Ian “HOW about a hot shower, followed by a sex break, followed by a nap break?” he said. “We can do that.”

We carried the tools inside and stowed them in the storeroom. Then we went upstairs and had a light lunch. While we were eating, Randy‟s cell phone rang, and he glanced at the display and said, “Shit. I think it‟s them again.” “Put the speaker on,” I said. “Right,” he said. He pushed a button on the side of the phone, set it down on the table, and answered the call. “Good afternoon, Col. Richardson,” a smooth-sounding male voice said. “Are you feeling more cooperative today?” “Not unless we can talk to our sons,” Randy said, “and I mean actually talk to them. Playing a tape recording of them talking won‟t cut it.” “We‟re working on it.” “Really? Sounds as though you might not have access to the boys.” “Oh, we have them, all right, but a couple of our associates have them stashed in a remote area where there‟s no cell phone coverage. Like I said, we‟re working on it.” “Then you‟d better work a lot harder,” Randy said, “because we won‟t have a fucking thing to talk about until we talk to the kids.” He closed the phone to end the call, and I said, “Way to go, Randy. Rupert will be calling, no doubt.” As if on cue, my cell phone rang. Seeing that it was indeed Rupert calling, I pushed “speaker” and laid it on the table just as Randy had done. Then I pushed the talk button. “Hello, Rupert,” I said. “Good afternoon, Ian, Col. Richardson,” he said. “Am I correct in assuming that we‟re on a speaker?” “Yes, you are. I guess you monitored that call?” “Absolutely,” he said. “It‟s being transcribed as we speak.” “What did you make of the fact that he seemed to be having a bit of difficulty meeting our request?” Randy said. “That‟s hard to say, and it doesn‟t pay to try and second-guess people like the ones with whom we‟re dealing.” “So we‟re back to square one—waiting,” I said. “I‟m afraid so,” Rupert said. “Any luck tracing the call?” Randy said. “Not yet,” Rupert said.

“Any luck identifying your mole or whatever?” I said. “As a matter of fact, yes. We‟ve definitely identified him, and we‟re very close to apprehending him.” “That‟s good,” I said. “How are you and Col. Richardson holding up?” “We both slept better last night than we have since Saturday, and we spent most of the morning splitting logs into firewood, which takes just enough concentration that you can take your mind off of other things for a while.” “Good show,” Rupert said. “I‟ll let you know if I hear anything.” “Thanks,” I said, and I closed the phone. “Good show?” Randy echoed. “From our Rupert,” I said, “it sounds normal.” “Yeah, I think you may be right. Despite the lack of a British accent, he does look the part.”

New York, NY 1200 22 December 2010 The Broker

THE information broker sensed the frustration felt by his subordinate when the call ended, and said, “From your end of the conversation, I‟m guessing they still won‟t budge.” “Yeah, boss. Our little friend says that they want proof of life, and they say a recording won‟t do.” “Has our little friend heard from Moe or Curly?” the broker said. “No, Sir. Remember, they said they won‟t be anywhere near a cell phone tower until later today.” “That means we wait,” the broker said. “Yes, Sir.” “Shit.”

Blue Ridge Mountains near Staunton, VA 1400 22 December 2010 Ian

RANDY looked a question at me by raising both eyebrows. “Shower, bed?” I said. “You read my mind.” We took a long hot shower together and then crawled into our comfortable bed. Much later, we returned to the kitchen and cleaned it thoroughly. Then we stripped our bed and carried the sheets and things downstairs to the laundry room. Back on the main floor, we put fresh sheets on our bed; then we tackled the boys‟ bed. Once it had fresh sheets, we carried the used linens downstairs to make up the next load of laundry. Then we went up to the loft to kill time while we waited for the first load of laundry to finish. “I just realized something,” I said. “What?” “Ever since we bought this place, we‟ve slept in the same bed and so have the boys.” “So?” “So neither we, nor they, ever thought much about it,” I said. “Ever wonder why?” “I should think it was obvious,” he said. “In fact, I sort of remember discussing it with them at the time, don‟t you?” “Not really.” “We had a long conversation with them about the relative sizes of the bedrooms and whether or not they would even hold two beds,” he said. “Oh yeah, now I remember. We even had a brief discussion about bunk beds for everyone, didn‟t we?” “Yeah,” he said. We were watching a regional weather forecast out of Roanoke, and Randy said, “Looks like we‟re gonna see some snow soon.” “That‟s why we drove my car.” “True,” he said.

I looked at my watch and said, “First load should be done. I‟ll go take care of it.” “Want some help?” he said. “No help needed, but the company would be nice.” We turned off the television and went down to the ground floor, where I moved the contents of the washer to the dryer. Randy started the second load. Then he followed me upstairs and into the kitchen, where we sat down at the table. “Want a glass of wine?” I said. “Too early for me,” he said. “Sprite would be good.” “On it.”

Maggie Valley, NC 1400 22 December 2010 George Martin

WE

(myself, my partner Mike, and our adopted son, Robbie) had left our home in Jacksonville, Florida around six in the morning, and the eight-hour drive to Maggie Valley was nearly at an end. As was our custom at Christmas, we stopped in Waynesville to purchase a nice live Christmas tree—a six-foot one—along with the perishables that were on our shopping list. The tree was tied to the built-in rack on the roof of Mike‟s Explorer, the groceries stowed away in the cargo area, and we began the last leg of our trip. When we arrived at the gate to our driveway, Mike, who was driving at the time, rolled down his window and pressed some buttons on the ten-key pad. The gate opened, and we headed down the driveway. He pressed the clicker when we were in range, and the garage door began to open. “Don‟t forget the tree,” I said. “It‟s on top of the car.” “Yeah, I guess I‟d better not drive inside the garage quite yet.” We walked into the garage and disabled the alarm. Robbie, our sevenyear-old, said, “It‟s snowing, it‟s snowing.” “That it is,” I said. “What‟s that noise?” Mike said. “Sounds like the generator. Let‟s check the control box.”

Mike and I walked to the circuit-breaker panel and studied the indicators on the control box next to it, which handled the switch-over from grid power to generator power and back again. “Hmm,” I said. “It says here that the power from the grid is okay.” “Robbie,” Mike said, “why don‟t you take Thor upstairs and let him go down into his run? It‟s been awhile since our last pit stop. And be sure that the gate to the outside stairs is locked. George and I are gonna go check the generator.” “Yes, Sir,” Robbie said. He took the Irish Setter‟s leash and headed into the house, while we exited the garage, closed the door behind us, and walked around the cabin. By the time we got to the far side, Thor was already busily inspecting—and marking—the perimeter of his run. When we got to the generator shed, we could see that the door was closed and the lights inside were on. “Remember what happened last time we investigated this shed?” Mike said. “How could I forget?” In June of the previous year, we‟d arrived at the cabin for a two-week stay and found Robbie living in the shed. He had witnessed his father‟s brutal—and fatal—beating of his mother and had fled his house, which was up the creek about a mile from us. He‟d instantly bonded with us, and we had, after a few trials and tribulations, adopted him. “Are you gonna just stand there, or are you gonna open the door?” I said. “Sorry, babe, I was lost in thought.” “Yeah, me too.” He opened the door, and we went inside the shed, where the diesel engine that powered the generator was throbbing away. We walked to the control panel at the far end of the equipment to shut it down and found two kids sitting on and partly under a pile of drop cloths, their backs against the diesel housing. They both had military-style buzz cuts, and the drop cloths had fallen away from their lower bodies revealing bare feet, and their shoulders and upper bodies were wrapped up in the remains of some rather ratty-looking blankets. They were clad, as far as we could tell, only in boxers and T-shirts—all of which seemed much the worse for wear, and both of them appeared to be sound asleep. Mike pushed the button, and the ensuing silence was almost deafening.

“What have we here?” he said. “I don‟t know, but whatever it is, it certainly doesn‟t look good.” “Only one way to find out,” he said. “Yeah.” We reached down, and each of us gave the nearest kid‟s shoulder a shake. They shot up off of the floor and assumed fighting stances. “If you‟re with them, you‟re not gonna take us back there,” one of them said. I think he was blond, but his hair was so short that it was hard to tell. “Them?” I parroted. “Who‟s „them‟?” “The guys who kidnapped us Saturday night,” the other kid said. “Yeah,” the first one said. “We escaped last night.” “I assure you, I‟m not one of „them‟. In fact, I‟m a policeman.” “Oh, yeah?” the first kid said. “Prove it. Let‟s see some ID.” I fished my shield and badge out of my hip pocket and handed it to him. I also pulled up my pants leg and let him see the ankle holster that I was wearing. “It says here that you‟re with the sheriff‟s office in Jacksonville, Florida,” kid number one said. “That‟s me. Captain George Martin at your service, and this is my partner, Mike Foster.” “But we‟re in the mountains. I may be from Virginia, but even I know they don‟t have mountains in Florida.” The other kid said, “And it doesn‟t snow in Florida—at least not very often.” “This is our vacation cabin,” I said, “and we‟re in Maggie Valley, North Carolina.” “Let‟s continue this in the cabin, George,” Mike said. “These guys are not in the best of shape, and they‟re probably hungry.” “What time is it?” the second kid said. “Two thirty or thereabouts,” I said. “In the afternoon?” “Bingo,” I said. “Shit. We turned the diesel on around dawn. Probably used up a ton of fuel. If the thugs hadn‟t stolen our wallets, we‟d pay you for it, but our dads will take care of it.”

“In the house,” Mike said. “Hot shower first, talk later. Besides, George, being a cop, will probably want to record your statements.” “Follow me, guys,” I said. I led the way, with the kids following me. Thor, of course, bounded over to the fence to bark at us. “Hush, Thor,” I said. “These are our new friends.” “I like Irish Setters,” one of the kids said. As I led them up the steps to the deck, I heard Mike say from the rear, “Kid, did you know that your ass is hanging out of those shorts, and it‟s got a nasty-looking scratch on it?” “Yes, Sir. I had a close encounter with a barbed-wire fence.” When we reached the front door, Robbie was staring wide-eyed at us. The minute we were inside, I said, “Robbie, go up to the loft and get my tape recorder and a couple of blank tapes. Then go get some fresh batteries out of the kitchen drawer and put everything on the kitchen table, okay?” “Yes, Sir,” he said, and he scampered off in the direction of the stairs. I raised my voice and added, “When you let Thor back in, have a towel ready to rub him down. He‟s covered in snow.” “Yes, Sir,” he said. “The shower is this way, guys,” I said. “This looks like our cabin,” one of the kids said. “Yeah,” the other one said. “It could have been built from the same plans.” “Where‟s your cabin?” I said. “In the Blue Ridge Mountains, near Staunton, Virginia.” “Shower‟s in there,” I said, pointing to the bathroom. “Mind if we come in while you get started in the shower?” “Nope,” one of them said. “In our barracks, we‟re used to showering with a dozen guys.” “You‟re in the military, then?” I said. “No, Sir, we‟re freshmen at The Citadel over in Charleston. Our dormitories are officially called barracks.” “Which explains the haircuts,” Mike said. They had shed their pitiful rags while they were talking, then stepped into the shower together. “Be careful,” I said. “The hot water has to come up

from downstairs, and nobody‟s used it since Thanksgiving.” They quickly stepped back out of the shower, and one of them reached in to turn the water on. “I‟m Paul Richardson,” one kid said, “and this is my friend Sean Sanderson.” “Paul,” Sean said, “I think it‟s safe to use the word boyfriend in front of a gay couple. Didn‟t you hear him refer to his partner?” “Sorry,” Paul said, “I missed that.” “Water‟s hot,” Sean said. “Right behind you.” “Mike,” I said, “why don‟t you round up some warm-ups and sweat socks for our guests? They look to be pretty close to our size.” “On it, babe,” he said. Robbie stuck his head in the door and said, “Dad, can I have a towel for Thor?” “Sure, kiddo.” I handed him a towel, and he disappeared down the hall. I rummaged around in the bathroom linen closet for a minute, found a few items, and placed them on the vanity. “I‟m gonna leave you guys to it,” I said. “You‟ll find new toothbrushes and disposable razors on the vanity. Help yourselves.” “Thanks,” one of them said. One of them, I think it was Paul, opened the glass doors a bit and stuck his head out. “Please don‟t call the local police—we need to call our dads first. We‟ll explain when we‟re clean.” “No problem. We‟ll be waiting at the kitchen table. So will some soup. Do you drink hot chocolate?” “Yes, thanks.” Mike appeared in the doorway with a bundle of clothing in his hands. I pointed to the vanity, and he put the bundle on it. “Guys,” I said, raising my voice. “There are two sets of warm-ups and two pairs of socks on the vanity waiting for you.” “Thanks,” one of them said.

Maggie Valley, NC 1500 22 December 2010 Sean “ALONE at last,” I said to Paul as we lathered up. “Yeah, take that washcloth and do my back for me, please? I‟ve never felt so dirty in my life.” “I know what you mean, and you can return the favor when I‟m done. We sure picked the right spot to hole up out of the weather, didn‟t we?” “Man, you got that right,” he said. “Seeking refuge in a cop‟s cabin. How lucky can you get?” We talked as we applied huge quantities of soap to our bodies. When we were scoured from head to toe, we rinsed thoroughly, and I grabbed Paul in a tight embrace. “God, I‟ve missed doing this,” I said, and I stuck my tongue down his throat. “Yeah, this is the longest we‟ve gone without in a while,” he finally managed to say. Afterward, we clung together under the warm spray for a very long time. “You know what?” “What?” he said. “I think the hot water‟s beginning to go.” “Yeah, I guess we‟d better wrap this up.” “Looks like we‟re both ready to go again.” “Reach behind you and turn the water off, and let‟s do it again.” We completed the task at hand, toweled ourselves dry, and pulled on the warm-ups and socks our hosts had left on the counter. “Ready to face the world, babe?” I said.

“Not until I shave and brush my teeth.” There was just enough warm water for us to complete the task of shaving, after which we brushed our teeth. Then we left the bathroom and walked hand in hand down the hallway to the kitchen.

Maggie Valley, NC 1500 22 December 2010 George Martin and I went to the kitchen, and I said, “They need soup and hot chocolate. I‟m gonna set up the recorder.” “On it,” he said. “Take your time.” “Why?” he said. “Those guys are probably starving.” “Yeah, but didn‟t you see the looks on their faces? They‟re probably starved for something else too—I think they‟ll be in that shower until they run out of hot water.” “Yeah, why didn‟t I think of that?” Robbie came into the kitchen with Thor at his heels and said, “I rubbed him down like you said, Dad.” “Thanks, kiddo,” I said. “Dad, who are those guys?” “Their names are Sean and Paul,” I said, “and I‟m going to record their story as soon as they come out of the shower. If you‟ll sit quietly and listen, you‟ll know everything, okay?” “Yes, Sir,” he said. “Meanwhile,” I said, “you can go back up to the loft and get me two, no, make that three yellow pads and three pens.” “Yes, Sir,” he said. “Kid‟s a good gofer,” Mike said. “That‟s because I‟m a good trainer of gofers—I certainly whipped your ass into prime gofer shape back when I was re-roofing our house.” “Yeah, you surely did that. I must have carried a million bundles of shingles up that ladder.”

MIKE

I opened the recorder and inserted a blank tape and fresh batteries. Robbie handed me the pads and pens, and I settled down to wait for our guests and said, “Mike, do you think we ought to call Doc Jenkins and ask him to come have a look at these guys?” “That‟s probably not a bad idea,” he said. I took the wall phone out of its cradle and set it on the table. Doc Jenkins‟s number was posted on the wall by the phone, and I made a note of it before dialing the number. “Hi, Doc,” I said into the receiver, “George Martin here.” “Hello, George. What‟s up?” I explained what we‟d found when we arrived at the cabin, and he said, “I‟ve got to run an errand down to the valley in a bit, so I‟ll stop by your place on the way, if that‟s okay.” “That‟s fine. The gate will be open.” “See you shortly, George,” he said, and he hung up. “Robbie,” I said. “I know, Dad, I‟ll go open the gate.” “Good boy.” Our guests appeared in the kitchen, and Thor trotted over to inspect them. “He won‟t bite,” I said, “unless we tell him to. Just give him the back of your hand to sniff.” “Yes, Sir,” one of them said. “I‟ve never actually had a dog, but I know enough to do that.” Inspection complete, Thor returned to his bed in the corner. “Have a seat, guys,” I said. “Hot food and beverages will be ready in a minute or two.” “Thanks,” they chorused. They sat down, and I said, “I must say, you look a lot better than you did.” “We feel a lot better,” one of them said. “I bet we smell better too,” the other one said. Mike placed two bowls of soup on the table in front of them, went back to the counter, and returned with two mugs of hot chocolate. “Would you like some bread and butter to go with the soup?” “If you don‟t mind, we‟ll pass,” one of them said. “We‟ve been fed nothing but sandwiches since Sunday.” “Crackers, then?” Mike said. “That‟d be great,” the kid said.

“I‟ve already forgotten which of you is which,” I said, “so let‟s start over. I‟m George Martin, the chef is my partner Mike Foster, and the little guy is our son, Robbie. You just met Thor, the resident Irish Setter.” “Sean Sanderson,” the blond guy said as he extended his hand. We shook hands. “Paul Richardson,” the brunet said, and we repeated the ritual. “I‟m Robbie,” a little voice said. “I just told them that, kiddo,” I said. “Hi, Robbie,” Sean said. “Pleased to meet you.” “Likewise,” Paul said. “While that soup cools, and before I take some statements from you,” I said, “isn‟t there someone you need to call?” I set the kitchen phone on the table, pushed the speaker button, and said, “What number shall I call first?” “Only one number to call,” Sean said. “Our dads are a couple, and they‟ll be together.” “That‟s not for publication,” Paul said. “Uncle Ian teaches at Georgetown, and those Jesuits aren‟t too fond of gay men. My dad is a lieutenant colonel at the Pentagon, and he‟s at even greater risk, DADT notwithstanding.” “DADT?” Mike parroted. “Don‟t ask, don‟t tell,” I said. “Oh, I should have figured that out,” he said. “I don‟t pay much attention to the news, but didn‟t they just repeal that?” “Yeah,” I said, “but knowing bureaucracies like I do, I don‟t expect much to change anytime soon. Meanwhile, the telephone number, please.” I punched the numbers as Sean gave them to me, and in a couple of seconds we heard the phone ringing at the other end.

Blue Ridge Mountains, near Staunton, VA 1500 22 December 2010 Ian

AS WE sat at the table with our cans of Sprite, my cell phone rang. “This is coming from area code 828,” I said. “Any ideas?”

“None whatever,” he said. “Only one way to find out.” I pushed the speaker button, sat the phone on the table, and answered the call. “Hello.” “Hi, Dad,” Sean said. “Sean,” I said, and before I allowed myself to be overwhelmed with feelings, I added, “Where are you? How are you? Is Paul with you?” “Whoa, Dad. One question at a time. Are you on a speaker?” “Yes,” I said. “Hi, Dad,” Paul said. “Hi, yourself,” Randy said. “Are you guys okay?” “Yeah,” Paul said. “We escaped from the bad guys,” Sean said. “That certainly raises more questions than it answers,” I said. “Let‟s start with this one—where is area code 828? That‟s where you‟re calling from.” “Maggie Valley, North Carolina,” Sean said. “Like I said, we escaped from the bad guys, sort of climbed over a small mountain, and followed a stream. It was getting cold and about to snow, and we spotted this cabin that looks just like ours.” “Really?” I said. “Yeah,” Sean said, “it could have been built from the same plans. Anyhow, we were going to break in to get out of the cold, but there was an alarm sign, so we circled around back and found a shed.” “The shed housed their emergency generator,” Paul said, “and I started the diesel engine. You wouldn‟t believe how quickly that little shed got warm.” “What happened then?” I said. “We went to sleep,” Sean said. “This was just after dawn. The owners came home a little while ago and found us.” “Who are the owners?” Randy said. “One of them is a policeman,” Paul said. “Really?” I said. “His name is George Martin, and he‟s a captain with the sheriff‟s office in Jacksonville, Florida. He and his partner came up here for Christmas.” “And he‟s really a policeman?”

“Yes, Sir,” Sean said. “After what happened to us, we didn‟t trust anybody, so I asked to see his ID.” “And he showed it to you?” “ID, badge, and gun,” Sean said. “This is George Martin,” a different voice said. “Ian Sanderson here, Captain Martin,” I said. “I can‟t thank you enough for taking care of our boys. Are they really all right?” “We, that is my partner and I, think so. They were cold, hungry, and in desperate need of a hot shower, but aside from a few scratches and bruises, they seem to be okay. There‟s an older, semi-retired country doctor up the road from us. He‟s gonna come by in a bit and check them over.” “Dad,” Sean said, “when can you get here? We want to go home.” “Actually, we were going stir-crazy at home, so we came down to the cabin for distraction.” “Is that the cabin your boys mentioned?” George said. “The only one we own is on the Blue Ridge near Staunton, Virginia. We‟re five or six hours from you, and we‟ll be on our way shortly. I need an actual address so we can go to MapQuest.” George gave us the address and said, “The boys need clothes and shoes.” “Really?” “Dad,” Sean said, “the bad guys took all of our clothes, our shoes, our socks, and our wallets.” “They were barefoot and wearing only boxers and T-shirts when we found them,” George said. “Paul had a close encounter with some blackberry vines, and Sean had the same problem with a barbed-wire fence. Needless to say, their shorts were very much the worse for wear.” “Good thing you like blackberries, Paul,” Randy said. “Not anymore, Dad,” Paul said. “Next time we go to our cabin, I‟m gonna be armed with the strongest herbicide I can find. Then it‟s good-bye, blackberries.” “They both have winter clothing here at our cabin,” I said. “We‟ll bring them some.” “Captain Martin,” Randy said, “this is Col. Richardson speaking. Randy, if you will.” “Yes, Sir,” George said.

“Have you called the local authorities?” Randy said. “Not yet. Your boys didn‟t want us to do so.” “Good,” Randy said. “As they may have told you, Dr. Sanderson, in addition to being a professor at Georgetown University, does some analysis for a government agency that is so secret I don‟t even know its name. On top of that, I work with some top-secret stuff at the Pentagon, which is what the kidnappers were after. In a matter of minutes, we‟re gonna have two or three government agencies engaged in a pissing contest over the handling of this case. Unfortunately, we‟re all gonna be caught in the crossfire. I know it probably goes against your instincts as a law enforcement officer to let this ride, but trust me when I tell you that it‟s for the best.” “I quite understand,” George said. “I‟ve been an often unwilling participant in any number of turf wars over the years.” “This call is being monitored and recorded,” I said, “so I wouldn‟t be surprised if the „call to arms‟ hasn‟t already been sounded.” “Dad,” Sean said, “just get in the car, please. We‟ll tell you all about it when you get here.” “Yeah,” Paul said, “but we‟re really okay, so don‟t try to set any speed records.” We all said good-bye, and their end of the line went dead. I had a hunch and said, “Rupert, are you there?” “Yes, Ian,” he said. “We‟ll be on the road as soon as we pack some clothes for the boys and close up the cabin, probably no more than ten or fifteen minutes,” I said. “These guys sound okay, but I‟d be grateful if you could dig up some background on this Captain Martin for us.” “Consider it done,” Rupert said. “I‟ll call you. Would you like an escort?” “Sure.” “What route will you be taking?” he said. “I‟ve got to take a quick look at MapQuest, but we drove down to Asheville when we were up here a couple of summers ago, and we took I-81 from Staunton all the way to I-26 and followed that to Asheville. It‟ll take us a little over half an hour to get to I-81 from the cabin. We use the second of the three Staunton exits, which is Exit 222, if I remember correctly, and there‟s a gas station there combined with a McDonald‟s—BP, I think. In any case, it‟s the last exit heading west before I-64.”

“A Virginia highway patrolman will be waiting for you,” he said. We packed our bags with a couple of changes of clothes for the boys and ourselves and headed toward the interstate. Rupert was as good as his word—when we reached the designated interchange, there was a state trooper waiting, lights flashing. Randy, who was driving, pulled up beside the patrol car, and the trooper got out and came over to us. “Dr. Sanderson?” he asked Randy. “I‟m Dr. Sanderson,” I said from the passenger seat. “The driver is Col. Richardson.” “The two tires on this side of your car look okay,” the trooper said. “How about the others?” “Set of four installed last summer,” I said. “Is a steady eighty okay?” he said. “Absolutely.” “Depending on traffic,” the trooper said, “we might jack it up a bit here and there. I‟m to take you all the way to the North Carolina state line. One of their guys will be waiting when we get there.” “We can‟t thank you enough,” Randy said. “As you may know, our sons were kidnapped Saturday night, but they escaped from the bad guys, and we‟re on our way to get them.” “Yeah, so I was told,” the trooper said. “I hate that shit. Let‟s go.” He returned to his car, and we followed him. Half an hour later, my cell phone rang. “It‟s Rupert,” I said. “Think you can hear the speaker over the road noise?” “I‟ll try,” Randy said. I pressed the appropriate buttons and said, “Hello, Rupert, what‟s up?” “Where are you?” he said. “Flying down I-81 at eighty miles an hour, thanks to you,” I said. “Good,” he said. “Okay, I‟ve got some background on this Captain Martin.” “And?” “He‟s the real deal. He started to work for the Duval County Sheriff‟s Office, which is to say the Jacksonville Sheriff‟s Office under their consolidated government, as some sort of intern while he was still in college. Rose in the ranks very quickly, became their youngest lieutenant ever and

subsequently their youngest captain ever. He formed and ran their Major Case Squad for several years and has a list of awards and honors as long as your arm, not to mention the fact that some really spectacular arrests are credited to his team. He‟s also one of only two openly gay officers in that department. His partner runs a very successful computer networking business. Oh, and they adopted a five-year-old orphan boy a couple of years ago. Captain Martin is considered to be the „fair-haired boy‟ of that office and has apparently earned the title.” “That‟s good to know,” I said, “but I‟m still glad Sean had the presence of mind to ask him for ID.” “Yeah, given what those two boys went through, that was smart of him.” “Any developments anywhere?” I said. “Not yet, but the pissing contest has begun—in earnest.” “Don‟t you just love bureaucracies?” I said. “Not particularly,” he said. “I‟ll keep you posted. Good-bye.” “Bye, and thanks.” I looked at Randy and said, “That seems to settle that.” “Yep.”

Maggie Valley, NC 1540 22 December 2010 George Martin the call was over, I said, “That soup is probably cool now. Help yourselves and then you can tell us—and my tape recorder—your story.” “I‟ll go down and get the tree while they eat,” Mike said. “I don‟t want to miss this one.” “Go ahead,” I said. “Can I help, Daddy?” Robbie said. “You sure can, kiddo,” Mike said. “Come on.” Thor started to get up, and I said, “Thor, stay. You‟re not invited.” He gave me a mournful look, then lay back down on his bed. “That‟s one well-behaved Irish Setter,” Sean said. “Yeah,” Paul said. “A kid next door to where I lived once had one, and that dog wouldn‟t mind for anything.” “Thor‟s had a lot of training. He‟s even had K-9 training with one of our guys in the department.” “Really?” Sean said. “Yeah, and it‟s a good thing he did. A few years back, I had a serial killer standing not too far from where you‟re sitting, pointing a gun at me. Thor got him by the arm and distracted him just long enough for me to get a gun out of one of the drawers.” “Then what happened?” Sean said. “I put an Indian beauty mark in the middle of his forehead,” I said. “What‟s an Indian beauty mark?” Paul said. “Oh… I get it. Wow.”

WHEN

“You have an exciting job,” Sean said. “Not really,” I said. “I mostly sit behind a desk and shuffle paperwork. It does get interesting once in a while, though.” Robbie had just come back into the kitchen, so I said, “Robbie, did you turn on the outside lights when you opened the gate?” “Yes, Sir,” he said. “You forgot to tell me to, but I did it anyway.” “Come here, kiddo,” I said. “I think you‟ve earned a hug.” He jumped into my lap and gave me his version of a bear hug, and I hugged him back. Thor jumped up from his bed, and I heard his toenails click as he walked to the door. Then I felt rather than heard the telltale vibrations of someone coming up the outside steps. “I‟ll bet that‟s the doc,” I said. “We‟re okay,” Sean said. “Perhaps,” I said, “but you heard me promise your dads that you‟d be checked out. Anyway, Doc Jenkins is a good guy, isn‟t he, Robbie?” “Yes, Sir,” he said. “He used to take care of me before I moved to Jacksonville.” “Then why don‟t you go let him in?” Robbie ran to the door. “Kid never walks anywhere if he can run,” Mike said as he entered the room. “He‟ll grow out of it in time,” I said. Robbie returned to the kitchen with Doc and Thor trailing behind him. I got up to shake hands with the doctor, and Mike followed suit. “Doc,” I said, “these are our guests, Sean and Paul. I was just about to record their story when you arrived. Maybe if you‟ll have a seat while they tell us what happened to them, you‟ll know what to check them for.” “Sure, George,” Doc said. “Coffee?” Mike said. “Sorry,” Doc Jenkins said, “I‟ve had to give it up in my old age. On the other hand, if there‟s any more of that hot chocolate I smell, I‟d be much obliged.” “Coming right up,” Mike said. I noted that the soup bowls were empty, so I said, “Okay, guys, here‟s how this works. One of you tells the story. If the other one wants to add anything, feel free, but always identify yourself when you do. Somebody will be transcribing this eventually, and they need to know who‟s talking.” “Sean,” Paul said, “it started with Uncle Ian, so why don‟t you begin.”

“Sure,” Sean said, and he started by saying, “it all began on a Friday in November when my dad came home from work—” “Whoa,” I said. “I forgot to ask you to identify each person you mention.” “My father,” Sean said, “is Dr. Ian Sanderson, and he teaches Eastern European history at Georgetown University. This all began two or three Fridays before Thanksgiving, when he got home from work and found a FedEx overnight envelope in our door.” “Where do you live?” I said. “Our house is in Arlington, Virginia,” Sean said. “My dad and I live there, as do Lieutenant Colonel Randolph Richardson and his son Paul. Our dads were roommates when they were at The Citadel, just like Paul and I are now.” “Okay,” I said, “so your father found an envelope. What then?” “He took it down to what we call the safe room,” Sean said. “It‟s sort of a hidden sub-basement room with a door that looks like a vault—you have to dial an electronic combination to open it.” “Why do you need that?” I said. “Because in addition to teaching and writing books,” Sean said, “Dad does some kind of analyst work for an extremely secret government agency. I don‟t even know its name. Also, Paul‟s dad works with top-secret stuff at the Pentagon. Our house is very secure. Dad even has one of those gizmos that you can carry around from room to room and check for bugs, I mean listening devices.” “Good,” I said. “Please continue.” “So, he took the envelope down to the safe room and opened it,” Sean said. He went on to narrate the story with an occasional prompt from Paul. I was watching Robbie‟s face when they came to the part about being forced off the train at gunpoint—his eyes got very wide at that. “So,” Sean continued, “we bunched the drop cloths up, sat down on them, and leaned back against the housing of your diesel engine. It sort of lulled us to sleep. The rest you know.” “Care to add anything, Paul?” I said. “I think that about covers it,” he said. “George,” Doc said, “I think I know where these boys were being held.” “Really?” I said.

“Yeah,” Doc said. “It sounds like they came over the ridge and wound up in Cyrus Hall‟s pasture.” “That makes sense,” I said. “Boys,” Doc said, “retrace your steps in your minds. You go back up the stream from here and under a fence, right?” “Yes, Sir,” Sean said. “We followed the stream, and we came through a gate from another pasture,” Paul said. “And we had walked along a fence for a while to find the gate,” Sean said. “From what direction?” Doc said. “We were heading this way.” “Yeah,” Paul said, “and when we first got to the fence with the gate, we‟d been going pretty much in a straight line from the top of the ridge.” “Right,” Sean said. “We walked along the ridge for a bit, because when we first got to the top of it, there was a cliff. I don‟t know how far, but it wasn‟t that far. From that point, it‟s a straight line down to the backyard of that house.” “It‟s gotta be the old Bell place,” Doc said. “Old pioneer family. Died out years ago, and the house has been deserted for a good twenty years.” “Sounds right,” Sean said. “The toilet in that bathroom hadn‟t been flushed in a very long time.” I was furiously making notes on a yellow pad. “Doc,” I said, “how do you get to that place?” “Even though it‟s on the other side of the ridge,” Doc said, “you have to go up our road to get there.” “Really?” I said. “Yeah. You drive up our road and take every left-hand turn. Eventually, you reach a sharp turn that looks very much like a dead end but isn‟t. The gravel road continues for quite some distance beyond that point. At the turn, there‟s a rutted track at that point which goes right to that old place.” “Anyone live around there?” I said. “Not to the best of my knowledge. That rutted track runs through a sort of defile before it reaches the house, so it‟s quite isolated.” “Okay, Doc,” I said, “thanks. What we need to know from you is this: did two very fit and apparently healthy eighteen-year-olds do any damage to

themselves by climbing up one side of a mountain and down the other, barefoot and in their underwear? Not to mention walking barefoot through an icy stream and the rest of it.” “Frankly,” Doc said, “you boys are lucky to be alive. It‟s a miracle you didn‟t succumb to hypothermia.” “You can take them one by one to Robbie‟s room, Doc. You know where it is.” “Sure. Who wants to go first? I promise it‟ll be a lot less annoying than any physical exam you took at The Citadel.” “I‟ll go,” Sean said. “Good,” Doc said. “Follow me, please.” They disappeared down the hall. “Want some more soup, Paul?” Mike said. “Can we get this over with first?” Paul said. “Sure,” Mike said. Eventually, Sean came back into the kitchen, looked at Paul, and said, “You‟re next.” “First door on the right,” I said. Sometime later, Paul came back into the kitchen, followed by Doc. “Well?” I said. “George,” Doc said, “I don‟t know what they feed these guys over there at The Citadel, but they‟re in superb shape despite their ordeal. I gave Sean a tetanus shot because he has a nasty scratch on his behind—that barbed wire was probably rusty.” “Good,” I said. “On the other hand,” he said, “if either of you boys wake up tomorrow morning with a runny nose or any other cold-like symptoms, ask George to give me a call, and I‟ll call in a prescription for you. Understood?” “Yes, Sir,” they chorused. “What do we owe you, Doc?” I said. “This one‟s on me, George. It isn‟t every day that I get to hear a reallife adventure story firsthand.” “Thank you, Doc,” I said. “Thank you,” the boys said. “I‟ll show myself out, George,” Doc said.

“Sure, Doc,” I said, “and thanks again.” When I heard him going down the stairs, I looked at Mike. “Babe,” I said, “do we have enough steaks and potatoes on hand for six men and one seven-year-old?” “Yep,” he said. I slid the phone in Sean‟s direction. “Why don‟t you call your dad back and see if you can get an ETA.” “ETA?” he parroted. “Estimated time of arrival,” I said. “Yes, Sir, I can do that.” I waited at the table until I heard him say, “Hi, Dad.” Then I got up, walked to the kitchen preparation area, and tuned out the conversation. “Anything I can do, babe?” Mike said. “Are the beds downstairs made up?” “Nope,” he said, “why?” “Because chances are we‟re gonna have guests in both of them tonight. No way we‟re going to turn these people out to go to a motel. You handle the food, and I‟ll handle the beds.” I asked Robbie to go with me, and we went downstairs. When we‟d purchased the cabin, the ground floor had consisted of a recreation room, bathroom, laundry room, and storeroom, plus the garage. Since we‟d never used the recreation room, we had recently partitioned most of it into two nice little bedrooms. These rooms contained double beds and chests of drawers and came in handy when we had guests, which was often. With Robbie‟s help, the beds were quickly made and the rooms made ready. When we got back upstairs, Paul was on the phone. “They‟ll be here in a little over an hour,” Sean said. “Wow,” I said. “They must be flying low.” “Highway patrol in Virginia escorted them to the North Carolina line at eighty plus,” Sean said, “and the North Carolina people are doing the same, only they can‟t go as fast because I-26 cuts through the mountains.” I heard Paul say, “Bye, Dad. See you soon.” “He couldn‟t talk much,” Paul said, “because he‟s the one doing the driving. He says that I-26 isn‟t nearly as straight as I-81.” “That‟s true,” I said. “Robbie and I just made up the beds in the guest rooms downstairs so you guys can spend the night.”

“Yeah,” Mike said from the counter, “it would be silly to go looking for a motel around here in mid-December—a lot of them are closed for the season.” “Dad,” Robbie said, “can we start decorating the tree?” “We sure can,” I said, “if Mike has things under control in the kitchen.” “I‟m good,” Mike said. “Will you help us?” Robbie asked our guests. “Sure,” they said. “You‟ll have to get the stand and the decorations,” Mike said. “I‟ll go,” Robbie said. “Kiddo,” I said, “you can‟t carry all that stuff by yourself.” “No,” he said, “but our new friends will help, won‟t you?” He gave our guests a pleading look. “Sure we will,” Sean said. “Just show us what and where,” Paul said. “Robbie,” I said, “while you‟re down there, show your new friends the bedrooms so they can pick one for themselves.” “Yes, Sir,” he said. They headed downstairs, and I walked over to where Mike was working. “That little guy has come such a long way in a year and a half,” he said. “You said a mouthful there.” “What do you think of our guests?” he said, lowering his voice. “I kind of like them. They sort of remind me of the guys we used to be, way back when.” “Babe, we were never that young.” “Of course we were.” “If that generator ran from dawn until we shut it down,” he said, “we‟d better call for a fuel delivery tomorrow.” “I‟ll do it right now.” “Meanwhile,” he said, “a fire would be nice.” “I guess that was a hint. I‟ll go check the wood basket.” I went up to the loft and called for a fuel oil delivery; then I went back to the great room to check the wood supply. Predictably, the basket was almost empty, so I put the remaining firewood on the hearth, donned a heavy

jacket, and went outside. Our stock of firewood was under the deck and protected by sheets of plastic. I turned the light on down there, quickly filled the basket, and carried it upstairs. I made two more trips until the supply of wood stacked by the fireplace was up to its normal level. While I was doing that, Robbie appeared with his two new helpers in tow. Spotting the wood basket, he said, “Are we gonna have a fire?” “Absolutely.” “Cool,” he said. “Robbie,” one of his helpers said, “where does the tree go?” “We always put it over there in the corner between the fireplace and the door,” Robbie said. “Right you are.”

New York, NY 1600 22 December 2010 The Broker information broker listened to his subordinate‟s end of the telephone conversation in stunned disbelief. When the call ended, he stated the obvious. “They got away?” “Dug a hole in a rotten bathroom floor and disappeared.” “Barefoot, in their underwear, in December?” the broker said. “Yeah, and it‟s been snowing down there.” “Then they‟re probably dead of exposure,” the broker said. “What should our little friend tell them, boss? He‟s waiting for me to call back.” “He needs to tell them to get their asses in gear and search,” the broker said. “And if they don‟t find them?” “In that case, they torch the cabin and destroy the evidence,” the broker said. “The cabin belongs to one of them.”

THE

“So?” “He won‟t like it.” “He‟ll like being dead even less,” the broker said. “Make the call.” “Yes, Sir.”

Maggie Valley, NC 1600 22 December 2010 The Thugs “THAT‟S it, then,” Skinny Thug said. “We‟ve gotta go make that call.” “Yeah, let‟s go get it over with.” “You drive, and I‟ll make the call when we have a signal.” “Okay.” They went to the car, and Fat Thug managed with some difficulty to get it started. “Damn thing‟s on its last legs,” he muttered. When they reached the point where the cell phone picked up a signal, the cell phone rang before Skinny Thug could make the call. “Hello. … Sorry. It‟s not that late, is it? … Whatever. … Sorry, we can‟t do that right now. Why? Because the fuckers escaped. … Does that matter now? … If you must know, they dug a hole through some rotten floorboards in the bathroom and disappeared. We‟ve spent all morning looking for them, and they‟re gone. … We don‟t know where they went, but if they‟d made it to the nearest house, the cops would of been here by now. We followed their trail up the ridge, and it sort of ended at the edge of a cliff. Yeah, they probably went over. … Yeah, we‟ll wait for further instructions.” He turned to his companion and said, “While we‟re waiting, let‟s go back to the cabin and get our stuff.” “Good idea,” Fat Thug said. “Then we can go get something to eat. I‟m starved.” Having retrieved their sleeping bags and other items, they got back in the car and headed down the road. When they were once again in range of a cell tower, Skinny Thug‟s cell phone rang. He opened it and listened for a minute before saying, “You want us to do what? He won‟t like that. … All right, calm down. We‟ll take care of it. Bye.”

“What won‟t I like?” Fat Thug said. “Burning the house down.” “Yeah, I don‟t like it,” Fat Thug said. “He said you‟d like being dead even less.” “Fuck. All right, let‟s go find a hardware store and buy some gas cans,” Fat Thug said.

Maggie Valley, NC 1800 22 December 2010 George Martin

ROBBIE and his helpers had the tree up and decorated in no time. When it was finished, Robbie ran into the kitchen, and I heard him say to Mike, “Come see, Daddy, the tree is beautiful.” Robbie led Mike into the great room holding his hand, and I followed them. “Kiddo,” Mike said, “that‟s the best tree we‟ve ever had.” “That‟s because I have two new helpers,” Robbie said. A timer chimed in the kitchen, and Mike said, “That‟s my cue to start the rest of our dinner. If your dad‟s estimate was accurate, Sean, the food‟ll be ready just about the time they get here. How do you guys and your dads like your steaks?” “Medium rare. All four of us.” “Very good,” Mike said. Mike went back into the kitchen, and the rest of us settled on the sofas watching the fire, and Sean said, “Gosh, this is just like being in our cabin.” “You‟ve got that right,” Paul said. “Did your family build the cabin?” I said. “No, Sir,” Sean said. “Our dads bought it about four years ago, more or less.” “We didn‟t build this one either, but it wouldn‟t surprise me to learn that both of them were built from plans ordered from one of those books you see in the bookstores.” “Yeah,” Paul said. “That makes sense.” “Would it bother you, George,” Sean said, glancing at Robbie, who was

still gazing at the tree with rapt attention, “if Paul and I sort of got a little closer together on the sofa?” “Not at all. Mike and I have always been openly affectionate in front of Robbie. That being said, we lock our bedroom door if anything is going on that he doesn‟t need to know about.” “That makes sense,” Paul said. “Come over here, Sean.” Sean scooted across the sofa, snuggled up against Paul, and sighed. “If you don‟t mind my asking, how do you guys stand it at a place like The Citadel?” “Originally, we thought the discipline would be good for us,” Sean said. “Yeah,” Paul said, “but after all that‟s happened, we‟ve been having second thoughts about that.” “It‟s never too late to transfer somewhere else,” I said. “Yeah,” Sean said. “We were sort of planning to go to Georgetown Law after we graduate so we can live at home, but it might be good to check into a transfer now.” “Ask Uncle Ian,” Paul said. “He‟ll know how to handle it.” “Dinner in less than five,” Mike announced from the kitchen. Thor got up and trotted to the door, and I said, “Unless our earlywarning dog has failed us, we have company. Yep, feel those vibrations? People are coming up the outside steps.” I went to the door and opened it to admit two men. “You must be Dr. Sanderson,” I said to the first man through the door, “I‟m George Martin.” “Yes, I am,” he said. “How did you know?” “You look just like your son,” I said, “only with somewhat longer hair and a little more weight.” “That‟s me,” he said. “Good to meet you. This is Col. Richardson, Paul‟s father.” We shook hands. “Where are the boys?” the colonel said. “Right here, Dad,” Paul said from behind me. I stepped back a few paces and allowed the reunion to take place without interruption. Finally, Mike came out of the kitchen and announced in a loud voice, “Dinner‟s ready.” The reunion paused for a moment, so I said, “We have steak, potatoes, and wine, and your timing is perfect. Your chef tonight is my partner, Mike

Foster.” More introductions were made. “I‟m hungry,” a little voice said. “And this hungry lad,” I said, “is our son, Robbie.” “Can we eat now, Dad?” Robbie said. “We sure can, kiddo,” I said. “Follow me, folks.” Thor was hovering in the background, so I said, “It‟s all right, Thor. Go back to your bed, and we‟ll have some bones for you later.” He looked at me for a long moment, then padded back to his corner. “Nice place you‟ve got, George,” Ian said. “Yeah,” Randy said, “and the boys were right. It‟s identical to ours.” When we were finally seated at the table, questions began to fly. I sensed that Sean and Paul weren‟t in the mood to talk, so I called a halt. “Excuse me,” I said. “These two guys have been through a lot in the last twenty-four hours. May I suggest that we enjoy our food and each other‟s company for now? After dinner, we can play the taped interview and you can ask additional questions.” “Please, Dad,” Sean said. “Yeah,” Paul said, “it‟s good to forget about that stuff for a bit.” “Sure,” Ian said. “The important thing is that you‟re here, and you‟re safe.” “Agreed,” Randy said. When we‟d finished dinner and cleared the table, I said, “Robbie, it‟s time for your bath.” “Aw, Dad,” he said. “Don‟t argue, kiddo,” I said. “You‟ve been extra good today, but it‟s also extra late.” “Okay,” he said, “I‟m going.” “We‟ll come tuck you in after a bit,” I said. “See you in the morning,” Robbie said. He gave Sean and Paul each a hug. Ian looked as though he was about to speak, and I said, “Don‟t even think about a motel. There are two bedrooms downstairs with freshly made beds, and your names are on them.” “Okay, thanks,” Ian said. “By the way,” Mike said, “Doc Jenkins gave both of these guys a clean

bill of health.” “After he said it was a miracle that they‟d survived. Refill everyone‟s glasses, babe, and I‟ll start the tape.” He refilled our glasses, and I pushed the button. While it was playing, I secured the front door and turned off the outside lights, knowing that Randy and Ian could access their car by using the people door downstairs. Then I pushed the button to close the gate. The tape came to an end, and our newest guests sat in stunned silence, looking at their sons. Before anyone could say a thing, the phone rang. I looked at the area code, set the phone back on the table, and grabbed a pen and yellow pad before I pushed the speaker button. “Hello,” I said. “George Martin?” a voice said. “Yes.” “Frank Maynard here.” I wrote “DDO, FBI” on the pad in large block letters and passed it around. “Good evening, Mr. Maynard,” I said. “Fancy hearing from you.” “I hear you‟ve had a bit of excitement down there in Maggie Valley,” he said. “Not us,” I said. “We do, however, have a couple of guests who‟ve been through something of an ordeal.” “So I‟m told. I just wanted to give you a heads-up about something.” “Don‟t tell me, let me guess, the pissing contest between agencies is in full flower.” “Collegiality prevents me from being quite so blunt,” he said, “but yes, the turf war has begun.” “That‟s what I was afraid of,” I said. “One of my people from Atlanta is on the way to see you as we speak,” he said. “He‟ll be there in the morning.” “Atlanta, not Asheville?” I said. “All we have in Asheville is a resident agent,” he said, “and this thing is way over his head.” “We‟re 99.9 percent certain that we know where the boys were being held,” I said. “Really?” he said. “We had a semi-retired country doctor stop by to check our guests for

injuries and/or ill effects. He was here when I interviewed them, and he‟s certain that the house they were in is an abandoned home just across the ridge from us.” “That‟s good to know, and it will certainly save a lot of time.” “I should, out of courtesy, call the local sheriff,” I said. “Why?” he said. “Two reasons,” I said. “One, I know him rather well, and he‟s a good friend of my sheriff‟s, and two, people up here in these hills don‟t talk to outsiders much. He can get answers from the locals that your guy from Atlanta won‟t be able to get.” “Point taken. Give him a call in the morning, if you will. What‟s his name, by the way?” “Dan Sutton,” I said. “Yes,” he said, “I‟ve heard Walter speak of him, now that I think about it.” “By the way, the boys‟ fathers are here, and we‟re all on the speaker.” “They made good time,” he said. “I‟ll bet Rupert had a hand in that.” “Rupert?” I parroted. “Dr. Sanderson‟s contact at the agency he sometimes works for,” he said. “I just got a call from him, which is how I knew to call you.” “Yeah, they had highway patrol escorts from Staunton, Virginia, all the way to Maggie Valley.” “Good,” he said. “Mr. Maynard,” I said. “Please call me Frank,” he said. “We‟ve been through a few cases together now.” “Just one question, then, Frank,” I said. “Is the guy from Atlanta going to be in charge of everything?” “I don‟t know yet, but I‟m working toward that goal.” “Better you than me. I think I prefer my own simple little bailiwick.” “Sometimes I envy you in that respect,” he said. “Does anyone else have any questions for me?” “Ian Sanderson here,” Ian said. “I haven‟t heard from Rupert in a while.” “He‟ll be in touch with you in the morning,” Frank said. “Does he have

George‟s number?” “Yes,” Ian said, “and my cell phone number, as well.” “Ian,” I said, “we‟re in kind of a dead pocket down here in this little valley. You probably won‟t have much of a signal unless you walk up our driveway to the road. He‟ll need to use our landline to call you. Also, we have a cable modem for Internet access.” “Okay,” Ian said, “George‟s landline number it is.” Frank bade us good night and ended the call. “God,” I said, after I pushed the “off” button, “I hate this bureaucratic bullshit.” “Be glad you don‟t have to work in the Pentagon,” Randy said. “Yeah,” I said, “I guess when you come down to it, aggravation is relative, isn‟t it.” “I‟m gonna go check on Robbie,” Mike said. “Why don‟t you take these folks downstairs and show them where the people door is. They‟ll need stuff out of their car.” “Sure,” I said. “Just a minute,” Paul said. “Dad, we owe George and Mike some money.” “Excuse me?” Randy said. “I turned their generator on around dawn, and it ran until what, nearly three? Must have burned up a ton of fuel.” “Don‟t worry about it,” I said. “At least not tonight.” “George,” Paul said, “the warmth from that motor probably saved our lives, and it just isn‟t right that we don‟t reimburse you guys.” Mike came back into the kitchen and said, “Robbie‟s out cold. Do you guys have plans for Christmas?” “Just a quiet Christmas at home,” Ian said, “why?” “Since you‟re already here,” Mike said, “and Christmas is just a couple of days away, why waste one of them on the road? You‟re more than welcome to stay here until after Christmas—we‟ve got plenty of room, and we love to have company.” “Yeah,” I said, “Robbie seems quite taken with these guys. I‟m expecting him to place an order for an older brother or brothers any day now.” Ian and Randy looked at each other and shrugged. “Sure, why not?” Randy said. “We haven‟t even bought a tree yet.” “True,” Ian said, “we were waiting for the boys to get home.”

“They helped Robbie decorate our tree earlier this evening,” I said. We went down to their car and helped them carry things to the guest rooms. When I saw their laptops, I said, “Before you get too settled, let‟s go up to the loft and get you into our cable modem.” “Speaking of laptops,” Sean said, “ours were in our bags on the train.” “Not anymore,” Ian said. “Rupert‟s people recovered them, and your cell phones, when the train stopped in Philadelphia.” “Good,” Sean said. Internet access taken care of, we said good night to our guests. “Guys,” I said, “we were up at five and on the road by six, so it‟s time for Mike and me to hit the sack. We set the alarm when we were downstairs, but because of Thor, the motion detectors in the house are disabled. Help yourselves to anything you need.” “And, if the line for the downstairs bathroom gets too long in the morning,” Mike said, “feel free to use the master bath up here. Sean and Paul know where it is.”

Maggie Valley, NC 0800 23 December 2010 George Martin

THE next morning, I overslept for some reason, and when I finally made it into the kitchen, I found Mike, Ian, and Randy at the table sipping coffee. I walked over to the table, said, “Good morning, all,” and I bent down to give Mike a kiss. “Where‟s Robbie?” I said. “His bed is empty.” “It snowed a lot last night,” he said, “and he‟s outside making a snowman.” “By himself?” “Of course not, babe,” Mike said. “His two new best friends are with him.” “I guess that explains why Thor is sitting by the front door.” “Yep,” he said. Mike poured me a cup of coffee, and I sat down and said, “You guys sleep okay?” “Are you kidding?” Ian said. “After a number of sleepless nights spent worrying about the boys, we slept like the proverbial logs.” “How are your boys this morning?” I said. “They seem to be totally unfazed by their experience,” Randy said. “Ah, the resilience of youth,” Ian said. “Maybe,” I said, “but don‟t take that for granted. Traumatic experiences have a way of affecting people months, even years later.” “Yeah,” Mike said. “If they ever need to talk to somebody, we know a top-notch child psychologist in Atlanta who more than likely could refer you

to someone in DC.” “Thanks,” Ian said. “However, the boys are in Charleston.” “I wouldn‟t count on that for long,” I said. “Whatever do you mean?” Ian said. “Something they said before you got here yesterday. Don‟t be shocked if they ask to transfer to Georgetown so they can live at home.” “Really?” Randy said. “We were with them for Thanksgiving, and they seemed content at The Citadel, despite the obvious difficulties of being gay in a military school.” “Yeah, but they‟ve had a life-threatening experience, and that changes how you look at things.” “Thanks,” Ian said, “we‟ll be prepared for it when it happens.” “I‟ll say this,” Mike said. “The way they escaped over that kind of terrain in the dark speaks volumes about their character and physical stamina.” “Both of them were Eagle Scouts,” Randy said. “And the four of us have done a lot of hiking in the mountains near our cabin,” Ian said. “Let‟s talk about Christmas,” I said. “What about it?” Mike said. “Do you think we can persuade the folks at the Grove Park Inn to make room for four more reservations?” I said. “If not, we need to go to the grocery store.” “I don‟t know why not,” Mike said. “We‟ve had Thanksgiving and Christmas brunch there every year for the past several years. If not, so what? It‟ll be fun to have Christmas dinner here for a change.” “We don‟t want to disrupt your plans,” Ian said. “It‟s not a problem,” I said. “The Grove Park Inn over in Asheville is a great place to eat. We started going there for Thanksgiving and Christmas when we bought this place simply because cooking for two isn‟t such a fun thing to do.” “Yeah,” Mike said. “Even a little turkey would go to waste.” “Now that I think of it, why don‟t we just cancel our reservations and cook here. A great big Christmas celebration for six and a half people would be great.” “That‟s the best idea I‟ve heard in a long time,” Mike said.

“Neither Mike nor I have any relatives, so having a huge family-style Christmas will be a treat.” “If you‟ll let us help,” Ian said, “we‟re both pretty handy in the kitchen.” I retrieved two of the pens and yellow pads Robbie had brought me the day before and placed them on the table. “Let‟s plan a Christmas dinner,” I said. The four of us put our heads together and got to work. We‟d just finished a menu and shopping list when I heard the door open, followed by the sound of Robbie running up to the table. “We made a snowman,” he said excitedly. “You did?” I said. “That‟s great. Do you know where the camera is?” “Yes, Sir. It‟s up in the loft in the desk drawer.” “Why don‟t you go get it while we put our coats on,” I said, “so we can go outside?” He hurried upstairs, and Mike said, “I guess we‟d better go play the proud parents.” “Yep,” I said. We all put on outerwear and went out onto the deck, with Robbie close on our heels. “Okay, kiddo,” I said when he handed me the camera. “Where is it?” “Next to the driveway, Dad,” he said. “The wind blew a bunch of snow into a pile there.” “Those piles are called drifts,” I said. “Yes, Sir,” he said. “Lead on, kiddo,” I said. We followed Robbie down the stairs and across the driveway. He was right about the drifts. A few years earlier, we‟d built a low wall of stone, and the snow was piled high all along it. Sean and Paul were putting the finishing touches on a snowman that was taller than Robbie. “It looks great,” I said. “Go over there and stand between your new friends, and I‟ll take your picture.” I took several digital pictures, and we examined the snowman carefully. The boys had done a great job. Robbie‟s excitement was contagious, and it put the rest of us in a sort of festive mood, but I said, “Robbie, you‟ve been out here for quite a while, and your nose is getting red. I think we‟d all better go inside. The snowman will

still be here this afternoon—I don‟t think it‟s gonna warm up anytime soon.” “Okay, Dad,” he said. He ran back to the cabin and went up the stairs at a more leisurely pace. “George,” Ian said, “that stream has the most wonderful sound. I thought the stream by our cabin was noisy, but this one is a lot more so.” “Doesn‟t it, though? When we‟re here in the summer, our favorite thing to do is put a hammock on the deck and just lie there listening.” “How big is your lot?” Randy said. “The original lot line ended where this wall is,” I said. “You can see the wall on the other side of the cabin—it was approximately three acres. Over a period of years, however, we‟ve purchased the two vacant lots downstream from us and a strip of land on the upstream side that runs some eight hundred feet to the next parcel.” “Yeah,” Mike said, “nobody‟s gonna build anything next door, ever.” “And the property line across the creek is roughly where the land becomes more or less vertical,” I said. “How often do you come up here?” Ian said. “Two weeks in the summer, a few days in the fall when the leaves are turning, and long weekends at Thanksgiving and Christmas,” I said. “Since Mike is a pilot and has access to a plane, we also fly up here one weekend a month, schedules permitting.” “One of these days,” Mike said, “we‟re gonna retire and move up here permanently.” Our conversation had carried us up the steps and across the deck to the front door, so I held it open for our guests; then we followed them inside. “Is anybody hungry?” I said. Everyone said yes, so I said, “Then instead of taking off our coats, let‟s go down to Joey‟s Pancake House for breakfast.” “Yay,” Robbie said. “It‟s my favorite place other than McDonald‟s.” I locked the front door from the inside and led our guests downstairs to the garage. “We have the third seat up,” I said when we were standing by the car, “so we can hold everyone.” “Looks like my car,” Ian said, “four-wheel drive and all.” “We like it,” Mike said. “At home George drives a city car, but he‟s not allowed to take it on vacation.” “Yeah,” I said, “the taxpayers wouldn‟t appreciate that.”

When Mike backed out of the garage, I said, “The wind blew most of the snow off the driveway.” “Yeah,” Mike said, “but I‟m still glad we have four-wheel drive in this thing.” Mike drove us down the mountain to the highway, and then to Joey‟s where, after a short wait, we were shown to a large table. “Oh, my God,” Randy said as he surveyed the food on the tables around us, “look at all that food.” “That‟s pretty much everyone‟s reaction,” I said, “on their first visit to Joey‟s.” We placed our orders, and while we were waiting for our food, I took out my cell phone and said, “I need to take care of some business.” I dialed information and asked to be connected with the Haywood County Sheriff‟s Office. “Can I help you?” a female operator said. “Sheriff Sutton, please, Captain George Martin from Jacksonville calling.” There was a pause followed by a few clicks. “Hey, George,” Dan said. “Are you in the area?” “Hello, Dan. Yes, we are. In fact, we have some guests, and we‟re at Joey‟s as we speak.” “What can I do for the pride of Jacksonville this morning?” he said. “Oh, puh-leez, Dan,” I said. “Don‟t try to butter me up—especially when I‟m trying to keep you out of trouble.” “Me? In trouble? How?” “Sometime this morning, one of the FINGs from Atlanta is going to descend upon your county.” “Shit,” he said. “Exactly,” I said, “and wait until you hear why.” “I‟m all ears,” he said. I gave him an extremely condensed version of the boys‟ story, and he said, “That‟s quite a tale.” “Yes, it is,” I said. “Guess who I got a call from last night?” “The president?” “He‟s high up,” I said, “but not quite that high. Frank Maynard called me. Know who he is?” “Can‟t say as how I do,” he said.

“Besides being a good friend and golfing buddy of my sheriff, Frank is also the Deputy Director of Operations for the FBI,” I said. “That‟s pretty high, all right,” he said. “What did he want?” “He told me that the pissing contest has already begun in this case,” I said. “He ordered the guy from Atlanta up here but doesn‟t know if the FING will come out on top of the turf war or not.” “Maybe this would be a good time for me to go fishing,” he said. “Kind of cold for that, isn‟t it?” I said. “Yeah,” he said. “Anyway,” I said, “I just wanted to give you a heads-up.” “Forewarned is forearmed,” he said. “Exactly,” I said. “Thanks, George,” he said. “You have, once again, made my day.” “Dan, you carry a cell phone, don‟t you?” I said. “Sure,” he said. “May I have the number, just in case?” I said. “Here you go,” he said, and he recited the number while I wrote it down on a napkin. “You‟ve got mine,” I said. “If you have caller ID at your end of the line.” “Yep,” he said. “Catch you later, Dan,” I said. I put my phone back in my pocket. “FING?” Ian said. “Local law enforcement epithet for the FBI,” I said. “Stands for „effing FBI‟, with emphasis on the „effing‟.” “I had to deal with them a couple of times when I did a tour with Military Intelligence,” Randy said. “They do try one‟s patience, don‟t they?” Our food arrived, and conversation ended for a while.

Maggie Valley, NC 0730 23 December 2010 The Thugs

FAT THUG

woke to the sound of a door slamming. Disoriented at first, he looked around, saw Skinny Thug standing in front of the mirror, and remembered where he was. “It sure felt good to sleep in a real bed in a warm room,” he said. “And it felt even better to use a real bathroom instead of an abandoned outhouse. That fucker was cold.” “Yeah,” Skinny Thug said, “but it‟s time to get your ass out of bed. The guy at the garage said he‟ll have the part he needs as soon as the parts house opens.” “What‟s the hurry? It‟s still gonna take him a while to get that old heap running. Good thing we decided to check into this motel yesterday afternoon and get cleaned up—if the car had died up in the hills, we‟d have been shit out of luck.” “What‟s the hurry?” Skinny Thug said. “I‟ll tell you what‟s the hurry: I want to have breakfast, I want to get the job done, and I want to get the fuck out of this miserable place—that‟s the hurry. Now get out of that bed and get your ass in gear.”

Maggie Valley, NC 0830 23 December 2010 Ian

WE

FINISHED our breakfast, consuming an astonishing amount of food, and then Randy and I got into a tug of war with our hosts over the check. We

won, but not without difficulty. As we pulled out of the restaurant parking lot, George said, “Sean, would you and Paul like to ride up the hill and take a look at where you were the other night?” “Sure,” Sean said. “Absolutely,” Paul said. “Aren‟t you worried about the bad guys being around?” I said. “Not particularly, and even if they are, they‟re not going to be looking for a party of six men and a little boy,” George said. “Why don‟t we go see if Uncle Cyrus is home, Mike?” “Yeah,” Mike said, “before we go tramping around his pasture, we ought to clear it with him.” “We‟re referring to Cyrus Hall,” George said. “We call him Mr. Hall to his face, but he‟s an uncle of our friend Lucinda, and she introduced him as Uncle Cyrus.” “Yeah,” Mike said. “If it hadn‟t been for her introduction, he would never have sold us the strip of land upstream from the cabin. It had been in his family for a few generations.” “And don‟t be fooled by his „good old boy‟ persona,” George said. “Underneath that cornpone exterior is a shrewd old man.” “Right,” Mike said. “Once we‟d struck a deal for that strip of land, Uncle Cyrus tossed terms like „capital gains‟ and „installment sale‟ around like a pro. Turns out the old guy owns a lot of land in this county.” We drove up the mountain about half a mile past George and Mike‟s driveway; then Mike turned onto a gravel driveway, which led up and to the right. It ended in front of a small but neat house with an open porch across its front. I could see an old man with a white beard sitting all bundled up in a chair on the porch. Mike stopped the car, and George led us up the walk. “Good morning, Mr. Hall,” George said. “Kinda cold to be out here, isn‟t it?” “Not if you‟re used to it,” Mr. Hall said. “Hello, George, Mike. Who are all these folks that you‟ve brought to see me?” “Well,” George said, “from left to right, they are Dr. Sanderson and his son Sean, and Col. Richardson and his son Paul. I think you know the little guy beside me.” “That I do. You folks sit a spell. Sorry I don‟t have enough chairs, but I reckon the young folks can sit on the edge of the porch just like I did as a boy.”

The old man spat into a coffee can on the floor beside him. I took a chair near the old man, noting as I did that there was a shotgun at his feet. When we were all settled, the old man said, “So, George, what brings you folks up here this morning?” “We‟d like to take a look at your pasture over there across the road,” George said, “and wanted to ask your permission.” “You‟re not wanting to buy it from me, I hope, because it ain‟t for sale,” Mr. Hall said. “No, Sir,” George said. “We know better than that. The thing is, these two young men had quite an adventure night before last, and part of it involved your pasture.” “Do tell.” George gave him a synopsis of the boys‟ capture and escape. “Well,” the old man said, “I never…. Imagine that, a couple of city boys climbing over that ridge in the winter, barefoot, and wearing only their skivvies. I must say I‟m dumbfounded. Go ahead and look all you like, just watch out for the cow patties.” The old man cackled at his own humor. “They may be city boys, Sir,” I said, “but both of them were Eagle Scouts, and we‟ve done a fair amount of hiking with them on the Blue Ridge over in Virginia.” “Boy Scouts?” the old man said. “Well, that explains it, don‟t it? I‟ve always admired them people. How are my great-nephews doing down there in Florida, George?” “Working at McDonald‟s and going to college.” “Imagine that,” the old man said. “Two boys from this family in college, and all the way down there in Florida. Ain‟t that something.” “Oh, my God,” Paul said. “Do you hear that? It‟s them.” “Hear what, son?” the old man said. “All I hear is an old car laboring up the hill. Sound travels a long way up, and I reckon it‟s about a half mile down the road right now.” “I‟m talking about the engine noise, Sir,” Paul said. “Hear that tap-tap, pause, tap-tap? It‟s the bad guys‟ car.” “Are you sure, Paul?” Randy said. “Dad,” Paul said, “Sean and I sat in that cold and miserable little room for days, and we heard them go out to their car several times a day and start the motor to run the heater. I‟d know that sound in my sleep.” “They won‟t be able to see us, will they?” Sean said.

“I don‟t think so,” George said. “The road goes through a cut just below the house, and they‟d have to turn around in their seats and look back in order to see you—but if it makes you feel better, lie back on the porch when they get close.” “Somebody needs to get their tag number,” Paul said. “I‟ll handle that,” George said. “In fact, I‟ve still got the camera in my pocket—maybe I can get a good shot of the car, tag and all. Robbie, you stay here with Mr. Hall and your new friends. We‟re going to walk down the driveway and get a bit closer to the road.” “Yes, Sir.” “Good boy.” George bent over, retrieved a gun from an ankle holster, and stuffed it under his belt in the small of his back. Then he fished the camera out of his coat pocket, and we followed him down the hill to a point on a small rise, where there was a good and fairly close view of the road. The car was getting much closer, and I could hear the valve-tapping sounds Paul was talking about. When you knew what to listen for, it was quite distinctive. An ancient Malibu appeared over the crest of the hill and chugged past us—I could see two men in the front seat, and the passenger was looking in our general direction. George clicked away with the camera until the car was almost out of sight while Mike wrote down the tag number. As we were walking back to the porch, I heard tires spinning and the revving of an engine, so we looked back. “Shit,” George said. “They‟re coming back.” We stood near the porch and waited while the car skidded to a halt behind Mike‟s Explorer. Two bearded men jumped out of the car and stormed up the walk. “What were you doing taking pictures of us?” the driver yelled. “Yeah, we want that camera right now,” the other one said. The driver reached into his pocket, but before I could begin to react, George had a gun in one hand and a badge in the other. “Police!” George yelled. “Hold it right there. Now, pull your hand out of that pocket very slowly and very carefully. I want to see four hands in the air right now.” I heard the unmistakable sound of a pump-action shotgun being cocked, followed by a loud blast. Then the old man said from the porch, “Do what he says, boys, and don‟t even think about running. I may be old, but I can have a load of buckshot in both your butts faster than you can tell the tale.” “Col. Richardson,” George said, “during your tour in military

intelligence, did you learn how to frisk a suspect?” “Yes, I did.” “Would you care to do the honors?” “You bet I would.” “Keep those hands up,” George said, “and don‟t even so much as twitch.” I watched, somewhat proudly, as Randy checked the two guys and produced a couple of guns for his efforts. “Robbie,” George said. “Yes, Dad.” “Show Col. Richardson where my handcuffs are.” “In the console, right?” “That‟s right. Be sure you stay on the opposite side of the car and out of the line of fire.” “Yes, Sir.” When the two men were handcuffed, George ordered them facedown on the ground. Then he pulled out his cell phone and pushed some buttons. “Hello, Dan. George Martin again. … Do you know where Cyrus Hall lives? … That‟s right, about half a mile up the road from our place. We‟re standing in his yard, and I‟ve got a couple of prisoners for you. … Long story. How long will it take you to get here? … Good, see you in fifteen or twenty minutes.” “Mike,” George said, “see what‟s in that car, will you?” “You got it.” Randy and I went with Mike to the Malibu and looked inside. The backseat contained three large gasoline cans. From the way the cushions were pushed down, I guessed the cans were full. Mike pulled the keys out of the ignition and unlocked the trunk. “Shit,” he said, “there‟s enough gasoline in here to burn anything to the ground.” “Looks like these guys were on their way up the road to destroy the evidence,” Mike said when we were again standing beside George, looking down at his prisoners. “I wonder if they‟ll tell us who put them up to this?” “Give me five minutes alone with one of them,” Randy said, “and he‟ll talk.” “Sorry, Randy,” George said, “that‟s against the rules these days.” We stood for quite a while talking; then I heard the sound of motors and

a couple of minutes later, two sheriff‟s cars pulled into the driveway, lights flashing. A tall and somewhat distinguished-looking man got out of the passenger side of the lead car. He was in late middle age, had white hair and a small mustache, and walked up to where George stood. “George,” he said, “we‟ve got to stop meeting like this.” “What do you mean, Dan?” George said. “Seems like every time I see you, a crime has either just been committed, or is about to be committed, or one is in the middle of happening,” the man said. “Sorry, Dan,” George said. “I guess it comes with the territory.” “Why don‟t you and I walk over to Mr. Hall‟s porch,” Dan said, “so you can tell me what‟s going on while my guys take charge of your prisoners?” He looked up at the old man and said, “I think it‟s safe to put that thing down, Cyrus, now that we‟re here.” “Aw, shucks, Dan, this is the most fun I‟ve had in years.” “I know, Cyrus,” the sheriff said, “but this isn‟t like the old days when you and I worked together. You can‟t just shoot ‟em and not worry about it like we used to.” “I know, that‟s why I quit. Damn civilization, anyhow.” He ejected the shells from the chamber, placed the shotgun carefully on the floor behind his chair, and sat down. George and the sheriff talked quietly for a while; then they walked back over to us. Meanwhile, the sheriff‟s deputies had loaded the two men into the other car and retrieved the guns from Randy. “Okay, George,” the sheriff said, “introduction time.” George introduced all of us to the sheriff; then we had another look at the old Malibu. “Looks like those boys were gonna destroy some evidence,” the sheriff said. “So it appears,” George said. “Well, let‟s go have a look at what they were going to burn down,” the sheriff said. “Do you know where it is, Dan?” George said. “That I do, if it‟s the old Bell place.” The sheriff turned to face the porch and said, “We‟ll be back in a bit, Cyrus, and a tow truck will be along directly to haul that piece of junk out of

here.” “I‟ll keep an eye on it till they get here,” the old man said. Our party got in Mike‟s car, and we followed the sheriff‟s car up the road. It was a fairly long ride, but we finally came to the end of the pavement and the beginning of a gravel road. Eventually we turned onto an old track that led us up a narrow defile—more like a pair of little-used ruts—that must have extended at least a mile. Finally, we stopped in front of a little clapboard house that looked almost ready to collapse under its own weight. It was in the middle of a small clearing that might have once been a yard but was now overgrown with vegetation and surrounded by evergreen trees. There was a sagging porch in front, and we walked through the overgrown yard to get to it. George had been taking the occasional picture as Mike drove along, and when he got out of the car, he started taking some pictures of the little house. “Is this the place, boys?” the sheriff said. “I don‟t know, Sir,” Sean said. “We never saw the front of the house at all, and we only saw the back of it after dark.” It didn‟t take long to find the room where the boys had been held, given that it was one of only four rooms in the house. “You don‟t want to go in that bathroom,” Paul said. “The toilet hasn‟t been flushed in years.” “Yeah,” Sean said, “it‟s beyond bad in there.” “Unfortunately,” the sheriff said, “we need you to show us how you got out.” “Yes, Sir,” Paul said. We went into the little bathroom and tried not to gag at the smell. Sean walked over to the tub and pulled up the linoleum and said, “See, there‟s the hole we made in the floor.” “And there are the clothes hangers we used,” Paul said, pointing. “How did you guys stand the smell?” Randy said. “We didn‟t have a choice, Dad,” Paul said. “Desperate times call for desperate measures,” Sean quoted. “I‟ve seen enough,” the sheriff said, “and we‟ll get a photographer in here later when my forensics people go to work on this place. Let‟s go outside and look at the back. Then I‟ll get on the radio—there‟s no cell coverage here, but thanks to repeater towers, I can still communicate.” George took a few pictures of the room and the bathroom, and said, “You guys can put these in your scrapbook.”

When we were standing behind the house under the bathroom window, we could see where the boys had crawled out from under the house right up to the place where snow had obliterated all traces of their passage. “And you walked to the ridge,” the sheriff said, “in a straight line?” “Pretty much,” Sean said. “It was dark,” Paul said, “and we had to go around a few obstacles, but we went straight ahead as much as possible.” “What kind of obstacles?” George said. “That fence, for example,” Paul said. “We may have jogged a few feet to one side in order to find a better place to get across it,” Sean said, “but then we kept on in the same direction.” “How high you think that ridge is, Dan?” George said. “A little over five hundred feet, I‟d say,” the sheriff said. “It‟s a good thing you guys turned to the left when you got to the top,” George said. “Look what happens in the other direction.” “Yeah,” Sean said, “it starts to go straight up for a while.” “Much as I hate to ask it,” the sheriff said, “I‟m going to need you folks to come down to my office and make some statements.” “We understand,” I said. “Dan,” George said, “if I give you my taped interview with the boys, can you make a copy of it?” “Certainly, George.” “Good,” George said. “Two copies would be even better—that guy from Atlanta is going to want the tape. No way he‟s gonna get the original.” “My people will take care of it.” “By the way, Dan,” George said, “if I understood you and Uncle Cyrus correctly, he must have been a deputy once.” “That he was,” the sheriff said. “He was in his forties at the time and had decided he was tired of farming. I was twenty years younger, and we both became deputies at the same time. He would have been a good one except for one thing—then, as now, he was way too independent. After three or four years, he went back to farming.” “George,” Sean said, “do we have to go walking around that pasture? I think I‟ve relived enough of what happened.” “Not if you don‟t want to,” George said. “Dan?” “I‟m satisfied,” the sheriff said. “Combined with the boys‟ testimony,

what we have here is enough to put those two guys away—this place will be covered with their fingerprints, so no need for overkill.” “Let‟s go, then,” George said. “When you get back to your office, Dan, give me a call and we‟ll come running.” “Count on it, George. It‟ll be a while, though. I‟ve got to wait here for more of my people to arrive.” Mike stopped at Mr. Hall‟s house long enough for George to tell him what we‟d found and to thank him for his help. The old Malibu was being winched onto a flatbed when we got there.

Maggie Valley, NC 0100 23 December 2010 Ian

WHEN we got back to the cabin, there was a fuel truck at the back refilling the tank. “Good thing I gave those guys the code to the gate,” George said. “Yeah,” Mike said. As soon as we got out of Mike‟s car, I made an excuse to go outside instead of into the house. I motioned for Sean to go with me, and Paul followed. I retrieved a credit card from my wallet, handed it to Sean, and said, “Go see if that driver can handle plastic. If he can‟t, Randy and I probably have enough cash on us to take care of the bill.” “Yes, Sir,” he said. He and Paul went to the back of the cabin to look for the driver, and I went upstairs to the kitchen. “Where are the boys?” George said. “Paying for the fuel.” He started to say something, but I stopped him, saying, “George, don‟t spoil a budding friendship by arguing with me on this one, okay?” “Okay, thanks.” The kitchen telephone rang. George went to answer it, and I went down the hall to use the bathroom. When I returned to the kitchen, he was smiling, so I said, “Good news, I trust?” “In a way. That was Frank Maynard of the FBI calling to tell me that his guy from Atlanta has been involved in an accident and won‟t be here until tomorrow. When I told him what had happened a little while ago, he said he‟d call the guy off until he got a report from our sheriff.”

“Where‟s the agent?” I said. “Languishing away in a little motel in West Deliverance, somewhere in north Georgia, waiting for someone from Atlanta to come get him.” “No car rental agencies in West Deliverance, I gather?” “None whatever. Where did Randy go?” George said. “I think he went down to see what the boys are up to. Where‟s your other half?” “Robbie dragged him outside to look at the snowman again.” “That‟s one cute little boy,” I said. “Cute, smart, and talented,” George said. “Talented?” “Yeah. Apparently he‟s a musical prodigy.” “Is he taking lessons?” “Yes, he is,” George said. “Piano and organ. Tom Foster is teaching him piano and organ.” “Is he a good teacher?” “You bet,” George said. “Dr. Foster is a professor at the University of North Florida, as well as the organist and choirmaster of the Episcopal Church of the Good Shepherd in Jacksonville. He also travels a lot, giving concerts here and there. He‟s also family, and a friend of ours.” “You mean he‟s gay?” “Absolutely,” George said. “His partner Noah Webster is a bass/baritone and was among the finalists in… I think it was last year‟s Metropolitan Opera auditions. He‟s gonna have a stellar career.” “Tom Foster. Hmm. I wonder why that name is familiar?” “He performed at the National Cathedral a couple of years ago, maybe longer,” George said. “Does that help?” “Is he the guy who asks for a telephone number from the audience, makes up a tune from it, and improvises?” “That‟s Tom,” George said. “We heard him when he performed at the Cathedral, and he was amazing.” “Do you guys like grilled chicken breasts?” George said. “Absolutely.” “I think we have plenty of time before Dan calls us,” he said, “so I‟m

gonna start lunch.” “May I help?” “Of course.” By the time everyone else had returned to the great room, George and I had prepared a light lunch—grilled chicken breasts, vegetables, and a salad. While we were eating, the conversation took a serious tone when George said, “I hope you guys realize your troubles are far from over.” “How so?” Sean said. “Think about it,” George said. “You said there were four guys involved in hustling you off of that train, and we‟ve only got two of them.” “Yeah,” Paul said. “Not to mention the fact that all four of them were probably just hired hands. The bad guy or guys at the top of the food chain are still out there, and presumably they‟re still anxious to obtain whatever information they wanted from you.” “You‟re saying that we shouldn‟t get complacent,” Randy said. “Bingo,” George said. “You‟re a military man, Randy, so I presume you know your way around handguns?” “Certainly. And I‟ve made certain that the rest of our little family does as well.” “Own any?” George said. “I have two or three at our house in Arlington, and there are a couple of hunting rifles in our cabin.” “I don‟t know how easy it is to get carry permits in Virginia,” George said, “but you might want to look into it.” “Yeah,” I said. “Although I‟m your basic ivory-tower academic type, even I can see and appreciate the necessity.” “When we go into Waynesville,” George said, “I‟ll ask Dan if he can dig up a couple of handguns for you.” “Would he do that?” Randy said. “All police departments have a cache of confiscated weapons,” George said. “Most of them are disposed of—destroyed, usually—but there are exceptions. The sheriff‟s department in a small mountain town like Waynesville might be just a bit less hidebound than a big-city department, so it won‟t hurt to ask.” We all tried to help clean up the kitchen, but Mike put a stop to it,

saying, “This little kitchen is way too small for six big guys to work in at the same time. George has something to do up in the loft, and the rest of us can draw straws, okay?” “What do I have to do?” George said. “Babe, we talked about this last night after we went to bed, remember? Keys, combinations, and stuff.” “Right,” George said. “Come with me, Robbie, and you can practice a bit.” “Practice?” Randy said. “He takes piano lessons,” George said, “and he has an electronic keyboard up there.” “Ian, you and the boys go sit somewhere,” Randy said. “Never mind drawing straws. Mike and I will handle this.” “Yes, Sir,” I said. The boys went to the great room, and I sat down at the kitchen table. George returned a few minutes later, handed me a key and a piece of paper, and said, “The key opens the people door downstairs. The top number on the paper is the combination to the gate, and the bottom number is the alarm code. I also wrote down the emergency code phrase, in case you have a problem with the code and they call.” “Thanks, George.” “Have you guys done your Christmas shopping?” George said. “Yeah, but it‟s all at our house in Arlington. Why?” “After we leave the sheriff‟s office this afternoon, Mike and I need to run over to Asheville and do a quick drive-by inspection of our rental houses. There‟s a couple of malls over there, and we could drop you off at one of them, if you want to shop.” “It would be nice to have a couple of small items under that tree for the boys,” I said. From the kitchen, Randy said, “George, how many rental houses do you guys have?” “We have five in Asheville,” George said, “and at least that many in Jacksonville. We mostly buy bargain-priced properties, sometimes even distressed properties. In Jacksonville, we have the skills to fix them up, but we have to hire help up here.” “You have the skills, babe,” Mike said. “I‟m just your star gofer.”

“Yeah,” George said, “and gofers are necessary.” “Seriously,” Mike said, “George is a pretty good carpenter, and he can do wiring and roofing.” “Everything but plumbing and concrete work,” George said. “What do you think, Randy?” I said. “Want to go to the mall?” “Yes, but I‟d like to ride along when these guys drive by their rental houses and pick their brains a bit. You and I have been talking about doing something like that, but as you know, we‟ve been pretty clueless as to how to begin.” “Ride along it is, then,” George said. “We can have dinner at a restaurant over there and stop by a grocery store on the way back.” “Sounds like a plan,” I said. The sheriff called shortly after that, and we drove into Waynesville to his office to make our statements. While we were all in a waiting room, the sheriff came out to talk to us, and George said, “Are our bad boys talking?” “Sorry, they‟ve lawyered up for the moment,” the sheriff said. “Do we at least know where they‟re from, and for that matter, how they knew where that old house was?” George said. “Now that‟s interesting. It turns out that one of them, the fat one, is one of the surviving members of the family that built that little house. Amazing how good old pioneer blood can get so thin in just a few generations.” “And the other one?” George said. “Buddy of his from a stay in prison,” the sheriff said. “Figures,” George said. “Dan, do you know any place we could acquire a couple of handguns for our guests? Col. Richardson, being in the military, has been trained, and he says the others have as well.” “If you go through channels, it‟ll take a while,” the sheriff said. “My point exactly,” George said. “The rest of the bad guys, including their bosses, are still out there. Col. Richardson says he has guns, but they‟re in his house in Arlington, Virginia, and that‟s a long way from here.” “Let me make a couple of calls, George,” the sheriff said. “Thanks, Dan.” “Speaking of the bad guys,” the sheriff said, “each of them had a cell phone.” “Great. You can find out who they called and who called them.” “That will take weeks for us to do.”

“That‟s where the FING comes in handy,” George said. “They excel at that technical stuff. Want me to make a call?” “Please.” George produced his cell phone, punched in a few numbers, and waited. After working his way through a couple of secretaries or intermediaries, he finally said, “Hello, Frank, we‟re in the office of the sheriff of Haywood County, and we need your help. … Each of our bad guys had a cell phone, but the local people don‟t have any way to trace calls quickly. … Good, I was hoping you would say that. I‟m going to hand my phone to Sheriff Dan Sutton.” George put his hand over the microphone, said, “This is Frank Maynard, DDO of the FBI,” and handed the phone to the sheriff. The sheriff talked for a while, pulled a notebook and pen from his pocket, and wrote the phone number he‟d just been given. Then he said goodbye. When he handed the phone back to George, he was smiling. “Those guys are good for something after all, aren‟t they?” he said. “They have their uses,” George said. “Now,” the sheriff said, “I‟ve only got two people available that can take statements, so who wants to go first?” “My son and I will,” I said, “if that‟s okay.” “Follow me, then,” he said. The two officers who took our statements were very efficient, and Randy and Paul were interviewed perhaps fifteen minutes after we were. Then it was George and Mike‟s turn. “Robbie,” George said, “you stay here with your new friends, okay?” “Okay, Dad.” When George and Mike reappeared, they were each carrying a small paper bag. I started to say something, but George put a finger to his lips and pointed toward the door. When we were in the car and a few blocks away, he explained, “When my buddy Dan said that he would „make a couple of calls‟, that was more or less a „wink, wink, nod, nod‟. He handed us these bags as we were leaving.” He passed the two bags to Randy and me, saying, “These two guns officially don‟t exist and aren‟t traceable. Enough said. We‟ll stop somewhere along the way and pick up some ammunition for them.” “Thanks, George,” Randy said. “I‟m sure we all feel better.” “Yeah, we really appreciate this,” I said.

“If you get pulled over somewhere on the way home,” George said, “you‟d better have them out of sight.” “Don‟t worry about that,” Randy said. “Even if someone sees the guns, my military ID should see us through any difficulties.” “All right, then,” George said. We arrived in a middle-class neighborhood of Asheville, and our hosts pointed out the rental houses one by one. All of them were nice-looking houses—the word “bungalow” best described three of them. Randy and I asked a ton of questions about original cost, cost of improvements, and rental income, and our hosts patiently answered each one. “Okay,” George said, “that‟s the last of them. Time to go to the mall, I think.” “Dad, can you get me some cash from an ATM?” Sean said. “I never got my wallet back from the thugs.” “Certainly,” I said. “By the way, you need to call the bank and make a report.” “Been there, done that. That‟s why I borrowed your laptop last night. Paul took care of his notifications at the same time.” “Yeah,” Paul said. “But we‟ve still gotta get new driver‟s licenses when we get home.” “You guys have cars?” George said. “No, Sir,” Sean said. “At home, we take the Metro pretty much everywhere we need to go. If we have to drive somewhere evenings or weekends, we use Dad‟s car or Uncle Randy‟s car.” “Ian,” Mike said, “if you‟re going to an ATM, do you want to find a branch of one of the big banks, so it won‟t cost you?” “Actually, Randy and I use credit unions.” “Then why don‟t we stop at a grocery store? You can buy chewing gum or something cheap and get cash back without paying a fee, right?” “That‟s a good idea,” I said, “except for the fact that most checkout cashiers have fairly low limits on the amount of cash you can get back. We‟ll take our chances with the fees at a regular ATM.” “Good enough,” George said. “There‟s a mega-bank branch a couple of blocks from where we are.” “But first,” Mike said, “I just spotted a hardware store.” “Hardware?” George said. “As in ammunition,” Mike said.

“Right you are,” George said. At the hardware store, Randy and I purchased the necessary supplies, and when we were back in the car, he said, “Seeing their display of blank keys made me think about something. The boys‟ keys were stolen, so we ought to have the locks changed the minute we get home.” “Yeah, why didn‟t I think of that?” I said. We headed for the bank, and I said, “Okay, Sean, how much cash do you think you need?” “Can I get a hundred, Dad?” he said. “I‟m good for it. In fact, I can go online and transfer it to your account when we get back to the cabin.” “Paul?” Randy said. “Ditto, Dad.”

Asheville, NC 1500 23 December 2010 Ian

WE TOOK care of our cash problems at the ATM, then went to what George said was the larger of Asheville‟s malls. Then we synchronized our watches, agreed to meet at a set time, and split up. Randy and I went into Macy‟s and purchased a few items; then we had them gift-wrapped. After that, we spent some time in a bookstore and purchased a couple of things. As we walked back to the meeting place, I said, “I gave Sean two hundred fifty dollars. After what they‟ve been through, I thought he deserved it.” “Great minds,” Randy said. “That‟s what I gave Paul. They‟ve always been pretty tight with their money, so I thought it was justified.” When we arrived at our meeting place at the appointed time, everyone was carrying large shopping bags, and Mike said, “Geez, I hope we have enough cargo space for all this stuff… just kidding. Of course we do.” “Anybody hungry?” George said. “I am,” Robbie said. “Are we gonna go to McDonald‟s?” “Not this time, kiddo,” George said. “Aw, Dad.” “Where‟s the restaurant, George?” Sean said. “We were thinking of going to the Village Wayside Bar & Grille in Biltmore Village,” George said. “It has good food at reasonable prices.” “Is there a McDonald‟s nearby?” Sean said. “There‟s one a couple of blocks or so from the restaurant,” George said. “Can Paul and I take Robbie there while you guys eat at a regular restaurant?” Sean said. “Normally, I‟d say yes, but we have to consider who might be lurking

in the bushes, so to speak,” George said. “Yeah,” I said. “You didn‟t say anything at the mall when we split up,” Sean said. “No, but there were so many people about, we weren‟t worried.” “Can we wait and see how crowded it is at McDonald‟s before we decide?” Paul said. “George, what do you think?” I said. “That‟s a reasonable request,” George said. “Now that I‟ve had time to think about it, I don‟t see how anyone would even know to follow us—other than the statements we just gave, there‟s no link between us. Mike?” “I don‟t think it‟ll be a problem,” Mike said. “Think about it—if the bad guys have somehow connected our guests to us, they‟ll also know that you‟re a policeman. That ought to give them pause.” “Yeah,” George said, “you‟re right.” The McDonald‟s in question was extremely busy, so I gave Sean my cell phone, Randy had Paul put one of the newly acquired handguns in a pocket, and the boys got out of the car. “Sean,” George said, “if you look down the street where I‟m pointing, you can see the restaurant.” “Yeah, I see the sign. Do you want us to walk over there when we‟re done?” “Not on your life,” George said. “You stay right here in this crowd. I just wanted you guys to know where we‟ll be.” “Got you,” Sean said. “Listen to me, guys,” George said. “Consider yourselves joined at the hip. If one of you has to pee, all three of you go to the bathroom together. Don‟t get separated for anything, okay?” “Absolutely, George,” Sean said. “And Robbie,” George said, “you do what Sean and Paul tell you to do. No arguments, okay?” “Yes, Sir.” We waited until they were inside the restaurant before driving down the street. An hour later, we called Sean and told him that we were on the way. When the boys were settled into the third seat of the car, Robbie between them, I said, “Did you guys have a good time?” “Yes, Sir,” Robbie said, “and guess what? They had the hugest Christmas tree I‟ve ever seen.”

“They did?” George said. “Yes, Sir. It went all the way to the ceiling.” “And it was a very high ceiling,” Paul said. “Okay,” Mike said. “One more stop and we can head home.” “Yeah,” George said, “we‟ve gotta go to the grocery store and get a ton of stuff.” At the grocery store, we split our lists between three couples and began shopping. In what seemed like no time at all, we‟d checked out and were on the way to the car. “Houston, we have a problem,” Mike said. We were standing in the parking lot of a large Bi-Lo Supermarket. The rear door of the Explorer was open, we had two shopping carts full of groceries, and there wasn‟t a lot of room to spare. “Perhaps, but it‟s not an insurmountable problem,” George said. “We can put a bunch of bags between Ian and Randy on the second seat. Somebody can hold Robbie on their lap, and we can put some bags between the boys on the backseat. We‟ll manage.” And we did, but it took a while. It took even longer to get all of the bags carried upstairs when we arrived back at the cabin. George opened a bottle of Shiraz, poured wine into six glasses, and said, “I think we‟ve all earned this.” “No argument there,” I said. “Robbie, it‟s that time,” Mike said. “Already?” he said. “You bet. Did you tell Sean and Paul „thank you‟ for taking you to McDonald‟s with them?” “Yes, Sir.” “Good boy,” Mike said. “Now hit the shower.” Later, as we all sat around the fire talking, George said, “We need to come up with a plan for Christmas dinner.” “A plan?” I said. “Yeah. You guys said you wanted to help, but as you can see, four men can‟t conveniently work in that kitchen at the same time.” “Two of us can use the kitchen table for preparation,” Mike said. “And we can bake a couple of pies tomorrow and set them aside,” I said. “Do you guys have anything scheduled for tomorrow, George?” Randy

said. “Not really, other than taking Robbie to visit his grandmother.” “Yeah,” Mike said, “she lives just up the road from us, and she is very old, rather frail, and terminally ill. This is probably going to be her last Christmas.” “Poor little guy,” Sean said. “Yeah,” George said, “she‟s his only living relative that we know of.” “How did you come to adopt him?” I said. “It all began in June last year,” George said, “when we arrived early on a Saturday afternoon for our two-week vacation.” “And we let Thor into his run as usual, but he didn‟t come back,” Mike said. George said, “He was sniffing at the back of the fence and sort of whining, so we went to investigate.” “And we found Robbie curled up asleep in one corner of the generator shed,” Mike said. “Just like us,” Sean said. “Yeah,” George said. “When we found you guys the other day, it was definitely a case of déjà vu.” “He was a month shy of his sixth birthday,” Mike said, “and had been living in the shed for a week. He‟d witnessed his father brutally beating his mother to death and had fled. Their house is just up the creek, and he took refuge in our shed.” “What happened to his father?” Paul said. “Killed in a gun battle with some deputies a hundred miles or so east of here,” Mike said. “Anyway, he instantly bonded with us, and with the help of a local attorney and an attorney friend of ours from Atlanta, we adopted him.” “Let‟s change the subject just a minute,” George said. “I think we should set up a couple of makeshift targets tomorrow morning and let you guys gain some familiarity with those two handguns.” “Works for me,” Randy said. “Yeah, I agree,” I said. “By the way, is there someplace around here where we could go to Midnight Mass tomorrow evening?” “Yeah,” Randy said, “we have a lot to be thankful for right now.” “The Episcopal Cathedral of All Souls over in Biltmore Village is the place for that,” George said. “Why don‟t we all go?”

“Great,” I said, “but who‟ll look after Robbie?” “A couple of young friends of ours will do it, I‟m sure,” George said. “If not, he can go with us.”

New York, NY 1900 23 December 2010 The Broker

THE information broker returned from a quick trip to the bathroom and found his subordinate on the cell phone yet again. “I see. Thanks for letting me know. You need to dump that cell phone, move to another location, and use another phone.” “What‟s up?” the broker said when his helper had completed the call. “That was our little friend. Moe and Curly are in jail.” “In jail!” “He doesn‟t have any details except that when they went back to torch the cabin, they got arrested.” “Has our little friend heard from the other stooges?” he said. “They‟re still in hiding and standing by.” “What about our source in the Pentagon?” he said. “He says he doesn‟t have anything new to report.” “Damn. This was supposed to be such a cut-and-dried operation.” “Yes, Sir.” “Where are Moe and Curly being held?” the broker said. “County jail in western North Carolina.” “I wonder if they need to have a fatal accident?” “Boss, they don‟t know shit about shit.” “You may be right, but I don‟t like loose ends.” “Want me to call somebody?” “Let me give it some thought,” the broker said.

Maggie Valley, NC 0900 24 December 2010 Ian

AFTER

breakfast, Randy, the boys, and I spent some time familiarizing ourselves with the two handguns, and I had to admit that it made me feel better about things in general. When we were back inside the cabin, Randy and I went to work on the pies, and some pretty enticing odors began to spread in the kitchen and great room. After lunch, Mike set the turkey out to thaw, and he, George, and Robbie went to visit Robbie‟s grandmother. We settled down on the sofas in the great room to relax. Sean sat at one end of a sofa, and Paul lay flat on it with his head in Sean‟s lap. It was a sweet domestic scene. “Dad,” Sean said, “there‟s something Paul and I want to ask you guys.” “What?” “Two questions, actually,” he said. “First, would you guys be upset if Paul and I decided to transfer to another school in January, and second, do you think we could get into Georgetown?” “What brought this on?” Randy said. “Yeah, especially after all that proud talk at Thanksgiving,” I said. “I dunno,” Sean said, “maybe we‟ve had a wake-up call.” “Well,” I said, “a life-threatening experience certainly qualifies on that count.” “Anyhow, we‟re tired of playing games,” Paul said. “Yeah,” Sean said. “We have no intention of running around campus holding hands, but when we get home from school, we‟d like to be able to be ourselves, that is, without having to hide in our room behind a locked door.”

“Kind of like we are now,” Paul said. “So what‟s the answer?” Sean said. “It wouldn‟t give me heartburn if you left The Citadel,” I said. “As I recall, we didn‟t exactly talk you into it in the first place.” “That‟s true,” Randy said. “It was your decision, all the way.” “As for Georgetown, I don‟t see why not. You‟re both straight-A students, and I‟m not without influence.” “Dad,” Paul said, “can we afford it? Sean has a trust fund to pay for his education, but I don‟t.” “Paul, if that‟s what you want to do, we‟ll find a way.” “I wish I could use that trust fund to help Paul,” Sean said. “It was set up to be airtight,” I said. “However, there are always ways to get around the rules.” “What do you mean, Dad?” “The trustee is required to pay your tuition, books, fees, housing, and provide you with a reasonable amount of pocket money. Even though you‟d be living at home, presuming that‟s what you guys want to do, there‟s no reason why you can‟t submit a voucher for living expenses. Once you have the money in hand, you can do what you want to with it.” “Would the trustee go for that, Dad?” Sean said. “I should think so. I may not have any power over the spending of the money, but I do have the power to designate a different trustee and move the funds to another bank, which would be a huge incentive for the trustee to cooperate.” Paul said, “Yes, we would love to live at home for a few years—if that‟s all right with you guys.” “All right!” Randy said. “Of course it‟s all right. I can‟t think of anything that would be more all right.” We spent several minutes making plans but were interrupted when Thor rushed over to the stairs wagging his tail. A couple of minutes later, our hosts appeared at the head of the stairs. George and Mike‟s expressions were somber, and Robbie was clearly upset. “Something wrong?” I said. From behind Robbie, George nodded his head yes. “Sean,” I said, “why don‟t you and Paul take Robbie outside for a bit?” “Sure, Dad,” Sean said. “Come on, Robbie,” Paul said. “Let‟s go see if our snowman needs any

touching up.” They grabbed their coats, took Robbie by the hand, and propelled him through the front door. “Robbie‟s grandmother,” I said, “is she…?” “Not quite,” George said, “but it won‟t be long. Her caregiver told us it‟ll all be over in a couple of months.” “Does Robbie know how sick she is?” I said. “Yeah, he‟s known for some time. He even knows that she‟s going to die soon, but knowing about it in the abstract and seeing her in her present condition are very different things.” “Poor little guy,” Randy said. “We‟ll do our best to distract him, and by the time he sees the presents under the tree tomorrow morning, he‟ll bounce back,” George said. George didn‟t sound entirely certain of that statement, but I thought it best not to say anything. “That is one well-behaved little boy,” Randy said. “Yeah,” Mike said, “isn‟t he?” “We asked the child psychologist about that,” George said. “She told us that many kids who go through what Robbie went through have behavior problems,” Mike said, “but once in a while, they turn into little model citizens.” “Especially if they feel loved and secure,” George said. “Anything we need to do now that will make cooking dinner tomorrow easier?” Mike said. “Nothing that I can think of,” I said. “The two pies are done, and we‟ve already planned the division of labor for tomorrow. I think we‟re good to go.” Robbie came back inside, followed by the boys, and said, “Dad, the snowman has icicles on him.” “Really?” George said. “The sun must have gotten extra warm for a bit.” The three boys hung their coats on the pegs by the door, Robbie excused himself to go to the bathroom, and our boys came over and sat down. “Dad,” Sean said, “can Paul and I have a little brother, can we, please?” “Do you want the short answer or the long answer?” I said. “Short will do,” Paul said.

“No,” I said. “What‟s the long answer, then?” Sean said. “Well,” Randy said, “to quote someone famous, „not only no, but hell no‟.” “Seriously,” I said, “if you guys are enjoying yourselves that much, maybe you ought to look into the Big Brothers Big Sisters organization. There are a lot of kids out there who need guidance from guys your age.” “We might just do that,” Paul said. “Robbie seems to have cheered up a bit,” George said. “Did he say anything while you were outside?” “Not really,” Sean said, “he just said that his granny was real sick and would probably die soon.” “He didn‟t go into any detail, and we didn‟t pry,” Paul said. “Good,” George said. Robbie came back into the great room and announced that he was going up to the loft to practice. “We have company, kiddo,” Mike said, “so don‟t forget your headphones.” “I won‟t, Daddy.” “It just hit me,” I said. “Robbie calls one of you Dad and the other Daddy.” “He came up with that all by himself right after the adoption,” Mike said. “Are we gonna eat in or out this evening?” Sean said. “The kitchen is pretty much set up for tomorrow,” George said, “so why don‟t we eat out—that is, if everyone agrees.” “Any suggestions?” I said. “Do they deliver pizza up here?” Paul said. “What a good idea,” Mike said. “Yes, they do.” “Hear that beep?” George said. “Somebody just opened the gate.” “How many people have the combination?” I said. “Very few actually,” George said, “and all of them are close friends of ours.” A minute later, Thor walked across the room and stood, looking out the floor-to-ceiling windows. Then I felt a vibration through the floor, and George said, “That vibration is from somebody—several somebodies, I think—

climbing the stairs.” “I‟ll go to the door,” Mike said. He went to the door and held it open, and three adults—a middle-aged woman and two young men—entered the room, pulling off their coats as they did. One of the young men said, “Hey, George, Mike, looks like you‟ve got a full house.” Our hosts introduced us to Lucinda Hawkins, her son Zeb, and his partner, Norman. “Are Zeke and Josh coming up for Christmas?” George asked them. “Not this year,” Zeb said. “Zeke has to close the store, and Josh has a solo at Good Shepherd tonight.” “Zeke is Zeb‟s identical twin brother, and Josh is his partner,” Mike said. “The twins are in a management training program at McDonald‟s down in Jacksonville Beach.” “Where‟s Robbie?” Lucinda Hawkins said. “Up in the loft practicing on his keyboard,” George said. “He‟s wearing headphones and didn‟t hear you come in, or he‟d have come running.” “Has he seen his grandmother this trip?” she said softly. “Yeah. We just came from there a little while ago. It‟s pretty bad, isn‟t it?” “Yes. She‟ll probably have to be moved to a hospice facility in a few weeks, and when that happens, she won‟t be coming back.” “So what time do you guys need us tonight?” Zeb said. “The service starts at ten thirty, and if we don‟t get there by ten, we won‟t find a seat. Nine fifteen would be good,” George said. “We‟ll be here,” Zeb said. I heard footsteps on the stairs, and Robbie ran across the great room. He said, “Hi, Zeb,” and launched himself at the boy. Zeb caught him expertly, hugged him, and said, “Hi, yourself, big guy.” “Hi, Mrs. Hawkins, hi, Norm,” Robbie said. “Where‟s Zeke and Josh?” “Zeke has to work,” Lucinda said, “and Josh has to sing in the choir tonight, so they‟re staying in Jacksonville.” “Are you gonna stay for a while?” Robbie said. “Not right now, but we‟re coming back later just to stay with you, while George and Mike and their guests go to church. Okay?”

“Sure,” Robbie said. “I‟ll wait up for you.” “You‟d better be asleep in bed,” Zeb said, “or Santa might pass you by.” “We won‟t stay, George,” Lucinda said. “We just wanted to stop by and confirm the time for us to come back this evening.” “You‟re coming too?” Mike said. “Sure. I can visit with my boys here just as well as I can at home.” “We appreciate it, Lucinda,” George said. “It‟s the least we can do, George,” she said. The visitors chatted for a bit, said good-bye, and left. “Is it too early to order the pizza?” Paul said. “Somebody sounds hungry,” Randy said. “Yeah, Dad, I guess I am,” Paul said. It took a while for six guys to settle on how many pizzas and what kind, and the order was finally placed. When it arrived, we settled down around the fire and munched away. Mike opened a bottle of Cabernet to go along with it. “Who‟s the designated driver this evening?” George said. “Whichever one of us that didn‟t drive last night,” Mike said. “Well, I guess that settles that. Drink a glass for me, please.” “Babe, you can have one, but no more until Communion.” “Very funny,” George said. Robbie, despite his intention to stay awake, was sound asleep by the time the babysitting crew arrived. Mike offered them the remnants of the pizza and told them to help themselves to the wine, and we went down to Mike‟s car. As we were pulling out of the garage, I said, “Should we have warned them about the bad guys?” “Been there, done that,” Mike said. “Thor provides a good early warning system, and Zeb knows the combination to the gun safe. They‟ll be okay.” The service was all that we hoped it would be, and it was almost one by the time we arrived back at the cabin. As the sitters pulled on their outerwear, George said, “Thank you, guys. Do you want to take your gifts with you now, or are you gonna stop by in the morning?” “We‟re going to Bob and Martha‟s for dinner tomorrow, so we‟ll stop by,” Lucinda said. “Yeah,” Zeb said, “we have a couple of things for you as well.”

“We‟ll be here, and thanks to a certain little guy, we‟ll probably be up at the crack of dawn,” Mike said. The sitters left, and as we settled down around the fire, George said, “Now, I‟m gonna have a glass or three of wine. Anyone else?” “Sure,” I said. We all started yawning before George had finished his first glass of wine, so we prepared to go downstairs to bed. “Mike and I will take care of the fire,” George said. “Then we‟ve gotta play Santa.” “Don‟t be surprised if a certain little boy comes knocking on your door in the morning,” Mike said. “Understood,” I said. “Been there, done that many times and lived to tell about it,” Randy said, pointing at our boys. We went downstairs, undressed, and crawled into bed, too tired to do anything but cuddle for a while before we drifted off to sleep. I was jolted awake by a pounding on Sean and Paul‟s door and an excited little boy telling them to come upstairs and see what Santa had brought. “I guess that‟s our cue,” Randy said somewhat sleepily. “Yeah, brings back memories, doesn‟t it?” We pulled on warm-ups and socks, used the bathroom, and padded upstairs to the great room. The tree lights were on, there was a roaring fire in the fireplace, and the smell of coffee was in the air, and Robbie was bouncing around the room in excitement. “Coffee‟s ready,” Mike said from the kitchen. We gratefully accepted the mugs he handed us, went into the great room, and took our seats. “Okay, Robbie,” George said when we were all settled, “you can hand out the presents. Just make sure that everybody gets one at a time.” “Yes, Sir,” he said. Robbie went to the huge pile of gift-wrapped packages and picked one of them up. He looked at the label and read, “To Paul, from Dad.” He trotted over, handed Paul the present, and said, “Let‟s wait till everybody has one before we open them, okay?” “Sure, Robbie, I can do that,” Paul said. We dutifully waited until everyone was holding a gift; then we opened them. Robbie squealed with delight when he opened his. “What is it, kiddo?”

Mike said. “It‟s a Nintendo DSi, Daddy, and a bunch of games for it,” he said. “Who‟s it from, and what do you say?” George said. “The card says „To Robbie from Sean and Paul‟. Thank you. I‟ve always wanted one of these.” The older boys were sitting cross-legged on the floor, and Robbie gave each of them a hug, thanking them individually as he did. It took awhile, but finally, the space under the tree was bare. “It‟s all gone,” Robbie said. “Not quite. Aren‟t you forgetting something?” George said, pointing at the mantle. “I forgot the stockings,” Robbie said. “Why don‟t you get Thor‟s first?” Mike said. “He‟s been left out of all this.” “Okay, Daddy,” he said. Robbie went to the mantle and carefully removed the stocking with Thor‟s name on it from its hook. He stuck his hand into it and retrieved a huge rawhide bone. “Be sure you remove all that plastic before you give it to him,” Mike said. “Yes, Sir.” Robbie did as instructed. Then he produced a stocking for each of us. “Where did these come from?” Randy said. “Santa, of course,” Robbie said. “But…,” Randy said. “Can‟t argue with the logic of a seven-year-old,” George said. “Yeah, Dad,” Paul said. “Chill, and go with the flow.” Later, as we sat around the table eating breakfast, Robbie said, “You know what? This has been the best Christmas ever.” “You just said a mouthful, kiddo,” Mike said. “Yeah, this is cool,” Paul said. “Can we do it again next year?” Robbie said. “What do you mean?” George said. Robbie said in exasperation, “Dad, we could ask our new friends to come back next year for Christmas.” “That‟s not a bad idea,” George said. “Guys?”

I looked at Randy, who nodded almost imperceptibly. “Sure,” I said. “That sounds good.” As we were cleaning up after breakfast, a telltale beeping announced someone‟s arrival. It was our babysitters from the previous evening, bearing gifts. To our astonishment, Lucinda had somehow managed to provide gifts for us as well. She sat at the kitchen table and chatted with us while we peeled potatoes and laid the groundwork for our dinner. The two boys (they weren‟t really boys—in fact, Norman was a graduate student—but from my middleaged perspective, they were still boys) played with Robbie in the great room and visited with Sean and Paul. Eventually, Lucinda said, “You men have work to do, and I‟ve got to go help Martha do the same thing.” She rounded up her two boys—she referred to her sons‟ boyfriends as her “boys” too—and they left. We continued our food preparation, taking time out to shower, shave, and dress. Finally, the appointed time came, and we sat down to our Christmas dinner. The food disappeared with surprising speed, and we all sat back, patting our stomachs and congratulating ourselves. “Pie, anyone?” Randy said. George said, “Are you kidding? Maybe after I‟ve had a nap, but not right now.” “Babe, we could always jog up the mountain and back,” Mike said. “After taking all that food on board? I don‟t think so.” “It was just a thought. We haven‟t gotten any exercise this trip.” “Our usual routine when we‟re up here is to walk, or sometimes jog, up our road to the top and back down again,” George said. “When you first turn off the main highway down in the valley, the elevation is around three thousand feet, but it‟s perhaps five hundred feet higher here. The road to the top is just under three miles of ups and downs, and when you get there, you‟re a mile high. It‟s good exercise, but not today.” “Not to change the subject,” Mike said, “but George and I have to be on the road Monday morning.” “You guys are more than welcome to stay as long as you like,” George said. “You‟ve got a key and all the necessary codes.” “Yeah, help yourselves,” Mike said. “We appreciate the offer, guys, but all good things have to eventually come to an end,” I said. Randy said, “Since we‟re already close to Charleston, we‟re gonna go

over to The Citadel and retrieve the boys‟ belongings. They‟re going to transfer to Georgetown, if Ian can get them in.” “That‟s fine,” George said. “We just don‟t want you to feel as though you have to leave on our account.” “No problem,” I said. “We‟ll enjoy today and tomorrow and pack early Monday morning.” “There‟s probably enough leftovers here to carry us that long,” Mike said. “You think?” Randy said. Shortly after breakfast on Monday, we said our reluctant good-byes to our new friends and headed out. We more or less played follow the leader all the way to the intersection of I-26 and I-95, where, with a toot of the horn and a wave, they turned south on I-95 and we continued on I-26 to Charleston, where we checked into a motel near the school and settled down for the rest of the day.

Charleston, SC 0900 28 December 2010 Ian

WE ARRIVED at the office of General Cartwright promptly at nine, having called him at home the evening before and set up the appointment. The man himself met us at the door, ushered us into his office, and said, “Col. Richardson, Dr. Sanderson, cadets, come on in, have a seat, and tell me what I can do for you today.” We settled ourselves in his office, and I nodded to Randy, signaling that he should begin, so he said, “General Cartwright, we‟ve been more or less out of touch since you and I last talked on the phone, so I guess the first thing we need to do is bring you up to date. Paul, why don‟t you and Sean tell the general about your adventures, starting with your train ride.” As the boys took turns telling their story, I watched the general‟s face. His expression went from concern to outrage, back to concern, and occasionally came close to registering disbelief. “I‟ll be a son of a bitch,” he said when the boys finally stopped talking. “You young men have had a string of bad luck followed by a spot of good luck.” “Yes, Sir,” they chorused. “I can‟t tell you how pleased I am to learn that two of my students actually had what it takes to climb a mountain barefoot and in their skivvies in late December,” he said. “It wasn‟t really a mountain, Sir,” Sean said. “It was more like a ridge.” I said, “Sean, don‟t be modest—Sheriff Sutton said that ridge was at least five hundred feet high.” “Taking refuge in a shed behind a cabin owned by a law-enforcement officer was just about the luckiest thing they could have done,” Randy said.

“What we still don‟t know is how the kidnappers knew about the boys‟ change in travel plans. We didn‟t know ourselves until the night before.” “Did the security people find anything when they swept the school office for bugs?” I said. “Did they ever!” he said. “The damn things were everywhere. One on my phone, one in the security office, one in the pay phone in the barracks, and there were even a couple of them on the trunk lines that feed our switchboard.” “I guess that explains a lot, because when I talked to you and the security guy at home Friday, it was after hours, and my calls were routed through the switchboard,” Randy said. I said, “Randy, the number of bugs raises almost as many questions as it answers. Think about the manpower and planning it must have taken to put that many devices in place and monitor them.” “We‟re going to have a lot of questions to ask the intelligence guys when we get home,” Randy said. “As far as the school goes, we‟re still trying to find out how it was allowed to happen, and when we do, I can assure you that heads are going to roll,” the general said. “Anyhow, that‟s not really why we‟re here,” I said. “We‟d like to go to the barracks and retrieve Sean and Paul‟s personal belongings, because we‟ve decided to pull them out of this school.” Randy said, “We‟re going to do our best to get them transferred to Georgetown or someplace close to home. Except for the two guys that were arrested, we still don‟t know who‟s behind this or, for that matter, how many of them are still out there. The two men that were arrested were only hired guns, and they probably won‟t know anything, even if they do talk.” “Well, I‟ll certainly be sorry to lose two exceptional students, but I can‟t say that I blame you,” the general said. “The school is supposed to protect your sons while they‟re in our care, and the school failed. Strike that. I failed miserably in my job. All I can say is that I will do my level best to make certain that nothing like this happens again.” “Thank you, Sir,” I said. “I will, of course, see to it that any fees you‟ve already paid for the next term are refunded immediately and in full. And if I can get this computer to work, I just might be able to push the right button to produce transcripts of their grades that you can take with you.” “That‟s very kind of you, Sir,” Randy said. “As soon as you do that,

we‟d like to round up the boys‟ belongings and get on the road. We‟ve got a five-hundred-mile drive ahead of us.” It took only a few minutes to clean the boys‟ room out and carry their personal items to the car. The general shook hands with all of us and made it quite clear that Sean and Paul were welcome to transfer back anytime they wished. A few miles up I-26, Sean said, “Dad, you didn‟t have to do that.” “Do what?” “Tell the general that it was your idea to pull us out of school,” he said. “Sean, nobody has to do anything, but look at it this way—your reputations are intact, and all it cost us was a tiny bit of misdirection. If you analyze what I said, you‟ll realize that I really didn‟t tell a lie. You asked us to let you transfer, and we decided to do it—I simply omitted the first part of that equation in the general‟s office.” “And we really do appreciate it,” Paul said. Randy and I took turns driving, and we only stopped twice—once for gas and once for food. We actually pulled up to our garage door nine hours out of Charleston. “I wonder if any bad guys are lurking about?” Sean said. “I don‟t think so,” I said. “Remember that call I got earlier? Somebody came by this afternoon and checked the outside of the house carefully. They even used some kind of infrared detector to see if there was anyone in the house.” “Cool,” Paul said. We pulled into the garage, and by the time the door had closed behind us, we were on the way upstairs with our bags. When Paul saw their room, he said, “Holy shit, you guys moved our beds together.” “Neat,” Sean said. “We thought you‟d like it,” I said. “We‟ve got the feet of the beds in those little rubber cups, so they probably won‟t slide apart.” “Yeah,” Randy said, “but if you‟re gonna get too frisky, you might want to be sideways across the beds—it wouldn‟t do for you to slide down between them.” “Dad!” Paul said. “That‟s getting personal.” “What!” Randy said in mock surprise. “Are you telling us that you don‟t get frisky?” “Randy,” I said, “there‟s no need to make them uncomfortable.”

Arlington, VA 0800 29 December 2010 Ian

WE HAD a family conference over breakfast, during which we came up with a game plan for the remainder of the week. Then we got in the car and headed for the university. I‟d called Dr. Jarvis while we were on the way from Charleston to DC, and he‟d arranged for a special meeting with the school‟s registrar. When we arrived in the registrar‟s office for our appointment, Dr. Jarvis was with him. “Col. Richardson,” Dr. Jarvis said, “you look quite splendid in your uniform. Are you trying to impress us?” “Hardly that. I have to go straight to the Pentagon the minute we leave here, hence the uniform.” “Then let‟s make this as quick and painless as possible,” the registrar said. “I understand that these two young men need to transfer from The Citadel on an urgent basis.” “Yes, Sir,” I said. “I believe Dr. Jarvis has told you about their preChristmas adventures.” “Is that what they‟re calling being kidnapped these days? Never mind. That was a rhetorical question. I believe you have some transcripts for me to go over?” “Yes, Sir,” I said. I handed him the documents, and he ran a practiced eye over them and said, “Very good, these two young men will fit right in.” “We think so,” I said. “They‟re both pre-law and will need to take the same classes.” “Which brings up an important point,” Randy said. “Until we find out who is behind the kidnapping, we need to take precautions. Paul and Sean have been instructed, no, ordered to act as though they‟re joined at the hip. If one of them goes to the bathroom, the other one goes with him. By the time classes start, I‟ll have arranged to have security with them while they‟re on campus.”

“Not in uniform, I trust,” Dr. Jarvis said. “No, Sir. We‟ll make sure that anyone who comes on campus will be young enough to blend in as best they can. Their haircuts and posture will be the only noticeable things about them.” School situation settled, we drove to the Pentagon and dropped Randy off. From there, we went to the agency that handled the issuance of driver‟s licenses and got that problem taken care of. “Do you guys want to stop somewhere and have lunch?” I said as we drove away from our last stop. “It‟s that time.” “If you don‟t mind,” Sean said, “I think we‟d just as soon go home.” “Yeah,” Paul said. “Ditto that.” “That works for me,” I said. Over dinner that evening, Randy told us what the higher-ups had decided. “It was a long meeting. Make that extremely long, and here‟s what‟s going to happen. A young Marine in plain clothes will stop by every morning to drive you guys to school, he‟ll hang around Sean and Paul until their classes are over, then drive them home. Ian, you‟re free to ride along as your schedule permits.” “Can‟t we just take the Metro, Dad?” Paul said. “The Metro itself isn‟t a problem, because one of us could drive you to the local station. However, it‟s a very long walk from the Foggy Bottom Station through Georgetown to the school, and that‟s a huge problem—you‟d be vulnerable every step of the way.” “Get used to it, and if you start feeling sorry for yourselves, think about what happened on that train,” I said. “Yeah,” Sean said, “no argument there.” We celebrated the arrival of the New Year quietly at home by having our traditional New Year‟s Day lunch. Two days later, school began for me and the boys, and a very young and very blond Marine wearing civilian clothes arrived at the house to escort us to campus. He was a tad more muscular than the typical Georgetown student, his hair had been allowed to grow a bit longer than the usual Marine buzz cut (For assignments like this one? I wondered), and he was wearing tennis shoes, cargo pants (Was that bulge in one of the pockets a gun?), and an ancient leather jacket. He even appeared to be the right age, and when he produced a photo ID, I took a quick glance at his birth date, confirming his age as twenty. He introduced himself as Sergeant Millar. We gave him a copy of the boys‟ schedule, and he followed us down to the basement garage—it had been

decided that he would drive us in my car, since it sported a faculty parking decal. The arrangement worked out very well, and I was able to ride back and forth with Sgt. Millar and the boys three days out of five. About two weeks after classes began, the boys said we needed to have a small family conference. We settled down in the den, and I said, “Okay, guys, you asked for this meeting. What‟s up?” “We‟re not getting any exercise,” Paul said. “Yeah, we‟re actually beginning to lose some of the muscle tone that we built up at The Citadel,” Sean said. “And?” Randy said. “We want to join the Arlington Branch of the YMCA,” Sean said. “It‟s not too far from here, as you know, and they have a pool and a weight room, among other things.” “Somebody would need to go with you,” Randy said. “We offered to pay Jared‟s membership dues if he‟d go with us, and he agreed,” Sean said. “Jared?” I said. “Sgt. Millar,” Paul said. “He doesn‟t have access to proper facilities where he lives.” “So what do you guys think?” Sean said. “Can you afford the dues for yourselves and the sergeant?” I said. “Sure, Dad,” Sean said. “You know we‟ve always been kind of tight with our money, don‟t you?” “Yes, you have,” I said. “Dad?” Paul said. “As long as Sgt. Millar is with you guys, I don‟t have a problem,” Randy said. “What are you going to do at the Y?” “Swim laps three days a week,” Paul said, “and use the exercise room on the alternate days.” “We‟d love to be able to run, but we know that‟s out of the question,” Sean said. “You‟ve got that right,” I said. “Would it save any money if we got some sort of family membership?” Randy said. “Ian and I have been kind of lax in the workout department ourselves.”

“Yeah, we let our gym memberships lapse three or four years ago.” “We‟ll find out,” Paul said. “Thanks,” Sean said. Memberships were obtained, and Sgt. Millar, himself an early riser, began to arrive at the house two hours earlier than had been the schedule. He and the boys would go to the Y for their workout and return to have breakfast with us before our respective days began.

Arlington, VA 2300 18 January 2011 Sean

PAUL and I really enjoyed swimming and working out with Jared. He was only a couple of years older than we were, and we found ourselves liking him. We started out slowly in the pool, but by the end of the first week, we were up to half a mile of laps and heading toward our goal of a mile. A couple of weeks after our daily visits to the Y began, Paul and I were lying in bed on a Friday night, belly to belly. It was late, we‟d turned out the lights, and were getting ready to go to sleep. “Sean,” Paul said. “What?” “Do you think Jared is gay?” he said. “What! The pride of the Marine Corps, gay? Bite your tongue.” “I‟m not kidding. Haven‟t you noticed the way he looks at guys at the Y, particularly when we‟re in the steam room? You know how some of those guys spread their towels on the bench and sit there with their legs sort of spread—everything hanging out? He looks at them.” “Paul, all guys check out each other‟s equipment.” “It goes beyond that with Jared, I think. He looks at them differently,” he said. “Differently how?” “I‟m not sure,” he said. “Could be curiosity, could be lust.” “Well, that‟s certainly food for thought, but right now I just wanta go to sleep.” “Then shut up, kiss me, and do so,” he said.

Monday morning, in the locker room, I was reminded of the conversation when Jared pulled on a pair of Speedos, and I said, “Jared, I see you finally got smart.” Paul and I had been ragging him about the oversized trunks he always wore in the pool, and Jared said, “You guys told me that wearing trunks like mine was like pulling a parachute along behind me in the pool. I‟m gonna find out if you were right.” “That, plus the fact that you‟ve got a great body, so why hide it?” Paul said. Jared actually blushed at that, so I said, “Talk, talk, talk. Time to do some serious laps. Are we ready to try for a mile today?” “Maybe,” Paul said. “Why not?” Jared said. Later, when we went to the steam room, I deliberately chose a bench on one wall where I could watch Jared out of the corner of my eye. “We did it,” Paul said. “A full mile of laps.” “Yeah,” I said, “and we‟re gonna feel every one of them tonight.” “No pain, no gain,” Paul said. “Remember, swimming is second only to rowing in terms of its value as an aerobic exercise.” “Stop being so noble about it. I wanta piss and moan a bit, okay?” “Whatever,” he said. That night, after we turned out the lights, I snuggled up to Paul and said, “You were right.” “Right about what?” he said. “Jared. I watched him very carefully this morning, and when those two hunks came in with their towels slung over their shoulders and sat down across from him, he definitely took an interest.” “Told you so. Oh! So that‟s why you sat where you did.” “Yep.” That Friday, Jared drove the two of us home without Dad because Uncle Randy was picking him up at school and they were going out to dinner. The plan was for Jared to eat with us at the house. When the three of us were busily engaged in devouring the steaks we‟d grilled, I decided it was time to get to the heart of the matter, so I said, “Jared, there‟s something Paul and I want to ask you.” “Okay,” he said.

“It‟s kind of personal.” “I don‟t mind,” he said. “Okay,” I said. “Jared, are you gay?” “What! Why do you ask?” His face turned three shades of red. “You‟ve figured out by now that Sean and I are a couple, haven‟t you?” Paul said. “Yeah, so what?” “So nothing,” I said. “We‟ve watched you in the steam room, and you really seem to take an undue interest in some of the better-looking naked men in there.” His face got even redder, and he said, “Guys always check other guys out. It‟s an automatic process.” I said, “Jared, you don‟t just check some of them out. You look at them like… like….” “Like you maybe want to devour them,” Paul said. “I do?” “Yes, you do,” I said. “So? What‟s the answer to the question?” “I don‟t know,” he said. “Really?” I said. “Yeah. I‟ve had sex with girls, but there‟s something missing.” “So maybe it‟s fair to say that you‟re curious?” Paul said. “Yeah, I guess you could put it that way. Am I really that obvious? In the steam room, I mean?” “You are to us,” I said, “but maybe that‟s because we know you. I don‟t know if other people would pick up on it.” “Thank God for that.” “Sean, we‟re gonna have to do something about this,” Paul said. “Excuse me?” “Jared‟s our friend. We need to get him laid.” “I‟m not auditioning for the role of Yenta, if that‟s what you mean.” “Don‟t be silly. On the other hand, maybe we can set him up with a date.” “How the heck are we gonna do that? We don‟t know any other gay guys.”

“We‟ll figure something out, okay?” “I appreciate the thought,” Jared said, “but I‟m not so sure about this.” “If we find a suitable candidate,” I said, “it won‟t hurt you to go to a movie with him.” “Yeah,” Paul said. “Either the chemistry will be there, or it won‟t.” We left it at that and finished our dinner. When Dad and Uncle Randy came home an hour later, the three of us were watching a DVD in the den. “Time to go,” Jared said. “Stay to the end of the movie, if you like,” I said. “Okay, thanks,” he said. Monday morning when we got back from the Y and sat down for breakfast, I realized instantly that something was up, so I said, “Okay, Dad, something‟s up. I can sense it.” “Really?” Dad said. “Yes, really. You and Uncle Randy have both got your serious faces on, and we see it. Might as well get it out in the open.” “You guys are too perceptive for your own good,” Uncle Randy said. “Stop beating about the bush, Dad,” Paul said. “What‟s up?” Uncle Randy said, “The fact of the matter is that people at work are getting a bit frustrated because no progress has been made on the case.” “And?” I said. “They‟ve decided to prime the pump, so to speak,” Uncle Randy said. “Whatever that means,” Paul said. “Okay, guys,” Uncle Randy said, “this is all hush-hush stuff. Consider it to be under the seal of the confessional, if you will.” “Dad,” Paul said, “we‟re not gonna run around blabbing about this stuff.” “Nor,” I said, “will Sgt. Millar.” “You do know that we never quite figured out who leaked the information about that project that I‟m working on, right?” Uncle Randy said. “Yes, Sir,” I said. Paul nodded in agreement. “That being the case, the guys in charge have decided to circulate some phony memos.” I started to say something, but Uncle Randy held up a hand. “Let me finish,” he said. “They‟re going to circulate some memos through

channels, hinting that something really big is about to happen in connection with this project. We have three possible suspects, and none of them are going to get quite the same memo. I mean, the memos will mention the things in general, but each person will get one particularly juicy detail that‟s not in the other memos.” “I get it,” Paul said. “If something happens and demands are made, you might be able to tell from the nature of the demands.” “Exactly,” Uncle Randy said. “So,” I said, “when is this gonna happen?” “Randy and I issued an ultimatum, and it isn‟t going to happen just yet,” Dad said. “Yeah,” Uncle Randy said, “we want you guys out of harm‟s way first.” “What in the world does that mean?” I said. “Do you remember George and Mike inviting you down to Florida during spring break?” Dad said. “Now that you mention it, I do.” “Here‟s what‟s going to happen,” Uncle Randy said. “On the Friday before spring break, Sgt. Millar is going to drive you to the Pentagon instead of home after school. Once you get there, the three of you are going to be taken out to Andrews Air Force Base and put on a military plane. George and Mike are going to pick you up at the Naval Air Station in Jacksonville. They‟ll get a rental car for you in their names, if you want one. George says there are buses going out to the beach all day, but you have to take a bus downtown and then transfer—we‟ll leave that up to you to decide. You will stay at their house, but you can go to the beach every day, if you like. You‟ve been wanting to run, and you can do that on the beach down there or with George and Mike on the days they run.” “One word of caution,” Dad said. “Do not, repeat, do not, contact George or Mike directly about this. Randy‟s been communicating with them through very secure channels at work. No phone calls from you, and no emails, okay? Nothing that can possibly be traced.” “Understood,” I said. “Ditto,” Paul said. Uncle Randy said, “Sgt. Millar, by the time this happens, you‟ll have a set of orders authorizing your travel.” “Yes, Sir,” Jared said. “What if Jared doesn‟t want to go to Florida?” Paul said.

“I‟m a Marine,” Jared said. “I‟ll go where I‟m ordered to go.” “Okay, then. Paul and I will try to make certain you enjoy it.” On the appointed Friday, Jared drove around to the garage when he got to the house. Dad‟s car had been pulled out of the garage so Jared could drive his inside. We‟d already loaded our bags into Dad‟s car, and Jared quickly transferred his gear to Dad‟s car as well. School got out early that day, which was just as well—a lot of kids had already gone out of town, heading south—and we were at the Pentagon by three. Uncle Randy was waiting for us at one of the side entrances and told Jared where to park. There was a van waiting for us, and we quickly transferred our gear to it and were driven away. The flight from Andrews to NAS Jacksonville was kind of uncomfortable, because the plane was more of a cargo transport than anything else, but we made good time. The plane touched down rather gently at NAS Jacksonville, and when we were allowed to exit, we spotted three familiar faces. Robbie ran forward, gave each of us a hug, and said, “Sean, Paul, guess what? You‟re gonna be here for a whole week.” “That we are,” I said. “This is our friend Jared. Jared, this is Robbie.” Robbie shook hands solemnly with Jared and led us back to where George and Mike were waiting. More introductions were necessary before we could head to their car. When we were underway, I said, “How far is it to your house, George?” “A little over five miles, and it‟s a straight shot up this street. This is US-17, known locally as Roosevelt Boulevard. When we get to our street, the house is only a couple of blocks to the east.” “Do you have room for all of us?” Paul said. “You and Sean can have the guest room downstairs,” George said, “and we‟ll put Jared upstairs in Robbie‟s room.” “Where will Robbie sleep?” Jared said. “Where‟s your favorite place to sleep, Robbie?” George said. “With you and Daddy,” he said. “There you go,” Mike said. “Problem solved.” “Won‟t that sort of cramp your style for a few days?” I said. “Let‟s just say that lust will always find a way and leave it at that,” George said. “If you don‟t mind, Sir, I should sleep downstairs,” Jared said. “I‟m supposed to be their bodyguard, and I‟d feel better if these guys were

upstairs.” “Point taken,” George said. “Downstairs it is.” “Are you guys hungry?” Mike said. “Guys their age are always hungry,” George said. “Babe, let them answer for themselves.” “I could eat,” I said. “Ditto,” Paul said. “Make that three,” Jared said. “Food it is, then,” George said. “We‟ll drive by the house so you can see it in daylight, then we‟ll go down to the Pizza Italian at Five Points, which is just about two and a half miles from the house.” “It‟s a great little neighborhood place, started by a Greek guy in the seventies. Best meatball sub in town, very good pizza, and wonderful lasagna,” Mike said. “My mouth is watering already,” Paul said. George and Mike‟s house was a large bungalow-type home situated on a corner lot. They explained that they also owned a vacant lot behind the house, which ran across the back of their lot and a neighbor‟s lot. Mike said, “After we adopted Robbie, we added the partial second story you can see there. The original master bedroom downstairs is now the guest room, and the old guest room has been turned into a playroom for Robbie. Upstairs, we have a master suite and a bedroom and bathroom for Robbie.” “Wait‟ll you see the shower in the master bath,” George said. “It‟s truly awesome.” “Yeah, we borrowed the design from some friends of ours in Atlanta who‟d done the same thing,” Mike said. As George drove from their house to the restaurant, he and Mike kept up a running commentary on the neighborhood. They lived in Avondale, one of two neighborhoods that had been developed in the nineteen-twenties and thirties. In the sixties, the neighborhoods had gone into a decline, but when the city announced its intention to widen a street that ran through both areas, demolishing dozens of historic homes and buildings in the process, a group— The Riverside Avondale Preservation Society—had been formed, and the project was halted. RAP, as it was known, had gone on to encourage the restoration of homes in the neighborhoods, and they were now a highly desirable place to live. “Lots of family living in this neighborhood,” Mike said.

“Family?” Jared parroted. “Code word for other gays, as in, „oh, he‟s family‟, meaning he‟s gay,” Mike said. The restaurant, located in a neighborhood shopping area, was pretty much as our hosts had described it, and the food was wonderful. We‟d barely begun to eat—I had the lasagna, Paul and Jared had opted for meatball subs, our hosts were having antipasto, and Robbie was having a small pizza—when Robbie said, “Carl and Jim are here.” We‟d already pulled a couple of tables together, so we were able to accommodate the new arrivals. Carl was a sergeant with the sheriff‟s office and reported to one of George‟s lieutenants. Jim, his partner, was a CPA in private practice. We had a very good time at the restaurant, and all three of us made a point of telling our hosts precisely that as we were driving back to their house. When we got there, they showed Jared his room first, since it was down a short hall from the back door. “Follow me, and we‟ll show you the upstairs,” George said. We were overwhelmed by the huge walk-in shower in the master bathroom and said so. Robbie‟s room was nice-sized, and his bathroom was more than adequate. “We‟ll give you a quick tour of the rest of the house, then leave you to get settled,” Mike said. Our hosts walked us quickly through the house, and George said, “Okay, guys. Go get settled, then come back to the den, and we‟ll talk about your possible schedules.” We unpacked our gear, washed our faces, and returned to the den. Mike pointed to three wine glasses on the desk and said, “Pour yourselves a bit of wine, if you like. The bottle‟s right there.” We did so and then settled down on the sofa. “Okay, guys,” George said. “We don‟t have a schedule, as such, but we promised your dads that we would keep you safe.” “George and I go to the Y every morning, seven days a week. We alternate between swimming laps, running, and using the weight room, and if you guys want to join us every day, we‟ll obtain guest passes for you,” Mike said. “Tomorrow, after we go to the Y,” George said, “we‟re gonna drive you out to the beach, so you will a) know how to get there, and b) get a feel for what‟s available. It‟s a little too cold to swim, but the skies are supposed to be sunny and clear most of the week.” “Just remember one thing when you‟re on the beach,” Mike said. “You

can get a nasty burn, even on an overcast day.” “Yeah,” George said, “we see a lot of Canadian tourists this time of the year who look like freshly scalded lobsters.” “If you want to go sightseeing,” Mike said, “St. Augustine is just thirty miles south of here. But I think your folks would be more comfortable if you didn‟t stray too far from home base. And for that matter, so would we.” “As for the serious stuff,” George said, “Duval County and the City of Jacksonville formed a consolidated government way back in the sixties. What this means is that there is no Jacksonville Police Department—the sheriff‟s office where I work covers the entire city and county except for two or three small municipalities that opted not to participate in the consolidated government. Jacksonville Beach is one of those, so my office doesn‟t have primary responsibility out there. I‟m going to give you a name and number you can call in that department if you need anything, and you‟ll have my contact information at work. Col. Richardson and his superiors have worked very hard to keep your presence in this area a secret, so we‟re not exactly worried. On the other hand, given what happened to you guys in December, it would be foolish to become complacent.” Mike said, “We have a rental car reserved, which we‟ll pick up tomorrow afternoon.” “Any questions?” George said. “I don‟t think so,” I said, “at least none that I can think of. Let‟s just play it by ear.”

Jacksonville, FL 0800 5 March 2011 Sean

WE WENT to the Y with our hosts Saturday morning. I was impressed with the facilities, and our membership cards from the Arlington Y were instantly accepted. The Riverside branch of the Y was situated on the banks of the St. Johns River and had all the amenities for which one could wish, including what was called a KidZone service where Robbie was taken while we worked out. We swam a mile of laps in the indoor pool; then we settled down in the steam room for a bit. We must have been staring at George and Mike a little too overtly, because when the only occupant of the room other than our group left, George said, “Okay, guys, which one of you wants to ask the question? I know for sure that all of you are dying to ask it.” “Okay, I‟ll bite,” Paul said. “What‟s the deal with the smooth crotches?” “It all started when that guy was stalking George,” Mike said. “Stalking him?” I said. “Yeah,” Mike said, “right here in this very steam room. About that time, George had a brief fling with a visiting performer—this was, by the way, before we became a couple—who had no body hair anywhere….” They took turns telling the story, and at the end something clicked, and I said, “That‟s the guy you were talking about Christmas, isn‟t it, George? You told us you put an Indian beauty mark in his forehead.” “That was the late Bob Jones,” George said. “Anyway,” Mike said, “after it was over, we decided we liked the look and feel of being smooth, so we stayed that way.”

“Yeah, and trust me when I tell you that shaving each other is a very erotic experience,” George said. “Really?” Paul said, a little too eagerly. “Don‟t even think about it,” I said. “Why not?” I ignored him, and we went to the showers, then dressed and returned to the car, where we waited for a couple of minutes while George retrieved Robbie from the KidZone folks. George and Mike took us to a restaurant for breakfast—it was located across the street from the Pizza Italian where we‟d eaten the night before. Once again, we ran into Carl and Jim. “Fancy meeting you guys here,” George said. “Yeah, imagine that,” Carl said. “We‟re all in a rut, aren‟t we?” Jim said. “I prefer to think of us as creatures of habit, and wonderful habits at that,” Mike said. After a breakfast that was loaded with cholesterol, we got back into the car and headed for the beach. The twenty-mile drive seemed longer because of the heavy Saturday traffic. At the beach, we parked in a public parking lot not too far from a McDonald‟s restaurant, and I said, “Is that where Zeb works? He said that he and his brother were in management training with McDonald‟s at the beach.” “That‟s one of them,” George said. “There‟s another McDonald‟s a mile or so north of here. I think the twins go back and forth between the two stores.” We walked across the pavement, down onto the sand, and watched the waves rolling in. “Can I go play in the water?” Robbie said. George said, “Kiddo, it‟s much too chilly to get your feet wet today.” “Those people are in the water,” Robbie said, pointing. “Those people are probably snowbirds, and they don‟t know any better,” Mike said. “Yeah, they must be from way up north,” I said, “because it‟s too cold for me, and I usually don‟t mind it that much, down to a certain level.” “The weatherman promises that it‟ll be warmer tomorrow and warmer still as the week progresses,” Mike said. The tide was obviously out, as there was a wide expanse of smooth sand exposed, so we decided to walk down the beach for a while. A solitary runner

jogged by us as we started to walk. He was wearing running shoes, shorts, and a T-shirt. By the time we stopped to retrace our steps, the sun was nearly overhead and the wind had pretty much died down. As we were turning, the same runner was coming back in our direction—presumably it was the same guy, since he was the only runner we‟d seen, and the shorts were the same. This time when he passed us, I noticed that Jared gave him close scrutiny, and I had to admit that the way his sweat-soaked shorts clung to his ass as he ran up the beach in front of us was spectacular. It was eleven thirty by the time we arrived back at the car, and Robbie said, “Can we go to McDonald‟s?” Mike said, “We sure can, provided everybody else wants to. Guys?” “Okay by me,” I said. Paul and Jared nodded in agreement, so we went to the Golden Arches. Inside the restaurant, I looked around and spotted not one but two familiar faces. The solitary runner was sitting in one of the booths eating what appeared to be a Big Breakfast. He‟d obviously showered and changed clothes before coming to the restaurant, as he was now wearing deck shoes, jeans, and a polo shirt. “There‟s your buddy from the beach, Jared,” I said in a whisper, “and he‟s looking this way.” “Go on,” Jared said. “Jared, he‟s looking right at you, and he‟s giving you the once-over.” “You think?” “I think we‟d better grab our food, take that table across from his booth, and see what happens,” I said. The other familiar face was behind the counter, totally engaged in the task of instructing a trainee in the art of ringing up a sale. George, Mike, and Robbie got in one line, and we got in another. When we were at the head of the line adjacent to where Zeb was still working with his trainee, I said, “Hello, Zeb.” He looked up in surprise, grinned, and said, “Hi, guys. What are you doing in Florida?” “That‟s a long story. If you‟ve got a minute, why don‟t you come to our table and visit for a spell?” “I‟ve got a break coming up in a couple of minutes,” he said. “Cool. We‟re gonna take a table over there next to that good-looking

hunk.” “Which good-looking hunk? There are several of them sitting out there right now.” “The one with the muscles over there on the left,” I said. “Good choice. That‟s my friend Pete,” he said. “I‟m glad to hear that, because my friend Jared wants to meet him.” “Jared the blond behind you in line? Kinda has a military look about him?” “Yep. And he‟s a Marine.” “He‟s just Pete‟s type. I‟ll take care of it.” “Thanks, Zeb.” Jared jabbed me in the back with his finger and said, “Did you just do what I think you did?” “Jared, all I did was arrange an introduction. The rest, as they say, is up to you.” My food arrived, so I picked up my tray, walked over to a table where I was in the runner‟s line of sight, sat down, and smiled. He smiled back, so I got up and walked over to him. “Is your name Pete?” I said. “Yeah, but how did you know that?” “Zeb told me. Listen, my friend Jared seems quite taken with you.” “He the one in the line behind you?” Pete said. “Yes. He‟s a Marine and came with us to Florida for spring break as our bodyguard.” “Bodyguard?” “Long story. Don‟t go away, I‟ve gotta go get my drink, and I‟m pretty sure Zeb is gonna take a break and do some introducing.” “I‟m not going anywhere,” he said. “Good.” I retrieved the empty cup from my tray and went to where the drinks were dispensed. When I got back to the table, Paul and Jared were waiting for me, and I could see George, Mike, and Robbie at the next table. Jared was sort of making eyes at Pete, which I thought was kind of cute. Zeb walked up to a point between our tables and said, “Hey, George, Mike, Robbie.” “Zeb,” George said in mock surprise, “fancy running into you at the Golden Arches.”

“Hi, Zeb,” Paul said. “Come on over here and meet a friend of ours.” Zeb turned his attention to our table, and we introduced him to Jared. Then I said in a low voice, “Listen, Zeb, Jared‟s never done it with a guy before, but he‟s really impressed with your buddy Pete.” “This is your lucky day, Jared. I happen to know that Pete is very good with virgins.” Jared‟s face appeared to have become instantly sunburned, and Paul said, “Guys, we‟re embarrassing Jared. Why don‟t you just do the honors, Zeb, and let nature take its course?” “Absolutely,” Zeb said. He walked over to the booth where Pete sat, said something to him, and picked up Pete‟s tray. Zeb brought the tray over to our table and set it at the empty spot across from Jared. Pete followed him and sat down in front of his tray. Then Zeb said, “Pete, meet Sean and Paul. They‟re the guys who got kidnapped last Christmas. Remember, I told you about them.” “Right, I remember the story.” “And this is their friend Jared,” Zeb said. “Pete, Jared. Jared, Pete.” They shook hands, and Zeb stood talking with us for a minute until he said, “Listen, guys, I‟ve gotta go back to my trainee—this is gonna be her first time at the register during the lunch rush, and it‟s just about to begin. Give Zeke and me a call when you can and maybe we can get together—George has the number.” “Count on it,” Paul said. Jared and Pete seemed to be so engrossed in conversation that our existence had been temporarily forgotten, so I got up, went to George‟s table, and sat down. “What‟s going on over there?” George said. “Zeb and I are playing cupid.” “Really?” George said. “Is Jared one of us?” “He doesn‟t really know,” I said. “How do you know that?” George said. “Because Paul and I caught him seriously checking out some of the better-looking guys in the steam room back home at our Y, and we asked him point blank. He‟s done it with girls, but there‟s something missing. Color him „curious‟, if you will.” “What can we do to help?” Mike said.

“Tell me what our ground rules are?” I said. “Excuse me?” “Is Jared required to be with Paul and me twenty-four/seven? Surely when we‟re with you in your house we‟re okay. At least long enough for Jared to have an occasional date.” “If they progress to that point, we‟ll deal with it,” George said. “Good, because Jared‟s a great guy, and Zeb seems to be very fond of Pete. He even said that Pete is very good with virgins.” “If Zeb vouches for him, that‟s good enough for us,” Mike said. “Yeah, he and Zeke are pretty good judges of character,” George said. When I was back at our table, Paul said, “Aren‟t we gonna have a rental car this afternoon?” “So they tell me,” I said. “Good, because Pete has invited us to come out to the beach and run with him tomorrow morning instead of going to the Y.” “Works for me,” I said. George, Mike, and Robbie, having finished their breakfast, came over to our table, and we introduced them to Pete, who said, “I just figured something out. You‟re the guys that Zeb and Zeke talk about all the time— they seem to look on you as surrogate fathers or older brothers.” “That would be us,” Mike said. “Where did you meet the twins?” George said. “I met them on the beach one day right after I moved here.” “And?” George said. “They looked so hot in their Speedos that I stopped and talked to them for a bit,” he said. “They invited me back to where they were staying, and the rest, as they say, is history. In other words, I took turns with them. The twins were extremely energetic playmates of mine for a few weeks, but they‟ve moved on and so have I.” “Can I have some more Sprite?” Robbie said. “Sure, you know where it is,” Mike said. “George, why don‟t you guys pull up some chairs?” I said. “Good idea.” They sat and visited for a few minutes and, in less time than I would have thought possible, managed to extract Pete‟s story from him. Pete was ex-

Navy, worked part-time nights stocking the shelves at a supermarket, and was going to college courtesy of Uncle Sam. “Are you working this weekend, Pete?” Mike said. “I‟ve got the whole weekend off,” he said. “Why don‟t you come to our house and have dinner with us this evening?” Mike said. “I‟d love to. Just give me the address.” George wrote the address on a slip of paper and said, “Where do you live, Pete?” “I have a tiny little apartment upstairs over a service station,” Pete said. “It‟s just a few blocks down 3rd Street from here, and it‟s very convenient for me. The beach is just a couple of blocks from my apartment, and I run on the beach nearly every day, weather permitting. I can even walk to work if I want to.” Mike looked at his watch and said, “Guys, we have a rental car to pick up in half an hour. Are we ready to go?” The car-rental office was in a high-rise across the river from downtown, and George took Jared inside to get the rental taken care of. Mike took Robbie by the hand, and we followed him to the riverfront and stood watching the water until George called to let us know they were ready to leave. We walked back to the parking lot and found George and Jared standing beside a gray Taurus. I had expected the rental car to be a tiny subcompact, and George must have seen the surprise on my face, because he said, “Randy and Ian authorized a car this size in case you needed a little more pep in an emergency.” “Surely they don‟t think we‟ll need it,” I said. “Well, you never really need a gun until you really need one.” “Yeah,” I said. “That‟s food for thought.” “Just a reminder, Jared is the only authorized driver, okay?” George said. “Sure,” Paul said. “Yeah,” I said. “That‟s important, because if somebody else drives this car and has an accident, the rental car company‟s insurance won‟t cover it, and they‟ll go after your parents‟ insurance.” We got in the Taurus, with Jared at the wheel, and followed our hosts back to their house.

Jacksonville, FL 1800 5 March 2011 Sean

WE SPENT

the rest of the afternoon either lounging around the house or in the backyard with Robbie, tossing a Frisbee for Thor to catch. Later, the three of us were sitting with Mike and Robbie on their enclosed front porch (George was in the kitchen presiding over the cooking). “Mike, can I ask you a question?” I said. “Sure, Sean,” he said. “Are there any house rules concerning visitors succumbing to their natural urges?” I said. “All we ask is that they play safe unless they‟re a committed couple in a relationship. Enough said?” “Yep,” I said. “Jared, your face looks sunburned all of a sudden,” Mike said. “He‟s just blushing,” I said. “Excuse me,” Jared said. “Gotta go to the head.” “Our Jared is certainly nervous,” Mike said once Jared was out of earshot. “Our Jared has a serious case of lust,” I said. “You think?” “I think.” Jared returned from his trip down the hall and resumed his seat. “Oh, my God, look what‟s coming up the walk,” Mike said. “Whoa!” I said when I looked. “That boy‟s gussied himself up for some serious courting.”

Pete was heading to the front door dressed in khakis, deck shoes, and a crisply starched short-sleeved shirt. He also had a small bouquet of flowers in his hand. Mike opened the door before Pete could ring the bell, and invited him in. “What‟s this, the welcoming committee?” Pete said. “Not really,” Mike said. “We‟re just hanging out here on the porch trying to stay out of George‟s way while he cooks dinner.” Pete handed the bouquet to Mike and said, “Maybe you can find something to put these in.” He was talking to Mike, but he was looking at Jared. “They‟ll look great in a vase on the dining-room table,” Mike said. “Have a seat.” Mike disappeared into the house carrying the flowers, and Pete sat down on a small sofa next to Jared, but before any conversation began, Mike returned and announced, “Dinner is ready.” We followed Mike into the dining room and took our seats at the round table. “Something sure smells good,” I said. “That would be the picadillo,” Mike said. “It‟s a Cuban dish—George got the recipe from Lieutenant Sanchez, who works for him. It goes well with the black beans and rice he fixed.” “What are those things?” Paul said, pointing at a dish. “Fried plantains,” George said as he walked through the door. “They‟re sort of a primitive relative of the banana.” In addition to the above-mentioned dishes, there was a tossed salad and garlic bread. We all pigged out and thoroughly enjoyed the meal—and the conversation. “I hope you guys saved a little room for dessert,” George said as he and Mike cleared the dishes from the table, “because I‟ve made a flan, and it turned out pretty good.” “I love flan,” Robbie said. “That settles it,” I said. “Bring it on.” The others agreed. The flan melted in my mouth and was better than “pretty good.” When the flan was gone, we all offered to help do the dishes, but George stopped us, saying, “That kitchen won‟t hold six adults. Sean, you and Paul can give us a hand. Jared, why don‟t you take Pete to the den? And Robbie, why don‟t you go upstairs and practice on your keyboard using the headphones?”

“Why can‟t I practice on the piano in the playroom downstairs?” Robbie said. “Because Jared might want to take a nap, and the piano would disturb him.” “Okay,” Robbie said. He left the room with Thor at his heels. Jared asked Pete to follow him, and the rest of us went into the kitchen. “What can Paul and I do, George?” I said. “You can sit at the breakfast table and watch.” He lowered his voice and continued, “Maybe by the time we‟re finished in here, nature will have taken its course.” Paul and I nodded, sat at the table, and carried on a conversation with our hosts while they took care of things in the kitchen. Predictably, by the time the four of us arrived in the den, it was empty, and I said, “I guess Jared won‟t be curious much longer.” “For sure,” George said. “I just love success stories,” Mike added. “Babe, that‟s a bit premature, isn‟t it?” George said. “I don‟t think so. Didn‟t you see how those two were looking at each other during dinner?” “Well, now that you mention it…,” George said. “I wish we could give Jared a day off tomorrow,” I said. “Perhaps we can,” George said. “How?” Mike said. “Why don‟t we let our guests go run on the beach tomorrow?” George said. “If they can shower and change at Pete‟s apartment, we can pick them up and go somewhere.” “Yeah, we haven‟t taken Robbie down to St. Augustine for awhile, and you know how he loves to visit the old fort.” “You guys wanta watch a movie?” George said. “There‟s two or three over there by the DVD player.” “Yeah,” Mike said, “we‟ve gotta go upstairs and get Robbie ready for bed. He‟s more than capable of taking care of himself, but he loves it if we sit in the bathroom while he plays in the tub.” “Go ahead,” Paul said. “You don‟t have to entertain us.” They got up to leave, and George said, “By the way, if Jared wants to ask Pete to spend the night, it‟s okay with us.”

“Gotcha,” I said. We selected a movie, popped it in the DVD player, and settled down to watch it. About halfway through the movie, my cell phone rang. “It‟s Jared,” I said, looking at the display. Then I opened the phone. When I closed the phone, Paul said, “I guess he‟s not curious anymore.” “You can say that again. Anyhow, you heard my end of the conversation.” “Yep. He‟ll see us at breakfast. By the way, you should have told him about tomorrow.” “„Sufficient unto the day‟,” I quoted. George and Mike came back into the den, each of them carrying two glasses of wine. They handed us our glasses, and I said, “Before you ask, Jared called, and Pete‟s gonna spend the night.” “Like I said…,” Mike said. “Yeah, success stories,” George said. “Want us to start the movie over from the beginning?” I said. “Sure,” Mike said, “if you like.” “No problem.” We watched the movie from beginning to end; then we got up to go to bed, and I said, “Good night,” to our hosts. “See you in the morning,” George said. “You‟re not gonna call it a night?” Paul said. “We‟re probably going to fold out this sofa bed and fool around a bit,” George said. “Remember, our bed has an occupant.” “Right, good night, then,” I said. When we were upstairs in Robbie‟s room, I said, “Wanta fool around a bit?” “I thought you‟d never ask,” Paul said. We overslept just a bit, and by the time we got downstairs, everyone else was already eating breakfast. Without trying to be obvious, I took a good look at Jared, who was eyeing Pete while munching on a slice of toast. They both had that look about them—you know the one; for want of a better phrase, let‟s call it the “I got laid last night” look. “Morning, all,” I said.

“It‟s about time,” George said. “Sorry, guys, but Paul kept me up all night with his snoring.” “Is that what they‟re calling it these days?” Paul said. “I‟ll get you for that.” “Later,” I said. We filled our plates and began to eat, and I said between bites, “So, what‟s today‟s itinerary?” “We‟re gonna go running on the beach with Pete,” Jared said. “And?” I said. “You and Paul can shower and change at Pete‟s apartment, then George and Mike are gonna pick you up, okay?” he said. “Works for me,” I said. “We thought we‟d drive down to St. Augustine,” Mike said. “Does that mean we can go to the fort?” Robbie said. “We sure can, kiddo,” George said. “Sounds like a plan,” I said. “Yeah,” Paul said. “We‟ll plan on having an early dinner at a nice restaurant in St. Augustine,” Mike said. “It‟ll have to be very early, because tomorrow is a school day.” Breakfast finished, we gathered some clothing, placed it in gym bags, and went to the cars. Jared followed Pete‟s aging Escort all the way to the beach, which of course gave us an opportunity to ask questions, so I said, “I don‟t want a blow-by-blow account, Jared, but is it safe to assume that your curiosity has been satisfied?” “You could say that,” he said. “Good for you,” I said. “I have to thank you guys—and our hosts—for making it possible,” he said. “Just call us Yenta,” Paul said. “One thing, Jared,” I said. “What?” he said. “It would be a mistake to allow yourself to fall in love with the first guy you take to bed.” “Why?” he said.

“Because you need a lot of experience before you settle down with one person.” “You guys didn‟t do that,” he said. “No, we didn‟t, but we practically grew up together. The bond of brotherly love and friendship simply blossomed into something else,” I said. “Yeah, and that‟s not quite the same thing as settling down forever with someone you hardly know,” Paul said. “Don‟t worry about it, guys. Pete has a couple of years of school ahead of him, and I‟m still in the Marines,” Jared said. “Which means that when you get home, you‟re going to have to be damn careful,” I said. “Don‟t I know it,” he said. Paul said, “Now that I think about it, you‟ve never said what comes after your tour with the Marines.” “I‟m not totally certain about that, other than the fact that I‟m gonna allow Uncle Sam to pay for my education.” “There speaks an honest man,” I said. We had turned onto highway A1A by this time, and after a few blocks on A1A, Pete signaled a left-hand turn. We followed him down a side street, and he turned into a parking area behind a service station. I could see a covered flight of steps leading up to a door. We got out of the car and walked over to Pete, who said, “This is it. Follow me.” At the top of the stairs, he unlocked and opened a door and let us into his apartment. “This is cozy,” I said. “Yeah, tiny but cozy, which is all I need at this point in my life.” We were already wearing running gear under our clothes, so we removed our outerwear while Pete changed into running gear. After that, we followed Pete back down the steps, and I said, “Bear one thing in mind, Pete. We haven‟t run in a while.” “Yeah,” Paul said. “Ever since the kidnapping, we haven‟t been allowed to run, so let‟s not overdo it.” “Think you can manage four miles?” Pete said. “I don‟t know why not,” I said. “We‟re not exactly flabby and out of shape.” “Yeah,” Paul said, “and we regularly swim a mile of laps.” “Then four it is,” Pete said.

We walked the two blocks or so to the beach, and when we were on the sand, Pete started to take the lead until Jared said, “Pete, we need to let Sean and Paul take the lead. I can‟t be their bodyguard if they‟re behind me.” “No problem. I‟ll let you know when we get to the two-mile mark.” So Paul and I took off down the beach at a slow but steady pace. After a while, Pete said, “Time to turn around, guys.” “Good,” Paul said, “because I‟m ready.” “Yeah, me too,” I said. When we got back to Pete‟s apartment, Paul and I were more than ready to sit down and rest, but Pete had other ideas and said, “You guys go first. Jared and I are going to shower together, and you never know where that might lead.” I looked at Jared and said, “Jared, you‟ve got to get a handle on that blushing thing. Sweet though it may be, it sort of gives things away.” “Yeah, I know,” he said. Paul and I went into Pete‟s bedroom with our bags, stripped, and entered the bathroom. “You think that shower will hold both of us?” he said. “Only one way to find out,” I said. We decided to be quick so Pete and Jared would have plenty of hot water. Afterward, we walked naked into the bedroom, toweling ourselves dry. “Bathroom‟s free,” I called through the open door. Pete and Jared walked into the bedroom, dropped their running attire, and disappeared through the bathroom door. Paul and I pulled our clothes on, went back to the living room, settled down on the sofa, and snuggled up together. “You do realize those two are gonna be in there for a while, don‟t you?” Paul said. “Yeah,” I said. “Doesn‟t that give you any ideas?” he said. “Well, now that you mention it….” Which explained why we were lying full-length on the sofa, totally naked and in a classic sixty-nine position, when Pete and Jared emerged from the bedroom. Pete said, “That looks like fun.” “More fun to do than to watch,” Jared said. “You guys didn‟t take as long as we thought you would,” I said after I sat up on the sofa. “We thought you‟d get bored out here,” Pete said, “so we only did a

quickie.” “Go back and do it again, why don‟t you?” Paul said. “Bye,” Pete said, and he pulled Jared back into the bedroom. Pete stuck his head out the door a second later and said, “That sofa folds out into a nice bed. Sheets and supplies in the drawer underneath.” His head disappeared and the door closed. “Well, that was a first,” I said. “Say what?” Paul said. “Putting on a performance,” I said. “Yeah, but we didn‟t quite finish.” “Shut up and assume the position,” I said. “Let‟s open the bed first,” he said. “Okay.” We folded out the bed and investigated the drawer underneath. “So that‟s what he meant by supplies,” I said. “Yeah, we don‟t need the condoms, but the K-Y might come in handy.” “You think?” The drawer contained sheets, pillows, and a generous supply of condoms and K-Y. Much, much later, we carefully folded the sheets, replaced them in their drawer, and turned the bed back into a sofa. The clanking noise of the latter must have been what Pete and Jared had been waiting for, because the bedroom door opened and they walked into the living room, wearing only boxers. “You guys aren‟t dressed,” Jared said. “We need another shower to sort of degrease ourselves,” Paul said. “Go for it,” Pete said. “We were thinking about pizza.” “Works for me,” I said. “Yeah, me too,” Paul said. “Any particular flavor?” Jared said. “Anything but anchovies works for both of us,” I said. We took a quick shower, dressed, and carried our gym bags into the living room, where Pete and Jared were sitting on the sofa, talking quietly. “Pizza‟s ordered,” Pete said. “Good,” Paul said. “Between running four miles and all that sex, I‟m hungry.”

By the time George and Mike stopped by to pick us up, the pizza was gone, the table cleared, and the four of us were sitting at the table playing cards. We left Jared in Pete‟s care and went to St. Augustine, where we had a great time. As George had said, Robbie was really enthusiastic about the old fort, and I had to admit that it was interesting to contemplate all of that history. We had an early dinner on the deck of a restaurant situated on the water, and were back in Jacksonville in time for Robbie to observe his schoolnight bedtime. Jared returned to the house just before we called it a night and joined us in the den, where we were sipping wine and talking to George and Mike. “I really didn‟t expect to see you here this early, Jared,” George said. “Pete has to work tonight,” Jared said. “When are you gonna see him again?” Paul said. “He‟s invited us to run with him Wednesday afternoon, and wants us to stay for pizza Wednesday night—that is, if you guys want to and George thinks it‟s okay.” “Won‟t four be a crowd?” Mike said. “It wasn‟t a problem today,” I said. “Pete and Jared retired to the bedroom for a while, and we opened the sofa bed in the living room. Need I say more?” “I‟m ready to call it a night,” George said. “Don‟t forget—we‟re all going to the Y in the morning. Then you‟re coming downtown with me to call Ian and Randy.”

Jacksonville, FL 0700 7 March 2011 Sean

WE SWAM laps at the Y with George and Mike early Monday morning and went with them into the steam room for a while. We five were its only occupants until a couple of guys walked through the door. They were both very tall, at least six-three; one of them had black hair, and the other one‟s hair was a light brown. They placed their towels, which had been slung over their shoulders, on one of the benches and had a seat. “Visit the Y often enough, and you see everybody naked,” George said. “Hey, George, Mike,” one of the men said. “Good to see you.” “Hi, guys,” George said. He proceeded to introduce us to Kevin Boxer and David Majors, who were friends of theirs. After the introductions were over, Kevin said, “Jared, you have a military look about you.” “I‟m a sergeant in the Marines,” Jared said. “Your hair is a bit long for that, isn‟t it?” Kevin said. Jared laughed and said, “I have a desk job at the Pentagon right now, so they cut me a little slack.” “David and I were Rangers, and we have a lot of respect for Marines.” “We‟ve been out for a few years now, but we do our best to stay in shape,” David said. Kevin said, “George, it‟ll be warm enough to use the pool in a few weeks, so you and Mike will have to bring Robbie over to swim with Anthony.” “Anthony is Kevin‟s nephew,” George said by way of explanation. “He

and David adopted him a while back.” “Yeah,” Mike said, “he‟s pretty close to Robbie‟s age, and they‟re buddies.” George looked pointedly at the clock on the wall and said, “Sorry, guys, but I‟m due downtown shortly. Give my regards to your grandmother, Kevin.” In the shower room, George looked at us and said, “I know you guys are dying to ask us a question, but why don‟t you wait until we‟re outside?” In the parking lot, we said good-bye to Mike, and he went to retrieve Robbie from the KidZone people at the Y so he could take him to school. We stood beside George‟s city car, waiting to follow him downtown in the rental car. “Okay, guys,” George said. “Yes, David‟s penis is missing, thanks to a grenade attack. And before you ask, they re-routed his urethra to a new spot between his testicles and his anus, and he has to sit down to pee. And yes, thanks to Kevin‟s skillful fingers and prostate massage, David is able to have orgasms.” “God, it takes balls to walk around like that,” Jared said. “I think most guys would hide behind a towel.” “In case you didn‟t notice,” I said, “the guy has the biggest balls I‟ve ever seen.” “Yeah, I noticed. Still, it makes you think.” “Shall we mount up?” George said. “I‟ll lead you to the visitor‟s parking lot and show you where to park, then I‟ll take my car to its assigned spot.” We followed George downtown, parked, and entered the building. By the time George caught up with us, we were all sporting visitor‟s badges, and he led us to the elevators and up to his floor. When we were in his office, he told us to have a seat while he placed the call. Dad was waiting with Uncle Randy at the Pentagon, so there would be little or no chance of the call being intercepted. “You can put it on the speaker, if you want to save time,” I said. “I can do that,” he said. Dad and Uncle Randy were happy to learn that everything was under control and that we were having a good time. Finally, we said our good-byes and ended the call. “I forgot to ask what you guys are planning to do today, if anything,” George said.

“We don‟t have any specific plans,” I said, “although we have a date to eat with Zeb and Zeke and their partners this evening.” “I could use a couple of shirts. Where‟s the closest mall?” Paul said. “There are three malls, and the easiest one for visitors to find would be The Avenues. Just go down I-95 until you see the exit for US 1, take US 1 under the interstate—that is, follow the signs in the direction that says St. Augustine—and the mall is on your left. The street that runs along the east side of the mall is Southside Boulevard—there‟s a Borders bookstore on that street maybe a mile or so north of the mall, if you‟re interested.” “Sounds good,” Jared said. “We can have lunch in the food court at the mall. How do we get to I-95 from here?” “From the parking lot, hang a right, go to Main Street, and turn left— once you‟re across the river, Main Street runs right into I-95.” Following George‟s directions, we made our way to I-95 and found The Avenues mall with no problem. The stores were on two levels, and we spent a considerable amount of time in a couple of the department stores and a nice video/music shop. After an early lunch in the food court, we headed up the street, found the Borders store easily, and killed a good hour before we went to a movie at a nearby multiplex. Then we went back to George and Mike‟s house to take a nap. Zeb and Zeke stopped by just about the time Mike got home from work, and we followed their car to a nearby restaurant, where we were able to sit on a deck overlooking a tidal creek while we ate. We had a great time visiting with them and their partners, Josh and Norm. We discovered that Josh had been born blind, but it didn‟t seem to bother him very much. Like Norm, he was a graduate student, and he was also kept busy as a piano tuner. We went to the Y with our hosts Tuesday morning and worked out in the weight room. Then we spent most of the rest of the day creatively loafing around the house, reading books and/or watching a movie on television. Wednesday we drove out to the beach around noon and ran with Pete, after which we spent the rest of the day at his apartment—in and out of bed. That evening, we ordered pizza and once again played cards afterward. We went downtown with George Thursday morning to call home; after that, it was pretty much a repeat of Tuesday, except that we went with George, Mike, and Robbie to the Pizza Italian restaurant we‟d enjoyed so much on our first evening in town.

Jacksonville Beach, FL 1300 11 March 2011 Sean

FRIDAY

afternoon, we once again headed to the beach. We ran with Pete and, after cleaning up at his apartment, went for a ride with him up to the Mayport Naval Station so he could visit the commissary. There was an aircraft carrier docked at the base, and we got a close-up look at it. “God, that‟s a big mother,” Paul said. “No kidding,” I said. Pete said, “Those things have to be huge—think about the size of the landing area on the deck. Believe it or not, some five thousand men and women live on board all of the time.” “That‟s right,” Jared said, “you served on carriers, didn‟t you?” “Been there, done that. Wouldn‟t want to do it again.” By the time we got back to Pete‟s apartment, it was time to eat, so we again decided to order pizza. We were cleaning up the kitchen when there was a knock on the door, so Pete went to answer it. When he opened the door, two guys entered the living room, both of them wearing running attire. One of them was blond, blue-eyed, and of medium height; the other guy was a couple of inches taller and had dark hair and sort of gray eyes. Pete introduced them as Cody and Luke. Introductions complete, Cody said, “Sorry to barge in when you have company, Pete, but Luke just got back to town, and we went out for a run.” “And you wanted to stop by and use the bedroom,” Pete said. “If you and your guests don‟t mind,” Luke said. “Why should we mind?” Pete said. “We‟ve been using the bedroom and the sofa bed most of the afternoon.” Without another word, the newcomers disappeared into the bedroom. Pete said, “Cody‟s dad owns the service station, and Cody works there every morning that he doesn‟t have classes—he goes to UNF. Luke is his best friend, and they started getting it on shortly after I first met them. They go out running together and stop by here so they can have sex. Luke goes to college in another city, so they can‟t get together as much as they used to.”

We finished cleaning up the kitchen table and settled down at it to play some serious hands of Hearts. The card game had been underway for thirty or forty minutes when there was a pounding at the door. “What now?” Pete said, but before he could get up and go to the door, it burst open, and two men wearing ski masks and holding guns entered the living room. “What the fuck!” Pete said. “Shut up and get down on the floor, now!” one of the men yelled. “That goes for all of you,” the other man said, equally loudly. All of which prompted me to say, “I‟m not gonna go through this again, so go ahead and shoot, if you want to.” “Yeah, screw you,” Paul said in a loud voice. The men walked closer to the table and started issuing instructions, but we more or less stood our ground and yelled back at them. Just then, the bedroom door, which was now behind the two men‟s backs, opened, and Cody and Luke emerged naked from the bedroom. “What‟s all the yelling about?” Cody said. The men turned to look in Cody‟s direction, and the minute their backs were to us, Pete and Jared jumped them from behind. With the element of surprise on their side, it didn‟t take our two heroes long to subdue the guys— with, I‟m proud to say, more than a bit of help from the rest of us. When the two men were facedown on the floor, their hands and feet secured by every belt we could find, Jared said, “Sean, call George now.” Pete added, “Cody, you and Luke had better get dressed.” I pulled out my cell phone and gave George a call. He told me to sit tight and that he would have the local cops there in a few minutes, and someone from his department would follow. Then he added, “Are you guys okay? Really okay?” “Never better. Believe me when I tell you it felt good to give a little back to the bad guys. I guess I‟d better call Dad and let him know what‟s going on.” “You might as well take care of that while I make the calls,” George said. “I don‟t think there‟s much need for continued secrecy at this point.” I punched the speed dial number for our house, and Uncle Randy picked up the call. “What are you guys doing calling this number?” he said without preamble. “Where are you, and is Dad with you?” I said.

“We‟re in the safe room,” he said. “Put the phone on speaker, please,” I said. “I don‟t wanta go through this twice.” I heard a click followed by Dad‟s voice saying, “What‟s going on?” “We‟re at the apartment of a new friend of ours in Jacksonville Beach, and we just captured two guys who broke in—they were definitely looking for us.” “Shit,” Uncle Randy said. “We really do have a leak at the Pentagon.” “Listen, I‟ve probably got just enough time to tell you about it in some detail before the local police get here, okay?” “Go ahead,” Dad said. “I‟ve got a recorder on the line.” I went through the afternoon and evening in considerable detail, carefully omitting any references to sex, except I had to explain what Cody and Luke were doing in the bedroom before they surprised the bad guys. “Did you guys get all of that?” I said. “Yes, we did,” Dad said. “We‟re proud of both of you,” Uncle Randy said. “Thanks. I hear car doors slamming outside, so I‟ll say good-bye for now. We‟ll talk to both of you when we get back to George and Mike‟s house, but it‟ll be a while, okay?” “No problem,” Dad said.

Jacksonville Beach, FL 2000 11 March 2011 Sean

AS I closed the phone and put it back in my pocket, I heard heavy footsteps coming up the stairs, and a pair of uniformed policemen appeared in the doorway. One of them was middle-aged and fat, and the other was probably no more than mid-twenties and very slim. “What‟s going on here?” the older cop said. “We were sitting here at the kitchen table playing cards when these two guys burst through the door,” Pete said. “They were wearing ski masks and had guns.” “What did they want?” he said. “Us,” I said, pointing at Paul. “You?” he said. “Why?” “My roommate and I were kidnapped in December, but we escaped. They‟re probably working for the same people. Call Captain Martin at the sheriff‟s office, he has the whole story—my friends and I are guests in his home.” The older cop said, “Yeah, Captain Martin called me. We‟re going to cuff these guys and turn them over to one of his people—there‟s a car on the way as we speak.” “Why were you guys kidnapped?” the younger cop said. “Are you rich?” “Hardly that,” Paul said. “My dad works with top-secret stuff at the Pentagon, and they grabbed us to gain leverage over him.” The two policemen replaced our belts with handcuffs and pulled the ski masks off of our would-be abductors. “Recognize these two?” the older cop

said. “No, Sir,” I said, “but that doesn‟t mean anything. The last time this happened, there were four guys, and all of them were wearing ski masks. We didn‟t see their faces.” “Where was this?” he said. “Paul and I were students at The Citadel,” I said, “and we were taking the train home to Washington for Christmas break. They pulled us off of the train in the middle of the night.” “They put us into a van and stuck needles in us,” Paul said. “We woke up the next day somewhere in the Smoky Mountains.” “Two or three nights later, we escaped and wound up taking refuge in a storage shed behind Captain Martin‟s cabin in the mountains,” I said. We were interrupted by chatter from the radio that was attached to the older cop‟s shirt. He listened for a minute and said, “We‟re on the way.” “This is our lucky night, guys,” the older cop said to us. “We‟re gonna save a shitload of paperwork by turning this whole thing over to the sheriff‟s office. Captain Martin and his people get the job of sorting it out.” “Yeah,” the younger cop said, “we hate all that paperwork.” “On your feet, gentlemen,” the older cop said to the bad guys. The two policemen marched our would-be abductors out the door and down the steps. We sat, dumbfounded, for a long minute or two until Cody said, “Oh, shit, my dad‟s gonna wonder what Luke and I were doing here this evening.” Pete said, “You guys were out running and stopped by to visit, use the bathroom, or any other plausible excuse you can come up with.” “But how are we gonna explain the fact that we were naked in your bedroom, Pete?” Luke said. “Why should you?” I said. “Excuse me?” Cody said. “There‟s no reason to mention the fact that you were naked,” I said. “You were running, had to make a pit stop, and used the bathroom. When you came out, the bad guys were here. End of story.” “Yeah, and don‟t forget that this whole episode is gonna get hushed up pretty quickly,” Paul said. “When Sean and I were kidnapped, it didn‟t make the news anywhere, nor did the fact that we escaped.” “What Sean and Paul are saying is get your stories straight and chill,

okay?” Pete said. “So what do we do now?” Cody said. “We wait until someone from the sheriff‟s office gets here,” Pete said. “Grab a soda from the fridge and have a seat.” “Pete, are you gonna be able to lock your apartment tonight?” I said. “No problem. I can secure it by throwing the deadbolt—I‟ll take care of the other part of the lock tomorrow or the next day.” After what seemed like forever, there was a knock on the door, and when Pete opened it, I saw a familiar face and said, “Hey, Carl. Sorry we got you out so late at night.” “Don‟t worry about it. Captain Martin told my lieutenant to call me because I‟m gay and because I had met at least some of you.” That was my cue to make the introductions, so I said, “Guys, this is Sergeant Johnson, one of only two out officers with the Jacksonville Sheriff‟s Office.” When the introductions were complete, Pete said, “Have a seat, Sergeant, and tell us how we can help you.” Carl took a seat at the kitchen table, pulled a small recorder out of his pocket, and asked me to tell him what happened. Since I‟d been through the same process with George back in December, I knew to name names and provide background information. When I got to the point where Cody and Luke had emerged naked from the bedroom, I stopped and said, “Can we leave that little detail out of the official report, Carl?” “Why?” he said. “Because their parents don‟t know about them, and it‟s not really relevant to what happened.” “I think we can manage that,” Carl said. I finished relating what had happened, and Carl said, “Anybody else have anything to add?” Everyone indicated that they didn‟t, and Carl said, “Okay, gentlemen, that‟s all I need. Captain Martin told me that this investigation is going to be kicked up to some agency in Washington, and they know where to find Sean, Paul, and Jared. Enjoy what‟s left of your evening.” Carl left, and we sat for a moment looking at each other. “Hell of a way to end our spring break trip,” Paul said. “No shit, Sherlock. Jared, much as I hate to break this party up, we need to get back to George and Mike‟s house so we can call home before it gets

any later.” “Yeah, and Luke and I had better head out—we‟ve been gone too long as it is,” Cody said. Cody and Luke left, and I grabbed Paul by the hand, led him into the bedroom, and closed the door behind us. “What?” he said. “We need to give Jared and Pete time to say good-bye,” I said. “Good thinking,” he said. “Meanwhile, I‟m gonna take a leak.” We used the bathroom, washed our hands, and returned to the living room. Pete and Jared were sitting on the sofa, holding hands, and I said, “Time to go, if the designated driver is ready.” “Yeah,” Jared said, “I‟m ready.” Paul and I thanked Pete for a great spring break and followed Jared down the stairs to the car. When we arrived at George and Mike‟s house, we found our hosts in the den. George was on the telephone, and Mike was at the computer. “They just walked in the door,” George said into the telephone, followed by, “I can do that.” He pushed a button, and I heard Uncle Randy say, “Hey, guys. Are you all right? George says everything seems to be under control.” “We‟re fine, Dad,” Paul said. “Yeah, never better,” I said. “Such sarcasm for one so young,” my dad said. Uncle Randy said, “I‟ll make this short. You guys need to pack and go to bed. There‟s a flight leaving NAS Jacksonville at oh dark hundred, and George has graciously agreed to get you guys on it.” “I thought we weren‟t leaving until tomorrow afternoon,” Paul said. “That was never cast in concrete. There have been some developments, and you guys need to be home.” “Developments?” I said. “George will fill you in. We just finished briefing him.” “Okay,” I said. We all said good-bye, and George pushed the button. “Developments?” I repeated. “Yeah. Serious ones. For openers, remember the two guys I arrested in

Maggie Valley?” “We could hardly forget that,” Paul said. “They‟re dead,” he said. “Dead! How?” I said. “They were being transported from the county jail to the courthouse in Waynesville yesterday morning, along with three other prisoners, and the van was ambushed. All five prisoners died, and both the driver and the guard were seriously injured.” “Holy shit,” Paul said. “Wait a minute, why are we just now hearing about this?” I said. “Somebody in Washington pulled a few strings and imposed a media blackout—at least for the time being,” George said. “That‟s one development,” I said. “I presume your use of the plural means there were more?” “Yeah. They haven‟t pinpointed the mole in the Pentagon, but they‟ve identified the guy he was dealing with.” “That‟s good,” Paul said. “True, but not good enough,” George said. “He was just a bit player and was taking his orders from somebody in New York City.” “They know who?” I said. “Not yet. The cell phone the guy was calling has been traced to within a radius of several blocks.” “That‟s good, isn‟t it?” Paul said. “Paul, how many apartments and offices do you think there are within a radius like that in a place like New York City?” I said. “Hundreds? Thousands?” “Yeah, it‟s good, but not good enough. Shit.” “Any more developments, George?” I said. “Just one. In light of what happened in North Carolina, the two guys that were arrested at the beach are already on their way to a secure federal facility up north.” “I hope your buddy the sheriff in Waynesville isn‟t upset with you over this,” I said. “He‟s definitely an unhappy camper right now, mostly because his people look bad. But he‟s been around long enough and is decent enough not to play the blame game.”

“Anything else?” Paul said. “I think that‟s enough news for one evening,” George said. “Yeah,” I said. “Let‟s go pack and call it a night.” Our flight left early the next morning, and we were glad to be going home, even though we‟d had a great time. Robbie had been particularly upset to see us go, and had given each of us a fierce hug and kiss. Two familiar faces were waiting for us when we landed at Andrews Air Force Base, and we were more than happy to see them.

Washington, DC—Andrews Air Force Base 0900 12 March 2011 Sean “LOOKS like you guys got some sun,” Dad said. “Yeah, what with one thing and another,” I said, “we did spend some time running on the beach.” In the car, Paul said, “Have there been any new developments?” “Yes, there have,” Uncle Ian said. “They‟ve caught the mole in the Pentagon.” “Great,” I said. “Is he singing like a canary, as the saying goes?” “Not yet,” Dad said, “but he‟s hinted that he might be willing to cut some sort of deal.” “Meaning?” Paul said. “The usual trade-off, reduced sentence in exchange for information— that sort of thing. You‟ve watched Law and Order, haven‟t you?” Uncle Randy said. “Yeah, but I‟m never quite sure how real some of that stuff is,” Paul said. “Paul,” Uncle Randy said, in that tone of voice, “if people charged with crimes didn‟t cut deals all of the time, there wouldn‟t be enough courts and judges to handle all those trials.” “Yeah, I guess,” Paul said. “So what happens now?” I said.

“Life goes on, just as it did before your break,” Dad said. “Meaning we still have Jared for a chaperone?” I said. “Until this thing is fully resolved and those responsible are behind bars, yes,” Uncle Randy said. “Remember, the guy that got arrested was probably a couple of degrees removed from the guy who‟s pulling the strings.” “Lucky you, Jared,” Paul said. “You get to keep on babysitting us for a while.” “I‟ve had worse assignments,” Jared said.

New York, NY 1200 12 March 2011 The Broker

THE information broker was waiting impatiently when his subordinate came back to the office to report. “Well?” he said. “Boss, it‟s bad. Real bad.” “How bad?” he said. “Our little friend in Maryland says his contact at the Pentagon has been arrested.” “Shit,” he said. “There‟s more.” “Let me have it,” he said. “The two stooges who went to Florida managed to get themselves arrested last night.” “Where are they being held?” he said. “They were in the Duval County Jail, but he thinks they‟re being moved to some sort of federal facility near Washington.” “What will the Pentagon guy be able to give them?” he said. “Best case—nothing; worst case—our little friend.” “Is there any good news in all of this?” the broker said. “Nobody knows who we are.” “But they surely know where we are by now,” he said.

“Yeah, within so many blocks of the nearest cell tower, and that covers at least a hundred buildings and a thousand offices and apartments.” “Then I guess it‟s time to execute Plan B,” he said. “Meaning we relocate.” “Exactly.” “I‟ll start wiping things down. This little rented office is small enough that it won‟t take very long.” “Good,” the broker said. “I‟ll get the other preparations taken care of.” While his helper wiped down all of the surfaces in the office, the broker opened a closet, revealing two five-gallon cans of gasoline and three containers filled with various chemicals, all of which were popular with arsonists as accelerants. “Man, this place is gonna burn like crazy once you toss a match inside.” “We can‟t just „toss a match‟ into this stuff, we‟re going to have to use a timer and a small explosive device—like this one,” the broker said as he removed a small box from the largest drawer of the desk and set it carefully on the floor. A few minutes later, the room was saturated with a variety of chemicals and gasoline, the explosive device carefully positioned, and the timer set. “Let‟s go, boss,” the helper said. “This place is gonna go up in a couple of minutes.” “I‟m going,” he said, pulling a small handgun from his pocket, “but you aren‟t.” The suppressed gun made a couple of burping sounds, and his helper landed in a heap on the floor. Just to be certain, the broker bent down, pressed the muzzle of the gun to the forehead of the man on the floor, and delivered the coup de grâce. He slipped out of the ground-floor office, carefully locked the door behind him, and walked quickly down the block to the corner. There, he waited until he heard a loud pop, followed by a most satisfying whoosh, before he walked to the nearest subway stop and disappeared into the crowd.

Arlington, VA 0600 14 March 2011 Sean

THE Monday

after our return from Florida, Jared appeared at the house as usual, and we resumed our weekday schedule of a visit to the Y followed by school, but not before receiving a long lecture from Dad and Uncle Randy centered around exercising extreme caution everywhere we went. Dad said, “Sean, this isn‟t over—not by a long shot—and you guys are going to have to be extra vigilant.” “For how long?” I said. “Until we find out who‟s behind this and they‟re behind bars,” he said. “Are we any closer to finding out?” I said. “Unfortunately, no,” he said. “Damn,” Paul said. “Sorry, son, but that‟s the way it is,” Uncle Randy said. When we reached the Y, Paul said, “Laps or weight room?” “Laps, definitely,” I said. “I need to burn off a lot of frustration.” “Yeah, me too,” he said. “What about you, Jared?” I said. “Laps are good,” he said.

Arlington, VA 2200 4 April 2011

Sean

WE SETTLED

back into our routine, and things went well for a couple of weeks after our return from Florida, except for the fact that we were all getting frustrated. Paul and I were frustrated by the continued restrictions on our movement, and there was no doubt in our minds that Jared was feeling frustrations of another sort. “Do you think he‟s missing Pete?” Paul said during one of our “just before going to sleep” powwows. “Maybe he misses getting laid regularly,” I said. “You think?” “Or it could be all of the above,” I said. “We can‟t do anything about Pete, but maybe we can get him a date.” “How?” “We could make some contacts through a gay group?” he said. “At Georgetown? Bite your tongue. I realize this is the twenty-first century, but I‟m also painfully aware of who runs Georgetown. In any case, we‟re not gonna do anything that calls attention to us or my father.” “Actually, I was thinking about George Washington University,” he said. “Okay, but how are we gonna get there?” “If we were taking the Metro back and forth to school, it would be easy—we go right by that campus on the way to the station.” “Maybe, but we‟re not.” “Okay. Then we need a plan B,” he said. “We‟ll come up with something. Time to go to sleep.” “Yeah.” As it turned out, we didn‟t really need a plan B. Two mornings later, when Jared drove us to the Y, we noticed something significantly different about him, and Paul was the first to put it into words, saying, “Jared, my man, you‟ve got that look about you this morning.” “What look?” Jared said. “For want of a better phrase, let‟s call it the „I got laid last night‟ look.” “Geez. Does it show that much?” “Only to those of us who know and love you,” I said. “Now, tell.” “There‟s not a lot to tell. I was down in Quantico last Saturday, picking

up some things at the commissary, and this guy sort of struck up a conversation with me.” “And?” I said. “You can imagine how circumspect Marines have to be, right?” “Of course,” Paul said. “To make a long story short, we met for lunch in Old Town Sunday, and he came over last night while my roommate was out.” “Way to go, Jared,” I said. “Yeah, and it gets better.” “How so?” Paul said. “Pete‟s coming up Thursday evening for a long weekend,” Jared said. “Does he need a place to stay?” I said. “He‟s gonna get a cheap motel room,” Jared said. “Like heck he is,” I said. “He can stay with us.” “Won‟t your folks mind?” he said. “We‟ll run it by Dad and Uncle Randy, but why would they?” I said. “Especially after you and Pete captured the bad guys in Florida.” “And saved our butts,” Paul said. We let the matter drop until we got home from school that afternoon and found Dad waiting for us. “Come on into the den, guys,” Dad said. “You too, Jared. I have some news.” When we were settled, I said, “Okay, Dad, what‟s up?” “Remember that cell phone that was traced to New York City?” he said. “Sure,” I said. “It‟s been found,” he said. “And?” I said. “It was found in a burned-out building—underneath a body. According to the investigators, if the body hadn‟t fallen on top of the cell phone, it would probably have been totally destroyed.” “Who was the body?” Paul said. “A low-level criminal. They‟re trying to trace his movements.” “Did they learn anything from the phone?” Paul said. “Nothing worth mentioning, other than it was used to make a lot of calls to another prepaid cell phone in the DC suburbs,” Dad said.

“So it‟s yet another dead end?” I said. “Not quite. The powers that be are now on the trail of a sort of information broker who they think is very likely behind this whole thing.” “Information broker?” Paul said. “That‟s sort of a catch-all term used to describe people who buy and sell secrets,” Dad said. “So is it over?” I said. “Not by a long shot. This guy has obviously spent a ton of money trying to obtain the information, and he‟s not going to give up without a fight. My contact says if the guy is typical, he‟s probably got a couple of foreign governments bidding for the information, and the stakes are very high.” “Which means we have to be extra careful, right?” I said. “Precisely, which brings me to a question. Jared, would you mind moving in for the duration? There‟s a nice sofa bed in the den.” “No, Sir, not at all.” “Okay, Sean,” Dad said. “Why are you grinning? Is there something I don‟t know?” “As it happens, Pete is coming into town this weekend to visit Jared, and we‟ve sort of invited them to stay here—we were gonna ask you this evening.” Dad said, “I don‟t have a problem with that, nor will Randy—as long as certain secrets are protected.” “Secrets—as in who sleeps with whom?” I said. “Exactly,” he said. “That‟s hardly a problem given that everyone concerned has his own secrets to protect,” Paul said.

Washington, DC 1000 5 April 2011 The Broker

THE information broker was getting desperate—he knew that he had to act, and soon. In fact, it was now or never. After torching his New York base of

operations, he had carefully considered going it alone in order to speed things up a bit. In the past, he‟d always managed to maintain at least two or three degrees of separation between himself and the “troops on the ground,” as he often thought of them, so he finally decided to be cautious and hire a helper. He‟d recently taken a down payment from the Chinese because they had outbid the competition, and he‟d used that down payment to fund the past few weeks of his operation. The downside to having taken the money was that he now had a deadline, and if he failed to deliver as promised, the purchaser would expect repayment with interest. He had taken a room in a small hotel but elected to meet his new helper on the National Mall. They sat on a bench near the Smithsonian Metro Station, surrounded by crowds of tourists who were enjoying the spring weather and the mall, rushing from one museum to another. Pitching his voice just loud enough to be heard above the background noise, he said, “Okay, what do you have to tell me?” “I followed those kids to and from school every day for almost two weeks, and their routine never varies.” “Explain,” he said. “A young guy picks them up at the house in Arlington early every morning,” the helper said, “and they go to the Y for a little over an hour. Then they go back to the house for a while—I guess to have breakfast. After that, the guy drives them to school and hangs around all day until it‟s time to drive them home. I think the guy is a Marine—there‟s a Quantico sticker in the windshield, and he‟s got a bumper sticker that says „Semper Fi‟.” “What does he do then?” he said. “He leaves,” the helper said, “and the whole thing starts over again the next day.” “Do they get separated while they‟re at the Y?” he said. “No, Sir,” the helper said. “I followed them inside once, and they went straight to the pool to swim laps. After that they spent some time in the steam room before they showered, dressed, and left. They act like they‟re joined at the hip.” “How did you manage to do that?” he said. “I went to the check-in counter, said I was interested in joining, and asked for a tour,” his helper said. “Is the third man armed?” he said. “That‟s hard to tell,” his helper said. “He wears those pants with a lot of pockets—cargo pants, I think the kids call them. There‟s a pretty big bulge in

one of the pockets, so I‟m guessing he‟s got a gun in there.” “Shit! I guess that means we‟re gonna have to take them at their house during the evening.” “Just say when,” the helper said, “and I‟m ready.” “You‟ll need someone to help you,” the broker said. “I‟ve got a buddy I can count on,” the helper said. “Good,” he said.

Arlington, Virginia 1700 7 April 2011 Sean

PAUL

and I were doing some homework assignments for a couple of our more difficult classes, and Jared had driven to the airport to meet Pete‟s flight, which was due to land at five thirty. Dad stuck his head in our door and said, “If one of you is at a stopping point, the dining room table needs to be set.” “Perfect timing. I‟ll be right there, Dad.” “I need ten more minutes,” Paul said. “Knock yourself out,” I said, and I headed for the dining room. By the time Paul showed up, the table was very nearly finished. “What can I do?” Paul said. “Open the two bottles of red wine you see on the sideboard so they can breathe,” I said. I finished with the table while he took care of the wine. Then we wandered into the kitchen and sat down at the breakfast table, and Paul said, “You guys are going to a lot of trouble.” “It‟s no trouble at all,” Uncle Randy said. “We like to entertain, but we almost never have an opportunity to do so.” “And Jared is part of the family now,” Dad said. “You do understand that he and Pete are gonna go straight to bed after we eat, and we probably won‟t see them until tomorrow morning,” I said. “Oh, yeah,” Dad said. “I remember what it was like to be in lust at their age.” He paused for a moment. “That‟s all it is, isn‟t it?” “I‟m not sure,” Paul said. “Yeah,” I said, “from the way they acted when we were all together,

I‟ve got a feeling that it could very easily turn into something way beyond mere lust.” “More power to them,” Uncle Randy said. “There‟s not enough love in the world these days.” “Time will tell,” Paul said. “Jared has to finish his hitch in the Marines, and Pete has a couple of years of college to go.” “Assuming he doesn‟t go for a master‟s,” I said. “They‟ll work it out,” Dad said. “If it was meant to be, it‟ll happen.” “Anyhow, Dad, thanks for arranging it so that Pete could come to school with us tomorrow,” I said. “Yeah, he and Jared can hang out together while we‟re in class,” Paul said. “Just so they don‟t get so wrapped up in each other that they neglect you guys,” Uncle Randy said. “I think our Jared takes his job too seriously for that,” I said. “I hear a car,” Dad said. Uncle Randy, who was looking out the kitchen window, said, “It‟s Jared‟s car. I can see it pulling under the overhang outside the garage.” Paul and I hurried down to the basement just in time to open the people door for Jared, who had a key to the front door, but not the downstairs door. After we said hello to Pete, I said, “You‟re just in time, Jared. Dinner will be ready by the time you show Pete where to put his bag.” “And we‟ve already told Dad and Uncle Ian that you guys will probably do a disappearing act after dinner and we won‟t see either of you till tomorrow morning,” Paul said. Jared blushed, and Pete said, “Thanks, guys, we appreciate that.” Pete dropped his bag in Jared‟s room and took a couple of minutes to wash up before he and Jared joined the rest of us in the dining room, where it took a few minutes for introductions to be made and for Dad and Uncle Randy to express their appreciation to Pete for all he‟d done for us during spring break. We had a great meal, and I noticed that Jared and Pete both ate rather quickly and sparingly, then sat making small talk while we finished. Dad finally said, “Jared, I think you and Pete probably have business to take care of, so we‟ll see you at breakfast.” “Thanks, Dr. Sanderson,” Jared said, and he and Pete walked out of the dining room hand in hand.

We helped Dad and Uncle Randy clear the table, and then the four of us made short work of kitchen-patrol duty before we settled down in the living room and watched television for a while, and then we all retired. Pete accompanied us to the Y Friday morning, and the four of us swam better than a mile of laps at a vigorous pace. After we spent some time in the steam room, we showered, dressed, and went straight to school, where we had breakfast together in a facility on campus. Dad had an early meeting, so he had taken the Metro to school while we were at the Y. After breakfast, Paul and I went to our first class and left our bodyguards to hang around the building.

Washington, DC 1500 8 April 2011 Sean

AFTER our last class of the day, we found Jared and Pete and went to Dad‟s office to see if he was ready to go home. Pete had mentioned over dinner that this was his first trip to the nation‟s capital, so Dad suggested that we drop him off at the Metro station so Jared could give Pete a brief tour of the city. “Why don‟t you guys plan to be home by six,” Dad said before exiting the car, “and we‟ll order pizza.” “Yes, Sir,” Jared said. “That sounds like a plan. Do you think it would be okay for us to park near the National Mall and walk around a bit?” “I don‟t see why not,” Dad said, “as long as there are plenty of people around. You are armed, aren‟t you, Jared?” “Yes, Sir, I am.” “Then enjoy yourselves. Just be careful.” “Dad,” I said, “what about Kramerbooks at Dupont Circle? We could have a snack at the Afterwords Café.” “That area is always crowded, and the same cautions apply, but whatever you do, don‟t get separated. Have fun, guys.” “Yes, Sir,” I said. “We‟ll stay joined at the hip.” Dad closed the car door and joined the crowd of people heading into the Metro station, and Jared pointed the car in the general direction of the

National Mall. It felt good to be out and about, and the presence of both Jared and Pete gave me a sense of security, which I was sure Paul was feeling as well.

Arlington, VA 1820 8 April 2011 Sean

WHEN

we arrived back at the house, we found Dad at the kitchen table, using his laptop, and I said, “Where‟s Uncle Randy?” “He‟s running late and just boarded the Metro.” “Good, that gives us time to freshen up or whatever.” “Freshen up?” Dad said. “Or whatever,” I said, giving him a wink. “No problem. You‟ve got half an hour before we order the pizza.” “See you later,” I said, and we left the room. When we were in the living room, I said, “Okay, guys, you heard the man. We‟ve got a half hour to kill.” “Shut up and follow me,” Paul said. “Paul! We have guests.” “They‟re quite capable of amusing themselves,” he said as he propelled me toward our bedroom. Paul and I arrived back in the living room a few minutes after Uncle Randy got home, and as soon as he had changed out of his uniform, we joined him and Dad in the kitchen. “Ready to place that pizza order, guys?” Dad said. “Yes, Sir,” Paul said. “What about your guests?” Dad said. “Do you need to ask them what they want on their pizza?” “No, Sir,” I said. “We had pizza together a couple of times in Jacksonville Beach, and we all like the same toppings.”

Dad went to the phone and ordered three large pizzas with various toppings. When he hung up, he said, “That ought to be enough for six hungry men.” “How long?” Uncle Randy said. “Thirty minutes. It‟s prime time, and they‟re swamped.” We went to the living room and killed time watching television until the doorbell rang. Dad looked at his watch and said, “Their estimate was off, it‟s only been twenty minutes. I‟ll answer it.” “We‟ll go to the kitchen and start opening the drinks,” Uncle Randy said. Dad headed to the front door, and the rest of us went to the kitchen to get the ice and soft drinks—everyone had agreed that it was too early for anything else. The plates, glasses, and silverware were already on the dining room table. As we entered the dining room, we met Dad coming from the other direction, being herded by two men wearing ski masks and holding guns. “Shit! Not again,” Paul said. “Shut up, kid!” one of the men yelled. “Yeah,” the other man said, “as soon as we get the old guys tied up, you boys are coming with us.” “Like hell we are,” I said, and I began yelling at them, hoping that Jared and Pete would hear the commotion. Paul must have read my mind, because he began yelling at them as well. They, of course, yelled back, and Dad and Uncle Randy joined in. I was facing the arched doorway that led to the living room and soon saw Jared and Pete creeping barefoot up behind the two men. Our two heroes grabbed the men from behind, and both guns clattered to the floor, fortunately without discharging. After that, it didn‟t take long for the six of us to completely subdue the two intruders, and they were quickly bound, gagged, and tied to a pair of sturdy dining room chairs. The doorbell rang, and Dad said, “I think the pizza really is here this time—I‟ll get it.” Dad left the room and returned a couple of minutes later carrying the pizza. He set the boxes on the dining room table. “What do we do now?” I said. “I know what I‟d like to do,” Uncle Randy said.

“Yeah,” Dad said, “you‟d like to beat the shit out of them.” “Too right,” Uncle Randy said. “I hope you‟re not going to stop me.” Dad said, “No, but maybe you need to think it over just a bit before you do anything.” “I guess,” Uncle Randy said somewhat reluctantly. “While you‟re thinking that over,” Dad said, “I‟m going to make a telephone call. Meanwhile, why don‟t the rest of you eat your pizza before it gets cold.” Uncle Randy said, “Yeah, you guys eat your pizza, and I‟m gonna run down to the basement and retrieve a couple of tools while these two thugs contemplate their sins.” Dad gave him a quizzical look but said nothing as he went to the wall telephone in the kitchen. “You heard him, guys,” I said. “It‟s pizza time.” The four of us sat at one end of the large table and selected slices of pizza. Dad joined us a couple of minutes later, and Uncle Randy came into the room shortly after that, carrying a toolbox. He set the toolbox on the floor in front of the chairs the two thugs were tied to, and began to remove a few tools from it. First, he placed a cordless drill carefully on the dining room table and made a show of selecting and inserting an extremely wicked-looking bit into the chuck and tightening it in place. Then he removed a couple of needle-nose pliers and placed them on the table, followed by a couple of other tools. “What‟s up, Dad?” Paul said. “Remember the movie Marathon Man?” Uncle Randy said. “Sort of,” Paul said. “Didn‟t we all watch it at the cabin last summer?” “Yeah,” I said. “We‟re gonna recreate a scene from it,” Uncle Randy said. “What scene?” Dad said. “The one where the infamous Nazi butcher Dr. Mengele, played by Laurence Olivier, asks the character played by Dustin Hoffman, „Is it safe?‟” Uncle Randy said, “just before he begins to drill into Dustin Hoffman‟s teeth without benefit of Novocain.” Needless to say, we stopped eating our pizza and watched, mesmerized. “You wouldn‟t…,” Dad said. “Would you?” “Don‟t forget how pissed I was when we were in Maggie Valley and

caught those two guys. I‟ve been totally pissed for a long time about this shit, and since there aren‟t beaches to storm, this seems like the next best thing.” He picked up the drill and revved it for a minute by way of emphasis. “Before your buddy Rupert and his friends get here, I‟m gonna have these two singing like canaries.” “Need any help prying their mouths open?” Pete said. “Wait and see,” Uncle Randy said. He looked at the two men. “Which one of you is in charge?” One of the two men strained at the ropes to jerk his head in the other one‟s direction. The other one sort of shrank back into his chair, which we took as a clear sign of admission, and Uncle Randy said, “Okay, we‟re off to a good start. Who wants to take the gag off of that one so we can hear what he has to say?” “I will,” Pete said, and he got up from the table and untied the gag— none too gently. By the time Dad‟s people arrived at the house, Uncle Randy had extracted what seemed to be a fairly complete confession from the thugs. He actually had to ask Pete to pry the one guy‟s mouth open while he revved the drill in his face a couple of times before he talked, but talk he did. It was almost as though once the words started flowing, he couldn‟t seem to stop himself. We learned, among other things, that the guy behind the operation was waiting for a phone call telling him that Paul and I had been safely stashed somewhere, after which the head thug was to meet his boss near a Metro station to collect additional funds. When he heard that, the man Dad had introduced as Rupert said, “If we can persuade this guy to make the call, we just might be able to catch him.” “Good,” Uncle Randy said. “I‟d like an end to this stuff once and for all.” “Yeah, we can only hope,” Dad said. When we were once again alone in the house, we nuked the remaining pizza, which had grown cold after we‟d stopped eating, and finished it off, this time replacing the soft drinks with wine. While we were eating, Paul said, “Dad, would you really have used the drill on that guy‟s teeth?” “What do you think?” Uncle Randy said. “That‟s a tough question,” Paul said. “Part of me believes you would actually do it, and I wanted to see him suffer and didn‟t care who did it, and part of me was kind of put off by it, but that might have just been because it

would have been you doing it to him and not some stranger. In any case, I realize that you‟re pragmatic enough to do what‟s necessary, if you think it‟s warranted.” “That‟s a very good answer,” Uncle Randy said. “Meanwhile, what do we do?” I said. “We get on with our lives, and if they succeed in capturing this guy, we might even be able to let our guard down a bit,” Dad said. “Not all the way?” Paul said. “I don‟t think so,” Uncle Randy said. “If we learn that this guy has told one or more of our enemies that my project even exists, who knows what actions they might take?” “Do you think he did?” Paul said. “It‟s obvious that our mole in the Pentagon told at least one bad guy. What we don‟t know is how far the story has spread,” Uncle Randy said. “I thought he was gonna cut a deal or something,” I said. “If he has,” Uncle Randy said, “I haven‟t heard about it.” “Shit,” Paul said. Uncle Randy said, “Paul, don‟t ask a question if you‟re not prepared to face up to the answer.” “Yeah, I guess I set myself up for that, didn‟t I?” “Meanwhile, there‟s no reason why our guests can‟t continue to enjoy their weekend in the nation‟s capital,” Dad said. “Yeah, with the two thugs being jailed, it‟ll take the head bad guy a while to find replacements—assuming we don‟t catch him, that is,” Uncle Randy said. “I‟ve had enough excitement for one evening, and I‟m more than ready to call it a night,” I said. “Before you head to your rooms,” Uncle Randy said, “I think I‟d better give each of you a gun, just in case.” “No problem, Dad,” Paul said. Uncle Randy asked us to follow him into the den. He unlocked the gun safe, selected four revolvers, and handed one to Paul, myself, Pete, and Dad. “Pete,” Uncle Randy said, “as an ex-Navy guy, I‟m guessing you know how to handle this revolver?”

“Yes, Sir,” Pete said, “I certainly do.” Uncle Randy handed each of us a supply of ammunition and said, “Put these weapons and ammo within easy reach of your beds, just in case.” “Yes, Sir,” we chorused. “Good,” he said, and he locked the gun safe before we left the room. “One final thing,” Uncle Randy said. “Just be careful—we don‟t need to wind up shooting each other in the dark.” With that, we left the den and went to our respective bedrooms.

Arlington, VA 0700 9 April 2011 Sean

BECAUSE

it was Saturday, we had breakfast a little later than usual. Dad and Uncle Randy were already sitting at the kitchen counter with their coffee when Paul and I walked into the room. “Any word about the bad guys?” Paul said. “Good morning to you too,” Uncle Randy said. “Yeah, good morning. Any news?” “Ian did get a phone call just now.” “A phone call?” I said. “Are you guys gonna tease us all morning?” Paul said. “What‟s up?” “What‟s up is that Rupert called,” Dad said. “And?” I said. “One of the thugs from last night will be meeting his boss at nine.” “Where?” “At a Metro station. Rupert‟s people will have the area surrounded.” “So now we wait,” Paul said. “That about sums it up,” Dad said. “Are you guys eating breakfast?” “We agreed last night that we‟d go to the Y first, then come back here for breakfast.” “And after that?” “Jared and Pete will play tourist, and Paul and I will hang out here.” “You guys aren‟t going anywhere, so there should be safety in numbers, right?” Paul said.

“No argument there,” Uncle Randy said. We went to the Y and swam laps with our guests, then returned to the house and consumed a healthy breakfast. “Are you sure you don‟t want us to hang around here today?” Jared said. “There‟s no need. We aren‟t going anywhere, and neither are Dad and Uncle Randy.” “And, if anyone leaves the house, we‟ll go together,” Paul said. “Okay,” Jared said, “but we‟ll check in by phone from time to time.” “Enjoy your day. I‟ve got a ton of reading to do, and so has Paul.” Paul and I rounded up our books, settled down in comfortable chairs in the living room, and began to do some serious reading for school. Transferring to a new college at mid-term had changed our course load significantly, given that Georgetown‟s list of required courses was different than The Citadel‟s—we were each taking an extra course this term as part of the catching-up process and would take an extra course for each of the next two terms as well. To my surprise, the book I was reading proved sufficiently engrossing that I lost all track of time until I heard Dad talking to me. “Sean,” he said, “for the third time, lunch is ready.” “Sorry, I was totally lost in this book.” “I could tell,” he said, “and I have to admit it‟s a trait you come by honestly. I‟ve always had the ability to lose myself in a book, even when it was required reading and more than a bit boring.” “This one is required, but it‟s anything but boring.” “Let me repeat: your lunch is on the table and it‟s getting cold.” “Where‟s Paul?” “Already washing up.” I arrived at our bathroom just as Paul was drying his hands. “It‟s about time,” he said. “I was totally focused on my book.” “Yeah, well, focus on this.” He grabbed me and stuck his tongue down my throat for a long minute. When he released me, I said, “I think we might need to take a brief nap after lunch.” “Or something.” “Yep.” The minute we sat down to eat our lunch, I said, “Any news?”

“About what?” Dad said. “I‟m serious.” “Sorry, I couldn‟t resist. I got a call from Rupert an hour ago, and there is news.” “Are you gonna tell us about it or continue to tease?” “The information broker has been apprehended.” “And?” “What else would you like to hear?” Dad said. “I‟d like to hear that Rupert‟s people have him on the rack and he‟s singing like the proverbial canary.” “He‟s not exactly singing yet, but he is warming up.” “Meaning?” “We now know that he was planning to sell the information to the Chinese and had, in fact, accepted a down payment from them. Which explains why he got careless—he was under pressure to produce. He‟s hinting that he can give us the names of his various contacts in the criminal world, for example, the people who were hired to ambush that van in North Carolina and the people who placed those bugs in The Citadel.” “Does that mean it‟s over?” Paul said. “Not quite,” Uncle Randy said, “but close.” “Dad,” Paul said, “don‟t you start being coy too.” “You want the bottom line?” Uncle Randy said. “Here it is: we‟re going to have to be very careful until July.” “What happens in July?” I said. “The project will be officially unveiled and details will be made public as part of a Pentagon announcement on the Fourth of July.” “I hope that doesn‟t mean you‟ll be transferred away from the Pentagon,” Paul said. “Not at all,” Uncle Randy said. “The fact that the project will be announced doesn‟t mean that I won‟t have anything to do with it. In fact, I suspect that I‟ll be busier than ever for a few years.” “It also means,” Dad said, “that by the time he retires, he won‟t be a light bird anymore.” “You? Retired, Dad?” Paul said. “I never really thought about that. What will you do?”

“Double-dip, of course,” Uncle Randy said. “I could teach or do any number of things. Ian might even take a sabbatical so we can do some traveling. Who knows? In any case, that‟s a few years away.” “Do Jared and Pete know about this development?” I said to no one in particular. “They called just before I came to get you for lunch,” Dad said, “and I told them.” “When do we expect them?” Paul said. “They‟re going out to dinner,” Dad said. “In fact, Jared asked me to recommend someplace romantic.” “Our Jared actually used those words?” I said. “He did indeed.” “I‟ll bet Pete wasn‟t nearby,” Paul said. “I think Jared may have mentioned that Pete was using the restroom at the time.” “I told you,” I said, looking at Paul. “Told me what?” “It‟s considerably more than lust.” “I sit corrected,” he said. All of us were in the living room watching a movie when Jared and Pete walked into the room holding hands. Dad pushed the pause button on the DVD player, looked at our guests, and said, “I must say you boys look extraordinarily pleased with yourselves.” “Yes, Sir, we are,” Jared said. “Pete and I are now officially a couple.” “That‟s great,” I said, “but won‟t it be kind of difficult to be a couple when you live 700 miles apart?” “My hitch will be up by the end of the year, and Pete is pretty sure he knows somebody who can get him on a military flight to DC once in a while.” “We‟ll manage,” Pete said. “This calls for Champagne,” Uncle Randy said. “Do we have any?” “I‟m pretty sure we do,” Dad said. “Sean, why don‟t you and Paul take care of that?” “On it,” I said. We ended the evening on a celebratory note, toasting everyone‟s future. The school year ended without incident, but we didn‟t know whether that was

because the threat had ended or because we‟d continued to exercise extreme caution. George and Mike extended an invitation, and we spent a few days with them between the end of the term and the beginning of our summer classes. Jared was, of course, delighted to be ordered to accompany us, and Pete took a few days off so he could be with Jared. Two days after we returned home, we received some extremely good news: information provided by the head bad guy had resulted in a number of arrests, and the sheriff of Haywood County was delighted to have custody of the men responsible for murdering the prisoners his people had been transporting. Pete was able to join us for a long weekend over the Fourth of July, and we all heaved a sigh of relief when Project Gray Swallow was finally made public and the details released. Jared was especially delighted when Uncle Randy told him that his superiors at the Pentagon had decided that Jared should remain in place with us until the end of the year as a precaution, which boded well for himself and Pete—and their relationship. Two weeks later, we were all sitting around the den talking about recent events. Paul and I were actually sitting side by side on the floor with our backs against an armchair as we talked. “You don‟t look as happy as I thought you would, Paul,” Uncle Randy said. “Oh, I‟m happy,” Paul said. “I just didn‟t expect things to be so anticlimactic.” “What‟s the problem?” Uncle Randy said. “The bad guys are accounted for, and the good guys—that would be the men in this room—are going to ride off into the sunset together.” “I don‟t know, Dad,” Paul said. “Somehow, it‟s not enough… it‟s just not.” “Wait a minute,” I said. “You wanted something dramatic, didn‟t you? More like a Gunfight at the O.K. Corral, maybe?” “Not really.” “Yes, you did. I know you inside and out, and that‟s precisely what you wanted.” “Lay off, will you?” he said. I got up and sat on him, straddling his legs. Then I began to tickle him. “Stop that,” he said. “You know I can‟t stand being tickled.”

“I‟ll stop when you admit it.” “Admit what?” “That you wanted a shootout with the bad guys all dead and us blowing the smoke from the ends of our revolvers.” “No, I didn‟t,” he managed to gasp between fits of laughter. I redoubled my efforts and said, “Yes, you did. Admit it. Admit it and I‟ll stop.” We had rolled around on the floor until he was lying full-length on his back, but I was still sitting on him. “Admit it and I‟ll give you a suitable reward later.” “Oh, all right. I wanted some sort of dramatic denouement. Now stop tickling me.” “I can do better than that,” I said, stretching out full-length on top of him and kissing him. “Sean!” he said. “Not here in the den in front of everybody.” “Okay,” I said. “Let‟s adjourn to the bedroom and call it a night.” I got up, reached down, pulled him to his feet, and propelled him down the hallway. “See you guys tomorrow,” I said.

The Adventures of George and Mike

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About the Author

ETIENNE lives in central Florida, very near the hamlet in which he grew up. He always wanted to write but didn‟t find his muse until a few years ago, when he started posting stories online. These days he spends most of his time battling with her, as she is a capricious bitch who, when she isn‟t hiding from him, often rides him mercilessly, digging her spurs into his sides and forcing the flow of words from a trickle to a flood. Visit Etienne at http://www.etiennestories.blogspot.com. You can contact him at [email protected]

Also by Etienne

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