Death and the living soul

I have been noticing, lately how people die.   I'm surprised by the dignity and acceptance when I see a person who knows.  Their age seem irrelevant to what they have to offer.  A teenage boy died this last Christmas, and left a legacy of profoundness.  He didn't have the years of experience to develop his wisdom like most people do, yet he did it just as well as the most seasoned Guru. 
Yes, I've been thinking about this a lot.  I think we are born with a guidance of wisdom.  Within us is an expression of it that can only come as our individuality chooses.  We all have the same understanding of 'life', and somewhere in our lives, express that wisdom.  We share it.  We expand it and give it clarity.
We have a desire to express that before we die, because it is a reflection of the soul, and that is our main purpose for being her - well, that and perpetuating the species so we can continue to expout wisdoms.
I've been informed that I have a short time to live.  I've got cancer.  It started me thinking what legacy do I have to leave?  I never did get married, but I raised kids of women that I've lived with in my life.  Luckily, they all turned out to be decent human beings who were content with the lives that they chose.  I could not ask for anything more than to see the kids grow up to be relatively happy and themselves.
The women with whom I lived have disappeared or passed on from my life except for a few, and they are women whom I am still very close too.  That probably doesn't make much sense to a young person, but how you perceive your relationships change as you get older if your paying attention at all.
A woman I lived with for seven years has offered to come to Washington to take care of me as my body falls apart.  I could hear the grief in her voice as she made her generous offer.  Our son, her son, called and wanted to know what he could do.  I said he could be a good father and husband and live a life of truth.  I didn't really have to tell him that, because that's exactly what he does and who he is.  I couldn't be prouder.
Realization and revelations are much the same when they strike.  We live on a planet of negative and positive polarities. It effects everything from the weather, daily actions to your state of mind.  Depending on what you believe in, we attach it to everything, using the terms to express it that the situation dictates.  Religion call it good and evil.  Christianity retains it as a combative perspective.  Good always fighting evil.  Which is unfortunate, because though it recognises the two elements, it does not address them from a point of resolve.
There is no good and evil, for Satan is a man made element of mass control.  Positive and negative are two sides of the same thing.  One cannot exist without the other.  You would have to idea what good looked like if you did not have the contrast of negative.  Negative is the classroom in which you learn who you are.  Positive is hopefully the end result of what you learned.  Sharing that with those you love and meet  is the legacy you leave for the rest of us to learn from.
You can say that people don't always leave such wisdoms.  Some people leave here as destroyers, but if you look at the big picture, they are the ones that often leave the most for us to learn from, for they can show us the horrors that man is capable of, and from those depths we become a better people.
I'm an old man now.  I have done do many things in my life that most people who don't know me well, don't believe my stories.  At twelve years old I knew that age didn't have much to do with wisdom.  What did, was how I perceived my life.  At twelve, I realized that the adults weren't always that wise.  Some had the egos of kids, were self-centered and self-serving.  These people taught me a lot about who I am.
What I came up with was not much different than a dying teenager who missed out on all of my years of life - all the adventures that life gave to me.
We are the embodiment of life, and love is the expression desired by the living soul.  That is our goal as life forms.
You can lay religions, cultism and spirituality on this perspective, but then it becomes a taffy pull of beliefs.  I'm not a religious person, but I am a living soul, and that's as far as I want to take this.  What a reader adds to the concept for their spiritual comfort is their business.  I am quite content not believing in death

All content - poems, posts & images - are ©2010 by John Evans. No permission is given to post, share, copy, print, e-mail, reproduce, distribute or link to. All Rights Reserved. Please contact John Evans at JohnEvansPoet.Com for licensing inquiries.

For those who followed my rough draft of the short novel, Day at the Beach, I'm in the middle of rewriting it, as all stories need rewrites.  Due to feedback, I have changed some chapters dramatically, and find the story far more interesting as I go along.  Unfortunately, at the same time I'm going through treatments for cancer, and I'm told that the heavy stuff is coming up this week and I can plan on being pretty sick for the next couple of months, so I doubt I'll be doing much writing until this over, and assuming I survive, which I intend to be because I can't leave a manuscript unfinished.
I am putting what I call "flash poems"  on Zazzle items and have compiled about a hundred of them, which will be in a book on Amazon and Kindle in 2012.  I don't have a title yet.  I wish you all a Merry Christmas, and if you're not a Christian, I wish you a time of love and warmth among all whom you encounter, and no, I'm not a person who follows a particular religion.




All content - poems, posts & images - are ©2010 by John Evans. No permission is given to post, share, copy, print, e-mail, reproduce, distribute or link to. All Rights Reserved. Please contact John Evans at JohnEvansPoet.Com for licensing inquiries.

Day at the Beach Ch.43

Chapter 43

It was a quiet Saturday morning. Susan sat in one of the stuffed chairs on the old wooden front porch, still in her bathrobe, her feet propped up on the porch railing. Recon lazed beneath her feet. The large expanse of pasture between the farm house and Soquel Drive made the sound of any passing vehicles almost unnoticeable. Horses and cattle concentrated on the grasses that seemed forever green beneath their hooves, the horses lifted their heads occasionally to see if Susan might bring them an apple treat.

Susan heard the screen door close behind her. Brad came into view, his hair still mused from sleep, wearing jeans and barefoot. He kissed her on the forehead as he handed her a cup of coffee. As he sat down beside her, propping his feet on the railing also, a black SUV pulled into the long driveway and rambled confidently towards them.

“Who do you suppose that is?” Susan asked.

“It has that official look to it.” Brad responded, not moving. Recon leaped up and ran out to meet the occupants. Armando Martinez and Ted Warner exited the vehicle with smiles and waves.

“Looks like the Federales are here.” Brad said. “I'd better bring out the whole pot of coffee.” He rose and went inside, returning before they reached the porch.

The two men joined them, seating themselves in two other soft chairs that surrounded a table on the porch while Recon went to each one, prodding their hands for pets and scratches with his massive head.

“What's up, gentlemen?” Brad asked as they settled in after greetings. “You aren't going to put us on another operation, are you?”

Ted Warner smiled. “We wouldn't mind having you two working for us. But, I would say you have both done a job far beyond the expectations of world patriots, much less patriots of your country.”

Ted pulled a manilla envelope from his jacket. “I wish I could give this to both of you in a formal ceremony that would recognize your actions, but, as you know we are extremely clandestine. So, Colonel, you are retired once again with a raise in rank and retirement compensation to match it.”

He turned to Susan. “And you, young lady, are being rewarded the highest commendation allowable to a civilian and the offer of a job in an executive position with the agency within your field of expertise.”

“That's very generous of you, Director.” she responded. “But, this man right here - “ she said nodding towards Brad, “has made me an offer that I'm considering.”

“What's that?” asked Armando. “What could be a better offer than international intrigue and dangerous adventure?”

“Well - “ said Susan, “I think I just had a concentrated, lifetime amount of all of that, and even though it was exciting, if not terrifying, I think what it did was lead me to what I really wanted.”

“Oh? What did you really want?” asked Armando.

She reached over and took Brad's hand. “I think this what I really wanted more than anything in the world. She waved her hand across the expanse of the view before her. “And, I recently realized, that since I was a little girl, this is where I wanted to be.”

“So, at your young age you are going to give up all that you have worked for?” asked Ted Warner.

“Not at all, Director. I have just discovered what I've been working towards Sometimes realizations come in unconventional and unexpected forms. What we all strive for is happiness and peace within ourselves. If we are very lucky, we discover what that is while we still have enough life left to enjoy it. I consider myself to be very lucky, if I pay attention and follow my own truth – my own heart.”

She paused and gazed at the scene beyond the porch railing before speaking again.

“This is what it's all about, gentlemen.” She said. “It's not about wealth and power, or fame adventure and intrigue. It's about happiness, which is a state of mind.”

She turned towards Brad. “This crazy guy has asked me to marry him, and that's exactly what I'm going to do. I'm going to smell like a horse half the time, kick cow crap off my boots and raise kids. If I get bored, we can go into town for dinner. That's about as exciting as I want it to get.”

“Well, I hope that you are right.” Ted said.

“I know that I am right. I can feel it in my soul, and you cannot be more right then that.”

                                              The End

All content - poems, posts & images - are ©2010 by John Evans. No permission is given to post, share, copy, print, e-mail, reproduce, distribute or link to. All Rights Reserved. Please contact John Evans at JohnEvansPoet.Com for licensing inquiries.

Day at the Beach Ch. 42

Chapter 42


Joseph had been reading a very thick book that explored what might have happened in history if things had gone slightly differently. Some historical scholars speculate that the Jewish faith would have died had the Syrians attacked a small Jewish village in 79 AD instead of passing it by, considering it insignificant and not worthy of the effort People being what they were, which is not much different than what they are now, the village would have been destroyed and no members of the faith would have been left within its blooming center. Consequently, destruction of that village the would have been the demise of the Jewish faith in its budding form, the Christians and the Muslims would never had seen their own births, for they are offshoots of Judaism. How different would the world be today?

If a Nazi officer had not moved a briefcase because it was in the way at a meeting, Adolph Hitler would have been killed by a bomb that briefcase contained. WWII would have ended long before it did and millions of lives would have been saved. The ironies of chance seemed to show the world as haphazard at best and the speculation is that today's major religions would be something much different then what they are. It was a book of speculation by scholars, interpreting the 'what if's' of history, of which there were so many it create a book thousands of pages long. Joseph found this type of reading fascinating, but at the moment the book lay open on his lap, his head hanging to one side, the overhead reading lamp shining duly on his thin gray hair as he dozed.

The sound of the phone ringing jarred him awake with a start. “Yes.” he said into the receiver.

The voice did not identify itself, but only said, “You may complete the operation.”

“Are you sure?” Joseph asked hopefully.

“Yes, it has been a long time coming, hasn't it? The final stages are transforming as we speak. You know what to do, what we agreed upon.”

Joseph wondered how the Committee knew what was happening before anybody else did, but he didn't ask, and accepted the information as fact, for the Committee was always accurate. Joseph knew that 'chance' could always change the course of events, which is why he carefully studied each step he took, and even then remained flexible, knowing fate was determined by human foible. Being human, he was just about to do exactly that – change the course of expectation.

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When Sam Levitt, Assistant Director of the Special Unit, Anti-Terrorism, was declared lost at sea in a plane accident, the newspaper failed to mention the other passenger by name, only saying that other members of his party also passed into the good night. The other passengers was a man named Alberto De La Cruz and his assistant, Spike.

Joseph read the article and then called a phone number he had never called but had waited patiently to contact for three years.

“Joseph?' The voice asked hopefully upon answering the phone.

“Hello, Jeff.” He responded.

“My God, don't tell me it's over.”

“Yes, it is. You were right when you guessed the mole was Sam Levitt. Believe it or not, your own sister devised the plan to bring their operation down.”

“Susan? Are you telling me that they found her.”

“Yes. But, she is one tough, smart lady. She and a man named Brad sort of saved the day. Hopefully, you will get to meet him sometime in the future, but for now we will complete our deal. I will contact the agency and list our demands for the return of the weapons system.”

“They will suspect who you are.” Jeff Jenkins noted.

“It doesn't matter. We have this planned out and it has been for a long time. We're charging a finders fee of ten million for something that is worth billions. They will consider it a bargain. As soon as it is completed, you will find five million in the account that we set up. I think we can both comfortably retire on five million a piece.”

“Yes. I would say that supplements my savings quite well.”

“How do you like the island?” Joseph asked.

“It's beautiful here and the costs very reasonable. I think you will enjoy your new home.”

All content - poems, posts & images - are ©2010 by John Evans. No permission is given to post, share, copy, print, e-mail, reproduce, distribute or link to. All Rights Reserved. Please contact John Evans at JohnEvansPoet.Com for licensing inquiries.

Day at the Beach Ch 41

Chapter 41

Three weeks had passed since the night Brad and Susan had been taken down by tranquilizer guns and the weapons systems data had been removed from Recon's collar. It was as if all of those involved were holding their collective breath, waiting to see what was going to happen. All had been so carefully planned, and then at the very last second a mystery man stepped in and changed everything. Who was this person, and just as importantly, how did he know the secret location of the weapons systems information? The amount of people who knew what was happening, or that even anything was happening, was incredibly small. The group consisted of the Director, Special Agent Armando Martinez and Brad and Susan. A small, handpicked team of agents who worked directly under Armando had a limited knowledge of the operation. Everybody involved was beyond suspicion. All they could do was wait until the holder of the authentic memory stick surfaced, and that's what worried them. Where and how would he surface? They studied all intelligence information that came in daily, hoping to see some sign of weapons activity, but none presented itself. All they could do was wait, and waiting was the hardest part.

Armando had his suspicions who the culprit was, especially since time had passed without hearing a word the holder of the memory stick. There was only one person that he could think of that would think it out and come up with the right conclusion. Joseph Eichmann. What made Eichmann a person of priority on Armando's list of suspects was the fact that he did not kill Brad and Susan. If it had been Alberto's men, he would have insisted that all participants end up dead. Eichmann always preferred any alternative to killing people if he could. As he had gotten older he had become even more opposed to permanent elimination.

Joseph Eichmann was one of the best investigators the agency ever had. Once Eichmann had a case, he pursued it like a bloodhound on the scent of a trail. Being reluctant to kill his adversaries made Joseph a less than effective agent in the field. He had to be retired.

What also made Joseph a person of consideration was the fact that the holder of the real weapons information had not yet surfaced. Through what Armando had heard from Brad's conversations with Joseph, and the bits and pieces he was able to pick up through agency networks, he knew that Joseph was contracted to the The Committee. As mysterious a group as they were, he knew that these were some of the most powerful people in the world working in unison to keep a functioning global economy operating. These people were far from angelic, but they did operate from a set of values that would be more positive than detrimental to the world. Advanced weapons systems in the hands of third world dictators was about as detrimental as you could get.

Who ever had the real memory stick apparently knew the big picture. Somehow, he knew that part of this operation was a sting to find the mole within the agency, and he had quietly held off, allowing the sting to complete itself. Which it did exactly three weeks from the night that Brad, Susan and Recon woke up on the living room floor of Susan's house.

---------------------------------------------------------------------

Alberto De La Cruz was content with the knowledge that he was now the largest arms dealer in the world. He was a multibillionaire in the prestigious position of being favored by very wealthy, third world countries. The underworld that he looked at as his world, now, really was his world. He owned it, and God help anybody who got in his way. He had ownership of this lofty and dangerous position for about a week when he got the call. The amount of money that he received was so large that it had to be transferred to various accounts in the Cayman Islands and Switzerland. This financial transaction was completed once the weapon's files were open by the buyers and saw that it looked authentic. One week later, the buyer's knew that it was bogus information and not a single weapons system on the memory stick was producible or operative.

The president of the oil rich country that had given Alberto such a large amount of money preferred to be referred to by his humble title, Commandant. The Commandant had been exactly that when he took over his country in a military coup, eliminating all adversaries in his government quickly and brutally.

Alberto had never spoken to the Commandant directly, but had communicated through negotiators. The call that Alberto got on his private line a week after becoming a multibillionaire was no different, which may have been fortunate for Alberto in the sense that he did not have to hear the Commandant's anger or the death sentence that he had imposed on Alberto. If he had heard the Commandant's anger he may have been compelled to run, hide on some distant pacific island with his billions of dollars, but even Alberto knew that there was no place to hide, for even though the Commandant was a the leader of a country, he was also a power house in the underworld in which Alberto dwelt. He would be found, he would be put to death, and probably tortured first. The only way out of this was to throw the Commandant a bone, protect his own butt. As he listened to the calm, diplomatic voice on the other end of the phone, he realized this.

The voice was saying, “You do realize there are consequences for such inappropriate actions, Mr. De La Cruz. You may gain some redemption from the Commandant by returning all the money, plus interest and penalty fees to compensate for a bad business deal.”

Alberto's heart jumped with the realization of what the man was saying. It was being taken away from him in the snap of a finger. He would be lucky to have a few million left. Maybe just enough to do a small arms deal, to start all over again at the bottom of the ladder. He gritted his teeth at the prospect of such a loss, but at the same time, he would at least still be alive. He could build it back up again.

“Yeah. Sure.” Alberto said nervously. “This has been a big mistake, sir. I have been duped to the same extent as you have.” Alberto's mind was working quickly. He had to pass this lethal ball to someone else, for whoever held it was a dead person.

“This whole operation” Alberto continued, “was controlled and put together by the inside man who obtained the information.”

“So, Mr. De La Cruz, you are telling me that you are not the main person in this operation.”

“Yes, sir. That's what I'm telling you. I just co-ordinate the people involved.” Alberto responded, trying to keep the stress and tension out of his voice, for he knew that his life was not worth a nickle at that point. “A man named Sam Levitt is the main operative. He put this whole thing together and gave me the information, which I passed on to you.

“Sam Levitt is the Assistant Director of a secret American agency within Homeland Security.

“Hmm. That is interesting.” The voice commented. “You are just the facilitator, yet you are the one who holds all of the money.”

“Well, yes.” Alberto said uncomfortably. “I haven't distributed it yet.”

The long, silent pause that filled the air told Alberto that the man did not believe a word he said. “Responsibility changes hands in the eyes of accountability, does it not, Mr. De La Cruz?”

“Mr. Levitt is a very powerful man in the American government, sir. I don't know what his game is, but he accepted the position of working with us and dictated the amount of money that he expected to get for his part.

He's the nucleus to this whole operation. If there is a break in the chain, it has to be him. Maybe he's working as a double agent, trying to play it from both sides for twice the money. Everybody else has done their job to the letter.”

“I see. I'm going to put you on hold for a minute.” The man said, and did so without waiting for a response. He came back on the line a couple of minutes later. “We are going to arrange for a private plane to pick up Mr. Levitt and he will be brought to your hacienda in Baja. We will discuss the resolving of this problem to The Commandant's satisfaction at that time.”

“What if Levitt refuses to go to Baja?” Alberto asked.

The man's laugh was short and lacked signs of humor. “His presence at this meeting is not a request.” The man said.

“Okay, I get the picture.” Alberto said, his mind racing. “But, we're covered. Right? I mean, I'm going to get the money back to you plus interest, and I'm giving you the secret guy who screwed this all up. So, we're covered. Right?”

Instead of answering Alberto, the man said, “Don't try to set us up by having your gunmen ready to attack. It would just compound a bad situation, and get your men, and you, killed. Do we have an understanding, Mr. De La Cruz?”

Alberto took a moment to respond, as, that was exactly what he was thinking of. He could have ten men here with automatic weapons in a very short time, but the Commandant could have a hundred soldiers here in the same amount of time, and nobody would ever know they were foreign combatants. They would kill everybody in sight and be gone in minutes, out to sea as quickly as they came in, on a naval ship in international waters. Alberto's situation was tenuous at best, but he had been in tough spots before and survived. He would it this time also. He just had to sacrifice a good asset, Sam Levitt. But, what the hell. This is business. Sacrifices happen. Sam Levitt was the best inside man Alberto every had. But, the current circumstances, which was basically Alberto saving his own life, called for extreme measures. In business, Alberto looked at people as no less a commodity as the products that he sold. That perspective, plus armed guards, allowed him nights of restful sleep free of haunting ghosts.

“I completely understand, sir.” Alberto responded to the unveiled threat. “You will find me to be most co-operative.”

All content - poems, posts & images - are ©2010 by John Evans. No permission is given to post, share, copy, print, e-mail, reproduce, distribute or link to. All Rights Reserved. Please contact John Evans at JohnEvansPoet.Com for licensing inquiries.

Day at the Beach Ch. 40

Chapter 40

Joseph still did not move when he heard the Land Rover pull to the curb. He could see the dim glow of the headlights through the heavy curtain that crossed the window of the living as the vehicle came to a stop and the engine shut off. When he heard the doors of the truck open and close and heard the voices of Brad and Susan he slipped the night vision goggles into place on his head and picked up the first item on the table in front of him.

He was hoping that this would go as planned. He had very carefully gone through each step of his plan. He thought about Brad and Susan while he was waiting. They seemed like a nice enough of a couple. He knew they had been drawn into this by circumstances, especially Brad, and sincerely hoped that the two of them would survive this operation, or, in fact, survive the night. Unfortunately there was always collateral damage. That's what the agency called it when innocent bystanders or people who got sucked up into the vortex of intrigue ended up dead. Joseph Eichmann was not above killing people. He had done it many times.

When Recon entered the front door, he did so with his nose as his guide. The room was pitch black. It only took the well trained dog a second to assess the situation and know that someone was in there. But, a second was too long. Joseph sat waiting for Recon, knowing he would be the first one through the door. Joseph shot him immediately, dropping the dog to the floor with a quiet thump. He picked up the second weapon and fired that at Brad as he entered the house with the same results. He had to wait a moment for Susan, as she hesitated at the door, calling Brad's name with a worried tone, but she entered too and he shot her in the neck just as he had Brad and Recon. He then picked up a .357 pistol and held it steadily in front of him, pointing it at the three bodies green bodies glowing through the night vision goggles on the floor. They did not move and he let loose a sigh of relief. He did not want to use the gun. It was too loud, too messy, and absolutely too final.

Grunting from the stiffness of old bones too long in one position he rose slowly to his feet and turned a lamp light on. He inspected all three bodies before opening the clasp on Recon's collar and removing the highly classified weapons information.

“Clever idea.” he said to Brad's prone and limp body. Joseph then removed the tranquilizer darts from the necks of his three victims and placed them back into the leather bag with the other equipment that he had removed earlier. Picking up his bag he stopped at the door for a moment before exiting the house. He studied the three of them, Brad, Susan and Recon, for a long moment.

Joseph never had the opportunity to settle down and have a family. He envied them their potential for the future. He wondered what their children would look like and what it would be like to watch them grow through the years. What it would be like to grow old and familiar with each other as he hoped that they would. The time has passed Joseph by, but he could still have relative comfort, a degree of satisfaction from the life that he had led.

“You kids have a good life.” He said as he walked out the door. “Stay out of trouble.” They were oblivious of his concerns and comments as they lay unconscious.

All content - poems, posts & images - are ©2010 by John Evans. No permission is given to post, share, copy, print, e-mail, reproduce, distribute or link to. All Rights Reserved. Please contact John Evans at JohnEvansPoet.Com for licensing inquiries.

Day at the Beach Ch. 39

Chapter 39

     Brad and Susan had lingered after dinner at The Cat's, but now, content after a wonderful meal, good conversation and a couple of margarita's, they got back on highway 17 going down the hill into Los Gatos. Even Recon's guard was down as he sat on the back seat, licking his chops contentedly after his own steak dinner.
     “What happens now?” Susan asked as they came under the lights of the village.
     “Well, all the heavy stuff should be over with.” Brad responded as he took the Los Gatos turn-off.      “We'll still need to keep our guard up, but I don't see us as being in the danger we were before. Granted, the bad guys are still out there, but their reasons for wanting us aren't as prevalent as they were.”
     “So you think that we're safe?” Susan asked.
     “We're relatively safe. The circumstances aren't as extreme as they were before. Spike and his buddies might want us, but Alberto has what he wants, or, at least thinks he does, and what Alberto wants is all that counts. By the time he finds out that he doesn't have it, he'll have a lot bigger problems then revenge against us.”
     “I guess that gives me some form of relief, though, it doesn't sound quite as solid as I would like it to.” Susan said.
     “We should be good for tonight. We'll go to your house and clean it up. I don't see a reason for anybody going there tonight, and even if they do, we're armed and have Recon, who is a very good and lethal alarm system.” Susan looked in the back seat at Recon who lazily slapped his tail against the leather at the sound of his name.
     “He doesn't look very lethal at the moment.” Susan commented as she reached back and scratched his ear.
     “His nature is a peaceful one.” Brad said. “But he knows his job.”
     Brad drove passed Susan's house, both of them studying the house for activity, looking in parked cars and in the shadows of the sidewalk as they came to the top of the hill and turned around.
     “Looks very calm, doesn't it?” Brad said as he started back down the hill.
     “Yes.” Susan replied. “I don't see a soul anywhere.”
     “I didn't think we would. This is probably the safest place in town for us right now. Nobody would ever think we would come here tonight after what we just went through.” Brad said as he pulled to the curb in front of Susan's. They stared silently at the darkened house for a moment. Nothing moved. All was silent. No curtains stirred from curious psychos lurking inside waiting for them.
     “Well - - “ Susan said.
     “Yes. I know what you mean. It looks all right, but paranoia kind of clings to the moment doesn't it?”
     “For good reason.” Susan said as she opened the door. “But we can't just sit here all night wondering if it's okay to go in.”
    There was no reason for stealth as they walked up to the house. Just pulling the Land Rover up to the curb, turning off the headlights and engine, opening and loudly closing the doors announced their arrival and shattered the peace of the still, silent night that filled the neighborhood.
     “We'll send Recon in first just to play it safe.” Brad suggested.
     “Sounds good to me.” Susan said.
     Street lights failed to penetrate the large oak trees that lined the curb of the street, leaving sidewalks and curbside lawn strips in a dappling mosaic of dim artificial light and total darkness. As they walked up the walkway to Susan's front porch they could see that the front door was cracked open in the yellow lamp lights of the street.
     “Looks like Spikes goons were here and left without closing the door.” Brad commented as he drew his gun.
     “Yes. Very sloppy and untidy of them. I wonder what their mothers would think.” Susan said, also drawing her gun.
     Stopping at the entrance, Brad opened the door partially with his foot. They stood back and waited, looking into the blackness of the interior from the sides of the door.
     “Recon.” Brad said. “Check.” Recon immediately entered the house, disappearing into the darkness. Listening carefully, Brad heard nothing but a subtle thump, almost discernible in the quiet night. Recon did not make a sound or return to the door. Brad chambered a round. “Stay here.” he said.
     “I don't think so.” Susan said following him quickly into the pitch black living room. Susan heard a thump as she went to one side and Brad to the other upon entering the house.
     “What was that sound, Brad?” she asked the darkness. “Are you alright?” At that moment she felt a sharp pain, like a needle entering her body, and then a loss of motor control and the closing down of her mind as she fell to the floor.

                            --------------------------------------------------------------------------------

     Joseph Eichmann was not only a methodical man, and also a very patient one. After receiving an update from his handlers from The Committee, Eichmann knew it was time to make his move. He had to be in the right place at the right time. He was almost completely certain where the real memory stick was. He had done his process of elimination and narrowed it down to only one spot left.
     After receiving the update, Joseph went to Susan's and parked a block away, almost to the top of the hill. He watched two men come in an SUV and enter Susan's house as if they owned it. They might look like agents to the untrained eye, but Joseph knew what they were within moments after seeing them. They were the goons of Alberto De La Cruz.
     The two men exited the house within moments, arguing like a couple of teenage siblings, one of them carrying a paper bag. Not moving from his spot, Joseph quietly watched the two men get in their vehicle and drive away. After they left he did not move, but sighed reluctantly, settled back and waited an hour before another vehicle pulled to the curb. This vehicle was also an SUV, from which four men quickly exited with weapons drawn. They entered the house with the professional caution of police. Joseph had no doubt that these were federal agents, and he still did not move from his location. After about ten minutes the agents came out and stood on the front lawn while one of them reported in on a cell phone. They also returned to their vehicle and drove away, empty handed. Shortly after they left, Joseph got out of his car. Carrying a leather bag, he took his time walking down the dark street, as if he were just an old man out for an evening stroll. When he came to Susan's walkway he turned into it and casually walked up to the door. He thought he would have to pick the lock, which he was expert at doing and the door would have proven only a minor problem, but the door was ajar. A sigh of general irritation with the human race at large escaped him as he entered the house. 'People are such inconsiderate pigs these days', he thought. 'They don't even have the courtesy to close the door all the way after breaking in to someones house'.
     Joseph also left the door slightly ajar as he closed it. He did not venture any farther into the house or turn the lights on, but instead, reached into the bag that he carried and pulled out night vision goggles and put them on. The living room lit up in shades of green. After surveying the room, Joseph moved a small table and chair so that they directly faced the front door and sat ten feet back from its entrance, making it impossible to see him if someone were to open the door and look inside.
Sitting down on the chair, Joseph opened his leather bag again and removed the weapons that he would need for the evenings work. He checked each item and then placed it in neat order on the table, knowing where each one was at and making sure it was readily available for the quick action that he was sure he would have to take when the front door opened. When everything was exactly as he wanted it, he turned off his night vision goggles, sat back and folded his hands in his lap, waiting with the patience of a spider who had just spun a web.
     Trying to decipher what goes through a spider's mind as it clings unmoving for hours and sometimes days at the center of its web would be as difficult as understanding the thought processes of an entity living on another planet in another galaxy. Joseph Eichmann sat that still. His eyes half closed, almost as if in a meditative state, he remained attentively aware of every subtle sound. What went through his mind as he sat spider still was not difficult to figure out, and was, in fact, very easy for any human to understand.
     In the more than three decades that Joseph had worked as an international spy for the United States, he had many opportunities to stash away small fortunes that passed through his hands. But, Joseph had been an idealist. A man who worked for the greater good, and truly believed in the high moral value that his country displayed to the rest of the world. He struggled against the changing personality of America that he saw taking place over the last half of his career. 'Politics as usual' went from being a joke to a serious problem as both parties drifted so far to the right and left they were like two separate continents being pulled apart by tectonic plates. Corruption and pay-off were lightly veiled and laws passed to make them acceptable and legal.
     This wasn't what Joseph had spent over thirty years of his life trying to save. This was not freedom. This was not a caring government who worked for the benefit of all. But, it was like family. They may irritate you and you wouldn't have anything to do with them if you weren't related, but you are. It was still family.  My country is my family. It's a thought that ran through his head in many forms over the years. When he was involved in operations that repelled him as a human being, he had to bring to mind that this was for family – America.
     Now, an old man with a cane to support a stiff leg that still carried a bullet from a long ago operation, Joseph felt somewhat disgruntled. For all that he had done, he was unceremoniously ushered to the door and sent away with a small pension and Social Security and told he was lucky to get those. He had passed up millions of dollars only to end up living on a budget. The Committee was paying him handsomely for his part, but not what his thirty years of dedication was worth.
     These are the things that Joseph thought about as he sat in the darkness of Susan's living room, weapons arrayed in front of him on a table – waiting.






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