34Day at the Beach Ch 34

Chapter 34

    The goon in the rider's seat of the SUV craned his neck for a second look at the couple in the patio, but the restaurant that they passed blocked the view. He thought about it for a moment as they drove slowly around the complex. “Hey, Mike. That hippie dude has a short beard, hair passed his collar, brown hair and athletic looking, right?”
     “Yeah. Why?” the driver responded.
     “And the chick has auburn hair, about five-eight. Good-looking, nice body, right?”
     “Yeah, yeah, that's right. Get to the point.”
     “I think I just saw them back there at a table.”
     “Are you sure?”
     “Of course not. If I was sure I would have said something when I saw them. I said I think I saw them. 'Think' is the operative word, here.”
     “In your case, that might be debatable.” Mike said as he quickly spun the SUV around, creating enough honking to rival a disrupted flight of geese.
     “Careful, Mike. Somebodies going to get pissed and call the cops.”
     “Are you kidding? What the hell do you think we look like? This vehicle couldn't appear more federal and we're carrying solid looking FBI credentials. No ones going to fuck with us, and if they do, we flash our I.D.'s and tell them to take a hike.”
     The speed limit around the complex was 10 MPH, but traffic was moving at a leisurely 5 MPH.
    Mike slammed the steering wheel with the palm of his hand. “Shit! How far up did you see them?” He asked peering to the sidewalk side, studying the people walking by.
     “See that alcove between those two restaurant's?” He said pointing a few buildings down. “I saw them in the back of that patio.”
     “Okay. Get your butt out of here and go snag them. Be discreet. Make sure that nobody but those two sees your gun. I'll park and meet you.” He came to a stop and looked over at his partner. “What the hell you doing, waiting for me to kiss you good-by? Get your ass into gear.”

    As Brad and Susan exited the patio area, they rounded the corner of the restaurant leading in the opposite direction of the SUV. As people came in and out of the restaurant delectable odors wafted through the door, brushing the passerby’s taste buds with the scent of oak fired ribs and steaks. Now, Brad wished he had chosen a restaurant instead of espresso in the open patio. The two men would never had spotted them, and chances are they would have seen the two men as they drove by.

     As Brad and Susan stepped into the flow of foot traffic, they both glanced up the road and watched the black, official looking vehicle suddenly make a U-turn in traffic, creating a cacophony of squealing tires and honking horns.
     “Kind of a delayed reaction.” Susan opinionated. “But they figured it out.”
     Brad and Susan snaked through the moving crowd with more urgency until they found a thick knot of people and immersed themselves within their midst. They inched through the crowd until they were on the store front side of the flow of tourists and shoppers that flowed down the walkway. Stopping to look inside a display window they glanced back down the street just in time to see the passenger jump out of the SUV and run into the patio that they had just left. As he did so, the SUV veered off the street and raced through the parking lot, making people scatter out of its way.
     “This doesn't seem like the best place to try to capture us.” Susan commented as she watched them. “I wonder what they have in mind.”
     “I doubt that they have anything in mind.” Brad responded. “They're just reacting without thinking.”
     “That could work to our benefit, don't you think?” Susan queried.
     “Yes. I do. I'd like to turn the tables a little bit. In fact, I'd like to know where we could find Spike. He's the one pulling these guys strings.”
     “Me too.” Susan agreed. “I'm getting real tired of assholes with guns. We need to cut those strings.”

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

    Director Ted Warner clicked off his personal phone, placed it on his desk and sat back in his chair, thinking about how he wanted to word the message he was about to send through the internal network of the agency to Special Agent Armando Martinez.

    While he was considering how he wanted to present it, he thought about the Assistant Director's accusations against Armando. He had not yet heard from Sam Levitt, whom he had ordered to present data validating his accusations. He wasn't sure that he would. It seemed evident to Ted that Sam was attempting to create disruption – distrust among the ranks. Ted was well aware that the Assistant Director was an ambitious, yet arrogant man. His dislike of Ted was so thinly veiled that it shined like a beacon. Ted didn't really care what the man thought of him, but he was glad that Sam was so transparent, giving Ted a shield of caution when dealing with him, and an insight that Sam was not aware of. The Assistant Director's self-serving actions was just an added problem to the ones of finding the mole and recovering the stolen secret weapons data, but not one Ted considered a high priority at the moment. He just had to keep an eye on the man and pay attention to what he did in his own interests.
     Ted typed in a memo to Armando, marked 'confidential – for your eyes only', that gave just acquired information of the location of the secret weapons memory stick. He then coded it and hit the 'enter' button.
     There was not way of telling how long it would take the mole to spot it, plus he would have to decode it, but Ted made it a simple code, easy to break. The mole could have operatives within the agency, or underlings who simply followed orders without question, which would not be considered out of the ordinary. How well connected the mole was would determine how quickly the memo would be retrieved and action be taken.
     Fifteen minutes after sending the memo, Special Agent Armando Martinez entered the Director's office.
     “I got your memo, Ted. I assume Brad and Susan successfully planted the stick. How long do you want me to wait before sending a team in to extract it?”
     “That's a good question. Have your team keep an eye out. Watch for any quick or nervous activity. Do you have any characters in the main office that have raised your suspicions?”
     “Yes. Actually, I do. One of the clerks.”
     “Okay. Keep an eye on him. We have to wing this one. We can't linger too long, because that in itself would create suspicions. When you do initiate the retrieve, pick your team from the San Francisco office. It will take them a couple of hours to get it together and get to Los Gatos, giving the bad guys plenty of time to get their first.
     “Call a meeting of your personal team in the secure room. That alone should stir the pot if someone is watching you, and I can almost guaranty that someone is.”
     “Yes, sir. On another subject, has Levitt brought the information to you yet validating me as the mole?”
     “No, but I'm sure he will as soon as he creates it. When he told me that, he was just planting a seed. Now he has to back it up, and I don't think he had taken it that far yet when we spoke. Don't worry about it. I want you to focus on this operation. I'll take care of Levitt.”

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 33

Chapter 33

    As Brad and Susan rushed from the bedroom towards the kitchen they could hear the footsteps of the two men on the front porch.
    “Shit!” Brad said. “We don't have time.” Pulling the gun with the silencer from his belt he turned towards the front door. “Run. I'll slow them down.” There was no time for argument or debate. Susan rushed through the kitchen to the back door as she heard the front door crash open. Though the pistol that Brad fired had a silencer on it, the report was loud enough to leave no doubt in the invaders minds that they had just been shot at. Two bullets hit the door jam inches from their faces, forcing the two men to move back, hiding behind the walls on either side of the door. They would enter more cautiously now, allowing Brad time to run out the back door after Susan. As he exited through the back he turned and fired one more shot. The report of the gun was a little louder, which made the men back off again. Brad ran through the opened back yard gate, surprised to see the third member of the surveillance team grabbing at Susan ten yards down the trail. Before Brad could rush to her rescue she had spun around, twisting the man's arm into a breaking position behind his back. At the same time she kicked him in the throat. As he put his free hand up to his throat, his mouth gaping silently, she kicked him in the sternum. The man fell, gasping for air that would not come.
    “We have to get off the trail.” Brad said as he came up to her. “Up here.” He said. They took off at a full run into the thick woods behind the line of houses. They ran a hundred yards, enough to be fairly well obscured by the thicket of trees before turning and running parallel to the back yard fences towards Main Street.
    “We should come out of the woods roughly at the back of the Broadway Bar and Grill. Once on Main Street we'll be safe.” Brad said as they ran.
    The two men burst through the fence gate, looking up and down the trail. Seeing their third man next to the trail they went to him and turned him over from the sprawled position that he was in, laying face down in the dirt. He was desperately sucking in short gasps of air, his eyes wild and unfocused.
     “Where are they, Bill?” one man asked.
    Bill gasped and tried to speak, but nothing came out. The men stood and looked up and down the trail again, ignoring their gasping partner. They looked up at the forest line and saw nothing. One man flipped open a cell phone and hit a fast dial number.
     “Spike? Yeah. They got away.” The man pulled the phone away from his ear as Spikes screamed through the receiver. “Don't get all worked up, man. It looks like they came here to get something, but we got inside before they could get it and they had to run. Considering the chance that they took, I'd say what you're looking for is right here inside this house.”
     He listened as Spike talked. “How the hell would I know where it is? They got away so I couldn't ask them. I doubt if they would come back just for a change of clothes. It has to be here.”
     “We take any damage?” Spike asked.
     “Yeah. The hippie beat Bill up pretty bad.” He looked at Bill who still sat on the ground trying to talk, squeaky whispers escaping from him in short breaths. Bill stopped his attempts to talk and looked up at the man with the phone and then put his hands to his face. “What, Bill?” the man asked him. Bill shook his head and pointed as his throat. He decided right then that he would never reveal who had beat him up so badly, and if he ever ran across that lady again, he would make sure she couldn't say anything either.
     Turning back to the phone, he said, “I think Bill might have some throat damage. He's having a hard time breathing and his voice comes out in squeaks.
     “Yeah, I know where there's a hospital. I'll drop him off there.” He listened again. “Yes, we'll stay close by. The chick and the hippie are in the area. So, we will be too.

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

     Dragging his leash behind him, Recon jumped into the back seat of the Land Rover. Susan and Brad quickly followed as they slid into the front seat. Brad started the vehicle and pulled out before Susan had her seat belt on.
     “Well.” She said with a release of breath. “That was exciting, wasn't it?”
     “I'd say that's about as positive a twist as you could put on that experience.”
     “You know me.” she said. “I'm always looking for the bright side.”
     She noticed that they had turned around and were now leaving Los Gatos proper and crossing the freeway towards Blossom Hill Road. “Where we going?”
     “I thought we should get out of this neighborhood, but I want to go somewhere we can sit down. I've got to call Armando or Ted and let them know the stick is planted.” He turned to her. “Are you hungry?”
     “Actually, I'm a little nauseated. Beating people up doesn't enhance my appetite.”
     “Okay. Well, I could use a cup of coffee. Let's go to the Pruneyard and get an espresso.”
     “That little intense fiasco didn't even effect you, did it?” Susan asked with a tone of astonishment.
     “Of course it did. I need a cup of coffee after that.” he said matter-of-factly. He looked over at her and could see she was shaken. He put his right hand on hers. “I'm sorry, Susan. I'm sure this is very traumatic for you. Excuse me if I seem insensitive, but this type of tension used to be just part of the job for me.”

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

     Loading there injured partner into the back of the SUV, the two men got in and pulled away from the curb. The man in the passenger seat asked, “Where are we taking him?”

     “I lived in the south bay at one time.” the driver responded. “I know of a hospital off of Blossom Hill Road. That's fairly close. We'll drop him off there.”
     They dropped their man off at the ER entrance of the hospital. As they swung from the curb the driver said, “Let's get something to eat. We've been sitting surveillance all damned day and I'm hungry.”
     “Sounds good to me. Where do you want to go?”
     “There's a place called the Pruneyard just down the street from here.”
     “Pruneyard?” the passenger said. “I don't want to eat prunes. I want a steak.”
     “They don't have prunes at the Pruneyard. It's just the name of the complex.”
     “Then why do they call it the Pruneyard?” he asked suspiciously.
     “How the hell would I know? It's just the name of the place. The name of a place doesn't have to have anything to do with what they have. Santa Clara valley used to be nothing but apricot orchards, and they don't call it Apricot Valley.”
     “Why not?”
     The driver looked over at his partner with a furrowed brow then turned back to the street in front of him. Instead of answering him, he said, “I know of a place in the complex that serves a pretty decent steak. We'll go there”

     The cell phone that Brad had was set up with two direct speed dials. One to Special Agent Armando Martinez and the other to Director Ted Warner's private phone. He hit the one that called the Director. When Ted answered, Brad said, “It's done.”
     Ted's response was, “Roger.”, then they both hung up.
     Brad slipped the phone into his pocket and leaned back in his chair with a sigh. He looked around as if for the first time since they had sat down at the outside table. They had found a small espresso shop at the back of a patio that separated two large restaurants. The flooring was old brick, six tables with matching chairs beckoned with old world comforts to people passing at the front of the patio. Umbrella's opened broadly with Italian colors and paintings of steaming coffee cups over each table. The street in front circled the Pruneyard complex, cars passing by, the occupants looking for a particular establishment or a parking space in the far parking lots. Directly across the street, a well manicured lawn surrounded an elaborate granite fountain of abstract design. A ribbon of water shot from the top and cascaded over perfectly formed globes into a moat of water. Beyond the parking lots, tall trees grew, blocking out the surrounding commerce, giving the illusion that all of this luxury sat by itself in a peaceful wilderness setting. For Brad and Susan the illusion was working. The tension of their encounter with Spikes goons at Susan's house eased from both of their bodies as they let the ambiance of their surroundings effect them.
     Susan also leaned back in her chair. Looking at Brad with a slight grin she said, “Just another average day in our lives. Deal with a bunch of armed men who want to kill us, escape, go have a cup of coffee.”
     Brad laughed. “Yep. Just another boring couple having a quiet day. It's just what I was hoping for from my retirement.”
     She placed her hand on his and said with an exaggerated tone of sincerity, “I'm glad I could be the one to help you fulfill your dream of a quiet life.”
     “Me too, sweetheart.” he said with an equal tone of insincerity. “After this maybe we could go over to the little island out in front where the fountain is and watch the grass grow.”
     “Oh, Brad.” she said. “You're just trying to excite me.”
     They both laughed as Brad's gaze went to the street out in front. His eyes met those of a passenger in a black SUV that was passing by. The smile still lingered on his face from his and Susan's joking banter, but his eyes suddenly hardened. Susan noticed.
     “What's wrong?” she asked.
     “I think our moment of boredom is about to pass. Spike's goons just drove by, and one of them was looking straight at us.”
     “Did he recognize you?” she asked.
     “I don't know. We kind of blend in with all the tourists. It might take him a moment to register that it was us. Our problem is extremely limited alternate escape routes. We're sitting in a cal-d-sac here.”
     Brad stood and reached his hand out to Susan's. “I hate to rush us when we're having such a nice moment, but maybe we should get the hell out of here before things get unpleasant.”

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 32

Chapter 32

     “Good-afternoon, officer.” Susan said into the cell phone. “I would like to report two suspicious characters who have been parked in my neighborhood all day.” She paused as she listened. “Yes, sir. I understand there is no law against sitting in a car, but I'm an elderly woman by myself, and I've been watching them through the window. They seem to be observing my house and have been for hours.” She paused again. “My name is Susan Jenkins and I live at 7453 Broadway. They're parked a few houses up from me. Could I request an officer at least check into it.” She listened. “Thank you very much, officer. I would be relieved if you did.”
     “With that call”, Susan said as she clicked off the phone, “Spike should know where we are in the very near future. It's the red flag they've been waiting for.”
     “I would bet that the surveillance team”, Brad said nodding towards the downhill street, “are Spikes men. He will call them as soon as he gets the word, and tell them that we're here, but we might be done before that happens. It has to come to the attention of the mole, then go to Spike and then these guys. I'd say we have fifteen minutes to a half hour to pull this off.”
     Brad and Susan stood on the opposite curb from her house. They had moved just far enough to the peak of the hill to see the SUV without exposing their bodies. They watched a police cruiser come slowly up the street and stop next to the SUV. The officer got out of the cruiser and strolled over to the two men and bent down to speak to the driver. A hand came out of the drivers window with a flopped open billfold. The officer studied it for a moment, nodded, returned to his car and drove away.
     “Shit.” Brad said as he watched the cruiser turn and go back to Main Street. “They've got I.D.'s. Probably FBI or DEA – something that would send the local cops away.”
     He paced up and down the sidewalk, one arm folded over the other as he stroked his beard in thought. “Okay.” he said decisively. “The point of least resistance would be the guy in the back. There's only one of him and he's focused on your house, rather than checking out everything that moves like the two guys in front are doing.”
     “I agree.” Susan said. “I assume you would like me to walk down the trail behind the house, creating a focal diversion for him while you take him out from behind.”
     He smiled. “That's right.” Still looking at her he said, “Finishing school instead of the Marines, huh?
     She laughed. “No. I didn't really go to finishing school. I was just trying to make a point to Ted. My two interests then were dance classes and karate.”
     “Well, my dancing Ninja, assuming we live through all of this, we should take the time to talk more about our lives.”
     “I'd like that.” she said. “But meanwhile, I don't think we've got much time left.”
     “No, we don't. We have to move fast. Give me a couple of minutes to get around behind the guy in the woods, then start on down the trail. When I see you, so will he. I'll move on him then.” Brad turned and ran across the street, disappearing into the woods that bordered the sidewalk in between two yards.
     “Okay, Recon.” Susan said, “It's our turn.” Holding Recon's leash, Susan also crossed the street and followed the foot trail that went up the side of the forested patch and turned, leading down the hill directly behind the houses. Though she still wore her wig, sunglasses and hat, she now walked briskly with Recon trotting at her side. There was no time left for play acting, and the fact that an old woman was moving like a young one would definitely get the surveillance man's attention, and that's what she wanted, his total attention.
     Redwood forests, pristine ones, don't usually have much ground growth. They're covered with fallen debris and pine needles, which offer little movement noise if the walker is paying attention and not snapping branches with his feet. Brad moved with a stealthiness that would have impressed an Indian scout from the Calvary days. By the time he was in position, about twenty feet behind the back yard observer, the man had moved from his well hidden position, exposing himself as he craned his neck, apparently already noticing Susan and Recon walking towards him on the trail. As she got closer he inched back towards his hiding spot behind the tree. The sound of his own movements covered any that Brad made, as he quickly came up behind the man, kicked him behind the knees. As he dropped, Brad slammed the butt of his hand into the man's temple with such force that the man's head snapped to the side as he fell in a still heap. Brad picked up the two way radio and silenced pistol that the man had in his hands when Brad dropped him.
     As Brad ran down the hill, Susan opened the gate to her back yard. They both slipped in and closed the gate quickly. Susan pulled the semi-automatic from her belt holster, realizing as she did that she was getting used to carrying a gun. She expertly flipped the safety and chambered a round before rushing across the yard and taking a position on one side of the house while Brad made the same move to the other side. They inched towards the centered back door, checking out the room interiors as they passed each window. Susan slipped a key into the door lock and quietly opened it. They moved into the kitchen, sweeping it through the sites of their guns. They separated, each heading towards different rooms, making sure that the house was empty. The house was as they had left it four days before, everything turned over and tossed. They moved into the bedroom, Brad going to the window where he could observe the SUV through a crack in the curtain while Susan took out the memory stick of the birthday party of her friends eight year old son out of the false bottom of the jewelry box and replaced it with the one given to her by Ted.
     “I hope that you're real close to being done.” Brad said, still looking out the window.
     “Why's that?” she asked as she tried to manipulate the false bottom back into place.
     “Because one of these guys outside is on the phone. I think they just got the call saying we're here.” A moment later a voice came over the two-way radio that Brad had lifted off the guy in back.
     “Bill. I just got a call. They're here. Go into the house. We'll meet you inside.” There was a silence before the man said, “Do you read me, Bill? Give me a confirmation and get the hell in there.”
     “Time to go, Susan.” Brad said anxiously as Susan snapped the false bottom into place and turned the box over on the dresser next to the items from it that were scattered across the dresser top. “Here they come.” Brad said. She heard two doors slam shut. Their time was up. They had seconds to get out before the two men came thru the front door.

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 31

Chapter 31

Trails of wispy clouds glowed peaches and golds in the last yawn of a settling sun. Brad and Susan were taking their sunset walk in the cooling sands at the oceans edge. They liked to watch the sun blazing it's last color across the sky as it gathered the day, taking it to another part of the world, leaving the strolling couple to the twinkle of night.

After their meeting with the Director, Ted Warner, and Special Agent Armando Martinez, they had seen no reason to go anywhere else. No body was looking for them in Carmel, so they took advantage of the situation. With nothing to do until Ted fulfilled his part, they took on the role of a couple vacationing in Carmel. Their bungalow could not be more charming if it came off of a post card saying, 'Wish you were here'. The restaurants were all fantastic, everything was beautiful, and Susan was able to visit all 126 art galleries while they were there. She thought she would have to drag Brad on her exploration of Carmel's artistic offerings, but not only did he go with her willingly, she was surprised by his artistic knowledge. When she told him so, he smiled at her and said, “Now, why would you think an old soldier wouldn't know anything about the arts?”

“It seems like quite a contrast to what you've done for a living.” she responded.

“Yes, it is, and it's probably one of the reasons that I found it interesting. Everything in life seeks a balance. Like you said, art is a contrast. It's that contrast that gave me balance.”

As they came up even with the bungalow, they turned almost in unison from the wet sanded shore and traipsed across the soft, dry sand. They both hesitated as they saw the silhouette of a man in the dusk's shadows at their gate. He lifted his hand in greeting before they went towards him again, recognizing who he was.

“Are you two enjoying your vacation on the government's dime?” Ted asked jokingly.

“It's all how you word it.” Brad said as he shook Ted's hand. “I would say that we're under a government protection program.”

“How are you, Susan?” The Director asked her.

“Well, I was hoping that this part could go on indefinitely, but I'm doing very well, thank you.”

Ted handed her a small case. “This is the bogus memory stick. How much time do you need before I let the information out?”

“We'll plant it tomorrow.” Susan responded.

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

After Ted had given them the memory stick and worked out some details of the plan, he wished them luck and quickly left. Susan and Brad were now alone in the bungalow, anticipation of the coming day crowding the relaxed, almost dreamy previous two days that had wrapped them in an enchanted aura

They sat in two easy chairs, facing diagonally towards each other. A small end table with a lamp on it separating them. They had said little since going inside after Ted left. There was little left to discuss about what they had to do, but it still preoccupied their minds. Both of them going over details, looking for a weak point in their plans.

Brad sighed and looked over at Susan. He smiled and silently stood. He walked over to a counter, a bowl of long wooden matches sat on its surface. He pulled one out and lit a candle. He then went to the coffee table and lit another candle. He rose and looked at her, smiling again. She answered him with a grin, rose and turned on an easy jazz station, who at the moment was playing some very sultry blues. Brad lit one more candle and put the match out as Susan turned to him from the stereo.

They were in no hurry. This was their night – their last night in the land of enchantment, in this bungalow that looks as if it escaped from a Kincaid painting. Without a word spoken, they had agreed that this night was theirs. The world did not exist beyond where they were right now. The concept of the moon shinning through any other window except the one in the bungalow did not exist. The sound of the sea in the distance was meant only for them. This bungalow, walls flickering amber in the candle light, the soft music filling the air, held no other feeling accept the one they felt for each other. They came together in a gentle embrace. Holding each other as they danced slowly. Both of them, thinking what a perfect, contented moment this was.

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It was around noon on a sunny day. The weather was pleasant instead of hot, as the sun had passed it's apex over two months ago. Autumn had yet to offer it's cool sting to the nights, but the days were succumbing as the sun's spin drifted to the south. Instead of pulling onto Susan's street, Brad parked on Main Street just down from her corner. They both donned gray wigs, hats and sunglasses before exiting the Land Rover. Susan attached a leash to Recon as Brad pulled out his cane as an accessory for the 'older man' appearance, though he was quietly grateful for it, as his leg was hurting today.

“See you at the top of the hill, cowboy.” Susan said as she and Recon turned the corner of her street and walked up the other side from her house. Brad continued on until he came to the Broadway Bar and Grill, walked behind the building and started up a walking trail where the forested hills ended short of the back fences of the homes on Broadway. Brad walked slowly – an old man in no hurry to get anywhere. He leaned heavily on the cane as he walked, not totally exaggerating the canes need. He stopped occasionally, leaning on the cane with both hands, looking towards the uphill forest floor as if he were admiring the beauty as he gave his legs a break. Two houses before he got to Susan's back yard fence, he spotted the man a hundred feet back in the trees. What caught his eye was a quick movement of shadow in the dappled sunlight that filtered through the canopy of trees overhead. Brad stopped and leaned heavily on the cane. He faced the forest to the left of where he saw the shadow, but the sunglasses hid the movement of his eyes. He was totally focused on the trees who's shadow's revealed the man. What could have been a sliver of a shadow inched from behind a tree trunk and then slowly slipped back again. The man was either camouflaged or wearing a ski mask, for he blended quite well. Only be looking directly at him would one even notice the movement.

Brad sighed, turned and continued his hobbling stroll up the trail, walking passed Susan's house without a glance.

As Susan and Recon walked up the street, she also walked slowly, talking to Recon as they did. “Okay, you big ape, you're going to stick with me and not chase any cats or squirrels, right?”

Recon's tongue hung from the side of his mouth as he looked up at her with a happy expression, his tail wagging.

“Also, my dear psychotic friend, I would appreciate it if you didn't rip anybodies throat out unless they actually are hostile.” Again he wagged his tail vigorously and gave her a short bark.

“I have to assume that your bark and tail wagging means that you agree to my terms for a walk down the street.” He gave her another short bark.

“You're a little scary, Recon. I don't think dogs are supposed to be as smart as you seem to be.”

Recon leaned into her with his 90 pounds of weight, pushing her to the edge of the sidewalk. She stopped, bent down and rubbed his side. His back leg lifted and pawed the air in response to her scratching. As she rose to continue their walk, she glanced at her place, just a few houses up the street, and checked out the cars parked at the curb. Two men sat in an SUV four houses up from hers. They were watching her as she moved. They were not speaking to each other, but seemed intent on her. She acted as if she hadn't noticed them, walking slowly, keeping her head slightly turned towards Recon as she talked to him. Just an old lady walking her dog. The hat over her gray wig and the large sunglasses offered good distortion to her features, but her smooth skin could giver her away once she got close enough for them to see her more clearly. Large, old oak trees lined either side of the street, offering shadow filtered light, making it more difficult to discern her features.

As she drew closer to the men in the SUV across the street, she could see from the corner of her eye that they were still studying her. Perhaps it was because she was the only thing moving on the block. It would be a natural tendency to watch the only person moving in an observers line of vision.

Recon walked to Susan's right, on the residential side of the sidewalk. She turned to him and said, “Do something doggy like, Recon. Pee on something, or what ever it is that dog's do. I need a diversion from me.” Recon veered onto the passing lawn, pulling ten feet of chord from the reel leash in Susan's hand. She turned her head completely away from her observers as she watched Recon walking across the edges of lawns, smelling hidden, disgusting things deep inside the grass that only a dog would notice or find interesting, stopping every now and then to inspect an interesting odor. They came to a tree, which Recon sniffed methodically before lifting his rear leg and urinating on it. Susan stood patiently with her back to the men as Recon did his business. She was even with them now, they being directly across the street from her. Recon's exploration gave her reason to center her attention away from the SUV. When Recon was done he continued to smell the lawn as they passed the men's line of vision, offering the old lady an apparent reason to be concentrating on her dog's actions, just in case he decided to leave a piled greeting for a home owner that she would have to pick up. They could not see her face at all as she passed them.

Once out of their range of observation, she did not speed up. She walked the two long blocks to the top of the hill at the same pace she began her walk, knowing that they could be watching her in their rear view mirrors, or turned in their seats, evaluating whether or not they should check her out a little closer. She had no doubt that they were watching her for any move that did not correspond to her character.

As Susan and Recon topped the hill and disappeared from the men's sight, she looked for Brad, seeing him at the end of the foot trail where the forest came up to the sidewalk. His butt was up against a tree, both hands folded on the handle of the cane, looking like an old man resting after a walk. Recon's tail wagged vigorously as they crossed the street and walked up to Brad. The disguise might have fooled the surveillance team, but not Recon.

“Hey there, old timer.” Susan said walking up to him. “Are you waiting for an old lady who might come by and show you a good time?”

“Only if you have some Ibuprofen and Viagra.”

She laughed. “Is that what old men need to have a good time?”

“I'm not sure. I never got issued the 'what to expect as you grow old' manual, but I suspect in another 30 or 40 years, those items will be my friends.” He leaned down and scratched Recon behind the ear as he spoke. “Did you see anything?”

“Yes. There were two men in an SUV about four house up from mine on the same side of the street. How about you?”

“Yep. Me too. One guy about a hundred feet into the woods directly behind your house.”

“Well.” Susan said. “We have a little dilemma here, don't we?”

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 30

Chapter 30

Alberto De La Cruz had been doing his homework. He was pleased with the way things were going, at least on his end. His end was marketing. Selling the product. He had no doubt that the product, the weapons systems data, would soon be in hand. The mole was smart and well connected. He would figure it out. Spike wasn't all that bright, but he was loyal and did what he was ordered to do without question. He always got the needed results.

Alberto had spent a great deal of time working his way into contact with representatives of mainly oil rich countries that were ran by ruthless, ambitious men. Men with vision and the desire control the world's oil supply. Men who wished to be the most powerful people in the world, and with control of all the oil, that's exactly what they would be. With the most modern, sophisticated weaponry in the world, even better than America's, this sort of man would be unstoppable.

Alberto De La Cruz would soon have just what that ruthless dictator would need to accomplish his goal, and that next world leader would be the one who gave Alberto the highest bid for the weapons systems.

De La Cruz had worked his way through the diplomats of the countries he had contacted to participate in his auction. He now had three dictators to whom he had personal contact. Three men, each of which was willing to throw in bids of no less that a billion dollars.

There was an element of danger in what Alberto was doing, and he was quite aware of it. He had to be careful to do exactly as he promised, and when the payee was chosen, he had to follow the agreement to the letter. His life would literally depend on it. These were not men who negotiated after the negotiating was over and agreed upon.

Alberto, like Spike, was just waiting for Susan to make a mistake, and they knew she would. She's just human. She's not a professional, and she didn't know what she was doing. This should be easy, like shooting fish in a barrel.

Alberto sat back in the luxury of the finest lounge chair made, sipping an espresso on his veranda, gazing out at the pristine sea, remembering his vow as a skinny, rag adorned child to get out of the poverty that surrounded him. To do it by whatever means possible, and to never look back. Alberto's dream was to be wealthy, very wealthy, and as his intelligence and leadership qualities began to bloom, he realized that power came with wealth, and was just as great on an elixir as the money that created it.

Alberto didn't really know what he was worth to the penny. He had assets. Warehouses with enough weapons to arm an army, much of it surplus arms left over wars gone to history books; AK-47's, M-16's, all of them secondary to today's modern weaponry, but no less lethal than they were, and in the hands of an army, adequate enough to conquer any third world nation and to be formidable against any larger nation.

He did not know how much he had tied up in product, but knew that he had less than a billion available in moveable money. As much as that was, it wasn't enough. Even a billion was not enough. With the right people in world power, and he would do what he could to see that they were, he would be one of the richest people in the world, and be respected and honored by the conquerors that he created. Dominance didn't always come with the position of a countries leader, a position that could lead to a nasty ending. Mussolini was hung in the street, allowing an angry populace the opportunity to beat his already dead body. Hitler committed suicide to avoid what he knew would come with his capture. Hussein met his end with a hangman's noose. No, Alberto didn't want that. He didn't have the ego for it. He worked in the shadows, oblivious to the people who would come after their leaders with pitch forks and machete's. After the brutal were brutalized, Alberto would still be here. Very rich. Very comfortable.

Without moving his gaze from the sea before him, he said, “Bring me a cigar. A Cuban.” Within moments a tray was placed on the mosaic table in front of him. The armed man attending him silently lifted the cigar from a silver holder, clipped the end with scissors before handing it to Alberto with a slight bow. He then placed an ornately carved crystal ashtray in front of him and then lit the cigar in Alberto's mouth with a silver lighter.

The attendant waited expectantly as Alberto puffed on the cigar, then swept the air with the hand, dismissing the servant. He bowed and stepped away from Alberto, moving to the back of the house. The servant placed the tray on a service table, turned back to the sea and Alberto's back, silently scanning the land on either side of the mansion as well as the sea. The man would do this for four hours, guarding Alberto's horizon's from invaders of any sort, and seeing that his desires and wants are met immediately. At the end of his shift another attendant would come on, and this would continue in 24 hour shifts. Each attendant, very focused for their entire shift. These men were Alberto's elite group. There were 12 of them, all well trained in defense and servant services. Though, seemingly an odd combination, they were the two requirements to be in Alberto's special guard unit, which paid very well.

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

Joseph Eichmann sat in an old stuffed chair in which it looked as if he had spent many nights, and he had. Through a thousand cases and projects over a thirty year period, Joseph had sat in this chair exactly as he did now. His hair had gone from thick and wavy to thin and wispy in this chair. His athletic body had grown tired and soft here. A small fire blazed in the fireplace in front of him, it's light flickering over a face in heavy concentration. He puffed absentmindedly on a pipe, then held it off to the side, his elbow on the chair arm., his eyes following the disappearing flames as they reached restlessly for the rising air, then died into heat.

Joseph was a methodical man – always had been. It's what made him such a good spy. No detail was ever too small for him to study. He had solved a thousand riddles by looking at the insignificant and placing them into a puzzle, which is exactly what he was doing now.

He ran through his mind the last few meetings that he had with Susan's brother, Jeff Jenkins. That was when they discovered that there was a mole in the agency. They tried to set him up, but he was too smart and had paid a bum to place the stick in the pickup spot. Then, Jenkins took it upon himself to see what was on the memory stick. He had suspicions. He knew this was something very big, and he also knew that it came from the basement of a top secret facility. Joseph remembered the fear that Jeff showed when he realized what he had in his hands. How incredibly dangerous it was not only to have, but to be set loose on the world. Jeff decided he was dead from all sides, because, one, he had goods stolen from the U.S., and, two, he had not given it to the man who ordered it taken, Alberto De La Cruz. One was no less dangerous than the other under these circumstances.

Joseph was certain that Jenkins had not died at sea with the memory stick, just as De La Cruz was certain of it. But, there was something about his conversations with Brad and Susan – something very subtle in their body language and delivery when they spoke of it. Not only was he certain that Jeff Jenkins had left it with her before he disappeared, he was sure that she knew where it was, and he was also certain that Brad did as well.

Joseph was now in a position of discussion with Brad and Susan. To the point where they even trusted him a little bit. He smiled at that thought. Brad's trust in him was limited at best, which was understandable, but didn't really matter when this little adventure met it's end. Joseph had plans. Ones that nobody, not even his bosses were aware of. He would fulfill his obligation and his contract, but he would also take care of Joseph Eichmann. Nobody else would.

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 29

Chapter 29

    The building is a three story, very non-descript brick structure, with windows that can be seen out of, but not in to. At ground level there is a large parking lot beneath the building that is gated and can only be opened by a code. What appears to be armed, private security guards stand inside of each entrance. Each one of them is very fit looking with Marine style haircuts. Their hair is cut that way because they actually are Marines.
    Below the underground parking lot is another four stories to the building. The building is surrounded by an electrical fence. No signs identify what form of business takes place within the establishment, because this is the home of very secretive United States law enforcement agencies. One of the those agencies is the Special Branch, Anti-terrorism Task Force. In the deepest bowels of this building is a warehouse size basement, which holds some of the most top secret data in America. Only the top echelon of these very special agencies has access to this room and to the items inside of it. But, even for them there is protocol to follow, forms to sign before entering this sacred area.
    Director Ted Warner is one of those very few top echelon people who is allowed in the area with minimal screening, though he does have to submit his purpose for going into the basement. The computers in the basement are blocked to all outside the rooms confines and can only be accessed by the top brass. To download information from that room, without anyone knowing about it, a person much do it within that room, using the immediate computers only. If caught, the person illegally downloading data would more than likely be identified as the mole. Ted was more than aware of this as he sat at his desk planning each step of the risky project he was about to embark upon. He had not informed the Director of Homeland Security or the Secretary of Defense of his intended move. It was too chancy. What he was about to do was against every thing he had ever been taught, the code that he lived by. Ted was going rogue.
    He reached for the phone to let the gate keeper know he was coming down, but stopped short before touching it. It was a habit – protocol. 'Can't do that.” he thought. 'No inner agency electronics.' Slipping a blank memory stick into his pants pocket as he rose from his desk, he let out a sigh, then stood up straight, threw his shoulders back and walked out of his office with determination.
     There were a few people moving hurriedly down the hall. He returned peoples nods and greetings as he passed them. In the direction he was walking he could be going to the cafeteria one floor below, or to the stairs to the parking garage. Also in that direction was the elevator to the bottom floors, and just down from that was a blank door with a code access handle, the stairwell to all the bottom floors. The possibility of seeing anyone on the stairwell was very slim, as the elevator was much more convenient. He stopped in front of the stairwell door as if he forgot something, feeling his pockets. He glanced down the hall then turned and looked the other way. What few people he saw were not even facing him at the moment. He quickly punched in the code and slipped through the door. So far, undetected.
    Ted wasn't worried about cameras. Every inch of the outside and the entrances were under camera surveillance. Getting in was virtually impossible if you didn't belong there. The interior was constantly screened for listening and/or video devices. This was a secret facility, in which very secret movements were discussed and planned. Only those with a need to know could have knowledge of any specific operation.
    Ted descended the stairs, listening for a door opening below him, or the sound of footsteps climbing towards him. As he passed the second floor going down he froze, listening carefully. In the tall stairwell cubicle sounds were magnified. He thought he heard a slight noise from the floor above. It was so subtle that he couldn't discern what it was. It could have been the swoosh of the door closing, or a shoe scuffing against a hard floor, or it could have been the building, like all buildings, having little noises that emanate from pipes cooling or heating in the walls, or the air ducts going off and on as they regulate the temperature.
    Ted stood as still as a statue for a full minute. Nobody came down the stairs, the sound of silence was deafening. Cautiously satisfied that he was alone he continued on to the basement.
    Using his access card he opened the stairwell door to the basement. It opened into a large entry room, on the far side another access door. Next to the door was a glassed office. Light poured from the office and splashed across the carpet. Inside Ted could see a Marine, his back to Ted as the man put some papers in a filing cabinet. He turned as if sensing him as Ted walked across the entryway. Recognizing the Director, the Marine came to attention.
    “Sir! Excuse me for not hearing the elevator bell. My attention was on something else.”
    “At ease, Marine. Don't worry about it.”
    “Is there something that I can help you with, Sir?”
    Ted slipped has access card through the reader on the door and then tapped in a number on the keyboard. As he opened the door he said, “No. I need to review some old data and wanted to do it in undisturbed privacy, and the data is in about a private a place as I can think of.”
    The Marine laughed. “That's a fact, Sir. It's usually like a tomb down here.
    Ted smiled back. “Okay, I'm going to get busy. As you were, Marine.” The Director said dismissively as he turned to the back room. The Marine sat down and started writing on a sheet on paper clipped to a board. Ted knew he was writing his name and the time that he entered the cage area of the basement. It would be turned in at the end of a 24 hour shift and then recorded in the daily data banks. He would deal with that later.
    Before starting, Ted brought up information on failed operations, and the reports explaining why they failed. He minimized it and then brought up the material he really wanted. He was already familiar with a number of failed weapons systems that they had stored. He downloaded those first, then explored others. Some looked great on paper, but the matching histories and reports proved them to be total failures. He downloaded those also.
     He had working at the computer for well over two hours when he heard the door behind him whisper open. He immediately pulled and palmed the memory stick and clicked on the minimized operations data.
     “Ted!” a voice said behind him. “What are you doing down here?”
    Ted turned to see Assistant Director, Samuel Levitt walking towards him, wearing a smile on a face filled with suspicion.
    “I might ask you the same question, Sam.” Levitt gritted his teeth through his smile. He didn't like people being so informal and calling him Sam. He preferred Samuel, and above that, he would rather be called Assistant Director. Ted could see the quick, subtle change in the man's demeanor before he regained control. 'What an uptight son-of-a-bitch', The Director thought.
     “When the Director goes missing for a few hours, people start looking for you.” Levitt replied. “This was the last place to look before putting out an all points bulletin.”
     “Well, that's good detective work, Sam. I was down here reviewing some operations that went sideways to see how they might benefit another similar operation that's coming up.” He paused. “So, what's up?”
     Levitt glanced at the screen behind Ted. “Oh, yes. I remember that one. Quite the disaster.”
    “You know what they. We learn from our mistakes. At least we do if we review them.” Levitt nodded silently. The Director asked again. “So, what's up? Must be pretty important for you to come looking for me. You could have sent a clerk and the Marine out in front would have told me.”
    “Well, yes.” Levitt said, showing a slight discomfort. “I suppose I could have done that, but I have easier access to this area.”
     Ted thought about the noise he thought he had heard in the stairwell earlier. Somebody had followed him, and was discreetly good at it. He must have reported back to Levitt, who, after a couple of hours, couldn't stand it any longer and came down to see what he was doing. His reasoning was very weak.
     Ted stood, and as he turned to shut down the computer, he slipped the memory stick into his pocket.
     “I think I've taken in all that I can for the moment. Reviewing disasters is depressing.” He turned back and slapped Levitt on the should with a big meaty hand. With a smile and a friendly tone, he said, “Come on, Sammy boy, we can walk back upstairs together.”
    “Samuel, sir.” Levitt mumbled.
    “What's that?” the Director said, seemingly oblivious of Levitt's quirk about his name. “Oh! That's right. Sorry, Sam. I forgot.”
    Veins pulsed from Levitt's neck as he moved quickly passed Ted and took the lead. 'The man is nothing but a Neanderthal barbarian.'  Levitt thought as he pushed through the doors leading to the elevator.  'How do apes like this become in charge when they have brilliant minds like mind waiting in the sidelines. My day will come, and when it does I will destroy this man.' With that comforting thought in mind, Levitt went on to the subject he really wanted to discuss with the Director. It was time for diversions, and he was about the create one.
    “Mr. Director, I have knowledge that Special Agent Martinez is secretly gathering information on the stolen weapons case. As you know, the stolen information was lost at sea, and there is a possibility that the perpetrators are once again attempting to steal the same information.”
    “You're losing me. What's that got to do with Martinez?” the Director asked.
    “I suspect that Martinez is the mole.”
    “That's a pretty serious charge, Samuel. What do you have to back it up?”
     "I'm not charging him, sir. I'm just saying that I have suspicions and that it might be wise to but him under observation.”
    "I see. Okay, I want to see the details that gave you these suspicions before any actions towards him is taken at all. Put your information together and send it to my office. I also want to know the source of your information. Let me take a look at it and then you and I can sit down and discuss what kind of actions to take if necessary.”
    The elevator door opened onto the main floor.  "Yes, sir."  Levitt said.  A sinister smile crossed his face as he walked away.


Dear Readers,
I'm moving to the northwest U.S. tomorrow and will post another chapter when I settle in - a few days.  What you are reading, Day at the Beach,  is a rough draft.  This was originally going to be a very short story, no more than 3 short chapters.  But, readers encouraged me to make it a full length story.  I have been able to gauge where to take this story by paying attention to the readership.  You have been very helpful to me and will significantly influence my rewrite when the story is completed.   
 Thank you for following Day at the Beach.  Writing it has been enjoyable and I'm looking forward to continuing it.
John Evans

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 28

Chapter 28

     On the beach, directly in front of Brad and Susan's bungalow is where they were going to meet Ted Warner, Director of Special Branch, Anti-terrorism Task Force at 1800 hours. At exactly 6PM, Ted and Armando appeared, walking casually at the waters edge, carrying their shoes and socks in their hands, their pants rolled up to their calves. They appeared engrossed in a conversation as they walked, looking like tourists on a sunset stroll. Occasionally one of them would gaze along the land side of the beach, as if admiring the beauty. They passed the meeting point and kept walking. Brad smiled as he watched them moving casually down the beach, gesturing with their hands as they spoke. Brad wondered what they were talking about that so engrossed them. He and Susan sat back in the foliage shadows of the bungalow observing them.

    “They didn't stop.” Susan noted.
    “They'll turn around. We'll just sit here for a moment and see if anybody is following them. We have a pretty good view and will see them coming back long before they get here.”
    They sat in silence for a moment in their lounge chairs, sipping iced tea, staring at the ocean.
    “Got your plan figured out?” Brad asked her.
    “I've got the basics of it figured out. I know the main steps we have to take to make this work, but these guys we're meeting, and probably you too, come to think of it, know the inner workings that I don't.
    “I'm doing what I would do if I were putting a project together. Figuring it out, seeing my weak points, and bringing in the people who will make those weak points strong.”
    “I've been waiting to hear what you have in mind.” Brad said.
    “I didn't want to say anything until I had it formulated. I think I do now, but I might learn something in this meeting that will change all that. Trust me when we meet with them. This is what I do and I'm good at it.”
     “I would trust you with my life.” Brad said taking her hand, “which you know, I already do.”
    “They're coming back.” Susan said, looking down the beach. Brad stood and scanned the beach in the other direction.
    A quarter mile down the beach Brad could see two boys throwing a Frisbee, a dog chasing after it as they tossed it back and forth. He studied the beach passed them all the way to the misty cliffs. Not another person was in sight.
     “Looks good to go.” he said. “Let's do it.” Susan stood. They swung open the small gate on the white picket fence and walked barefoot out onto the beach. When they reached the water's edge they turned towards Ted and Armando and walked hand and hand, stopping occasionally to let the surf swirl around their feet and look out at the ocean. As the four drew closer they showed no acknowledgment of the others existence until they were ten feet apart. In all appearances they were friends who accidentally happened across each other. They all shook hands, hugged and smiled, then turned into the direction of the designated meeting place and started walking together. The Director walked next to Susan and Armando on the other side of Brad.
     “So, Miss Jenkins - “ the Director said, “What is it exactly you want to discuss?”
     “Eliminating our mutual problem.” Susan responded.
     “I'm listening.” he said.
     “They want a memory stick containing weapon systems, which we let them have. We let the mole discover it, but it has to look like it's authentic. If they found the memory stick that we have in place now what they would see is a friend of mines son's eighth birthday party.
     “It has to look good enough to get all the way to the buyer – good enough to possibly be attempted, and bad enough to never have a chance of working. I assume you have that sort of weaponry information stored somewhere.”
     “We're dealing with highly classified information, here, young lady. You already know far more than you should.”
     “With all due respect, Director, let's cut the protocol bullshit and get passed the politics. I'm asking you to deal with a problem from a point of logic and common sense. Everything else must go to the wayside. Do you think the mole or Alberto De La Cruz gives a damn about protocol? If you're going to work from a point of rigidity, they're going to take advantage of it, which, in fact, is what they've been doing.”
     “So, what branch were you in, Miss Jenkins? Marines?” The Director asked her with a straight face.
     “No, sir. I was in finishing school, but I can apply makeup and have complex thoughts at the same time.”
     “Hmm,” the Director said with the hint of a grin. “A multitasker.”
     Susan laughed. “Yes, and I suspect that an old time Marine would have trouble with that particular multitasking.”
    “The Marines I knew would.” They both laugh and seemed to relax with each other, any tension they felt released into the moment.
    “May I call you, Susan?” The Director asked.
    “Yes you may, Ted.”
    “As I understand it, Ted.” Susan started, “You have access to weaponry data that is stored, including the ones that never worked.”
    “Well, it's not quite as simple as that. There are protocols to go through.”
    “You are well trained, aren't you, Ted.?” Susan said with a hint of sarcasm. “You can't do protocol. Not yet, anyway. Protocol is what the mole is using to find out what's happening, how he gets things. The strong point becomes the weak point when it can be used against you.”
    “I would have to agree.” he said.
    “How ever you can do it, you and only you, will have to research the data available and download the most plausible items that you can find. The buyers will have their version of experts check it out, who would probably not be as sophisticated analysts as your people, but good enough to follow directions and build a system. It would have to look like a passable system on paper.
    “Somewhere along the way, after they have paid De La Cruz, they would discover that what they had was bogus. Not only would they want their money back, they would probably want De La Cruz, and Alberto, of course, would blame it on the mole. From that point, I doubt that you would have to do anything. Nature would, let's say, take it's course.”
    “What do we do after we create the memory stick?”
    “Give it to us.” She said, referring to her and Brad. “We'll put it where it was originally meant to be hidden, just in case that is somehow discovered. Once we've done that then you make the information available to the mole, but don't make it too easy, or he will get suspicious.”
    “Okay, it sounds good in theory, but I see some dangerous bumps in the road, and things rarely go according to plan.”
    “Oh, Ted, quite being such a pessimist.” Susan said teasingly. He looked over and smile at her. He found himself liking this young lady.
    “So, are you going to tell me where you have the stick hidden?” The Director asked.
    Brad picked up a piece of drift wood and threw it down the beach for Recon, who happily went after it, the silver clasp of his collar glittering in the sun. Brad said, “No sir. Not right away, but we will when the time is right. At this point, the fewer people who know, the safer it is. I have no doubt that you would do the same thing.”
     “Yes, you're right. I would.”
    “I'll tell you this much.” Brad continued. “It's close and safely guarded.”
    The Director looked over at Brad. “Okay. For the moment I'll accept that. So, Major, how do you feel about Susan's plan?”
     “So far, it's the only plan that I've heard and I think it has merit.”
     “Actually, I do too.”
     The Director sighed and said, “We do have one big problem, though. Susan is a civilian and the victim of a pursuit.” He turned to her. “You're also involved in the operational movements as an agent would be, but you're not an agent.”
    “What's that mean, Sheriff?” Susan asked. “Are you going to deputize me? Make me part of the posse.”
    “Close.” he said smiling at her. “Armando!”
    “Yes, sir!”
    “Find some way to make Susan an operative for the duration of this case. You're her handler.”
    “Yes, sir.”
    “Okay.” Ted said somewhat contentedly. “That takes care of any department problems that we may run into.” Ted glanced at his watch. “Why don't we go have dinner and discuss the details of your plan.”

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 27

Chapter 27

     Susan was already poring over the profile of Alberto De La Cruz when their table was being cleared of dinner dishes and coffees placed in front of them.
     “De La Cruz is well insulated, isn't he?” she asked Armando.
     “Yes. We know that he's a major arms dealer, but every time we try to tag him the trail back to him gets lost in layers of bogus companies and disappearing money. People who go up against him seem to meet unhappy endings also. Usually they look like accidents, but even when the killings are sloppy, the trail back to him is lost. Spike Olaf usually contracts the hits for him, and he is also well insulated. Alberto is smart, so he keeps a protective shield over Spike, who is not a planner, but a doer.
     “They tend to eliminate any witnesses or people who have knowledge of their operations – people who could cause trouble for them later on.”
     Susan sat back and took a sip of her coffee as she stared off into space, thinking. She sat forward and said to the two men, “We have two significant characters in our problem, and one significant only because he's so dangerous. The two big ones are the mole in the agency and De La Cruz. Spike is significant only because he's the muscle.
     “So far, they've been running this whole show. They act and we jump. I suggest we change things. Let's sting them.
     “The mole is what makes it impossible to snag De La Cruz. No matter what happens, Alberto know about it. He's always at least one step ahead of you. Obviously, through the mole, he has access to the most secret of information that you have.”
     “You have something in mind?” Brad asked.
     “Yes. Let's give them what they want. The memory stick.”
     “Okay. So far, that doesn't sound like a great idea.” Brad said.
     “We're not going to give them the real memory stick, but one that holds distorted information.”
    “Are you saying you know where the stick is?” Armando asked.

“Yes. It's in a very safe place.” Brad responded.

    “Why didn't you tell me before?”
    “For the same reason that almost got me blown up. There was a chance of the mole finding out.”
    “Do you guys want to hear this or not?” Susan asked.
    “Yeah. Sure. Go ahead.” The words tumbling from both of them.
    Looking at Armando she said, “There must be tons of weapons systems that you people have discarded over the years simply because they did not work or were too unstable and dangerous to operate.”
    “Actually,” Armando said, “We probably have far more of those than good systems. I don't even know why we keep them, but they're stored at the bottom of the Pentagon.”
     “Do you have access to it?” Susan asked.
     “No, but the Director and Assistant Director have access.”
     “Do you trust the Assistant Director?”
    “As much as I try to, no. He strikes me as self-serving.”
    “What about the Director?” she asked.
    “I would trust him with my life. In fact, I have.” Armando looked at Brad. “You worked with Ted a couple of times when he was a light colonel, didn't you?”
    “Yeah. Good man.”
    “Okay, guys. Enough of the military. Susan said.
    “The Director, Ted Warner,” Armando said to Susan, “is already involved in this.”
    “Let's see if we can get him a lot more involved. What's the chances we could meet with him in a discreet location.”
    “That would depend on for what purpose.”
    “To destroy the mole and Alberto De La Cruz.”
    “I'm pretty sure that would get his attention. I'll set it up.”
    “No. Wait.” Susan said. “You can't do anything within the agency. It's too chancy. Call him at home and ask if you can meet him there.”
    “Good idea.” Armando said.
    “Also, let's set up a predetermined meeting spot right now so that we don't have to communicate over any electronic devices.”
    “Okay. Where do you want to meet him?”
    “On the beach at the head of 17 mile drive at – what did you call it?” She asked looking at Brad, and then turned back to Armando before Brad could answer, “At 1800 hours tomorrow. That's 6PM, right?” she asked Brad.
    “Yep. You've got it.”
    “Okay, my friends, it looks like I have a busy night ahead.” Armando said, rising from the booth. “I have an agency plane waiting for me. I'll call Ted on my way back to make sure he's awake when I get there.” Armando reached into his jacket pocket and brought out a cell phone. “This phone is encrypted. Speed dial goes to me and me alone. If any problems arise, ca

                          --------------------------------------------------------------------
  
    Brad and Susan sat back and sipped their coffee in silence as Armando paid the dinner bill and left the restaurant. Brad wanted more details of what Susan had in mind, but decided to wait, knowing she would tell him as the details fell clearly into place for her.
    “Why did you choose here to meet with the Director?” he asked her.
    “Are you kidding? Why wouldn't I choose this place. We get to spend the next 24 hours in Carmel.”
    “You are such a romantic.” Brad said teasingly.
    “Coming from a guy who considers writing poetry about a horse as being romantic, I'm not sure if that's a solid statement.”
    “You aren't going to let my live that down, are you?” Brad asked hopelessly.
    “You can always redeem yourself by writing another poem, but not about your love for livestock. The concept is kind of sick and twisted for anybody but a cowboy. It blurs species identity.”
     “I sense a note of prejudice towards farm animals. Have you never looked into the big brown eyes of a cow or been nuzzled by a horse?”
    “Oh, pu-lease. You've been alone on the farm way too long.”
    “City girl.” Brad said.
    “Country hick.” she retorted.
    He reached over and kissed her passionately. “I love it when you call me names.” he said. “Maybe we should get a room.”
    Susan giggled. “We're rich. Let's get a bungalow on the beach instead.”
    Even though the villages of Carmel and Monterey nestle against the same bay as Santa Cruz, the coastline is very different. Santa Cruz invites surfers, swimmers, raucous beach parties around fires at night. The southern coast of the bay, where Carmel and Monterey are, is more rugged, the view more crisp. The wind shaped Monterey cypress trees clinging to the precipice of weather carved cliffs give it a uniqueness not found any where else in the bay. Damp evening fogs roll in every night, keeping the lush landscape endlessly green, flowers constantly blooming. The sands are pristinely white. By day, the sea is a shocking blue, by night, a liquid dance of phosphorescence. The Carmel/Monterey coastline is one of sharp edges that is better viewed than experienced. People tend to step gently into its beauty, almost with reverence.
    That is the view they had outside their nine pane window in the small 1930's bungalow above the beach. Rose bushes lined the walk up to the bungalow. Hydrangeas covered the walls, subtly sculpted over many decades. Wisteria dangled colorfully from whitewashed latticed entry ways to the bungalows. Tucked beneath shading trees, it beckoned with charm, found romance in the most hardened heart, inviting the soul to fill with its beauty.
    They had rented the bungalow using fake I.D.'s provided by Armando and paid in cash. For the moment, they were invisible, had disappeared from the the searching scope of their pursuers. For the first time since they had met, life offered them a breath of peaceful air.
    Freshly showered and wrapped in terry cloth bathrobes, Brad and Susan laid back on lounge chairs on the front porch of the bungalow, two cups of hot tea on a table between them. A full moon captured the evening in a blue light, so far, unencumbered by the distant wall of fog, moving as slowly and quietly as an old sailing ship towards the shore from the horizon.
    Susan took a sip of her tea and released a deep sigh, the tension of the last days expelling into the atmosphere and dissipating into nothingness. She could feel a calm spreading from the core of her being. She sighed again and felt the beauty of the night envelope her; the silver crests of the waves lighted by the moon, soothing her with natures artistic touch.
    “This is nice.” she said lazily. She looked over at him and could see in the dim light he was frowning, staring intently at the ocean. “What's wrong?” she asked.
    He glanced over at her and gave her a forced smile. “Nothing.”
    “Here's rule number one, and all the rest of the numbers after it.” Susan said, reaching over and putting her hand on his. “We're always honest with each other. Tactful would be nice, but always honest. So, what's wrong?”
    “Sometimes things you see will trigger memories.” he started reluctantly. “It's not that you want those memories at that moment. I mean, we're sitting here looking at this beautiful night, and you accept it for what it is. I looked at it and suddenly remember another night just like this, meeting up with a Navy Seal team on a beachhead for a combined operation. That's not what I wanted to see tonight, but sometimes things just fall out of the rafters of your mind and fill your present with the past.”
    He looked over at her, taking her hand into his. “But, it's passing. This is the kind of moment that I wish to live for. This is where I want to be.”
    Susan rose from her lounge and laid down on Brads lounge, her legs over his lap, sideways to him with her arm across his chest. She kissed him softly on the neck.
      “Me too.”, she said as she rested her head on his shoulder, both of them gazing quietly at the moonlit sea, totally content.

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 26

Chapter 26

     Monterey and Carmel nestle against each other on the coast of California on the southern edge of Monterey bay, which also is the home of Santa Cruz an hours drive north.
     Monterey is the home of a famous sea life aquarium, the old Cannery Row, made famous by the author John Steinbeck's book of the same name, Cannery Row. Monterey, at one time a fishing town, is now a tourist area that beckons to vacationing families with shops filled with nick-knacks. The pristine waters off of it's shores contain kelp beds that rise like forests from the ocean floor. Seals lounge protected on its shores, where they have congregated long before man was every here.
     Carmel also calls to tourists, but ones with a little more money to spend than your average family trying to keep the kids clothed, fed and schooled. Elite restaurants and high-end art galleries overwhelm the central blocks of the town. One hundred twenty-six art galleries can be found in a three block area. Clint Eastwood, the ex-mayor of Carmel own one of the finer restaurants in the village. Kim Novak, famous starlet of the 50's and 60's also owns a small home in that area. It is also known as a honeymoon destination, and has been since early in the twentieth century.
     Carmel clings to a stunning coast, the town so picturesque that it should be on some exotic European coast line. The hotels, all charming and inviting.
     Susan was always taken by the beauty and ambiance of Carmel, and this time was no different as they exited the highway and came upon the tree lined streets of the village. She couldn't help but look into the display windows of the galleries as they slowly drove through. The artwork shown to entice people inside each establishment was incredible.
     “Do we have time to walk around a little bit?” she asked as each gallery slipped passed her sight.
     “We don't want to expose ourselves too much.” Brad answered. “It's unlikely that they would look for us here, but by now there might be pictures of us in circulation, and we don't know how wide the net is that they're trying to catch us in. Plus, it could take a long time to find a parking spot. Oh!” Brad exclaimed. “There's one right there.” He quickly pulled into the curb. “And it's only two blocks from the restaurant.”
     As the waning sun lit the cresting waves of the ocean into firey colors and stretched the shadows of the trees, the golden light of ending day captured the village with a mystical beauty. Brad and Susan held hands as they casually ambled down the street, looking into the windows and talking about the artwork they saw. They blended in perfectly with the people around them, many of them also holding hands and admiring the villages offerings.
     They came upon the restaurant from the opposite side of the street. They were intentionally early. They entered a small espresso shop directly across from their meeting place with Armando and sat at a table in the softly lit room near a window, but not so near that they could easily be spotted from outside. Each ordered an espresso and talked as any couple would do, but if one was paying close attention, he would notice that their attention was more on the street than each other. They scanned the entire view out the window, from rooftops, down each street, looking at people who lingered too long, checking out cars parked at the curb for surveillance teams. So far, they could find nothing suspicious.
     “Everything looks okay so far.” Susan said.
     “Yes. Maybe we can get through a night with minimal trauma.” Brad said, sweeping the street with a gaze once again. He turned to Susan. “You know, you're getting pretty good at this espionage stuff. Maybe you should consider being an agent.”
     She patted him on his hands that rested on the table in front of him. “Why would I give up a high paying job in a safe environment for a low paying job where people may try to kill me?”
     “I don't know.” Brad answered thoughtfully. “The adventure. A life that you will remember vividly rather than one where days blend into weeks, which blend into months and end up as years filled with no specific memories. Plus, you get to carry a gun.”
     “I'm carrying a gun right now, and I'm pretty sure what we're going through right now would pass as an adventure. One I doubt I'll ever forget.
     “What about you, Agent Brad Wilson of the Special Branch of the Anti-terrorism Task Force? You don't really seem all that thrilled with your new job.”
     “Well, it has had some intense moments over the last two days, considering I suddenly wasn't sure who I was working for. But, you're right. I'm not thrilled about being back in the service again, but it could be to our benefit.” He paused in thought. “I was getting settled in to ranching. It's an old, familiar place for me. I grew up in it on the very land that I'm on now. After all that I've been through over the last twenty years, it was a nice contrast.”
     “I really turned your world upside down, didn't I?” Susan said regrettably.
     “Yes.” Brad said with a slight smile. “But you turned it upside down when I met and kissed you at the side of the fence I was working on, back – how long ago was that – years?”
     “Two days ago.” She said.
     “I have to admit - “ she continued, “Even under those circumstances, with that goon chasing me down the road, you left a very definite impression on me right away. Kissing me as a deterrent was the most unique method of stopping the problem that I had ever seen.”
     “Who said I was deterring a problem? Maybe I just wanted to kiss you.”
     She grinned. “Perhaps you are a romantic after-all.”
     “There's Armando.” Brad said, nodding towards the distant street corner. Susan looked, seeing a handsome man of obvious Latin decent with short, black hair, cut in a military style. He was about 6' tall and wore Khaki pants, an open collar sport shirt and a loose windbreaker. Like Brad, he moved with an easy, athletic gait as he walked down the street. The upper sleeves of the windbreaker stretched from the pressure of thick muscled arms.
     “Now, there's a guy who looks like an Agent.” Susan remarked. “It must be the sun glasses and his purposeful movement.”
     “He's doing the same thing we did. He appears to be looking straight ahead, but he's checking out every body and everything around him. I guarantee his eye are on the move right now.”
     Armando walked passed the restaurant as if he hardly noticed it, only glancing in as any passerby might do.
     “Where's he going?” Susan asked.
     “He'll be back in a moment. He's just checking everything out first.”
     “How clandestine.” Susan remarked.
     A few minutes later Armando appeared on the sidewalk in front of coffee shop window, glanced inside and smiled directly at them, then crossed the street and entered the restaurant.
     “He knew we were in here.” Susan said in surprise.
     “It was an educated guess. He figured out what he would do in our circumstances and assumed I would do the same thing. Yeah. You're right. He's good.” Brad rose from the table. “What do you say we eat. Our dinner partner has arrived.”
     As they jaywalked across the street they looked both ways as if watching approaching traffic, but Susan's eyes swept all movement in the direction she was looking while Brad did the same in the other direction. They watched for anybody watching them, but everything looked very ordinary as they entered the restaurant. A maitre'd met them at a polished oak counter and guided them through a room of circular tables with white linen table clothes. Each table had a Chianti bottle wrapped in wicker in its center. Thick candle wax clung to the bottle sides like a frozen water fall. The tops of the bottles holding long, fresh candles each casting a pool of flickering gold.
     Brad and Susan were led to one of the few booths in the far depths of the room. The booths had high backs, which gave their occupants almost complete privacy, and total invisibility from the street windows. Armando rose and hugged Brad as the maitre-d turned and left. “Good to see you alive.” He said slapping Brad on the shoulder. He then turned to Susan and extending his hand. “And you are the now famous Susan Jenkins.”
     “I didn't know I was famous.” Susan said, shaking his hand.
     “Unfortunately, you're famous in the underworld of espionage at the moment, but with luck we can make you non-famous once again.” Armando spread his hand in offering towards the booth. “Sit down, mi amigos. We'll order drinks and then browse the menu, and remember, this is government business, so they're paying the bill.”
     They ordered a bottle of red wine and french bread as an appetizer. Armando moved the menu aside and brought a manila envelope from inside his windbreaker, placing it on the table. It looked thick.
     “This is information on De La Cruz, Spike Olaf, and you asked for some information on Joseph Eichmann. I brought it, but I would like to get some feedback on that. You said Joseph is involved in this in some way. He was once my mentor, so I have a personal concern. I would find it hard to believe that Joseph is one of the bad guys, even for money. Remember, this old man is a seasoned spy who has seen it all. He knows how to twist things and manipulate situations in his favor, and he can do it so subtly and innocently that a person can find themselves at the end of the plank wondering how he got there, but he's always done it for the good cause, the country.”
     As Armando spoke, Susan removed three folders and an envelope from the package.
     “Inside the envelope is $10,000 cash, which should be enough to cover all unforeseen possibilities. If something happens that would require more, let me know.”
     Susan slipped the envelope into her purse without opening it, then handed Brad one of the folders as she opened one that she had sitting in front of her. “Spike.” she said, identifying the one she was scanning through. Brad did not open his but continued talking to Armando.
     “Joseph didn't give Susan and I much information, but he did say he was contracted to a group, which he only identified as the Committee. The impression I got is that they are very big international money.”
     “Hmm.” Armando grunted contemplatively. “The only committee I can think of would be the Ti-Lateral Committee. The most exclusive club of monied power brokers in the world. Also, one of the most secretive. Their actions are always done with extreme discretion. World chaos is about the last thing they would want. I would think that a stable economy and a smooth running world commerce would always be to their benefit.
     “Selling of the weapons system is a one shot thing worth over a billion, and then there is the mess to deal with after wards. These people would look at the bigger picture. What they would want is the billions to flow continuously, a thriving commerce. One shot would be chump change to them and a little too back alley.
     “Eichmann may be working for them, but I'd bet you anything that he has his own agenda going.”
     While Armando and Brad were talking Susan was going over Spikes profile. Still rifling through the pages she said, “Spike is sort of like a shark. He's barbaric, but a seasoned predator. His arrest history shows a person who makes mistakes, especially when things don't go his way.”
     “Are you saying you have a plan?” Brad asked her.
     “No. Not yet. But one is formulating. Let's look over the other files first.”
     Just then the waiter walked up to their table. They casually closed the folders and stacked them to the side. “Ah!” said Armando. “Let's eat first. We can think better on full stomachs.”

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. 25

Chapter 25

     “You're alive!” Armando said excitedly.
     “Yes, I am. You sound surprised.” Brad said into the phone.
     “I just met with the Director and found out that the delivery agent had been ambushed and tied up. So, I knew you had met with an assassin. Apparently, the mole knows about you and the operation that is taking place. He knows that it involves the Jenkins case. I had sent the Director an e-mail detailing your meeting, and it looks like it was invaded, taken and deleted from Ted's computer.”
     “Hm.” Brad grunted.
     “What happened?” Armando asked.
     “I was given a cell phone activated bomb. Thanks to Recon's sense of smell I was able to throw it into the ocean about two seconds before it went off.”
     “So, I haven't heard from you because you thought I had set you up. Is that right?”
     “It was the obvious conclusion.
     “We've been friends for a long time.” Armando said.
     “I didn't say it was an easy conclusion.”
     “Okay.” Said Armando. “Let's try this again, and see if we can do it without you getting blown up. This time I'll meet you personally. Has anything changed from your original request?”
     “Susan has an idea, but we need information on our adversaries. So, no, nothing has changed.” He paused in thought. “Actually, I'd like to get as much info as I can on the guy who is chasing Susan. I think he's the lead man in the field for Alberto.”
     “Okay. What's his name?”
     “Beats the hell out of me. He's a big guy – at least 6'4”, and at least 240 pounds. He's got dirty, longish blond hair and - “ He turned to Susan. “What color eyes does he have?”
     “Ice, cold, lethal blue.”
     He stared at her for a second before returning his gaze out the front window. “ and blue eyes."
     I'd say he's about 40 years old. Chiseled features – looks a little like an actor who's name I can't remember, except this guy has a mean look to his face, almost as if it's natural.”
     “Not an actor.” Susan said quietly.
     “What?””
     “He's not an actor. He's a model.”
     He looked at her again for a second before turning his head to the window. “Okay. Susan said he's a model. So, he looks like a model, except he looks like one mean son-of-a-bitch, like he started life off torturing insects and worked his way up to people.”
     “Spike Olaf.” Armando said.
     “You know who he is?” Brad asked, surprised.
     “I know of him, and he's been a person of interest a few times. Enough for me to check him out. He's been in trouble with the law off and on throughout his life. He's worked his way up the ladder doing dirty work for De La Cruz. Apparently he's very good at it, but not very sophisticated about how he does his job. What he is is very loyal to De La Cruz, and will do what's ordered without question. People like De La Cruz need people like Spike Olaf to keep everybody in line and to make sure the dirty jobs gets done.”
     “I see.” Brad responded. “Get me everything you can on him; his personal life, his habits and psychological makeup also, if you have that kind of a profile on him.”
     “Roger that, Major. Let's set up a meeting. Do you remember that time when you were still an NCO and we got into that fight with those cowboys because one of them didn't like me dancing with a white girl?”
     “Yeah, and the MP's were waiting outside the door for us. The only thing that made that lucky is we were near the door when they came at us, and we knew the MP's. They literally saved our asses.” Brad started laughing. “Remember the look on their faces when we ran to their jeep and jumped in the back yelling, “Let's get the hell out of here.”
     “Yeah.” Brad could hear the smile in Armando's voice. “Good times.
     “Anyway,” Armando said, removing the reminiscence from his voice. “Do you remember where the MP's dropped us off?”
     “Yes.”
     “Are you close enough to that location to meet me at – let's say about 1800 hours?”
     “Yep. Should be no problem. Oh, and Armando. Bring a couple of boxes of 9 mm, and two machine pistols with back up ammo, just in case Spike puts another gang together. I want to have as good of fire power as I suspect he will have if we meet again.”
     “Right. See you tonight.” Armando hung up.
     Susan had been listening on the speaker phone. “That's what you guys call a good time?”
     “What's that?” he asked as he fired up the Land Rover and pulled out onto the road.
     “Getting beat up by a bunch of cowboys.”
     “Oh, that.” he said dismissively. “We were in our early twenties at the time. It was an adrenalin rush, and we lived for action. Plus, they didn't beat us up. I admit some of them got some good licks in, but there were only about five of them between us in the door. It was the twenty-five guys thundering across the dance floor towards us that we were worried about.”
     “I'll never understand men.” Susan said.
     “That's because it's a testosterone thing, which you probably don't have.” He glanced over at her and smiled. “At least, you sure don't look like you have any.”
     “So where are we going?” Susan asked as Brad took an off ramp, crossed over the highway and re-entered the highway going back in the direction they had come from.
     “We're going to go have dinner with Armando at a nice little cafe in Carmel at 6 PM.”
     “Cowboys in Carmel?” Susan asked, still thinking about Armando's story.
     “No. We were in a nearby town. Armando and I were studying at the military command school in Monterey and was on a weekend pass when all that happened. It was just pure luck that those two military cops were friends of ours. MP's aren't well known for their friendly nature. Carmel is right next door and they dropped us off there, which cost us a case of beer for those two guys, but it was worth it.”
     “I've always liked Carmel.” Susan said dreamily. “It's such a romantic place.”
     “Yeah. I know what you mean. The Monterey Cypress trees shaped by the wind on the cliffs, the seventeen mile drive. All the charming little restaurants and galleries. We'll have to go there sometime when people aren't trying to kill us.”
     Susan chuckled. “Oh, Brad, you're such a romantic.”
     He laughed with her. “I am a romantic.” he said defensively. “I wrote a poem once.”
     “Really?” she said. “Was it a romantic poem?”
     “Yeah. Sort of.”
     “Sort of, huh? What was it sort of about?”
     “A horse.” he said hesitantly.
     “Geez, Brad, you're right. You're just one romantic fool.” she said shaking her head and smiling at the same time.
     They traveled in silence for a while. After some time had passed, Susan realized that they were both comfortable with it, with each other. They were comfortable with each others presence, requiring no words to hang on the empty space between them. She looked over at Brad, and he looked at her, smiled and took her hand in his on the seat between them. They drove in silence , their minds drifting over the fields of yellow grasses and highway lined with hundred year old eucalyptus trees, the nearby hills, barren of all foliage except the tall, windblown weeds that captured the breeze in flattening waves. They were silent until they reached Soledad, about half way between Paso Robles and Monterey.
     “I'm curious what you have in mind for a change of tactics.” Brad said.
     “Me too.” Susan responded. “Let's see what Armando has for us and then brainstorm some ideas.”

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.