Recovering

According to the doctors, I will survive, though I should not have.  I had blood clots in both legs and lungs and a heart attack was a sure bet, but somehow, I avoided it.  I'm still pretty weak and sleep a lot.  Create thoughts are few and far between right now, but that will change as I get stronger.

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.

Been in the hospital trying to stay alive.  Once I'm out of here I'll start writing again, unless I don't survive, in which case I won't give a shit.

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 35

Chapter 35

Joseph Eichmann, retired spy, and now an agent for a group known only as The Committee, knew that the key to the location of the stolen secret weapons data was within the meetings that he had had with Brad and Susan. There was no doubt in his mind that they had it, and though they may not have been aware of it before, they were by the time he had met them. He was also sure that they knew exactly what it was and how dangerous it was to have in ones possession. In fact, they knew what Jeff Jenkins knew, and with that knowledge, they could not just simply give it back to the government. Just as Jeff could not give it back. Jeff became extremely paranoid, not knowing whom to trust, and with good reason. Brad and Susan had walked into the same pool of quicksand as her brother had, and like him they had to find a safe place to hide it until the mole was discovered.

Joseph sucked on his pipe, letting a stream of blue smoke curl over his head as he stared into the flames of the fireplace. He considered the old adage, if you want to hide something well, hide it in plain sight. Brad may have been an army operative for CIA operations, but there had to be clandestine moments in his career, moments when he represented himself not as a soldier, but a civilian with an agenda. He would think of that old saying, as any operative would who was trying to hide something.

'If I was Brad and wanted to hide something the size of a memory stick in a place that was near, yet virtually unreachable by others, where would I put it.', Joseph asked himself as he leaned back in his soft, old easy chair and puffed on his pipe again.

Joseph had met with Brad and Susan only twice, and somewhere within those two meetings was the answer. Joseph had almost an uncanny mind for details, which is what made him among the best in his career as a spy. He now used that uncanny memory to go over every inch and detail of their two meetings, inspecting every aspect individually. Every light and shadow of every moment that they were together. Every sound and movement that occurred. Every nuance of every body movement, every word spoken. He studied them all carefully as if he were looking at them again for the first time, as if he was there, experiencing each second again, only this time, he studied them the way a lion studies a herd of prey animals, looking for the small, almost insignificant sign that shows the weak link in the herd. Once he found it, his focus would be unbending, the hunt would be on, the conclusion inevitable.

Joseph's concentration was shattered by the ringing of the phone.

“Mr. Eichmann.” A male voice said. “Just as an update of current affairs, we thought you might like to know that there is activity in Los Gatos. Your couple is in the area, as well as De La Cruz's men. We believe that the data may have been located and that the couple of interest may be in grave danger, as well as the information being close to falling in the wrong hands.”

“Thank you, sir.” Eichmann said before hanging up.

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Brad and Susan stood at the display window of a specialty store in the shadows of the overhead awning that ran the distance of the sidewalk. They stood close to the display window with their heads turned towards the patio, which was about two hundred feet up the sidewalk from where they stood. The foot traffic moved around them like a river flowing around rocks, aware of their presence only as obstacles.

“How do you want to do this?” Susan asked.

“Oh! You're going to leave this one up to me, huh?” Brad retorted as they watched for the man to come out of the patio and head in their direction. Susan folded her arms and looked at him impatiently.

“Okay, okay.” Brad said. “There's too many people around here. Somebody could get hurt. I think we should lead them somewhere a little more secluded where we can take them without intrusion.”

“You sound very confident that they will go along with that program.” Susan said.

“I admit that these are probably dangerous men – hired killers, but they aren't particularly smart. Without guidance, they tend to just react or complete their directive without any planning.”

“Uh-huh.” Susan grunted. “The dangerous, hired killer part makes how smart they are kind of irrelevant.”

“I would agree with you accept for one thing. I'm a highly trailed military operative, and you're a lot more dangerous than you look. That, plus I suspect we might be a little smarter than these guys, and also more organized, should work in our favor.”

“Okay. Let's test your theory.” she conceded. “Let's lead them away from people – get them somewhere secluded so we can take them down.”

“Maybe we should just let them take us, and when they get us alone then take them down.” Brad suggested. “You are obviously as well trained as I am at hand to hand combat.”

“We call that karate training in more civilized circles.” Susan said.

As the goon on foot came out of the patio, he stopped and looked both ways down the crowded sidewalk, missing Brad and Susan completely, as they stood in the shadows under an awning at a display window. Bill, the other goon, had parked the SUV. Brad and Susan watched him as he crossed the street and joined his partner on the sidewalk.

“So, where are they?” Bill asked.

The other man shrugged, “I don't know, Bill. They can't be far.” Brad and Susan could see them in heated discussion as they looked up and down the sidewalk, missing Brad and Susan in the crowd.

“They don't see us.” Brad commented.

“Moron's.” Susan mumbled as she raised her arm and started waving to them.

“What are you doing?” Brad asked.

“We can't capture these guys unless we let them capture us. Isn't that the premise?”

“It sounds a little weird hearing it, but yes, that's pretty much the plan.”

“I don't know where they are.” the goon responded to Bill. “They aren't in the patio. I went inside the coffee shop, but they aren't in there either.”

“Of course not, you idiot. You made eye contact with them when we drove by. Do you think they're going to wait and invite us to join them?”

Both of them looked up and down the sidewalk, and then saw Susan, actually waving at them with a smile on her face as if she just spotted old friends.

“Well, as odd as it may seem, it appears as if that's exactly what is happening.” Bill's partner said nodding towards Susan. “That chick must be stoned, confused or just plain stupid. She's waving at us like we're old friends meeting for lunch.” They started to move towards her then stopped as Bill put his hand out to hold his partner back. “Something isn't right, here. We're the pursuers. We're the dangerous ones, yet she's beckoning to us. It feels like a trap.”

The goon looked over at his hesitant partner with an expression of curiosity. “A trap, you say.” he commented with a hint of sarcasm. “Look at them.” They both turned and stared at Susan waving to them from the crowd, Brad looking at them then at Susan in bewilderment. “We have a fucking hippie and an airhead yuppy chick who don't seem to have a very clear picture of who we are or what we are doing. They're making this real easy for us. Let's take them. Get the information from them. Kill them, get our pay and get back to Florida.”

“Yeah. Yeah, you're right.” Bill said as they joined the moving crowd on the sidewalk towards Brad and Susan. “This has been too much of a fiasco. Let's get this shit over with.”

Bill's cell phone rang. “Yeah.” he said into the receiver as they walked. He listened as Spike gave him instructions.

“Stop what ever you are doing, Bill, and go directly to the chicks house. Go into the bedroom where you will see a jewelry box on the dresser. Grab it and bring it to me.

“But, Spike.” Bill complained. “Both of them are almost within grabbing distance.”

“Listen to me, you idiot.” Spike said acidly through the phone. “They are not our main objective. They were a means to our objective.

“The FBI, or CIA, or some other alphabetical agency is sending people over right now to get that jewelry box. You have to get there before them, get the box and get the hell out of there before the feds show up.” He paused. “Do you get the picture.”

“Yeah. I got it. We forget these two and go directly to the chicks house and get the box.”

“That's why I pay you the big bucks, Bill. You pay attention.” Spike said sarcastically. “Now, get your butts moving. You don't have much time.”

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.