The Paths of Destiny

June 23, 2000:

Our class is down by four now. One person decided they wanted to leave campus without authorization. Of the other three, they must have decided that they couldn’t cut it. One day they were here and the next, all their stuff was missing from their rooms.

Yesterday, June 22, turned out to be quite interesting. In fact, I think no one expected things to turn out the way they did. Even though it wasn’t required, I gave Sami a full report of what all transpired. Well, almost all. In the following narrative, I’ll be including what I left out of the report.

The day started out as normal with the phone ringing for the usual 6am wake-up call. It’s something we’ve become accustomed to over the past three weeks. Here, however, this wasn’t a normal wake-up call. As a habit, I always note the time when I answer the phone. I knew something was up when I noticed the time was 4am instead of the usual 6am.

“Moshi Moshi,” I said when I picked up the phone.

I figured if the UNO wanted to be a smartass and give me an earlier than normal wake-up call, I’d give them an offhand greeting in Japanese. To her credit, Sami’s now familiar voice didn’t skip a beat when she replied in Japanese an answering good morning greeting. She switched back to English for the rest of the message and said I was to report to the lounge in thirty minutes ready for an assignment.

My instincts were in full gear, being experienced with getting calls at odd hours of the night or morning. By the time Sami’s message finished, my travel bag was packed, and I was ready to grab my morning shower. By 4:25, I opened the door of my dorm, glaring over my shoulder at Jasmine; she was teasing me, saying I’d never get my teammate, Katrina Nighthawk, to give me a second glance with the way I dressed. She even made a comment about my getting a little flabby around the gluteus maximus area and needed to firm it up more. This is unsettling since Jasmine has never joked about a woman.

Admittedly, Nighthawk is an attractive woman. But she’s also one of my coworkers. Of Native Mid-American stock, Nighthawk’s a very pleasant mixture of Angelina Jolie and Catherine Zeta-Jones. She’s five foot five, has a pleasant voice, and ignores the many overtures most of my male compatriots throw her way. She’s also a wiz at accounting; maybe, she’d be for hire when tax season comes around.

Doc James, one of my other teammates, seems to be infatuated with her, based on my observations. Doctor Bryan James is a Native of England, who’d served for a time in the British armed forces. Prior to coming here, he served with Scotland Yard as one of their top forensics specialists. He keeps his body in good shape and for an older gentleman, late 40s I’d surmise; some of the women in our class have no trouble giving him an appreciative eye, or two, or twenty. Of which Doc seems to be oblivious.

Rounding out the team is the stocky five foot eight Drayton, with brown hair and bluish-gray eyes. A former U.S. Army MP, Frederick Drayton is one of those no-nonsense types of people. Before coming here, he was a computer network contractor for some of the big-name companies. He always has that laptop by his side. Ten to one says he sleeps with it.

When we reached the lounge, Sami was there waiting for us. I’d noticed that aside from my team, and Sami, no one else was around. The place was a virtual ghost town. I didn’t need to guess what would happen from my earlier experiences with the UNO. Since I’m supposed to be undercover, so to speak, I couldn’t say anything at all. Not even to our instructor.

Our assignment was simple. Over the next twenty-four hours, we were to watch and observe our subject, whose name we weren’t given, just a black-and-white photo and an address. No surveillance equipment. We weren’t to invade the subject’s privacy in any way. Just watch and observe. Simple enough for someone like me. So simple, in fact, I almost left my gear behind.

Once given the details of our assignment, we gathered our equipment. I was given a set of car keys, handed them to Doc, and claimed shotgun. I didn’t want lose sight of our target, in case we had to follow via vehicle. Plus, I’d learn my way around the area.

We reached the subject’s apartment complex not long after leaving; it was a little over eight miles from the school. The neighborhood was clean, and modest in appearance. The upper middle class would find it acceptable to serve as suitable living quarters without straining the bank account. I’d not mind living in a place like this, should I ever make England my home.

Once Doc parked in a spot I deemed not too obvious, I told Nighthawk and Drayton to look for any rear exits. I motioned for Jasmine to look around inside. Jasmine’s only report was that she liked it; she was taking the no invasion of privacy order seriously. Our subject came out, wearing exercise gear, a few moments after Nighthawk and Drayton returned.

Our target had shoulder length blonde hair, worn loose. Slim build and appeared to be average height. She looked familiar. Allowing for the distance, I couldn’t be sure.

I exited the car and followed from across the street. I motioned Drayton to stick with the car and Nighthawk to follow from behind. The subject led me to an outdoor cafe. With the ease of a regular, she made a beeline for a favorite table. She ordered two bagels and, I’m assuming, coffee. My suspicion she was a regular was confirmed when the waiter motioned and another brought the drink almost as soon she sat down.

It was my opinion she’s a creature of habit. This could bode ill for her if she became a target. I, therefore, made plans should we need to break cover and intervene on her behalf. Little did I know, parts of my plans would become part of the scenario.

After our subject finished her breakfast, she retraced her path back to her apartments.

Close to lunchtime, the subject emerged from the building once again. This time wearing what I consider business casual attire. Navy blue business slacks, a white long-sleeved blouse, and a pair of black pumps.

She entered the side door of a garage. Since the garage door was manual, she had to leave her 2000 Fiat Barchetta, to re-close it.

I noted the license plate and had Drayton look up the car’s owner. For me, it was unnecessary; I knew who our subject was. The vanity plate gave me the identity of our subject.

She was Robyn Coyne, a top-level member of the SPJ, answerable only to the Senior Director, Charles duBois. This training assignment was getting serious. I wondered if the UNO was using us to handle a task considered too mundane for the big guns.

Were we unseen bodyguards for this woman? Was she suspected of passing delicate information to, as yet, unknown individuals? I didn’t know. The assignment was to only observe. Nothing more, nothing less.

For the benefit of the others, however, I chose to be just as surprised when Drayton announced that it was a government plate.

“Parker,” Drayton said in surprise. “Do you realize who we’re following?”

“Who?” Nighthawk and Doc James asked in unison just as I opened my mouth.

“Well, Fred,” I said turning back to face him when he said nothing, “who’s our target?”

“It’s Robyn Coyne,” he said, eyebrows raised, as he looked up from his laptop.

“Who’s Robyn Coyne?” Doc James asked, eyes still on our subject.

“According the information on Drayton’s screen,” Nighthawk replied, eyebrows nearly reaching the top of her smooth forehead, “she’s the personal assistant to the Senior Director, Charles duBois.”

“Personal assistant to Charles duBois,” I mused, pretending surprise. “Are you sure?”

“I’m tapped into the SPJ personnel files,” Drayton said as he turned his laptop so I could see his screen. “They have records for all high-level members; including the license and registration of all personnel vehicles. They keep records of who uses which SPJ registered vehicle, such as the one Miss Coyne is driving right now. No doubt about it at all.”

“Well I’ll be,” I said in continued pretend surprise, raising my eyebrows. “How’d we draw such a high-level member of the SPJ?”

“Just lucky, I suppose,” Doc James said. “Not much trouble she can get into. Should be a fairly easy assignment.”

“I’d bite my tongue, if I were you, Doc…” I began.

“Don’t say that…” from Drayton.

“You’ll jinx us,” Nighthawk finished.

“Parker,” Doc James said hesitantly, “are we supposed to serve as invisible body guards?”

“Or,” Nighthawk added, “are we supposed to watch her because she’s under suspicion for something?”

“I don’t think it matters,” Drayton said before I could say anything.

“Exactly.” I agreed. “Regardless of who she is, Miss Coyne is our given assignment. Our mission is to observe only and report back to base at the allotted time. That’s it. So, back to the task at hand.”

We followed our subject at a safe distance to a well-to-do hotel, called Claridge’s. Ritzy looking place to have lunch, yet it wasn’t exclusive. I saw anyone could come and go as they pleased.

Across from the hotel, Coyne turned into a parking garage. Ignorant of how London was built, I asked Doc if he knew if the subway ran through here. To my relief, it didn’t. Would’ve sucked if we reported that we lost her in the subway.

After parking, Nighthawk followed Coyne as she headed toward the elevators. Doc remained with the car. Drayton went with me to the hotel, entering from the street.

Nighthawk came up with the brilliant idea of communicating via text messaging on our phones. This would minimize the use of any sound monitoring devices that might be nearby. Now I think about it, I should have thought about any bugs and/or tracking devices being planted in the car.

Once in the lobby, I had Drayton stay there to keep an eye out while I headed toward the elevators. Just as I was approaching the elevators, Coyne and Nighthawk exited one. Coyne headed straight for the hotel restaurant, spoke with the maître d’ and went toward a section near the back of the restaurant. I followed behind, dropping my wallet as I passed Nighthawk. This gave us the excuse to be at the same table; she’d catch up with my “dropped” wallet and I’d offer to buy her a drink in thanks.

The dropped wallet idea came after Nighthawk had entered the elevator and I was already in the lobby. There were two reasons I didn’t let her know. First, I didn’t have time to text her. Second, I didn’t want to take a chance there might be a camera in the elevator.

After determining there weren’t any exits near Coyne’s table, I chose a table that would give me a clear view of Coyne and the lobby. The advantage of this was to ensure I didn’t lose sight of her.

While pretending with Nighthawk to be two American tourists — alone in England — doing some harmless flirting, Coyne was thoroughly engaged in deep conversation with another woman.

Coyne’s companion appeared to be a tall woman. Her jet-black hair was done up in a bun; it was impossible to tell its length. Her skin was an almost unhealthy pale color; as if she’d never seen the light of day her entire life.

She looked familiar, and her aura was rubbing me the wrong way. Jasmine didn’t like the feel of it and told me, repeatedly, that something wasn’t right. In between her feelings of “doom” about Coyne’s companion, Jasmine made “suggestions” on how I could make my fellow “tourist” not feel so “lonely.” I did my best to ignore her, hoping none of my reactions would show on my face. Luckily, some of the reactions I couldn’t hide went well with whatever Nighthawk said.

After about an hour, Coyne and her companion left the restaurant. Nighthawk and I followed suit, arm in arm, blithely chatting away. The two women said their goodbyes, with a faux kiss on each cheek. As Coyne entered an elevator, I grabbed Nighthawk as if attempting to give her a kiss. To Nighthawk’s credit, she fended off the “try” rather nicely, so we’d conveniently miss the same elevator Coyne entered. This gave me the opportunity to sign to Drayton to follow the pale woman.

By the time Nighthawk and I reached the parking garage, Drayton was already in the car. I looked in the direction where I last saw Coyne’s car.

That’s when I knew recess was over.

Her car was blocked by a black limousine with the back-passenger door open, license tag read “WHO2.” Coyne stood next to the limo looking rather nervous. She was being held by two tall, burly looking goons by either elbow. They were well-dressed goons, wearing identical dark blue suits; military in cut. They nudged Coyne gently but firmly into the limo.

At our car, I took Nighthawk in my arms as if to give her a hug and looked straight at Coyne who was looking around nervously. I caught her eye long enough for her to mouth, “Go report,” before she was forced into the limo.

“Nighthawk,” I ordered, jumping into the passenger seat, “advise Garrett of our situation. Coyne’s been kidnapped. Doc, follow that limo. I’m not waiting for instructions.”

“What’s going on?” Doc asked as we left the parking garage.

“Message sent,” Nighthawk said. “This isn’t part of our assignment. Is it, Parker?”

“It is now,” Drayton said before I could answer. “Parker, I saw that pale skinned woman make a phone call from the lobby. She got into a similar limo. Had a plate reading ‘WHO1’ on it.”

My stomach suddenly felt like it had butterflies in it.

“Tell me you’re running it,” I said. “Add the plate ‘WHO2’ to your search. Doc, no closer than three car lengths. Don’t let them know they’re being followed.”

“I’m having trouble maintaining a connection,” Drayton said. “But still working on it.”

“Parker,” from Nighthawk. “What makes you think Coyne’s been kidnapped?”

“She mouthed, ‘Go report’, just before she was shoved into the limo,” I said grimly.

Uncharacteristically, Doc muttered an expletive under his breath.

“Garrett wants us to continue our pursuit,” Nighthawk said. “Sitreps every fifteen minutes.”

“Acknowledged.” I replied. “Drayton?”

“Just now got a stable connection,” he responded. “Checking the Driver and Vehicle Licensing Agency, now... Got it! The limos belong to a William Henry Overton, Parker.”

“I’ve heard of Overton,” Doc piped up. “He’s a wealthy philanthropist out of St. Albans. Judging from our direction of travel. I think that’s where we’re headed.”

“Doc’s right,” Nighthawk said. “About Overton, I mean. The online newspapers have several stories about him and his various charity works. It’s a mishmash of interests. The Arts, various types of research projects and a bunch of others. He’s a native of England, per his bio. Born in the early 50s at the family estate in St Albans. Claims his family can be traced as far back to the Wars of the Roses era.”

“What types of research projects?” I asked. “Any of them military in nature?”

“None that I can see,” Nighthawk said. “They’re primarily in disease prevention and in mental health issues. According to Overton’s bio, his great-grandfather, Joseph Overton, served in India as a lieutenant during the Indian Revolt of 1857; invalided out afterwards and made the family fortune developing trade markets with some of the larger West Asian cities.”

“Wonder if we’re headed into a trap,” Drayton mused. “Parker, do you think they knew we’d be assigned to Coyne?”

“I highly doubt it,” I reassured him. “We’re too low on the totem pole.”

Inside, those butterflies churned harder. If I didn’t know better, I would’ve thought someone found out about my history. I’d made many enemies over the years, both military and civilian.

This was getting better and better.

Heavy on the sarcasm.

We weren’t dealing with a simple kidnapping. Instead, we were looking at a wealthy person as a possible accessory to the abduction of a top-level member of the SPJ. They could have designs on gaining any secrets she might own; by any means deemed necessary... including torture. We had a duty to intervene. Orders be damned if we’re told to stand down.

My mind was going into overdrive reviewing and changing what I’d worked up earlier at the stake out.

During our pursuit, road signs confirmed we were being led to St Albans, a city in Hertfordshire, some twenty miles north-northwest of London. For once, my knowledge of history came in handy and I gave my team some details on the history of the area.

“Did you know,” I began, “St Albans is named for the first British saint, Albans? Also, the scribe Matthew Paris lived there, and it’s where the first draft of the Magna Carta was drawn up.”

Apparently, Doc was impressed with my knowledge. Quick glances in his direction during my narrative, told me there were things about the area even he didn’t know. To his credit, he kept his ignorance to himself, though I suspect he’ll grill me on it later.

We tailed the limo to a residence that had been built around the cusp of the Victorian-Edwardian era. The hedges were grown high and thick; perfect for concealing security cameras. The only visible entrance to the home was the driveway.

Thinking the way I do, it often allows me to come up with several options others might not think of right away.

First, I had Drayton try hacking into Overton’s security network. Second, Nighthawk, since she’d had the foresight to bring her laptop, find all the building plans for the place. I was looking for any major changes; especially if the house had been modified to contain any concealed rooms.

In the yard directly across the street from Overton’s driveway, I noticed an old woman looking at us suspiciously. I had Doc drive around slowly, pretending we were searching for an address.

I didn’t know what the range of the wireless network was; I didn’t want Drayton to lose his connection to the net.

At one point, we nearly had an issue on our hands. Nighthawk tried breaking into the security net and set off an alarm. Luckily, Drayton’s quick reflexes and skill shut it down before disaster hit.

I looked at the plans Nighthawk managed to obtain, which cost her a pretty penny to get. Modernization aside, little had changed.

It even had a basement. Per the most current plans, the basement housed a rec room, and a laboratory. A few rooms didn’t seem to have any practical use. Drayton suggested their size and shape meant cells and a guard room. Made sense, oddly.

During this time, Nighthawk and I sent constant updates to Sami via text. If we weren’t being specific enough, she’d ask for more details. A few times she had texted me to give her a better understanding of what was happening.

Then, Sami sent me a message to leave someone behind and for the rest to meet her at a car-park in one hour. Directions were included, which I gave to Doc.

Passing the message on, I had an idea.

Nighthawk should use her diplomatic skill and ask the old woman to let Drayton borrow her front porch. He’d use it as a vantage point for an architecture assignment; Overton’s place the subject of his study.

Some bright idea.

The old woman promptly decided we were too suspicious and went to call the local gendarmerie.

She’d previously seen Nighthawk and Drayton. Doc was the only one able to drive properly over here. That left me as the one to stay behind to keep watch.

Out of view of the old woman’s house, I left the car and took a vantage point allowing me to keep an eye on Overton’s driveway. Meanwhile, I had Nighthawk updated Sami on my blunder, hoping she’d have the clout to call off the dogs.

Drayton still hadn’t gained access to the security cameras. So, once the others were gone, I asked Jasmine to be my eyes and ears inside the house. I hoped she’d locate Coyne and get an idea of what we’d be up against if we were to dare a rescue operation. Unfortunately, Jasmine couldn’t get near the place. Whatever was there, it was powerful enough to keep my personal Casper from trespassing.

So much for that idea.

By the time the rest of my team reached Sami, Drayton finally accessed the security network. The cameras confirmed the lay out of the house. Except for one area.

The basement.

Earlier, we received information that Overton was out of country. We’d been given the names and pictures of those on his staff and which ones should’ve been there. The cameras showed no sign of the staff. Just roaming house apes. With no camera access to the basement, the conclusion was our kidnap victim was there.

I learned Sami was putting together a rescue operation, much to my relief. To be honest, I don’t think the four of us would have been able to pull it off without some help. Once I knew a rescue attempt was to be made, I went further into command mode. I didn’t think twice that I was superseding my authority with a higher-ranking person in our midst.

The difficult thing about being in command mode via text is the inability to vocalize my intent to make sure everyone was on the same page. Hell, for all I knew, I could’ve been ignored, and would get a nice ass chewing from Sami for attempting to undermine her authority. This wasn’t the case and fortunate for me I didn’t think about it. As it was, I was nervous as hell, hoping I wouldn’t botch things up.

The first thing I did was to have Nighthawk look at the house plans and locate any backup power generators. Once located, I had her determine how the power system was set up in the area and find the nearest junction box to Overton’s home. The plan was to take out all incoming power thus disabling the security system; alarms, cameras, etc.

The next thing was to locate any access to the house that would minimize attracting attention from unwanted eyes. That included making use of the sewage system if need be. No need to use of the sewage system. Behind Overton’s house lie an opening in the hedges. This would allow us entry onto the property. Hooray!!!

Drayton, I wanted to take care of the communications.

Doc’s part was simple, see to the medical needs of any casualties.

After determining how we’d disrupt the power and gain entry inside, Sami texted my relief would arrive soon. I’d join her for the rest of the planning. About a half hour later, a vehicle showed up. After showing our respective credentials, I was relieved of my post.

Sami and my team were leaning over a table when I reached the rendezvous point. They were examining various building plans and area maps. Joining them, I reiterated my input for the rescue operation, and then shut my mouth.

I noticed Sami giving me an odd look while I was talking.

Sami continued laying out the plan. She pointed out one thing I hadn’t noticed. Emergency lights were strategically located throughout the house.

She also informed us we’d only have a thirty to forty-five second window to enter the house before the backup generator kicked in.

Something clicked when Sami mentioned the lights. We had to do something about those. And the cameras.

“Paint ball guns,” I blurted out.

Suddenly, I was the focus of everyone’s attention. Everyone, looked at me as if I’d grown a second head out of my shoulders.

“Paint ball guns,” I repeated.

Since no one was getting the gist of my outburst I continued, “We don’t want the security monitors, or the emergency lights, to be an obstacle, right?”

No response. Blank faces.

“Using paint ball guns,” I continued, “we can kill two birds with one stone. Cover the lights and the camera lenses with paint from a distance and out of view of the cameras.”

Apparently, I still wasn’t making myself clear.

“Haven’t you ever,” I went on patiently, “watched videos of bank robbers approach a security camera and spray paint over the lenses? That’s just plain stupid. The idea is to avoid leaving any trace of your identity. Any physical features you have are clues to giving away your identity; how you move, your physical stance, anything at all.”

Some stirring among my listeners, finally.

“So use a paint ball gun to do your job,” I concluded. “Without risk to you.”

Once I had made my point clear, my team looked as if they had seen the light. Sami just gave me another strange look. All those strange looks coming from her were creeping me out.

Sami continued describing how we would proceed through the house. The plan was simple; once I took care of the junction box, the entire power grid would be out. Gave us an hour to get in, take care of the goons, and extract Coyne from Overton’s before the local power company responded to the outage. Due to my prior naval service, I was the only one qualified to take care of the junction box. I’d have to play catch up since they’d be at the house ready to go in.

They’d be going room by room. Taking out the emergency lights, cameras, and any goons wandering about. Sami was giving out the order of the rooms we’d be hitting.

The next thing to happen was well overdue.

Sami had just mentioned the master bedroom when I blurted out, “And that’s where it was done by Colonel Mustard with the candlestick!”

I couldn’t help myself.

The only one who seemed amused was Jasmine. I could hear her giggling like a schoolgirl. Everyone else looked at me with dead silence. I think Nighthawk might’ve quirked a half smile.

“Thank you, Spenser,” Sami said, quite dead pan, “for that intuitive contribution.”

Saying I was floored, was an understatement. She’d just realized who I was. Only through Ted would she have known about that nickname. And my bad habit for saying the inanest things when situations required seriousness.

Luckily, for me, no one else caught on that she knew.

Appearing to be suitably chastised, I bowed my head and Sami continued laying out the plan.

We completed our planning and waited until dark to set things in motion.

Sami asked me if I needed a weapon. I held up my two hands, saying I was a weapon due to my SEAL training. She seemed satisfied and sauntered off.

Drayton tossed me a knife in case I needed it. First chance I got, I slipped it back into his gear.

Four hours later, at eleven pm, we were in position.

Everyone knew what to do.

Once notified that everyone was ready, the lights went out in St. Albans.

I sprinted hard to reach the house before the backup generator kicked in. I swear it was the fastest I’d ever run. Luckily, I think Drayton gave me some extra time to catch up, because the generator had yet to kick in when I caught up near the living room.

One guard was already down and trussed up like a pig in the kitchen.

The residue of a smoke bomb was in the air coming from the living room. It seems the guard stationed there tried being clever. Even with the smoke bomb, he was still an obstacle. At least they’d eliminated the light in there.

Unfortunately, the emergency light in the dining room could give away our position.

From our vantage point, I noticed Nighthawk had a clear enough shot to take it out without giving away her position. I had her concentrate on that before we could effectively deal with the living room guard. After a few missed shots, Nighthawk neutralized it. Unfortunately, for us the guard grew some brains and positioned himself on the opposite side of the living room wall.

Drayton was itching for a fight and immediately rushed in. Using his nightstick, he quickly dispatched the guard. As with the kitchen guard, this one was trussed up for the rotisserie.

By this time, the backup generator had kicked in. We’d have to proceed with more caution from this point.

Ground floor cleared, we went upstairs, eliminating any lights and cameras on the way. Once we cleared the upstairs hallway, we heard snoring coming from behind two of the bedroom doors, but none from the master bedroom. I motioned for Sami’s muscle to take positions on either side of those two doors. They waited while we eliminated the cameras and lights in the unoccupied rooms.

After the other rooms were cleared, we carefully made sure the last two doors were unlocked by gently, and slowly turning the doorknobs. It wouldn’t do having our element of surprise taken away due to a locked door. I had my lock picks ready just in case one or the other needed picking. To our relief, they were unlocked. Someone had the foresight to bring oil to keep the doors from squeaking and was busy making use of it. We got ourselves into position and I motioned to open the doors slowly. There were two guards per room fast asleep, illuminated by the outside lights. Bad for them, lucky for us.

On to the basement.

We had surmised eight guards were in the house. Six already accounted for. Doesn’t take a detective to figure out the last two should be in the basement.

Reaching the basement stairs, we cautiously went down as far as we dared before I used a mirror to do a quick recon assessing the situation. The recreation room was right at the bottom of the stairs and the last two guards were busying themselves on the exercise machines. Two smoke grenades and a quick rodeo calf-roping moment later, all the guards we knew of were accounted for.

Beyond the recreation room was a short hallway, cell doors on either side of the hall. At the end of the hall, was the door to the laboratory. I had already dispatched all the cameras, but felt it prudent to leave the lights alone. Drayton and I made our way to the lab below the level of the cell door windows; there might be another guard or two we might not have known about.

Drayton very carefully opened the lab door far enough to let me use the mirror to spot someone was inside. I motioned Drayton to toss in our last smoke grenade. As luck would have it, the guy was faster than we expected and had a gas mask on by the time we entered. A quick scuffle and “Mr. Mad Scientist” was down for the count and handed over to one of Sami’s grunts to be taken in for questioning.

A quick peek in the cell door windows revealed one was occupied by two people. One was bundled up on the only bed. Another, a woman, was standing over the bundled figure; she didn’t look like our quarry. She didn’t look like the pale-skinned woman either.

I carefully opened the food slot and used the mirror to make sure there were no others in the room. That’s when I remembered Sami was supposed to be in charge and mentioned, nearly ordering, she should be the one to do all the talking. Before Sami could say a word, I opened the door, and the standing woman turned and walked towards me.

“Are you ready to begin the interrogation, Doctor?” she purred in a mildly earthy voice.

Before I knew it, I punched her lights out with one swift rabbit punch to the face. I think I might have broken her nose.

As the woman slumped to the floor, the bundled-up figure stirred and Sami pushed me aside to reach it. It was Coyne, looking the worse for wear and Doc immediately took charge of her.

Sami called for a med-evac and a personnel ’copter to get us the hell out of there. While we waited for our transport, Drayton pulled a bunch of information from the basement computer network. Doc and Coyne went to the hospital. Sami, the rest of my team and I went back to the school.

The entire rescue operation took less than thirty minutes.

Somewhere in all that, I remembered the identity of the pale-skinned woman. Well, I remembered she was SPJ and part of her name. A Mary Ann something or other. Unfortunately, I can’t remember what section.

What is her connection to Overton? As for Overton and his home, what does he have around that place that prevented Jasmine from entering the property?

I must see about finding out the results of yesterday’s foray from Ted once I’m allowed to have more than a “once a week letter” communication. Or see if I can sweet talk Sami into letting me know.

I think I’ll ask Ted instead.

After this little adventure, the following weeks of classes will be even more boring.

Which reminds me where is this SEAL Ted wanted me to keep an eye on?

I do have one thing to add.

By the time we got back, bone weary as we were, but still pumped up from our little unintended adventure, our day wasn’t over.

The original assignment, to observe a higher up, was only part of the planned schedule. When we returned, instead of being dismissed to our dorms, we were ordered to one of the formal meeting halls at HQ. Upon our arrival, we were welcomed with cheers by the rest of our class; news of our adventure arrived ahead of us. Sami explained to us that this gathering was originally meant as our “Half-way to Graduation” party.

It’s a good thing we’ve no classes scheduled for today, even though it is a Friday. The celebration went on into the wee hours of the morning and I’m just now returning to my room. Jasmine insisted that we forego our nightly chess match and for me to clean up and get some sleep.

I think I’ll do as she suggests. It’s been a long day. I’ve been up for nearly thirty hours and I can barely keep my eyes open. Not to mention my handwriting is looking like chicken scratch.

All in all, it felt good to be in an active situation again. I’d forgotten how much I missed putting my skills I’ve learned from my military days into use. The upside was getting a chance to take down some bad guys; the downside, even though I helped rescue her, I didn’t get the girl.