The seat in the Lear Jet was hypnotically comfortable and, as the pilot or pilots, since I could not see forward of the canvas between us, pushed the engine controls to maximum, I breathed deeply and went to sleep. The level of exhaustion I felt could not be held off any longer nor the fact that I’d eaten only one cheeseburger in two days without sleep. I wanted to think about San Clemente, the Dwarfs meeting again, Steed, and all of what that might be but none of that could happen until I was recovered.
“Orange County,” a voice near to my left ear said, startling me into full wakefulness.
“Are we landing?” I asked, groggily, trying to get my bearings.
“We’re on the ground in the hangar, so take your time,” the voice said, as I stared into two large perfect blue eyes. A young woman wearing a well-tailored but nondescript blue uniform eased back up from her forward-leaning position.
I unclipped my seatbelt, feeling a bit disappointed. I’d taken my first ride ever in a Lear Jet, the jet dedicated to my travel alone, and I had no memory at all of the flight. Another young woman came out from behind the canvas cover leading to the cockpit.
“Thank the pilots,” I murmured.
“We’re the pilots,” the young woman who’d awakened me said, laughing while she said it.
“There’s a police car waiting by the cabin door to pick you up,” the woman said, as I stood, rubbing my head in embarrassment about being a rather obvious misogynist, which I wasn’t really, but had seemed to be one for a few seconds.
I grabbed my bag, which seemed about the same size and density as I’d left when I’d gotten aboard.
“Do I have to sign anything or pay you something?” I asked, never having flown on a private jet before.
The woman pulled a piece of paper from her pocket and unfolded it.
“You’ve already paid, apparently,” she said, turning the paper so I could read the brief cargo notation, date, departure, and arrival locations.
In the large ‘Cargo Contents’ space was a short, typed phrase that read: “Legal Tender.”
I wanted to ask her what the words meant, as I whispered them repeatedly under my breath, but the young woman had walked to the front of the plane and rezipped herself into the cockpit. How could any living being be termed to be ‘legal tender’ and what could that possibly mean?
“Legal tender means cash,” I said, stopping where I was in the aisle, hunched over from its low interior ceiling being just under my standing height.
Why was there a cargo manifest accompanying a plane that was only configured with six passenger seats inside the cramped cabin? I opened my small bag and checked the contents.
“Legal tender,” I repeated as, upon opening, I immediately saw a bare pack of banded hundred-dollar bills. There were eight bundles of them I noted. I was now getting used to some of the cash transfers that were much more common to the Western White House and the CIA than I would ever have believed. There was a note held under the big rubber band holding the mass together. I pulled it out.
“She’s going to need some cash to ‘bridge’ the gap,” the short sentence read, written in rough cursive.
I didn’t know Matt’s handwriting, but I presumed the note was written by him.
I sat down again in the seat next to the open cabin door. I saw through the opening that the black Marauder was parked next to the Lear on the tarmac waiting. I had to think for a few seconds, still only half awake.
Once again, I was being trusted without comment or question. How could I be expected to either deposit the money to Kathy Steed’s account, which I’d opened with my own money, or give it directly to her in cash? Why weren’t the people in the system saying to themselves; ‘what’s our protection from him just taking the money and saying he delivered it?’ Why was I being so openly trusted, along with Matt, again? It didn’t seem to make much sense.
I went down the cabin steps and over to the Marauder, as the passenger door flipped open with Gularte leaning out.
“Traveling in style, are we?” he asked, a big grin on his face.
The engines started, one after the other, on the Lear and the steps retreated up into it. Once the door was closed the plane slowly eased away, the pilots through the small forward windows were invisible because of the sun shining on the dark-filtered glass.
Once inside the car, I didn’t have to close the door, as Gularte chirped the rear wheels in taking off. The door slammed, as I shook my head. Some of his antics I hated but I knew I was going to miss having such a loyal friend nearby and always there when I needed him most.
I directed Gularte to head for the bank in San Juan Capistrano where I’d opened Kathy’s account. I wanted to be rid of the eight grand as quickly as could be, not because of temptation but because I was uncomfortable with whatever was going on following Steed’s death. Matt’s knowledge, and the addition of eight grand in cash to Kathy’s account, meant that somehow the CIA was involved, not necessarily in Rick’s death but in knowing what happened. The CIA didn’t strike me as an organization that was overly sympathetic to new widows, no matter what the circumstance. And where was Kathy in the whole thing, just having lost her husband and then the weird circumstance of the life insurance proceeds being transferred by her? The check from Mass Mutual had been made out to her personally, the only beneficiary on the policy.
The drive to San Juan took only minutes at the Marauder’s triple-digit speed.
Once at the bank I got out and instructed Gularte to wait and to wait in some area not pulled right up to the bank’s front door.
I walked into the lobby and looked around, not taking my pack off. There were several offices along the far wall. I picked the one that had a man in it behind his desk. I didn’t knock as the office door was open.
“I can’t tell you, and you know that. It’s protected information. You opened the account but Kathy’s the only signatory. That doesn’t allow you any privileges at all, except deposit privileges.
“Tom,” I said, softly, staring unblinkingly and deeply into the man’s brown eyes, and waited.
“I know, I know,” Tom finally said.
I waited again, my time as a life insurance agent under Tom Thorkelson and Chuck Bartok keeping me from saying a word. If left in silence, Tom the banker was very likely going to tell me what I desperately needed to know. It took almost a full minute until he swiveled his chair to face a nearby wall.
“She withdrew the money, almost all of it, in the form of a cashier’s check. She was on the phone to a man in Florida from a company called Treasure Salvors, to which the check was made out.”
I didn’t know what to say, so I said nothing, once again. I’d been convinced that the CIA was somehow involved, but a treasure-seeking company? Into the silence, Tom made another admission of confidential data he wasn’t allowed to release.
“The man’s name is Mel Fisher.”
“Where’s Kathy?” I asked, for no good reason I could think of.
“Florida,” Tom answered.
Florida, I thought to myself. Where else would a treasure company be based, and quite likely the man who ran it? I got up from my chair and turned to leave, but not before reaching into my back and pulling out the banded stack of cash, which I placed on the broad open part of the desk in front of his gold embossed name tag.
“Deposit to her account, as she’s likely to need some walking around cash soon,” I said. I got to the door before Tom spoke again.
Tom pulled forward, gathered in the package, and then pulled it apart, rapidly counting all the hundred-dollar bills.
“Here,” he said, holding out a thin stack of bills with his right hand. “She wanted you to have your money back, with her thanks.”
I took the hundreds, folded them in half, and put them in my pocket. I turned to walk out of his office.
“Hey, where you going?” he asked.
“Florida,” I replied, and walked through the office door and then out of the bank. Gularte opened the door for me from the inside again, as the Marauder sat burbling away, illegally parked right in front of the bank’s front door.
The drive home was uneventful. I didn’t share anything about my trip to Los Alamos with him except I did let him know the artifact was gone into the U.S. system to governmental laboratories for further study.
“About time, and that’s got to be a relief for all of us.”
I agreed and was going to invite Gularte inside our home when we got there but Herbert’s car was parked right out front. Gularte would impede any discussion Herbert wanted to have with me and there was a lot I needed to know so I waved him off.
“I’ve got Gates’ car for the day,” he said before roaring off, “I’ll come back if you want to go out and have some fun later.”
The Marauder left black marks on the concrete in front of my house as Gularte floored the accelerator.
I went inside, dropped my pack, and nodded to Bozo sitting on the small wing table next to the couch. The cat looked at me quizzically, as was his style, and then turned his head slightly to keep a watchful eye on Herbert, sitting next to my wife on the couch. Both were drinking from mugs set down in front of them which I presumed to be coffee.
“This is one different animal,” Herbert said, looking back at Bozo, sitting no more than a foot from him with his eyes staring into Herbert’s own.
“I thought agents weren’t supposed to have coffee or anything else when visiting personal homes,” I remarked, fatigue setting in so deeply that I knew I shouldn’t sit down, or I’d fall instantly asleep.
All I wanted was a shower and the bed, the brief period of sleep aboard the Lear was not nearly enough to satisfy my body or mind.
“That’s the FBI, not us,” Herbert replied, “and besides, you’re not a suspect.”
“Not yet, anyway,” My wife interjected.
“I came to let you know the plan,” Herbert said, ignoring Mary’s sharp comment.
“I need to go to Florida first,” I blurted out.
Bozo, Herbert, and my wife looked at me, all sitting there and giving me the same unblinking and surprised stare.
I briefly described my talk with Matt, the money going to Florida, and even the eight-thousand-dollar contribution from Matt. Suddenly, I stopped talking. I realized that I wasn’t making a lot of sense and Herbert’s comment in reply came at the same time as Mary’s.
“You’re not going to Florida,” they both said together. Bozo jumped down from the table and disappeared, making his sort of negative comment, or so I presumed.
“You’re both going to Albuquerque with the kids tomorrow. You’ll be staying at the hotel by the airport. You can either fly or drive one of your cars since you must get them there anyway. Whatever the Steed situation is, well, unfortunately, or fortunately, is none of your doing and not the CIA’s business or interest either, no matter what might have happened up to now. Mrs. Steed’s decision about the money, even though you sold her husband the policy, is her affair, and it is private.
“Thank God,” my wife said, under her breath although I could still hear her say the words.
“I don’t want her hurt,” I said, my tone one of deflated resignation, however.
“Nobody does, and there are things you don’t know and may never know,” Herbert said. “Now, you spend three days and nights in Albuquerque, and then come back here to oversee the move, at least your wife does if she’s willing.”
Herbert went silent, turning to look at Mary.
“Of course, Mary replied immediately, “because he’s going to be in training?”
“Yes…sort of,” Herbert replied, looking away. “There’re some parts of his work that have to remain the domain of the Agency itself and nobody else gets to know and that means family as well, unfortunately. Sometimes I don’t get to know things either. It’s simply the way it is. “We’ll step outside, and thanks for the warm welcome and the coffee.”
Herbert stood up and headed for the door but stopped. Bozo sat in front of the door facing him but staring over toward where I still stood.
“Bozo,” I said, frowning.
Bozo got up and walked across the living room toward the kitchen where his water and food bowls were located.
“Strange animal, as I said,” Herbert remarked, heading outside.
I followed him out, wondering about the same two words my wife inside was also probably rolling around inside her intelligent brain, but I said nothing. We’d come outside for a reason and that reason was all his.
“In my car, this house has ears,” he said, pointing needlessly at his vehicle.
Once inside, with the doors closed and the windows up he began to talk.
“On the fourth day you’re flying to Seoul, Korea,” Herbert began, before taking a breath and staring out through the windshield, continuing as if he was reading the rest from the inside of the glass. “When you arrive there, you’ll be greeted by the former U.S. Ambassador to the newly formed country, Namibia. You’ll proceed with him to where there’s an American school for American kids of financial worth, usually kids of those civilians working at U.S. companies in that country. The world has hundreds of those private schools around the globe which you likely don’t know about, at least until now. You’ll meet with the head of that school and the three of you will come up with the creation of a company, or series of companies that will allow for the kind of entry and exit to other countries without suspicion that the CIA rather desperately needs.”
He stopped talking so I waited, but nothing more came.
“What’s the rest?” I asked.
“The rest of what?” Herbert replied.
“Like what new company or companies are going to be created and where will they be located and who will staff them and when do I come home? Stuff like that?”
“That’s it, that’s the mission,” Herbert said, sounding surprised before going silent for almost a full minute.
“Well?” I finally asked.
“The mission is your first mission, and you have to figure all that out. You don’t need training for this first thing, and it should be well within your purview and experience.”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Once again people were making assumptions about me that were either not true, not known, or expected with even the people making those assumptions and giving such orders remaining unknown. Even Herbert was not in on what was truly expected of me or the ‘mission’ as he termed it. It was more like a get-together for three players who didn’t know each other to come up with something tangible, real and important. How could such a meeting come to any kind of success was beyond me.
“When do I come home and where will home be when I do come back and then what about training?”
“When you’re done, and I guess your wife will likely have you moved by then to the house in Albuquerque. I’ll make sure the new Mercedes is delivered while you’re gone.”
“Oh great, another car for Mary to absorb as her own,” I said in exasperation, realizing for the first time just how small a player in everything we were about to pursue with the Agency my control agent was. He was more like a messenger than a manager. “I presume the Chevy will soon be handed down to me.”
“You have to fly economy, by the way, just the rules although I was able to get you moved from the YMCA in Seoul to the Hyatt. No tub but a shower. The ambassador will meet you at Seoul International and take care of all the transportation and such. He talks a lot though, so you’ll have to put up with that. And oh, he gets to be the president of the company or at least one of the companies you guys come up with.”
“The home office really sends out brand new guys to do stuff like this all the time?” I asked, still flabbergasted.
“No, this is very uncommon, I’m told,” Herbert admitted. “Someone somewhere up in the organization has a lot of trust in you.”
“For no good reason, I can figure out,” I said.
“Tickets will be at the counter for your flight out of LAX. Be there on the fourth morning at seven a.m. sharp. There will be a package of stuff to help you. United, the Agency’s preferred airline, will take care of all that.”
“Gee, I thought it’d be Lufthansa,” I replied, trying to be funny.
“No, they don’t fly from LAX to Seoul, Herbert replied without even a smile. “We’re done here, see you when you get back.”
I was dismissed so I got out of the car and closed the door without even saying goodbye. I. was in shock. I’d been to Vietnam and Japan but in neither country had I experienced much of anything of the cultures there or the countryside at all, except for a few very tiny patches. Herbert drove away before I could ask him about the language or cultural stuff, including the currency there that I might need to know about.
I walked back into the living room and confronted my wife, who I knew would have a million questions.
“Get changed and get the kids ready for the beach,” I said before she could ask anything. “I’m going down now so I can try to stay awake. Drive to the main beach, park and then I’ll meet you below lifeguard tower zero, where we usually go. No sense risking the cliff walk or the stairs at “T” Street.”
I changed quickly into my swimsuit, grabbed a towel, and left barefoot. It took only minutes to get to the base of the main pier and park. I no longer had any ability to get through the railroad fence gates so had to park in the big public lot, which early in the morning was nearly empty. Mary would have no problem parking the Chevy close in for the walk with Jules and carrying Mike.
Once down at the normal spot we picked out when going to the main beach I threw my towel down and took the short walk to the pier. I trotted out to the end, avoiding the spots of old splinter-laden wood I could easily spot. I stood on the very end, the restaurant not being open.
A feeling of loss was hanging along with me, like some large flapping cloak behind my back. I could feel it, almost hear it but never see or come to believe it was there. The object, the artifact, was gone and something of myself went with it. I’d never be able to discuss, explain, or truly describe it or its effects and be believed. There was no object in the special aluminum box to be cared for, transported properly, or even feared. I rubbed my left hand with the striations, once again marveling at the fact that it never ached. I’d had the artifact thrust upon me without there being any understanding of what it might be and absolutely no help in dealing with it, even as a confidential repository. I’d kept it, only revealed parts of it very marginally to a very few, and then delivered it, with Gularte’s and Matt’s help, to where I was instructed to deliver it.
There was so much more I wanted to know but once the object disappeared into one of the Los Alamos tech areas there was very little chance I’d ever see it again, much less learn anything more about it. I craned my head around to survey the ocean in both directions, up and down the beach. The artifact had changed me and that change wasn’t reversible. The world I was looking at wasn’t the world I understood it to be, or had understood it to be only months earlier.
Mary would arrive soon. I’d already decided to tell her everything. I couldn’t fly thousands of miles away in mystery or ride along on a series of great lies. I had no idea of what kind of creative minds I might be dealing with when I got to Seoul, but I knew Mary’s quite well, and she might be able to give me something I could use. I wasn’t at my best but there was no way I could get down and rest at home without talking to her first, and away from the surveillance equipment I felt was disguised just about everywhere in the rental, and likely going into the 4416 Magnolia place in Albuquerque right while I was standing where I was.
And what about Steed? What about the Dwarfs? What about our friends? I hadn’t considered that we might be leaving in the middle of the night or ‘on the fourth day’ like in the Bible. God created the Sun, the Moon, and the Stars on the fourth day if my memory was correct. I wondered idly, as I made my way back to the beach, whether anyone in the Agency had the kind of ability it would take to give a mission biblical significance.
After all that at last you get to spend a time with family and toes in the sand before the next event !!
Great chapter James, keep ’em coming 🙂
Semper Fi
Thanks SgtBob, and yes, family time for me was so damned precious and I was always upset that life seemed not to want
to allow for that. I have a wife and children who also truly understood and did not hold that against me, now or back
then, and that made me feel guility. Nice being stuck in Santiago, Chile, with no one in a bad hotel talking to the family
on Thanksgiving back home and not wanting to answer Mary’s incisive questions about just where the guy who sent me there
was himself (he was spending his Thanksgiving with family in the Hamptons but I didn’t tell her that). Thanks for the caring and accurate
comment.
Semper fi,
Jim
James,
Just finished the last chapter you sent out. It is so funny some of the parallels you and I go through. Here are just a few that I can tell you about:
When I was in upper Mongolia in the middle of nowhere, I was “disabled” of course I was taken to Ulanbatar by car after walking a couple of miles. I spent two days there in a clinic with a visit to an old Russian hospital to fix a neumothorax. I was then medevac’d to Seoul after being taken in an old van to the airport…it was my one and only flight on a Lear Jet. Of course I was enjoying the flight high on Morphine…lol.
The interesting part about it was I was put in the plane without a American escort and the whole plane was crewed with people from China. Luckily the only thing that happened (that I remember was they were going through my passport. They made a bed for me by putting two of the seats down then putting a board between them with a cushion.
Another similarity is that we had to fly cattle car (economy) also. The flights from DC to South Africa was painful about 19 hours on the United flight via Dakar. (we would have a 4 hour stop over) What’s interesting there were CIA team members imbedded with us that would get business on flights over 6 hours….go figure. One of them (Dennis) would bring a dozen donuts to give to the stewardesses.
When I was detailed to the OIG, two weeks after I arrived, they sent me on a trip to Uganda, Rwanda and Buruni. I was told to do evaluation of the cybersecurity. When I asked for their procedures, checklists etc. They said they didnt have any and I was told I would know what to do…lol. Just like your recent trip on the chapter. So I wrote the evaluation procedures on the flight over. Still to this day that checklist and procedures are being used.
I was trying to remember the acting Ambassador to Namibia back then. The name that comes up is Bill something. I hate getting old and losing my memory. He was a great guy.
There were “International” or “American” schools in a lot of the smaller countries I went to. I didn’t know that South Korea would have one since they had military bases there for the kids. Anyway, those schools were everywhere, I didn’t know that the company was involved with those? The Embassies or Consulates would help fund them and of course, sometimes I thought the DoS was only landlords for your folks.
I remember back then we were required to use the American Express folks to make our travel tickets on airlines. They seemed to always come up with some really bad flights for us. I would usually go look up the travel flights ahead of time so I could tell them what I would like to do. Most of the time they were okay with that. Before I retired they changed to “Concur” I forgot how to spell it. To make reservations.
Sorry just rambling….we seemed to have run into some of the same issues, places, and people.
Fantastic comment Mike, and I much appreciate the verification that it give some of the work. You were out there too, in many of the same places I was
and you know some of the people that were still there by the time you went to the field. Wonderful stuff.
Thanks so much,
Semper fi, my friend,
Jim
Everything is intriguing and nothing you can plan for.
So you head for Seoul to set up a few shell companies to allow you to do whatever wherever.
Thanks Bob, for pointing out the strangeness of the whole thing, at least with the beginning of my service.
Semper fi, and thanks for the compliment.
Jim
One interesting observation over the years.
Financial Service Companies have been interesting havens for those persons seeking accepted entrance into global activities. ~~smile
Chuck, that’s a areal gently way to call all these people still using offshore accounts rotten crooks!
Semper fi,
Jim
So much left unanswered in San clementine (the marines, the boat run aground& more) & now you are thrust into a situation you know very little about. I wonder how Mary will react when you lay it all out to her. Fascinating read, Keep them coming.
Thanks Phil, I’m here pumping them out. Thanks for the support, compliment and being eager for more.
Semper fi,
Jim
Mickey Thompson, Mel Fisher, all these names from the past that have/had great cultural significance. (To my mind anyway).
The pace seems to be accelerating at a dizzying rate
A great read as always Jim. Thank you again. Happy July 4th.
Tim
You can kind of tell we’re a bit old can’t you? I have some young neighbors who didn’t know who Mickey was
which is astounding to me. Yes, I was able to associate with him for a while but still Mickey was huge back then.
Mel not so much, until he found the 400 million.
Semper fi,
Jim
I’m entranced by my reading. It’s almost like being in another universe. It’s the 4th and I feel so blessed to have you as my friend. 🦇
You are, indeed, one of my best friends and what I have learned and applied such learning over the years becomes very evident in the story as it unfolds.
Thanks for considering me such a friend, even though you never, back in those days, understood how much I was learning from you and applying you in the world. you changed the world, as we now are coming to understand, and you had no idea, then, or even really now, just how much.
Semper fi,
my great friend,
Jim
It is such a pleasure to hear you on these chapter posts, Tom.
I concur with Jim that you were and have been a dynamic influence on our lives.
Your guidance helped both of us “Make it Through” and enjoy blessed lives in so many ways.
Thank you
Well said, Chuck. The man was and remains a dynamic force for goodness and light. In the current world we live in Tom is now old enough to be president at 93!
Your friend,
Jim
James,
Just like clockwork, I see there is a new chapter up! Thanks for feeding me!
But I am having money problems. Not sure how much money was stashed in you carry-on on the private jet returning you to CALI. I thought it was 8 $100 bills, but at the bank, it appears to be 8 BUNDLES of $100s? (Unsure of cumulative total.) Not sure what Karen did with “the money”, still not clear to me about whether she get paid the life insurance money or not? Or if not, why not? Or DID she GET the life insurance money and because of that, the CIA did not have to provide her a large sum? I am confused more than usual.
Frustrating to me that this chapter did not shed more light on the mysteries from past chapters–Steed’s death, Karen, etc. Why do you feel the immediate need to go to FL to find Karen?
Salvage company…Mel Fisher!…Florida…fly to Korea?…to meet a guy from Namibia…form companies?…If MY head is spinning now, I cannot imagine how many rotations your head was doing back then.
Your day-to-day life planned out by others as to where you will be and what you will do? Appearing you have not much control over anything in your life? No way I could sign up for all this being managed and unknown stuff and not knowing more about the ins and outs of your ‘mission’.
Getting to know you through “Thirty Days” you quickly became a guy who liked to be in control, calculate the pluses and minuses of your circumstance, gave thoughtful consideration of what your enemy is likely up to or is planning to do, evaluate your assets on hand, formulate a plan of action to thwart and defeat the enemy, and then execute. The current situation you are in with the CIA is 180 degrees different! You have very little control. With THEM, you don’t even know who the “enemy” is or might be, are like a mushroom being provided a good dose of obfuscation manure and bits and pieces, provided very few facts and valuable data that you SHOULD have, and more or less you are told to wing it. When you had to “wing it” in Vietnam, you still had your radio and could call in air or artillery that you were 98% certain would be there for you to help you out of tight spots. It is sort of stunning to see you go through such a mental transformation. I guess once you get aboard that CIA rocket ship there is no getting off. But if I were in your shoes, I would have ended my relationship with them (or at least making plans to do so ASAP, when financially possible for you and your family). I personally do not do well working in “Murkiness” and “Unknowns”.
As always, I thoroughly enjoy your writings, including this chapter. Hope the next chapter provides more answer instead of more questions to add to the list of other questions and unsolved riddles. Yes, I know. That is life. We often NEVER find the answers to important questions of our lives…
Wishing you and yours an enjoyable July 4th holiday.
These days it is questionable as to how many more July 4th we might have left as a country unless we do major course corrections.
THE WALTER DUKE. You are correct in everything you brought forth in this comment. The money. That the Agency dealt in cash so much wa almost impossible to believe, but that was the way it was back then. Cash was untraceable before modern banking and electronic interations became so real and intrusive. PROMIS was met yet imvemted and operational back then as it it was to become and is operational today. Working with the Agency was at all times mysterious and the unknown was only known by others I had no knowledge of. they liked me and let me know that but in ways that were almost impossible to believe. I write on as to what happened back then with the hope that laying this down does indeed cause not only head-scrtching but understanding of a remarkable odyssey to goodness, for the most part and justice, for the most part…
I love the Marine Corps, and still do, but it was a long way from perfect. I love the CIA the same way. They were trying, at their best and I think they are trying today.
Semper fi, my friend,
Jim
S
Your flight reminded me of the Flying Circus in Goldfinger. At least you got some sleep and did not heave to shoot out a window to de-pressurize the plane!!! Very interesting chapter to say the least.
You are too funny Charles. Shooting out an airplane window would, of course, brought about unforeseeable circumstance not likely
to allow for any kind of sleep. Thanks for the great comment.
Seper fi,
Jim
Still enjoying every chapter. I did see one potential edit for your consideration:
“I’ll meet you below lifeguard tower zero, where we usually go there.” Did you mean to put the ‘there’ at the end? It seems redundant and unnecessary.
Thanks for the editing help, Tim, asn you are correct. I got it wrong. I will fix this thanks to you.
Semper fi,
Jim
“……you’ll be greeted by the former U.S. Ambassador to the country of Namibia.”
Namibia did not gain independence and exchange ambassadors with US until 1990. Previously, it was a de facto province of South Africa.
So, pick another African country, say, Botswana (independent in 1966).
Bill served as the DeFacto Ambassador to Namibia just before it was declared an independent county.
He would be formally appointed in the nineties but not for long. He was a quiet, good guy, but in no way
ambassadorial material for the times.
Now a treasure hunter in the mix . Always wondering what new character will show up ?Another great chapter! Thank you!
The ‘characters,’ as you term them, came and went without my selection or control.
Glad you enjoy them and string along for the rest of the story.
Semper fi,
Jim
Out of the frying pan, into the fire. No extinguisher. Hope you kept your passport up to date.
What a wonderfully warm welcome to The Company!
Fisher was a very interesting guy. I used to take care of some of his “findings”. Damned spiders would walk across the night-time motion detectors, triggering a leap out of bed and trip down the road.
Triple happy to have a new chapter so quickly. You are a wonder!
Didn’t need a passport for Vietnam and Japan. the first one I got was from the CIA (and a few more after that!).
You personally knew Fisher? You have a pretty surprising background yourself…that I don’t know almost anything
about. We have to talk.
Semper fi, my friend,
Jim
I read 30 days, great book, kept up with cowardly lion, you are one remarkable person. My Brother in Law was in Nam, wounded twice, came back with a drug and alcohol problem, tried talking to him, he would not talk about it, thanks to you , I know understand why he is like he is, and feel like a shit for thinking bad of him
Most real war stories have deep regret and some level of shame attached to them.
The indelible memory of those things is layered over with life experience, but those layers are paper thin…and when penetrated…well…you’re right back in the shit.
The Vietnam Vets wall is no place for guys like me (combat vets) to go and visit.
It’s for the rest of your culture to visit and honor those who gave their lives for the rest of us.
So many of my Marines are on that wall but I don’t have to go their to recall, remember or honor them.
They are right with me filling up this coffee shop now.
Fusner, Rittenhouse, Zippo, and the rest of “my guys.”
Thanks for the heartfelt comment and I’m so happy the novels have had the kind of effect on many, as they did on you
and consequently your brother-in-law.
Semper fi,
Jim
LT, thrown into the deep end without any life vest and expected to not only survive but perform. And now Kathy becomes another mystery to cloud your mind with no one to discuss it with. Deep.
JT, one of the readers on here actually knew Mel Fisher, the treasure guy so I’ve got to explore more with him about that. Sometimes this comment section shocks the hell out of me when I read what an amazing collection the writers on here make.
I once thought about all the comments and my replies there have been since I wrote the first ten day volume and maybe putting them in their own stand alone book, but didn’t do it.
The machine here keeps track.
There have been a total of 28,957 comments which 29,952 were approved (yes, all of the negative ones, of which there about 40, were approved too).
I replied to all comments.
There were 732 that Chuck took out as spam.
The machine doesn’t tell me how many comments are made by the same readers however…although you have made a lot yourself.
Thanks so very much,
Semper fi,
Jim
Despite all the smoke and confusion you keep moving forward, not marching, moving! Amazing, somewhere behind the curtain someone specked out a special requirement and you walked out! And no one thought you would be able to store it all and report as now….but they seem to trust no one will believe it anyway. But there are a bunch of us who were burnished in similar fashion to at least appreciate the environment! Uuraagh
Colonel, it would seem to me that the entire structure that was called the registered publications system crumbled and fell apart. What happened under Trump and some with Biden too, the taking home of secret stuff or even being in possession of it without custodians around. The trust placed in Snowden, Assange and Manning was outlandish and then their treatment, as well, after being caught or revealing themselves. One would have thought the efforts to catch and try them would have been much more high powered than it proved to be. Thanks for the usual understanding depth.
Semper fi, my friend,
Jim
artifact was gone into the U.S. system so governmental laboratories for further study.
* system to governmental
“About time, and that’s got to be a relief for all of us.
* all of us”.
Thanks for the usual help Don.
Semper fi,
Jim