The tapes were proving to be a nightmare, not just because the job was boring and delicate but also because of the time. There was the beach patrol issue to be dealt with, as I was on at four in the afternoon and no real way out of not spending six hours, or so doing that. Then there was the very likely probability that I would not be done simply cleaning and drying all the tapes, and there was no possibility I could put any of them up wet. The third thing that bothered me was that there might be nothing on them, the seawater having done a more penetrating job than Chuck had alleged in our short conversation.

I sat back, my fingers tiring of the delicate process of putting just enough pressure on the gauze to dry the tapes but not break them. They were a lot more difficult to handle, once they were unspooled, than I would have believed, having broken two of them. According to Chuck, any breaks could be repaired simply by gluing the ends back together, but I was left wondering what potentially vital part of a conversation might be lost to such damage and repair. The biggest problem was in not sharing the fact of the tape’s existence, plus there was also the problem of returning the gear I’d checked out for the mission in the harbor, not that there had been any paperwork to fill out or sign when I had.

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