feet.
“That’s assuming a reunification would maintain free markets,” Hamilton replied. “It’s still clear that the North would have the most to gain from a reunification of both countries, and even more so if American forces are not in play.”
“I’ll see if my people can find any connections,” Monaco offered as they approached the green. “But, for now, I’m just glad we’re working this side of the Sea of Japan.”
Hamilton nodded in appreciation as he attempted a chip shot to the hole. His club scuffed the ground before striking the ball, which caused it to plop short of the pin by fifteen feet. He waited as Monaco putted out in two strokes for par, then bent over the ball with a putter for his own attempt at par. But as he swung through the ball, a sudden thump emanated from his head, followed by a loud crack in the distance. Hamilton’s eyes rolled back and a shower of blood and tissue sprayed out from his left temple and onto the pants and shoes of Monaco. As the British diplomat looked on in horror, Hamilton fell to his knees in a pool of blood, his hands still tightly clutching the putter. He tried to speak but only a gurgle rolled from his lips before he toppled stiffly onto the manicured grass surface. A fraction of a second later, the dead man’s bloodstained golf ball found the rim of the hole and dropped into the cup with a clink.
Six hundred yards away, a short, stout Asian man dressed in blue stood up in the bunker of the eighteenth hole. The sun glared off his bald head and brightened a lifeless pair of coal black eyes that were made more menacing by a long, thin Fu Manchu mustache. His squat, powerful build was more aptly suited to wrestling than golf, but his fluid movements revealed a flexibility to his strength. With the bored demeanor of a child putting away his toys, the man carefully disassembled an M-40 sniper rifle and placed the gun parts in a concealed compartment inside his golf bag. Pulling out a sand wedge, he forcefully lofted an overpowered shot out of the bunker in a spray of sand. He then calmly three-putted to finish his round, then strolled slowly to his car and stowed his clubs in the trunk. Exiting the parking lot, he patiently gave way as a flood of police cars and ambulances came streaking up to the clubhouse with sirens blaring, then he eased his car into the adjacent road where he quickly became lost in the local traffic.
A pair of technicians wearing protective gear steered the Deep Endeavor’s Zodiac to the western shore of Yunaska, where they selected a young male sea lion from the assortment of dead mammals strewn about the beach. The animal was carefully wrapped in a synthetic sheet, then placed into a heavy body bag for transport back to the ship. The NUMA research vessel stood off nearby with spotlights beaming on the water, guiding the rubber boat back in short order. A section of the galley was cleared away and the sealed cadaver was stored in a cold freezer for the remainder of the voyage, just next to a crate of frozen sherbet.
Once all was secured, Captain Burch pushed the research vessel hard toward the island of Unalaska, with its port city of the same name, situated more than two hundred miles away. Running at top speed all through the night, Burch was able to bring the Deep Endeavor into the commercial fishing port just before ten the next morning. A weathered ambulance waited at the dock to transfer Sarah, Irv, and
Sandy to the town’s small airfield, where a chartered plane was waiting to whisk them to Anchorage. Dirk insisted on pushing Sarah to the ambulance in her wheelchair and gave her a long kiss on the cheek as she was loaded in.
“We’ve got a date in Seattle, right? I still owe you a crab dinner,” Dirk said with an engaging smile.
“I wouldn’t miss it,” Sarah replied sheepishly. “Sandy and I will be down just as soon we’re okay to leave Anchorage.”
After seeing the CDC team off, Dirk and Burch met with the village
“That’s assuming a reunification would maintain free markets,” Hamilton replied. “It’s still clear that the North would have the most to gain from a reunification of both countries, and even more so if American forces are not in play.”
“I’ll see if my people can find any connections,” Monaco offered as they approached the green. “But, for now, I’m just glad we’re working this side of the Sea of Japan.”
Hamilton nodded in appreciation as he attempted a chip shot to the hole. His club scuffed the ground before striking the ball, which caused it to plop short of the pin by fifteen feet. He waited as Monaco putted out in two strokes for par, then bent over the ball with a putter for his own attempt at par. But as he swung through the ball, a sudden thump emanated from his head, followed by a loud crack in the distance. Hamilton’s eyes rolled back and a shower of blood and tissue sprayed out from his left temple and onto the pants and shoes of Monaco. As the British diplomat looked on in horror, Hamilton fell to his knees in a pool of blood, his hands still tightly clutching the putter. He tried to speak but only a gurgle rolled from his lips before he toppled stiffly onto the manicured grass surface. A fraction of a second later, the dead man’s bloodstained golf ball found the rim of the hole and dropped into the cup with a clink.
Six hundred yards away, a short, stout Asian man dressed in blue stood up in the bunker of the eighteenth hole. The sun glared off his bald head and brightened a lifeless pair of coal black eyes that were made more menacing by a long, thin Fu Manchu mustache. His squat, powerful build was more aptly suited to wrestling than golf, but his fluid movements revealed a flexibility to his strength. With the bored demeanor of a child putting away his toys, the man carefully disassembled an M-40 sniper rifle and placed the gun parts in a concealed compartment inside his golf bag. Pulling out a sand wedge, he forcefully lofted an overpowered shot out of the bunker in a spray of sand. He then calmly three-putted to finish his round, then strolled slowly to his car and stowed his clubs in the trunk. Exiting the parking lot, he patiently gave way as a flood of police cars and ambulances came streaking up to the clubhouse with sirens blaring, then he eased his car into the adjacent road where he quickly became lost in the local traffic.
A pair of technicians wearing protective gear steered the Deep Endeavor’s Zodiac to the western shore of Yunaska, where they selected a young male sea lion from the assortment of dead mammals strewn about the beach. The animal was carefully wrapped in a synthetic sheet, then placed into a heavy body bag for transport back to the ship. The NUMA research vessel stood off nearby with spotlights beaming on the water, guiding the rubber boat back in short order. A section of the galley was cleared away and the sealed cadaver was stored in a cold freezer for the remainder of the voyage, just next to a crate of frozen sherbet.
Once all was secured, Captain Burch pushed the research vessel hard toward the island of Unalaska, with its port city of the same name, situated more than two hundred miles away. Running at top speed all through the night, Burch was able to bring the Deep Endeavor into the commercial fishing port just before ten the next morning. A weathered ambulance waited at the dock to transfer Sarah, Irv, and
Sandy to the town’s small airfield, where a chartered plane was waiting to whisk them to Anchorage. Dirk insisted on pushing Sarah to the ambulance in her wheelchair and gave her a long kiss on the cheek as she was loaded in.
“We’ve got a date in Seattle, right? I still owe you a crab dinner,” Dirk said with an engaging smile.
“I wouldn’t miss it,” Sarah replied sheepishly. “Sandy and I will be down just as soon we’re okay to leave Anchorage.”
After seeing the CDC team off, Dirk and Burch met with the village
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