T
he computer in Hail’s stateroom spun up his e-mail program. The screen was bright in the dark room, and it took a minute for Hail’s eyes to adjust. He sat in front of the PC and took a moment to compose his thoughts. It had been years since he had corresponded with his friend. Their last meeting had been sad and dispiriting.
Hail placed his hands on the keyboard and began to type.
Hi Trev:
I hope you have been doing well. I’m writing to inform you of the demise of the Minister of People’s Armed Forces of North Korea, Kim Yong Chang. Under my direction, his life was terminated as of about ten minutes ago. Attached is the footage of his final minutes on Earth. I’m sure that your sources, or your CIA counterpart sources, will be able to confirm this information. The FBI website has offered a reward of twenty-five million dollars for his termination. I’m officially requesting payment of this reward. You can make the check out to Hail Industries and send it to my main office. Please address the envelope to me.
Unrelated, I can’t tell you how much it meant to me that you showed up at the funeral. I’m sorry I was such a mess. I would like to say that I’m doing better now, but I would be lying. I miss seeing you. I’m very proud of you and your new job as the director of the FBI. You deserve it, my friend. Your dad would be beaming proud as well.
Take care,
Marshall
Hail hit the SEND icon and pushed away from his desk.
He had about eleven hours until nightfall. and he wanted to be present for the extraction of the drones. He stood, went into his bedroom and got dressed in workout clothes. He removed a bottle of water from the refrigerator, grabbed a towel and headed for the ship’s gym. He had an abundance of nervous energy to burn off, not to mention a couple inches of flab that had mysteriously grown over his belly when he hadn’t been looking.