Epilogue

The Remote Viewer program was originally developed by the U. S. Army but after numerous successes, it was handed over to the Defense Intelligence Agency. Despite a large amount of skepticism, Congress continued to fund the unit that basically contracted services to over a hundred self-proclaimed psychics. Loose information was fed to the group and the results were vetted for relevant matches. The members who consistently supplied what was termed wild card data were eliminated and replaced with new candidates who would apply their craft to new scenarios.

After a year of conventional searches that included placing the fugitive at the top of the FBI’s Ten Most Wanted list and a segment on the nationally syndicated crime-watch show, American Fugitive, the Justice Department contacted the Remote Viewer unit which, until that point, had only focused on targets of military interest. With a loose dossier, each of the gifted contractors used their skills to produce mental data that could be used like a piece in a jigsaw puzzle. Ninety-nine percent of the results were typical, placing the location of the wanted man everywhere from Sao Paulo, Brazil, to the Bahamas, to the Baja Peninsula. A Russian albino named Dmitri Burshirov was the one dissenting view, placing the target thousands of miles from the rest.

Deep in the Wyoming countryside, towering pines occupied the sides of the two-lane blacktop that carried a convoy of six dark blue Chevy Suburbans cruising along in a tight, single file line like a pack of stock cars drafting on a greasy racetrack. At ninety miles per hour, the line slowed meeting eight more dark colored vans and sedans, converging as they turned into the entrance of a small campground. Like a horde of mice being let out of a cage, the vehicles swarmed throughout the park as each one took an assigned position.

In the lead Suburban, Joel Kenyon and Pat Stephens exited, each one dressed in black duty fatigues and matching flack vests. Nestled in site forty-two was a Coleman pop-up camper, a small recreational vehicle with a metal body and a canvas superstructure that had its screen windows obscured with bolts of similar canvas. Inside, a baby cried as sixty-seven agents with their guns drawn surrounded the small trailer, hiding behind cars and other campers. They watched as a small woman dressed in cutoff jean shorts exited and walked over to a brick building that housed the park’s laundry facility. Kenyon and Stephens made a duck walk towards the small aluminum and canvas door with their arms locked and guns pointed towards the shelter’s main entry.

“Jordan Frances Cheney!” Kenyon called out.

“Just…just a minute,” cried a man’s stuttering voice as a shuffle ensued.

“Jordan Cheney, this is the United States Treasury Department. We have a warrant for your arrest,” Stephens called out as the agents tensed up, preparing for a fight. And then the door opened.

“I’m unarmed,” Jordan announced, stepping out of the camper with his hands in the air.

Joel kept his gun aimed at Jordan’s face as another agent wearing a blue windbreaker with the embroidered letters FBI on the back secured the fugitive’s hands behind his back with a set of nickel-plated handcuffs.

“I always knew it would be you,” Jordan said, looking Joel in the eye.

“You probably better not say anything Jordan,” Joel solemnly replied as the other agents escorted Jordan to the back of the closest Suburban.

As Pat holstered the composite Glock handgun in his right hand, an agent holding a shotgun approached him from behind.

“Mr. Stephens, sir?” he said to his superior.

“Yes, Agent Simpson?”

“Sir…I need to get my weapon back sir.”

“Of course, sure, here you go,” Pat replied, handing the gun and its holster over to the appreciative subordinate.

“God, that was fun,” Pat said to Joel who just looked at him with half a smile. “Come on bro, if we catch the next flight out of Cheyenne we can make it home for dinner.”

•

The End

 

* * * * *

 

About the Author

T. Rafael Cimino was born in Wayne New Jersey on June 4th, 1963 and grew up in the Florida Keys. He is the youngest of the Cimino family of film producers. He is best known for his written contributions to the film and television industries. (Miami Vice, Lost in Translation, A Love Song for Bobby Long, The Other Boleyn Girl and Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip) In 2009 Cimino released Mid Ocean, a previously completed screenplay, as a novel and received critical acclaim. As a native of south Florida, he is able to give a rare account of a lifestyle; experienced by few - idolized by many. Cimino has also authored Appropriate, Delta-Echo-Alpha, Table 21 and Rivertown. He lives in North Carolina with his family.

•

 

Visit the Author on the web at http://www.TRCimino.com and join the Mid Ocean fan group on Facebook at: http://www.facebook.com/pages/Mid-Ocean/207834942743?ref=ts