Chapter 10

"Good morning, Michael," Elsa greeted him with a smile shot over her shoulder. She stood in front of the range cooking something, the fragrant odor hitting his nostrils and bringing a smile to his face.

"Elsa, you amaze me," he said.

"Why?" She raised an eyebrow and looked at him.

"I didn't think you'd know how to cook. I mean, with your lifestyle, and..." He cut himself off. "I'm sorry, I meant no offense."

"None taken." Elsa flapped a hand and returned to her work. "You want some coffee to take with you? I'm making breakfast wraps for you guys to take on the boat."

"You're not coming with us," he asked. Old habits die hard he learned as a twinge of unease crept up from his core. It wasn't safe for her to be alone. How could Sam even think of leaving her behind to be ambushed by anyone who may have picked up on their trail?

"Michael, is everything alright?"

"What?" He'd been caught wrapped in his rambling thoughts, and he sensed a slight heat filling his cheeks. "Uh, yeah, I'm fine." He took a step forward and picked up the insulated travel mug and busied himself with filling it. Outside the window over the sink, he saw movement and watched the boat roll past and the Jeep with Sam in the driver's seat.

"You better hurry. He'll have that thing in the water with or without you," Elsa said with a soft snort. "He can't wait to get out on that lake."

Setting the coffee pot under the brewer, Michael sealed the mug and turned to look at her, giving Elsa the niggling feeling that he was staring. She faced him with the spatula in her hand, held in such a way that some people could take out a jugular with just a swipe. He didn't think Elsa had the know-how, but then again, she was Sam's girlfriend. Anything was possible, as evidenced by how much spy knowledge she already seemed to have. He swallowed a bit of the hot coffee.

"You know, for a spy you're pretty transparent sometimes," she said with a smirk. "I know you're worried about me being here by myself. Well, stop it. I can handle it, and Sam and I discussed this already. We're both pretty confident that we lost any tail we might have had after that accident in Georgia."

"Possibly. I don't want to take chances."

Elsa sighed, flipped the eggs in the frying pan, and dropped the spatula on the counter. She approached him with a smile and patted his cheek. "Someday you'll shake all that paranoia, and you'll look back and wonder how you could have ever done that to yourself." Her smile widened. "Hopefully Fiona will be here soon to help you forget. That's why I'm sticking around here, in case she shows up." She filled up her own cup with coffee.

"Fi has directions to this place? Did Sam give them to her?"

"No, she just knows the general area where we are," Elsa replied. "Sam couldn't risk giving Maddie the coordinates, or he would have." She returned to the frying pan and finished creating breakfast for the men. "We'll meet her at the Emerald Isles. You'll see, I know she'll be there, come hell or high water."

A door thudded and Michael glanced through the window to see Sam heading for the porch that faced the lake. His feet thumped up the steps and he stopped at the screen. "Hey, you comin' or not, Mike?"

"I'm coming, Sam." Michael took a loud slurp of his coffee.

Elsa chuckled and dropped the eggs onto the flat breads, rolled them in foil, and handed them to Michael. "Here you go. Have fun, and don't worry about me. I'll let you guys know if anything seems suspicious."

Michael still wasn't convinced that leaving Elsa by herself was a good idea, and it showed on his face. With his hands full, he stood frozen in place studying her. She was in good shape, and no doubt Sam had taught her a few things about self-defense. He feared that if a group of men came upon their hiding place, the wooded lane leading into the property and the surrounding woods were thick with trees, mostly saplings, providing cover against their approach so she would never know what hit her until it was too late.

"Just go, will you? You're really starting to piss me off, Michael," Elsa spat and gave him a shove toward the door. "I have a lot of work to do in here to get this place in shape, and I want to be ready for when Fiona arrives. So go!"

She nudged him again and he turned, reluctant but respectful of her tenacity. Sam stood in the doorway, his form in shadow on the screen. Without another word, Michael reached the door, and Sam held it open for him. He was smiling like a kid who just got his favorite toy back after losing it.

"See you later, Sweetheart! Call if you need us."

She poked her head around the kitchen door frame and replied. "I will, Sammy. Just go catch some fish, but don't bring home anything that'll be too fishy. You know what I mean?"

Shaking his head and flapping a hand at her, Sam said, "I'll see what I can do. This isn't a restaurant, you know."

Elsa laughed and spun away, disappearing into the kitchen. "Love you too, Sammy!"

A smile broke out on Sam's face and he chuckled. "So we have our orders. You ready, Mikey?"

"As soon as we get the boat in the water," Michael answered as he turned to where Sam pointed, and he gaped. "You..."

"It's still on the boat trailer, but I got it this far. How about I unhitch it and you pull the Jeep away?" Sam led the way to the dock as he spoke and took Michael's load. "I'll take care of this. Just park over by the garage and we'll put the trailer in there later."

"Okay, sounds good," Michael relinquished the wraps and his coffee mug to Sam's care and he got into the Jeep.

Sam secured the boat to the dock and gave Michael the signal to move the trailer. A short time later, Sam was at the helm with Michael sitting in the seat opposite him, munching on the breakfast Elsa made while Sam backed away from the dock, turned the boat, and headed out to a prime fishing spot on the lake.

"Do you have a site in mind," Michael yelled over the roar of the engine and the spray from the wake.

"Yep. See those boats out there?" Sam pointed toward a congregation of five smaller boats. "Those guys know where the fish are biting."

As they neared the group, Michael sized up the other vessels and compared them to the Money Pit. The cruiser was bigger than anything out there, and when Sam cut the engine and glided into a stop, the other fishermen's heads rose and all eyes were on the newcomers.

"We don't exactly blend in," Michael muttered as Sam dropped anchor. The boat rocked, and he asked, "How deep is it here?"

Sam glanced at a panel on the dash. "Twelve feet, Mike. This isn't a very deep lake, just so you know." He turned a smug smile on him. "Worried about having to swim for it?" He laughed.

"No, I just felt something."

"Nothing to worry about. That was just the anchor hitting bottom." Sam drained his travel mug, turned, and took up a position in the stern. A cooler sat on the teakwood deck, and he lifted the lid to glance at the contents. "Yeah, we've got everything we need. There's plenty to drink, and Elsa packed some lunch in there in case we're out that long. Come on, Mike, sit down, or stand, whatever you prefer. Let's get fishing!"

The entire time Sam spoke with a soft voice in deference to the others and no doubt trying not to scare the fish. Michael joined him on the deck, took up one of the rods resting in an angled bracket, and attached a lure. It had been so long since he fished, he wasn't sure if he was doing it right. Watching Sam reassured him that he was on the right track. Sam had two rods with bait and lures in the water before Michael cast out his first line. Michael watched the end of the line sail over the water and land with a soft plop several yards away.

As he set the rod into it's bracket, Michael heard a thunk followed by the unmistakable short hiss of pressure escaping and the chink of a bottle cap hitting the deck. It was a little early to be drinking, but when Sam was truly relaxed, he usually had a beer in his hand. Michael turned to see him tipping back a bottle, settled into a cushy deck chair, watching his lures bob on the surface. He glanced around at the nearby fishermen, and to his surprise nearly all of them had a grip on a beer. So maybe he was wrong, and drinking beer at nine in the morning on a beautiful calm lake was what all the fishermen did around these parts. Still, he wasn't quite ready to join them.

The morning wore on and Michael tired of fishing. He caught a few but they were small and Sam advised him to release them back into the water. Sam caught a couple of trout that were worth saving, but it seemed that once the sun was high in the sky, the good fish went into hiding. Two of the boaters bugged out, and two others closed in until the sides touched, and the occupants chatted and spent more time drinking than minding the lines. Their voices grew louder and floated over the water in a garbled low key, but he could pick out bits and pieces of the conversations. Fortunately, he and Sam were not the subject.

"I suppose that's it," Sam said with a sigh that reflected his disappointment. "Let's pack it up and take a little cruise around the lake. I wanna get a good idea of what we've got out here, and maybe we'll find another good place to fish."

"Sure. Why not." Michael shrugged and stood, and he reeled in his line as Sam stowed his rods. "Is this all there is to do around here?"

Sam laughed. "Bored already, huh?" Sam opened the cooler, pulled out another beer for himself and one for Michael. "Considering we want to keep on the down-low for awhile, yeah. When it appears that we're not being chased, we'll go into town and explore a little." He started the boat and waved to the other fishermen before putting on the throttle and leaving the area. "You know what your problem is, you're so used to doing something all the time that you can't sit still for more than five minutes without getting antsy."

"I've been on plenty of stakeouts that required me to sit around doing nothing for hours," Michael countered.

"That's not the same. I'm talking about having time to relax and just breathe. I mean, really, just get a good whiff of that breeze, Mike!" He lifted his face toward the sun and took in a deep breath to show his friend how it was done. "That's fresh air, my friend, and it smells a lot different than Miami air. Enjoy it."

Sam took the boat on a long trip around the perimeter of the lake. There were three islands in the center of it, situated in such a way that from Elsa's property it appeared that a river led from the lake off to some other place. Cottages and homes littered the shoreline with untouched wilderness dotted here and there. A wetland area marked with no trespassing signs caught Michael's eye, and the herons that sunned themselves in the grassy area reminded him of home. Sam got close enough to startle most birds, but these creatures glared as if daring the boaters to come closer and encroach on their turf to face the consequences. The boat turned away and Sam drove it toward the island nearest to Elsa's dock.

"Sam, what are you doing," Michael asked. He hung onto the windshield frame and watched the island increasing in size.

"I wanna check out this island, Mike. See if anyone's living on it, for one, and if not, scope it out as a possible location to hide if necessary." Sam smirked. "Jeez Mike, don't tell me you're getting soft already."

Michael chuckled. "No chance of that. I just hadn't given it a thought, really. I'm only concerned about getting familiar with everything around us, and well, you're right. These islands could be cover for us in a pinch."

"This island is close enough that if we were desperate and it was night, we could swim across the lake and get here," Sam added with a nod. "There's no dock, so I'm betting that this is untouched land." He slowed the boat and it slid to an abrupt stop.

"Uhoh, that's not good," Michael mumbled and looked over the side.

The sunlight drilled through the shallow water, showing the sandy bottom. Sam leaned over the starboard side and spoke. "It looks like we ran into a sand bar. No problem, we'll just push it out later." He hopped up to a narrow walkway between the cottage and the rail and balanced himself as he took quick steps to the bow. Michael watched, impressed by his sea legs. Sam stepped over the rail and leaped into the water, sending up a weak splash as his feet hit the bottom.

"Hey Mike, you staying on the boat?"

"Uh, yeah. I don't feel like getting my feet wet," Michael replied. He wasn't thrilled with the idea of picking his way along the side of the boat like Sam did. He had good balance, but the wave action in the little lagoon created by the crescent shaped island caused the boat to roll enough to throw him off.

"Ha, you're being a real party pooper today," Sam said. "I'll be back in five." Sam trudged through the thick loose sand on the small beach and entered the patch of trees that covered the island almost to the shoreline.

Michael studied the sand. It wasn't fine like the soft, white sand on Miami beaches. It was coarser and darker, more tan. He also noticed by the footprints in it that he and Sam weren't the only visitors to the island. Not surprising. He caught sight of something bright orange bobbing in a tangle of branches from a tree that long ago had cracked at the trunk and fallen into the lake. He pulled out a pair of binoculars and zeroed in on it. The child's floaty was half deflated and caught in the spaghetti-like mass of branches.

Sam's scream sent gooseflesh up Michael's arms and caused him to drop the binoculars on the driver's seat. Without a thought regarding his balance, Michael jumped onto the walkway, trotted to the tip of the bow and cleared the rail as he leaped over it. He tried to clear the water but his feet landed in the lake, soaking his jeans up to the knee. However, Michael didn't care, especially when Sam screamed again.

"I'm coming, Sam!" He tore into the woods using the path that he hadn't seen before. He spotted fresh wet prints and followed them into the center of the island. He came out of the trees and brush into a small clearing, stopped, and with his breath heaving, he turned around in a slow circle, hoping to spy his friend somewhere nearby. "Sam! Where are you?"

Leaves rustled, and Michael looked up just in time. His eyes widened and he jumped back, and Sam dropped out of the tree legs first, landing on his feet, grinning at Michael and laughing.

"Man, I thought you were going to leave me hanging around up there all afternoon," Sam teased.

"Sam. I thought you were in trouble," Michael spoke in a low tone and timbre, the way he did whenever he was not amused.

"Sorry, Mike. Hey, remember I warned you I might pull something on you, well, I couldn't resist." He grinned and spread his arms out wide. "I figured this was as good a place as any."

Michael ignored him and surveyed the area. "Is this a private campground?" He noted a couple of patches where the underbrush had been cleared away. A small fire pit ringed by stones and set up with log seats around it took up the center of the clearing.

"Kinda looks that way, doesn't it," Sam said. "I don't think it's been used recently, though. The brush is growing back in those spots." He tilted his head toward the cleared areas. "So, anyway, I say we keep an eye on this place, especially at night. If we see any light over here we know we can't use it for an escape. We'll check out those other islands as backups."

"That sounds like a good idea," Michael agreed. "We should probably get back, though. Elsa might get worried about us."

"Yeah." Sam looked at Michael, chuckled, and slapped a hand on his shoulder. "Mike, you should have seen the look on your face. I'm surprised you didn't pull out a gun."

"That was my next move," Michael said as he recalled that he'd dropped a hand back to where he kept his weapon. "When I heard something coming down from the trees, I almost had it out. Then I realized it was you." He shoved Sam away. "Nice going. I could have shot you."

"Oh, I know you wouldn't do that to me, Mikey. You couldn't even do it that time we were in that chemical refinery trying to catch Anson."

At the sound of the name, Michael stopped walking through the woods and clamped his eyes shut. He sensed Sam stopping and felt his eyes on him. Sam touched his shoulder, the light pressure showing his concern.

"Mike?"

"I'm fine," he answered through gritted teeth. He let out a tortured breath, rolled his head so he looked up and saw nothing but blue sky and a few wispy clouds, and his entire body felt as if his strings had been cut. He didn't want to admit his weaknesses, but Sam was his best friend. He would figure it out sooner or later. Michael blurted out the truth. "I... I've been having dreams about Anson."

"And he was dropping out of trees," Sam declared.

"No, but he might as well," Michael replied, running a hand through his hair as he pulled away from Sam. "I can't seem to get away from him. He pops into my dreams, and my thoughts, at the worst times."

"He's dead. You saw that yourself," Sam assured him. "The people who worked with him are gone, thanks to you, so you've got nothing to worry about. Well, other than the Agency wanting you dead for the stupidest reason ever." Sam clapped a hand on Michael's shoulder. "Let's go, Mike. By the time we get back and take care of the gear and clean those fish, it'll be time for Elsa to do her Julia Child thing and turn those trout into a feast."

Michael glanced at his watch. Sam was right, the day was moving faster than he anticipated. "Okay, we'll check out the other islands tomorrow."

Sam reached the bow and pressed his shoulder into it as he pushed and tried to loosen the boat from the sandbar. "I'm going to need some help here. This thing is stuck pretty good."

Michael found a place to set his hands and he and Sam pushed on the bow. The boat moved a little, but the sand would not give up its prize. They tried again and again, but it refused to move another inch.

"I can't believe this," Sam muttered as he dropped his hands to his sides. "We're really stuck."

At that moment, the sound of a small outboard motor putting and sputtering caught their attention. The two peered around the bow to see a long flat boat pull up on the port side, and two of the fishermen from earlier in the day smiled at them.

"Hey there. Looks like you guys got yerself stuck a bit, hey?" The older of the two observed with an amused smile. He looked like he was in his twenties, tall and lean with muscular arms and legs which he showed off with a t-shirt and shorts. An explosion of auburn curls crushed under a fishing hat that obscured the freckles splattered across his nose and cheeks.

"Yeah, we did a bit," Sam replied.

"My dad did that with his boat once," he said. "The best way to get to this island is with a flat boat or a smaller fishing boat. My friends and I do it all the time when I'm here." He slipped out of his shoes and leaped over the side of the boat to join Sam and Michael in the water. He held out his hand. "Dillon McCready. That's my brother Patrick. Our folks own the bar in town, the Emerald Isles."

"Really?" Sam smiled and shook Dillon's hand. "We were just there last night. Chuck Finley, and this is my friend..."

"Michael McBride," Michael introduced himself with a smile, the corner twitching for Sam's eyes only. The old alias held a lot of meaning for him, and for Michael to pull it out in such an abrupt manner was a sign to be wary. Sam nodded, acknowledging Michael's caution.

Dillon seemed oblivious to the silent exchange. He said, "The trick is someone has to drive the boat while you get a bunch of people to push on the bow." He turned to address his brother. "Patrick, get up on the boat and start 'er up. We'll push from here."

"Okay, Dil," Patrick responded and reached up, grabbed the rail, and despite his appearance, hauled himself over it with grace.

"When he gets the boat in gear, we'll push," Dillon instructed them. "Ready, Patty?"

"Ready, Dil."

Patrick turned the key, and suddenly the world boomed and flashed around them.