Three Knocks

"What? They are making another drop?" Beth asked.

"Yes, we heard it is by the Naval Prison in Portsmouth," the voice whispered.

"Okay, I am heading in that direction so I will check it out," Beth said.

Suddenly there he was.

While you can't see it now, a tall and slender man dressed in a Naval Officer's uniform, dropped an envelope alongside of one of the grave markers.  Slowly, he turned his head side to side before he tilted it upward.  A few sniffles later, the man was back in his shiny black Mercedes.  

The envelope he dropped was quickly fingered by what appeared to be an Appalachian Trail through hiker. The hiker was clearly out breath, and even at a distance she could see his month old beard, that he had on a tattered Arc'teryx jacket, heavy backpack with a Neoprene water bottle dangling from it.  He had on an Army colored tee shirt, short hiking pants, socks and boots. It appeared that he had not seen a bath or shower in some time. 

Beth was glad to be standing near the water's edge and not so close to his view shed.  The flowers she laid beside a flagged tombstone was also her camouflage although her great-great grandmother was buried in this cemetery.  But just as she laid them down, he disappeared down the other side of the hill.

Beth continued to photograph areas sites as her palms became sweaty.

She was remembering when this naval prison closed in the late sixties, and imagined the cloak and dagger schemes a few of the inmates would later tell.  Government prisoners aren't always in the slammer because of crimes.  Sometimes...well, they just have too much information.  Reminiscent of Mandela, they are better kept alive for their deaths would have erupted a revolution for sure.

As Beth was packing up the Canon Power Shot SX 30 IS, the man in the Brooks Brothers ensemble returned.  This time he was in a vehicle with "The Property of the United States Navy" logo written on the doors.  He climbed the slight hill appearing to look down as though he was waiting for someone but didn't want to appear obvious.  The Appalachian Trail through hiker moved in.  Soon he was in place within a few feet of the naval officer.

It was apparent words were exchanged but never any eye contact.  The Naval Officer reached for a small white envelope from inside his pocket.  The through hiker took it placing it inside his pocketed tee shirt.  Beth dropped to her knees, afraid she may be revealed as she reached for Kleenex from her Baggelini purse to quell her runny nose.

"Beth!" the voice cried out.

She turned her head quickly as three more Naval Officers ran toward her in a soon-to-be-flanking position.  She didn't know either of them. Though she had been writing stories like this before.  But they had never been a problem.  At least not to her knowledge. Her heart was beating out of her chest as she ran toward the Mustang. Beth couldn't get inside the car fast enough.

Doing an S-curve toward the bridge,  she saw two more naval vehicles were positioned at and behind the bridge.  She couldn't go back because she didn't know what was behind her.  She did know her car could spin around them.  Perhaps Beth watched too much of the Dukes of Hazard while raising her children.  This wasn't the General Lee but it could sure get her to safety.  A friend's garage was just a mile down the road and Beth already had her on speakerphone.

"Beth, the door is open, just get in!" she said.

Bo closed the door behind me.  She was breathing so hard she could not speak. She was glad there was no light inside the garage to reveal she had just pulled in.

Bo had these people on a high tech GPS and alerted the team to follow them. Just then her cell phone rang and it was Barbara, her high school friend.  She had taken early retirement from the FBI and was ready to join us.  She had seen enough to last a lifetime.  Now she wanted to do something good.

"I'm on my way.  I'll be in about midnight.  Three taps on your door and you will know it is me."