Beneath the Glitch (Gamina & myself)

[JackHemingway]

Introduction Part 1:

In Washington, D.C., the halls of Congress were once envisioned as the battlegrounds for rigorous debate and thoughtful deliberation, where policies would emerge from the clash of ideas and exhaustive research. However, the reality often diverged from this ideal; much of the policymaking process was influenced by think tanks such as the Strategy Forum, nestled within the expansive Policy Nexus office complex.

This impressive three-building enclave bustled with intellectual energy, serving as a sanctuary for researchers and analysts dedicated to shaping public policy. The nonprofit organization's staff conducted meticulous research and in-depth analysis, equipping policymakers with innovative ideas that spanned a wide range of pressing topics, including the intricacies of the economy, the complexities of national defense, and the urgent challenges of environmental sustainability. Within the well-appointed walls of the Policy Nexus, every amenity essential for the diligent research fellow was at their fingertips, fostering an environment ripe for collaboration and discovery.

The office environment is spacious and designed for comfort, featuring a variety of modern workspaces that cater to different needs. There are numerous print centers equipped with the latest technology, dedicated research areas designed for collaboration, and large conference rooms adorned with floor-to-ceiling windows that offer breathtaking views of the city skyline.

Upon entering the main building, visitors are welcomed by a vibrant lobby that boasts essential services, including a post office, a convenient laundry service, and a diverse array of restaurants, each offering unique cuisines and happy to deliver directly within the complex.

For individuals in need of automobile maintenance or transportation to the airport, the professional support staff is readily available. There are workout facilities, daycare services, and even an urgent care center that functions almost like an emergency room. This service-oriented approach enables employees to focus entirely on their core responsibilities without distractions.

This week, Sofia Montauk was taking the opportunity to embrace some of the different facets of her job at Strategy Forum. She was on bereavement leave following the sudden passing of her father, David Montauk, just a week earlier. A proud veteran, a devoted postal worker, and an avid college football fan, he was cherished by many and fondly remembered during his memorial service. However, as heartfelt memories were shared, questions began to arise.

Sofia now had two file boxes filled with information from her father's long-time attorney, Thomas Starkes, who had much to share about her father. This followed the post office removing a substantial amount of material with little explanation but offering plenty of compensation.

Her father enjoyed the simple pleasures in life and was known to be frugal; however, the will revealed that he owned a beautiful seven-story brick apartment building from the post-World War II era on the outskirts of Washington, D.C., where he lived. Among the contents of one envelope—beyond bank codes and insurance policies—were keys to all the apartments on his floor, which he had allowed to remain empty, as well as one located directly below his long-time residence.

There was a generous insurance policy payout for her mother, which included ownership of the house, and money was also set aside from various sources. A brief review of the boxes revealed that he had storage units and additional properties, including a hunting cabin and a fishing boat. Even a casual observer would know that you wouldn't acquire all this just from working thirty years at the post office. This was just the beginning, as there were two file boxes to examine thoroughly.

This morning, on a cold and rainy February day in Washington D.C., Sofia was heading back to the office in a comfortable company town car. Her driver from security had been polite and patient over the last few days but not very talkative, aside from ensuring that everything ran smoothly. The Beltway Buzz, D.C.'s twenty-four-hour news station, was playing in the background when the driver asked for clarification about whether she was going to her work office or her home office.

 

[JackHemingway]

Introduction Part 2:

Little Creek, Virginia, stands out from the typical rural landscape, boasting an impressive commuter rail station that serves as a gateway to the bustling capital, along with numerous traffic signals that punctuate its serene streets. Central to the town's charm is the Capital Retreat, a sprawling hotel complex that is accompanied by a modern mall, both of which contribute a unique vibrancy to the area. The locals, fond of the additional amenities, often marvel at the oddity of such a bustling environment nestled within the quiet countryside.

Despite the town's apparent liveliness, many residents find themselves pondering the sustainability of these businesses. A mere handful of individuals who commute to Washington D.C. utilize the train, while those who own hunting cabins or summer homes in the area tend to leave them vacant for the majority of the year. The local hospital was well beyond what was necessary for a county hospital. It's a curious situation, yet the locals seem content to embrace the opportunities it presents: cleaning vacant hotel rooms, staffing stores that see few customers, or finding stable employment as caretakers for out-of-towners. In Little Creek and the surrounding countryside, the unspoken wisdom is to refrain from probing too deeply into such mysteries, lest one uncover the hidden complexities of a place where silence speaks volumes.

Nestled along the main road, you might overlook The Hunter's Nest if you're not paying attention. This hunting lodge features its name carved into a solid wood sign, painted in a deep forest green that blends harmoniously with the surrounding nature. A smaller sign with a number for reservations hangs underneath. As you drive a few hundred yards down the winding gravel lane, anticipation builds, leading you to the heart of the complex.

The main area is an inviting sight, consisting of six identical cabins, all connected by a covered concrete walkway that mirrors the cabins' architecture—each cabin with its warm wooden facade. Upon arrival, you would park in the oversized lot to your right, your gaze drawn to the modest lodge building that serves as the central hub for guests. To your left, the caretaker's house stands as a quiet guardian of the surrounding woods.

Inside, the hunting cabins are thoughtfully designed, combining modern comforts with rustic charm to create a peaceful retreat. The well-appointed interiors invite relaxation and offer an unforgettable experience for those looking to immerse themselves in nature. Although the lodge appears to be a simple getaway, it holds many secrets, all carefully protected by the caretaker, Thomas Paine.

If you asked a local about The Hunter's Nest, most suggest calling the listed phone number. However, this number connects you to an impressive AI system that informs callers when the place is fully booked or if other issues are preventing a stay. Unless you know specific key phrases, some might mention the time they were hired to make repairs, haul firewood, or clean the rooms, but there are no details beyond that. Occasionally, someone might recommend speaking with Thomas either during his trips to town or when he is tending bar at the main bar of the Capital Retreat.

Thomas Paine is a unique figure in the community, known for his rugged good looks, often sporting a beard. He is usually seen wearing jeans and a flannel shirt during the day, transitioning to more formal attire while working as a bartender in the evenings. He engages in outdoor activities such as hunting and fishing and enjoys attending local sports events.

Although Thomas often dines alone, he is open to accepting invitations from others. His interactions suggest a degree of flirtation, but his relationship status remains unclear, as it is uncertain whether he has a steady partner.

Community members describe him as a good man by local standards, noting his willingness to assist neighbors and his success in hunting. His periodic disappearances from the town have led to speculation about his past, but most residents respect his privacy and refrain from pressing for details.

Thomas is known for his generosity, regularly contributing to local causes, participating in town events, and compensating his hired help fairly. Although his choices and past remain somewhat mysterious, he is regarded positively within the community for his character and contributions.

Today, like most days, Thomas woke up at 6:00 AM and immediately began his routine. He conducted a security check, let the dogs out, and fed them. After that, he did a ruck run around the property in the rain, followed by a workout. He took care of maintenance tasks, cleaned the lodge, and then took a shower.

While having breakfast, he responded to emails and followed up with people using the satellite phone before conducting another security check. He spent some time watching the news, analyzing current events, and taking notes. Afterward, he left the secure basement area, grabbed a sports drink from the fridge, and headed upstairs.

It was around 9:00 AM when the thunderstorms began rolling in again. Thomas smiled and laughed as he watched all of his German shepherds bark and retreat under the walkway. He kept the dogs for security around the compound, but he loved them dearly, so he walked to the kitchen door and called for them to come inside from the rain. Soon, he was nearly knocked over by a stampede of fur. He laughed and told them they could resume their patrols once the rain stopped. He wasn't worried; there were enough electronics around the compound to deter any uninvited guests from getting too far.

He followed the dogs into the cozy living room, where they flopped onto their favorite spots on the floor and the couch, their tails wagging. He made his way to the mantle, where a framed photo captured a moment between him and David Montauk, a memory of camaraderie and shared experiences. Every time a colleague fell, he would craft a small shrine in their honor, keeping it on display for a week as a tribute to their life. For David, he had arranged several bottles of Black Forest Beer—David's favorite brew—alongside a takeout bag from Beltway Burgers, the fast food joint they both loved. He also included a knife he'd received from Hunt Site Magazine, an item David had accumulated over years of renewing his subscription. It was a running joke between them that David seemed to collect these knives, ensuring that nearly everyone he knew had at least one.

If he were to be truthful about David, he would describe him as a loyal comrade who navigated the complexities of their world with integrity and a sense of honor despite the murky shadows in which they operated. David consistently endeavored to uphold honesty, even when it disgusted the far less scrupulous individuals around him. With a respectful nod toward the photo of his dear friend, Thomas took a deep breath and set off to embrace the rest of his day, the memory of David weighing gently but resolutely in his heart.

 

[Gamina]

[Hey don't cancel our dinner tonight. I worry about you, why not just enjoy some time together?]

Sofia sighed when she read the text from Mark. While she always enjoyed the company of her friend, her head was just not in the right headspace to talk philosophy with the Georgetown U professor.

[Sorry hate to cancel but I will make it up to you later.]

She said thinking that with her dad's passing she had so many questions about not only his passing, but about what appeared to be the huge lies, he had gotten past her along the years.

[And don't worry, just going to be cramming some work in tonight, I am good]

She added knowing how much more emotional Mark was than herself. Off course she was sad her dad had passed, but above all she felt the foundation of her live shake due to all the questions her dad's lawyer had triggered in her.

"Miss Montauk, shall I drop you off at home or at the office?"

"We are going to the office Jeremy."

She said looking out the window, while she could have done this at home, she rationalized to herself that she was going to her office as it had way more resources to help out with going through her dad's boxes, and that it wasn't because she worried that with everything she had learned in the past week, her home didn't quite felt like the safe haven it should be. Arriving at Policy Nexus, she thanked Jeremy for offering to carry the two boxes up to her office for her. She had instinctively wanted to reject the offer, but remembering how prideful the man was about his job she simply thanked him and followed him in. Once inside her office she bolted the latch shut on her door, as she didn't want anyone walking in on her here and grabbed a Black Forest Beer from her mini fridge. She didn't really liked beer, in fact the only reason why she had in here was because she knew how dad loved the brew. He always was so happy that she could offer him one, when he had packages to deliver to her.

Placing her current journal on her desk with several of her colored highlighters, She pushed the boxes to the middle of her desk. Pulling out the knife she had gotten for her sixteenth birthday from him, she sliced the tape from the boxes open, before sliding the tool back into it's sheath, taking a deep breath before starting to dig into the content of the boxes.

 

[JackHemingway]

The two large file boxes, labeled "Number One" and "Number Two," resembled standard, heavy-duty file containers. When opened, they were filled to the brim with various materials, including paper files and ledgers. Although a postal worker had taken some items, it was clear that these boxes were kept separate for a specific reason. David Montauk was known for his meticulous record-keeping. He had compiled these boxes to provide guidance through his secret life, and it was evident from the accompanying letter from his lawyer that he intended for Sofia to be the one to navigate this information.

The first box seemed to be a treasure trove devoted to intricate financial matters, revealing a tangled web surrounding the apartment building her father owned and the house steeped in her childhood memories. Within it lay dozens of bank accounts, each under a variety of names scattered across the United States and beyond. As she thumbed through one of the ledgers and scrutinized the countless documents, it became clear that shadowy shell companies were orchestrating the management of these funds, expertly concealing them from prying eyes.

The contents painted a picture of an elaborate financial operation—unusual yet lucrative investments, mysterious consulting payments, and substantial cash transfers originating from foreign banks. She unearthed a few forged documents, an email address that felt more like a ghost than a contact, and several post office boxes that David, of course, had full access to, all of which could serve as the backbone for a modest yet formidable financial empire.

Moreover, a meticulously organized file stood out, detailing the seamless transfer of all assets to a Swiss bank account registered under the name Sofia Montauk. Another document provided blueprints for how she could effortlessly seize control over various facets of her father's assets, including the very apartment building that held memories of laughter and warmth. With just a cursory glance, it became strikingly evident that her inheritance was poised to exceed a staggering million dollars, a generous fortune wrapped in layers of mystery and intrigue.

The ledge was cluttered with an assortment of meticulously organized notes detailing addresses for various storage units, mailbox locations, banks offering secure safe deposit boxes, and even unoccupied apartments scattered across the country. Each note indicated that most of these accounts had been paid for well in advance, ensuring up-to-date access without immediate worry. Some apartments were strategically positioned in bustling metropolitan areas, conveniently close to major airports, while others were in the vicinity of military bases, suggesting a calculated approach to security and accessibility.

Notably, alongside the addresses were precise figures indicating the costs associated with each account, as well as combinations and access codes necessary to retrieve belongings. An envelope was included that contained pertinent bank card information and account management instructions. However, amidst all this logistical information, the actual contents stored within these various facilities remained a tantalizing mystery.

There was a whole file on Little Creek, Virginia, where David was a preferred customer at the Capital Retreat Hotel. It was a beautiful hotel in the middle of nowhere, but it still had a high-grade hospital, a small airfield, and an impressive train station. Despite the hotel being excellent, David Montauk owned a share of The Hunter's Nest, a local hunting lodge. He was able to use Cabin Number Six at any time he wanted.

 

[Gamina]

Sophia's frown deepend as she laid out all the information. While every dollar seemed accounted for, every purchase clean and legal at face value, their remained the question about how dad had actually earned this. What was her old man doing for a living, as he was clearly not just a postoffice worker.



As she started to pin notes, addresses and bankstatements on her mind mapping board the questions kept piling on. So much information and zero answers.



Opening the second box she found a letter, hand written by her dad.



My dearest Spear,



The curtain has fallen for me, but life, as they say, goes on. I've often thought about the little things that make up a life, the small moments and quiet thoughts we carry.



I've left a few things behind, and among them, there's a particular tune I've been humming lately. It brings to mind the place where stories are told and friends gather. Along the Shadowbrook , you'll find a familiar face, someone who always has a steady hand and a good ear. Who freely pours all our libitations.If you happen to be passing by, just remember, "All Is safe when the Owl hoots in the willow."



Remember the beauty in everyday things, my dear.



With an abiding love,

Dad.



Sophia almost put the letter down to keep rummaging in the second box, but then a question bubbled into her mind, why would Dad bring up Shadowbrook, they had no connection to the small creek two towns over where she grew up.



Then as if a key turned into her mind she noticed Dad had not used her normal nickname, but instead chosen her favorite Athenian symbolism, the spear and the owl, telling her to think past where others would stop. Shadowbrook, it had to be little creek.



Looking at the board, she had the place listed in the middle of the pack of places to visit, but after this letter she made up her mind, after sorting through the second box, she would have to get moving.

 

[JackHemingway]

The second box that Sophia opened contained items one might expect to find after the passing of a loved one. However, she hadn't anticipated it being so neatly organized and handled by the lawyer. The box was filled with keepsakes, and at first glance, everything seemed heartwarming.

The first section focused on her father's early life, with special emphasis on her mother. There were no pictures from his past, but the first photo showed her father looking handsome in his Army Ranger uniform. Bright-eyed and clean-cut, he was smiling alongside her mother and her high school friends, all dressed up for prom. Some of those friends, whom she later came to love—like her aunts and uncles—had maintained their bond over the years.

Good ol' Exton, Arkansas, as her mother often referred to it, was just a three-hour drive from Dallas, Texas. The town offered plenty of jobs in agriculture and at a few small defense plants. Had her mother not married her father, she might have still been working at the diner or one of those plants. Her grandfather was considered "wealthy" by local standards, owning a farm and a small diner while also working at the defense plant.

Her dad was passing through during military service when he met her mom. He was charming, a bit older, and had some money in his pocket, which made it easy for her mother to fall in love with him. Even after the divorce, her mother insisted that her decision wasn't due to hatred for him but rather because of love and the sense that he had kept too many things hidden.

As Sophia looked at her mother beaming in her cap and gown, proudly displaying her engagement ring at graduation, it was clear that it was a different era. While Sophia's mother had her fair share of boyfriends and affairs, she consistently described her father as the man she loved, despite their relationship being challenging.

There were so many photos—wedding snapshots that captured joyful moments, images of her mother enjoying various vacations, and a treasure trove of Sophia's baby pictures that spoke of innocence and love. Among these cherished memories were poignant images from Vietnam, showing her father alongside soldiers and other civilians, often with a smile that hinted at the complexities of his experiences.

Then her fingers brushed against a folded Viet Cong flag and, unexpectedly, a Chinese flag. It was a vivid reminder of a past filled with untold stories. The weight of the box was also due to her father's 1911 .45-caliber handgun. Though he had taken it to the range, it was a relic from a time long gone, smuggled home and not legally carried, yet she understood that he kept it close as a form of comfort. It still bore the fresh remnants of care, having been greased just weeks before being tucked away.

The thoughtfulness in the way he preserved these memories; many of the photos had places, dates, and names inscribed on the back, offering a glimpse into a life filled with personal history and connections. Each item told a story, echoing the love and struggles of life. Indeed, every major event in Sophia's life had been captured, and there was a collection of art projects and papers written for school.

The final manila envelope held a trove of intriguing secrets: a set of keys and alarm codes corresponding to the apartments on her father's floor. Inside, meticulously crafted biographies detailed the lives of the fictitious tenants purportedly residing in those spaces. Yet it was the handwritten notes beside each apartment number. They offered only cryptic clues, providing scant descriptions such as 'supply room,' 'workshop,' and 'file room.' However, it was the annotation following the apartment directly beneath his, labeled 'escape route.'

 

[Gamina]

Sophia smiled as she flipped through the pictures, as she remembered the fond memories of her family. Seeing the one of her dad in Vietnam she pauzed. She had never really actively watched those, but now she remembered how her dad had told her that he had lied about his age to get in.

She had always wondered how desperate the military must be in times of war to accept 16 year olds as it seem every major war had their stories of young highschoolers joining up and fighting for their countries, but seeing the pictures, her dad looked very dapper and mature, to the point he could have passed for a 25-year-old. Funnily enough seeing the pictures of him in Irak and it looked like he had barely aged. Not for the first time, she really hoped she had inherited his genetics.

When she pulled out his 1911 she smiled again as she slipped the weapon in her handbag, making a mental note to herself that she needed to buy bigger handbags if she was going to replace the Walther PPK she had gotten from dad a few years ago after telling him she had been accosted several times during her evening runs.

Reading through the last manila folder did not elicit a smile, but the frown between her eyebrows deepend as the content shook the core foundations she had in the idea that she had knew her father well. Clearly he was doing something off the books and she wasn't quite sure if she was ready to learn about it.

Taking the keys from the building she paused. She needed answers and it seemed the building would hold them, but her dad also had always warned her to not skip ahead during research. You had to lay the foundation before building up a hypothesis. Then remembering the letter it was clear her dad wanted her to start in Little Creek.

Sighing she tidy up her office before grabbing the go-bag she had in her closet. Grabbing the keys to one of the company cars, she signed it out and started on the 3 hour drive to Little Creek

 

[JackHemingway]

Little Creek, Virginia, was a town filled with mysteries, concealing riddles that offered just one version of the possible truth. Chosen by the wealthy and powerful in the region for its quiet location, it served as a place for secret rituals and meetings. The town expanded to accommodate the rich elite who visited discreetly. If you sought a long, prosperous, and uneventful life, you didn't ask questions; you did what you were called upon to do.

In the heart of the county, where the sprawling landscape lay largely untouched, stood the solitary town of Little Creek, flanked by a vast expanse of open land. Nestled amidst this serenity were an airport, a power plant, and a rail station serving as the lifelines that connected this secluded community to the outside world. Remarkably, the police force, though it might appear modest at a glance, was anything but ordinary. It boasted a significantly larger presence than one would expect, featuring warehouses brimming with meticulously organized supplies, secretive underground bunker complexes stocked with resources, and an intricate network of connections to local phone, cable, and utility providers that ensured the town remained secure and well-equipped, ready to respond at a moment's notice.

If you were an outsider passing through, you'd quickly find that the locals are generally friendly and willing to assist you on your way. Sure, you could stay for lunch or even get a tire changed, but spending the night? That's not advisable. If your goal was to uncover where the black helicopters landed or to investigate those Cold War bunkers, that's an entirely different story. You'd receive a polite but firm recommendation to move along. But if you dared to assert your rights or threatened to expose anything? That'd only escalate the situation, and you should be prepared for the consequences.

In addition to the wealthy elite who came seeking a discreet location for orgies, disturbing rituals, or to escape the hustle of Washington, operatives from various government agencies were also frequent visitors. While they may not always be who they claimed to be, these individuals represented different factions of the underground forces vying for control in the shadows. As long as they had the proper authorization for their visit, they were welcomed by various secretive groups. The Central Intelligence Agency was just the tip of the iceberg in this complex web of operations.

Operational aid at a local level can include a variety of tasks, from picking people up at the airport to more extreme actions, such as disposing of a body. Most often, the former is the case, while the operatives themselves usually handle the latter.

Dante Rourke was born in the vibrant city of Buenos Aires. As a child, he loved puzzles and was a mathematics prodigy. He was recruited from Georgetown University to work as an intelligence analyst specializing in codes. However, not content to remain behind a computer screen, he eventually received a field assignment from an agency-related party, which went largely smoothly.

Rourke found himself in a precarious position, tasked with entertaining an ethically dubious member of Congress and his entourage of well-connected allies. His goal was twofold: to persuade them to see things his way and to secretly gather enough compromising evidence to use against them if necessary. To facilitate this delicate operation, Rourke had arranged for a sleek private plane to touch down discreetly at the airport. From there, a small convoy of imposing blacked-out SUVs, accompanied by a police escort, would transport them to the Capital Retreat.

The hotel complex sprawled across the landscape, comprising several buildings that exuded an air of exclusivity. At the heart of the main structure lay a grand conference center. Yet, intriguingly, in the main building, every other floor remained eerily vacant, a façade that belied the intricate web of hidden surveillance embedded within the walls. It was a place where secrets could be watched and recorded, a perfect setting for Rourke's elaborate game of power and manipulation.

He meticulously researched the preferences and aversions of the member of Congress attending the gathering, ensuring that their favorite bourbon was prominently featured, stocked in oversized crystal glasses that added a touch of elegance to the occasion. The menu was thoughtfully curated to include a selection of premium appetizers and succulent steaks. However, he knew all too well that they might not make it to the dinner table after the initial rounds of indulgence.

Among the proudly married congress members, he recognized a peculiar fascination with Filipino women, a demographic to which his wife did not belong. To cater to this unspoken desire, he delved into agency files. He unearthed a well-rounded group of eight Filipino women, each with diverse professional backgrounds that included flight attendants, nurses, and even policewomen. These women were well-versed in the art of socializing and could seamlessly transition into roles as college students or glamorous models.

They were also trained in the arts of seduction and knew how to entice and please a man into revealing his secrets and forsaking his familial ties. Plastic surgery eliminated any signs of imperfections, and breast augmentation was a standard procedure. Free from scars and tattoos, they were created to serve as the perfect honey traps, able to blend in seamlessly in any environment.

Once they arrived in town, he whisked them away to a discreet location where a team of expert stylists promptly transformed their appearances, refining their hair and makeup to fit the phony personas they were about to adopt. He crafted detailed biographies for each of them that were not only compelling but also tailored to the group's interests. It was a carefully orchestrated setup designed to intrigue and captivate, a game of charisma played at the highest levels of politics.

Everything was coming together for Rourke, who was about to become a full-status agent, except for one annoying issue. Finding the women was easy; setting up a surveillance team was a breeze, and securing a private room went off without a hitch. But there was one major headache: Operative Thomas Paine didn't want to come in early to bartend on a rainy day! Paine was stubborn when it came down to it, and he was practically untouchable. He got his hands dirty, which made him a favorite among the higher-ups, especially in the field. So, just hours before the plane was due to land, Rourke had to drive out and beg the backwoods guy to mix drinks for him. It was such a pain, but they needed him for the operation, and who knows why.

 

[Gamina]

"Ya Soso! The campain is life and they are loving you!"

Sophia chuckled as her personal trainers excitement was coming through real strong.

"I am sure they do Zayd."

The brunette knew that her trainer was not only happy that his 'get your summer body' campaign was going well. But she also knew that he hoped that she would be swayed by the online validation to do it again. Last fall she had signed up for one of his hardcore body transformation cycles, and mr Prism had offered her a significant discounted rate if she agreed to sign an agreement that he could take pictures and video of their training, and that at the end of the program she would go through a photoshoot to promote the results. The program was a 16 week program and she figured that the agreement would keep her honest. She knew that Zayd had picked her, because at the gym she was known as the hoody girl, as she always trained in some baggy sweatpants and hoodies, a stark contrast with the girls that practically came in naked. It hadn't been because she was ashamed of her body, after all, her whole youth she had played a lot of sports and she had earned herself a scholarship to Yale through gymnastics and cross country running, but when she had signed up to train with a devout Muslim trainer, she had chosen to dress herself modestly to avoid cultural issues.

"Come on Soso, don't play coy, let me use you as my canvas again! I will make it worth your while!"

Sophia laughed as she replied in the negative. Truth is, while she had enjoyed the program at first, finding that the clean eating and caloric restriction had shaven time off her half marathon and boosted mental clarity. By the time they were half way through the program, she was exhausted and in constant pain, and while she could have dealt with the foul mood she was in, the loss of strength, speed, endurance and worse cognitive clarity she experienced in the last month was simply not acceptable to her. Regardless of how great the pics had turned out, or how pivotal this journey had been in her relationship with Zayd.

"Habibi stop it. I told you I am good at around 17 to 20%. Not going to torture myself again just for pictures."

As her gps alerted her that she was getting close to her destination, she excused herself from the conversation with Zayd and promised him that she would make it up to him in a couple of days. Driving through Little Creek she was again reminded at how well off they were here, in terms of infrastructure and services. For a second she was going to drive straight to Dad's cabin at the hunters lodge, but (and she blamed her convo with Zayd for this) knowing her Dad he would only have MRE's at the cabin for emergencies and she did not feel like eating those at the moment. Scrolling through the GPS locations for dinners and restaurants, her eyes fell on the Capital Retreat Hotel, who boasted a fine dining experience. and she punched it in.

 

[JackHemingway]

Dante Rourke spent a frustrating afternoon trying to convince operative Thomas Paine to reschedule his tasks. It should have been a straightforward conversation, but in the murky world where they operated, the paramilitary hierarchy often crumbled into chaos. Thomas had completed enough questionable missions for those above Rourke to leave him feeling untouchable. Rourke couldn't simply issue an order; it wasn't that type of operation. So, when he finally arrived at the hunting lodge, he was greeted not only by the rigorous security check but also by the intimidating presence of the collection of jackals or the animals who passed for Paine's relentless guard dogs.

After that ordeal, he needed to turn on the charm and play along with the redneck's game, giving him what he wanted. This included more funding to maintain the property, extra vacation days upgraded airline miles, and, as always, money—in this case, in the form of gold bullion. It wasn't in his budget, but with his connections and a few favors, he managed to get the Paine to the hotel. He was making Old Fashioneds with top-quality bourbon right on time. Although he refused to shave his beard, it was neatly trimmed, and the long white sleeves under his black vest covered any tattoos or scars. The hotel staff was familiar with the routine and also acquainted with Paine, so when the congressman arrived, everything was ready.

The occasion was initially framed as a weekend hunting trip, sparking brief discussions about the planned activities in the great outdoors. However, as the evening progressed, it became increasingly apparent that the real purpose of the journey lay elsewhere. Conversations veered away from the typical banter about camping gear, game availability, or the intricacies of the hunt. Instead, the atmosphere buzzed with unspoken intentions; elaborate cover photos were slated to be taken, staff discreetly positioned themselves to provide alibis and personal bars were meticulously stocked with various libations.

As the night unfolded, eight guests gathered around a polished table, merging with a group of seven. The air thickened with camaraderie and the clinking of glasses, the drinks flowed freely, and the collective merriment grew more uninhibited. The women in the group, exuding warmth and approachability, found themselves becoming increasingly flirtatious as the bourbon worked its magic. Excuses were made in hushed tones as pairs began to slip away to their rooms.

At last, two beautiful Asian women, their laughter ringing like music, accompanied the congressman to his room, his demeanor relaxed by the spirits he had consumed. With the bar scene winding down, Paine meticulously cleaned the countertop, a ritual he performed with ease. After ensuring the regular bartender was ready to resume, he slipped away, setting his sights on a well-deserved dinner at The Grill, where new flavors awaited to tantalize his palate.

The Capital Retreat boasts an array of luxurious establishments on its sprawling campus, complemented by a selection of exquisite restaurants just a short walk or drive away. Among them, The Grill stood out, functioning as a high-end diner that catered to the desires of late-night diners and early risers alike. Craving sumptuous French cuisine or decadent seafood fit for royalty at 3:00 A.M.? The Grill was ready to satisfy those midnight cravings with its extensive menu.

Its entrance, almost unassuming, blended seamlessly into the lobby's décor, easily overlooked by those inquiring with the desk clerk about dining options. Yet, for the hotel's regular visitors and dedicated staff, it was nothing short of a culinary sanctuary. The promise of freshly prepared, mouthwatering dishes—available on demand, around the clock—was a privilege that no one could resist, and employees reveled in the added delight of complimentary meals.

Among the devoted patrons was Thomas Paine, a steadfast employee known for his unconventional hours. He had transformed dining at The Grill into a cherished ritual, fondly celebrating his dog's birthdays with a perfectly cooked steak. While he savored his skills in the kitchen, he understood the joy of indulging in the exceptional offerings of The Grill, making the most of his fortunate access to such a delightful dining experience.

He had already called ahead, and when he arrived at the warm atmosphere of the Grill, his T-bone steak with garlic mashed potatoes, buttered carrots, and a salad was just being placed on the table he usually occupied, which had a view of the door. Thomas nodded politely to Daphne, the waitress, and engaged in small talk as he sat down and ordered whatever was on tap. She knew him well enough that no further instructions were necessary. He briefly acknowledged the other staff members relaxing in the oak-paneled bar, and they greeted him with waves and smiles as he began to eat. Since none of the attractive Asian women had come downstairs yet, it seemed that the operation was still in progress. So he decided to eat, drink, and head home soon enough.

 

[Gamina]

Arriving at the hotel, Sophia's suspicions about this little town were quickly confirmed as she spotted a Congress person clearly and blatantly being honeypotted by some very good looking women. She could only hope the trap was domestic. Through out her years at the think tank she had often had to deal with curveballs that came from the voting irregularities from major player, and her boss Mister Trask had often chuckled that between party alliances, backroom deels for votes on other bills, lobbyist money, and domestic or abroad bribery, it was a mirical at all people still had a shred of faith in the government.



The young man at the desk was quick to point het towards the Grill, assuring her that they would have something to her taste. So without waisting anymore time made for the dinner, feverishly hoping this whole side quest was not just a waist of time.



Entering the dinner she was surprised that it still had quite a few patrons for being so late. A cute brunette, introduced herself as Daphne and seated her close to the window, offering her a menu. Scanning the menu quickly she ordered a Tuna steak seared rare with a ponzu vinaigrette accompanied by a mango and avocado salsa. For a second she was going to order a water as she still had to drive to the hunter's lodge cabin after this but since this place dis not look like it was going to be closing any time soon she ordered a sake martini to round out the meal.



Then taking her journal out of her purse she jotted some lines in it while mentally mapping the information she had read earlier that night, trying to make sense of the mess her father had left behind for her.

 

[JackHemingway]

David Montauk was many things to many people, but he kept most of his life a secret from those who were supposed to be closest to him. Although he was not an officially recognized case officer in any intelligence agency, that was essentially his role. Like many others, he was a participant in one of the numerous shadowy organizations that operated behind the scenes. Thanks to automation, computerization, and overstaffing, he had ample time to engage in activities such as recruiting, managing, and training human intelligence agents.

However, David was more of a blue-collar, factory floor man in a world that expected the suave charm of a James Bond. He gathered information, prepared teams, and quietly handled the unsavory tasks that nobody liked to discuss. What Thomas always admired about him was that David claimed he did it all to protect his family.

In this world, a common euphemism for a hitman or assassin was "mechanic." Thomas Paine was regarded as a skilled mechanic, while David managed the shop. That was the narrative for a time, and those in higher positions were always vague about who you were truly dealing with, insisting that nothing happened and that it was just business as usual. The longer you spent with the company, the more often this occurred, and you had to act as if colleagues had never been there. However, no matter how meticulous they were or what you were expected to forget, remnants of the past always lingered.

Tonight, it felt like what remained was in the form of a daughter, which was certainly more significant than an old photo or a personal gift. David often enjoyed talking about his daughter, Sophia, whenever he had the chance. Although Thomas had never met her and hadn't seen a recent photo, there was a picture of Sophia in a cap and gown on the fridge at David's place. However, it was clear her hairstyle and length had changed; after all, it had been a long time. Still, people don't change completely, and one thing that brought back memories for him was the journal she had been scribbling in.

David had a knack for buying things in bulk and could never resist a good deal. Many times, Thomas had reaped the benefits of a free cheeseburger or an article of clothing that David had gotten at no cost. One particular order that stood out was a whole crate of leather-bound journals adorned with intricate designs, which David purchased at a loading dock one day. Thomas helped load the crate into the back of the pickup truck. All the journals were identical, and Sophia hadn't made much progress through the stack yet.

To test his assumption, Thomas called Daphne over and instructed her to put a sizzling brownie on his tab to be brought to this strange woman. Daphne made a note of it, and he told her what he thought her favorite ice cream was and to do it when she finished her meal. Daphne nodded and headed back to the kitchen, and Thomas continued with his meal. He'd find out what she was doing here and take things from there. With any luck, he'd have her heading home in no time.

 

[Gamina]

"What were you up to dad..."

Sophia muttered to herself as she was mindmapping the information she had gained from her dad's belongings. While it was very clear he was not just a postal office worker, the patterns within the locations, the structures of the money flow, also deviated from the regular patterns used by the typical alphabet agencies.

As she got her food she was too focussed on the journal infront of her to really enjoy the quality of the food as her fine liners scribbled over the pages, drawing connections between symbols and test as the woman started to really wonder if she shouldn't have stayed in DC and visited the appartment complex of her father first.

"Excuse me Miss."

Daphne said as she slid a plate infront of Sophia. Surprised and confused the analyst raised a questioning eyebrow to the what looked like a slice of fresh out of the oven browny with a generous portion of Pistachio ice-cream.

"From the gentleman over there."

Daphne added seeing the confused look on the woman, with a little half smile as if to say the man was not a creep. Sophia was not really in the mood for company but gave the man a polite smile as she used her fork to make a small bite.

Enjoying the pairing she glanced up again at the man to express her approval for his choice, but as she took in the man's ruggishly handsome feature, she couldn't help but to feel he came across as familiar. Then after a moment it dawned on her, the man looked very much like the man in the Vietnam pictures of her dad. Which offcourse was a weird coincidence, precisely the type of thing she came here for.

Closing her journal and tucking it away, she grabbed her plate and made her way to the man's table, then setting the plate down and taking a seat she asked.

"Thus might sound crazy, but are you by any chance related to sergeant Thomas Paine? Who served during the Vietnam war?"

 

[JackHemingway]

It was a poignant moment when Sophia was no longer the little girl he remembered. Thomas felt a brief pain in his chest, realizing he couldn't tell her about the strange and secretive world of her father's life. The "service" he attended with friends and associates gathered around, raising glasses in a bittersweet toast in a dimly lit military hangar tucked away outside Washington. They shared a bottle of whiskey, pouring it into paper cups, each sip accompanied by brief, heartfelt tributes to their fallen comrade. Those moments felt insufficient—less than what he truly deserved, yet more than what many others might ever experience.

The truth about her father's life, filled with whispers of anti-aging technology, cloning, and the intricate art of selective breeding, remained a secret too heavy to share. Thomas Paine, who had served in the shadows, lived a life deeply intertwined with duty and deception. It was a legacy shrouded in silence, and after all, he was at least the third Thomas Paine David Montauk knew. The best way to handle things was to wrap things up and send her on her way.

So Thomas just shook his head no but with a smile and replied, "No, I'm not that one, but it's relative. You must be David's daughter. He loved talking about you when he came to hunt. He was a regular in the season. Anyway, you must be tying up his estate. He invested in the cabin long-term and even said he might retire there, so he paid a significant amount into the lease. With his passing, we were all sorry to hear about that. It goes back to you, and I imagine you want to cash out and head home. We can take care of the furnishings and hunting gear, and we'll send you a check."

Thomas paused for a moment. She deserved a little better than that, even if he had to keep control of the situation. Sophia wasn't meant to be a recruit, but having someone out there to check on a loved one if anything seemed odd was always helpful. So he gestured to the empty chair across from him and said, "Sit down, enjoy your dessert, relax, and take off your shoes. Did you check in already?"

 

[Gamina]

Sophia's eyebrow shot op at the man's response, as he told her he was not that one. But the miss speak of him saying it's relative instead of he was a relative like she asked got notted. When the man told her how much his dad talked about her she couldn't help but smile before adding.

"Strange he never talked about you."

She said thinking off how she could ask politely how he and his family member could have had a generational friendship with her dad without them ever meeting. But as the man talked about liquidating her father's Lodge she stopped him.

"No need, I am not selling yet." She said taking a seat and eating some of the brownie while it was still hot. Then her eyebrow shot up again as the man said something crazy again.

"Why would I take my shoe's off in a restaurant?"

She asked genuinely before adding.

"And no didn't check in as I was planning to stay at dad's cabin. But due tell me, when did you see dad last?"