Chips, Salsa, Margaritas, Stop The Presses

Fleet Street, London, England - Offices Of The Daily Super Sheet

Percy Mulaney was wired into the morning editorial meeting. Reporters from the British Colonies and other major cities called in for briefings and green lights on past or new story pitches.  

The speed of the internet has changed how the British Press delivers the news. Tactile readership on a physical printed newspaper had decreased for many years as viewership on smartphones, tablets, and desktops increased. 

One Brit tabloid was the most visited website in the world daily. What was lost in print readership had been gained and exceeded now that the paper's site had a worldwide audience. The advertising prices were catching up to "the old day's rates."

One thing about the British press is that it reported on happenings in America better than the homegrown American news outlets. Why that is is a mystery.

The tabloid reporters have never lost their noses for a good news story.

When Percy's time to speak arrived, he introduced himself and summarized his pitch to the handful of listening editors.

"Something is going on in the Northeast United States, New Hampshire, to be exact. In the past few months, three Russian military freelancers were killed, as well as two Afghani men. All five were armed, with some working at The National Security Agency, which is like six, or MI6 in the U.K."

One editor asked, "Isn't New Hampshire where Maxwell's daughter was caught?"

"Yes, it is." Percy continued.

"The weird thing is that the Americans are underreporting the episodes of active military combatants on their shore, within their borders."

"You may recall Sophie Tanner, the young American who killed a Russian freelance operator in her home after he killed her parents?" 

"I think that was the opening half of the football match." The dead Afghanis from the N.S.A. and two more dead Russian Commandos are starting to all look related to the same story."

"The Americans are keeping quiet and underreporting the news about this, But it should be huge." "What are they hiding?"

"I'd like to try for the back of the net on this one and develop the story," Percy said.

There was silence for about ten seconds. Not a peep, and then the Editor-in-Chief said.

"Stay on top of that and figure it out."

Quincheng Prison - Beijing, China

Cheung Bao hoped his actions at the airport and the outcome had saved his life. 

Quincheng Prison was better than where a commoner would be sent to. 

Bao was getting better food, a bed, and reading materials, but Quincheng was still a prison.

The tiny slice through his cell's wall was glassed but too high up to see out of. 

It faced west, and the daylight coming through was a welcome companion.

From his seat at the computer in the airport terminal the other night, Bao had tasked the two remaining Russian Spetsnaz with going to Northern New Hampshire to kill the two intruders. 

His next move was to call two of his best operators in New York. 

They called The District Office of the F.B.I. in Chelsea, Massachusetts, and reported two crazies with Automatic weapons in Northern New Hampshire. 

Cheung Bao viewed the two Russians entering the compound from his airport seat. 

Bao could not believe his luck when an armed American military team attacked them almost upon their arrival.  

China will not have to pay them as predicted, but best of all, dead Russians defending the compound made it look like a Russian operation.

The chairman does not have much embarrassment on the world stage.

Cheung had always been loyal to China. He had suffered misfortunes due to the lack of good help.

Bao believed he should be spared, even though he was still in prison.

He missed the Manhattan Food Court, The Golden, he missed total internet access on his tablet, but most of all he missed his two kids.

He waited and longed for New York, as the daylight in the slit of a window turned gray and then dark signifying the end of another day.

Somewhere On The Coast Of New England - In A Double Wide With A Few Bullet Holes In It

It's incredible how peaceful your sleep is when you just scored an extra eight hundred thousand dollars. Eve and I had a meeting of the minds, and we decided to hide the cash for a long time and pretend it didn't exist to see if anyone came out of the woodwork to take it back. Like in that gangster movie, "No new cars, nothing flashy." 

We were lying next to each other and just looking at each other. Eve has wriggled her way into my life, and I'm counting everything she has enhanced in it. A woman's touch in the trailer has made it a home. Her jokes, gentle nature, and lack of agenda have been refreshing. We argue so little, and when we do, it's about little crap that doesn't matter. She's intelligent, sensitive, and an excellent cook. I try not to compare her to my ex-wife because there is no comparison.

The Ex would not spend two minutes in a trailer home, and she would not appreciate Tango.

I'm thinking about the night we met in a Mexican Restaurant in Portsmouth, New Hampshire. I sat at the bar watching the B's kick the snot out of The Islanders, and I glanced over and saw one of the most beautiful women I have ever seen.

She looked down into her margarita, smiling and laughing a little at one point. 

I knew I had to get to the bottom of that story.