If You Wear A Beret, You Are Fair Game For Sophie.

Office Of Ron Strier - Chief Of Police - Stratham, New Hampshire

The Chief sat at his desk, which was unusual. He was not much of a house mouse when it came to the station. His office was cozy, with a wall of photos from his BPD days, his academy picture, and an image of his Parris Island company graduation, which he refers to as the second happiest day of his life.

He liked being in the field, and his presence in the community was significant—diners in the morning, near the high school in the afternoon, Rotary Club Lunches.

Aside from being a cop's cop, Ron was a family man.

Did he miss the beat in Boston? No, even after a few beers, he would tell you in a boozy way that moving north was the best thing he ever did for himself and his family. 

The school system was rated high. When they arrived, his kids remarked that they spent more time learning than surfing discipline problems in the classroom.

This morning, Chief Strier is waiting for a conference call with the F.B.I. to start. Some puke liaison officer will hint with a certain oomph about the official storyline regarding all the deaths that emanated from Welch, Lemerise, and Tanner.

Ron counted six attendees already on the call, plus him. The F.B.I. was leading the call. The New Hampshire State Police and someone from the Governor's office were represented. Strier did not recognize the others.

The F.B.I. twink started the call with, "Let's skip introductions today and get right into it." Ron thought that was interesting. He'd never attended one of these head shows where each attendee didn't say who they worked for or their Zodiac sign.

He listened as the F.B.I. started delivering their version of events.  The liaison officer spoke. 

"We have determined with certainty what was happening at W.L.T. in Stratham, New Hampshire.  The company designed and constructed a private hunting club with lodgings north of Stratham that the three principals owned as a for-profit venture. There was an internal disagreement among the principals about how memberships would be sold and at what cost." Welch, the firm's C.E.O., had Gerry Tanner and his wife killed out of what was a deal the other two partners were reneging on. He later killed the other partner and then himself.

Despite the use of foreign "hit men," we don't think there were any International ties. This domestic quarrel got out of hand in the worst way.

We determined this after interviewing every W.L.T. employee in one week.

Ron made a quick decision to stay silent. He knew how much of a slice of "Bullshit Pie" this story was.  Ron knew that any questions asked would be softball questions, and of course, they were.

As the meeting was winding down, the liaison officer instructed members of the press on who to contact for a summary of the details.

The Cardinal And The Jack Coffee Shop - Cambridge, Massachusetts

Me, Sophie, and Eve sat at a wooden corner table in Eve's shop. 

I'm having a hard time not saying anything funny about all the eggheads who smell like musty goat cheese eating their breakfasts here at the Cardinal. It is a strange but vital neighborhood with no shortage of "Characters." 

We are having a serious discussion about Sophie's father and his role in the events that led to her parents' deaths. Eve, in particular, was straight with Sophie as she told her, "The story you are hearing on the news is a total fabrication that does not address the role your father played at WLT and every project he had worked on for his whole career." 

Do you see how Eve can run with the ball? She's wearing her baker's togs and a tie-down French thing on her head that says, "Look at me, I'm a French baker."  That, of course, is perfect for the location, filled with people who wish in their cores that they were on the other side of the Atlantic. A place like this is Disneyland to them. Eve has built something that plays to the audience.

She's good at relating to people; my god, she looks great in her element. 

I recapped some of the projects Sophie's Dad had worked on during his career, starting with the caves at Torah Borah on the Pakistan-Afghanistan border. "Your father was in the mountains working with men who were, at that time, allies of the United States."  "Much money and expertise was given to the band of tribes that were unified enough at that time to fight the Soviet Union."

"Your Dad was only a few years older than you are now," I said.

"The pension you now receive from your father's work represents a lifetime of service credited up to his death." I continued.

"Your father was working and reporting about everything he worked on to our government." "Because he was the government."

Sophie was choked up now and was trying to understand. 

"Why would the FBI lie about everything?" she asked.

Eve hugged her and said, "Allston and I saw what the F.B.I. said was a private hunting lodge." "It is anything but a hunting lodge and club."

I continued, "Let's think about what your father might want you to do now."

"I feel like he was a patient, non-impulsive man who lived with secrets for something he knew was right." "Does that fit him, Sophie?" I asked

Sophie thought momentarily, looked at me, and then said, "Yes, that's him."

"You know the truth, and I suggest you live with their lies. There must be a reason for this that we don't realize yet."

"The truth will come out. It always does." "I think your Dad would want you to be patient now."

She used a napkin to wipe her teary eyes and said, "Hey, Allston, look at that clown over by the men's room wearing a beret."

Sophie and I started laughing.

The Golden Dish And Spoon Food Court - Manhattan, New York

The elevator in the food court dinged its arrival. The door slid open, and Cheung Bao returned to his old world.

He was tired, grateful, and in debt to the Chairman, who cut through all the bullshit and made a determination that Bao was indeed an asset to China.

He is not wrong.

Bao was invigorated and ready to start working on the plan again.