They climbed into the jeep and Oaks drove toward the dock.
“I owned a jeep,” Rich said.
Oaks chuckled. “You own a military vehicle, you can field strip an AK-47, you’ve been a target of assassins, kidnapped by Marxists, and you shoot the hell out of boats and planes; am I missing something?”
“That’s only half of it,” Rich said. “What got me in this mess was the thing back in Maine.”
“Maine,” Oaks said.
“Yeah,” Rich said, “counterfeit plates and a weapons arsenal.”
“Holy crap,” Oaks said.
“I’m not sworn to any oath of secrecy,” Rich said, “but my boss tried to recruit me for some sort of left-wing subversive intrusion. He owns a newspaper, probably a couple more by now, and he’s in cahoots with a powerful federal judge.”
“So how did you get here?” Oaks said.
“White and Smithson,” Rich began, “the owner of the newspaper and a police investigator, they think I have counterfeit plates and most importantly, what I know about them. They had me chained in the basement of the newspaper. I escaped and took possession of my sailboat and began to do what I wanted to do, sail around the world; it’s been a dream of mine. I came in contact with the CIA. They are watching White and his group. The CIA thought it would be a good idea for me to continue to sail around the world. They figured White and his brood would spend time, money, and worry; trying to hunt me down. So far, so good.”
“You on their payroll?” Oaks said.
“They gave me $5,000 a year ago,” Rich said. “I haven’t touched a penny of it.”
Oaks brought the jeep to a stop at the dock.
“See ya tomorrow?” Oaks said.
“Seven,” Rich said. “I’ll have breakfast ready.”
“Think I should bring a rifle and bayonet,” Oaks joked.
“No,” Rich said. “I got a forty-five, another, AK-47, and grenades.”
“You aren’t kidding, are you?” Oaks said.
“You don’t kid about grenades,” Rich said. “See ya tomorrow.”