Read Old Growth & Ivy (The Spook Hills Trilogy Book 1) for Free Online Page B

how would he spend the next 10, 20, or even 30
years?
    When his career was over, Steve
worried that he would be empty, bereft and alone, with nothing to occupy his
days, challenge his mind or get his adrenaline running.  Without the
Bureau, how would his life have value?  For the last few years, he had
been searching for more inside himself, trying to find additional facets of his
personality and character.  To enrich his mind, search for his heart and
reach out towards his soul, he had read the classics and more contemporary
literature.  He pondered the precepts of Confucius and Buddha. Still he
wondered, h ow does a man find his heart, much less
his soul? 
    His mind drifted back to
his boyhood when each day seemed to glisten with promise.  He saw himself
with his Dad early on a Saturday morning fishing in a nearby stream.  They
never caught much other than some sunnies.  Being out there together was
the important part.  His Dad, tall with thinning blonde hair, had been a
serious man, somewhat strict, yet always supportive.  When he spoke, he
carried a lilting Norwegian accent.  A small-town lawyer by trade, his Dad
inspired confidence and dedicated himself to making things right for
people.  One day Steve wanted to learn more about the Norwegian life
philosophy that formed his parents' thinking and contributed to his own. 
    Steve thought about a
quote he had seen recently, " In the end these things matter most: How well did you
love?  How fully did you live?  How deeply did you learn to let go?"   He knew he lacked good responses to
those questions of the heart.  Inside he had a great emptiness. 
While he believed he could find the depth to answer each question within
himself, his life thus far had been emotionally shallow and not overly
broad.  He assumed he was capable of deep feelings, even though he had
never fully tested that belief, making him keenly aware of his
narrowness as a man.  What happened to that boy out catching sunnies with
his Dad, back when life seemed as dazzling as the sun sparkling on the currents
in the stream?  He closed his eyes and pictured the stream as it wove
through farmland and into the woods where dappled light played on the rippling
water and the time-rounded stones.  He could still remember the fresh morning
breeze ruffling his shirt and the scent of newly mown timothy in the nearby
field with its sweet, yet pungent tang.
    Reluctantly he picked up his laptop,
postponing once again dwelling on his solitary personal life, thus deferring a
confrontation with his inner barrenness.  For now his focus had to be on
the child trafficking case.   He preferred to pursue one active case
at a time and go after it with single-minded intensity, even though he was
skilled at juggling multiple cases.  For the next few weeks this critical
humanitarian case would be their primary focus.  He had started some
agents in the D. C. office examining email traffic in and out of Sofia, as well
as pursuing more information about the company identified in the bank
transfers.  They would work through the weekend, updating him on progress
a couple of times each day.
    Although Moll was looking exhausted
from his night at the office, he was busily checking emails.  He glanced
up from his laptop.  "Say Chief, how did you get into
technology?  I mean it’s like unusual for someone your age."
    Steve raised an eyebrow at him. 
Things were so different for Moll's generation and all the ones after him,
where technology wove itself into their day-to-day activities.  "My
Dad enrolled me in a special summer program sponsored by IBM.  When I was
eight years old, I developed my first computer program, which was some
rudimentary batch job written in an early version of FORTRAN."
    "That would be like the early ‘ 60s , right?  Man, how did you do that?  Did they
even have dumb terminals back then?”
    Steve laughed and shook his
head.  "No, Stanford, I had to make my own punched cards on