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passengers on Cooke’s will be upset at the interruption of ferry service, so try to keep a low profile if possible.”
    “I’ll certainly keep you informed once I evaluate the situation on land, but I can’t overstate the necessity of blocking any craft that try to approach or depart the island. Block them by any means necessary if you must. And make sure that neither you nor any of your officers have any contact at all with anyone from the island.”
    “We’ll guide them right back into their slips if need be, Colonel,” the police chief said.
    Tag shook both of their hands and then carried his belongings over to the boat. Once onboard, he stood under the cabin next to the uniformed Portland cop manning the wheel. In a matter of seconds it accelerated through the choppy water towards Cooke’s Island. The sun beat down on him as they sped over the considerable swells, spraying his face with cool, salty water. The patrol boat rose and fell as the bow hit the water of the incoming tide, the engine roaring in his ears, the wind blowing past his determined face. He texted his two other children to see if they were okay and then stashed his phone away.
    “Where do you want me to drop you off, Colonel?”
    “Proceed to White’s Passage. You know where that is?”
    “Colonel, I’ve been cruising this harbor since I was knee high. My dad lobstered these waters for many years. Who do you think was his underpaid stern man?” the cop said, laughing.
    “Then I’m in good hands. Once you make your way through the passage, I’d like you to head over to the eastern end of the island. There’s a small cove located on the southern shore of Krane’s Beach. I don’t want any of the residents to see me coming ashore in uniform, or they’ll suffer a stroke.” He laughed nervously.
    “If you don’t mind, Colonel, can you tell me what’s going on over there or is that classified information?”
    “I can’t divulge that information, Officer, except to say that I hope it’s not what I think it is.”
    “Damn! From the sounds of it, I hope you’re right.”
    The boat passed through the channel and headed toward the end of the island. The swells started to get bigger the closer they got to the open waters of the Atlantic. From afar, he could see big swells pounding the outer banks, the smaller islands in the bay and the tiny lighthouse situated front and center. Officer Small steered the vessel into the protected cove fronted by a strip of rocky beach. The stern of the boat skidded along the sand and came to an abrupt halt. Tag thanked the police officer and shook his hand before jumping out onto the beach and making his way up to the heart of the island.
    He looked back and watched the patrol boat churn through the channel and head back to Portland. Then he turned around and trudged up the hill, humping the backpack as well as the bags in his hands. His summer home was located only half a mile away and high up on the hill overlooking the southern coast. The east side of the house had an unobstructed view of the ocean, and the western side a view of the Portland skyline. The sun was beginning to set. Once he reached Atlantic View Road, the main thoroughfare encircling the island, he stared down at the water and saw a few families strolling along the beach. The kids knelt down to collect crabs and seashells in buckets before the tide rolled in. Out in the bay, a lobster boat chugged past Cooke’s Island.
    He pulled his cap down low over his forehead and started up Atlantic View Road. A few couples headed down the road, but he didn’t want anybody to see him. Having summered on the island for the last fifteen years, he knew a good many of the island residents and had become friendly with some of the nearby families, picnicking and having them over to the house for the occasional barbecue. Most of the people he knew had no idea he held such an important position in the military, only that he was an army physician.
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