Like medication eases a headache, time had lessened his animosity. Five years, Texas and the joys of fatherhood had provided an inner peace. Life took on new meaning and memories now revolved around family. Family and the freedom of forty acres. While never forgotten, the past was just that, passed. And a way beyond change.

Calin Roberts had been relegated to history. Both personally and bureaucratically. The name removed forever from the computerised files of Homeland Security. Details of the actions he'd undertaken would however, live forever in the memory of Tyler. Some things were too deeply ingrained to ever allow any deletion. In the eyes and arguments of Departmental authorities, Calin Roberts now never existed. And the files relating to the missions he'd undertaken contained new deletions.

To Tyler, Calin had never died. He'd been betrayed, but never beaten. Tyler maintained the same rigorous fitness routine Calin had pursued throughout his time at Homeland. Every day he ran eight miles. He'd located a bush track through a vast wooded wasteland. It provided every difficulty an endurance runner sought. There were steep hills and even steeper valleys, fallen trees to clamber over, treacherous potholes that tested ankles and knees, creeks and streams to cross and of course, one of the few things in life that truly terrified Tyler, snakes.


One day, Tyler hoped to introduce his son to this hour-long torture test. That though, was many years off; his son had just celebrated his second birthday. He loved the feeling of freedom the run engendered. True peace, the sound of the birdlife and wind rustling through the trees. And most of all the absence of the intrusion of man and his noise making machines.

Today that peace was invaded. The sound of silence had yielded to the irritation of an annoying automobile engine. There was no road within miles. This could mean only one thing, trouble.

Tyler ran to investigate. At first glance, the vehicle appeared unoccupied. The rear passenger-side window was smashed but sealed at least temporarily with plastic shopping bags.
As Tyler drew nearer to the car he saw the hose. He pulled it free from the exhaust. The driver was slumped, either dead or unconscious on the front seat. Tyler tried the doors. They were locked.

On the ground, he saw every thief's favourite key, a large rock. The driver's window caved in. The man was breathing, just. Tyler lifted him out of the car and laid him on the ground. He applied mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. The man's breathing improved and then his eyes opened. Tyler recognised despair and anger.

"Don't talk," Tyler ordered. "Just lay back and get some clean oxygen into your lungs." The man was crying. He wanted to die.

Tyler headed back to the car. On the back seat, he saw a note wrapped around a brick. He retrieved it and read. 'We know about the bank account.' He carried it back to where the man lay.
Tyler's senses swept into overdrive. In an instant Calin Roberts was back. Memories and responses, he'd not employed in more than five years assumed control. He knew what needed to be done. And he knew how to do it. What though would Jess say? Could he keep it from her? No.


Calin, and that's how Tyler now saw himself, understood the need to establish facts. Moreover, he understood the need to assert authority. And it had to be done immediately. The man's traumatised state would make the task easier. Calin experienced no guilt. The sooner information was discovered the sooner it could be acted upon.

The message wrapped around the brick required clarification. And the man on the ground was the only source available. Would he be prepared to co-operate? Or had the ability to fight been crushed? The attempted suicide suggested defeat had been conceded.

"Care to talk about this?" challenged Calin on showing the brick in his hand.

"No."

"Wrong answer, cowboy." Calin's glare matched his tone. Anger was obvious. "In my line of work, you don't win by running away."

"But you just might stay alive."

"Slumped in that car there you didn't appear all that interested in staying alive."

"What I want doesn't matter anymore, I'm a dead man. The decision's been taken out of my hands."

"Who have you pissed off?" Intuition told Calin the man wasn't a thief. He was however truly terrified, to the point of attempting to end his own life.

"I don't know."

"Tell me about the bank account. Who did the money belong to?"

"Me." Calin sensed the stranger was holding back. Calin needed to know the truth.

"Where is it?" snapped Calin.

"I don't know." His statement made no sense. He had to know.

"Can't the bank can tell you where your money is?"

"The bank says it complied with legally delivered instructions to transfer the funds offshore yesterday." The stranger was now sitting up. His back leaning against the car door.

"Who authorised the transfer?"

"They claimed it was the account holder, Mr. Carl Lindsay. That was my original name. But it's a lie, I've only corresponded with them once and that was a few months ago. I needed to pay the private investigator." The mention of an investigator intrigued Calin. Who was he and what was he investigating? There was so much more Calin needed to discover.

"Before we discuss the investigator, tell me about the money. Where did it come from? Was it acquired legally? Or was it the result of criminal activity?"

"I believe it was a trust fund established in the early 1960's. Around the time of my birth. Possibly by my biological parents."

"How much are we talking about?"

"Around eleven million." Calin studied the man. He wore a business suit. A shade over six feet, his dark hair was well groomed. His appearance suggested successful yet his demeanour
screamed failure. Calin watched the man who'd tried to suicide climb to his feet. He was crying. Talking followed. The confession continued for several minutes.

"Did the bank provide you with a name to contact?"

"No, but I did speak to a young woman named Paige Bryson. She advised me to arrange an appointment where the matter will be sorted out."


"Let's get going, soldier. We'll continue the conversation while we walk." He offered his hand to the yet-to-be identified stranger. "Maybe it's time I introduced myself. My name is Calin." He chose to provide his long forgotten military name. This could well become a job for Calin Roberts.

"Jackson Moffitt. Where you're taking me?"

"Someplace where we can talk."

"What if I don't want to talk?"

"Your choice, friend. But maybe you should consider the alternatives before you make any decision."

"I've got no alternatives. Every time I run, they find me." Calin hadn't seen fear like this in years. Since his time in the Military. Only it hadn't been the military, it was Homeland Security.

"Have you ever thought you just might be running the wrong way?"

"And I suppose you know the right way?"

"No, but based on my own experiences and the little I know about your case, I'm not so sure they want you dead, at least not yet."

"That's easy for you to say. You're not the one being chased."

"Jackson, pursuit is a circumstance I know well. And I've been on both ends of the chase. I've been a soldier operating in places I wasn't welcome. And I've been hunted down as a traitor in my own country. In both cases, the pursuers were issued with an order to kill. And elimination is the first rule of pursuit. Never waste an opportunity.

"In the past couple of days, your pursuers have missed two simple execution opportunities, last night when they dropped the letter in your mail box and today when they put the brick through your window. They haven't executed. That tells me, their intent is to terrify, not kill. Why?

"It begs the question. What are they after? And for me, the answer's simple. And it's not the eleven million."

"What then is it?"

"I keep going back to the five lines on the note." Jackson had produced the note and its envelope when slumped against the car. "And the very first line. You were adopted. I don't understand that comment. To me it's irrelevant. Hundreds of thousands of people were adopted. But the scribbled note on the envelope adds to the intrigue. DNA will prove who U R." Calin halted and faced his companion. "I believe they need you alive. And I'll bet it's something to do with your biological parentage."

"Could you tell me where we're going?"

"I live a couple of miles from here. Guess you could say Texas saved my sanity. It delivered a peace I didn't know existed." That peace had a name, Jess.

Calin reassessed his companion. The stranger was frightened, perhaps terrified better explained it and he appeared to be telling the truth. Either that or he was a gifted liar.

"What did you do?" asked Jackson.

"There are some things I can't discuss. And my past is one of them. Let's just say I was based in Washington and while there I got to work with some very important and powerful people. And maybe some of these friends might prove helpful now."

"What if I don't want their help?"

"Then I guess I'll have to arrange to hand you over to someone else."

"Why can't you just leave me alone?"

"Tell me the truth and I just might do that," Calin replied. He needed time to think. But he couldn't think if Jackson kept talking. How can I shut him up? Running, of course. First though, he'd establish the rules. "But if you lie or refuse to cooperate, you'll confront your worst ever nightmare." Calin was now running. "Keep up with me.