Home of Blake MacKay
16:30 (21:30 GMT)
Blake owned farm just Southwest of Centreville, VA, about thirty kilometers outside of Washington D.C. There were broad wide pastures across the driveway in front of the house, but beyond that, the estate was mostly surrounded by a thick forest of hardwoods. It gave him the feeling of seclusion but was never more than a ten minute chopper ride away from any of the airports. Having the farm allowed for easy landing of helicopters, and they came more frequently than not.
It was only fifty acres but it had a small barn, a decent sized home with two stories, a half basement and a wraparound porch. There were smaller sheds used for storage that dotted the property as well. There was also a quaint grounds keeper’s cottage about a sixty meters west of the main house.
Blake found an older, but active retired couple to live in the grounds keeper’s cottage for free, as long as they kept the property up and looked after it while he was gone. They kept the grounds kempt, got the mail and he’d even set-up a separate bank account that they could use to keep the utility bills paid while he was gone.
Stanley and Irene Fischer were the perfect solution to look after his property while he was away. The Fischer’s thought Blake was a consultant for the DOD on security protocols for foreign military bases, hence the helicopters landing on the property and the long trips away from home.
The Company car drove down the half kilometer gravel driveway to the main house. Stanley and Irene were outside on the small porch of their cottage in their chairs relaxing. Blake and the Fischer’s waved to each other as Blake entered his home.
He went up his front steps, disarmed his security system and went inside. Dropping his bag in the foyer, he looked around and saw that everything was in order. It’s good to be home. Even if only for a few hours.
After sifting through the mail, he shuffled into his bedroom and undressed for a quick shower. As he went into the bathroom, his private cell phone rang. His best childhood friend, Joe Silver, was calling. Blake smiled as he answered, “Hey Buddy, what’s up?”
“Hey man, whatchadoin?”
“Just getting ready to hop in the shower and get something to eat. How about you?”
“I’m in town for a convention and I’ve got some free time tonight. Feel like some dinner and a couple of cocktails? I’ve got a new bourbon we’re releasing that I want you to taste.”
“I didn’t know you were going to be in town.”
“Well maybe if you checked your voice mails or answered your damn phone, you’d know.”
He really needed the rest, but it had been two years since he’d seen Joe.
“Uh—yeah, sure. That sounds great. Listen, can I meet you about halfway? I know a great little pub we can meet at in Fairfax.”
“No problem. Just text me the address and I’ll meet you there in about forty-five minutes. Cool?”
Blake mashed the end button and put his phone on the night stand. It would be great to see how Joe was doing, along with his distillery that he opened a couple of years ago.
Joe was the one and only person alive that Blake trusted one hundred percent. On Blake’s imaginary trust scale of zero to one hundred, the only other person that even came close was his boss, Mike, and Blake reckoned that he only measured about a ninety-four. The other people he worked with measured somewhere between eighty and ninety. Director Slocum was about a forty.
It wasn’t that he didn’t trust her with his secrets; it’s just that he didn’t trust her to do what he considered was the right thing when it came to national security and dealing with enemy combatants. They had opposite political views and they didn’t always see eye-to-eye on how he handled some of his missions. His other colleagues in the field he trusted one hundred percent with his life, especially on top secret clandestine missions. Trusting someone to tell him when his life was in danger didn’t mean he would open up to them with his private intimate feelings and thoughts.
After his shower, he got dressed and meandered into the kitchen. He reached into the fridge and grabbed a 5 Hour Energy drink and tossed it back. He’d need it if this night was going to be like most nights when he met up with his friend. He grabbed his Glock and keys off the counter and hurried out the door.