Excerpts from the manuscript:

From Chapter One:   

    The runabout turned into Bath Creek, a short but historic tributary of the great Pamlico River in Eastern North Carolina. The creek passes west of Bath, which happens to be the oldest town in North Carolina. The whole area reeks of colonial history and atmosphere. The pirate, Blackbeard frequented the area during the time that he was a scourge of the seas.

It was twelve twenty-seven a.m. as the small boat moved unhurriedly past the private docks and darkened houses. Nobody else was on this part of Bath Creek at this late hour.

Four men were in the boat. Three of the men, Moses (Moe) Harper, Jake Randall, and the pilot, Al Whitehead, were wearing typical waterman’s clothes: loose trousers, un-tucked t-shirts and rubber bottom shoes. Although it was early June and quite warm, the fourth man wore a light colored suit, a Panama hat, a tie and shiny black dress shoes. He looked oddly out of place. 

    A full moon lit the peaceful scene. The boat turned right into Back Creek. Closer inspection of the other men would reveal that they were armed. Moe and Jake had Remington pump shotguns. Al carried a UZI submachine gun slung over his shoulder. The men handled the weapons with an easy familiarity. On the floor of the boat lay two olive drab tubes about forty inches long.

The ordinarily dressed men spoke occasionally but the man in the suit sat up straight with his hat pulled down to keep the wind from blowing it off. He had a cane and his hands rested on the curved handle. He stared ahead without engaging in conversation or looking at the passing scene.

    His yacht, the Philippine Poseidon, was moored a few miles away at the River Forest Manor in Belhaven. His associate, Sunee Mayseng was in the lounge enthralling the other yachtsmen with her ravishing good looks and clever repartee so as to keep them from noticing that he had left the group. About one a.m. she would remark that he had gone to bed early and retire to their private suite.

    Sunee was of Eurasian stock with dark hair and eyes and a perfect olive complexion. She was tall, statuesque and possessed a heartbreakingly lovely face. She was fluent in seventeen languages, including Russian and Chinese. She was fully aware of the effect she had on men.

    In a literal sense, the man in the boat owned her. When Sunee was fifteen he had found her in a brothel in Bangkok. He recognized that maturity would bring out her great beauty. He took her away, sent her to an exclusive prep school in Manila and then to Cambridge University in England.

    She had a talent for languages and academic study and made the best of the opportunities he provided. After graduation he sent her to an exclusive finishing school in Switzerland where she was taught how to comport herself in high society, speak engagingly and appreciate the fine arts. Now she was an intelligent, polished and accomplished courtesan.

    The runabout passed under the bridge where Highway 92 crossed over Back Creek.

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From Chapter Seven: Quigley kept looking out the window for a Cadillac driven by a high society woman in heels. He missed the dark green Jeep Rubicon with the top down and a big Chesapeake Bay retriever sitting on the passenger seat. He also missed the redhead in jeans wearing a T-shirt and a light green jacket. She said something to the dog before she got out of the Jeep and came inside the restaurant. Since we were the only ones in the place who didn’t work there, she approached us.

“I’m looking for Mr. Spade,” she said.

I rose to greet her. “You must be Clarissa.”

“Pleased to meet you,” she said in a businesslike tone of voice. “Call me Clare.”

I introduced the others. “Clare, this is Jack Kane, Dave Quigley and Shidee Callaway.”

“I know about the incident last week. I’ll take you to a place where we can talk.”

When she turned to go, her jacket opened enough to reveal a parkerized 1911 45 automatic pistol in a shoulder holster; it was cocked and locked.

This was not a woman to trifle with. She was attractive in a rugged kind of way. She might have been beautiful in a ball gown and jewelry but it was evident that we were not going to a dance.

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From Chapter Sixteen: Just before six a.m. Clare woke me. “He’s gone!” she said.

“Where?” I asked as I sailed out of bed and pulled on my trousers.

“I don’t know. I was in the bathroom and when I came out he was not in his room.”

“We’d better find him. You start by checking that trail back of the house. I’ll wake Quigley. We’ll take the Cherokee and look for him on the roads.”

Clare grabbed her gun and called Gator. They left at a run towards the wooded path behind the house.

Quigley and I dressed quickly and had just opened the door to the Cherokee when we heard two shots in the direction Clare had taken.

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From Chapter Eighteen: Jack and I went to meet Jerry Breedlove at The Full Moon Café on Monday. A man with a beard, wearing a Cabelas cap, a flannel shirt, camouflage pants and hunting boots approached our table.

“I’m looking for Mr. Spade.”

I rose to shake his hand. “I’m Spade. You must be Jerry Breedlove.”

“Yep, that’s me.” He replied in a Southwest Virginia drawl.

I introduced Jack.

“You must be from the mountains?” Jack asked.

“Bluefield, Virginia,” he replied.

We got to know Jerry over lunch. 

He was forty-five years old, which made him the oldest one among us. He had a relaxed, casual attitude about most things but you got the feeling that he was not a man to double-cross. Jack asked how long he had been with the DEA.

“Too long. They’ve gotten a bit off track. Too many chiefs and not enough Indians.”

“Where’ve you worked?” I asked.

“The Appalachian area mostly. I’ve been to Canada twice and New Zealand once.”

“So this is your first low country assignment?” Jack asked.

“Yep. And it sure is flat around here.”

“You would have liked working on our South Africa case.”

“Never been to Africa.”

“What do you shoot?” I asked.

“Deer, groundhogs. I get a grouse once in a while,” he laughed, “and an occasional bad guy.”

Jack cracked up. I rephrased the question. “I meant what firearms are you proficient with?”

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 From Chapter Twenty-Four: We spent the next two nights practicing. Quigley and I entered the site undetected both nights. Clare and Quigley were in the lookout with night vision equipment on Sunday night. I was in position with the box at midnight. We communicated by text messages. An hour before daylight they reported baggage being placed on the dock beside the plane. When the dock was clear, they sent a message that it was time for me to move out.

I slipped in and had just placed the box on top of a suitcase when a voice about made me jump out of my skin.

“Mr. Spade, what are you doing?”

It was Sunee!