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Hawaii GM Jim Walker was staring out his office window that faces toward home plate at ‘Iolani Palace contemplating his team. The Tropics were in 1st place in the Pacific Division but that didn’t help his mood as he constantly fears something bad will happen.
“Cassie! What’s going on with our undercover teams?”, Walker asked his AI assistant.
“They’ve been in position and waiting. Some have married and had kids while others are waiting for orders that haven’t come.”, she replied.
Walker said, “Thanks.”
“I think it’s time to tip the scales in our favor.”, he thought to himself.
“Cassie, where the hell is Steve Harris?”
“He’s still in hiding somewhere in Nashville after his escape from the facility.”, she answered.
“Activate the undercover teams. Have them locate and bring me Steve Harris.”
“Done.”
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Cubes began beeping with messages in cities across the Brewster Baseball Association. The messages were the same- Apply sunblock. Return Harris to HQ.
In Nashville, Keith Miller read his message and smiled. I know where he is. He thinks he’s sly, but he trained me, I’m better.
Miller called an acquaintance he’s done work with in the field.
“Mary, I got a job for you.”
“Who is it?”, she asked.
“I’ll send you an image and where to find him. Do your thing?” Keith said.
Mary received an image and smiled. This is gonna be an easy $40,000 she thought.
Steve Harris was sitting at the bar of the Honky Tonk Central in Nashville drinking cheap beer and listening to a shitty blues band. He was thinking about things had turned out the last few years after escaping his cell in that Honolulu hell hole.
I had it all he thought. A job, money and travel the world with a baseball team. Then Anton Vogts happened. That conniving fucker made Walker think I was trying to get him fired. I don’t blame what Walker did but I wasn’t gonna stay in the shit hole.
He was distracted by perfume and a slight breeze. A brunette with blue eyes, about 5’8 and 135 pounds of muscle sat at the end of the bar. She ordered an Old Fashioned and opened a tab. She listened to the band for a bit and was joined by some friends.
Harris watched from his perch at the bar when a blonde in the group walked up to him with a drink.
“This is from our bachelorette party. We saw you drinking alone and you didn’t bother us like the rest of the dick swingers.”, she said.
“Thanks. I’m Tim.”, he said.
“I’m Lilith.”, she responded.
They toasted and they both tossed the drink down. She went back to the party and Harris went back to his beer. He drank a couple more and began to feel a bit queasy. The music began to fade and the sounds at the bar went quiet. He was alone on he stool staring off into space. The only other people in the bar were the women in the party.
The brunette strutted over, pulled her cube photo up and compared. “Tim, my ass.”, she said.
Harris was sweating profusely but couldn’t move or speak. She whispered into his ear.
“I’m Mary. You’re ready for your trip.”
Harris blacked out when the women took him out the back of the bar and threw him into a waiting van.
Keith Miller was waiting at the Nashville International Airport at the private tarmac. The engines on the Hawaii Tropics team seajet were running as the pilots were finishing pre-flight. The van with the cargo passed through a security gate and stopped in front of the plane. A man was rolled out on a stretcher with an IV in his arm and loaded onto the aircraft.
Miller watched as the jet taxied and went on its high-speed run down the runway. Miller spoke into his cube, “Package enroute.”
