Chapter 46
It had been weeks since Sally was killed. Drake had done everything to get Shawn to pick up the camera again, but it was no use. While they still in the clearing, Major Craig had called in medical support but more for Shawn, Drake and Wairua than for himself. He had ripped off a piece of Drake’s Deep Surf shirt and stopped the blood pumping from his wound. It then took some powerful arms to wrestle Shawn away from Sally, or what remained of her. The grenade had gone off only two feet where she had fallen unconscious. The only good they could take away from it all was she didn’t feel any pain when it went off.
Drake and Wairua stayed with Shawn at his home to take care for him and help him mourn. Every day, Wairua fed him fresh, natural fruits (that she stole) to help him gain weight and regain his strength. He had lost more than twenty pounds in the three weeks since the day they ran into the Reserve and the jihadist Murad had taken Sally’s life.
Craig promised them all he would be in contact and went ahead and placed a 24/7 security detail around Shawn’s property, both to keep Drake hidden and to protect them. Craig asked the Marine Corps if he could keep the two young snipers for a month or more and use them to uncover and eliminate the last of the three terrorists’ cells. Craig then had any electronic, print traces or records in the government files of Shawn, Drake or Wairua deleted or destroyed. He hadn’t changed their identities, only voided any traceable breadcrumbs. After many heated meetings with Photon Corporation, he was successful in persuading them into converting the Sentient Project into just one more cloning and 3D research group; then, he had DIA agents confiscated all materials dealing with or speaking of the Sentient.
Craig had Jarrard’s remains flown home to his parents under military honor guard, and, against his own best judgment, had his higher-ups request Professor Jarrard be awarded the Presidential Medal of Freedom posthumously. For his parent’s sake and no other.
Craig warned all the three-letter agencies, “Hands off Ben, leave him alone.” He and Ben had become friends, and Craig dropped in every so often, but before he did, he messaged Ben to turn of whatever animal was standing watch this week. He and Ben certainly did not share any past life experiences, but they did have in common their incredible thirst for knowledge and desire to search for one’s inner self.
After about two months as he had planned Craig called Drake and asked if Shawn was up for a visit, he had something to discuss with him, a bit of a surprise.
“Sure, he’s okay with you dropping in” Drake answered.
“Good, listen, better yet, here’s my personal number. Have him call me when he’s back from surfing, I want to invite him personally.”
Later the same day, Shawn returned the call, “Shawn, I understand all you’ve been through,” Craig said “Drake says you’re having a rough go of it. Well, I’m still concerned about your and Drake’s safety and I’ve decided to address it. This isn’t something mandatory either, after I inform you it will be your decision completely. Can you meet me down at your pier in Hanalei Bay at the end of the week? Don’t worry, this isn’t cloak and dagger, bring Drake and Wairua, and that dog if you want.” Shawn agreed, and they hung up.
Friday came and Drake drove with Wairua by his side with Shawn in the back of his own 4WD. As they came in from the west around the point, and the Bay came into view, Shawn looked out to check the surf and he suddenly became enraged. Just outside the lineup, in the center of Hanalei Bay, was a beautiful yacht he recognized. “That fucking bastard Daniel is here, that’s his yacht. I’m gonna throttle him, what he put Sally through. I don’t want to meet Craig any more, let’s turn around.”
Drake and Wairua told Shawn they felt the same way too, “But Shawn, in spite of how we feel about how Sally was treated by this guy Daniel, you’d be dissing Craig. Weigh it out, Brah. What’s more important, not going because you hate someone, or showing up because you respect someone? In the end, it’s all perspective.”
As they pulled into the parking lot near the pier, Craig, always being Craig, was standing next to just one more badass, tricked-out, spy SUV, with two suited gents beside him. A handful of the locals hadn’t seen nor heard from Shawn for weeks, and thus far, no one had learned that Drake lived again. Craig had ordered Drake when they spoke on the phone, “If you show up, wear a disguise,” so Drake had on a blond wig he bought at a beauty salon, dark glasses and a heavy cotton sweatshirt to hide his physic. After all, for the women, his body was as recognizable as his face. A number of surfers noticed Shawn, and came towards him to greet him, but Craig’s bodyguards told them they might want to paddle out for one more wave.
“Mr. Pérez thanks for coming to see me. My thoughts are always with you. By the way, you look like shit.” Craig joked. “Take a walk with me to the end of the pier. We need to talk about some things now that some time gone by.” Craig walked towards the pier.
Shawn could see now Salvation was lined up straight off the pier. “No way, appreciate you wanting to talk about whatever you want to discuss, but I don’t want to look at that bastard’s boat.
Craig, anticipating Shawn’s would be upset when he saw the yacht, said to him, “It’s not his any longer. It’s now property of the U.S. Government. We arrested Reverend Daniel Gibbons under multiple provisions of the Patriot Act, and the Internal Revenue Service was invited to the party. With one in-depth look at the accounting methods his Ministry used, well, let’s just say, he’s not going to IRS Heaven, that’s for damn sure! We took over his accounts, his real estate and, yes, Salvation. Reverend Daniel will be preaching at Leavenworth for many Sunday mornings to come. But this isn’t what we are here to speak about specifically.”
“I’m glad the loser is where he belongs. Thanks for filling me in. You still won’t mind if I face the other way do you?” Shawn asked Craig.
“Sure, suit yourself, but you might change your mind in a minute or two,” Craig continued.
Wairua, Shawn, Drake, with Frisco beside him, listened to Craig closely. “No one knows Drake is alive, and you probably would all agree it needs to stay that way for a while, at least for a year or more. Honestly, it could be as long as two years until we have a chance to leak some of the science around the world and prepare civilization for what you have discovered.” He paused to let it sink in. “We also feel that, although I have closed up every possible leak and every potential threat from whoever may want to harm you, or in your case Drake, dissect you and see what makes you tick, you are all still in danger. I’m sure you understand this and if you stay here much longer, or live in any beachfront city with surfers, eventually someone is going to see Drake, and after that, there won’t much we can do. So to ensure your safety and to allow you to maintain the lifestyles you’ve become accustomed to, we’ve made arrangements for the three, I mean, four of you.” Craig said as he glanced at Frisco. “Shawn, again, this is not an order but something we want you all to consider as a fairly reasonable trade-off for your safety.” At his last words, Craig asked his agent beside him to hand him the VHF, and he called out to the yacht, “Captain, can you bring her around?”
Shawn looked back out towards the yacht. The Captain turned the bow thrusters on and brought her around until the stern finally faced the pier. “It sure makes our fifteen-foot waves look tiny,” Drake said as they watched the yacht point its bow out to sea. Then, across the transom, in emblazoned in bold, clear lettering was the yachts new christened name, Born Again and directly beneath, Discover Deep Surf.
“Shawn, Drake and, yes, you Wairua, you are all considered assets of our nation and with this comes our obligation to protect you for science and future generations. Oh, and it helps we took Daniel’s yacht under a statute the DEA uses to confiscate drug dealer’s trucks and boats for their own use.”
“Holy shit!” Shawn said to Drake. “Holy Shit” Drake said to Wairua. And Wairua, with only Frisco beside her, gave him a rough scruff on the neck; “Looks good Frisco”.
“As you can see, Deep Surf also has a
future vested interest in at least Shawn’s future, they still don’t know about you Drake. Shawn, we told them we would fund the vessel for you if Deep Surf would agree to supply a Captain and crew, all former agents of mine by the way. Deep Surf and Uncle Sam will also contribute together to keep you in fuel, beer, and fish for up to two years. As a matter of fact Wairua, the Captain already has the coordinates for your home island. We figured that might be a great place to start your vacation! And if you wish, we will also put aboard a teacher who can help educate the peoples of your native island as I know it is important to you”
They couldn’t believe what they were hearing. “And Shawn, there’s a state of the art photo-editing studio built onboard. Deep Surf hopes you will find photography again, and when you do, they wish you will send them a few. There are some neighboring islands they might send a few of their current pro surfers to when you’re ready. Oh, and Shawn, one more thing. You have the only existing prototypes of the Sentient on board – so don’t break it.”
Shawn turned and spoke to Craig, “Why are you doing this? Sally hated you, she said you had no conscience and killed hundreds of people over the years. Hell, even I know about a few of them. How can you be both a killer and compassionate?”
“Shawn Pérez, first of all, I am sorry for all you and Drake have lost in your lives. Your vision and your gift have saved thousands of innocent people, but you have lost the one you love, and the world has lost Drake, kind of. I know I didn’t give you much choice, but nonetheless, you behaved as a patriot. Secondly, let’s just say you confirmed my suspicions and the teachings I’ve engaged in all these years, Karma is real, not just new-wave huru-guru. You showed me we live in a perceived reality, or a better way to put it, a virtual reality and if we can promote kindness and eliminate hate, our world will become a much better place.” Craig reached out and took Shawn’s hand in both of his, “You my friend see the light, goodness and beauty within a person. Promise me you’ll continue to do what you do and do my damn’dest to get rid of the scumbags.”
As they shook hands, Drake came up from behind and put his arm over Craig’s shoulder,
“Whatever you say Mr. Craig, when do we board? My shit’s always packed!”
Epilogue
Three months later, the South Pacific with nearby, ripping waves…
Shawn sat down on the sand and placed a brand new professional camera and lens on the sun bleached log next to him. Suddenly, a small hand laid a fresh coconut on the same log and thwack; a machete came down chopping of the very tip.
“Shawn would you like some coconut juice?” said Wairua. “You know it is most refreshing and good for you too!”
“Watch the camera, for goodness sakes Wairua, Deep Surf only sends me two a year. Hell, this one’s brand new!” Shawn chided her, “And no, but I would like a brew, or two, if they’re handy.”
Wairua smiled and walked over to the little skiff they came over to the beach on. Born Again rested out beyond the reef, and he could see the crew clowning around having Star Wars battles with the half-dozen drones Ben had shipped to them.
“Wairua, you may be a liar and a fruit thief, but you’re quick with the beers, and that’s all that matters!” Shawn joked. He eyed Drake lining up for a tidy afternoon barrel, put down the beer, and picked up the camera.
“Drake, he loves the wave’ it’s why I love him. He lives through the natural energy of the sea,” Wairua commented.
“Well, you wouldn’t have felt that way about him if you knew him well last year. He was a snake for women. I even called him ‘sneaky snake’ when he couldn’t hear me.”
“No, Shawn, it was always there. He just had to grow into his spirit,” Wairua smiled.
“Whatever. He’s yours now. Do with him what you may!” and he came around to take some playful pictures as she watched Drake execute a perfect reentry into the wave.
“No, Shawn Pérez, you promised, no pictures of me. You can mess up everyone else’s soul, but leave mine to me! You know, it would not be good either to take the spirit of the life inside me.”
“Oh, yeah, good point, the baby. God, I hope it looks like you and not Drake when he or she is born!” Shawn remarked and then saw Drake pull of another first. “Holy shit! Did you see that? Man, I missed it. Wairua, go find some more coconuts for your baby!”
After Drake snagged two more great waves Shawn couldn’t take it anymore, so he put down the camera and leapt into the ocean; charging out to share the moment with his bro. They surfed till the sun went down, together as only best friends can while back on Born Again, deep on a lower deck and secure in a locked compartment, was a stack of brand new external hard drives. Resting almost peacefully above all the others was the largest drive and written boldly across the front, in black magic marker read the warning, “SALLY: DO NOT DELETE”.
THE END
Author’s Note
The concept for JPEG came one afternoon in the spring of 2008 while vacationing in Kauai. As I stood waist deep on a reef in the clear blue Pacific photographing my son surfing wave after beautiful wave at a famous break in Hanalei Bay called Waikoko. As Keegan ripped across the breaking swells I captured fantastic colors in every direction as vibrant lights sparkled across the walls of water. This was sports photographer heaven!
In the pauses between his waves I had time to appreciate our world around us and how lucky we are to be alive. My life was wonderful and I was blessed to have such a great family. I thought back to the thousands of photos I had taken of them in the years past and it then occurred to me, in all that time, I had never been able to delete a photograph of my wife, my sons or any of my other family members. Even the fuzziest images of those I love were saved and I wondered why I did this.
Well, I came to the conclusion it was because of something I read some time ago about peoples or religions who felt if you photographed someone, you took a piece of their soul. The idea must have stuck in my head and without giving it too much thought, when I downloaded my images at the end of each day, I was always sure to preserve photos of my loved ones in case it was ever proven to be true.
Over time we have learned what may have been considered science fiction long ago has now become reality today. Through research and learning we have discovered countless instances where religion, science and philosophy interconnect, where myth becomes fact and the beliefs of ancient peoples, while based on intuitive awareness; they were simply unable to understand the why.
One day we will discover there is truth to what the ancients believed; when we take a photograph of someone, we take a piece of their soul.
So for those I love, I’m keeping you safe. After all, how could I ever hurt you? —PMCL
About the Authors
Patrick McLaughlin is a writer and professional photographer with an extensive background in the defense technology industry. He lives in Virginia Beach, Virginia with his family. JPEG is his first novel and samples of his photography can be seen at www.patrickmclaughlinphotography.com.
Greg Ó Braonáin is an award-winning screenwriter who for over seventeen years has written drama for Irish language television. Greg with Patrick’s assistance completed JPEG the screenplay in October of 2013. He resides in Galway, Ireland with his wife and seven children.
They are childhood friends.
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