The September Manifest

Preface -

          The wooden beams creaked and groaned as if in pain under the stress of the weight. The two men strode across the wooden dock.
A mist from the night was slowly melted away in the morning hours, as the sun burned it off.
Walking out to the end, they walked into the morning shadows of a boathouse and waited.
          Nearby, a crane glided silently to a stump on the water's edge.
Off and on, the noise of nature would crescendo and decrease once more, as if swaying and rising with the water lapping on the edge of the bank.
It wasn't long before a shallow bottomed boat appeared around a bend in the river, idled its engine, and was artfully guided to a rest against the beams.
          The two men moved silently emerged from the shadows and descended into the boat without a word. The silence of the morning was never broken, even as the pilot of the craft pushed off and let the boat rejoin the current of the river once more, pulling them off, and soon out of sight of the dock.

Chapter 1 -

         Money was slid across the table, and a briefcase was slid under the table from one side to the other. A scarf wrapped man reached down, picked the briefcase up, rose and quickly disappeared into the faceless crowd.Michael sat thinking for a minute, and then quickly got up and, leaving his bill with tip on the table, walked up the street his car. He slid down into his little Opal GT at slipped out into the morning traffic.
         His drive to work was on autopilot. His mind wandered over the events of the past week and of the morning, and if his plan would work.
Turning off of the busy road he drove out of town to the outskirts of town where the industrial parks were. Perfectly manicured lawns rolls up to barbwire fences, which guarded massive warehouses for all sorts of industries. Semis pulled trailers up long drives to intercoms and motorized gates.
         Michael pulled up to the gate at PolyTec, pulled out his wallet and pressed it against the RFID card reader. The hum of the motor wirred to life and the gate moved out of his way. He pulled into a parking space by one of the dock doors. Climbing up out of his car, he reached back and grabbed his sidebag, and walked up to the building. Dock workers were just arriving for their shift, while others were already hard at work inside loading and unloading trucks.
         He pulled himself up into a dock door by the tail of trailer some workers were unloading. "Did the driver sign the PO reciept, Kieth?" he asked a passing worker.
         "Yes, Mr. Folkerth," he replied. Shouting thanks over his shoulder, Michael walked over to his office door and unlocked it. The plaque on the door read, Michael "Semi-God" Folkerth. It had been a colleagues attempt at humor, being that the main export of PolyTec were nano semiconductors for electronics, also being researched for faster processors in super computers.
         Michael sat down at his desk, sat his side bag under the desk, reached down and pulled out his laptop. He hooked it up to the docking station and waited for it to boot. Next he entered his password to a security program a buddy from college made for him. Next he logged on to the WiFi and entered yet another key to ensure it was all encrypted.
         He logged on to the SatTrac website and prayed that the tracking chip he placed in the lining of the briefcase was working. He knew it should, seeing as it was mostly made of components his company designed.
         He entered the sixteen digit identifier for the chip and waited for it to pull up. As the map on the screen resolved, his face grew puzzled. He checked a paper pad on his desk, and checked it against what he had typed in. It matched. He hit refresh. Again, as the map resolved, his face grew more puzzled. He knew he hadn't activated one of the many tracking chips he had in his desk, so he couldn't figure out why, for the life of him, it was showing this city, this industrial park, and this PolyTech building.
         There was a knock at the door. Sandra, one of the company secretaries, stuck her head in the door.
         "A courier just delivered a package for you," she said.
         "Thanks, Sandra." he replied as he got up and walked over, taking the padded envelope from her.
Shutting the door behind him, he returned to his desk and grabbed a boxcutter from a mug on his desk. He sliced open the end of the package and tipped out the content. His tracking chip landed on his polished wood desk and sat there. He leaned back in his orthopedic leather covered chair and closed his eyes, rubbed his face and his eyes with the palm of his hand and sighed. He knew it was a long shot, and now he knew what kind of person he was really dealing with. The kind that knew to sweep a briefcase for bugs. But, damn. That was fast.
         He spread the cut on the envelope and peered inside. Stuck to the inside was a PostIt note. He pulled it out and read it. Written in a stylized ink cursive were the words, "Nice Try."