[h3]Thomas Rookwood[/h3]
[hr]
"Mr Rookwood, a good day to you sir." The Cost Guard officer was polite enough as his launch ran alongside the [i]Chloe[/i]. His words were somewhat undercut by the four sailors who backed him with assault rifles, the heavily armed cutter beyond them. "Any luck today?"

"Morning, sir." Rookwood was equally polite. He kept his hands where they were easily visible and noted Blackthrone doing the same. "Just getting started."

They had indeed left the jetty late that morning after arguing about whether or not working on small-arms with Mrs Hawkins was a fine idea. They still hadn't hashed it out. The morning was fine, a stiff breeze from the Atlantic kept things cool, and they were en-route to do some actual fishing. Nets were carefully laid out on the deck and big windlass was freshly oiled. 

"Bit late to get started, isn't it?" The two boats gently bumped into each other and lines were thrown over the cleats fore and aft of the main cabin to be quickly secured by sailors watchful for any trouble. "Permission to come aboard?"

Rookwood appreciated the request, knowing full well he had no choice but to accept and he nodded quickly. "Of course, please." He stepped back as the young officer scrambled nimbly onto the deck, closely followed by two sailors. Beyond them Rookwood caught sight of another man, half hidden in the boats cabin, watching them carefully. He wore no uniform, only sunglasses, a simple black t-shirt and blue jeans. Alarm bells began to sound in Rookwoods head.

"Take a quick look boys." The officer waited patiently with Rookwood and Blackthorne as the sailors made their way below. They were back quickly, far to quickly to have done a proper search. Quick nods to the officer as they clambered back into the launch. The nondescript man detached himself from the shadow of the cabin and leapt the gap with ease, landing like a panther on the deck. Muscles rippled along his back and shoulders. Rookwood felt his unease grow. The man wore no badge, not even a pistol, and Rookwood doubted even the Coast Guard crew knew who he worked for.

"Thank you, Lieutenant. Fend off. If they try to take off, well," White teeth flashed in a tan face. "You know what to do."

The officer nodded quickly. Did Rookwood detect unease in his face as well? There was a short pause as the officer returned to his launch, the lines were detached, and the boat drew away to a respectful distance leaving Rookwood and Blackthorne alone with their unknown guest. 

"Commander Rookwood, Captain Blackthrone, how nice to finally make your acquaintance." He sat back against the gunwale and looked the two men over. "My name is John Smith. I represent the United Government and I think we should talk."

Rookwood and Blackthorne glanced at each other and then back at Smith. The man wasn't smiling. He was completely at ease, his eyes were invisible behind the sunglasses he wore. Around them the sea was entirely empty save for the Coast Guard Cutter almost a mile away. They were utterly alone.

"We're listening." Rookwood grunted, trying to fight down the fear rising in his gut. They had played a dangerous game and it seemed that the Feds were not as blind as he had thought they were.

"Let's not fuck around," Smith said, pulling off his sunglasses to reveal eyes so brown they were almost black. "You're running rum for Hawkins and her crew. Thats a felony, a rather serious one, which I have to admit, I find ridiculous. But no one gives a shit what I think about booze. They do, however, give a shit about what I can do to help sort out some of the filth infesting Mississippi these days."

He spoke the words casually but Rookwood had spent enough time among men dedicated to a cause to know he was dealing with one right now. Certainly a lawman, one more than capable of handling himself. The guns on the Cutter more than made up for his own lack of personal weapon. Rookwood swallowed and nodded. Blackthorne saved him from having to say anything as he spoke up.

"Why don't you just tell us what you want then?" The old mans bravado was a nice touch but both Rookwood and Smith saw the fear behind it. What surprised Rookwood was Smiths lack of grin, or even a momentary glimmer of triumph in his eyes. Instead he tucked his sunglasses into the front of his shirt and looked between them for a moment. 

"Look, gentlemen. I have read your service records. You've both done your country proud. I ain't ashamed to admit I've never served in combat, never killed a man in battle, but I do serve my country in other ways. I am here, on this boat, in the middle of the Caribbean, to ask you to help me help America." He paused and brushed a hand through wavy black hair. "Our country is under siege from gangs and criminals like the young lady I mentioned a moment ago," He held up a hand to stop any response. "Don't say nothin, you have rights. But let us say you did have connections with the criminal organizations in Mississippi, and let us did say you knew something of their operation. It would be mighty useful to me and mine to know a little bit of what you know."

"Erm..." Rookwood tried to speak but his throat was dry. He cleared his throat and tried again. "Let us say we did know a thing or two, and maybe we do know the young lady previously mentioned, what would you want to know?"

The teeth flashed again. "Now that, Mr. Rookwood, is a damn fine question." The jocular nature of the reply, accented by a quick finger point, was ominous in a way Rookwood could never have explained. "I am not so much interested in the booze, hell, there is enough of that floating around here to keep even the Navy happy. No, Mr. Rookwood, I am looking for more." All sense of humour fled as though a mask had been dropped. "I am far more interested in drugs and firearms."

There was an awkward silence on the boat as he glanced between the two of them, and then at the firearms they had aboard. "Now, there ain't no law that says an American can't defend himself, so I'm not interested in what you keep for personal use. But let us say the Mexicans offered you some cash to move a little cocaine, maybe a couple rifles, you would want to let the good guys know, wouldn't you?"

Rookwood, very aware of how recent his conversation with Hawkins had been, could only nod. The Fed was all smiles again. "Excellent. Well, here's my card. Keep it secret, keep it safe." He passed a white business card over. It showed a business name of [i]Smiths Maritime Mechanical[/i] and gave an address in New Orleans. "You fellows talk things over, give me a call if anything comes to mind."

He gave a sharp whistle and the launch swooped back in. Smith paused as prepared to leave the [i]Chloe[/i], a deceptively friendly look on his face. "Remember gentlemen, we know." Another smile and he was gone. Neither Rookwood nor Blackthorne moved as the launch raced back toward the Cutter that was already gathering speed. Within a few minutes the big ship was a white spec fading over the horizon. Blackthorne spoke first.

"Well fuck."