The Retirement

Putnum was distracted by movement on the street. From where they were standing by one of the back entrances to the Mohawk, the tree-lined sidewalks along Gold Street visibly ran between Lake Street and South Road in town. Five men walked slowly down the sidewalk, talking among themselves. They were not young; there was a lot of gray hair on their heads. They walked casually, so as not to draw attention to themselves, but their expressions were anything but casual—each man’s face and body language showed a sense of purpose. They all looked fit for their age, and each man’s eyes scanned their surroundings.

A faint smile crossed Putnum’s face, and he motioned for one of Grey’s agents to come over. The man complied. Putnum quietly said something to him. He raced off in a direction to intercept the five men. Summers and Mitchell stopped their brainstorming, trying to figure out what the admiral was up to. Putnum said nothing to explain his actions, but rather stood silently, waiting for the FBI agent to complete his mission.

In less than a minute, the agent was returning from around the truck with the five men in tow. The man just behind the agent was doing all the talking and complaining.

“And the FBI has no right to stop us! Like I told you, we’re here visiting friends in the area and decided to come to town to see what all the excitement is about.”

“And your friend lives on an island in the middle of the lake?” asked Putnum evenly, trying to maintain a serious look.

The man he was addressing squinted through the darkness of the overcast afternoon, then balked. “Admiral!” he exclaimed, a look of genuine surprise on his face. “What the hell are you doing here?”