Just when he determined his trackers were restless and the bathroom was conveniently empty, Ray opened the one cracked window and crawled out. He stuck close to the wall, carefully but unsuccessfully avoiding the splinters from the faded red wooden slats from which Ray occasionally to extricate himself before moving on. To his chagrin he couldn’t avoid kicking up piles of dust with every footstep he took. He worried for a moment he was waking everyone in the sleepy diner, but quickly realized he was listening too hard. Those who were there were probably too busy scarfing down the bad food. Finally, he reached the front of the restaurant about a dozen yards behind the large black vehicle.

He wasn’t surprised to discover another car, a small, pale blue Porsche convertible, with two dark-suited men waiting in the front seat. Both men appeared tall and muscular, even while seated. He did not miss the bulge of concealed weapons either or the phone head set worn by the driver.

When he glanced over at the large black car, he also saw the driver there communicating by head set. His view passed from one car to the other, looking for evidence the occupants of one vehicle were talking to the occupants of the other.

Sure enough they were.

As soon as one of the parties in one car stopped speaking in his cell phone, someone in the other vehicle moved his lips.

I’ve got you now, you bastards! It seemed almost too easy, but he was experienced at these games. The longer you played, they harder they got. It was time to change the rules.

Without a moment’s hesitation, he went back into the diner and up to the takeout counter, ordering a few turkey sandwiches and coffee and the messiest pastries he could find, with plenty of powered sugar. Within a few minutes, Ray marched boldly over to the convertible and gazed inside with a broad grin, surprising the driver.

Ray handed him the food sack. “Here,” he said, “I figured you’d appreciate this.”

The driver almost stammered out his response, “Oh, thanks, man, but what’s this for?”

“Well, as you know, I worked for the NSA myself once…” Ray paused long enough for the driver and his passenger to stare at him in wide-eyed astonishment.

“I know stakeouts are tiring. I figured you’d be hungry by now, considering you and your friends have probably been following me for hours.”

The passenger displayed his irritation. “Captain Perkins, this is no joke. I fail to see the humor in what you’re doing. “So do I,” Ray said. “But at least you admit who you are…”

Before he could finish his sentence, the black vehicle Ray had observed earlier rapidly pulled out of its space in the parking lot. It turned sharply onto the highway on ramp, tires squealing, and was gone within seconds.

The driver pretended to ignore Ray and remained silent for a moment. “Think what you wish, Captain, but we have absolutely no interest in you right now,” he reached into the sack, handing half the contents to his partner, “But I’m glad you still…appreciate the NSA enough to make this gesture,” the remark was laced with sarcasm. “We’ll be sure to charge our food bill to you from now on. Have a nice day.”

“You too, and remember, I’m a private citizen now. I have a perfect right to drive my car without being followed by trigger-happy government agents with too much powdered sugar on their hands.”

The driver looked down on his formerly black suit. Cursing softly, he glared at Ray and switched on the ignition. The car made a rapid-fire, squealing turn toward the southern on-ramp to the highway, speeding away. It took a few moments before the wide path of dust settled in its wake.

Ray jumped back into his own car and smiled. Somehow he managed to gain the upper hand—this time.

Those NSA dudes are all too predictable. They are still living in the 80s.

However, Ray was quite sure that the NSA would attempt to get back on his trail before long.

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