Daniel Simon, complete with his uniform of the day, shorts and a tee shirt, munched on an apple as his blue eyes scanned the computer monitors in front of him. Blue Connect was humming along nicely. Sam and Dave, his pups, lazed on the throw rug basking in the sunlight. The smells of baked Ziti wafted in from the kitchen. The soft sounds of his sound system provided the background. The knock at the door shattered the serene setting.

Cautiously making his way to the door, Daniel glanced toward the window and saw the familiar brown truck. With his blood pressure on the rise and a cold sweat on his body, he opened the door.

"Package for Danny Simon," the UPS driver said. The familiarity of the scene sent a cold shiver through Daniel. "Um, you are Danny Simon, right?"

"Oh, ah, yeah," stammered Daniel.

"Well, here ya go. No need to sign," the driver said as he handed over the package. "Have a nice day." Daniel closed the door and slowly made his way to the kitchen. He sat heavily at the table and stared at the package in front of him. A sudden anger came from no where and he ripped the package open.

The neatly typed letter was from the National Security Agency.


Dear Mr. Simon,
    On behalf of the National Security Agency, I would like to take this opportunity to apologize for the actions of some of our agents. They are currently under arrest and will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law.
    Our investigation of Stanley Bouchard is now complete. He was found to be responsible for the deaths of a number of people. His assets have been confiscated and it has been determined that those assets should go to you.
    Please find enclosed a check for $8,534,327.14. Once again, our agency sends our deepest apology.
    Agent Arnie Brodenheimer

Stunned, Daniel slowly reached into the package and pulled out the check. He looked over the figure in awe, then glanced down to the memo section. "Bouchard Assets," it read. Blind hatred boiled up in Daniel as his fingers poised over the check, ready to rip it to shreds.

"You could do a lot of good with that, you know." Daniel hesitated as loving arms draped over his shoulders and warm lips nipped at the side of his throat. "Wouldn't that be the perfect thing to do with it? Take something inherently evil and turn it into something good."

"You're always right, Cody," Daniel said with a smile. The timer on the oven went off. Daniel pulled supper from the oven and set it on the stove to cool a moment. "What did you have in mind?" he asked as he turned toward Cody. The answering smile held a lot of mischief.

"Oh, I don't know. Maybe a really good supper with friends and a night of long, slow lovemaking comes to mind," Cody said as he snaked his arms around Daniel's hips. The kiss was breathtaking, as always. That's just how newly formed couples are. That same intensity would never lessen in the case of Daniel and Cody. That same intensity and love of life would keep them happy for years.

The eight million dollars from Stan Bouchard was coupled with another eight million dollars from Air Royal International to form "The Daniel Simon Home for Children," a non-profit organization that provides housing, clothing, food, medical treatment and counseling for sexually abused children. The international organization had locations in Jacksonville, Belfast and Prague.

On the other side of the pond, O'Brien/Rankin Investigative Services worked tirelessly on missing children reports, often bringing many to the Daniel Simon Organization for care. Stateside, Brown Investigations provided the same service. Air Royal International Vice President Teri Deskin Morgan coordinated transportation for the children while her husband, Timmy Morgan, served on the organization's board of directors.

At his lakeside home near Charlotte, North Carolina, Jevic smiled as he wrote the last sentence of the story of Daniel Simon. He glanced up and saw his new boat, bobbing peacefully at the dock. Glancing down, Jevic passed his hand over the insurance check and grinned.

Back to Chapter Eighteen
"Prague"

Chapter Index

Jevic's Story Page

I'd love to hear what you think!
Email me at jevic@tarheelwriter.com


The Nineteenth Year is © 2008 by The Tarheel Writer.
    This work may not be duplicated in any form – physical, electronic, audio, or otherwise – without the author's written permission. All applicable copyright laws apply. All individuals depicted are fictional with any resemblance to real persons being purely coincidental.

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