Blackout by Jason Elam, Steve Yohn Page B

had filled the big metal container to the brim.
    Riley got to his feet and saw Skeeter in a tug-of-war with one last clam. The water was up to Skeeter’s armpits, but he would not let go.
    â€œHey, Skeet, it’s just a clam. We’ve already got plenty. We need to get airborne before the tide gets too high.”
    â€œI’ve almost got it,” Skeeter said with determination. But he spoke too soon. In the epic battle between man and clam, it was the clam that lived to see another tide.
    Skeeter wasn’t happy about his loss, but he couldn’t help but smile at the full bucket.
    Riley laughed at the muddy blob standing before him. “Welcome to clamming, my friend,” he exclaimed, clapping his friend on the back.
    The two men walked back toward the Cub, loaded up, climbed in, and were airborne in a matter of seconds for their twenty-five-minute flight back to Kenai Airport.

Tuesday, July 21, 7:00 p.m. AKDT
    Kenai, Alaska
    â€œKenai Tower, Cub November One Romeo Charlie, five miles south low level inbound with information Alpha, full stop,” Riley announced over the radio.
    â€œNovember One Romeo Charlie, Kenai Tower, roger. Enter straight in final for runway One. Clear to land. Be advised once on the ground proceed to ramp and park next to the Air Force Learjet.”
    Air Force Learjet? Riley wondered. What’s that all about? Nevertheless, he acknowledged the instructions. “Clear to land on One and park next to Learjet. One Romeo Charlie out.”
    Moments later, Riley greased the plane onto the asphalt. As he taxied toward the Air Force plane, he saw four men waiting, two dressed in flight suits and the other two in business suits. Each of the business suit guys had a bulge from a vest holster, sunglasses, and— Are you serious? —an earpiece.
    â€œWhat, did the president come all the way up here to go clamming with us?” Riley asked Skeeter in an attempt to be funny. Skeeter, on full alert, didn’t acknowledge Riley’s little quip.
    Riley shut down the engine, and both men began the process of extracting themselves from the small cabin. As they emerged, sand and mud dropped off their chest waders onto the ground below.
    One of the suits stepped forward, ignoring the filthiness of the men, and asked, “Riley Covington?”
    â€œThat’s me. What’s this all about?”
    â€œI’m Agent Devoe of the FBI. This is Agent Benson.” Without saying anything else, Devoe handed Riley a sealed envelope.
    Riley took the packet and opened it, stealing a quick glance at the four men’s serious demeanor. He read the enclosed paper and then looked up at Agent Devoe. “I don’t quite understand. Do you have anything else for me?”
    â€œYes, sir, but I’ve been given instructions to not give you the orders until airborne. This mission is strictly classified.”
    Skeeter became noticeably fidgety.
    â€œDo I at least have time to run home and change?” Riley asked.
    â€œI’m afraid not, sir,” Devoe said. “As you can see by the orders, we need to depart immediately.”
    Skeeter couldn’t help himself any longer. “Sir, my name is Sergeant Skeeter Dawkins. Mr. Covington’s safety is my direct responsibility—”
    â€œMy apologies, Sergeant, but we are taking over the security of Mr. Covington. Rest assured, he will be safe.”
    â€œBut, sir,” Skeeter protested, putting a hand on Devoe’s arm.
    â€œSergeant, I must respectfully ask you to stand down,” Agent Benson ordered, speaking for the first time.
    Skeeter was quickly becoming extremely agitated. All four of the visitors tensed up at this large man, who was visibly upset and was, for some reason unknown to them, holding a very short, muddy shovel.
    Seeing the potential escalation, Riley quickly took control of the situation. He grabbed Skeeter by the shoulder and said, “Hey, Skeet, it’s okay. I