“I understand, honey. And I respect that.” She fished into her purse, took out a piece of paper and a pen, and jotted something onto it. She passe... it to her. “Here’s my room number. I’m staying all week.” She stood up and dropped a twenty onto the table. “Breakfast is on me, sweetie. Talk it over with your husband and get back to me, ok?” Carrie looked at the paper. Room 218. They were in 224. Just down the hall. She looked up and smiled. “Ok, I will.” Sam pursed her lips in a kissing motion. The rendezvous would be over the horizon from land, and the boat would be able to make it to a few dozen sites over the course of a week, clandestinely listening or depositing, say, special warfare team members. Given all the fuel the boat could carry, it could then conduct ferry operations and bring mission supplies – food, mostly – along the Banana Republics' and Fucked-Up Dictatorships' coasts for weeks on station. Joint Task Force 4 was on station off Panama, performing LEOPS (Law. More

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