EPILOGUE—WOODS HOLE
B
ack in the old stomping grounds now, and it’s a hoot. Word about my various adventures on active duty down in Panama City has spread like wildfire. Thank you, internet. I try to be humble, but there’s no denying I’ve cadged a few free meals and a bunch of drinks from lab-rats and cubicle dwellers who just want to hear a good story from the person who lived it. And who am I to deny them a little Walter Mitty head trip?
The Boston research project wrapped up neatly, and now we are mostly deskbound crunching all the collected data into the Institute’s computers. It’s mostly mindless keystroking, so my mind wanders a lot—particularly to that last week in Boston when Tyler Stanz showed up on leave from Bethesda. He didn’t call or anything. Just charmed his way past the
