Two days later, the Isle of Mull was washed in the soft, warm gold of an early autumn sunset.
Julian Vance stood on the high granite cliff overlooking the Sound of Mull, his dark coat wrapped tight against the fresh sea breeze coming off the Atlantic. Beside him sat a small, whitewashed stone cottage with a wooden weather vane spinning lazily on its roof and a single solar panel mounted to the southern wall.
Down in the small bay below, the green lobster boat Clara had taken was anchored near the small civilian pier. Clara stood on the wooden deck, securing the final canvas covers over the cockpit before taking her small tenders boat ashore to hand the vessel’s keys to its new civilian owner.
Julian took a deep breath of the clear, sweet ocean air.
There was no sound in his ears except
