The small wooden ferry out of Craignure carried three passengers across the quiet water toward the mainland: two local sheep farmers returning from the market, and an elderly woman with short gray hair carrying a canvas duffel bag.
Julian stood on the high stone breakwater of the harbor, watching the ferry move smoothly through the mirror-like surface of the bay.
The afternoon sun was warm, reflecting off the clean, blue water in millions of bright, glittering points of light. The sea was peaceful, natural, and free—an vast expanse of water that belonged to no defense contractor, no intelligence agency, and no hidden protocol.
Julian turned his back on the harbor, walking up the quiet gravel path toward the small stone weather station on the hill.
Inside the small cottage, the room was
