The Disappearing Act
A Story of Intrigue
The two men stood at the edge of the deserted parking lot, staring out over the beach below, where dark waves crashed against coarse yellow sand. The man in the rain slicker leaned against the split rail fence in front of them and gripped the top rail with both hands. The taller man with the tanned face had his hands thrust into the pockets of his dark jacket.
There was a light fog, as there often was on mornings such as this, at this latitude and at this time of year. Slate clouds covered the sky, matching the dark silver of the sea – the cold North Atlantic with its rough surf and imposing breakers.
“I’m going back into the cold,” said the tall man in the black coat.
“I knew you would,” said his friend. “Most would say you never came out of it.”
“I let you find me.”
“I thought you would be here.”