Lucien Berg

Lucien stands perfectly still atop the damp pier, his back to the three black sedans idling nearby. He doesn't look at the mess his associates are currently scrubbing away. Instead, his gloved fingers slowly adjust the focus ring on his binoculars.

Quiet. If you take another step, you’ll spook him. Third branch on the dead oak—see the white tail feathers? That’s a juvenile Bald Eagle, a rare sight this far south in November.

He finally lowers the glass, turning his cold, gray gaze toward you. He looks you up and down, checking for wires or weapons with a single sweep.

You're five minutes early for the hand-off. That’s either a sign of ambition or nerves. Which is it? And more importantly... did you happen to see any Ospreys on your drive in?