It is a dark and stormy day here in the middle of the afternoon. It's one of those days that makes a person fully appreciate nature's unrivalled power. With earth shaking thunder and life pausing flashes of lightning mother nature’s message is clear, take nothing for granted, you’re only a guest in my house.

I made my way to the mailbox, unconcerned with getting wet or, as was the case, getting drenched. As I reached the mailbox, I quickly changed my mind and hastily pulled out the mail and ran back inside trying to at least keep it from getting wet. Once under the porch I began to go through the mail. The usual bull always found it’s way into my box. Advertisements for all sorts of things bills and sometimes other things. I always thought the mailman used my mailbox as a trash can, dumping whatever he had left over on the mail route into my box. Then I saw something strange. A letter that looked like it had traveled through every post office on the planet. I couldn’t make out any of the jumble of different writing on the envelope, except two words. Jason Zeric, someone I had almost forgotten about.

Jason was a friend of mine ten years before. Both of us, along with some others, were members of a group whose purpose was to gather info on different organizations and individuals. A fairly benign and easy task we assumed when we joined up, but little did we know this task wouldn’t take place within the comfort of our own homes, or on our own hours.

Six months before the end of our final assignment, it happened. Everyone was looking forward to retiring from our current line of work and finding something else to do. Out of nowhere one of our group was caught. Everyone else thought he was dead, killed by the people who captured him. Everyone, except Jason. For some reason Jason never gave up hope.

In the middle of that afternoon, with the sun sinking beneath the storm clouds and it’s fading light turning the underside of the clouds (end everything else) orange, I was about to find out the reason why Jason never gave up.

I opened his letter and began to read.

Joe, you have to get to the Ukraine fast. He (Greg, the lost member of the group) has been living here ever since that day we though he was captured.

Just before we were about to complete final prep for the mission, Greg told he didn’t want to do it. I thought he was joking with me or trying to mess with me, so I dismissed it didn’t think about it again. That is until he turned up missing.

It turns out he was secretly working with the people we were gathering info on. That’s the reason he wanted to take lead. After he left he went to work for them full time. Apparently he was leading a group of scientists into and out of the restricted areas around Chernobyl for a while. He got himself into a bit of trouble with the scientists and they cut ties with him. Something about his attempts to get into Unit 4 reactor made the scientists nervous and raised suspicions with the authorities.

They captured and were questioning him when I caught up with him.

He told the authorities the usual lies about what he was doing there, but they weren’t buying it so they drugged him. He said it was something about the way they drugged him that made him tell half truths. The authorities now believe you, I, and the rest of the group were involved in his little excursions inside the restricted zones. They also believe he was trying to get into Unit 4. Both of which are crimes under their laws.

I don’t know if we can trust Greg, but he said we must get into the reactor. Judging by the fact that five Russian speaking goons showed up wanting to question me about it, and later tried to kill me when I refused, I don’t think I have much choice. My only leverage against these people is to find out what’s in there. It may be your only choice as well.

From what I gathered, these men are looking for the rest of the group, starting in Europe and going both east and west to finally end up with you in the States. We can’t use the usual supply sources we did in the past, be warned. Keep your head down and watch your back these guys are almost as good as we were. If you decide to come here, and I’m not already dead, I’ll be waiting for you.

P.S.

...when it rains, it pours...

The storm begins to disperse and the sun to fall beneath the horizon. I wonder if I’ll survive the night and a million thought begin to race through my head. Two appear to be going in slow motion. Jason and, hopefully the authorities, doesn’t know I’m not in the US. Since the letter appears to have found it’s way to me though, someone else does.