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Chapter 21<br />

CARL FORCE IS BORN AGAIN<br />

The two-story white Colonial home on the outskirts of Baltimore looked idyllic. In the front, a<br />

blissful stone walkway swerved past two giant oak trees. The back of the home overlooked a<br />

serpentine brook, where foxes and deer ran through the bramble and past the fragrant crab apple trees.<br />

This scene, a utopia, had been enough to make Carl Force and his wife fall in love with the home<br />

—the perfect place to raise their kids and maybe one day retire.<br />

Yet from the day Carl had signed the paperwork with the bank, the home had been nothing short<br />

of a nightmare, plagued with every problem imaginable, including electrical issues, leaks, and the<br />

painful discovery that most of the walls had no insulation. A house built of paper that had sapped the<br />

family’s savings account of almost all its worth. “The Lemon,” as Carl called it, was just one more<br />

box of stress to pile on top of all the other stresses. Carl often found himself lying awake at night,<br />

staring up into the dark, the silence of suburbia screaming in the background, as he thought about his<br />

past, his future, and how he was going to recoup his losses from the home.<br />

Unlike most people who would ease their tension after a long day at the office by plopping on the<br />

couch, turning on the TV, and cracking open a beer, sober Carl had done the polar opposite. He would<br />

come home, a bald grown man with tattoos all over his body, and fluff pillows. He couldn’t help<br />

himself; the stress of work, the stress of the decaying house, the stress of where he was in life all led<br />

to a one-hour cleaning session before he could settle down for dinner. Sometimes he blamed this<br />

quirk on his self-diagnosed obsessive-compulsive disorder, but really he didn’t care what it was.<br />

Shaking a pillow in the air until all the feathers inside were evenly spaced was more calming than any<br />

beer could ever be.<br />

But in recent weeks, a change in the wind had made his stresses flit away. In fact, Carl—for the<br />

first time in as long as he could remember—was invigorated by life. He was born again. Baptized by<br />

the Silk Road.<br />

At first when he was assigned to the HSI Baltimore team to help with the case, Carl had been<br />

intrigued but nonchalant about the operation. It was an opportunity to work a different kind of case<br />

from the normal jump-out, but it wouldn’t change his solar-agent lifestyle. Then one of the agents from<br />

Baltimore had shown him how to download Tor and how to navigate the Silk Road forums, and Carl<br />

had become obsessed.

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