Terminal

Zack Carson was looking out the window over the state's capitol from his 10th floor office, his mind on the weekend. He and Lindsey were going to their ranch in the Hill Country west of Austin to relax. Eighty acres of hills with grassy valleys and small spring fed streams, a three bedroom rustic home and a bunk bed loft for the four grandchildren. Assistant director of the DEA was a very tiring and stressful job for the fifty-seven year old University of Texas grad and after ten years under the gun, he was wearing down fast. It showed in his face, lined with subtle wrinkles etched there by the constant grimace he couldn't seem to shake. Yet, he had a disarming smile with nearly perfect teeth, but it was only apparent on rare occasions at work. He was suddenly shaken by the intercom buzzing on his desk. "Mr. Carson, it's your wife and she is very upset," said his secretary. Grabbing the phone, his mind raced, trying to visualize what could be wrong.