“You were a big shush-er when you were young,” Glen said to Sam. Sam turned to look at Glen, then let his head fall back between his arms. “Did you ever shush the sea?”

“No.” Sam shifted backwards on his red and purple beach towel. “I love the sea.” A wave broke and retreated, and then another. “I did punch it a few times.”

“You punched the sea?”

“I used to pretend I was fighting the waves. They were attacking the shore and I was trying to stop them. Kid stuff.”

“I miss kid stuff.” Glen folded the top of his towel over and scooped a shallow hole out of the sand with his hands. He replaced the towel over the hole and lay down with his face resting in it. “How’s work?”

“Not bad. The civil engineering org. has almost doubled, so there’s about 200 people reporting into me now. We’re fighting to get the Riyadh airport done on time.”

“Nice you could take time off.”

“This is an opportunity I couldn’t pass up. How’s Hollywood treating you?”

“Trying to run two shows now. The new one’s taking most of my time; we need to get the ratings up. The Great Adventure is kind of on autopilot.”

Sam nodded, sat up, and set a timer on his smart phone. He crossed his legs, closed his eyes, and began to meditate. When the alarm chimed, he opened his eyes and surveyed the beach. He tapped Glen’s shoulder.

“I think the guy’s coming this way to check passes.”

“Let’s take a swim then.”

They stood up and walked down to the water. Glen ran forward to dive into a wave. Sam watched. He waited for another wave to break and rush past him, then scrambled in until the water reached his waist. He turned and fell backwards, kicking with his legs to get beyond the break point. The water was cool and cloudy from the silt the waves dredged up. By the time Sam turned to face the sea, Glen had swam almost a hundred yards out. Sam paddled a bit farther and bobbed until Glen finished his lap.

“How did it go at the White House?”

“The President was organized, very crisp. Once it starts, it should be over quickly: maybe a month and a half. ‘Explosive, yet surgical,’ were his words. And then there’ll be a lot of reconstruction to do.”

“And he offered it to you?”

“No, he couldn’t be that direct. But he talked about what the main procurement criteria will be; handed me some samples of the requests for proposals. He even showed me a list of some of the targets they’ll hit in the first wave.”

“So you’ll be ready.”

“We’ll have the materials staged and paperwork finalized. I called my CEO and told him to talk to possible partners in Italy or Morocco.”

Glen pointed to the next wave. “There’s a big one.” He closed his eyes and dove under while Sam balled up and used his arms to spring up and over.

“The President said they were looking for a producer who could film a few pieces for them. To get the public rallied. I gave him your name, of course.”

“His chief of staff left a voicemail. I figured you had a hand in it since it’s the first I’ve heard from them since the inauguration.”

“I guess you need to think bigger with your contributions.”

Glen shrugged and looked back at the beach. “The coast looks clear; want to ride this one in?”

“Sure.”

They swam to get speed before the next wave. They caught it with their bodies just as it broke and the white tumult carried them onto the sand.

“It’s good to be back at the shore,” Sam said as he brushed the sand off his chest.

“Totally. The ocean makes me feel like a kid again.”