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14 I will die on a rainy Thursday afternoon, at the terminal end of Cape Cod, alone. Purported cause of death: ischemic stroke, though the capsule crushed between my molars will tell a longer story. Long Point is an hour’s drive from the nearest hospital. Too far, by design. The Feds will be en route from Hyannis, speeding toward the cape’s clenched fist. I won’t remember why they’re hunting me, only that I can’t let them take me alive.