The call came as night fell. Jon Reznick was standing on the Rockland breakwater as the lighthouse beam swept over the dark waters of Penobscot Bay. The waves crashed off the granite slabs, sending cold spray into the air. He wondered who could be calling at this time of the evening. His cell number was known to only a handful of people. When he finally answered, the voice on the line was a whisper. It had a sense of urgency about it. “Who’s this?” Reznick
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