I wondered how close I could approach the fence without getting shot.   The beach looked deserted, but I knew better.  I’d already been checked out by a black helicopter that had buzzed over my head a few minutes earlier, and I could see at least one security camera on a tower farther inland. 

The fence itself wasn’t much to look at, just steel cables strung across weathered, wooden pylons that ran into the sea. Anyone could step through it.  It was the sign that hung on the fence that intimidated me. 

Restricted Area by Order of the National Aeronautics and Space Administration

Unauthorized Persons Who Enter May Be Subject To Prosecution Under 18 U.S.C. 799

NO TRESPASSING

Technically it said that if I crossed the fence, I may, just may mind you, be prosecuted.  Nothing definite.  All I wanted to do was stick one toe into the sand across the line and take my picture, but I was convinced I’d get my foot shot off by a sniper.   Or, heck, this was NASA we’re talking about.  They could probably just take me out with a laser.  

I wondered what Jason Bourne would do. 

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