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By John Thompson

Fast-rising funds supervisor Brent Lucas has no concept that the pinnacle of his new enterprise is a Christian enthusiast or that his multi-million greenback activity is a set-up until eventually one billion cash disappears from a consumer s account--and till he finally ends up because the in simple terms suspect. decided to transparent himself, he is going to his purchaser s domestic the place he unearths in basic terms corpses. Narrowly escaping, Lucas runs from either the FBI and his would-be killers. Fueled by way of stories of his brother s tragic demise within the exchange middle and aided by means of his ex-fiancée, a gorgeous cop assigned to the undertaking Seahawk anti-terrorism taskforce, Lucas starts off to solve a perfectly deliberate conspiracy. He discovers his politically unassailable boss has masterminded a plot aimed toward bringing approximately Armageddon with stolen missiles, depleted nuclear gasoline and a band of Muslim terrorists motive on killing the President. because the FBI closes in, Lucas launches his personal determined try and cease the insanity earlier than it's too past due.

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I’m very sorry. ” the guy stepped over to the SUV, opened the doorways, and seemed inside of. He acknowledged anything right into a small microphone on his shoulder, after which with one hand pressed to his earpiece, he listened. After a moment he jerked his head towards the cottage. Wofford appeared round because the cottage door swung open, and Abu Sayeed stepped out. “Mr. Wofford,” he stated in cultivated English. He wore darkish trousers and a white blouse with the sleeves rolled as much as reveal skinny yet muscular forearms. A computer gun dangled carelessly from his hand. His chiseled nostril had the inhumanity of a raptor’s beak, and his darkish eyes blazed with ruthless walk in the park, as they appeared to drill into Wofford’s center and extract the smooth meat of his innermost secrets and techniques. “You have our foodstuff? ” Wofford nodded weakly, figuring out Biddle may slap his face if may perhaps see him now, call for that he take pleasure and energy as a servant of Christ. He couldn’t. He wasn’t made to stand individuals with laptop weapons and the hearts of savages. “It’s in . . . it’s behind the automobile. ” Abu Sayeed grew to become again to the cottage, snapped his palms, and acknowledged whatever in Arabic. A second later a 3rd guy emerged, the person who had ridden within the box. He glanced at Wofford with eyes as roiled as thunderclouds, after which opened the SUV’s hatch and started to hold the bins of foodstuff into the cottage. Abu Sayeed persisted to examine Wofford, making no attempt to conceal his scorn. “I belief every little thing continues to be on agenda? ” he requested after a number of lengthy seconds. Wofford couldn't deliver himself to fulfill the man’s eyes. “Yes,” he stated, directing his unfocused stare towards the cottage roof. “Of path you are going to inform me if something had changed,” Abu Sayeed acknowledged. “Yes. ” Wofford checked out his automobile. The stocky guy was once again already, getting the final carton of nutrition. there have been nonetheless situations of Coke and Mountain Dew ready to be unloaded. He prayed for the fellow to rush. “Do you think that folks as purely your servants who will bloody our palms everytime you order it? ” Wofford pressured himself to satisfy the icy stare. He desired to say it used to be the Arab’s fault, that issues had begun going incorrect whilst his guy did not kill Lucas, yet his braveness failed. “Of direction no longer, however it needed to be done,” he stated in a faltering voice. Abu Sayeed’s lip curled. “Why don’t you do your individual killing? ” Wofford checked out the floor and pictured the 3 charred corpses. He swallowed as bile edged into the again of his throat. He used to be no soldier, specifically no normal like Biddle . . . and the concept of what he’d performed. “We had a problem,” he controlled after numerous seconds. “We had to look after it. ” “You did not anything! ” Abu Sayeed stated, his voice tender yet jam-packed with acid. “We took care of it. ” Wofford felt small and helpless. “The guy used to be . . . our defense cameras stuck him snooping in our pcs. He may have ruined every thing . . . for we all. ” His cheeks burned. He had made the mistake by way of leaving that cell quantity in his computer’s trash dossier. The deaths have been his fault. “We aren't murderers,” Abu Sayeed acknowledged, his voice like a lash.

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