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My Room

“I’m in my hotel room. I…”

“Stay there. Don’t go out. Don’t talk to anyone. I’m sending Clark to pick you up. He’ll be there in…” he paused. “Seventeen minutes.”

“Look”, I’ve had a hell of a night..”

The line went dead as he hung up the phone.

I looked at my watch and broke open the scotch I had brought with me into Iraq and poured myself a tall one. I sat down and nursed my head while nursing that glass.

What did I know? I knew a crazy Imam was planning some kind of attack. I knew it was going to happen on “The day of Ashura”, whatever that was. I knew there would be suicides to carry it out. I knew it was going to be “like Gideon”, and start a sequence of events. I knew there was a third man that carried Michael across the street. I had a bunch of pieces, but how did they fit together? What was Michaels’ role in all of this?

I took a gulp from the glass and let the warmth of the liquor spread through me.

Sixteen minutes and 37 seconds after Rodgers hung up the phone, there was a knock on my door.

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