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Lost Platoon (8)

Hugh let out an anguished, almost animalistic cry, just for one brief moment. The man gritted his teeth, and then slowly his face returned to a natural, if not hauntingly neutral, composure. His friend withdrew an envelope from his plaid sports coat and slid it across the table to River.

“I’m asking this more as a favor than anything else. I certainly can’t afford much, especially on an Army pension. But I’ve given you everything I have.”

River took the envelope and slipped it in his pocket. No sense leaving anything on the table that would attract any more attention. The Czech Republic certainly had become one of the most Westernized, most successful, of all the former Soviet satellites. But River knew that didn’t mean there could be one or two innocuous people there very interested in what a retired Army general and an American ex-pat with questionable ties to various intelligence circles were meeting about. Particularly with one of the party doing his best not to make an emotional scene.

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