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©1990-2017 —by LW Hawke
http://linear-city.com/store.php?search=tac-dung-cua-thuoc-viagra tac dung cua thuoc viagra ONE
Washington DC, November 24, Assassins
http://www.ccsa.edu.sv/ccsa/store.php?search=coronary-stent-viagra coronary stent viagra A crack of lightning forked its way across the sky; bright blue and white plasma flashed through the thick bulletproof glass and into the office behind it. The morning sun broke through gaps in gray and black thunderheads billowing high on the eastern horizon. Then silence while a chill wind blew frosted fall leaves across the White House lawn in dazzling colors.
viagra used treat pulmonary hypertension Griffin Dunn sat quiet at his imposing black walnut desk. The sweet aroma of his cigar and scent of new leather upholstery charged his office with a warm, yet business like atmosphere.
http://creativecall.org/store.php?search=can-you-buy-viagra-spain-over-counter can you buy viagra spain over counter A troubled look disfigured Mr. Dunn’s brow as he leaned back in his overstuffed leather chair. He looked out his top floor window at transient protesters in a public park just the other side of the White House grounds. Besides the Secret Service, the only thing separating their misplaced anger from the reality of global politics gone wrong was the steel perimeter fence.
http://fleurieubirdwatchers.org/order.php?search=how-to-buy-legal-viagra how to buy legal viagra Dunn’s distraction with their activities ended with a sharp rap on his door. He lowered his binoculars, turned his gaze from the window and took a puff of his cigar. Davis MacLand entered his office, shut the tall double doors behind him louder than necessary, and walked straight toward the desk. “Good Morning, Mr. Secretary.”
generic viagra dangers Griffin Dunn swiveled his chair back to the window and lifted the binoculars to his eyes. “Can’t you call before just dropping in like this? No one else seems to have any difficulty with that.” Heather had quietly opened the door and looked at Dunn with an apologetic expression. “And what did you do, just blow past Heather? What the hell’s your problem?”
http://gomadfestival.com/store.php?search=canadian-cialis-5mg canadian cialis 5mg Davis MacLand, Director of National Intelligence led the United States Intelligence Community and now serves as intelligence advisor to the new President. MacLand didn’t answer and walked in a stiff stride to the credenza at the side of Dunn’s desk. He turned over two cut crystal tumblers and filled them with brandy from a decanter.
lilly icos cialis 20mg MacLand took a chair in front of the seven-foot wide, forty-inch deep black walnut desk when another lightning bolt flashed and hit a tree in the park violent enough to shake the building. Griffin Dunn almost dropped his binoculars; MacLand bolted out of his chair, spilled his brandy and went to the window. Both assessed what had happened and surveyed the damage.
buy viagra profile Several looked dead, lying at the base of the tree where they had been loitering and smoking dope. The lightning blew that tree all to hell; pieces of it exploded through the air and fell back to the ground. Its dry fall leaves and branches in flames caught nearby trees on fire. Frantic protesters, not so tough any longer, fled in every direction, stumbled and fell over each other.
http://linear-city.com/store.php?search=side-effects-viagra-tablets side effects viagra tablets Dunn watched for a minute, soon shrugged it off as no consequence and swiveled back around. “Serves those damned Commi bastards right. What is it Davis?”
http://fleurieubirdwatchers.org/order.php?search=how-much-dose-of-viagra how much dose of viagra “You had better brace yourself for this, Mr. Secretary.”
canada drugs online viagra Dunn looked at the bottle of brandy and full glass sitting on his desk. “Brandy at seven in the morning? The pressure getting to you already, MacLand?”
http://creativecall.org/store.php?search=woodoo-viagra woodoo viagra Davis MacLand took a healthy drink, forced his nerves to calm and looked into Griffin Dunn’s cold and penetrating blue eyes framed with a cropped buzz cut of silver hair. “Bill Konouski just delivered an `Eyes Only’ memorandum to my office. It’s from Jack Rollins.”
“Yeah? What’s up?”
MacLand took another drink, leaned back in his chair, and looked at the names printed on the cover of the memorandum. “Mr. Secretary…” MacLand paused, let out a stifled whistle and continued. “We have Helmit Zellick, Director of National Intelligence—” He paused again and took another slug of his brandy.
Griffin Dunn became impatient and stared across his desk. “MacLand, get to the damned point and tell me what the hell you’re doing here!”
MacLand leaned forward and dropped the memorandum on the desk with a dull thud. “The point, sir, we just received validated Intel that some cabal of South American mercenaries, or what the hell ever, have targeted several key people for simultaneous assassinations. What I am talking about is an overthrow attempt of our restructured United States of America.”
Dunn set the binoculars on the black walnut windowsill, swiveled his chair, and looked hard into Davis MacLand’s eyes. “You had better be straight on this because I am not in the mood for any bullshit; not with that scum across the street wrecking a beautiful, invigoration morning. I love weather like this, love it. The magnificent unstoppable power is, well—” Dunn refocused on the fleeing demonstrators. “We should lock down that damned park so those sleaze bags will make a nuisance of themselves somewhere out of my sight.”
“This is serious, Mr. Secretary, I need your full attention.” MacLand nudged the memorandum folder across the polished desktop toward Griffin Dunn and opened it to section B-1. “Like I said, I got this from Jack Rollins not thirty minutes ago. Read it yourself.”
Dunn sat still for a few moments; measured MacLand’s deadpan face, absently took a slug of his brandy and glanced through the folder. The first page in the memorandum targeted Helmit Zellick. Griffin took a thoughtful puff on his cigar and let the smoke out in a slow stream as he read the sheet. “Zellick is NRO. What does this have to do with us? They have their own people.”
“Turn to section A-1.”
Griffin Dunn pushed his brandy aside and leafed through the memorandum. Section A-1 listed the US President Alastair Scott, Griffin Dunn, Davis MacLand, Jack Rollins, Helmit Zellick and several political and military leaders for assassination. Section A-2 sketched reports of sizable troop and air movement in the Tri-Border region of Argentina, Brazil and Paraguay. The National Reconnaissance Office, NRO satellite imagery had photographed convoys of trucks and cargo planes hopping to airfields in northern Colombia, Venezuela, and Nicaragua and then into central Mexico.
The brief report concluded with an estimated movement of 10,000 troops, attendant trucks, aircraft and supplies with over 2,000 still staging in the Tri-Border area.
Griffin Dunn closed the memorandum, swiveled his chair and just sat there. Davis MacLand just sat there. Neither said anything. They both stared at burning trees and flames still sending smoke and debris into the sky outside the windows.
Dunn broke the silence in a sudden outburst.
“Jesus Christ, MacLand. Get rid of this brandy and ask Heather to get us a barrel of coffee, plenty of sandwiches, donuts… she knows what to get. Before you do that, get a hold of Jack Rollins. I don’t care if you have to roust him with a couple of his own agents, but get him over here… now!”
MacLand pulled a secure telephone toward him and hit the directory button for the Federal Bureau of Investigation. Griffin Dunn opened a drawer in his desk, punched a button on the satellite phone, and waited for no more than seven seconds. “Mr. Zellick, this is Griffin Dunn.”
“Hello, Griffin. Do you have Davis MacLand there with you?”
“Yes, in fact I do. How the hell would you know that?”
“I just received the same memorandum in a secure wire from FBI Director, Jack Rollins. I was just about to call you. Did you read it?”
There was a louder than necessary rap on the door. MacLand got up to open it as Jack Rollins walked in with an assistant in tow.
“Other than the shit storm at hand, how is everyone getting on this fine morning?” Jack Rollins did not expect and answer and got none. “By now you have talked with Helmit Zellick.” Rollins received affirmative nods. “Good, so we can move on with this. Mr. Secretary, Director—”
Rollins grabbed one of the oversized plates of assorted donuts, a large mug of coffee, took a chair at the conference table and opened his large leather satchel.
“First, we need to bring in the US Code and Constitution Enforcement people, the USCE. And, most important, RogueOps.”
Griffin Dunn looked startled. “Where did you hear about RogueOps?”
Rollins shrugged and took a drink of his coffee. “Look, I know that Lachlan Hawke has done work for the government since he retired from Naval Intelligence, ONI. I don’t know any specifics and don’t want to know. I like my life just the way it is, alive and well.”
Dunn was not pleased. “And you know his name?”
“What the hell, Griffin, I’m director of the FBI for Christ’s sake. I have heard both names before, know that they do black bag stuff for Uncle Sam and that’s it. It’s above my pay grade by 40,000 feet.”
“The USCE? That ragtag bunch of ex-military malcontents that won’t let go?”
“Right. Some of the damned toughest soldiers this nation ever produced.” Griffin Dunn shook his head in acknowledgment. “Yeah, but they’re still a bunch of jackwagons. If Lachlan Hawke didn’t keep them in line, they could be a special operations nightmare. Ex- generals, -admirals, -NCOs and the best enlisted men and women ever …still, a bunch of damned cowboy vigilantes is what they are. Their only legitimacy, if you can call it that, is they operate under RogueOps’ umbrella as NOCs.”
“I’m sure they share the same warm and glowing affections for you, sir!”
“Yes, I am sure they do. So what do you have?”
Rollins met both of their hard-set eyes with a hard look of his own. “The USCE boys and girls knew as we all did that this day was coming. They have been jacked, ready to fight and take point against seditious elements for several years. Ever since that mulatto Commi faggot, hell, that treasonous Muslim president began his purges they have been keen on 18 U.S. Code § 2384 – Seditious conspiracy.