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but the entire chaotic escapade with his exfiltration through the McDonald’s just played even more into the CIA’s plan to pin Babbitt’s assassination on him. “This night sucks ass,” he mumbled to himself.
they say it can’t be the same gun, because the Smith and Wesson has an external safety lever on the side, and Gentry doesn’t seem to take time to disengage a safety before he fires. What do you think of this analysis?” “Ma’am, I think that analysis blows.” Brewer reacted with obvious surprise, and an analyst in earshot looked back over his shoulder at the big man, a scowl on his face. Brewer asked, “And why is that?” “Gentry wouldn’t need to fan the safety off, because it would already be off.” “You’re sure?” Hightower snorted. “External safeties are for chickenshits and losers. I know that.
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“Let me guess. Because he thinks he’s a good guy?” Hightower countered, “He is a good guy. We’re targeting him because of orders. We aren’t vanquishing evil or any bullshit like that.”
The Washington Post investigative reporter had conducted some tough interviews with some amazing spin doctors in her time, but getting information out of Carmichael felt like buying snacks from a vending machine. A big, silent source, with a very limited number of specific items available, pre-stocked by the supplier, and she had to push just the right buttons to get anything out.
His meeting with his father—actually, he knew he couldn’t really call it that, considering there was no conversation between them—had left him feeling settled in a positive way that felt foreign to him, but it was a good feeling, and it had helped him push through the miles heading back north. Music had propelled him on, as well. On the radio he’d found a station here in North Carolina that played a good mix of Southern rock, the stuff he and his brother grew up loving. An old Tom Petty tune was playing now and Court had the volume up as loud as it would go. He was enjoying the rock and the
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