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Morgan asked grimly, "Was he alone?" |
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"Ask me, Colonel Fucking Morgan," Ryerson said defiantly. "Yes, I'm alone. Doing my job." |
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"Ah, shut up." Peters twisted his arm. |
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Morgan said, "Let him go, Ave." To Ryerson he asked, "Who told you where we were?" |
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"Who is he, Morgan?" Anna asked again, anxiously. |
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"He used to call himself a newspaperman," Morgan said coldly. "In actual fact, he's a lying son of a bitch. He lost his job on his paper when he called the President's press secretary, pretending to be a member of Hezbollah, saying he had hostages, and was ready to strike a deal. But he insisted on speaking to the President personally, capture the Head of State discussing a deal with a terrorist, with the whole conversation on tape. An absolute hoax. He'd made a deal with one of those tell-all television programs for lots of dough. Classy, Ryerson. Very classy." |
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"Why is he here?" Anna's anxiety was heightened. |
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Morgan said, "Ave, we'll have to take him with us." He turned to Ryerson. "This is either the luckiest night of your life or your last." |
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Avery Peters said in a low voice, "Kidnapping a member of the Washington press corps is big trouble. Your boss will go ballistic." |
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"That's the least of it. I've got to tell him that he has a gusher somewhere in the NSC." Or something even worse, Morgan thought. Much worse. |
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