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right lay a line of sand dunes covered with reedy sea grasses. Invisible beyond them lay the narrow strand of Ocean Beach and then the Pacific, past the momentarily glimpsed, rolling breakers and far, far past the fog that a sea wind was trying now to disperse. |
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The thought of taking Anna to Alameda NAS had crossed Morgan's mind, but the navy would be reluctant to carry a civilian to Washington on a navy aircraft and would spend hours checking authorizations. The airline terminals at SFO International were out of the question. The paramilitary games of the killers in the Bronco did impress Morgan. They were dangerous people. Not very competent, and almost certainly working for pay. But competent enough that to take their target to an air terminal might be asking for a massacre. |
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There were secret funds and resources available for what Morgan had to do, and he intended to use them. Avery Peters of Half Moon Bay, ex-Air America, was in for an early morning surprise. |
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Ave had been jettisoned from the Central Intelligence Agency after the war in Bosnia. He claimed he never regretted leaving the Company. "It's become a home for pretty admirals and ugly pencil pushers," he said. "But shit, boy, the Gulf was different. The Gulf was fun." |
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Morgan, who had prowled Kuwaiti beaches stiff with Iraqi mines as a Seal would not have put it quite that way. But Ave Peters was a different sort of man. He had dealt with Arabs almost all of his career, and got along with them, as he put it, like a house afire. As was the case with some Agency types, Ave Peters had left Langley as a fairly wealthy man; hence his ability to start a charter service in Half Moon Bay. He was direct, discreet, and extremely capable. In the present situation, there was no one on Morgan's list of assets he would rather call upon than Peters. |
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Morgan looked hard at the rearview mirror at fog-dimmed headlights. He felt a bit easier when they swung off to the left. The empty road behind was dark as they moved inland |
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