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Anna's food was untouched. Her eyes burned and her belly felt as though it contained a ball of lead. Her breathing was still punctuated by the trembling inhalations of a shattered child. |
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She could not lose the image of Pierre Grau smashing against the windshield of that dusty, dark car. Everything that had passed between that moment and now seemed disconnected, but too terribly real. |
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Morgan said quietly, "It might help to talk about it." |
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Anna Neville shot a suspicious glance at him, then looked away. |
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Who was this man? What was he? Why was she here with him? |
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"You will have to, sooner or later," Morgan said. |
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She looked across the table at Morgan. Both Pierre and Jacob would have been furious with her for coming with him as she had done, docile as a sheep. The FBI man had called him "Colonel Morgan," although he had introduced himself only as John Morgan. She had been raised to dislike and distrust soldiers, even those wearing civilian clothes. In fact, he was the first soldier she had ever talked to, though she'd seen enough of them with their shields and helmets, flak jackets and bayonets, shoving, beating, sometimes shooting protestors no matter what country they were "protecting." For all she knew, this man might be with the CIA, Jake's particular bête noire, and the agency he would have most surely have named as responsible for the death of Pierre Grau. |
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Then why am I here, Anna asked herself. When Morgan took charge of her at the hospital, she had surrendered with scarcely a murmur, without even asking to see his credentials. Was she so eager to avoid decisions that she would put herself in the hands of a stranger? |
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As they were in the car on the way to the restaurant, Morgan had explained to her that he was on the staff of President Caidin's National Security Adviser, Vincent Kellner. Assure- |
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