Documentos de Académico
Documentos de Profesional
Documentos de Cultura
Chapter ONE
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The boy smiled with a confidence look this time, and then
said, “He said that if I put that envelope in your hands, he’ll give
me twenty dollars as I told you before. Did I do something
wrong?”
“No, I’m just curious . . . Was he young, old, you
know . . .”
The intern gave a thought to the image he has of the man
with the envelope in his head, and then said, “Early thirties or late
twenties, he looked Secret Service, if you ask me.”
Michael glanced at the boy, he was too young to be in
college, and he calculated that this kid was some sixteen or
seventeen years old, “What’s your name?” Michael asked, “And
how old are you?”
“Me? I’m Corey . . . Corey Lewis, I’m twenty, and I go to
G W U, Journalism School.”
Michael saw something of himself in this boy, he recalled
that he too interned for the Globe in Boston and he spent one
summer in their mail room. So after a couple of seconds, he said,
“Are you busied now?”
“No sir. Why?”
“Drive me to Union Station . . .”
“Yes Sir.”
“Corey, I’m twenty-nine, not much older than you, call me
Mike.”
“OK, Mike,” Corey’s excitement showed.
“Corey, get your car. I’ll wait for you in front of the
building,” Michael said.
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Chapter TWO
Service man. This thing was too important to let it go. “If Michael
English was as good as everyone was saying he was, things were
going to be OK,” he told himself.
Mark entered the West Wing through the entrance lobby;
he checked up his weapon with one of his fellow agents and then
moved onto their assigned office in that part of the White House.
And there she was agent Elaine Crawford. They peeked into each
other eyes, yet no words were spoken between them. Just that look
told Elaine that he accomplished his mission and that there was
nothing else to be said between them.
Both agents went above their business and the day moved
on without any peculiarities, for the first time in three weeks both
agents were at the same shift. The day was unusually slow for
news or anything else, the president and the first lady agendas were
clear for the day, a family member was coming for a visit and they
retreated to the residences on the third floor.
Agent Cramer counted the hours and minutes. He needed
some reassurance from the woman that the put him to break the
oath of the secret service. He just became a leaker for Agent
Crawford. She heard them talking in the meeting, the meeting that
she wasn't supposed to be.
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Chapter THREE
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Chapter FOUR
***
Corey stepped out of the truck, and Michael slid to the
driver seat, “I’m going to be here waiting for you,” Michael said,
“if someone asks me to move I’ll go around the corner and come
back here.”
“Okay,” Corey said.
The young man came inside the building through the front
glass doors. This was Corey second time in Union Station, so he
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***
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preoccupied trying to figure out what was the model of the dirty
old machine. The truck inside was a mess: two old McDonald’s
shake cups rested on the drink carriers, old French fries were all
over the carpet, books and papers, probably for school work, laid
all over the back seats. And then sweaty smell coming from the
seats made Michael to keep the window open.
“It’s a Ford, I knew it,” Michael said to himself. A bite he
then fumbled on his neck, a rush of blood came after; he put his
hand on it as he looked through the truck’s window. The last thing
Michael beheld, it was a barrow of a gun, smoking out, pointing at
him. Michael English’s head felt to the side, in a matter of seconds
he was now death.
The man with black gloves pointing a gun at the window,
pulled Michael’s body straight on the seat, and then walked away
from the truck. “That was easy,” he pronounced loud.
***
Five minutes later Corey came out of the Station’s front
doors and ran straight to his pickup truck. “Hay, there was
someone watching the locker,” Corey said. “So, I paid a kid to do
the pickup for me. You know the twenty I got this morning.”
But Michael didn’t respond, Corey beheld the young man
beside him, “Jesus,” he shouted as he moved back from the body.
“What ta f . . . ?” he said stunned by the site. In a second the
young man then thought, “I need to call the police . . . What if I’m
next . . . What if they say I did it . . . I need to leave now . . . What
if . . .”
An inside panic stroke Corey then, so he opened the
passengers’ door of his beat up truck and dashed away from the
scene. And as he hurried away from Union Station, Corey noticed
in his right hand the small box.
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Chapter FIVE
E laine came from work that night, the only things she had in
her mind then was to take a hot and relax bath and then rest
of the evening. She was free for the next three days; her
shift rotation was arranged by the Service chief of the White House
branch, something that didn’t happen often.
The bauble bath awaited her in her bathtub master room,
Mark knew her very well, so he prepared it for her that evening.
He came to her quarters before she did; they weren’t supposed to
be seen together after work. Elaine did not want to be transferred
to another entourage: a former president, a widow former first lady
attaché, or worst to a district office safeguarding the US currency.
She was determined to stay put where she was, particularly now
that she was the solo witness of the strange gather during the
Canada Summit.
Agent Elaine Crawford was the only female in the
president’s attaché then, and even though she wasn’t directly
involved in his protection she was essential for the daily operation
of the Service. Elaine was in her fifth year at the White House
office, so she was well regard by her coworkers and the president’s
staff. So she was placed in the scheduling and the logistics of
every President’s outings.
Agents Cramer and Crawford were an odd couple in every
sense of the word. She was some five years older than he, petty
but well shape with olive skin and small green eyes. Perhaps it was
her 15 percent Cherokee blood that ran through her veins. On the
other hand Mark’s body was well accented and tall, his head
highlighted with a thick curly red hair while his full of freckles
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Mark and Elaine froze in front the TV, perplexed with the
information transmitted through the air waves.
“What ta f . . . happened?” they both voiced at the same
time. The anchorman shifted to other news, Elaine turned the TV
off and sat on the bed.
“Mark, they know,” she said.
“What’s goin’ on?” Mark asked her then. Until this
moment she kept him in the dark, Mark only ran her an arrow to
the reporter that morning; however he didn’t know details about
the situation. In way Elaine kept him clean from the information
she acquired in the Summit two weeks ago.
“I can’t tell you now,” said Elaine, with a worrisome
expression between her eyes, “we need to get out of here, go
somewhere that they can find of at least until I clear my head.”
“Okay, get dress, we’ll go to my apartment,” Mark said.
“No, no there,” she responded. “They know that you made
the delivery.”
Mark paused to think and then said, “Yeah granted, but you
may be followed too, after all you put the package inside the locker
early this morning.”
“But I relinquished your key where we agreed.”
“OK! We’re being watch, get ready we are leaving now,
and get your gun,” Mark finally said.
Right then, a knock on the door startled them, and someone
was behind the front door knocking loudly.
Mark put his hand on Elaine’s mouth, he then signaled her
with gesture asking her for what to do.
“What’re we going to do?” Elaine whispered.
The person behind the door knocked again.
“Answer, see who is there?”
“Just a minute,” she shouted. Elaine looked through the
peephole in front doors, a sigh of relief over came over her as she
unlocked the door.
“Who is it?” Mark whispered
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Chapter SIX
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The doors of the town clinic doors were opened but there
was no movement inside. Gleeson stepped inside the small room,
“HELLO, if anyone here,” he called out.
The room was a typical looking small clinic, on an old desk
the receptionist laid dead. Gleeson saw a dead body up close the
first time, the woman appeared to be sleeping on the desk if was
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not for her skin appearance she would look asleep. Her skin was
brittle as if all the moisture was taken from body. He then pulled a
pen out his pocket and tried to move the African woman head to
face him up. Her eyes were opened, the glassy looking stare
spooked Gleeson, and it seemed as if she died sitting on the desk
doing her job.
A noise came from the room next door. Gleeson was about
to jump out his skin, when a small child came out of the room.
A nine-year-old blond boy stood on the door frame, his
blue eyes scanned the Gleeson who was standing by woman’s
corpse. His pale face seemed to be frightened by everything that
was around him.
“Where are your parents?” Gleeson asked the boy.
With reluctant the boy answered, “Father’s the town’s
doctor, he’s outside helpin’ the people.”
“Do you what’s going on here?” Gleeson said.
“This morning the people began to feel ill, everyone at the
same time. My father went out to see what was goin’ on. By noon
everyone was on the ground moaning in pain and then they
died . . . Father came back around 3:00, but went as fast as he came
in . . . He told me to stay inside but I feel fine . . .”
Gleeson then said, “Good . . .” he then leaped out of the
clinic’s resection room to the clinic front porch as the boy followed
him. “What’s our name boy?”
“Oh sir, my name is Walter.”
“Walter, don’t fallow me! You’ll be fine. Your father will
be here soon.”
Gleeson moved to get close to one of the victims, and then
said to the boy, “You see boy life is not fair, some people aren’t
blessed by the gods.”
The boy couldn’t understand what he tried to tell him. For
some reason he knew that even though there was not a smile on his
face, the man dressed in white was smiling inside.
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Chapter SEVEN
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article. The key of the whole matter was inside the manila
envelope that he introduced in his khaki pans as he ran out of the
scene. He knew that some of the most sophisticated agencies in
the United States government will be after him in the next twenty-
four hours. And that the best place for him was at him friends’
baseman, where he could give some thoughts to what will his
next move will be.
The night fell slowly in that April afternoon, but the time
move very fast for Corey, a tiredness leveled him over the red used
couch they utilized as the center of their high school world. There
was nothing else to do. Think, wait and sleep until the next
morning were his only choices then. The next morning he needed
to go by his apartment without being see, get some money from his
account and to obtain some clothes. Corey, also, needed to put an
alert to his three apartment mates. Life was getting complicated
for him, and his possibilities were narrowing as he thought about
what was next maneuver. Going into hiding wasn’t an alternative
for him, he was too young to believe that his life was over, he like
his life very much until that moment.
What shit I had got into now? Corey asked himself as he
walked to steps that were going to lead him to the street. 23rd
Street was cleared of peasants and the traffic was fluid, Corey felt
that he could cross the street then. For some reason he felt that he
was going to be the next target, and that he didn’t have enough
time to make a graceful exit from the scene, until he could figure
out what was going to be his next step.
Corey made a stop on the Sovron Bank’s ATM machine on
I Street before he got to the apartment where he paid one quarter of
the rent. Money that was given to him through a full ride
scholarship giving to him by the George Washington University
through the Freedom Forum Association, given to the District
native students by George Washington University. In high school
Corey other than playing the point guard position for Woodrow
Wilson High, he was the valedictory of his class.
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Hollie turned the car key and the beetle engine started. She
drove the small olive green car through 25th street and turned right
on Pennsylvania Ave.
The albino young man put his silencer on the gun while his
partner attempted to break the apartment door down. The two men
couldn’t be more different than oil and water. They didn’t know
each other until they met three hours ago. Except, that these two
were professionals, hired to clean the mess left behind by the two
traitor secret service agents by leaking what happened in the most
secret meeting.
Now these two assassins were going after the small fish,
Corey Malcolm Lewis. By this time the old assassin knew
everything was there to know about young Mr. Lewis, graduated
from Woodrow Wilson High School here in the district with
honors, and actually studying at George Washington University
with a full ride scholarship from Freedom Forum Association.
Corey, in high school, was a member of the basketball, wrestling
and track teams, and an editor of the school newspaper, the
yearbook and was voted the most likely to fulfill his goals. Mr.
Lewis happened to be from Italian and Native Americans descend
and his IQ tested in the high percentile.
In different from his young colleague, the old assassin
suspected that Mr. Lewis was not going to be an easy prayer to
hunt. The only way to smoke him out of his hide out was by
getting to know him as if he was a member of the family.
“There ain’t here,” said the albino.
The old assassin pick up his cell, “The apartment is empty.
But he was here.”
“He’s gettin’ in an olive green beetle right now in front of
the buildin’,” said a voice with a deep southern accent.
“They’re outside getting in a car now,” the old assassin said
as he closed his cell phone, and ran out of the apartment.
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Chapter EIGHT
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Chapter NINE
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Chapter TEN
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Chapter Eleven
“With
I’
m
speakin
voice sa
“My name is Michael English,” Corey said. “I’m trying to reach
Dr. Cartel. Doctor Luis Cartel.”
“ I’m Dr. Cartel!” a pause took place before he continued.
“How can I help you, Mr. English?”
“I found your card in my locker. I will like to . . .”
“Just follow the numbers,” the voice interrupted Corey,
“34,13.55,86N and 82,53,39.75W. I can’t talk anymore. I’ll see in
two days, at noon. Don’t be late. Don’t trust anyone and get rid off
your cell.” The line went dead on the other side.
Corey looked at his phone and with an odd expression. For
some reason he could believe the mistake he just made by using his
cell he gave them the opportunity to track them. “I’m such an
idiot,” he shouted as he threw the phone inside the garbage cam
next to the bus stop. He then began to run to the indoor parking lot
next to the Y red building.
“What-ta-fuck?” Hollie said as she ran after him. “What did
he say, Corey? Stop . . . Talk to me.”
“I can’t, let’s get out of here.” In a panic, Corey sprinted
across the under ground parking lot. The girl that shared his
apartment followed him in an anxious run after him. Hollie
almost could n’t keep up with the athletic specimen running in
front of her.
They reached the olive green Volkswagen bulky, parked on
the south end of the empty lot. “The keys,” Corey howled at
Hollie who was struggling to get the right key in the keyhole.
“What’s goin’ on?” she shouted back at him.
“Get in, Hollie”
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“No,” she said firmly, “no until you tell me what’s goin’
on.”
“There’s no time for this, they’ll be here soon,” Corey said
with desperation.
***
***
The covert parking lot rose three levels above the ground,
Hollie and Corey were on the third level, arguing, as Mother and
the Albino Boy were making their entrance through parking portal.
The lot was almost empty so the argument between the two college
students was echoing through the concrete walls of the gray place.
“Hollie, get in the car, or we are going to die here,” Corey
said, as he started the small green beetle.
“No until you tell me what Cartel did tell you,” she
responded.
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“I used the phone and they know where we are,” said he,
with a sense of urgency, “they’ll be here soon.”
“I need to know where we going, I need to know what is
coming next,” said she. “I don’t like uncertainty, I don’t like . . .”
Hollie didn’t finish when a whistling sound crossed over between
the two of them.
On the other side of the lot Albino Boy said, “Shit, the
wind carried it.”
“Idiot, when you’re going to learn? I’ll take it,” Mother
grunted.
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The bulky rear window blew inward; making Hollie made a high
peach screech. The Charger tried to pair with Corey’s driving but
he kept on cutting their pathway all the way to the exit.
Once in parking the exit tunnel Corey pushed his motorcar
has hard as he could, while it took shots from the inane albino
man.
“Please, get us out of here, Corey,” Hollie cried out.
Corey could see the white sunlight coming from the main
parking lot entrance, with that in goal, he pushed the little car
engine even more. The bulky crossed the threshold into 17th street,
missing a white Fedx van. The Jet-Black Dodge Charger flew
through the sidewalk and landed on the street asphalt.
“SHIT . . .” Mother howled as he pulled the Charger
steering wheel to the left, but it was too late. A red pick up nipped
the black car on the rear, making it spined twice before their car
landed on the opposite sidewalk park cars.
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