Manuel passed slowly among the small rank of men at the 5:30 a.m. inspection. They were standing to attention under the harsh glare from the warehouse lights in full dress, and the sharp eyes of the nurse missed nothing. He pulled the peaks of their caps down over their eyes until they looked like patrolmen, adjusted a lanyard, checked a buckle on a gaiter, commenting, criticizing all the time, demanding as close as he could get to perfection. He stopped opposite Flynn, resplendent as a CHP officer.
"Smarten up that guy," Manuel commanded sharply. "Stand up straight, get your shoulders back! God made you small but he didn't want you to act like a munchkin. I heard about your daring infiltration of that British military installation."
"I have quite the reputation in Ulster," Flynn said, hate blazing from his beady eyes.
"The details were sketchy, but the word is that you managed to gather some valuable intel before slipping away into the night," Manuel said dismissively.
As Manuel mentioned Flynn's past infiltration back in Ulster, Flynn's mind raced with conflicting thoughts and emotions. The memory of the infiltration brought a mixture of pride and shame. On one hand, it was a successful mission that showcased his skills and resourcefulness. Yet, on the other hand, it felt like a futile endeavor in hindsight. Despite the intel gathered, it hadn't brought about the desired change or justice he sought. Deep down, Flynn couldn't shake off the feeling of disappointment and regret. He wondered if he had wasted his time and efforts on a mission that ultimately had little impact. The thought embarrassed him, stirring up a sense of inadequacy and frustration. As Flynn glanced at Manuel, a flicker of resentment crossed his mind. If he could get away with it, he would unleash his anger and frustration on Manuel, blaming him for leading them into this seemingly futile endeavor. But he knew better than to act on such impulses. For now, he masked his true feelings behind a facade of calm and cooperation, biding his time for an opportunity to assert himself.
"Sure, Manuel," Flynn retorted with a hint of sarcasm. "Got in, got out, and what did I accomplish?" But the nurse had moved on to the next man and ignored him.
"Their bearing and movement are getting better, sir, more like regular policemen," Manuel told Dragov after the parade.
"Good," Dragov answered. "But aren't you asking for trouble with the way you're pushing Flynn?"
"Don't worry, sir," the nurse replied. "I've got the measure of that bastard now. by the way you're stepping up the training I gather it must be getting near the time. When are you thinking of staging the accident?"
"I haven't made a final decision," Dragov told him. "But I'm working towards February 3rd. Would that be alright for you?"
"I'd have to check the hospital duty roster, sir, but I can't see any problems. I'm due a few days' vacation and I thought I'd spend the time with the men. I could watch the last run-throughs and spend the time with the men. I could watch the last run-throughs and spot any faults."
"I'd be glad to have you with us."
"Right, I'll move my stuff across."442Please respect copyright.PENANABHsyHQgZgL
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Michael knocked on the door of Dragov's room. He found Zoltan inside, leaning against the wall. Dragov was sitting on the bed.
"I wanted to see you for a moment," Michael hesitated.
"Come in," Dragov said. "Don't worry about Zoltan." He glanced into Michael's face, then he reached into a drawer and took out a bottle of vodka.
"Didn't you say this was a dry house?" Michael queried.
"This is for medicinal purposes," Dragov answered. "Pour yourself a drink, you look as if you need one."
Michael poured himself a stiff vodka.
"I'll join you," Dragov said, passing over another glass.
"You?" Michael asked Zoltan, but Zoltan shook his head disparagingly, stating that he never touched the stuff.
"Now, what's happening with Kathy?" Dragov asked.
"She's O.K.," Michael answered. "She's not being badly treated, I believed that from the way she spoke, but she's scared and lonely."
"What about Kazakov?"
"The arrogant fucker behaved as we expected him to." Michael raised his glass and peered through the crystal. "You've got another spy in your camp," he said quietly. "Me."
"That's O.K.. Lead him along, but watch out for Reed-Henry, he'll see straight through you."
Michael nodded. The vodka felt good in his stomach. He lifted the bottle. "You mind if I get drunk?" he asked.
Dragov shook his head. "Not as long as you're ready to sleep it off here."
Zoltan pushed himself away from the wall. "I guess I'll leave you guys," he said. "I've got to check on Flynn."
After Zoltan had gone, Michael continued, unable to hide his hurt. "Dragov, let me tell you about my encounter with Dade," Michael began, his frustration evident in his voice. "When I told him what we wanted to do with Mischa Barton, he laughed in my face. Guys like him don't understand how a cause is made." He paused, then continued, his tone becoming more impassioned. "But what if Mischa Barton's rescue shook the public conscience, especially in America? Barton may not mean anything to them now, but her story could change everything. People would see her as a victim of a broken system, a symbol of hope and redemption. And if we're the ones to save her, well, who's to say we won't become heroes in the eyes of the people?" Michael's voice faltered slightly as he asked the next question. "Do you think I'm crazy? For believing that we can make a difference?"
Dragov just shrugged his shoulders. He could see that Michael was down and he needed all the support he could get. Courage was something that Michael had to work at all the time.
"Karl Marx and Darwin were crazy, and so were all the great religious prophets, you're in good company."
Michael smiled at him over the rim of his glass. "Hey," he said, warming to Dragov, "maybe you're not such a black-hearted bastard after all. Want some?" He was going to push the bottle across but Dragov shook his head.
"You know, Dade did give me some detailed leads," Michael explained, his tone serious. "It all started with a wild car chase through the streets of Los Angeles. Mischa was flying down the freeway at speeds of over 100 miles per hour, weaving in and out of traffic like a madwoman. Eventually, she was stopped by the police in downtown Los Angeles, where they used spike strips to deflate her tires and bring the chase to an end. When they finally pulled her out of the car, Mischa was in bad shape. The effects of 'Crystal Mirage' were evident—she was disoriented, agitated, and clearly under the influence. She put up a fight, resisting arrest until the officers were forced to restrain her. She was held in the holding room for hours, ranting and raving about God knows what. It was clear that she needed help, but all the cops saw was a celebrity gone off the rails.
"As for the drug 'Crystal Mirage,' it's a potent and highly addictive substance made from a combination of cocaine and various synthetic chemicals. The exact process of its production is murky, but the DEA suspects it's being manufactured in clandestine labs, possibly in South America. Mischa could have gotten it from many sources, but there are a few discos in Los Angeles that have been suspected key distribution points for the drug. Places like Studio 54 and The Limelight have been under scrutiny for their involvement in the trafficking of 'Crystal Mirage.' Now, her boyfriend, he's in a rock band, Led Zeppelin, very popular. He was likely the one who got her started on the substance. The cocaine used to make 'Crystal Mirage' comes from South America, and the CIA believes that the profits from the drug are supporting guerrilla organizations like the FARC and the Shining Path. It's a dangerous game, Dragov, and Mischa Barton is right in the middle of it.
"The court-appointed psychiatrist testified that Mischa was in a severe mental state during the incident, likely exacerbated by the side effects of 'Crystal Mirage.' She admitted to being under the influence, but was it her choice, or was it bad legal advice? The presiding judge on her case was Judge Amelia Hawthorne, a stern and uncompromising figure in the judicial world. As for her father, Lord Barton, he holds considerable clout with the OPEC nations. If he convinces the Arabs to turn off the spigot, it could spell disaster for America's energy supplies. But here's the kicker—Lord Barton might not WANT his daughter back, given the effect the drug has had on her. He might see her as more trouble than she's worth, especially if it means jeopardizing his political and business interests."
"Michael," Dragov said with a hint of frustration, "if she's as far gone as you say, then she'll be more of a liability than an asset to you."
"She is not far gone," Michael insisted, his tone resolute. "She may have lost the use of her conscious mind temporarily, but she's getting some of her common sense back. There's still hope for her. Dade let slip about a deal the DEA is considering—offering Mischa a reduced sentence in exchange for information about the drug's production and distribution network. There's a chance she'll agree to it, but they haven't asked her yet. But if that's the case, is it possible the Shadow Syndicate is watching her? Maybe they'd rather have her dead than see her leave Pescadero as a free woman. But nobody can touch her in Pescadero; she's too closely guarded. If something were to happen to her, the police would be suspicious if they thought she'd died of anything but natural causes. I'd say the Shadow Syndicate is trying to use us to bring her out into the open."
"You're right," Dragov confirmed, his tone serious. "The Shadow Syndicate is playing a dangerous game, and they're using us as pawns in their scheme."442Please respect copyright.PENANAFOSHw10Pl7
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Flynn came up to Zoltan, crouched in the corner of their room. 442Please respect copyright.PENANAmoqdAZZU1L
"How are you feeling?"
"Good, man, good," Zoltan said. "These tabs you gave me are the best. I'm flying high."442Please respect copyright.PENANAH7PotDCHeb
Flynn studied Zoltan's face and saw the dilated pupils, the filmy, faraway look in his eyes. "So you are, you crazy bastard," he agreed softly. "So you are."
Flynn sank against the opposite wall and waited as the L.S.D. took effect.
"How are you, man?" Zoltan asked
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