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CHAPTER 9



Wade was waiting and watching. As Kyle approached, he slid over to the passenger side.

He said, “It’s a Mercedes box van, about ten years old. Last I saw, it was rolling down the access road, and should have come out there.” He pointed to the second gate north. “Did you see it?”

“Yes, just a few minutes ago,” Wade replied.

“Carefully, then. We don’t want to ride up on it.” Kyle acknowledged and eased into gear. He left the headlights off, steering carefully by the lights glaring through gaps in the skyline. He coasted slowly out to where he could see the road.

“There,” Wade said, and pointed. “That’s them.”

“I’ll give them a bit,” Kyle said. “Do we know what main route they have to take?”

“If they go straight, it’s this one,” Wade said, pointing at the map, then zooming in with a flick of fingers. “Toward Tulcea, Braila, or Bucharest.”

“Four-lane?”

“To start with.”

“Okay, call Cafferty, tell him. We’re going to need backup.”

Wade pulled out his phone. “Curtis here. We’re following them onto the E60. We’ll need support . . . yes . . . understood . . . We’ll do what we can. Yes, sir.” He clicked off and said, “Fun.”

“What?”

“He says they can pick up in either town, but don’t have anyone nearby. We’ll have to follow them ourselves for a while. And we’re supposed to do that without being noticed?” Wade asked. “I think they overestimate our chances.”

“No, we can do it,” Kyle said. “In theory, we should have three to five vehicles. Anytime they turn, the first vehicle goes straight, then joins the back of the pack. If they go straight long enough to get suspicious of a tail, one car will turn off and then rejoin. By varying the passenger silhouette, we’d track them for hundreds of kilometers and not be noticed.”

“Makes sense,” Wade said. “And how do we do it with just two Americans, one black and one white, in a late model Audi?”

“Easy,” Kyle said. “Warm up the NVGs and see how the landscape looks.” They were onto the highway now, staying well back. It was an easy pursuit, for the moment.

“Ah, I catch your drift. We douse the lights and follow in the dark, and occasionally put them back on as we pass side roads.” He fumbled in back for a moment, then sat up again with a pair of goggles. He snugged the straps on his head and adjusted them.

“That’s it,” Kyle said. “Though you may have to bail out and watch for clues if they stop somewhere.”

“Sure. I could use more exercise.” He removed the goggles and said, “They’re good to go. Want them now?” There were still some streetlights along here, but it didn’t seem they’d last long. The road was narrowing to two lanes again.

“No, keep them ready,” Kyle said. “I may have only a second or two to kill the lights, you slip them on my head and I’ll get them in place before running off the road.”

“Before would be good,” Wade agreed. “What do we do if they have sentries or night vision of their own?”

“Abort, shoot our way out or die.”

“Great. The Truth. Now tell me some cheerful BS so I don’t worry.”

“We’ll pretend we’re lost tourists looking at exotic rabbits by starlight. Sort of like birdwatchers, but not as cool.”

“There’s people less cool than birdwatchers?”

“Politicians, reporters, and terrorists at the very least.”

“Point made,” Wade nodded.

The truck was moving at a good clip. Speed limits weren’t enforced much, Kyle seemed to remember. Nor was there much need. The driver of the beat-up old Mercedes truck braked hard before bends and turns, then powered through them, the box back swaying dangerously over rippling, distorted tires. He didn’t seem too worried about his cargo.

“Careless driver,” he said.

“Maybe it’s a decoy?”

“Could be,” Kyle nodded. “But that’s not something we can decide en route. Maybe the guy’s just an idiot with no imagination.” Blasting gelatin and most other explosives were quite stable. The risk of explosion was almost nonexistent. But a crash and spill would blow any cover available. “Maybe he has to be there on a stiff schedule. Doesn’t matter. We’re here, we’ll follow them. Hand me the goggles, I’m going to shut off the lights around this bend.” There was a small but obvious side road that made a convenient excuse for them to “turn off” and leave dark emptiness on the road.

Wade reached back, where he had laid out goggles, gear, and weapons like surgical tools, ready at a moment’s notice. It would really screw them if they did get pulled over, of course. On the other hand, if US$25 got one out of drunk driving, a couple of hundred cash, name drops about the embassy and references to the DEA had a decent chance of getting them left alone. If not . . . no one had claimed the mission was without risk.

“Here you go,” he said, as he slid the goggles into the space between Kyle’s head and the roof.

Kyle grasped them and drew them down over his eyes. “There,” he said. Wade grabbed them and started adjusting the head harness into place, while Kyle flipped off the lights. He’d been blind for only a second, and was still in control of the vehicle. As the curve straightened out, their quarry became visible again, taillights ahead of them.

“Going to do this for a while?” Wade asked.

“As long as we can get away with. If they don’t have reason to notice a vehicle behind them, they won’t pay attention when we are in sight. We should be fine.”

“Until we get close and the shooting starts,” Wade commented.

“Yes,” Kyle agreed with a single nod.

They drove in silence for several minutes, Wade looking at maps and watching the taillights, Kyle keeping his distance steady and looking for the obvious dangers of people turning in front of them, and for the edge of the road, which disappeared at times and even the enhanced vision of the goggles didn’t show.

Then the bright blobs of the taillights ahead slewed.

“They’re turning off,” Wade advised and grabbed the laptop back from his knees.

“I see,” Kyle said. “Where are they heading?”

“Inland. In toward the mountains.”

“Isn’t that where they keep disappearing?”

“I believe so.”

“Tell Cafferty.”

“Will do,” Wade agreed, and reached for his phone. “Curtis here. They’re heading along Route Sixty toward Bucharest . . . Yes . . . will do.” He clicked off. “He suspects they’ll go past Bucharest to Brasov area, and will arrange to get someone there in the next day or so.”

“The next day or so?” Kyle asked incredulously. “That’s a long time.”

“I gather he’s shorthanded and we’re about it.”

“Uncle Sam certainly has faith in our ability. Too much, maybe.” He drifted into the turn, watching for oncoming cars, whose drivers would have no idea he was there until they wound up in a torn sheet-metal embrace.

“So we do what we can,” Wade said. His voice was calm, but there was a hint of strain, and Kyle smiled. He could see adequately. Wade still was using his Mod 1 eyeballs to scan with. This had to be a bit disturbing for him.

The PVS7-XR5 night vision enabled Kyle to see reasonably well by the stars and moon. Occasional oncoming vehicles’ headlights caused the goggles to shift settings, which gave them some tense moments where he was driving by feel on a narrow road, with no shoulder and a foot drop into woods at the side. That was exciting, and not in a good way. Some oncoming traffic appeared not to see them, but several drivers honked their horns.

“Sooner or later someone is going to hit us, report us, or figure out we’re up to something,” Kyle said.

“Yeah. ‘Why isn’t the CIA handling this?’ he asks again.”

“I get the impression most spooks are computer nerds, not tuxedo-clad, stone-cold killers,” Kyle said. “I also get the impression that whether this works or not, we’ll be referred to in whatever news does get out as ‘CIA assassins,’ and that the Agency will take the credit publicly.” He eased the wheel to the left, trying to avoid getting too close to the edge.

“No bet,” Wade said. “As long as the Army credits us as due. And maybe throws in a follow-up mission looking for terrorists at a bikini-judging contest in Aruba . . .”

“Miss Nude Bomber, maybe?”

“Hmm . . . we’d have to search them. Carefully.”

“Of course,” Kyle agreed. Jokes were necessary despite the mission. Or maybe because of it.

Anything that relieved a little stress would help. Because of the goggles, he could only see the layered green world of night vision ahead and nothing to the sides. Wade’s voice and the engine noise were his lifeline to reality. They’d tried the radio and given up. It was Italian pop and some obnoxious Russian stuff, neither of which they wanted to listen to.

The smaller, rougher road wove through small towns, where it would circle the town square or go through a roundabout. They paralleled the Ialomita River for some time, then turned roughly northwest.

“Near as I can tell,” Wade said, “we’re bypassing Bucharest to its north.”

“That would make sense,” Kyle agreed. “If they’re headed for Sighişoara or the mountains.”

“Not as fast, but less traffic and visibility, easier to find a tail—”

“Us,” Kyle interrupted with a grin.

“Us,” Wade agreed. “And it avoids accidents or stops where someone would see a lot of evidence. If they have trouble out here, they’re less likely to be seen and can hide bodies.”

“That’s so reassuring,” Kyle said. “Also consider that they may have a tail to look for tails.”

“Joy,” Wade replied and stopped talking. Eventually, they rejoined the E60 and turned right, continuing northwest.

“Seems to agree with the Sighişoara theory,” Kyle said. “If I recall the map.”

“Right here,” Wade said, angling the laptop. Kyle checked the road was straight, flipped up the goggles, looked at the route Wade traced with his finger, then turned quickly back to the road.

It was a long drive. At times they’d reach speeds of 150km/h or more. Then they’d hit hills or curves and drop down below 70. There were several tense instances where the truck would pass a slow-moving car right before a series of rises or bends that precluded visibility and passing. Twice, Wade leaned far out the window to try to see ahead for Kyle’s benefit. They’d hit a section just long enough for bravery and urgency to overcome common sense and rip past whichever vehicle had hindered them, usually to shouts and honks about headlights.

Again they took a narrower local road, and again Wade reported it to Cafferty. “He says to be alert for sudden turns. They’re likely to try to get on E70,” he relayed to Kyle.

“Understood.” And it would be easy along here. It twisted and wove and the road was rising.

They did turn left onto another local road, and it was even rougher than the routes so far. The car crunched over loose and crumbled asphalt, occasionally skittering and skidding over gravel from underneath. There were potholes to dodge and cracks that let chunks of the road edges yawn dangerously away from the main bed.

The road narrowed and wound. Then up ahead there was an obstacle, and oncoming lights. Kyle braked hard and kept a good distance back from the slow-moving thing ahead, which resolved into a horse-drawn cart out way too late and with no reflectors or lights. It was far to the left, but there was still a considerable risk of someone smashing into it. The oncoming car whipped past and honked, whether at the cart driver or Kyle was impossible to tell. The cartman swore and shook his fist at the vehicle, then shouted something as Kyle powered around and back up to speed. He pulled into another curve and smiled. Everyone out driving tonight was an idiot, it seemed, himself included.

Another oncoming car flashed its lights at them as it approached. Then it was past, and its brake lights glowed brightly in the mirror as it slewed and turned. It was only a couple of hundred yards behind when it finished the maneuver. Then it started closing the gap, lights on high and a spotlight thrown in. Kyle flipped the mirror down to avoid the glare.

“Ah, hell,” Kyle said. Worse profanity wasn’t really needed. This had been almost inevitable.

“Police?” Wade asked.

“Dunno, but probably.” The irony was perverse. Had they been using headlights, this would have been less likely. On the other hand, they might have been nailed that way, too. Sometimes, every answer was wrong.

Then the car’s lights went out. Behind Kyle and Wade the back window exploded. Cold wind started roaring in.

“Shots fired!” Wade said needlessly. “I think they’ve got night vision, too.”

“Not cops!” Kyle said, also needlessly.

“How? Scanner? Spooks at police headquarters heard a complaint? Looking for interference?”

“Who cares?” Kyle shouted.

“Right. Want me to shoot?” Wade asked, quickly over his surprise.

“If you’d be so kind,” Kyle yelled, shifting down and nailing the gas. Wade fell against his seat as the acceleration caught him. He’d been reaching for the blankets covering the rifle in the footwell.

In seconds he had it, had clicked the scope on, and was drawing it up into shooting position. He fell flat and lowered the weapon but kept hold of it as two more shots crashed by. One took out more glass and starred the windshield. The other threw sparks from the side pillar, exiting with a scream.

“Shit!” he said, yanking the rifle back up.

The best thing to do when being shot at is to move quickly, keep moving, and not sit still and take it. But the shattered and open back window was a psychological hole that made things seem that much more vulnerable. Kyle’s neck and back were itching madly, and his shoulder muscles twitched in fear. He steeled himself to keep driving and let Wade shoot, and pulled the mirror roughly back into place. At least he had an idea of what was going on behind.

The fuzzy monochrome and shadows inside the car made it hard to tell, but it seemed to contain three or four people, and rifles stuck up from at least two of them. Or maybe submachine guns with long barrels or suppressors. They seemed a bit short and thick for proper rifles. But whatever they were, they could definitely shoot right through the car, and through the Rangers.

“We need police-type body armor, thin and under the clothes. Put it on the list,” Kyle said.

“Sure, when we get back,” Wade said. “Wonder if the embassy can get us some.”

“Have to hope so,” Kyle said. “But we need it now.”

He didn’t want to close up on the truck and let them trap him, possibly with a vehicle in the other lane, either a conspirator or convenient civilian. But he didn’t want to let their tail get up close where shooting was more accurate, or ramming became possible. It occurred to him also that they might have incendiary ammo and aim for the fuel tank.

Maybe he could get a bit closer to the truck, he thought. It was still a kilometer or more ahead, as he came over a rise in the road at better than 90 mph, almost 160 km/h. Then he had to turn hard, because the road had a reverse camber and they were floating, drifting off to the right, where very hard trees awaited them.

The road leveled back out and another round tore through and punched a hole in the left side of the windshield. Some scattered bits of fluffy padding came from Wade’s seat. He didn’t seem to notice and sat up with the AK.

He had to shout to be heard over the roar of wind and engine. “We’ve got enough of a problem with the damage to this vehicle. If I shoot the driver or block, we’ll have a major incident. I’m going to try for a tire.”

“Makes sense,” Kyle said. “Just don’t take too long.”

“Working on it,” Wade replied, his nod unseen. “Easier with the back window gone. Get me a bend in the road so I have a better profile to shoot at. Moving,” he announced, and shimmied between the seats, his thigh dangerously close to the gear shift. The passenger seat dropped as he yanked the recline lever, then he eased back a bit more.

Two more shots cracked through the vehicle, and Kyle grimaced, gripping the wheel until his knuckles turned white. Just because he’d been shot at before didn’t mean he enjoyed it. But he was veteran enough to not flinch, and kept the car tightly controlled as they took a sharp bend to the right.

“Kick ass!” Wade said, and fired. The round popped through the suppressor, the bolt clacked as it cycled, and he immediately started squirming back into the front seat. “That’ll teach the bastards to shoot at us!”

Though that did leave the minor matter of the Rangers’ riddled ride. Front and rear glass were missing, and there was at least one small-caliber hole visible.

“We going to keep trailing?” Wade asked over the wind noise.

“Nothing else we can do,” Kyle said. “That was a great shot.”

“Thanks. They survived from pity,” Wade said. “It’s a pity I had to be discreet.”

“Right. The question is, did our boys in the truck get the message, do they know we took care of their buddies, and will they do anything to us? Or just try to get away?” There were enough small side roads that anything was possible, and Kyle was not about to drive into a potential ambush. They might be Rangers and snipers, but they were only two men, and a squad of men with submachine guns could kill them handily in the woods.

“Dunno. But I assume they know we’re here,” Wade said. He kept the rifle on his lap, muzzle down at the footwell. He returned the seat upright.

“Yeah,” Kyle said shortly. Things always went to hell, that was a given. So it wasn’t really a surprise to be driving across Romania in a car shot to hell without approval of the local government, carrying unauthorized weapons.

Not surprising, but aggravating.

The truck’s driver seemed to know he was being followed. He increased speed until the whole van shimmied and tilted on the curves.

Perhaps he could catch a glimpse of reflected moon off the Audi. Or he may have had a spotter of his own with night vision. Whatever was involved, he was driving recklessly.

Kyle reflected on how a wreck would leave crates of explosive on the road, to be seized by the Romanians. If the driver and passengers were injured, they could just be left there to be dealt with locally.

On the other hand, he wasn’t authorized to make that decision. “Call Cafferty,” he said. “Ask him about wrecking them.”

“Calling,” Wade said. “Curtis here. Question. If we can harass the target into an accident, should we? . . . Yes, that’s what we were wondering. Let me give you our current location while we’re on air.” He read off the road and approximate grid. “Yes, we’ll try. We just had an encounter with a car of unfriendlies. They were encouraged to lose a tire . . . No, nothing traceable to us . . . Will do. Out.” He turned to Kyle and said, “He says a wreck would be of immediate help if all else fails, but he’d prefer to know where they’re going. So pursue if possible. If we can’t maintain pursuit, we’re authorized to shoot out a tire or otherwise cause a wreck, then find a hotel and hide while he cleans up the mess. I gather he really doesn’t want us to do that.”

“Roger that,” Kyle said. So dammit, he’d stay on top of them and try not to spook them too much.

Every time they hit a town, he had to wonder if the truck was going to stop, turn off, meet up with additional forces or do something totally unpredictable. Fatigue was getting to him, his eyeballs gritty and hurting from the monochromatic vision the NVGs allowed. He drifted occasionally, and took two or three seconds to recover each time. Thought processes slowing, he realized. If he reached the hallucination stage, he’d have to make a quick stop and let Wade drive. Though Wade wasn’t in much better shape.

“It just occurred to me that we have to lose this car when we do stop,” Kyle said. The wind roaring throughout might have seemed an obvious hint, but they’d become used to it and were still running on endorphins from the battle.

“Shit, that’s right,” Wade said. “It’s blatantly obvious what happened and will get questions asked.”

“Questions we don’t want to answer, even if it’s, ‘We were hijacked and drove fast’.”

“Yeah, not even that,” Wade agreed. “What do we do?”

Kyle realized the battle had him hyped, and the untraditional battlefield had him confused. On top of fatigue, he was barely tracking. “You’ll drive when we get close, drop me off to get a room. I’ll walk in with a backpack. Not too uncommon. Then I’ll call and tell you where, and you follow along.”

“Sounds good. But it’s damned late.”

“Yeah, I know,” Kyle said. “Nothing we can do about that. Town ahead. Damn, we’ve come a long way.”

“Probably three hundred and fifty kilometers, two hundred and ten miles,” Wade said. “It’s 5:00 a.m., did you know that?”

“I didn’t,” Kyle said. “This would be a three- to four-hour drive back home. Here it’s been six already.”

“How are you holding up?”

“Groggy,” Kyle admitted. “But not groggy enough to change drivers. We’ll swap if they stop, if you’re up to it.”

“Not really, but I’m probably in better shape, since I haven’t been driving. Curve up ahead.”

“I see it,” Kyle said. “Looks like they’re turning again. I see brake lights.”

“I think that’s E70 they’re turning on,” Wade said. “South again. I’m really wondering if this is a decoy, except Cafferty seems to think this is part of their route.”

“He knows more than we do. We trust him,” Kyle said. “Not much point if we don’t.”

“True.”

Every town was starting to look the same to Kyle, and all the kilometers of forest. He was relying on Wade to keep him informed. All his attention was on staying on the road.

“Heading into Bran,” Wade said. “Tiny town, tourist attraction.”

“What’s here?”

“An old castle, allegedly used by Dracula during the war with the Turks. You should know this, Vampire Hunter.”

“Yeah, vampires.” He longed to say something witty, but his brain was fried.

Ahead, the road turned and the speed limit dropped. The truck braked hard as it hit the curve, then accelerated into town.

“That’s a bit fast,” Kyle said. “I’d say they do know we’re after them. Maybe we can scare them into doing something stupid.”

“Yeah,” Wade said, “or into just driving on through the day, while everyone looks at the car with the windows missing.”

“Right.”

Then they were in town proper, the road a long curve ahead and to the left. The truck was three stops ahead of them. Then it turned off. Kyle had already braked for a sign and couldn’t maneuver quickly.

“Got them,” Wade said. “Left.”

“Roger.” He revved up and pulled ahead hard, tires squealing slightly. He ran through two signs as he flipped the lights back off and dropped the goggles down. They were close enough now that any sign of them would be a warning.

He came to the intersection, yanked the wheel left and took the turn . . .

Nothing.

“So where did they go?” he asked, hoping Wade had seen them.

“Dunno.”

“Dammit! I don’t want to say we lost them!”

“I’d guess another turn, then another. Their best bet would be to zigzag so we’re always a street behind.”

“Let’s go six blocks fast and wait,” he decided.

It wasn’t as easy as that. The blocks weren’t necessarily square or even. But he found another cross street that was fairly straight and sat there at the intersection, waiting.

After five minutes, it was fairly obvious the truck was either stopped somewhere in the area, or had evaded and left.

“Circle the area a few times,” Wade suggested. “There’s not much traffic out this morning.”

“Good idea. Route?”

Wade read off directions and they drove around the village then crisscrossed it, looking for any sign of the truck or its lights. After that, they returned to where they’d lost sight and patrolled street by street.

“Nothing,” Kyle said in disgust. “Do we wake Cafferty?”

“I’d say so. He needs to know.”

“Yeah,” Kyle agreed. “Dammit, I hate to fail.”

“I got some photos. Maybe he can get something from that.”

“We’ll see. I’m going to stop here and call.”

“Okay.”

From a steep graveled roadside that wasn’t really a shoulder, he punched his phone while Wade packed weapons away.

“Cafferty,” was the sleepy reply. It was clear he hadn’t actually gotten any sleep.

“Lost them,” Kyle said. There was no point in wasting time.

“Shit. Where?”

“Here in Bran. They turned, they disappeared. We were about sixty seconds behind and slowed to maintain distance.”

“Dammit,” Cafferty groused. “This is my fault for not having more backup. There’s only so much you can do with one vehicle.”

“Well, we had them and lost them,” Kyle said.

“Yeah, but this has happened before. Always in that area—Bran, Braşov, Codlea, they make turns in town and poof! Gone. Dammit.” He really sounded disgusted.

“What should we do?” Kyle asked.

“Get a room and stay in the area. They may show up. Can you look around in daylight? I know it sounds stupid, but they can’t hide the vehicle all the time, and even if they stole it or rented it, it’ll give us more of a lead.”

“Yeah, we can do that. Do you have the images we sent?” he asked.

“I do, but there’s nothing I can get from them. I’m having them looked at by experts, but it will take time. Later will be better. And you guys will be rested.”

“Roger that,” Kyle said. He realized he was absolutely wiped out, now that they’d stopped the chase. “I’ll ping you early.”

“Only if you find something,” Cafferty said. “I need sleep, too.”

“Right, now what about the car?” he asked.

“What about it?” Cafferty asked.

“Shot up,” Kyle reminded him.

“Oh, that. Dammit, I forgot.” There was clear strain in his voice. “Abandon it, see if you can wreck it a bit against a pole or hillside. I’ll take it from there. Hold on.” There was mumbling off phone, then he said, “Call Sam when you get lodged and he will deliver another car to you. He’ll be there in about four hours.”

“Will do. Out.”

Kyle wanted a good idea of who would have access to their room, and a certain amount of visibility made it harder for people to either sneak up or take gear out. He’d prefer a little strip motel.

It wasn’t like America, though. This might be a tourist area, but it was also the absolute ass end of nowhere. Actually, it wasn’t. The Afghan border was the absolute ass end of nowhere. Kyle had been there. But this was very sparsely populated and not the type of place with twenty-four-hour desk staff. The hotel they chose was small, old, and seemed to be based in a large house broken into suites. But there was parking outside, so there was a certain amount of clear space. He went in to register while Wade took the car to its grave. It seemed unfair. The vehicle had seen them through a long chase and was to be tossed aside. Their first casualty, it felt like.

Still, better the car than the people they’d lost in the past.

Several minutes of knocking got someone to rise. A middle-aged woman came to the door in a robe, then put on her business smile. Kyle didn’t even haggle over the rate. Better to be thought a dumb tourist. It wasn’t his money, and she was quite helpful. He arranged for two nights for now, paid her in euros and asked about somewhere to do laundry before continuing the “hike” he and his partner were on, and did she know if they could get batteries for their cameras here? Yes, his partner was just behind, having stopped to get some early-morning shots of the castle.

Once he had the key, he went straight back to the room and flashed the lights through the open curtain. Wade arrived in moments and was let in. The obvious camera cases with the backpack meant no reason for anyone to question the padded “suitcase” that held the rifles.

“There’s a tub, but no shower,” Kyle told him. “Make it fast, I’m about to die from lack of sleep.”

“Will do.”

While Wade splashed in the old iron tub, Kyle called back.

“This is Sam.”

“Sam, Kyle. I’ve got our hotel info.”

“Go ahead.” Sam was reticent but alert, and sounded competent.

Kyle gave him the address and rough directions.

“Okay, I’ll be there in four hours,” Sam said.

Kyle bathed after Wade finished. Water cooled quickly in the metal tub, and it just wasn’t efficient to get clean while sitting in water with soap and sweat in it. But it was what was available, and better than the last assignment. He scrubbed and got out. Shaving wasn’t necessary, he could do that later. In fact, three days of beard made him look very unmilitary. He toweled off and headed for bed.

Wade looked up from the laptop. “Sleep until ten, then go looking?”

“What time is it now? Six? Yeah. That’s when Sam gets here, anyway.”


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