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CHAPTER 15



Faisal was distraught. At some point, they’d crossed a line into sin. He didn’t know where that line was, but he was quite sure they were past it.

Killing infidels and using them as object lessons for others was something he’d learned to accept.

However, the current events struck him as very wrong. Imam Ayi said that they were not to rape or torture the new hostages, and expected that to satisfy Faisal’s reservations. The group would hold them safely until the West succumbed to logic and faith and removed itself from Islamic affairs. Or, as seemed likely with the recalcitrant dogs, the hostages would be quickly and mercifully killed to reinforce the demand. Their bodies would hang for all to see.

Except, no matter the scripture and Ayi’s interpretation, Faisal couldn’t accept the killing of a little girl and a woman as justified. At every prayer he begged Allah to intercede and to show him what was right. By Muslim law, these were innocents. By Western law, both were merely family members and not active participants. No matter the shock value that would be gained, some things were unacceptable to God and man.

Only, God was silent.

He needed the advice of the imam, but couldn’t admit why. That was disturbing in itself. But if he asked gently, wisdom might reveal itself bit by bit. He rose and left the hut, grabbing his rifle on the way. The walk would help him phrase his questions.

The foremost question was why he could get no answers. That was innocuous enough. He had that ready to ask when he reached the long, low building that served as the mosque, and also as Agung’s headquarters.

The imam had tea steeping, and invited him in. Faisal studied him. His eyes seemed to be both at peace and driven. An intensity of peace. Faisal longed for that feeling himself, rather than shadows of doubt. He wouldn’t mind a beard, either, rather than the scraggly growth he wore.

He accepted a cup of tea, and inhaled the aroma. It was sweet and fresh and fragrant. By itself, it cleared the mind. A sip teased his taste buds, adding another sensation added to all that he felt.

“You are troubled,” Imam Ayi said. “Tell me and I will see what I can offer.”

Faisal hesitated, then blurted out, “What does it mean when God is silent?”

“God is never silent. One simply has to look for Him and His message. What is your question?” he probed.

“I am not sure, Pak Hajji.” Pak Hajji, father of the Haij, the pilgrimage to Mecca. Would Faisal be able to make that trip someday? “There are issues of rightness in my thoughts that I must find answers for. Issues I can’t properly put into words.” He was leery of discussing his qualms. They might get him removed from the cause, his loyalty questioned. He was totally loyal and wished to serve, so he saw no point in suggesting otherwise. He held the cup tightly, not realizing it.

“Then pray as you do. Sooner or later, when Allah sees fit, He will show you your questions and answer them. You will know.”

“Thank you, Pak Hajji.” The wisdom was beyond his comprehension. He’d have to think it over for a while.

“In the meantime, drink tea and think. I find it clears the mind.”

Faisal hoped something would.


Kyle was woken from a restless sleep at dawn. “What?” he asked, snapping awake and raising his rifle.

“Easy,” Wade said. “Wiesinger got captured.”

“Oh, fuck me.” No, it wasn’t a nightmare. It was all too real.

“Yeah. Anda came back, said they got close and he insisted on going in closer. Someone saw him and they gave chase. Firefight, which Stephens heard an hour ago, and they seemed to want him alive.”

“Right.” Something occurred to him, and he asked very softly, “How sure are we of Anda?” Ripples were running up his spine. She had suggested going, was trying to charm Bakri, and he might not be catching hints of . . . 

“She is in tears, sobbing and hyperventilating. Poor girl thinks she’s created an international incident by ‘losing’ the American colonel.”

“Good. I mean, not good but . . .”

“I understand you.”

“Right,” Kyle said. He was still waking up, eyes gritty even without the abuse of previous battles. Damn, they were taking serious fire this time. Worse than Bosnia. He was starting to get a grasp of what an earlier generation had dealt with in Vietnam. They had his increasing respect and sympathy. This crap sucked.

“So we need to figure out what to do,” Wade hinted.

Kyle woke up the rest of the way. He was the ranking American. Non-Americans couldn’t decide on this mission, so he had the job.

His buzzing phone saved him from an immediate answer.


He fumbled it out of his pocket. “Kyle,” he answered.

“Kyle, Gilpin here. You heard about the colonel?” Mister Gilpin was the civilian executive for General Robash. He had a hellacious GS something pay grade and was retired military himself.

“Yes, sir. Working on it now. I’m guessing you got a call from the enemy?”

“Yes. What the hell happened?” The man might be a civilian, but he had the decision-making authority that General Robash did. This was no time for bullshit, and Kyle wasn’t the party on the spot—the colonel had made the decision himself.

“He was on a patrol and got captured. The other element returned and told us.”

“Right. Well, they want a million dollars into an account, they want Indonesia to release a number of prisoners, and they’re adding him to the bargaining over the ‘imperialistic venture between American corporate whores and the Javanese occupiers known as ‘Pertamina’.”

“Sounds about right. What time frame?”

“Twenty hours from now. Frankly, we won’t miss a colonel, or even you guys. No offense, it’s just the situation.”

“I understand perfectly, sir. That’s why we’re here. But you need those civilians.”

“At the very least. And any leads on the explosives for the oil terminal. We concur on that threat, and that’s now the priority.”

“That one’s a bitch, sir. Could be a truck, a plane, lots of people with crates. Really nothing we can do about it. Which is why I concurred with the colonel’s decision to tell Jakarta.” He was sticking his neck out here.

“Yes, so did I,” Gilpin said. “And State are a bunch of assholes who can’t make a decision without a formal meal and a five-star hotel. General Robash is trying to take over again, and I’m insisting he rest, so if you can offer any good news, it’ll help him, too.”

“Best reason of all, sir. How is he?”

“On his feet most of the time, sitting some, a bit short of breath, some pain, bitching about not being able to smoke cigars again, and threatening to kick someone’s ass if he’s not given a sitrep.”

“Damn! That’s good news.” He smiled. “But we’ll do everything we can, especially if it’ll keep the general calm.”

“Good man. I know you can’t give me nightly briefings to tuck me in the way Wiesinger does”—it was the first Kyle had heard of that, but hardly surprising—“but do keep me in the loop.”

“Will do, sir. What do we do about exfiltration?”

“From where you are, we’re going to get you to the north coast. Any advance notice appreciated. You’ll be met by mammals.”

Mammals. SEALs. It wasn’t a code per se, it was just away to avoid using a word that would excite anyone overhearing it at either end. “Understood. Can you get a satellite map of this facility . . .” He grabbed a map and read off coordinates. “Those are as close as I can get,”

“I downloaded those to Wiesinger’s laptop earlier.”

“Dammit, he didn’t tell me or make a backup.”

“I’ll send them again. Which account?”

Kyle spelled out his address and said, “So let’s get it done.”

“Good luck.”

Kyle clicked off. “The general’s bitching up a storm about not being in charge, ” he said.

“Hot damn, he’s going to make it,” Wade said with a grin.

“Yeah. And we’re in danger of losing a colonel.”

“Good news all around,” Stephens joked as he came up behind. Kyle and Wade might think that, but would never say so out loud except in very secure quarters between themselves.

“But we’ve got twenty hours, and those two civilians are at stake, too. Suggestions?”

“Only one,” Stephens said. “But I don’t think you’ll like it.”

“What?”

“You get into the building where they are, off any threats, and shoot anything that moves.”

“If we can get in there, I’m all in favor,” Kyle said. “If the government shows up then, we’re in a much better bargaining position, even if we have to relay by phone. They don’t dare risk the hostages.” He got the laptop plugged into the phone and dialed the server. A large file was waiting for him.

“I dunno,” Wade said. “Jakarta knows that. Does their local commander know that?”

“Well, a frontal assault is out,” Kyle said. “I’d want ten times the force we have to consider it.”

“How about a frontal diversion?” Stephens asked. “Make a lot of noise, draw them out, subject them to fire from as many directions as possible while another group goes in to get the hostages? We are trained for that.”

“Good, but are the three of you enough?” Kyle asked.

“Dunno. There aren’t really any good options here.”

“Or else we try to nail them through windows. Then the distraction, then the assault.”

“Problem is,” Kyle said, “we need more troops trained on sniping and hostages than we have, plus a good infantry commander as well. I hate to say it, but we could really use Mel here.”

“That just tells me how much things suck,” Wade said.

“Yeah, well, we knew that. Let’s talk to Anda.” The woman arrived at once.

“Yes?” she asked as she slipped into their shelter.

“Tell us everything you can.” Kyle laid out the map he’d sketched and the satellite map. The latter was more accurate, the former probably easier for an amateur to read.

Nodding, she began. “We approach, low and slow. Then we crawl. We come in this way here,” she indicated on Kyle’s sketched map. “There is large tree with big roots. Good to hide, but causes trips. Then we move over here. We see backs of buildings like you did, but not more. We walk all the way south around to here, where I was earlier. Mel say he want to get closer. I tell him two hundred meter! Two hundred meter safe, closer are plants cut. He point to high area of ground, say he stay behind it and look. I move back by pipe, keep small. He crawl out, low. Did good, but patrol come between us. They see and move in. He try to shoot, get one, only wound. They circle him. He try to move back up but they move in closer. He did kill one, but rifle snatched and he beaten to ground. I wanted to help, but would have meant catched.”

“Yes it would. You did the right thing by coming back,” Kyle said. Son of a bitch. The asshole had been too eager on low ground, hadn’t waited to ascertain patrols, and probably wanted to show up the local girl, if not Wade, by moving closer to prove something. Moron.

And they’d taken him without shooting him. So they might want intel, too. Would they kill him for publicity, or keep him and torture him? The deadline was much more important now.

“Sorry. I want to help,” Anda said.

“Anda, you did a good job, really. This isn’t your fault. Mel should know better. But you say he was alive?”

“Yes, beaten down, dragged along, then marched on feet. They took his things.”

“Well, boys and girls,” Kyle said, “that gives us an additional complication, seeing as we’re bound to rescue Mel.”

Jack gave a wry chuckle and said, “Better you than me, mate. Better you than me.”

“And they know he’s American, since they called our contact. That makes him much more valuable to them as someone to threaten. At least as they see it.”

“Well, we can’t leave him behind,” Wade said. He didn’t need to add much as I’d like to. “So we’ll take him into the calculations. And the gear he lost.”

“Right. Which included some grenades. Wonderful.”


Faisal stared at the American. The man was huge, bigger than Wismo, and most of it wasn’t fat. Certainly he was overweight a little, but he was not far from two meters tall, possibly a hundred and ninety centimeters. He had to break one hundred kilos. His shoulders were almost twice as broad as Faisal’s.

And his gear was all military—rifle with grenade launcher, ammunition, knife, water bladder. It was nice gear, too. Faisal lusted after it, and they’d said he could have his choice of an item after they beheaded him or if he was ransomed. The men who’d caught him had already demanded the rifle and backpack. Faisal thought that back-mounted canteen a marvelous creation. Or the GPS unit.

He tried not to be nervous as he eyed the new bargaining chip. The man was blindfolded and tied to a chair. He should look terrified but didn’t. That was a disturbing sign.

Or was that a tremor? Yes, it was. He was scared, and that was reassuring. Faisal caught his courage again. Yes, the man should be afraid. He was helpless.

“Untie me and fight me like a man,” the American said. Faisal spoke English and understood him. The tone was arrogant and demanding. Even tied, there was no submission.

“Guess you don’t speak English,” his soon-to-be victim said. “But if you’re expecting me to beg, fuck you.”

Faisal didn’t catch the obscenity exactly. He’d heard it around the oil crews and knew it was rude. Still, this man was not acknowledging his position and didn’t seem remorseful over the political situation. He was conceited, smug. It made Faisal furious.

At another level, he wondered what killing this man would accomplish. He left, silently, as he’d been told. Silence was intimidating. Actions, not words. He glanced at the Chinese woman, stoic and silent in her terror, and the little girl, wrung of all emotion. She was too young to grasp what was actually going to happen. All she knew was, she was scared. Days of tears were gone. All she did now was sit.

He really wasn’t sure where this was to go. Part of him wanted revenge for his brother, dead because of a fight at the oil refinery. But the actual killing had been by government troops. The Americans were mostly making a living, like the Indonesians they hired. A damned good living, especially the executives, but they weren’t hateful. This was a soldier sent to fight their war, so he was a fair target. But he was also a soldier like Faisal, and he could see himself in a similar position. The Quran spoke of mercy, but was that mercy misplaced on enemies who’d show none? And what of a man’s wife and daughter? Yes, it would pain that man, but was it really necessary for innocents to die?

It was a quandary he’d needed to consider for some time. Except . . . he hadn’t discussed his quandary with Imam Ayi. He’d been afraid to mention the real issue. Why was that?

It was because he knew what reaction that would get: He would be disgraced and driven away, mistrusted and sneered at. Just for questioning. Yet did not the Quran tell them to test their faith? It shouldn’t be a sin to ask for guidance.

Unless the matter at hand was a sin, in which case none would speak of it.

Faisal opened his eyes and sat back. A sudden surge flowed through him. Despite their differences, Ayi had been correct. He had spoken the truth. Through an object of sin, a message had come regarding rightness.

It was time, and Allah had made his wishes known. God is great, all praise be to God.

And now he knew what he had to do. It might mean death or disgrace, but it was Allah’s wish. I am but a slave of Allah, he thought as he stood. There was no fear within him, despite the dangers to his body and reputation. There was no fear, because his soul was ready to do Allah’s bidding and await His justice.


The tiny platoon slipped closer. Kyle was quite impressed. This group knew the jungle, knew patience and stealth. They didn’t move without orders and didn’t stop without them. A few weeks of professional polish and they’d be a first-class infantry unit. If there was any way to get the Indonesian government . . .

No, politics wasn’t his venue. Stick to the military side. Though he didn’t crave to read about Bakri, Anda, and the others in some newspaper.

They’d spent all day approaching from two different directions. It was afternoon again. Kyle was starting to hope for some kind of ending. He hadn’t dared take his boots off in the last three days, and his feet were itching, stinking, and hurting. He worried about athlete’s foot or other fungoids, rot or rash or infected blisters. People died from foot problems. While that wasn’t likely, he didn’t crave long hospitalization or surgery, either.

With this many people, twenty-three without the colonel, they were creeping. They were paired or in threes, watching each other, watching behind, watching ahead, trying to close in on a facility that had to know of their presence. It was a wonder everything hadn’t been loaded into vehicles and taken away, but there were no vehicles onsite—probably due to the risk of discovery. The captors apparently didn’t crave to walk out on foot with two distinctive hostages who might be seen by aircraft. That actually was a slim risk. Visibility from altitude while moving wouldn’t be clear. But without troops experienced in aviation, they probably didn’t know that. Clearly, they were reluctant to enter the jungle where other forces might be.

So the good news was that the bad guys were bottled up for now. The bad news was that they were cowardly, sociopathic little fucks to start with, and might panic. Kyle had heard this called “Murphy’s Law of Thermodynamics.” Things got worse under pressure.

He ate scraps as they moved. Leftover apple jelly from the MREs, some hard candy, cracker sections. Likely they’d see no more food until this was over.

It was near dark, and he was losing track of days and time. It was never really light down there. But in twelve hours at most, the hostages would be killed. It didn’t get much darker than that. The Straits of Malacca and the surrounding waters would be full of Chinese, Indian, Singaporean, American, and Indonesian vessels, and everyone would want a piece of GAM and any other rebels. The low-intensity civil war would turn into a slaughter. It could even become major.

Kyle was still musing, awaiting a report from the advance scouts. They were within a few hundred meters of their target, just over a kilometer, choosing every meter before moving, relaying messages by crawling and delivering them in whispers, or by hand signs.

A hiss ahead alerted him to an approach. He looked up to see Anda, Syarief, and someone who seemed to be their prisoner.

“We bring him to you,” Anda said. “As my commander order. I would kill him.”

“Well, let’s see what he says,” Kyle said, looking him over. Skinny, young, dressed in cheap clothes. Anda might really want him dead, or just be playing bad cop. He’d see where it went.

“My name is Faisal and I know where the hostages are, and also an American soldier.”

“Shit. This is either Lady Luck rolling a seven, or painting us with a huge target,” Wade said as he shimmied up.

Kyle nodded. “Fairy Godmother or Practical Joke Department. Guess it’s my call.”

“He says. I don’t trust him,” Anda said.

“What can you tell us?” Kyle asked.

“Will you give me your word you will not harm me? Or let the government?”

“Son, I can’t speak for the Indonesian government. I won’t harm you. I can ask our State Department to help you if you help us. But I won’t promise something I can’t deliver.” He noticed the boy—man—didn’t ask for protection from the locals. Either he thought that fruitless, or he was willing to take his chances. That meant something. But what?

“That is fair,” the boy agreed. He was in turmoil over something. “I must tell you something bad.”

“I’m sure we’ve heard worse,” Wade said.

“It is I who cut the head off Keller. I know now it was wrong and not Allah’s way.” The words were out in a rush.

“Jeeeeezus,” Kyle burst out. Rage gripped him, and he gripped his rifle. But he didn’t raise it. Anda swore quietly but brightly in Achinese and reached for a knife. Wade waved her down.

“I was to do it again tonight, to the woman and child. But I cannot. It cannot be right, it cannot be just. So I disobeyed and came here.” He seemed very small and helpless, terrified of dying on the spot. But he stood and waited, eyes wide.

“Son, in this, your God and mine agree. You’ve done the right thing, and we’ll do anything we can to help you.” Kyle forced his hand to unclench. The kid had fucked up on a global scale, and in a way that Kyle was morally and legally bound to kill him for. But he’d admitted his mistake and wanted to make amends.

If he could help them bring down this gang of scum, that just might do it. Especially since he was facing death from his own people at this point.

“Can you draw a map and give us names and numbers?” he asked.

“I can.”

Kyle wasn’t inclined to trust the boy. He could still be a ruse. He wasn’t saying anything yet, but there was no way this boy was leaving before Kyle was sure of his loyalties. Otherwise. . . . well, he wasn’t going to say anything. But shooting a spy was legally and morally safe, and far less bothersome than things Kyle had witnessed on this and other missions. He clutched at his knife briefly, because he didn’t have a suppressor for the pistol, and would need a quiet kill.

Once provided a pen and paper, the boy began to draw. The map fit what they had on download and from recon, and the layout described was reasonable. So far, so good. The kid almost certainly didn’t know there was a satellite providing data. Nor was he likely to know the limits of its resolution, so he could be challenged with the magic power of the satellite if need be, “magic” defined as “technology the boy couldn’t explain and didn’t understand.” As to their own patrols, he could probably guess. He seemed to realize things were about to explode.

“How many people?”

“I’m not sure. It changes. More than one hundred today, I think. Many came in from an attack on the place where bombs are built. Kopassus, they said.”

Kyle avoided grinning. That his group was being mistaken for the feared Indonesian elite was good for PR. Wait until the word got out that it was six Westerners and a handful of locals.

“We heard about that attack,” he said. “You’re sure this is where the hostages are?”

“Yes. A Chinese woman and her child and a large American man who speaks rudely.”

“That would be him. Windows and doors on that building?”

“Windows are glass, but usually raised. Doors are wood.”

That was useful. “Okay, we’ll talk this over. Anda, don’t kill him. Just keep him here.”

“I understand.” She switched to local dialect and said what had to be “Come here, boy.”

Kyle liked her. She took no shit. She shot well. She was quiet and soldierly. There were some women like that in the U.S. military, but not nearly enough. Political Correctness had devalued soldiering in favor of a sensitive image. That called for cute uniforms, makeup, and press releases, and no harsh language. Anda probably didn’t own makeup or heels and swore like any other soldier, in a very crude, personal fashion. She was all business.

As the locals left, he turned to Wade. “Right, so what do we do?” Kyle asked. He was running out of ideas.

“First thing is to get around to where Mel is,” Wade said. “And then we need a large force to raid. In addition to a large diversion while we snatch him.”

“Or,” Kyle said, “what they think is a large raiding force. How much ammo do we have?”

“Close to a thousand rounds for the M4s and SS1s.”

“That should be enough.”

“What do you think?”

“I think we have the locals go in the front, led by Stephens. They stop short of actually entering. They fire the place up loud. We’re in place to shoot through the windows at anyone we see. Requires us to be spread slightly, and we’ll need our phones open. Thank God Wiesinger let us all bring phones. One phone would be as useless as tits on a boar.”

“Right,” Wade said. “Call the Aussies and Bakri? And we need to get a bit more on our informant. He showed up too soon.”

“Have him call Jakarta and report it just before we attack?”

“Good. Very good,” Wade agreed, grinning a yard of teeth.

Kyle called Stephens in and explained the situation. Stephens agreed.

“Sure, I can make noise. I also have no authority to throw my command away. Much as I want to help, noise is it, then we have to skedaddle. If I wind up dead, command will kill me. If I don’t wind up dead and create an incident, command will kill me. I was advised today in no uncertain terms that unless I have a reasonable prospect of acquiring more intel, I’m to sever ties and continue my mission, which is recon and intel for my government.”

“Understood, and I’m sorry for taking you for granted,” Kyle said. He realized he had been. The Aussies were not part of his command.

“Hey, glad to help. Wish I could stick around. Sounds like a bit of a bash.”

“That’s the idea. Anyway, you lead the locals, get a good amount of attention and fire, and we’ll shoot from the back. If we can break loose or secure our objective early, count on us to drop quite a few.” Kyle figured they could each drop a man every five seconds if they weren’t seen. That was conservative. If no one tracked their fire, one minute would be twenty-four out of the hundred dead. But that assumed they secured their objective. Likely, they’d be extracting under fire. Which was going to suck.

“Now, who’s carrying the hostages?”

“I’ll carry the adult,” Wade said. “You lead. If Wiesinger’s healthy, he can carry her. That leaves you or I to take the child.”

“And if Wiesinger’s injured, we toss him a weapon and bid him good day.”

“Nice thought, isn’t it?” Stephens smiled under his moustache.

“Oh, I’m serious,” Kyle said. “Our mission is the civilians first. Wiesinger’s expendable, and I was told so on the phone. If he can’t walk, I toss him a spare weapon”—other than his Ed Brown, which he wasn’t parting with—“and he can cover the rear until backup arrives, either Indonesian or American. But I can’t and won’t jeopardize the mission for a commander who got himself captured.”

“You sound so upset by that,” Wade said.

“Maybe. I do hope we all come out. It’s a pride and professionalism thing.” He’d lost two people on these ops. He didn’t want to lose a third. Disliking the man made it harder, if anything. Kyle didn’t like being a judge of worth. Too much like playing God.

“Right. Let’s get the details down further. We know they’ll get fucked up anyway,” Stephens said.

“Explosives,” Wade said. “Bakri has that gelatin.”

“We use it?” Bakri asked.

“Some of it,” Wade said.

“Good. We need detonators,” Kyle said.

“We have some,” Wade reminded him.

“I can spare some,” Stephens said. “Fuller has a few. I can get resupplied.”

“Does it detonate when shot?” Kyle asked.

“No,” Stephens replied. “A grenade will work. Use detonators. We should have some fuse you can light with a flame. We usually use a firing device, though.”

“God, I’d hope so. Wish there was some way to put timers on them.”

“I can do that,” Fuller said as he arrived to Stephens’s wave. “I have some. Usually they’re for minutes or hours, but they’ll dial down to seconds.”

“How hard to activate?”

“How much risk can you face? If they’re preset for time and mounted to the charge, press the button. But there’s no safety.”

The skin on the back of Kyle’s neck crawled. A backpack full of HE and await a button to get pressed on something.

“Okay, with an M4, an SR-25 and a spare for use on arrival, plus grenades, extra explosives and shock factor, we should be able to make a good entrance. I want small charges I can toss outside to keep threats at bay once we’re in. I want something small enough to toss inside as a flashbang, even if it might cause minor injury. And I want a couple of large ones, a couple of pounds, that we can toss as ersatz artillery.”

“Doable. Boss?” Fuller asked.

“Go ahead. I’ll account for the fuses and detonators. Use theirs first.”

“Understood. Give me a few minutes.” He nodded and slipped away.

“So,” Stephens said, “we make a lot of noise, kill as many as we can?”

“By all means,” Kyle said with a mock bow.

“Thank you, Sergeant. Most appreciated.”

“My pleasure.”

“Mine, actually. But lots of noise and body counts. You use the distraction to rescue the damsels and the ogre. Let me know as soon as you’ve done that, because I need to didi mao like no one has ever maoed before.”

“Yeah, it would be embarrassing if you got caught.”

“It would bugger all. You yanks have a huge government, a corporate interest here and a lot of firepower. No one will fuck with you much. We live in these parts and have to deal with Indonesian refugees and smugglers, pirates and politicians. We dare not get caught.”

“I understand,” Kyle said. “I’ll see that it’s mentioned in the appropriate places that you not be thanked for the risks you aren’t about to take since you aren’t here.”

Stephens nodded. “Good, as long as we all understand that.”

“Okay, that’s the rough plan. Now, for finer details . . .”


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Framed