Shall We Tell the President?
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After years of great sacrifice and deep personal tragedy, Florentyna Kane's has finally become the first woman president in America. But on the very day that she is sworn into office, powerful forces are already in motion to take her life.
The FBI investigates thousands of false threats every year. This time, a reliable source has tipped them off about an assassination attempt. One hour later, the informant and all but one of the investigating agents are dead. The lone survivor: FBI Special Agent Mark Andrews. Now, only he knows when the killers will strike. But how can he alone unravel a ruthless conspiracy―in less than one week? The race to save the first woman president begins now…
blood was flowing over the bottom sheet, trickling from Casefikis's mouth, his dark eyes bulged from their sockets, his tongue hanging loose and swollen. His throat had been cut, ear to ear, just below the chin line. The blood was starting to make a pool on the floor. Mark was standing in it. He felt his legs sink, and he was barely able to grip the side of the bed and stop himself falling. He lurched over toward the deaf man. Mark's eyes were now focused, and he retched loudly. The postman's
she asked. 'Yes, quite sure,' he said as he pulled the shirt slowly free from her skirt and felt her back, his other hand moving on to her leg. 'What about some music?' she said lightly. 'Something special.' Elizabeth touched the start button on the hi-fi. It was Sinatra again, but this time it was theright song: Is it an earthquake or simply a shock, Is it the real turtle soup or merely the mock, Is it a cocktail, this feeling of joy, Or is what I feel - the real - McCoy? Is it
she said, 'Your chin is hurting my face. You're not as clean-shaven as you were the first time.' 'I shaved very carefully that first evening,' said Mark. 'Funny, I was never so sure of anything. Didn't happen quite the way I intended.' 'What did you intend?' 'It was never like this in the movies.' This time he stated the sentiments clearly. 'Do you know what the Frenchman said when accused of raping a dead woman?' 'No.' 'I didn't realise she was dead; I thought she was English.'
Dr Dexter rather formally. 'To a doctor, a policeman is a policeman.' 'And to a policeman, an MD is an MD, but you also have specialties - orthopaedics, gynaecology, neurology - don't you? You don't mean to tell me I look like one of those flatfoots from the Met Police?' Dr Dexter was not to be beguiled into a flattering response. She opened the manilla folder. 'All we know is that he is Greek by origin and his name is Angelo Casefikis. He has never been registered in this hospital before.
to withdraw and fire when necessary. Casefikis studied their credentials with a puzzled frown, pressing his tongue over his lips, obviously not knowing what to look for. The agent's signature must pass partly over the seal of the Department of Justice to insure authenticity. He looked at Mark's card number, 3302, and his badge number, 1721. He didn't speak, as if wondering where to start, or perhaps whether to change his mind and say nothing at all. He stared at Mark, clearly the more