Reap. James Frey
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“We haven’t heard from Walter on the Cahokian yet. Barbara and Douglas haven’t called in yet from the Olmec, either. Tyson took a bullet. We haven’t heard from Larry, Lee, and Lin, either, or Molly, Henry, and Phyllis. Bakr too. Don’t make the mistake that this is going to be easy.”
“Mary’s okay?” I asked.
“She’s fine. Cuts and bruises.”
“We need to rethink this. We’re not getting any of the results that we set out to get. This is going to turn into a bloodbath.”
“Yes we are, and it already is,” John said, with a fierceness in his eyes that I hadn’t seen before. “Tell me you never thought that this was going to end peacefully. We warned you: the Players are trained killers, not diplomats. They’re here to do one thing: kill everyone who stands in their way. We need to move to Plan Charlie.”
“Plan Charlie? Go in guns blazing? What about Bravo? What about talking to them?”
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