 I waited outside the large, four-story home in Manhasset that was owned by a Mr. Liam Flannery. This wasn't a social call, as anyone looking at me could tell. The long jacket I wore was open, leaving my gun and shoulder holster clearly visible, as was my FBI badge. My pants were loose-fitting and so was my blouse, to hide the twenty pounds of silver weapons strapped to my arms and legs. My knock was answered by an older man in a business suit. "Special Agent Catrina Arthur," I said. "Here to see Mr. Flannery." Catrina wasn't my real name, but it's what was on my doctored badge. The doorman gave me an insincere smile. "I'll see if Mr. Flannery is in. Wait ... |
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