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datatime: 2022-09-30 18:16:50 Author:RxcshfwE

Louis bent down at the waist and stared into the sergeant's face. Really . . , are you saying Captain Waxman didn't confide in his staff sergeant?

Satisfied, he strode over to the line of segregated prisoners, the survivors of the Ranger team, baking and burning under the sun. They sat slightly apart from the remaining members of the Ban-ali tribe.

So you see, Louis said, our two missions are not so different. Only who benefits-the U.S. military complex or a French pharmaceutical company. Which in turn raises the question, who would do the greater good with the knowledge? He shrugged. Who can say? But conversely, we might ask-who would do the greater harm? Louis eyed the sergeant. And I think we can all answer that one:

But finally, it was those eyes, as hard as polished stone. He had clearly known inconsolable grief and somehow survived. Louis remembered his elderly friend from the bar back at his hotel in French Guiana, the survivor of the Devil's Island penal system. Louis pictured the old man sipping his neat bourbons. The chap had the same eyes. These were not Carl Rand's eyes, his father's eyes. Here was a different man.

In fact, he found himself somewhat respecting the young man. Throughout the journey here, Nathan had demonstrated both ingenuity and a stout heart, even dispatching Louis's spy. And finally, here at the end, he had proven his loyalty, with a willingness to sacrifice his own life for his team. Admirable qualities, even if they were directed at cross purposes to Louis's own.

Kostos hung his head, as well he should.

So you see, Louis said, our two missions are not so different. Only who benefits-the U.S. military complex or a French pharmaceutical company. Which in turn raises the question, who would do the greater good with the knowledge? He shrugged. Who can say? But conversely, we might ask-who would do the greater harm? Louis eyed the sergeant. And I think we can all answer that one:

Louis bent down at the waist and stared into the sergeant's face. Really . . , are you saying Captain Waxman didn't confide in his staff sergeant?

Louis followed him with his eyes. At the tree, two small steel drums were being rolled out of the trunk's tunnel. After the valley had been secured, men with axes and awls had hiked up inside the tree, set deep taps into the trunk, and drained large quantities of the priceless sap. As the men pushed the drums into the field, Louis studied another team laboring around the base of the giant Yagga tree. His eyes narrowed.

Louis straightened, enjoying the shocked expressions on the others' faces. Even the female Ranger looked surprised. It seemed the military liked to keep its secrets to only a select few.

So you see, Louis said, our two missions are not so different. Only who benefits-the U.S. military complex or a French pharmaceutical company. Which in turn raises the question, who would do the greater good with the knowledge? He shrugged. Who can say? But conversely, we might ask-who would do the greater harm? Louis eyed the sergeant. And I think we can all answer that one:

What do you mean? Nate asked suspiciously.

In fact, he found himself somewhat respecting the young man. Throughout the journey here, Nathan had demonstrated both ingenuity and a stout heart, even dispatching Louis's spy. And finally, here at the end, he had proven his loyalty, with a willingness to sacrifice his own life for his team. Admirable qualities, even if they were directed at cross purposes to Louis's own.

The sergeant finally spoke, awkward with shame. The napalm mini-bombs. We were under orders to find the source of the miraculous compound. Once a sample was secured, we were to destroy the source. Total annihilation:'

Kostos hung his head, as well he should.

Louis shook his head and took two steps to reach Sergeant Kostos. I think that question should be answered by your companion here:

What do you mean? Nate asked suspiciously.

Nathan Rand's gaze was as hard as the Rangers; but there was a glint of something more. A vein of icy determination.

Kostos glanced away.

What is he talking about? Nate asked, directing the question to the sergeant. We're well past secrets now, Kostos. If you know something . . :

Nathan Rand's gaze was as hard as the Rangers; but there was a glint of something more. A vein of icy determination.

What are you going to do with us? Nate said. It was not a plea, but a simple question.

In fact, he found himself somewhat respecting the young man. Throughout the journey here, Nathan had demonstrated both ingenuity and a stout heart, even dispatching Louis's spy. And finally, here at the end, he had proven his loyalty, with a willingness to sacrifice his own life for his team. Admirable qualities, even if they were directed at cross purposes to Louis's own.

But finally, it was those eyes, as hard as polished stone. He had clearly known inconsolable grief and somehow survived. Louis remembered his elderly friend from the bar back at his hotel in French Guiana, the survivor of the Devil's Island penal system. Louis pictured the old man sipping his neat bourbons. The chap had the same eyes. These were not Carl Rand's eyes, his father's eyes. Here was a different man.

Kostos hung his head, as well he should.

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