‘Yeah – what’s the matter?”
“Have you seen the news yet?”
Mac glanced up at Benny and Minnick who sat silently looking back at him.
“Can one of you turn on the news?”
Benny rose from his seat and asked one of the bar staff to turn on a news channel. Mac looked at the images of a burning building on the screen. He knew it instantly. He and his men had sat directly across the road inside of a safe house watching trucks drive into and out of the very same Benghazi compound the news report was showing footage of having been attacked.
The familiar face flashed across the screen. Mac instantly recognized the man, having just spoken to him little more than twenty four hours earlier. The ambassador was dead. The newswoman indicated the administration was placing blame for the attack some unknown Internet video.
“Are you seeing the news reports Mac?”
Mac watched three more faces scroll across the TV – three more dead Americans.
“They’re blaming a video.”
Ella’s laughter held no humor. She sounded incredibly tired.
“Yes, they are. It was a coordinated attack Mr. Walker. I’ve already seen the intelligence report. A representative from the Turkish government met the ambassador one hour before he died. He was trying to halt the operation and they killed him. There was all kinds of communications chatter. A stand down order. Three others who knew of the operation were killed as well. All Americans. And the explosions, it wasn’t mortar fire. It was drones. We have two witnesses who already indicated they spotted a low flying armed drone heading for the second building – the CIA annex. It was drone bombed. Your government attacked and killed its own operatives. The weapons have already been cleaned out. All of them.”
Mac could feel his pulse slamming against his temple.
“Are the Israeli’s going to come forward with this Ella?”
Ella paused, and then whispered a single word.
“No.”
Mac knew that was to be her response before he asked the question.
“They’re walking away from this?”
“Yes Mr. Walker. I’m being removed from Benghazi within the hour. There will be no report. Nothing. They want nothing to do with this. It’s all been…it’s all been a waste. Everything we did, tried to do…nothing.”
Mac remained silent, still watching the images of the burning Benghazi compound.
“They’ll come for you Mr. Walker. You - your team.”
Mac nodded to himself.
“I know.”
“What will you do Mac?”
Mac took a deep breath, exhaled slowly, and closed his eyes.
“Do what I’ve always done Ella.
Stay alive…”
End.
NOW AVAILABLE from D.W. ULSTERMAN:
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Books 1-3
(Sequel to Mac Walker’s Benghazi)
HE SERVED, SACRIFICED, AND BLED FOR HIS GOVERNMENT.
NOW THAT GOVERNMENT WANTS HIM DEAD.
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Book One
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FREE EXCERPT
THE SECOND OLDEST PROFESSION
Book One
Lust. Power. Politics.
Noted bestselling political writer D.W. Ulsterman takes readers into the torrid underbelly of Washington D.C., where powerful figures exist in a world dominated by power and lust, and winning is the only rule that matters.
Colin O'Shea is the young, politically talented new addition to a longtime congressman's D.C. staff. He soon finds himself immersed in dealings of deception and intrigue at the highest levels of national politics, and a too - willing participant in the life of a beautiful and dangerous prostitute.
"This story was hot!!! It's like 50 Shades had a one night stand with C-Span!"
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**Adult Content**
…Cocaine is a hell of a drug. Frank Bennington knew well the feeling of waking up to a head and body aching after a night spent snorting line after line of his longtime medicinal friend. He was an addict – had been for most of his adult life.
Yeah, well who gives a shit? I’m Frank fucking Bennington asshole - politico extraordinaire.
Frank forced his sixty three year old and forty pounds overweight body up from the mattress of his king sized bed, his head blaring out its unhappiness as he did so. He had long ago become accustomed to the morning nausea ritual. The back of his throat burned from the post nasal drip common to the habitual cocaine user. This was accompanied by the crunching upper nasal passage headache that went with his near nightly use of little blue “pecker pills” that allowed Frank to produce and maintain the erection necessary to have a satisfying night of whoring.
Ah…women. Even more than the drugs and alcohol, Frank Bennington loved women above all things. He loved having them around him, drinking, dancing, and fucking - lots and lots of fucking. He loved the texture of their skin, the warmth of their breath, the sound of their laughter, and their appreciation of how hard he worked to please them in bed.
God was a pretentious, uncaring prick – but Frank forgave Him all of that because He gave the world women! White, black, brown, red, tall, short, thin or fat, Frank Bennington’s appetite for all women had been the defining hallmark of his life. After his third failed marriage twelve years ago, he decided to simply enjoy the moments as they came to him, without the ongoing obligations and resulting complications of a legal contract.
Frank stumbled against one of the two dressers in the bedroom of his small Lorin Estates apartment as he walked sans clothing toward the hallway bathroom, causing him to curse under his breath. He glanced back to the bed where the naked form of Silia lay, her dark skin contrasting against the white sheets. In recent months she had become Frank’s regular. Her rates were reasonable, and she appreciated that he allowed her to sleep over afterwards. She was twenty seven years old, having come to America from her home country of Brazil four years ago. Other than that, Frank knew little about her, and didn’t care to know. Too much of that kind of knowledge brought about emotional ties, and he’d had enough of those already. He just wanted somebody to spend a little time with and then fuck, and Silia happily kept to that arrangement.
Am I supposed to meet someone today? Oh – the new guy! The kid from Ohio.
It was almost 10:00 a.m. He’d told the kid to show up by 8:00. Not wanting to appear completely dysfunctional to the newest member of Congressman Latner’s team on the newbie’s first day, Frank called down to the apartment lobby.
“Jose, have my car out front in thirty minutes. Thank you.”
That left no time for a shower, or even a shave. Frank brushed his teeth, washed his face, and combed his thinning hair back from his forehead. A fresh application of deodorant and cologne, followed by putting on one of the ten freshly starched white dress shirts delivered to him every Monday morning from the Asian, family-owned Van’s Dry Cleaning just two blocks from the apartment complex, and his favorite pair of navy blue dress slacks, left Frank almost ready to take on another work day.
In the small single closet of his apartment he kept twenty ties and matching sets of suspenders arranged by color. Yesterday he had worn a dark blue tie and suspenders, so today should be something opposite that. Frank grabbed one of his two pink sets. He had long ago discovered that a man could wear the same clothing one day after the next if all he made certain to do was simply change out his tie and suspenders each time.
Where’s my fucking shoes?
Two years ago during his last check-up, Frank’s doctor explained to him that the ongoing pain in his feet was due to pre-diabetic n
europathy. It was suggested at that time Frank find a pair of shoes that offered ample arch support to lessen the pain. The same doctor also urged him to lose weight, lessen his drinking, and stop using drugs altogether.
Frank ignored every suggestion but the shoes.
Silia still lay sleeping in the bed, the sound of her soft snoring making Frank smile. Beyond the bed, nightstands, and two thrift store dressers, the room was devoid of furnishings. Silia’s clothing lay scattered on the floor, but the only pair of shoes Frank now owned remained hidden.
His headache was getting worse.
Might have left my shoes in the kitchen, along with the coke.
Frank walked down the short hallway to the small kitchen area. His wallet, keys, and Rolex lay on the countertop, as well as a near empty bottle of Wild Turkey, an open, half full bottle of Viagra, and a small plastic bag of cocaine, delivered to him inside one of the Capitol Building bathrooms last week by his longtime supplier Jaxx. Jaxx was the primary hook-up for half the drug users in Congress, which made him a very rich man.
His white running shoes sat on the off white tile of the kitchen floor directly in front of the stainless steel refrigerator. Frank Bennington hadn’t gone running since he was a kid, but the shoes made his feet feel better, so he wore them everywhere he went.
“Frank, you leaving already? You wanna fuck again before you go?”
God I love the sound of that voice!
Frank glanced down at his watch, and then wondered if enough of the Viagra he had taken in the early morning hours the night before remained in his system.
“C’mon back to bed Frank…I know you want to.”
His headache had lessened some as Frank made his way back to the bedroom where Silia lay above the covers of the bed, her arms and legs, and all her other wonderfully dark toned feminine parts beckoning him to join her.
“I’m running late Silia. Christina is gonna be pissed.”
Silia’s plump lips formed a pout as she rose up onto her knees and shook her head, causing the long black strands of her hair to fall over her face and full breasts.
“Won’t take long - I promise.”
Silia stuck a finger into her mouth and looked back at Frank, her dark eyes dancing with seductive mischief.
Frank stood before Silia as she quickly worked the front of his dress slacks loose. He glanced at his watch once again and then placed an appreciative hand behind the Brazilian woman’s head as she expertly began to coax his lower half back to life.
“I hate to have to rush you, but you have just five minutes to get this done.”
Silia grinned back up at Frank before returning to her work.
She didn’t need five minutes…
FULL NOVEL AVAILABLE HERE:
http://www.amazon.com/Second-Oldest-Profession-Book-One-ebook/dp/B00GA7QJPM/ref=tmm_kin_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&sr=1-5&qid=1384456004
MAC WALKER'S BENGHAZI: The Complete Collection Page 18
