|A TERRORIST PROFILED (standard:other, 393 words)|
|Author: kendall thomas||Added: Nov 03 2002||Views/Reads: 1897/1||Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)|
~THE TERRORIST PROFILED~ By Twisted Wabbit In a small conference room in the building of the FBI headquarters in Washington, D.C., a dark suited man by the name of Dobson, from the BSU (Behavioral Science Unit), was speaking to a small, group of men. All with the highest security clearance. “We are not sure,” Dobson was saying, “who this terrorist will be, or when, exactly he will strike, but, he will undoubtedly be a highly trained and equipped individual.” “Why is that?” Deputy Director, Blakemore, asked. “Because, gentlemen,” Dobson said, with a stern look, “according to our sources, who have been totally reliable in the past, this individual will be carrying on his person the means of bringing this nation to its knees. I'm speaking of tens of millions of American lives that will be lost.” “It must be some kind of virus if it can be carried by one person,” Presidental Advisor, Philip Marston said. Dobson shrugged, tilting his head. “That's all the information we have at the moment.” “Surely there must be something we can do?” General Richard Myers, Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff huffed, waving a large Cuban cigar. “Increase airport security! Search every damn Arab coming into the country! Declare martial law! Go house to house if need be, by God!” He hammered the mahogany table with the side of his fist for emphasis. The Deputy Director rubbed his chin thoughtfully, then said to Dobson, “I want every available man on this. I don't care how you do it; I want results. We have to find this terrorist before he strikes. It's impossible for one person to carry a nuclear device capable of destroying the United States; so . . . it must be biological. Get on it immediately.” ~ Seventy-five year old great grandmother, Mary McGuire, tolerated the hands of the crude, airport security guard as he frisked her. She didn't like it, but that's what America had come to: the terrorists were winning after all. The American people were losing all their freedoms. Hobbling with her cane, she stopped at an airport canteen and bought a Bic. Then signed for a rental and drove off. Stopping occasionally, from state to state, she flicked her Bic to the dry, forest underbrush. In a few weeks America was no more. It had burned to the ground. fini Tweet
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