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FARGROU2

FARGROU2

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far ground is a saying when a jew is on bad ground.
far ground is a saying when a jew is on bad ground.

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02/05/2013

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FAR GROUND.note: Map out a story line and follow it. end note.Doc's men a splinter group out of the loop of cominaque. Note:Use the little ditty about the toys for the girls boys; to wit,rocket laungers aimed at aribs so on. end note. Also explain howthe mossad had sent in a team of, use the herbrew word, then asecond team, the him and yosaff. end note Note: He is about to hitYosaff, When Walter Johnson orders him to stop. Sam turns onWalter Johnson, Walter agree to tell him what he knows. Samexplodes, offers litney of Mossad atrocties, inculding thetraining of tourtures. Sam remembers he had yet to go over thefolder for them. Note: Sam's height, etc. Also the people in thecafe, also the mention of east texas brought the smile to Sam'sface. Note: It was only fitting that state had sent him; afterallI was respnicale for Sam's placement in the agency. etc.The streets of Quatamala City.There was nothing quiet about Quatamala City...ever; evenwhen it was dark and silent and most of its inhapitnts slept. Butduring the day, yes during the day the streets rushed, as if thepavemet itself were in motion. This was pitculary true of CalleSarrenrto street, which begin way out at the city limits by thecity dump as a dirt road and then spertined into pavement wheremanaquinds in expensive dresses stared out store windows, sprinteddown slop-eyed jut-edged corners where push-venders lined up, andevened out for miles where right around the city center the fourlanes melted away in to two and traffic bumbered to bumbered and
 
horns blared and faces with sweat from the noon day sun runningdown their necks crained out windows and cursed, cursed to theGods, the drivers ahead, themselves, and just for the release ofit all. Thus the street outside of the Cafe Guata in GuatamalaCity was its useal busteling for the time of day. The only thingout of the ordinary was the decrept 1967 Ford Farlane swaying onbroken springs as it creeped at a snails pace. The car stalledtraffic to less then a creawl. And the drivers thought: Ah, herewas a reason to really release cursers. Not just the normel: Moveit. Let's go. But down home laten stick it in the face curses:Your mother is a whore! Your father was raised by pigs. I fuckedyou Mother!The curses were a frutile attempth to urge the driver along.To no avel. The Fairlaine, a dark searching face peering out atthe stores, continued to bounce and sway, ignoring the trafficbehind it.Walter Johnson was unware of the everyday game of namecalling playing outside...and in truth wouldn't have cared. Heplayed life by the numbers. And he was by the numbers bored. Whichmeant real bored. Or as he saw it: I. M. B. I am bored. BORED withlooking at pictures and hearing about this idiot and that idoat.Which was much how the drivers outside felt about the creepingFairlaine.So it was when he half joked, and only did so because thepile of folders on the table was, he saw, down to one. "Hey EastTexas, who's the last one?" That for the first time since hisarrivel a day earler that easy smile he had come to know to many
 
years ago to count jumped on Sam Wall's face; up until then Samhad played it cool, not much of a smile, hell, not much of a grin.Hell, Walter was was glad to see the smile. The smile was likegoing home after too many years to count.The smile was part of Sam, as a piticual color suite or caris a part of a person. Call it a worry free smile; the kind ofsmile that daniced across the lips. That's it. A dancing smile.One moment it was there, brought foreward by some unseen musicplaying, the next moment, the band quiet, it was gone; oh thesmile was still there but the music had ceased playing leaving aslight curl of the upper lip. The mention of East Texas hadfacalated the smile and Sam passed along this smile as he hadpushed a eight by ten glossy acorrss the table. A slight secondlater distain rested on his lips. "Mr. Fostor," He said, "Ownsthe 'Cafe Suanos,' in Antigua. I imgine you will meet him tomorrowat the festival. Feeds us information; mostly worthless; alwaysundercover...he fancies accusing everybody and their uncle as aeither working for us or the D.E.A.""He thinks that by casting the spotlight on others heremorves supposion on himself," Walter ventured."Something like that," Sam opinionned.They oucipied a window table facing the street. Sam wasstation head for the C.I.A. in Quatamala. Was. Not much longer.One more week. Walter was sent up from Washington to debreif himand breif the new man. They were old frineds...going all the wayback two men could go without sharing the same womb; and that wasa fair number of years ago. They were going over the people who

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