“If My Daughter’s A General, Then I’m A Ballerina,” He Said—Until The Doors Opened

him mid-fall, and had the gun disassembled before he hit the carpet.

The fourth turned and ran.

Smart.

Hotel security appeared seconds later, along with two federal agents I recognized from previous operations.

“We’ll handle cleanup,” one said. “The Ambassador?”

“Secure. En route to secondary location.”

“Understood. You’re clear to disengage, General.”

I continue reading …