Wild Fire
Chapter One
I'm John Corey, former NYPD homicide detective, wounded in the line
of duty, retired on three-quarter disability (which is just a number
for pay purposes; about 98 percent of me still functions), and now
working as a special contract agent for the Federal Anti-Terrorist
Task Force.
The guy in the cubicle facing me, Harry Muller, asked, "You ever
hear of the Custer Hill Club?"
"No. Why?" "That's where I'm going this weekend." "Have a good
time," I said.
"They're a bunch of rich, right-wing loonies who have this hunting
lodge upstate."
"Don't bring me any venison, Harry. No dead birds, either." I got up
from my desk and walked to the coffee bar. On the wall above the
coffee urns were Justice Department Wanted Posters, featuring mostly
Muslim gentlemen, including the number one scumbag, Osama bin Laden.
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