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Chris keys
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  • Lehigh Acres, FL
  • United States
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Looking for an agent
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Ok just a show of hand if you would. How many of you have an agent? Ok, not too many. What does your agent do for you? Ah ha! Your not too sure, are you?. Well your not alone. I've been struggling…Continue

Started this discussion. Last reply by Chris keys Mar 5, 2010.

Inviting friends on NING

Ok I tried to be nice about it but it didn't work. What is up with this, you can only ask hundred people between all of your NING sites, I'm on twelve sites, to be friends? I could see that being a…Continue

Started Feb 24, 2010

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Vicki Goldsberry and Chris keys are now friends
Feb 3, 2012
Chris keys posted a blog post

So Now What? by Chris Keys

So now what? By Chris Keys author of the soon to be released “Reprisal! The Eagle Rises!” And “The Fishing Trip-A Ghost Story” due out summer of 2010So, now what? What you haven’t been paying attention and you not sure what it is I’m talking about? Well let me enlighten you.A couple of weeks ago now, Ning, the leader in free social networking sites, decided to change its business model. They are going to shutdown the hundreds of free social networking sites in favor of offering only Premium pay…See More
Apr 27, 2010

Profile Information

Type of Writer or Editor
Freelance
About Me:
I am a man of many faces. I've been so many different occupational things in my life I don't klnow where to begin. So I'll just say Ii'm experienced. I've been a worker doing the lowest of jobs. I've been the general manger who was responible for the whole operation but didn't get the big bucks. I've been a politian, though I'm now reformed. I've been the business owner and made the big bucks and I've been the business owner and watch it all collaspe, taking me down with it.

I've been up, down, inside, outside, spindled and mutlated. and yet I stand despite the scars. Now I'm an author! It is something I was told when I was very young that I could be if only I went to school for four more years and I had something to say. Well, for me college was the longest two hours of my life, after I was hurt on a summer job and couldn't play football anymore, I had no interest in college. Football was all I dreamed about as teenager, but God had other plans. Maybe I was that good maybe I wasn't, I know I've gotten a whole lot better as the years have passed. I let the professors that told me, I couldn't be a writer. Like the doctors i almost let tell me I wouldn't walk again. But I did walk and I did at least try to play football again. It took three years to make it but I did it.

After that I found once I stopped believing the other people who did their best to talk me down, I could do whatever I really wanted to do. Now that, by it's self was a trick. Because deciding what I really wanted to do proved to be something that was very difficult indeed. It took me years to understand I have a gift for making people feel at ease around me and that if I had a god product, I could sell to almost anyone. Thatwas the supposed fatal flaw, I could sell almost anyone. But I wouldn't sell everyone cause I didn't push everyone to buy, I was told I was too nice by many a slimy sales manager. They were wrong, this nice guy won national awards for selling roofing and for selling preowned manufactured homes one year after another for five years straight. I think i did it because of those other people who said I couldn't do it.

Writing is now like for me. the more I hear how it's so tough to get an agent I wonder how I got one so easily, first try. There was the guy who said he was looking for the new Tom Clancy. He didn't like my work but the other one did. Then I'm told that you'll never get a publisher. I did one the first try. I've two friends who have written books but they never sold a copy. Of course they didn't do anything to sell it but get it published by a self publishing company. Traditional publishers just weren't interested. What I was allowed to read of their work, was dry, no life to the writing, no passion.

When I was twenty, I recieved more five hundred rejections. Now, this time, I didn't get any and I only sent the book to one publisher, who bought it. I was lucky, not that good. I'm not a polished writer with perfect prose or even good puncuation, but I am very passionate and I am willing to learn and I am going to be a successful author who's name is known. I just am. It may not be with the first book but it will happen no matter how many it takes. If you take the same approach, it will happen for you. Write what you know and write it with passion, set the world on fire with your dreams --Chris Keys! Ps see ya on the best sellers list! Go write something

Except and NEW synopsis from Reprisal! The Eagle Rises!

SYNOPSIS Reprisal! The Eagle Rises!
By Chris Keys

After America suffers the two largest terrorist attacks in history, billionaire businessman Steven Howard takes the war on terror to the terrorists. Creating a private army disguised as corporate security.

Howard and the newly retired Chairman of the Joint Chiefs and ex-Marine Corp General Charles (Chip) Clarett, begin tracking down the terrorist faction that’s responsible for the attacks on America and the deaths of the General’s grand children, only to discover newly elected President Alan Starks and his administration are inexplicably refusing to go after the real terrorists, proving the true threat to country is from within.

As Howard and Clarett seek out the terrorists, they discover that terrorism worldwide is controlled by a sinister group called the, Brotherhood of the Sword. It is made up of the rich and powerful elites of the Middle East and Islamic fundamentalist clergy that are convinced they can bring about worldwide Kalafah under the Shiite sect of the religion; if only they can bring down the Western powers starting with America and Israeli.

The true depth of their involvement in American politics is revealed, when the hunt for terrorists turns to banking records and Howard and Clarett follow the money trail to the steps of the White House. Records that suggest the new President and his staff have been bought and paid for by the very men who are the powers behind the Islamic terrorists, allowing them to dictate America’s foreign and domestic policies and to gradually exert more and more influence over those who are in a position of power, through corruption.

The battle lines are drawn, as the White House plots, to place more and more the country under its control, while reducing or eliminating the role of the Constitution and the Bill of Rights. President Starks’ actions force Howard and Clarett to open a second front in their personal war on terror. A political front, fraught with scandal and the no holds barred politics of personal destruction; with the prize to winner of not only the White House, but the country itself.

Take a wild ride tracking down the terrorists plotting a third attack on America, in the tropical paradise of Cuba and ride along for the harrowing trek across the West Bank, as the Kilauea Security Force begins fulfilling their role as a force for Reprisal!




Excerpt From Reprisal! The Eagle Rises! by Chris Keys

After ten days, Ron left the hospital in Haifa and returned the Tel Aviv. The following day, he got right down to business. He drove to the edge of a small rise, a quarter kilometer past the road that led from the main highway to the prison and waited. If Emil’s work schedule hadn’t changed, he would be along shortly, on his way home for a couple days. His time off would be spent, hanging around the house with his wife for two days, before returning to work for another 48 hour shift. Only today, he wasn’t going to make it that far.

After an hour, Emil’s Volvo pulled up to the main road and turned towards Tel Aviv. Ron waited until he was just about out of site and then pulled out to follow. He hung back until other traffic started crowding in around them, giving him the chance to quickly move up, until he was only a few car lengths back. Emil stopped as usual, at a small market, not too far from his home, where he picked up a few items, his wife had asked for. He was about to place the items in his car, when a familiar voice spoke up behind him.

“Emil! Fancy running into you here, you shop here often?” Ron asked as he stepped right up to the man, while he held his backpack in front of him. The look on Emil’s face, told Ron he had been right, Emil was the leak. Emil was extremely surprised to see him and his demeanor was that of a caged rat as his eyes darted every which way as if searching for an escape route.

“I…. a… Ron, my friend, I a……” Emil stumbled over the words as his eyes continued to dart about looking for something, Mossad agents’ maybe?
“Shut up asshole and get in the car, the passenger seat!” Ron ordered Emil. “Give me the keys, I’ll drive!” Ron directed as he showed the gun to Emil, which had been hidden by the backpack.

Emil sat down hard still holding the groceries, his eyes continuing to search the parking lot for something, but nothing seemed to present itself. Ron was still holding his gun on Emil as he slipped into the driver’s seat, inserted the key, started the engine. Ron quickly drove away from the market, heading back in the direction of the prison.

“What’s this all about, my friend?” Emil asked trying to gain some control of the situation though his eyes were wild with fear.

“I expect you’ll tell me. What’s in the bag?” Ron spat in reply.

“Just a couple of things for dinner, some lamb chops and a bottle of wine, Israeli of course.” Emil almost whispered.

“Really? Israeli wine? I would have thought you’d have preferred a West Bank vintage!” Ron sarcastically quipped.

“Oh no, they are much too dry and the bouquet is not as fragrant!” Emil pretended as though Ron was making conversation and not being flippant.

“I’m not much of a wine drinker. I prefer a good beer and shot of Jack now and then.” Ron continued with the small talk.

“Where are we going?” Emil asked, fear feeding his impatience.

“Someplace where we can talk, somewhere no one will bother us.” Ron answered. Emil shifted in his seat and Ron shoved the gun towards him and spat, “Move again my friend and you’ll need a new kidney!”

Emil slumped back into his seat once again. “I hope we are not going too far, the chops shouldn’t be allowed to go unrefrigerated for too long.”

“That is the least of your worries!” Ron stated coldly. They drove for over an hour, taking one back road after another until they took what could only be considered a goat path that led them deep into the Sinai Desert. Suddenly Ron stopped the car and ordered Emil out.

“You are kidding, right my old friend! It’s over a hundred and twenty degrees out there and I’m an old man.” Emil protested. Ron shot him in his left arm, just grazing it really and told him to get out again. Emil struggled to exit the car while Ron walked around to the passenger side of the vehicle. Seeing the man was struggling, Ron reached out grabbing Emil by his good right arm and yanked him out, dumping him on the ground next to the car, spilling his bag of groceries across the sand.

As Emil tried to right himself, Ron placed a large hat upon his own head, which had been in the pack and slipped the pack over his left shoulder. Ron’s his eyes momentarily left Emil and scanned the horizon. Emil saw this as an opportunity to strike out and he leapt towards Ron. Emil showcased far more agility and quickness, then Ron expected from the older man but it was still several heart beats slower, than was needed to reach his objective. Emil’s lunge carried him past Ron, sending him sprawling face down in the hot, coarse sand for his trouble.

As Ron stood looking at the man stone faced, Emil began laughing. “Well, I had to try! It was a long shot but I guess stranger things have happened.”

“Get up! We’re going to take a short hike!” Ron stated without feeling, keeping his distance and wiggling the gun in the direction he wanted to Emil to go.

“I am injured. Lend me a hand old friend!” Emil asked with a polite smile as he reached towards Ron with his good right hand.

“Not a chance!” Ron stated curtly as he stepped back another step.

It took Emil several moments to stand and brush the sand off. Smiling sheepishly he asked. “So which way shall we walk?” Ron wiggled the gun to his right again. Emil smiled and pointed the same direction and then started to walk. Emil held his injured arm across his chest, which only seemed to increase the blood flow. The blood quickly coated his arm and left droplets in the sand as they walked.
After several hundred yards, they came to a rock out cropping, where Ron ordered Emil to stop. Ron took a seat under the edge of the outcropping, in the shade, while he forced Emil to stand in the hot sun. Ron sat down and withdrew a bottle of cold water from his pack, which he took several minutes to drink. Emil stood with his hand over his eyes staring at Ron from his place in the sun until finally Emil spoke. “You wouldn’t happen to have another bottle of water?”

“I’d have thought you would have been smart enough to bring some.” Ron snarled.

“My friend, I am unsure of what I have done to offend you!” Emil stated with a warble in his voice.

“Some friends of mine visited the West Bank, a couple weeks ago. They were greeted with a great deal of hostility. Their lives came very close, to being extinguished and I was the one, who had told them about the great night life there. It was my fault they had such a terrible time.” Ron spoke cryptically. “But then again, I took your recommendation!”

“What are you saying?” Emil asked fawning puzzlement.

“You watched and listened to my conversation with our friend, in cell 64. Don’t bother trying to deny it. You’d be wasting your breath. You understood the conversation and after I left, you told someone. I want to know, who you told.” Ron demanded, quietly.

“I always watch and listen. It is my job. I may pickup a few bits and pieces now and then, but who would I tell?” Emil asked as he stepped forward a few feet, Ron quickly fired at his feet and waved the gun, directing him to backup again, which Emil quickly complied with.

“Who Emil? I can sit here all day. I’ve got shade, water and energy bars. You, well you don’t have those things, now do you? Oh, you’re injured as well and you’re standing in the hot sun. Hell, it must be close to one thirty, standing in the sun. I bet your losing a couple of pounds an hour, standing there, just in water weight.” Ron spoke as if ice flowed through his veins.

“Yes, I’ll surely die, if you force me to stand here for too long and then I’d be useless to you. Perhaps we can come to an understanding. An arrangement, I’m sure it can be profitable for you.” Emil tried to bargain with Ron.

“Like the one you have with the Al-Aqsa Brigade!” Ron quietly stated and waited for Emil’s response.

“Al-Aqsa! I spit on them!” Emil tried to spit but his mouth was so dry he couldn’t. “That is if I had any spit!” he chuckled nervously.

“You were the only one, who could have passed on the information, I was given. I want to know, who you told!” Ron stated curtly as he took another drink of water and Emil licked his lips wishing he had the water. “When you are ready to talk to me, perhaps, I’ll share my water.” Ron baited Emil.
“I already told you, I told no one. I know nothing to tell. I am a prison warden, not a spy like you!” Emil pleaded. “I send the tapes to the Mossad. That is all I do!”

“Who Emil, who!” Ron shouted.

“I didn’t! I swear!” Emil cried out.

“I’ll wait!” Ron stated calmly as he finished his bottle of water and then held up the bottle allowing the small amount that’s always left inside to dribble down and drip on to the ground.

“You are a bastard!” Emil grumbled. “A bastard!”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah! Who?” Ron asked again. Emil stood there staring at Ron for several minutes the sun beating down mercilessly; he could feel his skin burning on his forehead and arms.

Ron yawned and reached into his backpack and pulled out a power bar, slowly tore open the wrapper and slowly ate it. Then he reached in the pack and retrieved another bottle of water, opened it and drank deeply. He emphasized the thirst quenching ability of the water by exhaling a huge ahhh…., then he stopped and wiped the condensation from the bottle on his forehead.

“Hey Emil, did I tell you about this fantastic backpack. Yeah, some guy in the states invented it. It’s got a built in refrigeration unit that weighs only two pounds. It’s amazing! It’ll keep twelve bottles of anything cold for up to twenty four hours, even in this heat. The whole damn thing is insulated by some stuff the astronauts use in space. It’s just amazing!”

“I hope a scorpion stings you!” Emil spat through his parched and slowly cracking lips.

“I got my anti-venom shot last week.” Ron replied dryly as he checked his watch. “It’s only been two hours my old friend and look at you. You look like you just climbed out of a swimming pool. I didn’t know someone could sweat that much.”

“Fuck you, you bastard! I have friends, they will avenge me!” Emil hoarsely barked. Then he tried a different tack. “My friend I am old, the sun is killing me and my wife has no one to care for her. She is sick and my pension will not cover the medicines she needs. I must keep working, to provide the medicine. If I knew what you were talking about, I would tell you! Please, don’t do this! Think of my poor wife!”

“Who?” Was all Ron replied to Emil’s pleadings.

“I don’t know! I didn’t do this!” Emil cried out as he dropped to his knees. “I beg you!”

“That’s a nice touch! Back in Russia, were you an actor?” Ron asked flatly.

Emil’s face flashed with anger as he rocked back and forth on wobbly knees. Ron suddenly fired the gun, grazing Emil’s inter right thigh, causing him to pitch forward on all fours, howling in pain. For not only did the new wound hurt, the wound in his left bicep, had been jarred by the fall, sending a wave of pain through his body and the sun scorched sand, was burning his bare hands.

“I like that position better.” Ron coldly quipped.

“You bastard! You mother fucking bastard! You shot me again! Do you intend to inflict small wounds upon me until I bleed to death? What can I tell you to convince you, I didn’t do this!” Emil sobbed clutching his thigh.

“Oh stop crying you baby! It’s only a little flesh wound. Hell, I had four or five of those just a couple of weeks ago, when I had to save my friends lives, getting them out of the West Bank. You didn’t hear me whining like a five year old! Tell me who you’re working for Emil and it all stops!” Ron explained without compassion.

“I didn’t do it! I am innocent!” Emil yelled as loud as his raspy voice would allow.

“Well, then I should just kill you and go see your wife, maybe she’ll be able to tell me.” Ron grinned as he spoke in a low voice that chilled Emil to the bone.

“My wife is sick! She doesn’t know anything! Please don’t hurt her!” Emil begged.

“Emil, I’ve got to have the name and if I can’t get you to talk, well, I’ll have to find another way to get it. Ashrawl, he’s singing like a bird. The Israelis are going to be very busy over the next few months. A rocket here, a rocket there! An accident or two, but I don’t need to tell you, how you guys are. Hell, I bet you’ve enjoyed more than one, off the books interrogations, out at the ole’ prison! Am I right, old friend?” Ron took another drink of water before he continued.

“Hey, have you ever heard of a Columbian Neck tie?” Ron suddenly asked in a friendly tone. Emil shook his head no, his eyes pleading for Ron to stop, but Ron really wanted to tell Emil the story, so he ignored Emil expressions and continued.

“When I was working in Colombia, that’s in South America, I worked for the DEA. The United States, Drug Enforcement Agency! I was an undercover agent. My job was to get close to the drug lords and gather enough intelligence, to bring them down.” Ron provided the necessary background info for Emil to clearly understand what Ron was about to share

“One night,” Ron began his story, “I was asked, well, the number two man, who we called the Boss Man, he more liked ordered me, you know, made me an offer I couldn’t refuse, to ride along with his militia into the city of Medellin. We drove to the compound of one of the local judges. Big honking place, very classy, he was supposedly an ally of the big drug lord, we were working for.”

“Now down there, anybody, who is anybody, has body guards and this Judge was no different. In addition to about a dozen local police and another dozen or so Colombian Army types, the Colombian Government assigned to guard the Judge and his family. He also employed a dozen, very large, rough looking, heavily armed men of his own. They were all, supposedly very experienced European mercenaries!”

“Well anyways, the group of narco-militia I was with, jumped out of the truck a block away from the compound and disappeared into the night, while the Boss Man and I proceeded to pull up right in front of the Judge’s compounds front gate and stop. The three car loads of local police and the truck load of military types, that were assigned to guard this guy, didn’t hesitate for a second, they drove away as fast as they could. They knew the score. One minute, they were standing around by the front gate and the next, they were gone.

After the local guards had gone, we sat there for what seemed like an hour and all I heard was a chicken clucking now and then. It was really creepy! Then suddenly, the big gate to the Judge’s compound swung open and out walked all of his private guards. Each one had a handful of cash they were counting, as they walked away into the night. They didn’t look up or look around, they walked by keeping their heads, down counting the cash as they left.

The Judge and his family, all bound and gagged, were lead out into the street by the narco-militia men, a couple of minutes later. The Judge and his attractive family had their hands tied behind their backs, their feet loosely tied so that they could walk but not run and then, they were all tied together by a rope wrapped around each of their waists. It was quite a sight, the Judge in his boxer shorts, his wife in her see thru nightie, great body, she was quite the looker, probably fifteen years younger than the Judge, his two young teenage boys in their shorts and his little girl, maybe six, wearing Winnie the Pooh pajamas.
At first this Judge was screaming at the Boss Man and swearing up a storm. He threaten to have him jailed, then shot, his family jailed and shot, but the Boss Man just grinned for a while until the Judge finally shut up and glared at him.

The two of them stood staring at each other for several minutes until the Boss Man spits on the Judges feet. It was signal and five of our guys quickly ran around from the back of the truck carrying five unmounted car and motorcycle tires with them. They walked right up to the Judge and his family placed the tires over their heads pushing them down until they wedged onto their shoulders. This had been so well thought out, that they had tires in the right sizes so that they didn’t just fall past the children’s shoulders to the ground, they stuck there, as they intended them to.

I could smell a very strong odor of gasoline from where I stood, next to the truck, behind the Boss Man. The tires had been stuffed with gasoline soaked rags, before they had been placed about the families necks. Pretty sick huh? Well the Judge, he starts screaming again, struggling big time trying to get away, but it does no good, he’s tied too well. So he starts trying to kick at the guys holding him by the arms but they just side step his pitiful attempts, while landing some pretty vicious blows to Judge’s lower back and kidneys. The more he struggled, the harder they hit him and the more pleasure, they got from hitting him and watching him squirm.”

Ron paused for a drink of water and made an exaggerated sigh of pleasure when he finished. After looking at Emil for a moment, wondering if he was ready to talk and not seeing any change in his facial expression, Ron continued.
“They beat him for a good ten minutes, before the Boss Man finally spoke. I’ve got to tell you, it was like the sound of God’s own voice, everything got suddenly quiet. His voice was barely a whisper when he began speaking. He started by telling the Judge he been found guilty of taking money from the drug lord and then reneging on his promise to protect him and his men from prosecution. The penalty for this was death! Not just his death, the death of his entire family! The Boss Man was practically shouting when he said this. You should have seen the guy’s face then! Talk about scared.”

“Anyway, as the Boss Man said the words, “the penalty for this is death!” one of the narco-militia guys lit a torch and stepped up to the little girl and yanked her gag off. The wife at seeing the torch faints dead away, dragging the Judge to the ground with her. The guys holding the Judge stand him up and force him to face his little girl. They hold his head up so he’s forced to watch in horror as his little girl is set on fire. I still have nightmares about the screams of that little girl”

“It was sickening! The smell! The screams! I had to struggle not to puke. She was screaming in agony and the Judge is screaming like a stuck pig. The two teenage boys were screaming and struggling to break away but the militia guys held them steady. Thankfully the girl died pretty quickly. After the screaming stopped the only sound left is the sobbing of the Judge and his two sons.”

“Then, the guy with the torch, he set the two boys on fire! The screams of the boys didn’t last very long either thankfully or I’d have broke cover and killed as many of those bastards as I could with my bare hands before they killed me. At this point the Judge is allowed to kneel and hold his crying wife for a few seconds. It was really sad!”

“The militia guys then separate the two of them and they stand the wife up. They take the tire off her and then they rip off her night gown and a couple of the guys take turns raping her as the Judge is forced to watch. That’s a big thing down there, a huge disgrace to have your woman raped. When they are done they stick the tire back over her head as she is kneeling on the ground next to the smoldering bodies of her children. They set her on fire with big grins on their faces, making jokes about her as she burns.”

“The Judge is hauled up on his feet and the Boss Man lights a cigar, grinning ear to ear the whole time. Several of the militia decided at this time to take the opportunity to relieve themselves, by pissing on the smoldering corpses of the Judges Wife and children. The Judge starts trying to twist away while crying out in aguish, but to no avail. The narco-militia guys thought that was quite funny and they kept laughing at the poor guy as he tried kicking them only to have them dance away and laugh some more. This went on for several minutes until the Boss Man made them stop and grab the guy again.”

“The Boss Man then steps up close to the Judge and blows smoke in the Judges’ face and the Judge retaliates the only way he can by spitting in the Boss Man’s face. The Boss just grins that much harder and touched the cigar to the gas soaked rags in the tire around the Judges neck, only the rags and tire don’t burst into flames as the tires around his family’s necks had. They smolder causing smoke to envelop the Judge’s head, then a small flame starts at the back of the tire setting his hair on fire. At this point the militia guys back off and watch. The flames quickly engulf the Judges head, the whole time he’s screaming and dancing around.

Thankfully the screaming stops in short order as the Judge falls to the ground and tire bursts into flames. We stand and watch as the flames quickly consume the Judge’s body. And then once the flames had died down, we all climbed back into the truck and drove back to our compound leaving the smoldering bodies where they fell.”

“Back at our compound, I asked the Boss Man, why I needed to see that and you know what he told me? No guess… huh?” Ron quipped at Emil not expecting any answer, but just to harass Emil some more.

“The Boss Man told me because he had found, he had the complete loyalty of the men who had witnessed a Columbian necktie party first hand. They understood that would be their fate, if they were disloyal. That chilled me to the bone. It’s a horrible way to die. And here I was working undercover against this guy! I was scared shitless man!” Ron concluded by taking the last drink of water from that bottle and then spitting it out on the ground.

“What do I care about the Columbians?” asked Emil snidely.

“Well…” Ron replied as he stood and walked a couple of steps to his right, where he kicked at the sand, exposing a car tire which he picked up and shook the sand off.
“No, No don’t do this thing!” Emil coughed through his dry raspy throat terrified that Ron was about to burn him alive.

“Yeah, I hate to think about how this is going to hurt you. But I learned from the Columbians, that sometimes, you have to take drastic measures to ensure that you get you point across. Those guys were beyond ruthless, beyond medieval!” Ron stated as he walked behind Emil and dropped the tire next to him causing Emil to jump slightly at the thudding sound and then Ron returned to stand in the relative comfort of the shade from the outcropping.

“You’re just trying to scare me! You are not that barbaric! Besides what can a dead man tell you?” Emil tried to reason with Ron. Ron didn’t reply but he did pull a large squirt bottle from the backpack. He then turned and took a step towards Emil. Suddenly, Ron squirted the liquid on to Emil’s shirt. The liquid was gasoline!

“Whoa, ooooh, don’t do this! Please, they will kill me!” Emil squealed.

“WHO?” Shouted Ron. “WHO?”

“They will kill me and my wife? I can’t tell you!” Emil cried.

“I will kill you if you don’t tell me! I can also promise that your wife will be safe, if you do talk. If you don’t! I promise nothing. Perhaps I will leak that you talked to Mossad, before you were killed. What would your friends do to your wife then?” Ron stared with cold eyes at Emil as he threatened him.

“Please, my wife knows nothing!” Emil cried out, tears trying to well up in his eyes but dehydration had set in and he could only manage one small trickle from his right eye. Ron thought that Emil looked pathetic but his will was iron clad and steadfast, he squirted more gas on Emil.

“OK! Ok! I’ll tell you! I’ll tell you!” Emil sobbed as he bowed his head.

“Who?” Ron asked curtly again.

“I don’t know his name.” Emil said without looking up.

“Bullshit!” Ron screamed as he squirted more gasoline onto Emil.

“It true! It’s true!” Emil screamed. “I met him at the fish market four years ago. Right after Prisoner 64 was brought to the prison. He knew all about her. He knew all about me and my wife. He knew what I did in Russia for the KGB. Not even Mossad knows the real truth. They would have denied my relocation application. I had the records destroyed and bribes were paid.”

“Stop stalling!” Ron barked as he swirled the gasoline around in the squirt bottle.

“He offered me a lot of money to provide him with copies of the tapes when the prisoner was interviewed. The money has really helped, because my wife is really sick! If we had stayed in Russia she would have been dead years ago. The weather it is bad there.”

“Who?” Ron asked again, as he swirled the gas in the squirt bottle once more.

“I’ve only talked to him by phone since that first day. Money shows up at my home by a package delivery company. Small bills! I have never asked the man’s name it was such a simple task and she isn’t even Israeli, she is a Palestinian for God’s Sake! She is my enemy!” Emil cried softly.

“What number do you call to alert them to a drop?” Ron asked.

“The number changes every time. It comes in the package along with a phone card that I throw away with the number as soon as I use it.” Emil explained. “Here, I have the next one in my wallet.” Emil reached behind his back to pull his wallet from his back pocket.

“Slowly” Ron barked as the gun swung up and pointed at Emil’s chest. Emil continued slowly producing the wallet and tossing it to Ron.

“I wait until someone comes to talk with her and then I copy the tape before it is sent to the Mossad. I drop it where I am instructed by the note in the previous package. It is never the same place twice. I call and alert him to the drop and the next day the money arrives.”

“I can give the money to you, for your trouble! My wife needs me. She will be an invalid in not too many years. She’s almost one now! We have no children. She will need me. I needed the money to care for her, that’s why I did it. I had no idea that you would be in danger! You have been a good friend, I wished you no harm. I will stop! I won’t do it again!” Emil offered.

“No, you won’t!” Ron stated with an air of finality his eyes never leaving Emil’s face.

“Wait! He said he was part of the Brotherhood! The Brotherhood of the Sword! Ask Mossad. They are a very secret and a very powerful group. They have infiltrated your government. They have bribed everyone. There is no one they can not reach. They fixed your last election, for God’s sake!” Emil blurted out the information almost too fast for Ron to comprehend.

“They fixed the American election?” Ron asked.

“Yes! The man bragged about it! Said they bought it, like one buys a car. He claimed they have bought men and women in powerful positions all over the world. He claimed that Europe was now a suburb of Arabia and soon America would fall and then I had better convert to Islam or I’d be beheaded like the rest of the Israeli sheep and the infidels in the west.” Emil continued to explain the information he possessed.

“I have value! I know things! I was KGB! I’ve interrogated prisoners and not shared what I have learned with the Mossad. When In Russia, I was an interrogator for the KGB, I was a colonel.”

“How do I know you’re telling me the truth?” Ron asked bluntly.

“Why would I lie? You’re going to kill my wife if I lie. I cannot bear the thought!” Emil cried.

“Maybe, but you’ve admitted that you were a trained liar for the KGB. You’ve admitted that you spy for terrorists. You’ve caused the death of dozens of good Israeli solders and you almost got me killed!”

“I never intended to cause you harm my friend. It was just business! I needed the money!” Emil sobbed deeply.

“Yes, well its just business!” Ron stated coldly as he squeezed the trigger and shot the Emil in the head, then turned and walked away leaving his body for the buzzards.
**********

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Chris keys's Blog

Except from my upcoming book-Pirates Plunder! by Chris Keys

Nate Nevwas was twenty years past his prime, ten years ago and he’d be the first to admit it. He’d started out just fine in life, but it had gone downhill from there. As a kid he was always breaking some bone or other. Then at eighteen, he’d become intimate with an industrial sized…

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Posted on October 11, 2010 at 8:33am

An Uphill Challenge by Chris keys

An Uphill Challenge by Chris keys

The other day, I was asked by a friend, what the hardest part about writing a book. I have to be honest with you, up until a couple of months ago, I would have said finding a publisher. It’s easy to get a flyby night publisher, one who requires your financial…

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Posted on October 10, 2010 at 9:51am

Journey to the Published Land! By Chris Keys

Hello there, it’s been a while since I’ve added a new blog to any site that I’m on and it’s about time I think I to do so. I’ve been quite busy trying to get my first book published and I’m proud to say that I have done it. I am a published author. Perhaps more importantly is the fact that I am an author who is making money from the sale of his book. I’m not…

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Posted on July 28, 2010 at 2:51pm

So Now What? by Chris Keys

So now what? By Chris Keys author of the soon to be released “Reprisal! The Eagle Rises!” And “The Fishing Trip-A Ghost Story” due out summer of 2010…

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Posted on April 27, 2010 at 8:34pm

Comment Wall (2 comments)

At 3:23pm on February 21, 2010, Chris keys said…
The most successful people are the ones who are good at Plan B!
Taking advice from starngers is like asking a guerilla to teach you tango!
At 8:13pm on February 21, 2010, Dr Jitendra Arolia said…
Respected sir/madam
Plz join http://researchscholar.ning.com/
Network about English Literature so please join and oblige me
Thanks
Jitendra Arolia
Research Scholar

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