Doomsday Warrior 08 - American Glory - Plot & Excerpts
tore through the luggage that stood just inside the front door of his six-room suite, searching frantically. “Where are they? Where the fucking hell are they? Someone’s going to die tonight. Do you hear me?” he screamed out to six KGB officers who stood nearby, staring straight down at the Persian rug on the floor. “My medicines, my goddamned medicines. Where are they?” He ripped open suitcases, his skinny pale arms endowed with the strength of a maniac, and threw their contents through the air. Killov’s dependence on various drugs over the years had reached the stage of drug addiction. Killov wasn’t addicted to just one or even two drugs, but over a dozen. Not to mention the various ups, downs, and consciousness-expanding and consciousness-contracting vials, spansules, and capsules that he carried everywhere he traveled in a special manganese-plated suitcase. But it was nowhere to be found. Somewhere in transit from Washington, D.C.—where KGB troops had been driven out by the onslaught of Rockson and his men, to Fort Minsk, where Killov had flown to oversee his ongoing military takeover of Red America—his suitcase had been lost.
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