Call of Duty: The Sterling Nobility of Robert E. Lee (Leaders in Action)
J Steven Wilkins
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million bucks?” Rose drew an oblong folder from the outer zip pocket of the case. “Your tickets.” Mack took them. “Where are we going?” “I can only tell you the first stop. There you are to find a person, a child like yourself. I don’t know who the person is. And I don’t know how you are to find this person. My instruction was simply that you go.” “Just go someplace and find some person?” Mack said skeptically. “You realize that makes no sense?” “Yes. I do. But to be honest, no part of this
see her mouth. They were all three close, within a few dozen feet of each other. The jet, on the other hand, was already far away and far above. Rushing away from them at five hundred miles per hour. Mack saw moonlit sky and silvery clouds. He saw dappled ocean far below. In the east the sun was peeking up over the curve of the earth. And in the other direction he could just make out what must be a city’s lights—Sydney, no doubt. The ocean that he had feared for so long was now rushing up to
pages of a book, was covered in what could only be writing. The letters were strange, nothing recognizable, although here and there one of the shapes would look a little like a T or a stylized Z. The wall was scarred in places by deep fissures. In other places the rock had simply collapsed, fallen down to make a pile of pebbles and fragments. “What is it?” Mack asked. “We’re not totally sure. But my mum thinks it’s the last ten thousand years of history,” Jarrah said in a voice full of awe.
her beautiful self back together, she summoned her personal flying craft, climbed aboard, and headed for the closest portal to her mother’s underground lair and prison. Before she got there, she knew she’d better have a plan. The Pale Queen, her mother, was not sentimental. She, too, sometimes ate those who had failed her. Risky looked at her reflection in the black glass as she raced through the stratosphere at supersonic speeds and thought, I could hardly blame her; I would be a tasty snack.
Mack made it home unmolested by any more bullies, possibly because he was shirtless except for the neck band of his destroyed T-shirt, and his hands were red with blood up to the elbows. That sort of fashion choice tends to discourage people from bothering you. Mack’s father was home when Mack came in the side door. His father was staring into the refrigerator with the door open, looking like he might see something really cool there if he just kept searching. “Hey, big guy,” his father said.