The Unexpected
Copyright© 2025 by Technocracy
Chapter 22
Fiction Sex Story: Chapter 22 - "If you do not expect the unexpected, you will not find it; for it is hard to be sought out, and difficult." -- Heraclitus of Ephesus
Caution: This Fiction Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Consensual Heterosexual Fiction Science Fiction Violence
Cambridge, Ma - 19 February 2007
Mason’s interim living arrangement, at the row-house being used to quarter the five Marines, was in many ways, a return to a past sense of normalcy for Mason. Mason fit in well with the intel grunts.
Mason’s principal donations to ‘the cause’ was a weight bench with two sets of free weights, a large punch bag, and several sets of gloves. The front great-room had been stripped of its minimal furniture and turned into a small gym. Mason, having not much else to do, worked out two to three times per day, sometimes four, not attempting to ignore, but actually focusing on the pain radiating from his rib cage, using it to fill an inner void.
Mason was slowly reverting to an earlier indoctrination. He had shaved his beard, cut his hair, and became the small, ad-hoc Marine unit’s unofficial armorer. Daily, Mason cleaned and inspected their weapons, cycled and accounted for ammo, and read and posted MARADMINs, ALMARs, ALNAVs and other notices for the five Marines. He had also assumed the cook and other mess duties.
Mason was doing inclined situps when SSgt Anderson returned from his on-call watch patrol of Needham.
“Hey, staff sergeant. How’s it hanging?”
“Got some people you will wanna talk to, Johnson.”
“Yeah?”
Coming through the doorway behind the staff sergeant were two officers, wearing alphas, as typical of recruiters in winter. Mason immediately recognized that they both had the recruiter ‘look’.
“This is Major Cherkez, Marine District One Operations Officer, and Captain Mendez, an OSO from RS Boston.”
Mason stood and nodded to the two officers respectfully. The major led off.
“Corporal, we understand that you are within a year of your engineering degree. And Staff Sergeant Anderson tells me that you have fallen back into the Marine pattern. Let us get to the point. We need company-grade officers with combat experience.”
“Sir, if the major is talking about a commission, I’m just about too old to re-enlist and go for MECEP.”
“Not what we are talking about, corporal.”
Mason inwardly cringed at being referred to as ‘corporal’.
“Then I do not understand, sir.”
“Colonel Stewart wants you.”
“Uh, ‘wants me’, sir?”
The major skirted any direct answer to Mason’s question, choosing to focus on the mechanics of the process, wanting to make it ‘real’ to this highly-rated prospect. Mason Johnson was rated number one on a list of three other priors that a general officer, that was the USMC Director of Intelligence, had thrust into his responsibility.
“There are ways for enlisted commissioning, other than ECP and MECEP. We are specially funded for scholarships, enabling you to finish school, after which you would immediately report to OCS, followed by TBS and IOC, then report to a radio or intel battalion as a first lieutenant, pending your assignment to the intel officer schoolhouse.”
“No disrespect, sir. But why the hell would I want to do that? And why would I have to go through IOC?”
The major, again, skirted Mason’s questions.
“We need, and that need is critical, combat-deployable intel officers. They do not grow that on trees, son. And there are other reasons.”
Mason frowned when the major did not answer his question, and was practicing misdirection via Mason’s pre-programmed sense of duty. All typical methods for prior-service recruiters.
“I suppose this is spook stuff, sir?”
“In a colloquial manner of speaking, yes. About a year ago, the corps was forced by SecDef to stand up a unit for JSOC. We now have MARSOC at Lejuene. They do not necessarily want their intel people to be full-up operators, but the MARSOC unit does want combat-experienced intel officers.”
“Again, sir. No offense, but is someone getting a bit stupid? I was EAS’d with forty percent disability. I would think that would sorta rain on the major’s parade.”
“That would be addressed via a medical board and a PFT and CFT. Colonel Stewart said that you have been observed working out and running.”
“So what happens if my ass falls apart during IOC?”
“Then we board you, kick you out on a medical, at which time you take the money and run away, living happily ever after.”
Mason flashed a brief half-grin at the officers glib dismissal, per his concerns over a broken body brutalized by the IOC grinder.
“One other thing, sir. I’m probably making twice a lieutenant’s pay. I’ll be making more next year. Why would I want to walk away from that?”
“Are you happy with being an engineer, son?”
“I’m a tech, sir.”
“Colonel Stewart says that you are functioning as an engineer, and being paid as such. Back to my question. Do you miss being a Marine? Are you happy with working with computers and electrical circuits? Or do you want to be part of something bigger than that? What about your personal relationships? Have you made friends, friends that would die for you, since leaving the corps?”
Mason was emotionally hit on his metaphorical blind-side by the battery of questions. Mason knew that anyone that had done recruiting was trained to be a conniving manipulative bastard, but damn, this man sure knew which buttons to push.
SIG, Needham, Ma -11:45 AM, 05 March 2007
Mason grimaced as he removed his jacket after retrieving his lunch container from his truck and struggling back up the stairs to the engineering lab spaces.
“Still bothering you?”
“Just a little, doc. Sorta over-did my work-out last night ... You see my test data?”
“I did. Excellent job ... Mason, it was not that critical that you had to work through the weekend.”
“Don’t matter, boss. Don’t got nothing else going on. Uh ... doc? Did you talk to Lizzy? Did she say anything?”
“She did not come home for Sunday dinner, but she did call her mother.”
“I suppose that means ‘no’.”
“Give her time ... Mason, why would you not just go and talk to her in person?”
“Only two places that I could find her - on campus or at her place.”
“So why not see her at either place, or both?”
“Not a registered student this semester. Don’t wanna get in trouble with the local cops or the campus admin. As for going to her house, no can do, boss. She told me to stay away. Not once, but twice. I could get thrown into a lock-up if I showed up at her place.”
“What about all of your stuff?”
“She packed it up and put it on the front steps. Brandon and Michelle picked it up for me.”
“I am truly sorry, Mason. I did not know.”
“Not your problem, doc. I made the mess, I’ll find a way to clean it up.”
Benny considered the situation, thinking that he had severely misunderstood what he had heard between Andrea and Lizzy. That Lizzy had not been stating a true representation of the her acts, was something that did not sit well with Benny. He would have to breach the subject with Andrea if their situation further devolved.
Waving his sandwich, Mason pointed to the custom pizza-box computer.
“Uh ... the fourth server will be done by COB. What ya want loaded?”
“I was thinking about CentOS, but version five may not be for another few months, and GCC remains broken on that distro, so lets go with Debian. Better safe and reliable than flash and glitz. Also, we shall stay with our stable branch for the mux and delay line driver.”
“So these machines are for the coming ‘Big Switch’ that Doc Spoons has been talking about?”
“That it is. Things will move and change fast for the next ten to fifteen months.”
Mason muttered under his breath, ‘yep, some big changes are a-comin’.
1st Marine Corps District HQ, Garden City, NY - 6:05 AM, 19 May 2007
Mason was wearing a well-worn Boston University sweat shirt and sweat pants, and his last surviving pair of Nike Oceania running shoes. The OSO captain met Mason in the outer area of the S-3 office spaces.
“Sergeant Harvey and Lance Corporal Joshua will monitor and assist. We’ll run the PFT at Roosevelt Field, using the outer loop. It’s about two and one half circuits around the mall.”
“Uh, sir, did the board results not come in? Not worth your time if I don’t have medical clearance.”
The Marine officer looked annoyed at Mason.
“The board will sign off, pending PFT results.”
“Aye, sir. Standing by.”
Although still with painful ribs, Mason maxed the crunches and pull-ups. Now all he had to do was keep it together for a quick three-mile jaunt, several times around a large shopping mall. Mason was amused by the irony of the PFT location.
“I’m going to follow you. We’ll call out times when the odometer reads one, two, and three miles.”
“Nah, don’t bother, sarge. Just yell at me when I’m under a quarter of a mile to the end.”
Mason ran, almost all out, for the first two miles. His ‘sprint’ was fueled by disappointment and anger. He figured that the woman that had professed her undying love would have talked to him at least once in the previous five months. At two miles, Mason was a few seconds over eleven minutes elapsed time.
The safety-monitor vehicle followed Mason, with flashers on, down the street. The sergeant monitoring the run looked at the stop watch twice.
“Holy shit. Corporal Johnson is on the way for a perfect 300. He’s at two miles for eleven mike. This guy ain’t fuckin’ around.”
As Mason continued to run, he estimated he was past two miles. Being a cool day, and an early Saturday morning with no traffic, Mason determined that he would go another four or five hundred meters, then sprint over the remaining distance, with whatever remained of his cardio capacity.
As Mason ran, his thoughts drifted to those of Benson Harrison and Harry Spoons, thinking that he owed them some manner of notice once the enlistment contract was approved. Dr Harrison had been a good boss, and Mason had experienced a large portion of various electronics engineering specialties, and had been exposed to many other general engineering categories, all under Benny’s tutelage and guidance. The pay had been generous, and the environment had been supportive with minimal stress; at least when some third-party asshole was not shooting in his direction. Mason decided that he would let SIG know when he received approval for the conditional re-enlistment contract, and after he had moved out of the row-house and back into the dorms for his final year at BU.
Mason stepped out of his post-run shower and almost ran into the staff sergeant.
“Whoa, sorry about that, staff sergeant. I’ll be ready to go in about five mike. Want me to drive?”
“You’re not back in, not yet. You can’t drive a government vehicle. Anyway, I hear you totally slammed the PFT and that they’ll waive the CFT. What did the selection board say?”
“That I’m stupid enough to re-up.”
“Still gonna go with the infantry option? That shit is totally different than the wing, man.”
“That’s what they want, so that’s what I’m gonna do.”
“So you ready?”
“Just gonna wait for the medical board results for the next week. Nothing to get ready for.”
“You bring a decent set of clothes to change into?”
“Yeah, mostly because I have to see the registrar at BU this afternoon.”
“Good. Get dressed and follow me, Marine.”
Mason shrugged at the Marine staff sergeant, got dressed, and packed his ditty bag.
SSgt Anderson opened the door, motioning for Mason to go into the adjutant’s office. There was the major flanked by a colonel, a lt colonel, a sergeant major, and the OSO captain.
“Corporal Johnson, raise your right hand.”
“Sir?”
“You package has been approved. You have a tentative OCC slot for oh-six June of 2008. Now raise your right hand, Marine.
“I, state your name, do solemnly swear that I will support and defend the Constitution of the United States against...”
Jason repeated each phrase of the enlistment oath, somewhat stunned, but pleasantly surprised that the green machine had moved with such efficiency and rapidity.
“Remain standing at attention, corporal ... To all who shall see these presents, greetings. Know Ye, that reposing special trust and confidence in...”
And with a few keyboard punches by a unit diary clerk, and a commanding officer’s signature, Mason was a Sergeant in the U.S. Marine Corps.
“Congratulations, Sergeant Johnson.”
The officers dismissed Mason. The sergeant major followed SSgt Anderson and Mason out into the passageway.
“Son, get your uniforms in shape. The OIC of the Boston RS will be your report, and will help you with your kit and all of the check-lists. Your orders are at the duty NCO’s desk. Check into the station and get them stamped Monday morning. Any questions, sergeant?”
“No, sergeant major.”
“Welcome home, sergeant.”
SIG, Needham, Ma -3:15 PM, 21 May 2007
“Sorry about the short notice, boss, but I have to get my shit together for going back to school.”
Benny did not display surprise, nor did he display his disappointment. He thought Mason’s knowledge and skills would be profoundly wasted within the armed services. He wondered if Lizzy had not driven him back into the cloistered certainties and reliable rhythms of military life.
“Have you talked to Lizzy?”
Mason frowned at the question. He had operated for almost a month, mentally enforcing a fence around his memories of Lizzy Paucho. He did not want to start the memories up again.
“Tried to talk to her several times, doc. But not lately. Anyway, I can give you another week. I’ll do my best to get the stack-sensor array built and tested before I leave.”
“I appreciate that, Mason. You are a good person. We will miss you.”
Jason muttered to himself, ‘some will, some won’t.’
728 Commonwealth Avenue, Boston University, Ma - 02 June 2007
Mason, Sgt Wilson, and Cpl de Santo dropped off two sea-bags and one large hanging bag of uniforms and clothes and miscellaneous stuff, and three boxes of books, all at a small single-person apartment in one of the undergraduate dorms for the BU central campus. The main area of BU was unusually quiet for a Saturday, but it was the beginning of the summer session.
“Sure ya don’t want to use my truck?”
“Nah, staff sergeant would just put too many restrictions on it to be any fun ... So you gonna stop by? Maybe hit us up for another round of poker or spades?”
“Weekends, maybe. But I gotta cram twelve course hours into this summer session, so it’s gonna be tight. Thanks much, Wilson. Damn Ferdo, them two are checking ya out. You’re such a stud-muffin.”
“Fuck you, Johnson. We’re gonna miss ya, man. Gonna still talk to us after you pin bars?”
“Only if you bow first ... Dude, really man, you guys need to look me up when we all get back to the FMF. Deal?”
“It’s all good. See ya.”
Benny had one other errand to run before he was ready to settle back into the school routine.
The Farm, Littleton, Ma - 02 June 2007
Benny rolled his motorcycle off the truck bed and down the ramp, setting it outside the barn. After cutting a short portion of a garden hose, Benny siphoned the remaining gas out of the tank, into a waiting jerry can. After stuffing metal scouring pads into air inlets and the exhaust pipe, and removing the battery, he pulled two tarps over his truck. Angela and Jerri walked into the ‘lower’ barn as he finished covering his truck.
“Heard that you turned in your ID and phone to the colonel on Thursday. We love ya, but you’re a fucking idiot.”
“Been called worse. How you guys doing?”
“Hanging in there. Did Harrison or the colonel have any parting words of wisdom?”
“Don’t talk to strange women.”
“Eat shit, Mason. Wanna come in and have a beer?”
“Would like to, but I’m gonna drive back on my bike. Why you guys out here?”
“Construction people and sat-dish installers are scheduled on-site for next week. Jerri is over-watch, and I’m running the data link tests ... Ya know what, why don’t you have a beer or two or three and spend the night?”
“Damn good idea, Angie. I could do that.”
With several layers of quilts and blankets in front of the well-stacked fireplace, the three talked and drinked in a post-dinner relaxation.
Angela and Mason tipped their beer bottles together, saluting Jerri’s tales of flying C-130s into hot and hostile airfields.
“ ... they were all 12Bs, brave little combat engineers that they were, but stupid as fucking dirt. They weren’t even locked and loaded when the local Hajji’s took an immediate dislike to us unloading shit, after which...”
“ ... then me and my load-master grab our M4s, stood on the ramp, and banged away while those fucking 12Bs drove their tractors, dead center, into the main hajji body. By that time, one of them had thought to break out a 240.”
Mason was incredulous that they had landed a huge bird in the middle of hajji-land without ground support.
“Where the fuck were the grunts?”
“The ranger platoon assigned to the area was out looking for the same hajjis that came after us. The rangers eventually returned and cleaned them up, but not before my aircraft had a few holes.”
Jerri paused, giving Mason an intense look.
“So, are you going to tell us about your bronze star and heart? ... And before you get all indignant, the colonel does backgrounders on all employees and writes profiles for the security team.”
Angela’s interest was piqued.
“Mase? You never told me you had been in combat.”
“Nothing much to tell. They mortared, then assaulted the airfield, then we repelled the attack. End of story ... Ya know what Angie, I think I’m gonna miss you the most. You got your shit together, woman. And you have that ... I dunno, sort of an exotic thing going, with that stupendous bod and Jamaican accent ... And Jerri has that hot ice-princess intellectual thing. Ya know, sorta a hot Vulcan-mistress.”
The alcohol had loosened tongues. Angie gushed with Mason’s comments.
“Most of the ladies at SIG thought you were cute, Mase.”
“What the fuck is this ‘cute’? Shit, my queer roommate once called me cute. What the fuck does that mean? Kittens and puppies are ‘cute’. Is it the same shit?”
Jerri gave serious consideration to the question, seeing that it was asked in earnest.
“It’s a relativistic assessment that could fall into multiple categories. It varies with individual kinks and tastes and context. But there are contextual parametrics that are somewhat universal for a heterosexual appraisal.”
“See what I mean, Angie? Jerri has that Vulcan ice-princess way of looking at things.”
“Quiet, cute-boy. I want to hear Jerri’s explanation.”
“Story of my life - all the women I like, always telling me to shut the fuck up. So explain this ‘cuteness’ shit. Let’s have these parameters. Lay it on me, woman.”
Jerri smiled warmly, moving closer to Angela and Mason.
“There are three elemental contexts to ‘cute’. The first, and most common usage, is manipulative. Many, typically young, females get off on toying with men. Maybe it gives them a sense of power, or maybe it’s some level of narcissism. The second usage, and the least common, is an expression of attraction and affection. Then there is the third usage, commonly referenced as the ‘friend zone’. It most likely indicates that the girl feels safe with that particular guy, but without a romantic interest. Of course, there are various combinations of the aforementioned.”
“Wow. That’s a heavy-duty answer, Doctor-Captain Cleever-Handley...”
Mason turned to Angela, and with a comical leer, to ask a not-so-serious question.
“So, tell me, Angie. Which category of cute is it for me?”
Angie looked down in embarrassment, then took a long draw from her third beer. She looked directly into Mason’s eyes to make her reply.
“A combination of the second and third.”
“Yeah? So all this time, my exotic friend has had a thing for me?”
Mason leaned into Angela’s space, their noses less than 2cm apart. When Angela did not move away, Mason gently kissed her, then quickly separated. As Mason moved away, he saw that her eyes remained closed, and that her thick lips were separated. Mason licked his lips before moving back in for a more complete kiss.
As Angela released the hold on her beer bottle, Jerri quickly grabbed it and placed it aside. Angela wrapped one arm around the top of Mason’s shoulders, and the other arm to the back of his neck, holding and enforcing the contact.
Mason slowly, with a marked gentleness, pushed his tongue into Angela’s open mouth. The slow, wet dance of their tongues, the soft caress of lips, and the shared breath created an intensity that was more than a simple biologic imperative.
Their second kiss could have been 30 seconds, or it could have been 30 minutes. Time cannot be linearly decimated where emotions are sharp and focused.
They broke the kiss for a second, when Mason softly placed his hands on Angela’s face. Angela pulled Mason back in for another kiss as Mason gently stroked the sides of her face.
Jerri smiled at the two discovering each other. She posited that Mason’s strength was what made his gentleness an easy offering. The scene was both melancholy and stimulating to her, as it flashed memories of her deceased husband. After silently watching the sweet exchange for a few minutes, Jerri retired to the back bedroom of the farmhouse, giving Angela and Mason privacy for their intimacy.
Needham, Ma - 03 June 2007
Lizzy was looking around the apartment like a caged animal that was looking for an escape route, while Andrea watched with sad eyes. Andrea’s profound disappointment in her daughter’s actions and untruths left her without anything to say, such that any further discourse on the subject would be up to Benny.
“Lizzy, your mother and myself are weary of your manipulative theatrics. Mason’s last work-day was Thursday. He has re-joined the Marines. I do not know where he moved to, or where the Marines will send him. He disclosed neither to me.”
“I must find him! He can’t leave me!”
“Non-sequitur. You left him six months ago. He is gone. Accept that it is over.”
“Have Henry track him! He knows about where military people go.”
“He would do no such thing. In fact, Henry told me that once Mason returns to active duty, he would no longer provide information about Mason.”
“Make him, Benny! Please, make Henry tell you.”
Benny looked to Andrea for guidance, but was met with damp, vulnerable eyes, and a pained expression. Benny wrapped his arms around Lizzy, pulling her down, onto the couch. Benny was not happy that he could sense the depths of Lizzy’s despondent sadness. And worse, he could feel waves of helplessness from Andrea.
----------- Boston University, Ma - 6:15 AM, 04 June 2007
Mason was wearing his charlie uniform. Before he opened the door to exit, Mason checked his gig line. As Mason locked the door to his student apartment, two women in the passageway paused to, pointedly, look him up and down, obvious with their disapproval of a military man in their presence.
Mason stood facing the two women, returning their glare, but providing a gracious greeting.
“Good morning, ladies.”
Neither woman replied, so Mason headed for the stairwell.
Standing over his motorcycle, Mason removed his garrison cover, then reached for his helmet, to be interrupted by a young woman and man. Mason guessed that they were first or second-year students.
“Does the military actually send people to college?”
Mason regarded the girl with suspicion, wondering if she was naive, stupid, or just fucking with him.
“Yes.”
“The military really studies academic things?”
“Yes.”
“Have you been to the war?”
“Yes.”
“Have you killed anybody?”
Mason said nothing in reply. He donned his helmet, cranked his bike over, and rode away from the twits.
Recruiting Station Boston, Ma - 7:55 AM, 04 June 2007
Mason stood in front of the navy master chief petty officer, the ostensible NCOIC of the station. A Marine gunnery sergeant stood to his side.
“Where is the second endorsement?”
“Not required, Master Chief.”
“Guns?”
“That’s correct, Master Chief. The orders state DUINS, direct cadre, First District report.”
“Why is all of this other stuff waived, sergeant?”
“These are DUINS orders, Master Chief. My job is to go to school and complete the requirements for a degree before June 2008.”
“Where? What’s the degree?”
“Boston U. Electrical Engineering.”
“Interesting. Guns, does Captain Jenkins know about this?”
“Aye, Master Chief. He is Johnson’s sponsoring OSO.”
The navy master chief thumbed through the SRB copy and stack of orders and check-lists in the two files. He gave up trying to make sense of the logistical ‘theatrics’ that had been done to get this man back into the suck.
“I’ll be damned. Never seen anything like this. Someone must really love you ... or hate you. Is Sergeant Johnson on your schedule, gunny?”
“Yes, Master Chief.”
“Good enough. Give your check-in sheet and endorsed orders to that short air force staff sergeant out there.”
A disembodied female voice shouted into the office.
“I heard that, Master Chief.”
“Anyway, sorry it took so long for us to complete your orders and process the unit diary. Are you short funds?”
“I’m good, Master Chief.”
“He’s all yours, guns.”
“Aye, Master Chief.”
Mason waited while a blonde pixie in a blue air force uniform processed his check-in folder and closed his orders.
“That Yamaha yours?”
“Yep. It’s a burner.”
“Cute bike.”
Mason smiled at the small woman.
“My bike is not cute. It is cool. It is fast.”
“And I bet that ‘cool’ bike gets you into trouble.”
“Nah, I’m not that stupid.”
“So why did you re-tread?”
“Dunno. Maybe I am stupid.”
“I know Marines. You missed playing with your friends and toys that go boom.”
The air force NCO completed her typing, stapling, and stamping.
“Give me your IRR card. Here is your active-duty CAC...”
The air force pixie looked up as she handed Mason his new military ID.
“Sayyyy, you’re cute.”
Mason muttered, ‘heard that recently’.
“What?”
“Nothing. Thanks.”
“My name is Caroline. Why don’t you call me sometime.”
The navy master chief’s gruff voice was broadcast into the outer recruiting office.
“Goddammit, Sergeant Easterline! Quit harassing Marines. Leave the man alone. He has work to do.”
Mason smiled at the blonde before he turned and exited the building, wondering where all of these hot women had been for the last few years, which was a double suckage, as he no longer had time for anything but school and fitness. What a rip.
SIG, Needham, Ma - 10:20 AM, 04 June 2007
Andrea and Benny both appeared drawn, darkness under their eyes, and slow of movement. Neither had slept much, never leaving Lizzy’s side during the night.
“Want some coffee or tea, Andy?”
“Thank you, meu amor. Café, por favor.”
“Two cups of coffee coming up.”
Benny nodded to Doris as he was leaving the office. Doris entered the office, doing her best to appear cheerful.
“How is our girl doing, sweety?”
“Not well. Nós sabíamos o que ela tinha feito, Dory!”
“What?”
“Sorry. Uh ... we did not know of what she had done. I cannot understand my girl, Dory. She lied to us. She shunned Mason, a fine man that loved her. He was a hero, and she shunned him, Dory. Why?”
“Sweety, listen to me. Lizzy needs help ... Andrea ... you know that Harry and myself love you and Lizzy. But you have to consider that she may have bad tendencies.”
“What? You say that ... Ela é má?”
“Andrea? What do you mean? You’re speaking Portuguese, sweety.”
“Is my baby girl of evil? Is she bad?”
“I do not know. I would like to think not, but this whole mess does seem to indicate that Lizzy may have some narcissistic traits. She needs to see someone. I know of a good therapist ... Sweety, we have to get this under control. Benny and Harry will have to make some difficult decisions over the next several months. We could lose tens of millions, maybe hundreds of millions, if Benny and Harry are too distracted. You and me, we’re set for life, but there are twenty people in this building that depend on Benny and Harry for their livelihood, not to mention the, almost, half of a billion that Google has riding on us. Do you understand, sweety?”
“Eu sei, Dory ... I know.”
Doris was uncertain that Andrea did understand.
SIG, Needham, Ma - 12:15 PM, 18 July 2007
Jason Thorns, Jerri Clever-Hendley, Michelle Escalado, and Brandon Hayes were cloistered in the outer security office over their lunch.
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