It was the President. "Yes, Mr. President," I said, respectfully."John, if you don't learn to use my Christian name, I swear, I'll send Casey to climb...on your lap and bat your ears!" We both laughed."What can I do for you, Sir?" That got us both laughing again."Well, I am 'secure' four-hundred feet below the surface, in a windowless, airless, lightless bunker. In about forty seconds I intend to lose my mind and start screaming. In the meantime I thought I would call and let you know how. Isabel straddled Steve, sliding slowly down his cock. He groaned as he felt her wet pussy wrap around him, sliding deeper and deeper in. She rode him as slowly as she could, prolonging the feeling. Isabel's tits were in line with Steve's mouth. He took them, one at a time, sucking, licking, nibbling, anything he could do to get her hot. Her strokes became a little faster as he increased his pace on her nipples. Steve's hands snaked around her body, grabbing her ass. He gave her a few light. The terrorists had struck on a Tuesday. They had chosen to strike during the busy work week hoping to kill as many commuters as possible. When Wednesday morning dawned it became clear that many around the world were in mourning. Almost everywhere, flags were at half-mast. The normal hustle and bustle of people going to work and children heading for school was somehow more subdued.In Chicago, at Union Station, at the sight where the train derailed, and the park like area over which the explosion. "I'm Lieutenant Benjamin Linn, I've been in charge of these men for the past several weeks. Are you the new platoon leader?" he asked, looking me over, but finding no indication of rank or service, just my name tag."I'm Chris Kincade, I'm with the Agency, and no I don't get saluted," I told him. This seemed to surprise him even more."Agency?" came from him next. "What Agency?" You really don't want to know, Lieutenant," I told him before adding the old saw, "I could tell you, but then I would.