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Chapter Twenty-three 5 page

“Same,” Cam croaked.

“Catch your breath, and I’ll be ready for round—” Blair stiffened as the phone rang. She ignored it and it stopped ringing. “I’m going to have that disconnected.”

“Good idea.”

Blair cradled Cam’s head against her breasts and stroked her hair. “You’re going to need another shower.”

Cam opened her eyes. They were hazy and satisfied. “Take one with me?”

“What time are you leaving?”

“Nine.”

Blair tried to keep her voice even. “We don’t have much time.”

“Sure we do.” Cam eased Blair onto her back and caressed between her legs.

Blair caught her breath. “Okay. We’ve got enough time.”

Grinning, Cam sucked a nipple into her mouth and massaged Blair’s clitoris with her thumb.

“Time’s up,” Blair cried, letting the inevitable claim her. When she couldn’t take another second of pleasure, she clamped her hand over Cam’s. “Stop.”

“Not a chance.” Cam laughed.

“Okay. Revise that. Desist momentarily.”

Cam dropped onto her back and pulled Blair into her arms. She kissed her and sighed. “On second thought, maybe you working out with Stark or Hara isn’t such a good idea.”

“You’re not serious.”

“They’re going to be frustrated enough when you beat the hell out of them. Adding sexual torment on top—”

Blair slapped Cam’s stomach. “Not everyone finds me irresistible.”

Cam tilted Blair’s head up with a finger beneath her chin. “You’re wrong about that.”

“You’re not worried, are you?” Blair asked, frown lines forming between her brows.

“No.” Cam kissed her gently. “Don’t you think you should check who called?”

“No. I don’t care who called.”

“Okay.”

“Just like that?” Blair murmured. When Cam didn’t answer, Blair heaved a sigh and reached across her for the phone. She checked Caller ID, then pushed Call. “It was Stark.”

“Mmm.”

“Paula? It’s Blair. Who?” Blair sat up, continuing to stroke Cam, who regarded her intently. She covered the mouthpiece. “Barnett.”

“I want to speak to her before I leave today,” Cam said.

Blair rolled her eyes. “All right. Half an hour.” She tossed the phone aside and glared at Cam. “This is all your fault, you know.”

“I know.”

“It’s a good thing you’re so good in bed.”

“Ah, is there any safe answer to that?” Cam asked.

Blair shook her head, her gaze dropping to Cam’s mouth. “But there is a very good reply of another sort.”

“How much time do we have?” Cam moved down the bed.

Blair spread her fingers through Cam’s hair. “Enough.”

 

Chapter Eight

“Sir?"

“Good morning, Colonel.” Matheson held the phone in one hand and balanced his coffee mug on the knee of his crisply creased trousers with the other as he sat in a comfortable chair in front of a huge stone fireplace. He’d played on that hearth with his best friend as a child. Charlie was dead now, a martyr in the battle to secure the American way of life. But his memory remained, and his son, unlike Matheson’s, also lived on to fight for the cause.

“I received some intelligence that I thought I should bring to your attention.”

“Go ahead, Colonel.”



“A reporter has been assigned to cover the target’s upcoming… uh…event. Full access.”

“Anyone we can use?” Matheson watched the logs shift, sending showers of sparks onto the stones.

“Doubtful, sir, but we’re running background checks now.”

“How reliable is your source?”

“Very, sir. She’s an assistant in the office of the White House Deputy Press—”

“That will do.” Matheson didn’t trust even the most secure of lines. He smiled at the thought of a patriot in the West Wing. A woman, whom no one would suspect. It wasn’t true that only men could serve, it was simply a matter of recognizing a woman’s unique skills. While not having the mental fortitude or physical constitution for combat, women were a natural for communications work. “I like the press angle. Get me a list of names. We’ll want someone out there right away to establish connections before the target arrives.”

“Yes sir. Are you comfortable, sir? Everything you need there?”

“Perfectly, Colonel. Thank you and carry on.”

“Sir.”

Matheson disconnected and settled back in the chair, crossing his long legs at the ankle. Information was easy to come by. Until recently, access to potential targets—people and places—had been relatively simple as well. Getting close to Blair Powell might be more difficult now, but it was far from impossible. He smiled. A challenge merely made the hunt more satisfying.

The outcome was not in question. After all, he had God on his side.

 

Dana stepped off the elevator into a foyer that could have been in any luxury apartment building in the city. The eight by ten foot space was dimly lit by wall sconces, the marble floor nearly hidden beneath a thick oriental carpet, and the walls papered in some muted classic pattern above dark wood wainscoting. The surroundings spoke of money and taste and elegance. Even the cameras discreetly tucked into several corners weren’t that unusual in a security-conscious city, nor was the fact that the elevator required a special key, which Agent Stark had produced when they were ready to ride up. The man standing with his back to the wall next to the only door in the foyer was different, though. A blond-haired, blue-eyed clone of the one who had greeted her in the lobby downstairs scrutinized her and Stark with unapologetic intensity. Agent Stark handed him Dana’s ID, which Dana had surrendered upon request when Stark had informed her that the first daughter would see her.

“This is Dana Barnett,” Agent Stark said, handing the ID to the agent guarding the door.

The man studied Dana’s face, then the ID, then Dana once more. He held out her ID and she took it.

“Why the ID check? Doesn’t he believe you?” Dana asked Agent Stark. She didn’t get an answer, and she wasn’t entirely surprised. Thus far she’d been told three times in slightly different fashions that the Secret Service does not discuss protocol. “If I don’t know, I may have to make things up.”

“Perhaps you just shouldn’t report on topics that haven’t been cleared,” Stark replied mildly.

“Is anything ever going to be cleared?”

“I’m sure Ms. Powell’s wardrobe…no, actually, I’m not certain of that either.”

Dana grinned ruefully. She had a feeling that Agent Stark wasn’t making a joke. “All right, tell me if I’m hot or cold. He won’t take your word for it because I could have coerced you into bringing me up here. However, since I wouldn’t know to give you my ID to give to him, that’s a signal that you brought me here intentionally. It’s a code.”

“I doubt that Ms. Powell has much time allotted for you,” Stark said. “We probably shouldn’t waste any.”

“You’re right.” Dana waited while Stark knocked on the door. “But I was hot, wasn’t I?”

As she spoke, the door swung open and Blair Powell regarded them with interest. “Something new and exciting I should know about?”

Stark blushed. “No, ma’am. Dana Barnett to see you.”

Blair looked Barnett over. She appeared slightly more rested than the day before, but obviously wasn’t concerned about the image she projected. Her chinos and white button-down collar shirt were clean but not pressed, the black leather belt cinched above narrow hips was dull with age, and her boots similarly worn. Her casual disregard for her appearance and her lack of desire to make a good impression were refreshing.

“I gather you couldn’t convince anyone there’d been a terrible mistake?” Blair asked.

Dana couldn’t help but smile. “Apparently, Lucinda Washburn doesn’t make mistakes.” She raised a hopeful eyebrow. “What about you? Any luck?”

“Apparently not,” Blair said dryly, appreciating Barnett’s disregard for her position. Usually the press tended to be obsequious or obnoxious, but rarely unimpressed. “You’re here.”

Cam stepped up next to Blair. “I only have a few more minutes.”

“I know.” Blair slipped an arm around Cam’s waist. “Come in, Ms. Barnett.”

“Please, call me Dana.” Dana followed the first daughter and the deputy director as they crossed to a seating area in the center of the loft. She had caught the flash of discomfort that streaked across Blair Powell’s face an instant before she hid it behind the beautiful façade the world was used to seeing. The first daughter was unhappy about something. The deputy director looked as impassive as a stone statue. Except. Except when her eyes moved ever so briefly to Blair Powell’s face. Then her charcoal eyes sparked with tenderness and heat. The wave of raw desire emanating from Cameron Roberts washed over Dana so unexpectedly she had no time to prepare. She broke out into a sweat and her heart rate soared. Jesus. These two should come with a warning sign.

Roberts turned to Dana and Dana stiffened under the unwavering gaze.

“Sit down, Ms. Barnett,” Roberts said, taking Blair Powell’s hand as the two sat on a leather sofa in a seating area with a fireplace on one wall, huge windows on the other and open space. The hammered tin ceilings had to be twenty feet high.

Dana forced her tense muscles to relax as she settled onto a matching sofa with a sleek dark coffee table the same color as the floor between them. “I appreciate you seeing me this morning, Ms. Powell.”

Blair smiled. “I have a feeling you would have made Stark’s morning unpleasant if I hadn’t.”

“I make it a point not to misrepresent myself, so I won’t disagree.” Dana fixed on the deputy director. “You wanted to talk to me?”

“I supported Lucinda Washburn’s position on you having exclusive access to Ms. Powell for the next week or so,” Roberts said, “because I feel that it benefits the first daughter. If that should no longer be the case, we’ll sever your contact with her.”

“Are you trying to offer me a loophole to slip out of this assignment, Deputy Director?”

“Is that what you want?” Roberts replied.

Dana thought about the two women sitting across from her. Blair Powell was publicly one of the most important women in the United States by virtue of her position as well as her popularity. Cameron Roberts held a critical position vital to the security of the United States and yet remained a cipher, virtually unrecognizable to the man on the street. They were about to become the focus of intense media scrutiny and much debate. They were news, no question. But they were more than reluctant celebrities—they were the public and not so public faces of power, and she had the opportunity to be closer to them than anyone in her position ever had. “No. I’m not looking for an out.”

“Why not?” Cam asked. “Twenty-four hours ago you didn’t think this assignment was very important.”

Dana took a deep breath. “I apologize for that.” She looked at Blair. “Ms. Powell, I hope you forgive my arrogance. I’m honored to be able to take part in what I know must be a very important event in your life.”

Blair laughed. “What part interests you the most? My trousseau? The menu? The floral arrangements?”

“Uh.” Dana felt the blood drain from her face and scrambled for an answer. She frowned. “How do you decide what to wear? I mean, for the majority of couples it’s a tux and a dress. So what will it be for you two? Dresses?” As she looked from one to the other, she had the satisfaction of seeing Cameron Roberts’s face blanch.

“Ignore her, darling,” Blair murmured, loud enough for Dana to hear, “she’s baiting you.”

“It’s working,” Roberts muttered. She stared at Dana. “Whatever story you think you’re going to get, you will not be allowed to compromise her security.”

“Agent Stark made that very clear,” Dana said without rancor.

“We don’t anticipate any trouble.” Roberts clasped the first daughter’s hand as she spoke. “But in the event of an emergency, you’ll be expected to follow orders. If not—”

“I’m a reporter, Deputy Director, and I’ve been to the front. I understand chain of command, and I understand that in the heat of battle not everyone is created equal.” She didn’t expect anyone to look out for her if something untoward happened. “I have no problem with that.”

“Well, I do,” Blair said, standing abruptly and walking away.

Surprised, Dana stared after her, then said to Roberts, “I’m sorry.”

Roberts nodded, looking as if she wanted go after the president’s daughter, but she didn’t. “Anything you may see or hear regarding her security is strictly classified. If one word about procedure makes its way into your article, I will personally—”

“It won’t,” Dana said sharply. “I know my job and my responsibility.”

“Good. Having you around isn’t going to be easy for her. Don’t make it any harder.”

“What about you? You’re in this too.”

“I’m not noteworthy.” Roberts actually looked surprised, as if it hadn’t even crossed her mind that her own role in the upcoming nuptials would be of interest to anyone.

Dana got the picture then, sharp and clear. Cameron Roberts had one single focus, and that was the woman standing across the room, looking out the windows at the rain with her back to them. Roberts didn’t like the idea of Dana covering the proceedings much more than Blair Powell did, but she’d supported Washburn’s idea as the lesser of many evils. One reporter versus twenty, control versus chaos. Nevertheless, Roberts was obviously worried about the cost to Blair Powell’s peace of mind.

“I’m not going to make her uncomfortable,” Dana said quietly, not wanting the first daughter to overhear. “I think she’s incredibly brave and I think she’s doing something important for the country, not just in acknowledging her relationship with you, but standing up publicly now, when almost everyone else is wondering if they should be finding a place to hide.”

Roberts relaxed infinitesimally and some of the tension eased from her face. Dana hadn’t realized how tightly she was wound until just that moment.

“I agree with you.” Roberts stood. “I have a plane to catch. If you would give us a moment, please.”

“Absolutely. I’ll wait outside.” Dana held out her hand. “I’m good at my job, Deputy Director. She’ll be in good hands.”

Roberts smiled as she returned the handshake. “Call me Cam.”

“Thanks. Cam.”

 

“Hey,” Cam murmured, smoothing her hands over Blair’s shoulders. She kissed the back of her neck. “You okay?”

Blair turned from the window, scanning the room. “You got rid of her?”

Cam kissed her. “Don’t rejoice yet. She still wants to talk to you. I think she’s waiting out in the hall.”

“Of course she is.” Blair sighed and draped her arms around Cam’s neck. “You have to go, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Who are you taking with you?”

“Renee.”

Blair frowned. “That’s all?”

“I don’t need a bodyguard, baby,” Cam said gently. “And it really is just a routine interrogation.”

“You needed a bodyguard a month ago when someone tried to run you down. Oh, and don’t forget that little attempt to blow you up too.” Blair forced back the memory of just how close Cam had come to dying that night in the cold, black ocean. She wanted to chain her to a desk, even though she knew Cam would hate it. She almost didn’t mind how unhappy being stuck in an office would make Cam, as long as she was safe. And if she thought about that for very long, she would be forced to appreciate why Cam wanted to keep her hidden away somewhere, out of harm’s way. And she did not want to go there. Oh, this two-way street thing definitely took some getting used to. “What about Valerie? Can’t you take Valerie?”

“Renee is an excellent agent.”

“I know that. I just thought two would be better—”

“I can’t take Valerie where we’re going.” Cam brushed the backs of her fingers over Blair’s cheek. “There’s no danger. I swear.”

“Call me, okay? Whenever.”

“I will.” Cam kissed her, then let her go. “Are you ready for Dana Barnett?”

Blair sighed. “Why not.”

Cam laughed. “I love you. See you soon.”

“See you soon,” Blair whispered, watching Cam gather her topcoat and briefcase. She might have been any executive on her way to a midday meeting, except for the .357 pistol holstered against her left side. “Hey, Cam?”

Cam turned with the door half open.

“I love you.”

Cam smiled and stepped aside to let Dana Barnett enter. Then the door closed and she was gone. Blair remained where she was, waiting

for the familiar surge of anxiety to pass. Cam would be fine, and she would be back soon. No one would come to the door with the message there had been a bomb on a plane, or an escaped fugitive with a gun, or a biological warfare attack. Cam would come home. Blair felt Dana watching her from across the room and shrugged off the melancholy. “Coffee?”

“Yes, thanks,” Dana replied.

“Make yourself comfortable, I’ll just be a second.” Blair filled mugs from the pot in the kitchen and sliced a couple of bagels while she was at it. She put everything on a tray along with cream and butter, and carried them into the living area. “Help yourself.”

“Thanks.” Dana leaned forward and grabbed a bagel and poured cream into a mug of coffee. “Where’s the deputy director going?”

“I don’t know.”

Dana looked up. “Is that normal?”

Blair grimaced. “Is anything?”

“You’ve got a point.” Dana tried the coffee. It was good. “Does it bother you? The secrecy between you?”

Blair set her coffee aside. “I guess it’s time for ground rules.”

“Why not. Everyone else has given them to me.”

“Mine are pretty simple, really. You can ask me anything you want, but there are certain things I won’t answer. I won’t talk about my relationship with Cam. I love her and we’re going to be married. That’s all you really need to know about that.”

“I’m not very good at pretending.”

“What do you mean?” Blair asked.

“Maybe you believe your own press—that other than the fact that you happen to be two women, your relationship with Cameron Roberts is just like any other relationship—but I’m sure not buying it.” Dana leaned back and rested one ankle on her knee. “You know that’s complete and total bullshit.”

“You really don’t want this assignment, do you?”

“No, I decided that I do.”

“And you think antagonizing me is a good idea?”

“Maybe,” Dana offered, “if it gets you to talk to me.”

“I don’t talk to people about my personal life.”

“How about the deputy director? Do you talk to her about how much her job scares you?”

Blair stood up. “Okay. We’re done.”

Dana stood. “I’m sorry. I don’t have any talent for interviewing. I’m usually trying to get information in the middle of a gun battle or a typhoon, and social niceties are just too damn inconvenient. Thank you for your time.”

When Dana started toward the door, Blair called after her. “Why did you ask me that?”

Dana stopped, but didn’t turn around. “I saw it in your face a few minutes ago.”

“Assuming it’s true, why would I want anyone around who’s that intuitive?”

“The story here isn’t two women getting married, Ms. Powell.” Dana pivoted to face Blair. “It’s who the two women are, and every reporter worth her column space in this country—hell, in the world— knows it. They’ll be on you like piranhas.”

Blair’s temper flared. “And how do you think I feel about that?”

“I imagine you hate it. But if I don’t write the story, someone else will—whether they actually know anything or not.” Dana slid her hands into her pockets and shrugged her shoulders. “I’ll tell the truth. I’ll respect the special nature of her job, and yours.”

“Better the devil you know?”

Dana grinned. “That’s about it.”

“I’ll have Stark get you the keys to one of the apartments in the building. It will be more convenient.”

“I appreciate that.”

“I’m going shopping this afternoon. Around two.”

“That sounds like fun,” Dana said, sounding as if each word were painful.

Blair smiled. “Oh, it will be.”

 

Chapter Nine

“Who do we have?” Cam settled onto the rear seat of the SUV across from Savard. The regional office in Virginia had sent two FBI field agents to transport them to the Federal Bureau of Prisons Detention Center where detainees from Matheson’s mountain camp were being held.

“Martin Early,” Savard replied, passing a folder across the space between them. “Arrested at Matheson’s compound. In addition to firing on federal officers, he had recruitment documents in a cardboard box behind the seat of his truck. It looks like he was trying to clear out some of Matheson’s paperwork before we showed up.”

Cam checked to be sure the mics to the front compartment were off. She didn’t know the agents who had met them at the airfield, but that wasn’t unusual. The fledgling OHS had yet to recruit a full complement of agents and for the time being was forced to commandeer bodies from other security divisions. She suspected the rumors that the OHS would soon become a cabinet department were true, and once that happened, they’d have more funds and more permanent agents. But for now, the occasional inconvenience of being shorthanded was far preferable to the bureaucratic entanglements that were sure to result as the politicians and directors of various agencies struggled for supremacy in the new security structure. “Early is what—Matheson’s third or fourth in command?”

“From what we’ve been able to put together from duty rosters and memos confiscated during the raid, we can at least put him in the upper echelons. He’s a graduate of Matheson’s military academy, although he wasn’t much of a scholar.” Savard spoke quietly, but her tone suggested she was frustrated. Or angry. “We haven’t exactly had free access to information. We’ve been looking for this guy for a month, and finally tracked him down at the BOP in Virginia. Somehow, no one was quite sure where they’d put him.”

“That seems to be happening with persons of interest a lot these days,” Cam said grimly. She suspected that the DOD or the CIA, or both, were sequestering potential terrorists away from the other security agencies. The failure to predict 9/11 had not yet been laid at anyone’s door, and it was doubtful there was any single agency to blame. Nevertheless, no one wanted detainees giving up information that would point to their own agency as culpable. It was politics, and politics always derailed justice. “Does the prison director know why we’re coming?”

Savard gave a predatory smile. “No. We just informed him to expect the deputy director late this afternoon.”

“No reason for us to share if no one else does.” Cam studied the 4x4 color photograph reproduced on the first page of the file. The man was younger than she had anticipated, perhaps mid twenties, and she wasn’t certain why she was surprised. Most of her team members weren’t a lot older. He looked like a typical all-American boy grown up—blond, blue-eyed, fair complexion. But his mouth was thin and hard and his eyes held nothing but fury and contempt. “What does he do when he’s not playing soldier?”

“He’s a trucker.”

“Interstate?”

“Up and down the East Coast.”

“That’s convenient,” Cam said. “Is there any evidence that puts him in contact with the hijackers?”

Savard looked pained. “I wish I could answer that, Commander. But no one is giving us anything and all our requests for files have been ignored. It’s taken us weeks just to pinpoint this guy’s location. It’s like a shell game—find the detainee.”

“Felicia can’t dig up anything?” If there was information in any computer anywhere, Cam was convinced Felicia could find it, given enough time.

“She says no.”

Cam frowned. “Then someone has decided to shut us out.”

“It looks that way to us. Just the same, we’re working all of Early’s known associates and the truck routes he’s run for the last year. We might be able to put him with one of the hijackers, and if we do, that ties Matheson in as well.”

“Good,” Cam said neutrally. Building a case against Matheson that would stand up in a court of law was going to be difficult given the lack of access to intelligence, although her team would keep working to do just that. She knew what Matheson had done, and she knew that he would keep coming until he was stopped. Men like Matheson didn’t consider themselves bound by the law, which gave him the kind of freedom his victims didn’t enjoy. Cam valued and respected the need for order and the ascendancy of the common good, but in Matheson’s case those finer points of law were long past.

Her goal was simple, to find Matheson and stop him. Apprehending a lone fugitive, especially one with an extensive network of supporters and undoubtedly sizable funds, was a difficult undertaking. Matheson could move around the country easily with very little risk of detection unless he attempted to access bank accounts or return to his known previous locations. So far, he hadn’t done that. He’d had no reason to— his friends and colleagues in the patriot movement were sheltering him. She’d already talked with her FBI counterpart, and the surveillance of known patriot organizations had been stepped up. They might get lucky and catch Matheson meeting with one of the ringleaders. Fugitives had been apprehended more than once by some fluke—a traffic stop, being recognized by someone who’d seen their picture on America’s Most Wanted, an accident that forced them to seek medical care. Somehow, she didn’t think Matheson was going to be careless. Even though she doubted they would find him before he made another move, they would continue the hunt. In the meantime, she wasn’t going to take anything for granted, not even her own intuition.

 

Once Dana was alone in the apartment two floors below Blair Powell where she’d be staying for the next few days, she unpacked, which took all of five minutes, and then wandered through the impersonally furnished rooms thinking about the woman sequestered upstairs. Out of the spotlight, when Blair wasn’t performing some official function— and Dana had the sense that performing was exactly what Blair did under those circumstances—she was a fascinating woman. Reviews of the first daughter’s paintings by several well-known art critics indicated that art was not a hobby for her. Blair had real talent. Most artists shunned the spotlight, preferring to pour their energies into their creations. It must be a burden for Blair to be constantly thrust into the public eye. Add to that the fact that she was a lesbian and involved in a controversial relationship with a woman who was once responsible for her protection, and the tapestry became even more intriguing.

And she’s beautiful, Dana admitted to herself as she stood in front of the windows looking down on Gramercy Park. More than beautiful, really. Blair had that sensual spark that set everyone in the vicinity a little bit on fire. Dana grinned ruefully. She’d felt that pull of attraction the first time they’d met, and Cameron Roberts had picked up on it immediately. Nice, getting caught lusting after the first daughter in front of her lover. Great way to start an assignment.

Dana wasn’t really worried. She had lots of practice keeping her fly zipped. Spending half the year on the road, or most likely in places where there were no roads, wasn’t exactly conducive to having a love life. She’d discovered pretty quickly that the stress and uncertainty of danger tended to make people do things they wouldn’t ordinarily do. When you weren’t sure you’d wake up in the morning, you hated to waste a night, especially if you could spend it with someone else who was just as eager as you to feel alive. The good thing was, most of the time you did wake up the next day. Unfortunately, the night before would often come back to haunt you. After a few embarrassing and one painful experience, she’d decided love on the run didn’t have much to recommend it. She’d gotten used to going without, but occasionally she got blindsided. Happily, she was in the clear now. She only had to see Blair Powell and Cameron Roberts together for a few minutes to realize nothing and no one would come between them, not that she wanted to. But just witnessing the power of what they shared was enough to banish any lingering fantasies.

She turned from the window and surveyed the nicely appointed but completely sterile apartment and contemplated powering up her computer to investigate the players further. But now that she’d met Blair Powell and Cameron Roberts, she realized that nothing that had been written about them, or speculated about them, was going to tell her anything of real value. Since she was still at least forty-six hours behind in sleep, she stretched out on top of the bed in one of the bedrooms and closed her eyes.

When the knock came on her door, Dana woke instantly and checked her watch. Showtime.

“Be right there.” Briskly, she rubbed her face, made a quick stop in the bathroom to douse her face with cold water and chase the cobwebs from her head, and grabbed her leather flight jacket on her way to the door. A small, slim woman with straight jet-black hair and almond-shaped deep brown eyes wearing a well-cut navy suit greeted her when she stepped out into the hall.


Date: 2015-12-11; view: 619


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