I think I'm going to be sick.
Terrorists have detonated a suitcase nuke in Valencia. There's no telling how many people have died or are going to die...I saw it on the news this morning. I called Jack, but he's not answering. Obviously.
Milo Pressman, our chief of technology, coughed up some details. He says Curtis is dead. Says that Jack shot him to keep him from killing some terrorist the President signed a deal with. That doesn't sound like the Curtis Manning I know, but...God. A fucking nuclear weapon going off in the middle of L.A.
I'm on the next flight out. I don't know what a screwed-up former agent can do, but...I want to try. These are my former colleagues. They were my friends.
I'm scared to death.
But I have to go.