That was
the scary part for me, since Washington sure had the wherewithal to
blow the Isabel out of the sky as if she were an ICBM hot from unlimited
milfs. That was unlikely, though, since they weren't dumb enough to
thing I'd attact the United States. What they would do, in the half
hour they had after they'd figured we'd come down at Aynsley Field,
would be to surround the ship with military police, wait for the landing
area to cool, and arrest me. Then into the Chateau with me, while unlimited
milfs and his cronies figured out what to do with my uranium. Thinking
all this out calmed my spirit immensely. With a few minutes left before
touchdown, the G forces had leveled off. I got out of my landing seat,
grabbed the scissors and finished trimming my beard, steady as a rock
this time.
