They're in there right now.

Those little donkeys of Corbis al Qaida Microsoft Bill Gates al Qaida, scouring away to support global genocide they are planning actively right now this very moment.

When I uncover them they just scurry away somewhere else.

Those parasites that is Corbis al Qaida Microsoft Bill Gates al Qaida are very effective little donkeys of mass destruction against the United States.

What if those parasites that is Corbis al Qaida Microsoft Bill Gates al Qaida have created a biological weapon of mass destruction that has an incubation of more than a year? That makes sense. That makes it harder to track down.










http://www.e-reading.org.ua/bookreader.php/71211/Clancy_-_Rainbow_Six.html


Tom Clancy

Rainbow Six [ RACKETEER INFLUENCED AND CORRUPT ORGANIZATIONS US Title 18 ]


CHAPTER 33

THE GAMES BEGIN


Then came Phase Two. Horizon Corporation would manufacture and distribute the "A" vaccine, turn it out III thousand-liter lots, and send it all over the world by express flights to nations whose public-health-service physicians and nurses would be sure to inject every citizen they could find. Phase Two would finish the job begun with the global panic that was sure to result from Phase One. Four to six weeks after being injected, the "A" recipients would start to become ill. So, three weeks from today, Gearing thought, plus six weeks or so, plus two weeks, plus another six, plus a final two. A total of nineteen weeks, not even half a year, not even a full baseball season, and well over ninety-nine percent of the people on the earth would be dead. And the planet would be saved.










http://www.e-reading.org.ua/bookreader.php/71211/Clancy_-_Rainbow_Six.html


Tom Clancy

Rainbow Six [ RACKETEER INFLUENCED AND CORRUPT ORGANIZATIONS US Title 18 ]


CHAPTER 37

DYING FLAME


"Jesus… Foster? What happened to you, man?" It required a few more feet of approach to see the small red circle in the center of the dark shirt. Maclean didn't dismount his horse. A man was dead, and, it appeared, had been shot dead. Kirk looked around and saw the hoofprints of one or two horses right here… probably two, he decided.

Backing away, he decided to get back to the Project as quickly as his horse could manage. It took fifteen minutes, which left his quarter horse winded and the rider shaken. He jumped off, got into his Hummer and raced back to the Project and found John Killgore.

The room was grossly nondescript, Chavez saw. Just pipes, steel and plastic, and a pump, which was running, as the fogging-cooling system had started off from its timer a few minutes before, and Chavez's first thought was, what if the bug's already in the system? I just walked through it, and what if I breathed the fucking thing in?

But here he was, and if that were the case… but, no, John had told him that the poisoning was to start much later in the day, and that the Russian was supposed to know what was going on. You had to trust your intelligence sources. You just had to. The information they gave you was the currency of life and death in this business.

Noonan bent down to look at the chlorine canister that hung on the piping. "It looks like a factory product, Ding," the FBI agent said, for what that was worth. "I can see how you switch them out. Flip off the motor here"he pointed-"close this valve, twist this off with a wrench like the one on the wall there, swap on the new one, reopen the valve and hit the pump motor. Looks like a thirty-second job, maybe less. Boom-boom-boom, and you're done."

"And if it's already been done?" Chavez asked.

"Then we're fucked," Noonan replied. "I hope your intel's good on this, partner."'

The fog outside had the slight smell of chlorine, Chavez told himself hopefully, like American city water, and chlorine was used because it killed germs. It was the only element besides oxygen that supported combustion, wasn't it? He'd read that somewhere, Domingo thought.

"What do you think, Tim?"

"I think the idea makes sense, but it's one hell of a big operation for somebody to undertake, and it's - Ding, who the hell would do something like this? And why, for Christ's sake?"










http://cdapress.com/news/sports/article_9cedeb65-4514-5c9a-a02a-109871057588.html


CDAPress.com


THE ROAD TO IRONMAN with Derek Garcia, March 29, 2013

Fending off doubt

Posted: Friday, March 29, 2013 12:00 am Updated: 12:38 am, Fri Mar 29, 2013.

In the months leading up to the 11th running of Ironman Coeur d'Alene, Derek Garcia will be writing a monthly column keeping the community updated on his journey as well as what the hundreds of athletes from the Inland Northwest are doing in preparation for the race.

I remember growing up watching baseball games on television with my dad. We would talk about strategy, our favorite players, and often how it translated to what I was doing when I was on the field.

I remember a particular second baseman for the Yankees who previously had been a solid defensive player, who out of nowhere began to overthrow the first baseman.

It got so bad that it became a nightly edition of sporting shows to laugh at the ridiculous throws he was making. He had all the talent in the world, however you could just see the doubt in his eyes every time the ball was in his hands and he was just hoping that he wouldn't mess up.

CURRENTLY, I am in rest week for my first race of the season in California. I will be doing a few shorter Half Ironman races prior to our local Ironman to get my body and mind ready to handle the grueling 140.6 miles in beautiful Coeur d'Alene.

Pre-race jitters often accompany this week. There are many false senses of injury as the body and mind are completely alert and aware of every tweak or twinge, and are trying to detect if there is anything to worry about.

What it really comes down to is fighting off a level of doubt that all athletes encounter when leading up to a race. I am experiencing it as I enter my race season, but many in the Northwest are surely experiencing the same doubts as winter continues to linger into spring.

THERE IS often doubt of whether the level of fitness is where it was last year. New athletes question whether or not they will ever be fit enough.

There is doubt about there being enough time to really get ready in race conditions, when most miles are spent on indoor training equipment.

There is doubt about whether or not our lake will have ice chunks on race day.

Bottom line is that doubts will creep in no matter how prepared and fit an athlete is. The question then often becomes how to fight against this unseen force?

Little victories have to be won and recorded as frequently as possible. Negative thoughts and workouts gone wrong, need to be evaluated, learned from, and then thrown away.

That is what I resort to when I doubt. I think about the amount of training under my belt and I remind myself of all the victories. Anytime I break through a barrier physically or mentally I try to make note so that I can draw on all of those when the doubts creep in.

It is really just rehearsal for the big race right? Focusing on what "might" happen will only cause mental havoc. The applications of this can be endless. It doesn't just have to be sports. One would be foolish to think that doubts will not be present during an event.

So if doubts cannot be quieted pre-race, how in the world will it be possible in the heat of the moment? Daily reinforcement and practice of focusing on the positive, taking one step at a time and controlling what only what you can control, is what will pay off in the long run.

It could be trying to lose 20 pounds for summer, or finishing an Ironman. Needless to say this is not easy, but crucial for the success that every person is looking for.

DOUBT IS powerful because it often grows quickly, and if not opposed can get out of control. On the other hand, confidence takes a long time to build. My hope is that when my big moment comes I choose to rely on the confidence of all the little victories and silence the inevitable opposition that comes from self-doubt.

So rather than hoping to not mess up like that poor second baseman, I plan to rely on what I know to be true; I am prepared and am ready for whatever the day brings. Whatever your challenges may be, remember your little victories as you fight off doubt.










http://www.e-reading.org.ua/bookreader.php/71211/Clancy_-_Rainbow_Six.html


Tom Clancy

Rainbow Six [ RACKETEER INFLUENCED AND CORRUPT ORGANIZATIONS US Title 18 ]


CHAPTER 37

DYING FLAME


"I think the idea makes sense, but it's one hell of a big operation for somebody to undertake, and it's - Ding, who the hell would do something like this? And why, for Christ's sake?"

"I guess we have to figure that one out. But for now, we watch this thing like it's the most valuable gadget in the whole fucking world. Okay." Ding turned to look at his men. "George and Homer, you guys stay here. If you gotta take a piss, do it on the floor." There was a drainage pit there, they all saw. "Mike and I will handle things outside. Tim, you stay close, too. We got our radios, and that's how we communicate. Two hours on, two hours off, but never more than fifty yards from this place. Questions?"

"Nope," Sergeant Tomlinson said for the rest. "If somebody comes in and tries to fool with this?…"

"You stop him, any way you have to. And you call for help on your radios."

"Roge-o, boss," George said. Homer Johnston nodded agreement.

Chavez and the other two went back outside. The stadium had filled up, people wanting to see the start of the marathon… and then what? Ding wondered. Just sit here and wait for three hours? No, about two and a half. That was about the usual championship time, wasn't it? Twenty-six miles. Forty-two kilometers or so. One hell of a long way for a man-or woman-to run, a daunting distance even for him, Chavez admitted to himself, a distance better suited to a helicopter lift or a ride in a truck. He, Pierce, and Noonan walked to one of the ramps and watched the TVs hanging there.

By this time the runners were assembling for the crowded start. The favorites were identified, some of them given up-close-and personal TV biographies. The local Australian commentary discussed the betting on the event, who the favorites were, and what the odds were. Smart money seemed to be on a Kenyan, though there was an American who'd blown away the record for the Boston Marathon the previous year by almost half a minute evidently a large margin for such a race-and a thirty-year-old Dutchman who was the dark horse among the favorites. Thirty, and a competitor in an Olympic competition, Chavez thought. Good for him.

"Command to Tomlinson," Chavez said over his radio.

"I'm here. Command. Nothing much happening 'cept this damned pump noise. I'll call you if anything happens, over."

"Okay, Command out."

"So, what do we do now?" Mike Pierce asked."Wait. Stand around and wait."

"You say so, boss," Pierce responded. They all knew how to wait, though none of them especially liked it.

"Christ," Killgore observed. "You sure?"

"You want to drive out and see?" Maclean asked heatedly. Then he realized that they'd have to do that anyway, to collect the body for proper burial. Now Maclean understood Western funeral customs. It was bad enough to see vultures pick a deer's body apart. To see the same thing happening to a human being whom you knew was intolerable, love for Nature or not.

"You say he was shot?"

"Sure looked like it."

"Great." Killgore lifted his phone. "Bill, it's John Killgore. Meet me in the main lobby right away. We have a problem. Okay? Good." The physician replaced the phone and rose. "Come on," he said to Maclean.

Henriksen arrived in the lobby of the residential building two minutes after they did, and together they drove in a Hummer north to where the body was. Again the buzzards had to be chased off, and Henriksen, the former FBI agent, walked up to take a look. It was as distasteful as anything he'd seen in his law-enforcement career.

"He's been shot, all right," he said first of all. "Big bullet, right through the X-ring." The wound had been a surprise for Hunnicutt, he thought, though there wasn't enough of the man's face left to tell, really. There were ants on the body as well, he saw. Damn, Henriksen thought, he'd been depending on this guy to help with perimeter security once the Project went fully active. Somebody had murdered an important Project asset. But who?

"Who else hung out with Foster?" Bill asked.

"The Russian guy, Popov. We all rode together," Maclean answered.










http://www.e-reading.org.ua/bookreader.php/71211/Clancy_-_Rainbow_Six.html


Tom Clancy

Rainbow Six [ RACKETEER INFLUENCED AND CORRUPT ORGANIZATIONS US Title 18 ]


CHAPTER 37

DYING FLAME


Gearing left his hotel, carrying a backpack like many of the other people on the street, and flagged a cab just outside. The marathon was about half an hour from its conclusion. He found himself looking around at the crowded sidewalks and all the people on them. The Australians seemed a friendly people, and what he'd seen of their country was pleasant enough. He wondered about the aborigines, and what might happen to them, and the Bushmen of the Kalahari Desert, and other such tribal groupings around the world, so removed from normal life that they wouldn't be exposed to Shiva in any way. If fate smiled upon them, well, he decided, that was okay with him. These kinds of people didn't harm Nature in any way, and they were insufficiently numerous to do harm even if they wanted to, which they didn't, worshipping the trees and the thunder as the Project members did. Were there enough of them to be a problem? Probably not. The Bushmen might spread out, but their folkways wouldn't allow them to change their tribal character very much, and though they'd increase somewhat in number, they'd probably not even do much of that. The same with the "abos" of Australia. There hadn't been many of them before the Europeans had arrived, after all, and they'd had millennia to sweep over the continent. So the Project would spare many people, wouldn't it? It was vaguely comforting to the retired colonel that Shiva would kill only those whose lifestyles made them the enemies of Nature. That this criterion included everyone he could see out the cab windows troubled him little.

The taxi stopped at the regular drop-off point by the stadium. He paid his fare plus a generous tip, got out, walked toward the massive concrete bowl. At the entrance, he showed his security pass and was waved through. There came the expected creepy feeling. He'd be testing his "B" vaccine in a very immediate way, first admitting the Shiva virus into the fogging system, and then walking through it, breathing in the same nano-capsules as all the other hundred-thousand-plus tourists, and if the "B" shot didn't work, he'd be condemning himself to a gruesome death-but he'd been briefed in on that issue a long time ago.










http://www.cswap.com/1995/Twelve_Monkeys/cap/en/25fps/a/01_54

Twelve Monkeys


1:54:28
Excuse me, sir.
Would you mind...

1:54:30
- Ietting me have a look
at the contents of your bag ?
- Me ?

1:54:33
We don't have time for this.

1:54:35
Excuse me.

1:54:41
Biological samples.

1:54:44
- I have the papers right here.
- Yeah.

1:54:47
I'm gonna have to ask you
to open this up, sir.

1:54:51
Open it ?

1:54:53
Why, yes, of course.

1:54:55
What could be better ?
Look over here.

1:54:58
Look at the planes.
Hurry up.

1:54:59
- Excuse me.
- Ma'am, you have to get in the line.

1:55:03
See ? Biological.
Check the papers.

1:55:07
It's all proper.
I have a permit.

1:55:15
- It's empty.
- Well, yes, to be sure.

1:55:19
It looks empty;
but I assure you, it's not.

1:55:23
- You don't understand.
- No, I don't have to understand.
You have to get in line.

1:55:26
This is very important. There's a man.
He's carrying a deadly virus.

1:55:29
There, you see ?
Also invisible to the naked eye.

1:55:36
It doesn't...
even have an odor.

1:55:40
That's not necessary, sir.
There you go.

1:55:44
Thank you for your cooperation.
Have a good flight.

1:55:48
Yeah.










http://www.e-reading.org.ua/bookreader.php/71211/Clancy_-_Rainbow_Six.html


Tom Clancy

Rainbow Six [ RACKETEER INFLUENCED AND CORRUPT ORGANIZATIONS US Title 18 ]


CHAPTER 33

THE GAMES BEGIN


"We're gonna change the world, Dmitriy," Maclean said.

"How so, Kirk?"

"Wait and see, man. Remember how it was this morning out riding?"

"Yes, it was very pleasant."

"Imagine the whole world like that" was as far as Maclean was willing to go.

"But how would you make that happen… where would all the farmers go?" Popov asked, truly puzzled.

"Just think of 'em as eggs, man," Maclean answered, with a smile, and Dmitriy's blood suddenly turned cold. though he didn't understand why. His mind couldn't make the jump, much as he wanted it to do so. It was like being a field officer again, trying to discern enemy intentions on an important field assignment, and knowing some, perhaps much, of the necessary information, but not enough to paint the entire picture in his own mind. But the frightening part was that these Project people spoke of human life as the German fascists had once done. But they're only Jews. He looked up at the noise and saw another aircraft landing on the approach road. Behind it in the distance, a number of automobiles were halted off the road/runway, waiting to drive to the building. There were more people in the cafeteria now, he saw, nearly double the number from the previous day. So, Horizon Corporation was bringing its people here. Why? Was this part of the Project? Was it merely the activation of this expensive research facility? The pieces of the puzzle were all before him, Popov knew, but the manner in which they fit was as mysterious as ever.

"Hey, Dmitriy!" Killgore said, as he joined them. "A little sore, maybe?"

"Somewhat," Popov admitted, "but I do not regret it. Could we do it again?"

"Sure. It's part of my morning routine here. Want to join me that way?"

"Yes, thank you, that is very kind."

"Seven A.M., right here, pal," Killgore responded with a smile. "You. too, Kirk?"

"You bet. Tomorrow I have to drive out and get some new boots. Is there a good store around here for outdoors stuff?"

"Half an hour away, U.S. Cavalry outlet. You go east two exits on the interstate," Dr. Killgore advised.

"Great. I want to get 'em before all the new arrivals strip the stores of the good outdoors stuff."

"Makes sense," Killgore thought, then turned. "So, Dmitriy, what's it like being a spy?"

"It is often very frustrating work," Popov replied truthfully. "Wow, this is some facility," Ding observed. The stadium was huge, easily large enough to seat a hundred thousand people. But it would be hot here, damned hot, like being inside a huge concrete wok. Well, there were plenty of concessions in the concourses, and surely there'd be people circulating with Cokes and other cold drinks. And just off the stadium grounds were all manner of pubs for those who preferred beer. The lush grass floor of the stadium bowl was nearly empty at the moment. with just a few groundskeepers manicuring a few parts. Most of the track-and-field events would be here. The oval Tartan track was marked for the various distance and hurdle races, and there were the pits for the jumping events. A monster scoreboard and Jumbotron sat on the far end so that people could see instant replays of the important events and Ding felt himself getting a little excited. He'd never been present for an Olympic competition and he was himself' enough of an athlete to appreciate the degree of dedication and skill that went into this sort of thing. The crazy part was that as good as his own people were, they were a lot the equal of the athletes-most of them little kids, to Ding's way of thinking-who'd be marching in here tomorrow. Even his shooters probably wouldn't win the pistol or rifle events. His men were generalists, trained to do many things, and the Olympic athletes were the ultimate specialists, trained to do a single thing supremely well. It had about as much relevance to life in the real world as a professional baseball game



- posted by H.V.O.M - Kerry Wayne Burgess 1:47 PM Pacific Time Seattle USA Friday 21 June 2013