Eden's Gate by David Hagberg . The morning was cool, in the high fifties, and the sky was perfectly clear, the Flathead mountain range to the east like a Chamber of Commerce poster. Someone knocked at the door and he went to answer it. He was a husky, thick- shouldered man in his mid- forties with blue, observant eyes. He still had the graceful movements of an athlete and this morning he was dressed in a light cashmere sweater, Pierre Cardin jeans, and hand- sewn soft leather boots. A small pixie of a girl smiled sweetly up at him when he opened the door, a serving cart in front of her. Edens Gate Foundation a non profit organization and licensed brokerage. We specialize in every government program that exist in New York City, we work side by side. View up to date company information for EDEN'S GATE in the WEST COVINA, CA Credibility Review business directory. Search companies at DandB.com. An upstairs suite located in the heart of Fredericksburg’s historic Downtown Shopping. Eden's Gate by Leslie M Kuntz. Adolescents JoSamne, Qenan, and their sister Ahnwen are the great-grandkids of Adam and Eve. Eden’s Gate which is the jewel of Magoebaskloof, with the most majestic setting with its forest wedding and wedding hall over looking a Trout dam; make this the.
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A fire engine gave a single blast on its siren, and she giggled. The girl couldn't have been more than seventeen or eighteen, with the all- American fresh- scrubbed look of small town. She had freckles and a complexion that was otherwise flawless with no makeup. Frannie would be a little jealous, though not much. And after the parade there'll be the festival in the park. It's worth going to see. Lieutenant Governor Branson is coming in, and there'll be speeches and all that stuff. Kalispell was like something out of his midwestern childhood, and he'd forgotten how sweet and uncomplicated places like this could be. Or at least appear to be on the surface. With a population of just over twelve thousand, the town was Montana's seventh largest. The surrounding mountains, lakes, and forests were achingly gorgeous. But coming in early last night by air he'd been able to pick out only a few lights here and there outside of town. Most of the state was scarcely populated. And the people liked it that way for one reason or another. Read Eden's Gate by David Hagberg with Kobo. A wall has gone up and come down since the end of the Second World War, and Germany is once again united. Eden's Gate by David Hagberg starting at $0.99. Eden's Gate has 2 available editions to buy at Alibris. Featuring a year-round outdoor pool, Eden's Gate is a detached villa located in Le François. The property is 13 miles from Les Trois-Îlets and free private parking. The girl opened the serving cart's leaf and handed Lane the bill and a pen to sign it with. There's already a service charge. They do it at all the hotels around here now. The Flatheads won't be coming in for the parade, mostly. But they don't ever cause any trouble. But the reservation is south of the lake, down around Polson. They don't come up here much. But it used to be different. My dad told me about it. Just like they want it. Read it somewhere, I guess. But it only lasted a moment,and then she was smiling sweetly again. Enjoy your breakfast. Are you thinking about buying something? My aunt May has her own agency. The town was all decked out in red, white, and blue bunting swinging from streetlamps. A squad of men who looked to be in their fifties, wearing bits and pieces of military uniforms, marched by. A blue and white police car was parked on the corner, but the cop was nowhere in sight. Nor were the people he'd come here to make contact with. But that would change soon. He stepped away from the window and took his 9mm Beretta from the waistband beneath his sweater at the small of his back. He cycled all nine rounds out of the breach to check the action, then removed the magazine, reloaded the rounds in the same order they had come out, and stuffed the gun back in his waistband. Breakfast was softly scrambled eggs, a rasher of medium- done bacon, hash browns, tomato juice with a slice of lemon, and unsweetened hot tea, also with a slice of lemon. He sat down to it, one eye toward the goings- on down on the street, and the other on the door. He was a man who did not like surprises not of his own making, and he had a feeling that this town, or at least the surrounding countryside, had plenty of them. After breakfast he had a smoke by the open window. The street was filling up with people now, many of whom had already set up along the curbs. There were kids and dogs everywhere. In the distance to the northwest he could hear several different marching bands warming up, and every few minutes the fire engine would give a blast on its siren. Lane used his cell phone to make a local call. Everything would depend on timing, he thought as he waited for it to go through. Frances Shipley answered it on the first ring, her husky British accent mellifluous and out of place almost anywhere except in Londonor on stage. He and Frannie, who was a lieutenant commander in Her Majesty's Secret Intelligence Service, had been married for one year. Lane could not imagine a life without her. Together they headed a super secret and very tiny organization of troubleshooters for the White House and number 1. Downing Street called simply . Is everything ready on your end? Looks like he's eating an ice cream cone. I haven't seen anything from here yet. The parade was a half hour from starting and downtown was full. Shops such as clothing stores and hardware stores, and banks, post offices, city hall, and libraries were closed for the holiday. But places like restaurants, gift shops, bakeries, and ice cream shops were open and doing a land office business. There was probably no one left in town who wasn't here, and the tourists were easy to spot because their boots and jeans were too new, and they stood around self- consciously. Lane spotted the woman across the street coming out of an art gallery specializing in Indian and cowboy artifacts. She was very tall and slender, wearing a light yellow dress with large blue polka dots, and a very large, gay nineties sort of summer hat that on her looked fantastic. Her maiden name was Gloria Swanson, and like her namesake she had wanted to become a serious actor. But because of a lack of talent she'd never made it. In her late forties, however, she still turned heads. Lane waited in the crowd as she made her way across the street and went inside the Grand Hotel. He followed her inside in time to see her enter the lounge and take a seat at the empty bar. She tooka cigarette out of her handbag, but before she could get out her lighter he was there with a match. Close up he could see the lines under her makeup. Helmut Speyer, wife of a former East German Stasi intelligence officer and hit man. The West German BND had lost track of him after the Wall came down, and it wasn't until a few weeks ago that he was positively identified masquerading as Herbert Sloan here in Montana. The bartender took his time making her drink, and when he was finished he came to the end of the bar where Lane had seated himself. Just a word of advice? She's a married lady, and her husband and his pals don't take kindly to assholes. But this time of year we get all kinds in here. One of them was tall and very husky, his light brown hair cut very short in the military style. He wore khakis and a bush jacket, and he remained standing by the door to the lobby. If he wascarrying a gun, Lane decided, it wasn't in a shoulder holster. He wore an earpiece. The other man, much shorter, more compactly built, with short steel gray hair, a thin mustache, dressed in gray slacks and a blue blazer over an open collar white shirt, came directly across to the woman, who turned to him and offered her cheek. He was Helmut Speyer, aka Herbert Sloan. Lane looked over at the man standing by the door. He was Ernst Baumann, aka Ernest Burkhart, Speyer's chief of staff and bodyguard. He was staring at Lane. The German Federal Police also had warrants for his arrest on several charges of murder, arson and kidnapping, including three car bombings. Lane nodded pleasantly and smiled at the man, then turned around as his drink finally came. He was obviously in a lot of pain. A few people in the crowd gave him sympathetic looks, but most ignored him. He stopped in front of the Grand Hotel, hesitated for a few moments as if he was trying to make up his mind about something, then threw the last of his ice cream cone in a trash barrel and went inside. The front desk clerk spotted him, but before he could decide what to do, an attractive woman dressed in a short cotton skirt, a brightlycolored blouse, and sandals entered from the street. She took off her large sunglasses and came over. Everyone else in town seems to be booked. He was a married man with three children, but he was so captivated by her looks and by her English accent that he didn't see the old man enter the lounge. He looked so harmless that Sergeant Baumann took a moment to react. Jew, he thought, but it was already too late because the old man had pulled a gun out of his pocket and pointed it directly at Speyer's head from a distance of only a few inches. Speyer turned around and grinned, a hard, flat, expressionless look in his dead gray eyes. Care for a drink, old- timer? All of a sudden he thrust the muzzle of the . Speyer's left cheek just below the eye. His hand began to shake. His accent was German. The bartender did as he was told and spread his hands out. Me, my wife, my son, and my daughter could wait no longer, so we decided to escape. With all that was happening, Hoennecker on the way out, Gorbachev turning his back on us, I thought it was time. So many were going over to the west. Nobody cared any longer, but nobody knew when another crackdown would come. Blood ran down his cheek but he made no move to try to stanch the flow. The East German Secret Police, Stasi. Just happening by that night. Then you took my fourteen- year- old Lisa and offered to trade her life for mine. And by the time I could get to a place where I could see, you and she were gone. His finger tightened on the trigger. Bill Lane fired two shots, the first catching the old man in the left armpit, spinning him around, and the second catching him in the heart. His hand went to the fatal wound which erupted in a spray of blood as he fell to the floor, dead. The sudden silence in the barroom was deafening. The bartender's mouth dropped open. He tried to come after me in Washington a couple of months ago. So far there were no sirens. And hurry, would you please? Sloan asked you a question. You just have to trust that I'm not going to pull the trigger if you piss me off. Until a few years ago I worked for South African Intelligence. It was enough to throw Baumann's concentration off. Lane grabbed the sergeant's pistol, twisted it out of his hand, and stepped aside as he brought his own gun to the man's face. He handed Baumann back his gun. This time it was continuous and headed their way, not a test blast for the parade like earlier.
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