THE FOLLOWING TAKES PLACE BETEEN 10 AM AND 11 AM, EASTERN STANDARD TIME

10:02:06

10:02:07

10:02:08

10:02:09

The impostor of Dan White sitting down in his office. He was rummaging around in the cabinets of the desk, looking for a folder. He kept telling himself that if he wanted to pass as the Director of the Nation Security Agency, he needed to find where the real one kept all of his things. He should have kept him alive, so he could torture him until he told him how to act like Dan White would. But that was impossible now, as the real one was buried deep underground, in millions of tiny pieces. He finally found it. As he was putting the papers in front of him in the folder, the phone rang.

"You have a call on line 4, Mr. White," his secretary said.

"Thank you," the fake Dan White replied. He was perplexed. Line 4 was only used for emergencies, and for when you wanted your call to be secure from outside lines. No way in hell could the hit be done already. But if the call wasn't about the hit, what could it be about. He picked up the phone.

"Dan White speaking."

"It is finished," said the dark voice from the other end. The impostor wanted to respond, but all he heard now was a dial tone.

10:05:46

10:05:47

10:05:48

10:05:49

For what seemed like the 1,000,000th time, Samuel Fisher was stationed in Iraq. He was sent there by Col. Lambert...Col. Lambert. It pained him to remember. For 20 years, Colonel Irving Lambert was like a father to Sam, bringing him into the NSA when he was disgruntled with the CIA. But what pained Sam to remember the most was thinking about the Colonels family. Irene Lambert was a NSA cryptologist, and she was the nicest person that you could ever meet. She was never afraid to speak her mind, even if it meant disagreeing with her husband. But one thing they sure as hell agreed on was that they needed to get Alex Whitmore locked up for good. He was on the road to becoming the most wanted man alive. And it was the Lamberts' dream to see him removed from the list. Sadly, the Colonel would never see his dream become a reality. That was why Sam felt that it was his duty; no, his obligation to complete his mission.

10:16:26

10:16:27

10:16:28

10:16:29

Security Cop Robert Perkins disliked his patrol route with a passion. When he applied for the job, he thought that he would be doing something exciting: drug busts, high-speed chases, you know, cop stuff. But instead, he was in charge of the area surrounding the National Theater in Washington D.C. But, to be truthful, if anyone decided to to anything to the theater, they would probably easily get past him. He was always daydreaming, as the monotonous thud of his steps made him tired. But today, for the first time, he was awakened from his state of near slumber by the sound of car horns. When his senses came back to him, his eyes tracked down the location of the sound, and he was aghast at what he saw: a large parade float. It was made to look like the inside of a theater. Three "actors" were performing a play on it, seemingly for the benefit of the pedestrians that were starting to crowd around the float. They were dressed in medieval attire and they were speaking lines that no one could hear over the sound of the beep of the car horns of the autos that wanted to get through.

What's the point of having a play if no one can hear it?' He wondered. He walked toward the float, preparing to give someone hell. He went to the driver's side door of the small vehicle that was propelling the float. The driver sat in the seat, bobbing his upper body in a strange fashion. He appeared to be Middle Eastern. Perkins stepped up to the window on the door and rapped on it.

"Listen! You got to move!"

The driver didn't look at him. He continued to bob, muttering something to himself.

"Sir! I'm speaking to you!"

As he rapped on the window once more, Perkins understood what the driver was doing. He was praying.

10:28:46

10:28:47

10:28:48

10:28:49

Sam was in a Toyota Landcruiser heading to the city of Arbil. He saw the lights that indicated that a road block was ahead. He slowed the vehicle down to a stop. The four men that came out of the checkpoint booth were dressed in Iraqi Police Uniforms, but he got a felling that something was not right. Two men carried rifles, and another had a handgun. As soon as Sam lowered the window, the handgun got pointed at his face.

"We're going for a ride, friend."

10:37:43

10:37:44

10:37:45

10:37:46

As soon as the realization hit him, Perkins' heart nearly stopped. He gasped and stepped back from the float, but it was too late, the explosives were so powerful that they obliterated the float and its troupe of suicide "actors", 8 cars on Pennsylvania Ave., and caused a section of the White House to collapse, killing 14. th President, who must have been the target, was not at the White House at the time of the blast; he was at home with the cold. In all, 62 innocents were killed and nearly 150 were injured. Security Cop Robert Perkins never had to travel on his patrol route again.

10:47:29

10:47:30

10:47:31

10:47:32

The 4 men went into Sam's Landcruiser. Then the only man without a weapon decided to talk.

"Drive that way," he said, and he pointed forward. There was nothing that Sam could've done but obey.

"Where are we going?" he asked.

"You'll see," the man said. "Just shut up and drive." And he did. He drove for more than an hour, until the man behind him suddenly talked again.

"Get out here, and leave the car running." Again, Sam had no choice but to comply.

"Put your hands on your head, and turn around." Sam did as he was told, but he was really starting to get pissed off. The unarmed man, obviously the leader, began to frisk Sam.

'I'm lucky that I left my five-seveN in the car,' Sam thought silently. When the leader was finished feeling up on him, Sam finally got a chance to get a good look at the man with the pistol. As he grinned, Sam acknowledged that he was the ugliest son of a bitch that he had ever seen.

"I think that we should take your car now," the leader said. Then the man with the pistol decided to talk again.

"Who are you?" For once, Sam thought that it would be best to reply with the truth.

"I'm an upper-class NSA agent working for 3rd Echelon, so I suggest you let me go."

"Oh, you suggest that we let you go. Well I suggest that you get on your knees and pray, because you're about to kiss the earth goodbye!"

'Come on,' Sam thought. 'Just one more step.'

"You want me to get on my knees?"

"That's what I said!"

Sam pointed to the ground and said, "Right here?" That did the trick. The leader took another step and began to say 'Yes right th---." Before he got a chance to finish, Sam kicked him, hard, in the crotch. Then he grabbed the man and used him as a human shield to protect him from the bullet that The Ugly One had fired. Sam then threw the dead body right back at Ugly, and they both crashed to the ground. Before the riflemen had a chance to attack, Sam grabbed their heads and smashed them together, jumped in the air, and did a split kick. One of the men got knocked unconscious instantly. The other stood right back up. Sam faked a punch to his groin, and he actually kicked him in the face. His rifle went flying. Sam caught it, and got the man in his sight, and fired a round at point-blank range. He fell down in his tracks. Then Sam blindly shoved the rifle backwards, hitting Mr. Ugly, who was trying to get revenge. Then Sam took him down using a leg sweep, and then he kicked him in the face as soon as he landed. Sam got up, brushed some dirt off of his shoulders, got back in the car, and drove away.

10:59:57

10:59:58

10:59:59

11:00:00