If someone told me Monday that I would point my great grandfather’s Tommy-Gun at my friend Brenda on Thursday, I would have told them to go see a specialist.
On Tuesday, I received the e-mail, telling me they had kidnapped my husband doing his daily inspections at an oil rig in Sudan, demanding a million dollars to release him.
On Wednesday, the government, his employers, told me they don’t negotiate with terrorists.
The gun is sealed, and I know the bank doesn’t carry cash anymore. I just have to hold on until the news van arrives.
The real power.
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