The sagging springs on the bar stools embodied the drab anonymity of a thousand shabby lives. With each passing year, Kreimer’s lost a little more c...lass and a little more clientele. And with the uprising in Europe, Kreimer’s had fallen even further out of favor. Moe wasn’t a bar polisher, but he had been to Kreimer’s more than a time or two. It was his kind of place. It was a good place to go when he was down on his luck and looking for a cheap lager. It was an even better place when he was in. After another moment of silence she said, "s*s can't hear what I say...is that right?" I answered yes. "Something else is going on and you can't tell me, but I think I know." I murmured "mm Hmm" into the phone and waited. "You and s*s are having sex...say yes or no." I kept moving in and out and said, "Oh Yes that's right." I heard her say 'wow' on the other end. "You are fucking my sister because you like the idea of me talking to you while you do that...right?" I replied in the. ..?.Ariel glanced back to Miss Alt to discover that, almost as if Ariel’s wish had summoned her, Ayla - still dressed in leather, but no longer gagged or bound - was kneeling at Miss Alt’s side. Ayla smiled at her but, still smiling, shook her head slightly when Ariel began to walk over. Ariel was enjoying dancing, but she would like to go talk to Ayla. At least her friend was watching her - well, sometimes, anyway. Ayla was also talking with Miss Alt, who never looked over, and gradually. He runs out of his office, yelling. “Anderson! Stevens!” Both agents bolt up out of their desks. “Assemble a team. We have less then fifteen minutes before the president is assassinated.”“Director!” an analyst yells. “Sir, we have a problem.”“Go ahead,” Roger says walking out of his office.NSA just contacted us,” she continues. “They received a phone call about a threat on the president.”“Did they ask for our help?”“No, sir,” the analyst says.“Strandon just wants to rubs it in our faces,” he.