The Storm

transported him back to another time. “Let it go, Gunny,” Henry responded, an d again, quietly, “Let it go." Seeing the stalemate, I raised my voice and threw my chips and my chances on the table. I said, “Listen guys. You have a story to tell. Gunny has accused me, as well as every reporter who is interested in the truth, of being unenlightened and uninformed lightweights. I’ll cut you a deal, so please listen." "Gunny, you have a story, and I am a reporter," I continued. "Your concern is significant, but you are going to tie my hands and even throw me under the bus to keep me from reporting what you are saying by threatening me with death. And yet, you critisize me for not knowing the truth about significant issues about God knows what. What family do you have left anyway, and if you are so concerned about the world knowing the truth, wouldn't it be worth dying for? You guys obviously have been on high-risk operations, or you wouldn't be talking like this." "Help me out here, Henry," I said. "Isn’t it worth telling? I’ll make you a deal. I’ll not state where you are located and what you are doing, or I will wait for you to die naturally of old age, or whatever else, and then publish. I will make you that promise. Your story gets told and we blow the whistle on a bad operations program, but not until you have left the realm. Everyone knows about the MK Ultra project and the use of psychedelic hallucinogens on soldiers, because someone broke the story." "Henry, what do you say? What do you have to lose? You said you had rather die than shrivel up anyway.” Henry sat quietly looking out into the dark room, and then responded,

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