In the restroom of his office on the third floor of The Pentagon, Admiral Maxwell Therman hadn't even pulled up his pants when he quickly locked the door.
"F***! Charles, what are you saying? Have you had too much fake liquor, or is your brain short-circuited? A coup? With what?!"
He suddenly paused, then covered half his face with his hand and spoke softly, "Is it the gentleman from over there wanting us to take some action?"
Charles Grassley took a deep breath. He wanted to say yes, but Maxwell was no fool; he'd definitely contact Mexico.
He could only tell the truth, "I think Little Bush wants to kill the donkey the moment it leaves the mill."
"He's having me manage the CIA and is very concerned about my role as Senate Speaker. Perhaps it won't be long before he dismisses me. Similarly, do you think your position as Deputy Commander will be secure?"
"Moreover!"
