Read Gnash for Free Online Page A

conference right after the lunch break to reveal the agenda and outline the proposed plan of action to achieve the conference goals.   
    The morning went by quickly.  Agent Winters went back and forth between the press room and the command center to continually check up on the building’s security.  The press room was beginning to resemble a goddamn circus show and it was only going to be infinitely worse after the news conference.  Everything was progressing exactly as planned and without any glitches.  The time for the press conference rolled around.  Cameramen adjusted their shots, reporters checked their note pads and the questions written on them and agents scanned the crowd for anything amiss.
    The first person to stand at the podium was the White House Press Secretary.  He finished his in-brief to the press corps and turned towards the door that the president and the other heads of state would enter through.  As was usual with this president, they didn’t start exactly when they were supposed to at the one forty-five time, but they were close.
    They filed in one by one and sat at their assigned seat in front of their flags.  President Gosebeck strode in and walked to the podium.  Mike Winters gave him the thumbs up sign and moved to the side of the small stage.  He reached inside his jacket and his hand closed around the hard rubberized grip of the agency’s issue firearm.
    ***
    15 April, 1345 hrs local
    The Pentagon
    Arlington, Virginia 
     
    “Alright, your paperwork checks out and we’re done searching your vehicles.  Your crew can re-enter the trucks now, the Pentagon Police officer said.  “Your paperwork says there was supposed to be three delivery trucks, what happened to the other one?”
    “We had engine trouble, that’s why we’re crammed in here with the sweets sir,” the on-site delivery manager said.
    “Man, that sucks,” the officer empathized.  “Okay, go straight through here to the loading dock at corridor three,” he finished as he waved the large white catering van through.
    “Allah Akbar.  Allah Akbar!” the driver exclaimed after they’d driven past the checkpoint. 
    “Quiet, you fool,” the leader of the ten-man crew said.  “We will have time soon enough to rejoice in the light of the Lord.”
    The van slowly rolled to a halt and they opened the doors.  Another catering van, marked with the same logo, Henderson’s Bakery and Catering Inc ., pulled up behind the first.  Five men disembarked from each van and began draping tablecloths over the carts that the building guards had brought out for them.  After the carts were covered they began placing trays of pastries and sheet cakes on them.  One of the guards, his nametag said Johnson, sauntered over.  “Hey, can I get one of those danishes?” 
    “Yes sir, here you go,” one of the thin men said with just the tiniest hint of an unrecognizable accent, “But please do not tell your friends, we don’t have enough to go around for all the guards and still support the ceremony.”
    “No worries man, I can keep my mouth shut.  Thanks, uh, Bob,” he said reading the nametag of the caterer who had given him the pastry.  “Hey, that’s an interesting accent, are you British or something?”
    “No, no, no sir,” the on-site manager said as he hurried over.  “My brother and I are Indian.  Our education system was modeled after the British and we even have British instructors teach our children to speak English in our primary schools.  That is the mingling of dialects that you detect, our traditional Majhi Punjab dialect mixed together with the Cockney accent of our English instructor.  Sometimes it is very confusing for people to understand.”
    “Nah, I understand y’all just fine.  I was just interested in your accent,” the officer said.
    “Oh, very well sir.  Thank you.  We must be getting back to our work,” he said placing his right hand over his heart and bowing his