They dreamt the improbable, and pulled off the impossible. A group of right-wing militia zealots combine forces with a band of rogue police officers, led by the city's police commissioner, and commandeer New York's City Hall. Among the hostages taken is the mayor. A young FBI director is given a 48-hour deadline to release a convicted domestic terrorist in exchange for the hostages. Can he and his fellow agents come up with a solution to thwart the anarchists' threats in time?

Auszug. � Genehmigter Nachdruck. Alle Rechte vorbehalten.

Deuteronomy: The New Ten Commandments

By Michael J. Molloy

AuthorHouse

Copyright � 2009 Michael J. Molloy
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4490-1030-0

Chapter One

Day 1

Monday May 4TH

Lexington, Kentucky 11:26 AM, EDT

I am so tired. But I must keep going. I must complete.... I must complete the mission.

This was the mantra the weary traveler kept repeating to himself as he tried to fight off countless hours of sleep deprivation. Although he had just filled up the gas tank of his late 90s Dodge Ram pickup, it was he who was running on empty. The eyes of the middle-aged road warrior were beginning to sag as much as the brim of the Indiana Jones-style hat he wore. His brain was as parched as his weather-beaten face.

The traveler was moving along New Circle Road as best he could in a college town that tried to mimic bigger brethren to the north in Cincinnati and west in Louisville. He was battling other motorists as well as an endless blur of fast food restaurants, gas stations and used car dealers.

Finally he spotted an oasis up ahead which read The Fayette Motel. He couldn't keep up the pace any farther and suddenly veered his truck off the road's course, cutting off an angry driver in the process. He had been driving on the road for the last few days, and had used the cab of his truck as his bedroom when he tired. Truly he was in need of more capacious quarters that would offer him a more restful sleep. Not to mention the fact that he was starving, having had only a cup of coffee and a pre-packaged wafer bar in his system that day.

The inn's lot was in some disrepair. There was a rut here, a minor pothole there, and a few tufts of grass protruding through the macadam to further exacerbate its horrid appearance. The sprawling two-story building had a balcony circling its second floor. The terrace had a thin metal railing to protect the visitors from falling down to the ground, but there were spots where pieces of plywood had replaced missing portions of the railing. The location was far from the Plaza Hotel; however, the man did not seem to mind much. For him it was a place to bunk out, and he was not terribly picayune.

The man pulled his pickup into a vacant spot and placed the vehicle into arrest. After shutting off the engine, the man grabbed the large canvas bag next to him. He rose from his seat and, with belongings in hand, got out of the vehicle's cab. Once outside, the man locked up the truck as he slowly perused his surroundings. The midday sun was brightly shining, but the drooping brim of the man's hat protected his eyes. Immediately he spotted an unlit shingle that signified the location of the office. Not sparing another second, the man moved with quickened pace towards the sign.

The man walked up to the window of the office. He looked inside and spotted a figure of another man with his head down. The traveler could not identify the figure accurately, for there was the bright reflection of the outside that was clouding his vision. He spotted the handle of the adjacent door and reached for it with his left hand. In one fluid motion the man opened the door and walked into the establishment.

The figure behind the counter became apparent. It was that of a man who was bald, and overweight by about 20 pounds. The man looked around 60 years of age. He wore a gray golfer's shirt with thin alternating teal, salmon and yellow bands running horizontally across it. He had been reading the sports section of that day's version of the Lexington Herald-Leader. The sounds of Reba McIntyre emanated from a nearby radio, with the famous country singer belting out one of her well-known ballads. When he heard the front door open, the counter man picked up his head and gazed up at the visitor.

"How y'all doin' today?" the fellow behind the counter greeted the traveler. The counterman, who spoke with a thick Kentucky twang, put the newspaper down and turned off the radio.

"I'm looking for a room," the traveler said. "Do you have one available?"

"As a matter of fact we do. It's down on the ground floor. I just had the occupants that were in there leave this mornin'. We were jam-packed in here over the weekend with a lot of people here for the Derby."

"The Derby? But that was in Louisville."

"I know. I know. Everybody says the same thing. But if you want to go the Derby and stay in Louisville, you'd better book a room well in advance. If you don't, you have to settle for places like Lexington. It's like this year every year. Hey, did you see the race?"

"No, I'm afraid I missed it."

"Oh, man! What a finish! Everybody thought Slinger was going to win in a cakewalk, but I was one of those who knew better. Dante's Torch. Fourteen-to-one shot. And I picked him on the nose. I won $350."

"Congratulations," the man replied with a faint hint of a grin. "But if you don't mind, I'd like to book a room. I'm a little wiped out."

"Oh, I'm sorry," the counter fellow responded apologetically. "Let me bring up my book."

He went underneath the tabletop and dug out a notebook-size binder. He opened the book to where it showed that day's date. The counterman presented the book to the traveler and then reached for a nearby pen and handed it to the man. With the pen now in his writing hand, the man signed the registry with the name of Robert Elliott. The fellow behind the counter turned the book around so that it read legibly to him.

"Robert Elliott," the counterman said. "And how long are y'all plannin' to stay, Mr. Elliott?"

"Probably for a couple of days," the man named Robert Elliott answered. "But if I plan to make it longer, I'll let you know."

"Please. It certainly helps us."

The clerk grabbed a set of keys from a compartment of a wooden mail slot holder. Before handing the keys over to Robert, the counterman required some remuneration to secure the room for the following two evenings. Robert pulled out his dog-eared wallet and reached inside for some cash. He handed the clerk a $50 bill as well as a $20 note. The clerk took the money and added Robert's cash to a wad of bills he had pulled out from his right front pants pocket. The counterman handed back Robert the correct change of four singles. He then took out a receipt book off to the side, and wrote out a certificate in the amount of $66. The clerk ripped off the top copy of the receipt and handed it, as well as the room keys, to Robert. The traveler took both from the counterman.

"Here you go," the clerk said. "Your receipt and the keys to Room 126. You'll find it by walkin' to your left. It's straight down. If y'all need somethin', just come by the office. I'm usually here until 9 o'clock at night. But if I'm not, just ask the person on duty to find Dean for you. That's me."

"Thanks, Dean," Robert replied as he offered a smile back to the host.

"Hey, no problem," Dean happily answered. "Oh, one more thing. We don't allow any cookin' in the room. And we don't have any phones in the room. We do have a pay phone here right outside the office."

"That's okay. I've got a cell phone."

Dean asked Robert how the traveler's cellular phone had been working for him. Robert stated that it was great and the clerk responded that he had been looking into getting one himself instead of relying on a simple pager. Dean explained that the only thing that had been holding him back was the cost. Robert then assured him that it wasn't...

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