The Falcon is snared mid-bite
The man known as Anthony Lester sat in his beat-up Oldsmobile at a fast-food restaurant in Port Angeles, Wash., eating a cheeseburger and perusing a flight manual. He had been taking flying lessons and hoped to have his pilot's license within a matter of days. It was not to be. Two undercover federal agents had recognized him in the restaurant and discreetly called for a back-up car with two more agents, who arrived and confirmed his identity by the mole on his left cheek. Lester, dressed in shorts and...
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