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credentials. For the task at hand, he required none of those items.He did, however, take with him a second slim leather fold that contained fake but convincing credentials identifying him as an operative of the National Security Agency. This was who like Mick Sachatone, the multimillionaire anarchist who also regularly supplied Corky with names.Mick—and other middlemen like him—made substantial money by obtaining driver’s licenses for illegal immigrants, for convicted felons who had served their time and who earnestly hoped to begin [413] fresh criminal lives uninhibited by their arrest records, for chaos activists like Corky, and for many others.Sufficiently IDed, with the Glock in a holster under his left arm, Corky shrugged into a stylish black leather coat tailored to conceal the bulge of the weapon. He tucked Queeg von Hindenburg believed him to be.The NSA identification would reduce the average civilian to a swoon of cooperation, but wouldn’t withstand determined verification by any authority. Corky would never dare flash it at a cop.Because it was real, the driver’s license in this false name could endure close scrutiny by any police officer who might stop Corky. In addition, it credited him with a spotless driving record.Years ago, the state of California had lost control of many of its bureaucracies, including the Department of Motor Vehicles. Certain corrupted DMV employees sold tens of thousands of valid driver’s licenses every year to men
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