Deep Throat Signal

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2026-05-27 21:51:40 -

I The rain hadn't stopped in three days. It never seemed to stop in New York in November. Jack Murphy sat in his office at Columbia University, staring at the whiskey glass on his desk and the classified file folder that had landed on his chair like a dead bird. "Deep Throat," he read aloud to the empty room. "Classified: Omega. Intercept: Centauri signal." He poured another finger of whiskey...

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