Secret Service officials are angered that FBI Director Kash Patel prematurely announced on Tuesday the details of a largely sealed and ongoing criminal investigation into an alleged plot to attack Sunday’s White House UFC event with drones, according to three people familiar with the incident.
Secret Service and FBI agents had been partnered on the investigation into a group of individuals discussing plans for a drone attack at the White House in the last week, and had discussed unsealing the case and making a joint announcement Tuesday afternoon, according to sources.
The problem with Patel’s social media announcement, the sources say, was that the case had been sealed in court and roughly 10 suspects had not yet been arrested and placed in custody at the time Patel shared his post. The people said Secret Service and FBI officials were surprised by Patel “jumping the gun.”
That is no my chosen curse to wish upon folks. Experiencing that sensation constantly, and if you turn back to look you will see a ragged four armed crone with a basket of eggs and she will gaze into your eyes and show you the end of all things and you will experience a relative eternity of psychological horror until you find yourself back in that exact moment before you turned to look, feeling the cold old hands of the crone grabbing at your starfish and feeding it egg after egg after egg. You fear to look, you don’t know if others can see her going about her eggly duties. All you know is that you never want to experience what you did again. And at that moment, she stops. You feel nothing. You don’t know if she is still there, but you fear to look. After some time you wonder if she’s gone forever, you start to feel safer, and eventually chalk it up to a stress hallucination and get ready to go stand in front of congress, your case prepared, you’re ready, you get to your seat, feeling confident.
You’re asked your first question by the members in attendance, and right then, as your lips have just began to split in order to give your response, you smell sulfur and feel the cold hands of destiny at your lower back, pulling your pants down to just below your butt, and you feel the smooth, practiced motion of the crone going to work on your bike rack…