responded. “I don’t think you two are government and you’re not local enough to be part of a tribal dispute, so I assume you’re after what I’m after.”
“If you were after what I was after, you wouldn’t talk so much.”
Henry turned away, his friend following close behind. Anyone who wanted to talk was always trouble. The pair reached the door and Henry opened it, revealing a muzzle that almost brushed against the South African’s nose. At the other end of the pistol was the unflinching face of a police officer.
“Christ,” Henry muttered as he and Samsonn raised their hands.
“Go inside,” the officer shouted at his partner, a burly man who was in the process of drawing his gun. “We need the American too.”
All three men had been unloaded into a box of a room, somewhere deep below ground, and bound at the wrists. Three chairs and an intense white overhead light were all that occupied the room, besides the trio of silently angry men.
HEARTWELL - GOD'S CASTAWAY
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