“I for one am not even worried,” the American proclaimed. “I have nothing to do with you three. Not to mention, I happen to have diplomatic immunity.”
Henry broke out into an uncontrollable bout of laughter, eerie given the grim circumstances.
“What’s so funny?” the American demanded.
“You better start worrying,” Henry replied. “This ain’t a police station.”
Samson nodded, “It’s true, this is much too nice to be a police station. Those men were not police either.”
“Then who are they?” the American asked, his cool demeanor starting to melt away under the growing uncertainty he was feeling.
“I do not know,” Samson answered.
A loud mechanical sound stopped anyone from mustering a reply. The grinding of gears and metal behind the trio forced them to crane their necks as much as possible in order to get a glimpse. The wall behind them was slowly rising, revealing another room. It was impossible to see anymore, the metal chairs and their bonds restricting their six o’clock vision.
“Hello, gentleman,” a voiced called from behind them. Several sets of footsteps accompanied the voice, increasing the anxiety of the captives. The footsteps ceased directly behind each chair, except for one set, which continued into the view of all three men.
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