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Chapter 8

New York, USA.

The two people had surprised him at home earlier that day, when he was still sleeping. They had him lying on his back on a chair whose back had been removed, his hands and feet tied together underneath. At first Samuel Talbott had refused to speak, holding the pressure on his belly, but when a towel was placed over his face and a full jug of water was emptied, he felt like he was choking, and he decided to say everything he knew.

The two Mossad agents listened carefully to what he said, while one of them put the silencer on the 22-caliber pistol. The woman looked somewhat upset, and her partner pointed it out to her.

“Is something wrong?”

“Nothing,” she said. I thought it was going to be more difficult.

“I’m afraid, dear companion, that you like blood a lot,” he finished adjusting the silencer. “And that may bring you problems in the future.”

Samuel w

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