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changed things. "Guess I don't blame you," he said, and tossed it back into the holder. |
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"But I am, so cut the shit." He pulled out the Glock 9 mm. "Show and tell time." He nudged her toward the living room. |
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"I don't know what you're after," she said, "but how does it make you feel about yourself pushing around an old woman with your gun?" |
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"I kind of like it." He backed her into a wing chair. |
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Beside her was a rolltop desk. And on it a half-empty bottle of Diet Coke, a letter and fountain pen and a box of personalized stationery. She was in the middle of writing a letter to someone named Angela. |
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He nodded at the Coke. "Stuff's bad for you, all the chemicals. Besides, caffeine's a diuretic, flushes out essential nutrients. When you're thirsty, you should drink water. Good for the bowels and a natural moisturizer for the skin." |
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She sat in stony silence. |
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"Dr. Terranova, I am working for important people who know for a fact that you and your colleagues were conducting a secret research project for the government. I want you to tell me the exact nature of that project." |
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"Ask your important people." |
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Jerry sighed. "There is nothing to lose. National security will not be compromised. Nor will you in any way be incriminated, if that's your problem. Not for something that took place a quarter of a century ago." |
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"Who are you working for?" |
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"Let's say I'm freelance." |
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"I have nothing to tell you or anybody else, you creep." |
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"I was hoping we could have a civilized chat where you told me things and I took notes. You know, like in a classroom. But no, you had to get insulting." |
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She made a move but before she could straighten her legs, Jerry was pressing the barrel of the gun into her nostril. The woman sucked in her breath with a squeal. |
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"You have two choices: Ayou can die with Black Flag. Or, Byou can tell me what you did and live the rest of your life." For a |
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