Tarot card from the Rider-Waite tarot deck, also known as the Rider-Waite-Smith deck. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)CHAPTER TWENTY NINE
The violence of the night had taken its toll on Jonesy. He wanted something more stronger than the beer the Hamburg safe house had, but beer was all it took to calm his frayed nerves. Looking into the half-drunk container he realized that he was so out-of-touch with the game that his reactions (or lack of them) were not as sharp as they ought to be. He finished off the can and wandered into the back room of the house where the Israeli intelligence officer was slowly coming round to Waverling cleaning his weapon.
“Where am I?” asked the man his bottom lip split open.
Waverling placed the gun on the sparsely decorated wooden table. “That is no concern of yours.”
The Israeli licked the cut with his tongue, his eyes twisted and burnt into condemnation. He scowled at Jonesy unnerved by his surroundings, he’d obviously been conditioned to withstand high pressured interrogation tactics.
“A big man for one holding all the cards,” he goaded Waverling into striking him, but Waverling wouldn’t bite. “I bet you wouldn’t be so blasé if the roles were reversed.”
“But they’re not are they?” the master assassin reminded him as the front door slowly swung open, Ares’ had finally made a triumphant return home.
“Everything okay?” Jonesy asked as Ares walked into the room at the rear of the house.
“Fine,” Ares opened the fridge and took out the last remaining beer from the green cardboard box placed on the top shelf. “I had to return the rifle.”
He popped open the top of the can and took a large swig.
“I also brought this,” he continued placing a prefilled hypodermic needle on the table.
Waverling picked up the plastic syringe. “What is it?”
“Sodium Pentothal,” Ares took the medical instrument from Waverling. “I figured our friend here wouldn’t be willing to tell us what he knows, so I brought a little medicine to sweeten the deal.”
“You wouldn’t dare,” snapped the Israeli vehemently. “You’ve haven’t got the balls.”
“You don’t think so eh?” Ares jabbed the needle in his arm and pushed down on the plunger. He left the hypodermic syringe on the table and headed for the door, murmuring last minute instructions as he ventured into the myriad of rooms looking for somewhere to rest his weary head. “Give it three or four minutes and he’s gonna be like putty in your hands.”
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