"It's... it's me..." Misu's voice was hoarse and trembling, with a heavy Arabic accent: "Who are you? CIA cleaners? Or the 'Witness' division's retrieval squad?"
"That doesn't matter."
Blake's finger started to press down on the trigger.
Eliminate the target.
Mission complete.
Suddenly, Misu shouted: "Don't move! Or we'll all die together!"
As he spoke, he loosened his other hand, which had been gripping a canvas bag.
Thud—
The bag fell to the ground, stirring up dust.
Something akin to an old-style mobile phone revealed itself in his hand.
Blake instantly recognized the device in Misu's hand.
Soviet-era PMK-3 remote detonator, commonly used in improvised explosive devices.
His gaze swiftly scanned the room: behind the stacked electrical boxes in the corner, several square objects covered with canvas; the ventilation grille on the ceiling showed signs of being dismantled and reinstalled; even the edges of the floor tiles had subtle pry marks.
This room is a trap.
