His head to look around. He tried to smile.

El Capitan motioned to the smiling face standing next to the corroded car battery. The off-duty sergeant, also a member of El Comandantes I2, nodded. He fully understood the conductive effect the extra one and a half liters streetwear of water now filling the terroristas body would have in enticing the electrical current. El Capitan snapped his fingers. He signaled to the mirror to inform OBISPO of the handoff. He left the room. The rear subordinate pulled the door shut. OBISPO smiled in the darkness. He knew exactly the pitch of notes needed to make his choirboy sing frantically in perfect harmony with his electrical conductor. Later in the day, by early evening before quitting time, Bishop Zamora would be informed of his priests mysterious disappearance. A new Padre, one following stricter guidelines of Church cooperation with the State, would arrive by the end of next month. But those were streetwear Church issues. The Padres body would be cremated later in the week along with some other special cases in the blast furnace located in the torturous bottom level of El Comandantes offshore dungeon prison on Isla Del Rey. Not that the Padre probably had ever visited a dentista, but just in case Amnesty Global was still poking around the isthmus with dental records. HE SLOUCHED DEEPER against the chairs low back. The sliding glass door was framed by curtains not drawn. It remained cracked open a few centimeters on the second-floor balcony. The plate glass was covered with a layer of blowing sea mist. The hotel room, furnished streetwear simplistically in traditional Greco style, contained a rustic-smelling armoire and twin size bed. The mattress was atop a wooden frame built directly onto the marble floor. A half-eaten entrée on a room service tray was lukewarm, ignored. He waited. The cell phone, resting on an end table topped with a slab of gold-swirled white marble, chirped exactly at the prearranged time. He repeated the prearranged password. Millennium. The coded message began. The Chairman is very concerned about recent market performance. Your attendance is required at the next stockholder meeting. Tomorrow night, 8PM, company headquarters, Department streetwear 5A. Berlin. Yes, thank you, he responded to the order to meet the Government contract operations representative at TCA. Your flight is scheduled for 11:45. Connecting flight has been booked. He subtracted an hour, standard security procedure, to calculate the true departure time. The distant end clicked silent. A defiant push slid the phone across streetwear the slick surface of swirled marble. Satisfied His eyes remained fixated straight ahead. The stabbing pain in an overly sweet flowery fragrance hadnt reached the numbing stage yet. THERE WAS NO expensive scent of eau de cologne. Only an over sweet lilac. The steel muzzle jabbed squarely into the back of the neck covered in a thin wet film. Brooker wants me dead. Why the unknown voice asked condescendingly. What Brooker Whos Brooker Why she repeated, having already correctly analyzed the anticipated streetwear answers. The pain intensified. You have the money, he offered as his only clue. He was not allowed to turn his head. And what money is that The Finance Ministrys, he guessed. My, my, we are still quite naïve are we not You must mean the twenty million Yes, he answered quickly. Im sure you meant the ten million, she quipped cuttingly. The pistols barrel followed his head movement. The tip of the Astra pressed deeper. Still foolishly streetwear needed. She stroked the back of his neck with the tip of her finger. Our dear Herr Brooker has everyone in the dark, including you. The muzzle behind pressed tighter.