“How’s he doing?’ - Asked Number Three.

‘He’s alright - we have him bagged up in fridge 9’ - Number Four replied.

‘And the car?’

‘Searched last night - located a silenced 9mm Glock 17 hidden under the spare wheel cover. We’re running ballistics on it now’ - said Number Four.

‘Good’ - said Number Three.

‘Do you want to take him?’ - Asked Number Four.

‘Yes, I think I should.’

‘Roger that’ - said Number Four - ‘When do you want to start?’

‘How long has he been in the fridge for?’ - Number Three asked.

‘Since he was dropped off - about 9 hours.’

‘It will be a quick one - but let’s let him stew in his own juices for a bit longer’ - said Number Three.

‘Roger that. 12 hours?’

‘Yes’ - said Number Three - ‘Did our boy make it back from the ministry okay?’

‘Yes’ - said Number Four - ‘He got tied up with the head of security up on the 42nd floor, but he managed to get away. Caught a taxi back here. Arrived about an hour after the operation concluded.’

‘Very nice’ - said Number Three.

Another four hours had passed. The door to fridge 9 opened and a man stepped in. He lifted the assistant deputy-minister up and dragged him out the door and placed him on a trolley. The man wheeled the assistant deputy-minister down the hallway.and into the meat locker, lifting him off the trolley and dropping him into the chair that was fixed to the floor. The room was set-up the same. A wooden table with a doorbell button fixed to it. Another wooden chair, and a table behind where the assistant deputy-minister was sitting. That table had a jug of water, a glass, and a large wooden box placed upon it.

The assistant deputy-minister was wearing only his underwear and the brown burlap sack bag with a hood. His feet were bound together with nylon restraints.

Number Three walked into the meat locker carrying an evidence bag containing the silenced Glock 17 gun, the evidence bag with the Turkish cigarette recovered from the Bedivere crime scene, and several sheets of paper - forensics reports from the Bedivere crime scene and the ballistics reports on the Glock handgun.

Number Three closed the meat locker door and sat down facing the assistant deputy-minister. He nodded to the man who had brought the assistant deputy-minister on the trolley, and he unzipped the assistant deputy-minister’s hood and pulled it back.

The assistant deputy-minister squinted, and looked around. His face was puffy and creased from lying on the fridge floor for 12 hours.

He saw Number Three’s deep blue eyes staring back at him.

‘You’ - the assistant deputy-minister said.

‘Me’ - said Number Three, smiling back at him.

‘You’ve fucked up this time. Where is Number Two?’ - The assistant deputy-minister looked around the meat locker - ‘You will be sent to the fucking farm for this you treasonous cunt!’

Number Three continued to smile at the assistant deputy-minister.

‘You will not be smiling when they feed you - still alive - through a fucking woodchipper you failed third rate fucking spook.’

Number Three nodded at the man standing behind the assistant deputy-minister, and he turned and poured a glass of water and brought it over to the assistant deputy-minister.

‘Water? You sound a bit parched’ - smiled Number Three.

‘Fuck you - untie me immediately. When the deputy-minister hears about this, your life is over, and yours as well’ - the assistant-deputy-minister looked at the man holding the glass of water.

‘You haven’t heard?’ - Number Three said, continuing to smile.

‘Heard what?’

‘About the deputy-minister.’

‘What about the deputy-minister?’ - The assistant deputy-minister stopped struggling and focused on Number Three.

‘I am very sorry to have to be the bearer of bad news, assistant-deputy-minister, but there appears to have been a terrible accident.’

‘What are you talking about?’

‘The deputy-minister is dead.’

‘Dead?’ - The assistant deputy-minister looked from Number Three to the man standing with the glass of water, and then back to Number Three.

‘Yes. Dead. The minister sends his condolences - and has requested that during this difficult time we take care of you.’

‘What are you talking about?’

‘The deputy-minister is no more, assistant deputy-minister - it is just you and me now’ - Number Three smiled again, his deep blue eyes twinkling like sapphires.

‘Why am I here? You fucking kidnapped me from the 42nd floor.’

‘Yes - yes we did. No more secrets here. We snuck into the late deputy-minister’s office pretending to be pest control, injected you with a sedative, put you in a big metal box on wheels, snuck you out to a waiting van, and then brought you back here to our beloved slaughterhouse. And here we are!’

‘Why did you do that? Why did you kill the deputy-minister?’

‘We didn’t kill the deputy-minister - the minister did. He shot her through the head. The minister had his men chop the deputy-minister’s body up, and then she was put through the minister’s own private woodchipper - from what I understand.’

‘Why did the minister shoot her?’

‘That is why we are here - Mike’ - Number Three placed the Glock gun and the evidence bag with the Turkish cigarette on the table in front of the assistant deputy-minister.

‘What did you call me?’

‘Mike - that is how you like to be known, isn’t it?’

The assistant deputy-minister said nothing. His mind was swirling, and he was sweating.

‘Let me tell you a little story Mike; once upon a time there was a meeting. The meeting was about a Unit commander codenamed Percival. At this meeting some things were discussed, things that would maybe lead to the discovery of Percival and then the police could bring him to justice. But no one knew that Percival was in this meeting. During the meeting Percival knew that the police were going to catch him, so after the meeting he went out to make sure that anyone who might know his true identity was taken care of. But Percival made a couple of mistakes. After the meeting Percival went to see someone he thought might be Bedivere - who the police would want to talk to. When Percival went to see Bedivere, he shot him through the head - with this gun’ - Number Three held up the evidence bag with the silenced Glock 17 inside it - ‘Percival also left this behind at Bedivere’s flat’ - Number Three held up the evidence bag with the Turkish cigarette butt in it - ‘Percival also left some fingerprints at Bedivere’s flat, and now the interesting thing about the gun that Percival used to kill Bedivere - is that it has been used for a lot of other killings. What do you think about that story, Mike?’

‘I don’t know anything about any of this - I just work for the deputy-minister. I just go to meetings when she doesn’t want to and answer the phone and do errands for her. I don’t know anything about any of this. Please let me talk to the minister!’ - The assistant deputy-minister was starting to weep.

‘Now that is funny that you don’t know anything about any of this Mike - because we found the gun used to kill Bedivere - and all those other killings - hidden in your car, and the Turkish cigarette recovered from Bedivere’s flat has your DNA on it, and the fingerprints lifted from Bedivere’s flat are yours. How do you think all that happened if you don’t know anything about any of this?’

The assistant deputy-minister was now crying. His teeth were chattering and he just stared at Number Three and sobbed.

‘Look Mike - I am going to be honest with you. There is no way out of this for you. Everyone has a time to die, and yours is upon you. But what I can guarantee for you - a one hundred percent iron clad guarantee Mike, is that if you help us and tell me everything you know, I promise that you will not be harmed, you will be treated well, and when it is time to go it will be painless and quick. That is my promise to you. But if you play the “I don’t know anything about this” routine, you will be harmed, you will be treated poorly, and when it comes time to go it will be agonizing and slow - that is also my guarantee Mike. You can either spend your next few days with a pack of your favorite cigarettes in front of you, a bottle of wine, some good food, a bed, clothes, and sleep - or all manner of unthinkable horrors await. The choice is yours Mike.’

The assistant-deputy-minister continued to sob. Tears rolled down his face - he just kept repeating - ‘I don’t know anything about this. I don’t know anything about this.’

‘Okay Mike - no problem. Shall we play a game? I call this game trick or treat!’ - Number Three said, nodding at the guard standing behind the assistant deputy-minister.