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On a hill, and just in range of 1000 yards, the grey-haired gentleman was in a prone position on a combination of dirt, grass and gravel. His spotting scope was trained on Sam, and he said, “I could nail all three if I wanted to—and was quick enough!” He aimed for Sam’s big chest and started to squeeze the trigger gently when he felt it.

The coldness of the blade did not hurt, but it shocked him to stiffness. The metal of the 154CM knife was held tightly, securely and without wavering against his neck folds. The knife pressed firmly against his throat.

“You never were that quick, Robbie!”—It was Thomas Childers who straddled him as he adjusted his grip even tighter. “I always had the jump on you, didn’t I?”


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