Mitch couldn’t turn his head; the blade was pressing against his skin.
“I love this knife,” he heard J.J. say. “It’s a Russian ballistic knife. The whole blade leaves the handle when the trigger’s depressed.”
“J.J.,” Mitch muttered. “Not you.”
“Looks like it,” J.J. answered.
Have Nick and J.J. teamed up? Mitch ran through the scenarios in his head.
“Get on the radio to Nick and tell him to keep circling; there is a change of plans,” J.J. ordered.
“Forget it.”
“You don’t have a choice in the matter,” J.J. announced.
Mitch’s hand reached for his neck as he felt the blade of the knife slice into more skin and blood trickle down past his collar. He inhaled sharply from the pain.
“You’re unbelievable – this whole time, you’ve been running a covert operation?” Mitch said his voice showi
