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The laptop screen filled with smoke and at the edges, Tom saw flames shoot out.
When the smoke cleared, a warehouse that looked like it was at a port somewhere came into focus. It had obviously been blown up but there were no fire trucks or police or security guards. Tom sipped his wine.
A man in a red overcoat with a rifle strung over one shoulder came walking out of the smoke. He was holding something round in his hand that Tom couldn’t make out. He was wearing a desert shemagh that covered his face and a French army peacoat.
The man came closer to view. His eyes came into focus—blue with large black eyebrows. Tom didn’t recognise him.
Then he looked down at the man’s hand. He was holding a decapitated head. Tom let out a low scream. “Oh, God!”
“The man holding the head of one o
