Twenty-Three
It took the police about five minutes after the call to encircle the building. Special forces had positioned themselves at the doors, but nobody dared to pass in or out.
The persistent ringing of a telephone broke the tension that lay in the air. I nodded, and Michael picked up with a shaky hand.
He listened, nodded, and handed me the phone. But I shook my head.
“I’ll only talk to Manasseh. In here.”
Michael passed the message on, nodded once more, and put the phone down.
“He’s coming.”
His voice shook while he raised his hands again.
After several minutes of dreadful silence, a figure walked towards the glass door. The man I despised. I felt the revenge at my fingertips.
Manasseh walked through the door, wearing a fine dark leather cloak. But he acted in a way I had
