“Just raise your hands slowly and turn around,” I said.

Michael brought his hands slowly up past his shoulders. A Sig P226 pistol dangled from his index finger.

“Drop the gun. Then kick it over here,” I said.

Michael complied. He kept his hands raised, and his eyes were locked to mine. I bent down and picked the gun up with my free hand. My bad arm ached at the exertion, but my gun never wavered from Michael. I stuffed the pistol into my belt and adjusted my jacket.

“Where is the VX,” I growled.

“I’m delighted to see you too, John,” Michael spoke in calm soothing tone. “Somewhat surprised, but delighted all the same.”

“Where’s the VX” I said more insistently.

“Why do you want to know?” he asked.

“To stop you from using it.”

“Do you mind if I finish my cigar?” he said as he reached towards the ashtray.

My pistol barked once and the ashtray and cigar disappeared in a shower of glass and dust.

“Tell me where the VX is or I’ll kill you right now.”

“I don’t think you will for two reasons,” said Michael