"You misunderstand, Mr. Manuel. We are not sent by the Americans, and we absolutely will not harm you and your family." Watching his subordinates bring Manuel's family downstairs, the leading intelligence agent nodded in satisfaction, released the handgun pressed against Manuel's forehead, and explained as if nothing had happened.
"Is this a joke?" Manuel's forehead was still icy cold, a drop of cold sweat sliding down the corner of his eyes. Glancing at his wife and daughter, still with guns pressed to their foreheads, Manuel felt the Americans were mocking and provoking him and his imminent death.
"If you promise not to make a sound, we'd be happy to sit down and have a nice chat." The intelligence agent looked at Manuel and his family, waiting for their awkward nods before gesturing for his subordinates to remove their weapons.