“Talk first, torture later,” said Jack firmly.

“Spoilsport,” said Cassandra.

Pulling the man up by his collar into a sitting position, the Amazon slapped him briskly across the face a few times. After a few hits, the bearded man grunted in pain and opened his eyes.

“We failed, huh?” he said, glancing at the trio without fear. “I assume you got the other two and I’m the only one left,” The man spat. “Damned bird ruined the ambush. No fair using animals as lookouts. How’d you manage that trick?”

“I’ll ask the questions,” said Jack, trying to sound tough. “Who are you and why did you try to kill us?”

“I did my best,” said the bearded man, talking to himself. He completely ignored Jack’s remarks. “The Old Man warned us it wouldn’t be easy.”

“Old Man?” asked Jack, picking up on the title. “Who are you talking about? Are you with some intelligence agency or something? The CIA? The FBI?”

“Quit babying the bozo, Johnnie,” said Hugo, flapping up to the startled prisoner’s shoulder, “Let me poke out one of his eyeballs. That will get us some answers.”

“Game’s over and we lost this round,” said the prisoner. “But my reward’s earned. I’m outa here. I’m off to paradise.”

The instant the man completed the phrase, he slumped lifelessly in Cassandra’s arms.

“Hell,” said the Amazon, releasing her grip on the prisoner. His body dropped like a sack of cement to the ground. “A poison stick-it note.”

“A what?” asked Jack, his gaze still captivated by the dead man. A few seconds ago, the prisoner had been a living, talking being. Now he was lifeless clay. Jack swallowed hard, trying to keep his breakfast down. Despite weeks of heroics, he was not cut out for life-and-death situations.

“A poison stick-it note,” repeated Cassandra, grimacing. “It’s a recent development in the espionage field. All those spy novels and movies the past few decades rendered the hollow-tooth-with-poison suicide gambit worthless. An easily inserted plastic mouthpiece prevented a captured operator from taking the easy way out.