The safehouse. Washington DC. USA.
"I guess twas more of a shot in the leg, sir. I've scratched your back, when twas your turn, you stabbed."
Russell said with his chest up. He was standing before the president. He knew he would do more than enough to convince the president but he had some extra plans if that didn't work.
The president was seated. He had his right hand fingers tapping dramatically on the table at intervals and his restless legs tapping on the floor.
His eyes were running through the whole room at a time. Russell could tell that some plots were going on in that thick skull of his.
"When did it happen, Russell?"
The president asked affirmatively.
Russell's eyebrows stood at that. The president would start with formality but not at that time. Things seemed to be outta hands.
He might be left with no choice but to carry out the odd plan.
He was still baiting. Time would definitely test it. He was sure.
