Geraldine Maltby:
So what's your plan? Blow my brains out for my ten-year-old niece to find?
Harry Pearce:
No, I simply want to offer you a way out.
[He puts a small envelope on the table labeled "A Way Out."]
Harry Pearce:
This came from you, I take it. What is it?
Geraldine Maltby:
It's new. Perforates the small bowel over six hours or so, causing irreversible hemorrhaging. Leaves no trace.
Harry Pearce:
How clever.
Geraldine Maltby:
You're madder than you look. Shoot me or get out, I'm not taking that.
Harry Pearce:
I was afraid that would be your answer. That's why I've taken the decision out of your hands. It's not your pub lunch that's making you queasy.
[He removes a small, empty plastic bag from the envelope]
Harry Pearce:
I had the rib of beef, too.
Geraldine Maltby:
Tell me you're lying, Harry. Please.
Harry Pearce:
Tell me you didn't betray your country.
[Geraldine hurriedly starts dialing her mobile]
Harry Pearce:
It's been four hours already, Geraldine. You can spend the last two in a hospital bed, but if I were you, I'd go and play with that beautiful niece of yours.
Riportata da il
05/03/2025 alle ore 12:15
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