The shotgun blast blew away a large portion of the cabin's front door. Two men strode confidently through the jagged doorway and eyed their surprised prey. "All of you, over there, against that wall," demanded one of the men. He pointed with a large revolver to the area he wanted them to go. He was well-dressed, clean-shaven and deadly serious. Jon and Sandra shot a panicked look at Iverson. He responded with a nod indicating that they should follow the intruder’s directions. If Iverson was surprised by the invasion, he hid it well. He immediately understood that these men were dangerous. The only question was how long it would be before they proved him right. "I think you know what we want," the man with the shotgun announced. "We get what we came for and nobody gets hurt." He stepped toward Sandra, rested the shotgun’s two barrels on her shoulder just below the ear, and spoke directly to Jon. "The documents, mister. Understand? If I don't get what I want, this pretty little head gets separated from its body." He calculated Jon’s reaction then turned his attention to Sandra. "Looks like I just missed the other day," he said, inspecting the bandages on her shoulder. He tapped the wound with the gun. Sandra sucked a breath, but blocked the pain. Iverson stepped forward with his hands clearly in front of him. He didn't want to provoke the man with the shotgun. "And what documents might you be looking for?" he asked calmly. The man turned to Iverson. "Don't fuck with me," he cautioned. "I'm not in the mood for games." The other man, with steely eyes matching the color of the gun in his hand, glanced at his partner and then walked over to the table. He quickly probed the papers that Iverson had been shuffling through before the door exploded. Iverson stepped forward again only to be forced into retreat by the shotgun now pointed directly at his heart. "Don't be a hero, Sergeant," threatened the man. "And I'll take that gun of yours." Iverson's eyes widened and he focused them directly on those of the man wielding the double-barreled weapon. "You’re smart enough to know who I am, so I’ll assume you’re also smart enough not to kill a cop." It was a line of logic Iverson knew would carry no weight, but he had to extend his think time. "The gun, Sergeant," the man repeated. "Now!" With his fingertips Iverson slowly removed a gun from its holster under his jacket. He carefully placed it on the chair next to the coffee table. The intruder motioned for the Sergeant to back away, grabbed the gun and tossed it on the couch behind him. Iverson watched its flight carefully. The shotgun was lowered and its owner laughed cynically. "We've already negotiated our immunity, Sergeant," he said boldly. "We don't have to worry about who we kill." The words struck Jon and Sandra hard, and they now understood what Iverson understood. These men were there to kill them.
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