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an old bloodstained jacket.
“You were clutching this when I found you,” the old man said.
Emmanuel searched the inside pocket absentmindedly.
Then suddenly stopped breathing.
His fingers touched metal.
The brass key.
Still there.
Wrapped carefully inside plastic beneath the torn lining.
And attached to it…
a tiny label.
A-17.
At first, the code meant nothing.continue reading …
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