Knight sat onto the edge of his desk as Anderson paced back and forth, the President not being prepared to speak until the man had calmed down. At six feet five and two hundred and sixty pounds of which less than seven percent was fat, the ex-SAS man was an intimidating figure. Add to that a set of fighting skills normally spread amongst six men that Knight had seen at close quarters and anyone would understand his hesitance. Eventually, his security chief stopped pacing and turned eyes onto Knight that were so filled with hate Knight actually caught his breath. 'We...we need the food, Craig,' he reminded quietly.
Anderson leaned down, his face inches from Knight, 'No, Steve,' he hissed his voice razor edged, ‘we need to kill him.'
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