Sam Fisher- Highway Kobin

“What are you hid­ing from me?” Fish­er shifted po­si­tion and put one hand on Kobin’s fore­arm. “I don’t have time to drag it out of you. Talk.”

“I am talk­ing!” Kobin in­sisted.

“Sure. You’re just not tell­ing me an­y­thing,” said Fish­er. He gave Kobin’s arm a sav­age twist and his cap­tive cried out, fall­ing side­ways.

Fish­er kicked open the jeep’s tail­gate, grabbed a fist­ful of Kobin’s shirt, and shoved him out of the back of the ve­hi­cle. Kobin screamed as he dropped face-first to­ward the black­top speed­ing past, his fall halt­ing cen­ti­me­ters from the high­way.

The only thing stop­ping him from be­com­ing roadkill was the ma­te­ri­al of his sweaty, blood-soaked silk shirt in Fish­er’s vise-like grip. It be­gan to tear.

“Stop stop stop!” Kobin yelled at the top of his lungs. “OK! I’ll tell you eve­ry­thing!”

“Bet­ter,” said Fish­er, and hauled him back into the jeep.

- Firewall, Chapter 11