spasming body over the side of the keep. The roped hissed through the pulley and then snapped taut.
Fitzduane lay down on the roof and looked over the edge. The rope from the block and tackle ended in a shape twisting and turning in the glow of the fire from the great hall. It hung just a few feet from the ground.
Fitzduane hauled himself off the roof and descended the circular stairs to the bawn below. The Bear followed him.
When they reached the courtyard, Fitzduane turned and looked up at the hanging form. A Ranger shone a light on the distorted and bloody head. The crossbow wounds dripped blood and matter. The damage done to the face was extensive. Nonetheless, they could see that it was, without question, the Hangman. The body was still twitching.
Fitzduane looked at his friend and then back at the Hangman. The killing rage had subsided. What he saw sickened him.
'It must be finished,' said the Bear.
The Irishman hesitated for a moment, and then he thought of Rudi and Vreni and Beat von Graffenlaub and Paulus von Beck and of all the pain and bloodshed and horror that this man – this man he had once liked – had been responsible for. He thought of the time he had gone to Draker to tell them of the hanging and how he had stood there in his wool socks talking to a lived-in but still attractive brunette in her mid-thirties who wore granny glasses. He thought of the carnage in Draker when they had gone to rescue the students, and of a blood-smeared body perforated with Uzi fire, one hand still holding her granny glasses. He thought of Ivo and Murrough and Tommy Keane and Dick Noble and of the woman he loved, her thigh pumping blood. He thought that he was tired and that the Bear was right and that this thing must come to an end. He didn't care about the reasons anymore.
The body twitched again and swung slightly on the rope.
Fitzduane slid his automatic shotgun into firing position and released four XR-18 rounds into Kadar's form, smashing the torso completely, ripping the heart from the body, but leaving the head and hands intact.
'Dead?' he said to the Bear.
'I think it is quite probably,' said the Bear, going very Swiss and cautious all of a sudden. There was a pulpy mess where Kadar's middle had been. 'Yes,' he said, nodding. 'Yes, he is very definitely dead.'
'Swiss timing,' said Fitzduane.
'So it is over,' said the Bear. He was looking at Fitzduane with compassion and not a little awe. The business of killing was a tawdry activity, whatever the need, but it was a business, like most human activities, that demanded talent. Fitzduane, sensitive and sympathetic though he was by nature, had a formidable talent for violence, a hard and bloody edge to his character. Here was a decent man who had tried to do a decent thing and who had stumbled into a bloodbath, had participated in that slaughter. What scars would his friend's soul now carry? The Bear sighed quietly. He was weary. He knew that he, too, was tainted.
He shook his head, depressed, then pulled himself together and gave a quiet growl and stared at the remains of the Hangman. Fuck him anyway; he deserved to die. It had to be done.
Fitzduane looked out over the glowing remains of the great hall and beyond the bawn. There were no lines of tracer, no explosions, no screams of pain or sounds of gunfire. Rangers were moving into the sandbagged emplacements on the battlements. Kilmara in his Optica still circled in the sky above.
Fitzduane reached out for his radio. 'You still up there?'
'Seems like it,' said Kilmara. 'It's really quite beautiful from the air, but there's nowhere to pee.'
'The Hangman's dead,' said Fitzduane.
'Like the last time?' said Kilmara. 'Or did you manage a more permanent arrangement?'
'I shot him,' said Fitzduane, 'and knifed him and the Bear shot him and we hanged him and he's still here – well, most of him. Enough to identify anyway.'
'How often did you shoot him?' said Kilmara for no particular reason. Stress reaction was setting in. He suddenly felt very tired.
'Quite a lot,' said Fitzduane. 'Why don't you come down and take a look?'
'So the fat lady has finished singing,' said Kilmara.
'Close,' said Fitzduane.
Duncleeve – Fitzduane's Castle – 0300 hours
Fitzduane and Kilmara finished their tour of inspection, and then Kilmara was called away to take a radio message from Ranger headquarters in Dublin.
Kilmara was limping but otherwise in good shape. He had sent the Optica back to refuel an hour ago and had parachuted into the bawn. It had been a perfect jump, but he had landed on one of the cannon and twisted his ankle.
The immediate threat seemed to be over, but until the island had been thoroughly searched by daylight, they couldn't be sure, and it was prudent to play safe. Accordingly the exhausted defenders and the only marginally fresher Rangers stood to and manned the full castle perimeter again but left the territory outside to the dead and whatever else chose to roam around at that hour of the morning.
Ground transport brought regular army units to the mainland end of the island road, and a company of troops was sent over by rope while the engineers set to building a Bailey bridge. Mortar and light artillery emplacements were set up to give fire support if needed. As dawn was breaking, around five in the morning, the first regular army unit arrived on the island.
Kilmara had been absent longer than expected. He returned looking distinctly annoyed, sat on a sandbag, and poured some whiskey into the mug of coffee a trooper brought in.
'I've got good news and ridiculous news,' he said. 'What do you want to hear first?'
'You choose,' said Fitzduane. He was sitting on the floor, his back resting against the wall. His wounded cheek had been tended to by a Ranger medic. It appeared quite likely there would be a scar. Etan was nestled in his arms, half asleep. Without conscious thought he was stroking her gently, as if seeking reassurance that she was indeed alive. 'I'm too bloody tired. I don't think I've ever been so tired. If this is what a siege is like, I'm glad I missed out on the Crusades. Imagine this kind of caper going on for months on end in a temperature like a furnace while you're wearing the equivalent in metal of half a car body under a caftan with a cross painted on it for the other side to shoot at. They must have had iron balls in those days.'
'Or died young,' said the Bear.
'Start with the good news,' said Etan, who was bandaged and in slight pain but cheerful; she was just glad to be – more or less – unharmed. The Ranger medic had said the wound wasn't serious and would heal quickly.
'We've got a prisoner -a guy named Sartawi, one of their unit commanders,' said Kilmara, 'and nearly in one piece for a change. And he's talking. It will make explaining away all these dead bodies a lot easier if we have the background. All I can say so far is that it's just as well you had your shit together, Hugo; otherwise we really would have been headed for a bad scene. The Hangman didn't intend to leave any survivors. There was a hidden agenda, and Sartawi was in the know. All the students were to go in the exchange. It was the Hangman's idea of a little joke.'
'What's the ridiculous news?' asked the Bear.
'We're having a visitor,' said Kilmara. 'He's flying in by chopper – piloting the damn thing himself – in less than an hour, and he's being tailed by a press helicopter. This is all going to be a media event.'
'The little fucker doesn't miss a trick,' said Fitzduane. 'I take it you tried to put him off?'
'Need you ask?' said Kilmara. 'I told both him and his press guy that the time wasn't right, and anyway, the place isn't secure.'
'But he didn't believe you,' said Fitzduane.
'No,' said Kilmara. 'He did not.'
'Why don't we kill him?' said Fitzduane. 'I've had a lot of practice lately.'
'On live television,' said Etan, 'and in front of half the Irish media? And me without my makeup on.'
'I'll help,' said the Bear, 'but who are you talking about?'
'Our Taoiseach,' said Fitzduane, 'one Joseph Patrick Delaney, the prime minister of this fair land. He screwed us in the Congo, and he's been screwing this country ever since. He's coming here to kiss babies and pin
