killer who had challenged and attacked Evan, the man he thought of as a sergeant-foreman. By the rattling steel door of the van stood a police guard, his left hand gripping a crossbar on the roof, trying to keep himself upright. In his right, held in place by a taut leather shoulder strap, was a MAC-10 machine pistol. A single scatter-shot burst would turn the four breathing prisoners into bloodied, breathless corpses pinned to the walls of the racing van. Yet, also—as arranged—a ring of keys was hooked to the guard's belt, the same keys that had secured the prisoners' shackles. Everything had been a race against time, precious time. Minutes became hours and hours brought about another day.
'You're insane, you know that, don't you?'
'Doctor, we don't have a choice! That man is Azra—colour him Blue.'
'Wrong, wrong, wrong! Azra has a beard and long hair—we've all seen him on television—'
'He shaved off his beard and cut his hair.'
'I ask you. Are you Amal Bahrudi?'
'I am now.'
'No, you're not! Any more than he is Azra! That man was brought in here five hours ago from a bazaar in the Waljat. He's a drunken imbecile, a swaggering clown, nothing more. His fellow pig slashed his own throat with a policeman's knife!'
'I was there, Faisal. He is Azra, brother of Zaya Yateem.'
'Because he tells you so?'
'No. Because I talked to him, listened to him. His holy war isn't for or against Allah, Abraham or Christ. It's for survival in this life, on this earth.'
'Madness! All around us, madness!'
'What did Ahmat say?'
'To do as you say, but you must wait until his special police arrive. They are two men he trusts completely—your instructions, I believe.'
'Tweedledum and Tweedledee? The two uniforms who've been with me from the bazaar to the Al Kabir?'
'They are special. One will drive the police vehicle, the other will act as your guard.'
'Good thinking. I'm really playing out Ahmat's scenario, aren't I?'
'You're unfair, Mr. Kendrick.'
'He's not too shabby himself… Here are the other two prisoners I want in the transfer, in the truck with Azra and me.'
'Why? Who are they?'
'One's a lunatic who'd curse at his own firing squad, but the other… the other is Azra's beard. He does whatever colour-me-Blue tells him. Take those two away and there's no one to hold the fort together.'
'You're being cryptic.'
'The rest are breakable, Doctor. They don't really know anything but they're breakable. I suggest you take three or four out at a time, put them into smaller cells and then shoot off some rifles into the back wall of this compound. You might find a few fanatics who aren't so crazy about their own executions.'
'You are shedding your true skin, Shaikh Kendrick. You're going into a world of which you know nothing.'
'I'll learn, Doctor. That's why I'm here.'
The sign came! The guard by the van's door steadied himself, briefly lowering his left hand; he shook it to restore circulation and immediately reached up to grip the crossbar again. He would repeat the action in less than a minute and then it would be the moment for Evan to make his move. The choreography had been created quickly in the compound's laboratory; the attack was to be swift and simple. The guard's reaction was the key to its success. Twenty-two seconds later, the guard's left hand plummeted down again in a gesture of weariness.
Kendrick sprang off the bench, his body a compact missile hammering into the guard whose head crashed against the door with such force that the man's suddenly hysterical expression became instantly passive as he collapsed.
'Quickly!' commanded Evan, turning to Azra.
