like stones. I went to the corner and looked round, pulling my head back rapidly as something came toward it at speed. I looked behind me and saw a wooden shaft quivering in the trunk of a withered tree. I ran to it and wrenched out the weapon. It had a wicked steel point like a javelin’s.
I replaced the smaller staff with the spear and went back to the corner, narrowly avoiding another missile. I went after the thrower, sprinting round the corner with a loud roar. A large man wearing a peaked cap and fatigues stepped back, then dropped the spear he was holding and raised his hands when he saw me. His face was brown and he had a mustache.
‘Please, please,’ he gabbled. ‘They give us orders.’
I put the point of the spear at his throat. ‘Tell them to fall back and drop their weapons!’ I yelled, glaring at the men behind him.
The officer shouted out something in a language I didn’t understand, but it had the desired effect. The men let their javelins and hooked swords fall to the ground. There were several animal and insect heads already lying there.
‘Who are you?’ I demanded.
‘Major Mohammed Al-Haq,’ the officer said, straining back from the sharp tip. ‘Third Mountain Rangers Regiment, Pakistan Army.’
‘Oh, yeah?’ I looked through the hole in the wall, wondering what had happened to Sara. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘Training,’ he said. ‘We arrive yesterday. Tonight take part in exercise to experience mentality of insurgents armed with outmoded weapons.’ He shook his head. ‘Very strange costumes. I do not approve.’
Sara appeared behind the soldiers, a spear in each hand and a scimitar in her belt.
‘They’re Pakistani,’ I said. ‘Being trained, he says.’
‘They need it,’ she said, brandishing her weapons at the cowed soldiers.
‘I hope you didn’t…’
‘Kill anyone? No, I don’t think so. There’ll be some sore heads and bellies. What’s next?’
I tried to look beyond a heap of earth. There were more damaged buildings dotted about broken ground.
‘If you will permit,’ the major said, raising a hand to the javelin at his throat. ‘I give you my word that we will not attack you.’
I glanced at Sara and she nodded, though she didn’t lower her weapons.
‘Why’s that?’
He gave a slack smile. ‘Because men defending next fortifications are from India. We would like to give them a beating.’
Jesus, what was this? International Crisis 101?
‘How are they armed?’ Sara asked.
‘This I do not know for sure,’ the major replied. ‘I guess same as us.’
‘All right,’ I said, wondering what kind of training establishment issued participants with lethal weapons. The points and edges were very sharp. ‘Try not to inflict any serious wounds.’
Sara looked at me as if I were a small child. ‘Okay, you take half of the men and go left again. I’ll take the center and the right.’ She gave the major a steely look. ‘Tell your men they can arm themselves again. If anyone tries to touch me, I’ll take his throat out.’ She made a rapid and extremely competent movement with one of her spears.
‘I come with you, yes?’ the officer said, stepping toward me.
I smiled at him. ‘Good idea.’ Then, when they were ready, I signaled the advance.
We were halfway across a pitted, evil-smelling no-man’s-land when the first shots rang out.
Violent Crime Director Sebastian looked out over the lights of central Washington. To his left, the Capitol building stood out like an oversize wedding cake, bright and icing-white.
‘Sit down, Peter,’ the Director said, closing a file. ‘Sorry to keep you.’
Sebastian did as he was told and looked across the desk at the wizened man who bore such a resemblance to Robert Redford that his nickname was ‘Sundance.’ He had been an admiral and, later, a Presidential adviser, before landing the job at the top of the Hoover Building.
‘Now, what’s the story with Sir Andrew Frogget?’ The Director still had a Southern drawl, though it was many years since he’d lived in South Carolina. ‘Was it a heart attack?’
‘It looks that way. The postmortem won’t be done till the morning.’
‘You told the Brits?’
Sebastian nodded. ‘The number two at their embassy. He said he would consult. I can’t say he sounded particularly animated.’
‘They don’t do animated, Peter.’ The Director steepled his fingers and looked over the points. ‘Did he ask why Sir Andrew was in custody?’
‘He asked if he was helping us with our inquiries.’
‘Probably some British joke. Routh Limited is a major player on the world scene, though. What was Frogget doing in custody?’
Sebastian felt the strength of his superior’s gaze. ‘He was caught with an underage hooker. I took the opportunity to squeeze him about Rothmann and Woodbridge Holdings.’
‘Did you now? Routh was involved, of course.’
‘It was Woodbridge’s main investment bank.’
‘Did he tell you anything?’
‘He gave us some names. We’re checking them out.’
‘Do you have a list?’
Sebastian handed over a printed page, which the Director scanned.
‘Some more big names here,’ he said, putting the sheet down. ‘You had better exercise caution.’
‘We will. I take it you approve the investigation?’
‘Oh, certainly. Good work.’ The Director looked at his computer screen and then back at Sebastian. ‘Was there anything else? I have to look over my speech to the UN Climate Change Conference… I hope your unit is running energy-efficient vehicles.’
Surprised, Sebastian stood up, but swallowed the laugh he’d been about to let loose. It seemed the Director was serious.
‘Down!’ I yelled, diving to the soft ground. I looked to my right. Two of the Pakistanis were lying crumpled and motionless, the rest desperately taking cover. Spurts of earth were flying up as automatic weapons fire continued to rain down.
‘This is murder!’ the major screamed.
‘Keep them down!’ I yelled back. In the distance, I could see Sara crawling forward, having jettisoned one of her spears. ‘When the fire turns on us, get them to crawl back.’
The Pakistani officer nodded, his cap at an angle.
I pulled myself forward by my elbows. Before I had gone five yards, bullets began to spit into the ground around me. At least that would give the Pakistanis a chance to retreat. Ahead of me was a broken-down cart that looked like it had survived the Civil War, though only just. I took cover behind it and watched as Sara dived into a trench that ran alongside the meandering river. Spouts of water flew up from it as the defenders tried to hit her.
I crawled to the front of the cart, hearing bullets thud into the wood. The original dashboard was hanging loose at the far side. I managed to put my shoulder to the near side and detach it completely. It was about five feet long and two feet wide, and would provide reasonable protection. Now I felt like a Homeric hero behind his shield. I stuck the sword I’d picked up into my belt and lifted the board; fortunately there was a length of wood in the center that served as a grip. Taking my spear in the other hand, I stood up and made for the two-story building. By the time I got there, the wooden panel was holed and splintered, but it had done its job. Apart from a new parting in my hair and a shallow furrow in my thigh, I was unhurt. But I was pissed off in a big way, and my feet hurt like a bastard. Someone was going to pay.
I pulled myself over the remains of a window frame and threw the spear at a man in a hawk’s head. It pinned him to a door at shoulder level, causing him to drop the Kalashnikov he’d raised at me. I ran forward and grabbed the weapon. He was groaning, but the wound didn’t look mortal. There were ammunition clips in his pockets and I
