It was all the warning they ever had.

He hit the evercrete amid uniformed bodies. Sent them staggering and sprawling- no time to count. The one in front had his back turned, did not quite go down- Fuck, Ramon, what are you doing?"

He hadn' t understood what was happening. Was turning, unguarded, no worse than irritated, when Carl swung the shovel blade into his face. Blood splattered, warm and unseen in the dark, but he felt it on his cheek. The man dropped his assault rifle and clutched at his shattered cheekbone, made a wet sound, fell down screaming. Carl was already spinning away. A second uniform, struggling on his hands and knees. Ramon the altar boy? Carl hacked down with the shovel, into the soft top of the skull. The man made a noise like a panicked cow and collapsed prone. More blood spritzed, painted his face with its warmth.

The third soldier was still on the far side of the COLIN jeep. He came around the back of the vehicle at speed and Carl met him head-on, grinning, black and splattered with the other men' s blood. The soldier panicked, yelled. Forgot to raise his rifle.

He' s here- "

Carl lunged. Jabbed hard with the shovel, blade end into the soldier' s throat. The warning shout died to a choked gurgle. Carl zipped up the gap between them, blocked off the late-rising barrel of the assault rifle with one splayed hand, smashed the butt end of the shovel into the man' s nose. The fight died, the soldier went down choking. Carl reversed the shovel and hacked down with the point of the blade, into the throat until the other man stopped making a noise.

The night flared apart with headlight beams from the other jeep. Shouts of alarm from the other side. Four more, he knew. No way to be sure how many were still sitting in their vehicle, how many deployed by now...

Come on, Ertekin. Pick it up.

Gunfire- the flat, high crack of the Marstech gun, six rapid shots in succession. The lights doused.

Panicked yells from the jeep.

Fuck. Nice shooting, girl.

Open fire!"

Carl hit the asphalt. Kicked the screaming, rolling victim with the shattered face out of his way, snagged the man' s assault rifle. Dimly he registered it as a use-worn Brazilian Imbel, not exactly state-of-the-art but- From somewhere, the mounted machine gun on the army jeep cut loose. The noise ripped the night apart. Stammering thunder from the gun, and the shattering clangor as the .50-cal rounds smashed themselves apart on the COLIN vehicle' s armored flank. Marstech, Marstech, we got the Marstech. The idiot rhyme marched through his head, flash image of the kids who used to chant it out back of the bubblefabs at Wells. Carl grinned a tight combat rictus, crabbed about in the cover the jeep gave him, and poked the Imbel under the vehicle. He sprayed a liberal burst of return fire through the gap, then cut it off.

Confused yelling. The machine gun coughed, suddenly silent. Carl pressed his face flat to the road surface and peered. Nothing- his vision was still blasted from the headlamps. He squeezed both eyes shut, tried again.

Motherfucking twist piece of- "

The injured soldier was on him, flailing with fists, face hanging off in flaps where the shovel had sliced it apart. His voice was a high weeping torrent of abuse, a boy' s fury. Carl smacked him under the chin with the butt of the Imbel, then again in the region of the wound. The soldier screamed and cringed back. Carl brought the barrel of the assault rifle to bear. Short, stuttering burst. The muzzle flash lit the boy' s ruined face, reached out and touched him on the chest like fizzling magic- kicked him away across the road like rags.

The machine gun cut loose again, died just as abruptly at yelled orders from the jeep. Still grinning, Carl got to his feet and crept to the wing of the COLIN vehicle. He crouched and squinted, squeezed detail from his flash-burned vision. Saw the silhouette of the soldier manning the mounted gun. About forty meters, he reckoned. It hurt to hold on to the detail through aching pupils, but- Better get this done.

As if she' d heard him, Ertekin' s Marstech pistol cracked again across the night, three times in rapid succession. The soldier on the mounted gun pivoted his weapon about, chasing the sound. Carl put the Imbel to his shoulder, popped up over the jeep hood, cuddled the weapon in, and squeezed the trigger.

Clattering roar at his ear and the muzzle flash stabbed out again in the cool air. Long burst, drop back into cover, don' t stop to see...

But he already knew.

The mounted machine gun stayed silent.

He gave it another minute, just to be safe- just to beat that bullshit thirteen arrogance, right, Sutherland?- then poked the weapon up over the hood again, butt-first. No returning fire. He moved to the rear of the COLIN jeep and eased his head out far enough to see the other vehicle.

Silent, tumbled figures in and alongside the open-topped jeep. The mounted gun, stark and skeletal amid the carnage, unmanned and tilting butt-first at the sky. Carl stepped out of cover. Paused. Moved slowly forward, mesh-hammer ebbing along his nerves now that the fight was done. He covered the distance to the other jeep in a cautious, curving arc. Peripherally, he was aware of Ertekin climbing up onto the road from the ravine side where she' d hidden. He got to the jeep wel ahead of her, circled it once, warily, and then stood looking at his handiwork.

Well, that seemed to work," he said, to no one in particular.

It looked as if the sergeant had gotten clear of the jeep, was on the way to support his men when he ran into the hail of fire from the Imbel. Now he lay flung back against the forward wheel arch like a drunk who'

d just tripped on a curb. Above his slumped form, the jeep' s driver was still behind the wheel, hands folded neatly in his lap, face ripped away, brains dripping down his shirtfront like spilled gravy. The soldier manning the mounted gun hung twisted over the back of the jeep, one foot tangled in something that had prevented the impact of the Imbel' s rounds from knocking him bodily out of the vehicle. His head was almost touching the evercrete surface of the road, boy' s face slack with shock, staring from frozen, upside-down eyes as Carl moved past him.

The remaining man lay huddled in the back of the jeep like a child playing hide-and-seek. In the low light, blood shone wet and dark on his battledress, but his chest still rose and fell. Carl reached in and gripped his shoulder. The soldier' s eyes flickered open drowsily. He blinked at Carl for a moment, bemused.

Blood-irised spit bubbles moved at the corner of his mouth as his lips parted.

Uncle Gregorio," he muttered weakly. What are you doing here?"

Carl just looked at him, and presently the soldier' s eyes slid closed again. His head tipped a little to one side, came to rest against the inside trim of the jeep. Carl reached in again and felt for a pulse. He sighed.

Ertekin reached his side.

You okay?" he asked her absently.

Yeah. Marsalis, you' ve got blood- "

Not mine. Can I see that Marstech piece of yours for a second?"

Uh. Sure."

She handed the weapon to him, took the Imbel as he offered it over in return. He weighed the Beretta for a moment, checking the safety and the load display. Then he raised it and shot the young soldier through the face. The boy' s head jerked back. Lol ed. He knocked the safety back on, palmed the warmth of the barrel, and handed the pistol back to Ertekin.

She didn' t take it. Her voice, when it came, was leashed tight with anger. What the fuck did you do that for?"

He shrugged. Because he wasn' t dead."

So you had to make him that way?" Now the anger started to bleed through. Suddenly she was shouting. Look at him, Marsalis. He was no threat, he was injured- "

Yeah." Carl gestured around at the deserted road and the empty landscape beyond. You see a hospital out there anywhere?"

In Arequipa- "

In Arequipa, he' d have been a fucking liability." Running a little anger of his own now. Ertekin, we need to hit Greta Jurgens fast, before she finds out what went down here tonight. We don' t have time for hospital visits. This isn' t a... what?"

Ertekin was frowning, anger shelved momentarily as she reached into her jacket pocket. She fished out her phone, which was vibrating quietly on and off, pulsing along its edges with pale crystalline light.

Oh, you' ve got to be fucking kidding me." Carl looked away down the perspectives of the road in exasperated disbelief. At this time of night?"

Rang before," she said, putting the device to her ear. Just before the fireworks kicked off. Didn' t have time to pick up. Ertekin."

Then she listened quietly. Made monosyllabic agreement a couple of times. Hung up and put the phone away again, face gone calm and thoughtful.

Norton," he guessed.

Yeah. Time to go home."

He gaped at her. What?"

That' s right." She met his eye, something harder edging the calm. RimSec called. They' ve got a body.

We' ve got to go back."

Carl shook his head. Twinges of the firefight backed up in his nerves, fake-fired the mesh. So they' ve got a body. Another body. Big fucking deal. You going to pull out now, just when we' re getting somewhere?"

Ertekin gazed around at the carnage. You cal this getting somewhere?"

They tried to stop us, Sevgi. They tried to kil us."

They tried to kil us in New York as wel . You want to go back there? Come to that, Nevant tried to kil you in Istanbul. Violence follows you around, Marsalis. Just like Merrin, just like- "

She clamped her lips.

Carl looked at her and felt the old weariness seeping in. He cranked up the rind of a smile for cover.

Go ahead, Sevgi, say it. Just like Ethan." He gestured. Go on, get it off that gorgeous chest of yours. It'

s what you' re thinking anyway."

You have no fucking right to assume- "

No?" He paused for effect. Oh yeah, I forgot. You get some kind of perverse thril out of fucking unlucks, and that makes you think you don' t see us the same way the rest of the whole fucking human race does. Well, it takes more than a Cuban wank and a few sheet stains to- "

Abruptly, he was on the ground.

He lay there on his back in the road dust, staring up while she stood over him, clutching her right fist in her left hand.

Motherfucker," she said wonderingly.

She' d stepped in before she threw the punch, he realized. Right hook, or an uppercut, he couldn' t work out which. He never saw it coming.

You think I haven' t been where you are now, Marsalis?"

He propped himself up on an elbow. What, flat on the your back in the road?"

Shut up." She was trembling visibly. Maybe with comedown from the firefight. Maybe not. You think I don' t know what it' s like? Think again, fuckwit. Try growing up Muslim in the West, while the Middle East catches fire again. Try growing up a woman in a Western Muslim culture fighting off siege-mentality fundamentalism again. Try being one of only three Turkish American patrolwomen in a New York precinct dominated by male Greek American detectives. Hey, try sleeping with a thirteen, you' l get almost as much shit as being one, not least from members of your own fucking family. Yeah. People are stupid, Marsalis. You think I need lessons in that?"

I don' t know what you need, Ertekin."

No, that' s right, you don' t. And listen- you got some fucking problem with what we did back in Istanbul, then deal with it however you need to. But don' t you ever, ever call into question my relationship with Ethan Conrad again. Because the next time I swear I wil put a fucking bullet in you."

Carl rubbed at his jaw. Flexed it experimentally left and right.

Mind if I get up now?"

Do what you fucking like."

She stood away from him, staring off somewhere beyond the corpses and the arid landscape. He climbed carefully to his feet.

Ertekin, just listen to me for a moment. Look around you. Look at this mess."

I am looking at it."

Right. So it' s got to mean something, right?"

Stil she didn' t look at his face. Yeah, what it probably means is that Manco Bambaren' s tired of you pushing him around in his own backyard."

Oh come on, Ertekin. You' re a cop, for fuck' s sake."

That' s right, I' m a cop." Suddenly she whipped around on him. Fast enough to halfway trip a block reflex. And right now, while I get dragged around the globe watching you fulfill your genetic potential for wholesale slaughter, other cops elsewhere are doing real police work and getting somewhere with it.

Norton was right about this, we' re wasting our time. We are going back."

You' re making a mistake."

No." She shook her head, decision taken. I made a mistake in Istanbul. Now I' m going to put it right."

CHAPTER 32.

G reta Jurgens came to work early, shuffling across the deserted white stone courtyards just off the Plaza de Armas before the sun got high enough to make them blaze. Still, she wore heavy-framed sunglasses against the light, and her pace was sluggish enough for summer heat or a woman twice her age. She wasn' t small-boned, or even especially pale given her Germanic ancestry, but the tanned, muscle-freighted bulk of the two Samoan bodyguards detailed to escort her from the limousine each day made her seem delicate and ill by comparison. And as she reached the cloistered edge of the courtyard where her office was, stepped under the cloister' s stone roof and up to the office door, she shivered, harder than most humans would. October was a knowledge, a cold creeping tide in her blood. Darker, colder days, coming in.

Back in Europe, the seasonal cycle her metabolism had originally been calibrated for was already well into autumn and winding slowly down to winter. And you never could quite get it together to get recalibrated, could you, Greta. Too little faith in the local service providers- it was a complicated procedure, went very deep- and too little disposable income or time to go back and pay someone she' d trust. Yeah, and if you' re honest, just never the right time, either: too fucking busy, then too fucking depressed, then just too fucking asleep. It was a pretty standard hib complaint- along with the more obvious physiological factors, the hibernoid hormonal suite lent itself to mental fluctuations that were almost bipolar in their intensity. All through the waking segment of the cycle, she whirred like an overloaded magdrive dynamo, working, dealing, brokering, living but always too busy, too busy, too busy to rest or relax or sleep or worry about minor considerations like changing her life for the better. Then, as the hormonal tide began to ebb and such considerations finally managed to creep to the front of her conscious concerns, they came in freighted with such a surging sense of weariness in the face of insurmountable odds that it was all she could do not to weep at the pointlessness of trying to do anything about a thing like that now. Better just to sleep on it, better just let it go this time around, pick up again in spring and...

And around she went again.

An unfortunate psychological side effect, went the arid, tut-tutting text of the Jacobsen Protocol, and somewhat debilitating for those implicated, but not a failing this committee need concern itself with unduly, nor a social threat as such.

Somewhat debilitating. Right. Her fingers mashed at the door code panel, slow and clumsy, as if they weren' t real y hers. The Samoans stood by. Isaac and Salesi, both of them familia enforcers since their youth, long schooled in a sort of hard-faced butler' s diplomacy where escort duties were concerned- they knew better than to offer her help. She' d been in a foul mood for days now, snappish and strung out at the wrong end of her waking tether. Judgment fraying, social skills barely operational. Under normal circumstances, she' d already have handed over operations here to one of Manco' s brighter minions, given in to the inevitable changes in her blood chemistry, and let the cold tide turn opiate-warm along her veins. She' d already be housebound, down at the Colca retreat, pottering about, prepping for the long sleep ahead. Under normal circumstances, she wouldn' t have to- He came out of nowhere.

She still had her sunglasses on, blurry early-morning vision, and not much peripheral sense at all this late in the cycle- no surprise she didn' t see it happen. Her first warning was the sound of a solid, untidy impact behind her. The door, coded open, was already swinging inward off the latch. She felt the huge hand of one of the bodyguards hit her in the small of her back, shoving her bodily inside. She stumbled, caught the corner of a desk in the cramped office space, struggled foggily to comprehend.

We' re being hit.

Impossible. Her mind rejected it out of hand, objections in a blurry rush. Manco had put his stamp on the Arequipa gangs a decade ago, made his allegiances, wiped out the rest. No one- no one- was stupid enough to buck the trend. And the courtyard, the white stone courtyard, was pristine when they crossed, empty this early.

The sound behind her played back in her head. Shock jumped in her blood as she put it together.

Someone had come off the paved walkway above the cloister, jumped better than five meters directly down and onto one of her escorts. Was outside now, finishing the job...

Isaac cannoned into the doorjamb and sagged there, clinging. Blood matted his hair and poured down his face between the eyes. He made a convulsive effort to gain his feet again, failed, went down in a heap.

Behind him in the doorway, a black figure silhouetted against the gathering glare of the early-morning sun. Something flopped in her sluggish blood, deep jolt of instinctive fear just ahead of recognition.