Juggernaut

He took stick deodorant from his backpack. He rubbed deodorant on a bandana, then tied it round his face bandit-style. The reek of decomposition masked by cloying perfume.

He searched pockets. The mummified faces grinned at him like they were sharing a private joke.

Coins. Prayer beads and a Koran. A couple of crappy penknives. No weapons, no ammo.

Gaunt kicked through smashed laptops, discarded clothes and food wrappers. He shone his flashlight into the deep shadow of the catacombs. No green trunk.

Gaunt rubbed his eyes. He felt tired. He felt out of his depth.

He found a blanket. He shook out dust and wrapped it round his shoulders like a shawl.

He sat on the worn steps of the crypt. He ejected the clip from his Sig and counted bullets. NyTrilium rounds. Blunt-ridged, like molars. Four left.

He sipped from his canteen.

He leaned against ancient brickwork and closed his eyes. He tried to sleep, despite the cold. Vapour curled from his mouth and nose like cigarette smoke.

A strange dream. His long-dead mother standing the other side of a crowded street. She shouted. She seemed desperate. He couldn’t make out words.

Lucy’s voice.

‘Gaunt? Gaunt can you hear me?’

Gaunt jerked awake. He unzipped his leather jacket. His earpiece was hanging round his chest. He hooked it to his earlobe.

‘Hello, Lucy.’

‘How are you doing out there?’

‘I’m walking on sunshine.’

‘Raphael is dead. Talon is destroyed. Bad Moon is damaged. I want to cut a deal. Repair the chopper and fly us home. We’ll let you live.’

‘Is that right?’

‘Think about it. We have to get the Huey airborne. How do you feel about walking home? Several hundred miles of desert between us and Baghdad. Reckon you could make it on your own? Lucky if any of us get back alive.’

‘What if I can’t fix the chopper?’

‘Then we’re all fucked.’

‘You’d put a bullet in my head soon as we touch down. I’d be dead before the rotor stopped spinning.’

‘We’d find a spot outside the city limits. Put the gold out the door. After that, head for the Green Zone. You know that road outside the convention centre?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Set us down right there. Place is always crawling with traffic. There are CCTV cameras covering the entrance. Plenty of sentries. Land there and walk away. Take all the gold you can carry.’

‘Voss. Your girlfriend. They would track me down.’

‘Then get the fuck out of Baghdad quick as you can. Yeah, they’ll be gunning for revenge. But you would have a head start, if you are smart enough to use it.’

‘What do your friends say?’

‘They want to get out of here. They are prepared to be a little pragmatic.’

‘Let me think it over.’

Jabril unhooked the earpiece from his ear.

‘Your friends seem to be having problems. One of your helicopters is destroyed. The other is damaged. They blame Gaunt.’

Amanda wiped sweat from her face. She cracked her knuckles. She wiped her hands dry.

The flashlight dimmed a little further. The dying bulb threw out a warm ember glow.

Amanda yawned.

Jabril yawned in sympathy.

The instant his eyes squeezed shut Amanda snatched a handful of rings and watches, and hurled them at Jabril’s face. His shocked flinch gave her the half-second she needed to throw herself forward and grip his left hand.

They rolled on the plate floor of the truck, scattering jewels, wrestling for the grenade. Amanda bent back Jabril’s fingers and eased the grenade out of his hand. She gripped the grenade in both hands, fingers locked tight round the safety lever. She brought it down on Jabril’s head like a rock. Repeated blows. She slammed his jaw. She cut open his forehead.

She removed the knife from the door mechanism, and kicked open the vault.

She jumped out. Cool air.

Lucy ran to the truck. They hugged and kissed.

Amanda held up the grenade.

‘He’s got the pin in his pocket.’

Voss dragged Jabril from the truck. Jabril lay on flagstones, holding his bleeding forehead. Voss kicked him in the back, the balls. Jabril curled foetal. He shook with each blow. He took the beating but didn’t scream.