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By Root 353 0

bank of telephones. There were several shops beyond, their picture windows reflecting each other. There was no one inside, either customers or employees. The displays of shirts and trinkets, of luggage and toys, all seemed to merge as Battat neared. He tried to blink them clear. He could not. The sickness plus the exertion had worn him down much more than he thought. Battat gave serious thought to going back to the lobby and asking the fire department medics for a ride to the hospital. He had been afraid to go there lest someone recognize him from the night before and ask about the dead man in his room. But he was beginning to doubt that he could make it from the hotel, let alone reach the embassy. Suddenly, someone appeared in Battat's line of vision. The American stopped and squinted. It was a man wearing jeans and a white shirt. There were straps around his shoulder.

A black backpack. Oh Christ, Battat thought as the man approached. He knew who it was. And he had no doubt that the man recognized him. And knew why he was in such a weakened condition. After all, it was probably this same man who had injected him with the toxin on the beach.

The Harpooner. The assassin had just walked in through the side door. He was about twenty feet away. He was holding what looked like a knife in his right hand. Battat would not be able to fight him. He had to try and get back to the lobby. Battat turned, but he moved too fast. His vision blurred and he stumbled against one of the shop windows. He quickly pushed off with his shoulder. He staggered ahead. If he could just get to the lobby, even if he fell square on his face, someone might get to him before the Harpooner could. Battat reached the bank of phones. He extended his left arm, used it to move himself along the wall. Push, step, push, step. He was halfway along the bank when he felt starched fabric slide along the front of his throat. A sleeve. A strong arm pulled back, putting Battat into a choke hold.

"The last time we met, I needed you alive," the assassin whispered harshly.

"Not this time. Unless you tell me who you're working with."

"Up yours," Battat gasped. Battat felt a knee against the small of his back. If the Harpooner intended to kill him standing up, he was going to be disappointed. Battat's legs gave out and he dropped to the floor.

The Harpooner immediately released Battat and swung around in front of him. He straddled Battat and dropped a knee on his chest. Battat felt a sharp jab in his side and exhaled painfully. One or more of his ribs had been broken. The Harpooner brought the knife to the left side of the American's throat. He pressed the sharp tip just below the ear.

"No," the Harpooner hissed as he glared down at Battat.

"This is going up yours." Battat was too weak to fight. He was aware that he was going to be cut from ear to ear and then left to drown in his own blood. But there was nothing he could do about it. Nothing.

Battat felt a pinch in his throat. A moment later, he heard a soft pop and blood sprayed into his eyes. He thought it would hurt more, having his throat pierced. But there was no pain after the initial pinch. He did not feel the blade moving through his skin. And he was still able to breathe. An instant later, Battat heard a second pop. He blinked hard to clear the blood from his eyes. He watched as the Harpooner just hovered there, crouched on his chest. Blood was pumping from a wound in his throat. There was no drama in his face, no great gesture befitting the size of his crimes. Just a momentary look of confusion and surprise. Then the killer's eyes shut, the knife fell from his hand, and the Harpooner tumbled to the floor between Battat and the phone bank.

Battat lay there. He did not know exactly what had happened until Odette appeared from behind. She was holding her silenced pistol in front of her and looking down at the Harpooner.

"Are you all right?" she asked Battat. He reached up and felt his throat. Except for a trickle of blood on the left side, it felt intact.

"I think I'm okay," Battat said.

"Thank you." Battat