Doctor Who_ Cat's Cradle_ Warhead - Andrew Cartmel [47]
He was looking down at his chest. There on his dark skin was a pale green lozenge of light. Massoud looked up at Ace. The light was coming from the sighting mechanism on the Python. It indicated exactly the path the bullet would follow if she pulled the trigger. It moved when Massoud moved. He scratched his chest and he watched the spot of light ripple and flow across his fingers. When he moved his hand away it hovered just over his heart. Massoud looked at Ace. The other mercenaries were all watching them. Dfewar had come out of the cockpit and was standing in the doorway. For the third time Ace repeated her phrase. Massoud didn’t move. Ace lowered the Python, the spot of light sweeping down to rest on the deck between Massoud’s bare feet. The bullet blew a neat hole in the plastic imitation teak veneer deck surface. Massoud didn’t flinch.
Ace began to raise the pistol again. Massoud showed no sign of fear. It was Ace who was afraid. She was still lifting the pistol. The only thing left to do was to take aim and fire a round into the bare brown skin of his chest. Ace couldn’t do it. If Massoud knew she couldn’t do it then she had no room left to manoeuvre. Massoud wasn’t moving. Ace hesitated. When she hesitated the gun barrel paused halfway in its upwards arc. The spot of light came to rest exactly on the crotch of Massoud’s salt‐faded jeans. Massoud looked at the spot of light and he was instantly in motion. Across the deck, over the side and into the water. It took Ace an instant to register what had happened. Then she was at the side of the boat, looking out. Massoud was swimming, doing a strong crawl away from the boat, headed back for the marina. Ace scooped her inflatable lifejacket up off the deck and threw it after him. When she turned around the rest of the Kurds were gathered in a group on the deck behind her. Their faces didn’t have any expression she could read.
‘Anyone else?’ said Ace. It was the other phrase she had memorized, feeling a little nauseated as the flashlight beam bobbed with the motion of the bus. She still had the Python in her right hand.
Dfewar moved away from the group of men. The others watched him. He kneeled beside a crate, glanced up at Ace, frowning for a moment. Then he opened the crate, flipping up metal catches. Inside there was a densely packed white substance. Flakes of it glittered in the sunlight. Dfewar dug his hand into the ice and pulled out a can of beer. He threw it across to Ace. She almost dropped her pistol catching it. The Kurds laughed. Dfewar grinned, kneeling by the cooler, digging out cans.
* * *
Ace could see the tombs on the island hillside, caves with ornamented openings, old ruined pillars surrounding the entrances, shadowy in the heavy orange light as the sun descended. The boat rode at anchor, three kilometres from the island, riding the swell while they waited for nightfall.
The mercenaries were quiet, smoking kif, stripping their weapons and preparing for the assault. Ace found the Python’s nylon shoulder holster and dug out the bubbled plastic bag containing the communications lead. She set the holstered revolver on the deck at her feet and popped the plastic bubbles, pulling out the cable. It was a flat wide wire that thinned to a tough narrow lead terminating in a DIN plug. The DIN plug jacked into the pistol grip like a lanyard. She fitted the connection at the pistol end, then got the Vickers vision system out of its box. For a moment Ace thought someone had taken the Vickers and substituted a different, cheaper unit. Then she realized that the helmet had been repainted for combat, streaked crudely with black and tan emulsion in a broken camouflage pattern. Ace tucked the flat section of the wire around the inner circumference of the helmet liner and gently worked the flat tongue connection into the output slit.
The first beer can landed too close to the boat and floated back towards her. The second one she half‐tilled with sea water so it was heavy enough to travel a decent