nodded knowingly. “Benqhil has gone for help. You’re dead men,” he snarled.
“Yeah, pal,” Kane said, dismissing him, “heard it all before. Distribute the weapons and let’s move, Grant,” Kane urged, shoving Carnack toward the rift in the drapes.
As they left the room, the dancing girl writhed on the floor, still clawing at her eyes. “Did you hear? They’re taking Tom. Are you all buffoons? Stop them.”
Her pleas went unacknowledged—the guards in the room were either unconscious or still blind and deaf from the flash-bang.
Outside, the chest on the floor of the anteroom stood open, its lock smashed in two where Grant had either pulled or kicked it apart. Grant handed Brigid her compact TP-9, and she checked its ammo clip was still in place before she led the way into the street outside. The TP-9 was a midsized semiautomatic weapon, roughly the length of Brigid’s arm from wrist to elbow. The bulky pistol had a grip just off center beneath the barrel, and a covered targeting scope across the top for pinpoint work. The whole unit was finished in molded, matte black.
Grant clipped the sheathed knife back on his boot and shoved the corroded Police Special into an inside pocket of his black leather duster, keeping the Heckler & Koch in his right hand. He offered the .44 Magnum weapon to Kane, who shook his head.
“Seems a shame to lose the Kalashnikov,” Kane told him, “but it would be bastard conspicuous out on the street.”
While Grant held both pistols on their blinded prisoner, Kane removed the clip from the AK-47 and pocketed it before tossing aside the empty rifle.
“They’ve probably got spare ammo,” Grant warned.
“Of course they have,” Kane agreed as he took the .44 Magnum weapon from his partner, “but they’ll be blind for a couple more minutes yet, and I intend to be long gone by the time they’ve reloaded it.” With that, he shoved a firm hand between Carnack’s shoulder blades and pushed him through the curtain into the tight alleyway after Brigid. “Keep going forward, fast as you can,” Kane told him, “I’ll tell you when to stop.”
“I can’t see anything, you idiot,” Carnack screamed at him as he batted at the wall in front of his face.
“So, run your hand along the wall if it helps,” Kane suggested. “Just keep moving.”
Brigid Baptiste waited for them in an alcove across the main street at the end of the alleyway, the TP-9 cradled in her hands, partially hidden by the shadows. The whole shantytown reminded the three of them of the Tartarus Pits back in Cobaltville, the ghetto level that sat at the base of every ville structure, both metaphorically and physically, supplying cheap labor and offering dire warning to those who disobeyed the baron.
The whole ville stank of human waste, and people watched warily as they made their way into the light. None of the street people looked well fed. By contrast, the physically powerful Cerberus warriors had to have looked like gods to their eyes.
“We got a way out of here?” Grant asked as he mentally checked off the people milling in the street, reassuring himself that no one was taking any undue interest in their progress.
“Our best bet is to head for the docks and pick up a boat there,” Brigid said.
“Do you know where you’re going?” Kane asked her.
Brigid smiled, tapping the side of her head with her empty hand. “I saw satellite recon photos before we came,” she told them. “I’ve got a pretty good idea of the layout of this rathole. Soon as we get back on the main thoroughfare I’ll find us the right route.”
Kane pushed Carnack between the shoulder blades again as they rushed through the narrow streets. “Keep moving,” he growled, his finely tuned senses alert, warily watching for signs of possible attack.
“Oy,” Carnack yelled behind him, “careful, fella. I can’t see, remember? What the bleeding eff was that thing, anyway?”
“Just keep quiet and keep moving,” Kane told him sullenly. “Your eyesight will come back soon enough.”
“That’s reassuring,” Carnack muttered, rubbing at his eyes as he rushed forward. “Right now it sounds like everyone’s underwater, too, you know? You’re a bunch of frackin’ idiots.”
They had reached an intersection and Brigid had stopped, looking down each of the routes, trying to fit them together with the map in her mind.
“Come on, Baptiste,” Kane urged as he glanced over his shoulder, checking for pursuit, “let’s hurry it up.”
“This way,” she decided, her long legs kicking out as she raced off to the left.
Carnack just stood there, refusing to move. Kane shoved him once more while Grant covered their backs with the Heckler & Koch.
“All right,” Tom Carnack yelped, “keep your hair on. I’m disabled, remember?”
“About that,” Kane said, checking his wristchron. It had been three minutes since they had exited Carnack’s lair, almost five since Brigid had unleashed the flash-bang. Ample time for Carnack to recover, at least enough to see shapes and blurs. “How’s your vision?” Kane asked him.
“Completely scragged,” Carnack complained.
“You’re faking,” Kane told him. “You should have recovered by now. If you’re deliberately slowing us down I’m going to shoot you in the foot and carry you the rest of the way.”
“Genius,” Carnack said, snidely. “That’ll only slow you down more.”
“That’s my problem,” Kane growled, whipping out his .44 Magnum pistol and pointing it at Carnack’s stumbling feet.
There was a loud report as he pulled the trigger and buried a slug in the ground between the trader’s feet. Carnack leaped aside, pulling his hands over his ears.
“That’s your warning shot,” Kane told him. “The next one hobbles you.”
“All right,” Carnack cried, hands up in the air. “I can see colors and shapes. It’s still a bit messed up, though, so I’m going to go slow. Okay?”
“Speed up,” Kane responded, “and keep moving.”
They turned another corner into a wide thoroughfare, stepping past a man with a burned face and a begging bowl who was lying in the middle of the street. Between the tightly packed shanty buildings Kane saw a glint of sunlight reflecting off water.
Brigid waited while her companions caught up. “We’re close,” she told Kane as he grabbed Carnack’s collar to halt him. “There’s a series of jetties down there. It’s where the ville folk fish from. Or they used to.”
Kane nodded, peering behind and checking to see if anyone was following.
“There’s an unmanned motorboat off to the left,” Brigid pointed when Kane turned back. “Just a little way along from the pier.” Her finger pointed to a small fishing scow with a tiny covered bridge.
“You’ll never make it.” Carnack laughed fiercely. “My people
