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the dinghies and take one, then paddle away from here. The thought made him
feel better. This was Jay s fight, not his. He felt like Reeve was watching
him, even though he couldn t see a damned thing. His excellent eyesight didn t
work so well in driving rain. A storm was directly over the island. Choa
dropped the MP5 and his pistol, then started walking with hands held high
above him. He guessed he was heading the right way; away from here seemed
exactly the right way.
Reeve saw him go.
He was naked apart from his boots. His clothes were in the backpack, staying
dry. He watched for a full ten minutes, then went to pick up the armaments. He
scrabbled down the side of the gully and quickly unloaded Hestler s weapons,
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leaving them with the body but taking the ammo. Then he found the two
grenades, and he took those, too. He liked these odds better now. He knew the
Indian had simply walked away from the fight, which was entirely sensible.
Then he heard the music. It was a long way off, but between the squalls,
fragments of it drifted to his ears. It was Jay, and he was singing that
damned song. Reeve made towards the sound, but he took his time. He knew it
wasn t really Jay it was the cassette recorder. Jay had recorded himself
singing the song over and over again, his voice rising the longer the
recording went on.
Reeve had to cross a wide valley between the two peaks, and knew he would be
most vulnerable here. There was no sign of Jay, just the music, getting closer
now. He edged around towards it, moving in a crouch, backwalking part of the
way, staying to the shelter of slopes wherever he could. Until he came to the
final slope. The music sounded just the other side of the ridge. Reeve crawled
up the slope, hugging the ground.
There was a saucer-shaped dip beyond the ridge, and in the center sat the
cassette recorder. Reeve lay there for a few minutes, until he could stand the
music no longer. He took aim with the MP5 and hit the fat black box dead
center.
The box exploded, flames shooting out radially from it. Booby-trapped. Maybe
now Jay would come looking.
Suddenly there was another explosion, much closer to Reeve. The ground
quivered, and divots showered down around him. For a split second he was back
in the scrape in Argentina, and Jay was about to crack.
Now another explosion, very close. He realized what was happening. Jay was in
hiding somewhere, and had guessed the direction of Reeve s burst of gunfire.
Now he was tossing grenades in that direction, and they weren t landing far
short of their target. Reeve stood up to see if he could spot the grenades in
flight. Smoke from the explosions was being dispersed by the sharp breeze, but
pungent tendrils still coiled up from the plastic remains of the cassette
player.
Suddenly a figure stood up on the far side of the gully. Naked, body and face
smeared with earth, white teeth grinning through the improvised face paint.
Jay.
Sixty feet away and firing from the hip.
Two bullets thudded into Reeve, pushing him off his feet. He rolled back down
the slope, just managing to keep hold of his gun. He came to a stop on the
gully floor, but knew he had no time to check the damage. He had to get out of
the gully. He scraped his way up the other side, cresting the rise before Jay
came into view. He just made it. Rain stung his eyes as he ran, feet slipping
in mud. Another narrow valley, across a stream& he knew where he was going,
knew where he d end up. One bullet had caught him in the left shoulder, the
other between shoulder and chest. They burned. The scabbard was still strapped
to his right leg, but it slowed him down, so he undid the straps and drew out
the dagger, discarding the scabbard.
 Hey, Philosopher! Jay called, his voice manic.  You like hide-and-seek? You
were always chicken, Philosopher! No guts.
Reeve knew what Jay was doing: trying to rile him. Anger made you strong in
some ways, but so weak in others.
But there was no pink mist now, nothing in Reeve s heart but cool procedure
and searing pain. He crested two more rises be-fore he found himself at the
chasm, a rupture in the land which ran in a jagged tear to the sea. At high
tide, the base of the cavity filled with gurgling, murderous water. But just
now it was a damp bed of jagged rocks. It was dark down there, no matter what
time of day, whatever the weather above. A place of shadows and secrets never
brought up into the light. Reeve walked its edge. He wasn t scared of it it
was too familiar to him but he d seen his weekend soldiers cower in its
presence. He picked his spot and waited, taking time to examine his wounds. He
was bleeding badly. Given time, he could create makeshift dressings, but he
knew time was short.
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 Hey, Philosopher! Jay yelled.  Is this blood real? A pause.  Tastes real,
so I guess it is! Want to know something, Philosopher? I ve done a lot of
thinking over the years about Operation Stalwart. I ve been wondering why they
chose us. I mean, I was fucked up after that fiasco on the glacier. I should
never have been allowed off the ship, never mind sent behind enemy lines. I
wanted to kill those bastards so badly. And you& well, you weren t popular,
Philosopher. You had too many ideas in your head, including your own ideas.
You were the Philosopher, reading too much, turning yourself on to anarchism
and all that other stuff. As far as the brass were concerned, there was half a
chance you were becoming the enemy. See, Philosopher, we were both of a
kind loose wires, expendable. That was always going to be a one-way mission,
and it would ve turned out that way if I hadn t saved our hides.
The voice sounded maybe a hundred yards away. Two-thirds of a yard per stride&
Reeve started counting, at the same time snaking his way back up the slope,
listening intently for any clue as to the line Jay was taking. He guessed he
would simply follow the trail of blood.
Reeve was just below the crest now. Suddenly he heard a grunt as Jay started [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]