Part 22 (1/2)

The driver nodded and scrambled upstairs. Forrester stepped back down. The door was still closed, but she double-checked that no one else had come through. Then she eased open the door. Footsteps, running up the corridor towards her. Someone coming around the corner. Forrester levelled her gun, taking careful aim. A shape came hurtling round.

'Freeze!' she yelled. It was the target, and he didn't even hesitate. Neither did she. Forrester fired once, missed, the bullet shattering the tiling at the end of the corridor and ricocheted off. The target didn't break his stride until he reached her, and he grabbed her right wrist and slammed it against the wall. And again. Roz's grip on the revolver loosened and it clattered to the floor. The target bent down, moving for the gun, so Forrester kicked him very hard on the small of his back. He sprawled, but recovered quickly, rolling over onto his front. Forrester kicked the gun away from his reach, then crunched her heel on his hand, before stepping back. He didn't make a sound, but effortlessly pulled himself upright. Roz hit him very hard in the stomach. And again. He didn't flinch. Roz had been an Adjudicator for over twenty years, but until that moment had a.s.sumed that things like that only happened in the movies. Was this man human? She hesitated for a fraction of a second, unsure how to carry on.

The target took full advantage of the lull, and delivered a savage blow just below her ribs. Roz tried very hard not to flinch, but couldn't stop herself from doubling up. She tried very hard not to cry out, but couldn't stop herself from yelping. She tried very hard to breathe, and found she couldn't manage that, either.

The gun. Roz dived for it, and succeeded in catching the target off-balance as he was about to reach it. Once again, the pistol flew from his grasp. Roz was upright. So was the target.

They faced each other. He was a foot taller than her, and probably seventy pounds heavier. He was combat-trained.

He was also over-confident. He underestimated her, even though she was still standing. Roz realized that at some point in the last five seconds she had started breathing again.

Reed and any other police or soldiers down here would have heard the shot. They'd be coming. Time was on her side.

Amazingly, he straightened up, relaxing.

'Go on, you little black witch. Give it your best shot.'

'Are you sure?' Roz kept him talking while she worked on her strategy.

'One free punch. Show me what you're made of.' He oozed confidence. Who could blame him? Her arm loose against her side, Roz squeezed the first and index fingers of her right hand together, folding the other two fingers back.

Her thumb held them flat against her palm.

'Are you absolutely sure?'

'You can't harm me, little n.i.g.g.e.r girl.'

Roz thrust her hand up to his face, her outstretched fingers thrusting straight into the target's right eye. She felt the jelly of his eyeball give way, she felt the retina detach beneath her fingertips, she felt droplets of blood splash against the back of her hand as his eyelid ripped. While he sank to the floor, screaming, clutching his face, she recovered the gun and placed it at the back of his head.

Footsteps behind. Reed's voice. Followed by other policemen.

'That was only my second-best shot, sport.' Roz c.o.c.ked the revolver. 'Care to try my best?'

'I've got him covered, Roz. Well done.' Reed was behind her. In front of her, a dozen Military Police and regular soldiers were edging forward, pistols and rifles aimed at the huge fallen figure. Roz stepped back, holstering her gun, wiping her fingers on her skirt.

The adrenalin kept on flowing.

'What's your name?' Reed was asking.

'I am Standartenfuhrer Wolff, J.' He gave his serial number, then fell silent. Reed obviously recognized the name.

'You know him?' Roz asked.

'Joachim here is notorious. Try asking one of the French exiles about him.' One of the policemen had produced handcuffs, and was securing Wolff s hands behind his back.

The huge man was offering no resistance. His right eye was a mess.

They led him away.

Interlude II

The flash powder ignited, the camera clicked.

Mel blinked a couple of times, but when she opened her eyes again, there was still a red after-image. They were standing just away from the pit lane, racing cars roaring past them on a practice run. The photographer, Jarvis, had wanted a picture of her with Emil, and they were happy to oblige. Jarvis asked Mel her name, then scurried off to find something else to photograph. Emil was laughing. 'You'll be a star, tomorrow - a.s.suming the car starts.'

'The Doctor will find a way,' Mel a.s.sured him. They walked back over to the garage, where the Doctor was fiddling underneath the bonnet of Hartung's racing car.

'Try it now,' he suggested.

Emil did so and the car revved into life.

'You are a genius, Herr Doktor. My engineers just couldn't find the fault.' He grabbed the little man firmly by the hand.

'Well, yes, I am a genius,' the Doctor admitted modestly, wiping the oil from his hands, 'but I only started the car, you built it. It's a magnificent machine.'

'If you excuse me, Doktor, I have to put in a couple of practice laps.' Emil kissed Mel on the cheek and jumped into his car, which had been chugging quietly away to itself all this time. Emil dropped the handbrake and shot away.

'It doesn't look very safe. He's not even wearing a proper helmet.'

'It isn't. Dozens of drivers die every year. The sport is still pretty amateur, and there's certainly no regard for personal safety.'

Mel shot him an angry look; it wasn't what she wanted to hear.

'Relax, Mel. I've modified the brakes, improved the steering and reinforced the cha.s.sis a little. He might also find that his car has a little more pep than normal.'

'Isn't this interfering in history?' Mel asked as she watched the huge vehicle power off around the track, effortlessly pa.s.sing his opponents.

No.' The Doctor was still grinning broadly. 'I know for a fact that Emil Hartung wins the Cairo 500 tomorrow, and he couldn't very well do that unless his car started.' He winked conspiratorially.

11 Peace In Our Time

They were alone together in the manager's office at Paddington. George Reed had just finished phoning his report through to the SID.

He wrapped his arms around Roz, and they held each other. Roz's heartbeat might have slowed, but her eyes were full of fire and she remained poised, ready to pounce. It had been twenty minutes since Wolff was led away, but she still hadn't calmed down. He caught just a hint of her scent, the same jungle musk as the night before. He leant over, kissing her softly on the nape of the neck, where she liked it.