I Am Pilgrim(248)

It was already in America, or close enough, and my urgent thought was: how big? What was the scale of the attack?

‘How many doses?’ I said.

‘One hundred.’

It was the tiny inflection, the dropping away of the sound at the end, as if he were trying to shrug it off, that warned me. I still had the phone at my mouth. The SIG was in my other hand and I pointed the barrel straight at his face—

‘I’ll only do this once. I’m going to ask you again. How many?’

He seemed to slump. ‘Ten thousand,’ he said.

It took acres of self-control not to react. Ten thousand?! The number had to be true, it was too extraordinary to be a lie, and in that moment I put the last piece of the puzzle together. Given the scale of the attack and the time of year, the virus could only have been hidden in one place. I was certain I knew where it was and what he had planned. For the first time in what seemed like half a lifetime, I had no more questions.

I leaned against the trough – I was in pain, beyond exhaustion and, with the fever steadily colonizing my body, sweat was starting to run down my cheeks.

I looked up and saw al-Nassouri staring at me. He knew why the interrogation had stopped – I had found everything I needed, and all of his years of work, the very thing which had given his life weight and meaning, was in ruins. He was about to say something, probably to curse me in the name of his god, but he didn’t get the chance. We saw Cumali running hard towards us.

‘They’re coming,’ she called, stumbling to a stop.

‘Together?’ I asked, rapidly shaking off the exhaustion. ‘Anyone straggling?’

‘No, together.’

It gave me a chance – if they were strung out, the man at the back would be warned by the gunfire, and I didn’t like my odds against some jerk with a machine pistol. Surprise – and hitting them in a group – was the best weapon.

I heard Bradley yelling on the phone, worried that something had happened, wondering why the hell the questioning had stopped. I lifted it fast.

‘Problem,’ I said. ‘Hold tight, three minutes—’

I stuffed the phone into my pocket and started flexing my swollen fingers, trying to see if I could fire the SIG. One thing was certain – because of my damaged foot, I wouldn’t be able to stand or even crouch. What I needed was help.





Chapter Forty-two


THE BERETTA FLEW through the air. I had taken it out of my pocket and tossed it quickly to Cumali. She caught it and looked at me, surprised.

‘Anything happens to me,’ I said, ‘the man in Bodrum won’t accept any excuses, he’ll shoot the nanny. So you’d better make sure I live. Got it?’

She was about to nod, but her brother interrupted. ‘This is no work for her, she’s a woman – give me the gun.’

I stared at him with incredulity, but then I checked myself – given his background and beliefs, I should have anticipated it. ‘No,’ I said.

‘You know that I was a muj,’ he continued, arguing. ‘I’ve killed before, and I’m a better shot. Give it to me.’

‘No,’ I said emphatically. ‘I don’t trust you – and, anyway, you’re the decoy.’

He reacted – the decoy? I had no time to explain, and I turned back to Cumali. ‘Ever killed anyone?’

‘Never.’ She didn’t look as if she liked the idea much.

‘Just remember then – you’re not shooting a man, you’re saving your nephew.’

I told her to move fast to an area of fallen stone that would give her cover and a clear view of the three men. ‘Your target is the old guy,’ I said. ‘He’ll be slower, and he’s only got a handgun. I’ll try and nail the two with the machine pistols.

‘I’ll be sitting. The decoy will be standing, acting like he’s interrogating me. The moment you see me roll on to my shoulder – open fire.

‘Aim at Nikolaides’ chest – when he goes down, keep shooting, okay? Noise always helps.’

I grabbed the polished steel lid of the old freezer box and positioned it against a fallen column. I lowered myself to the ground and leaned against the water trough, my back half turned to the approaching enemy.

When they saw me, slumped and facing away from them, they wouldn’t suspect anything was wrong. Nor would they see the SIG in my lap. The polished steel of the freezer lid wasn’t much of a mirror, but it would work: it would give me a clear view of the battlefield and the exact position of the three hostiles as they approached.

I heard Cumali whisper: ‘They’re coming!’

I slid the safety off the SIG, hoped that in her anxiety the cop had remembered to do the same, and waited with the Saracen standing over me. I was breathing hard, a broken man whose eyes happened to be focused unwaveringly on the polished steel lid of the freezer.