Without warning

Reynard sighed. ‘Caitlin, you are not an imbecile. Stop pretending otherwise. We are all serious people, and the work we do, the measures we must all take, they are serious too – non? You killed three innocent people during your cowboy shoot-out. You did not know that, did you? No, of course not, you could not know. But the post-mortems put your bullets inside them, not ours.’

She shrugged. He could be lying, probably was.

‘Caitlin, we need to know what you know about Echelon,’ he went on. ‘I understand you work in cells, and I am not expecting you to give me details you cannot provide. But even the most mundane of details might mean something to us while possibly meaning nothing to you. You have to understand, Caitlin, that your fellow agents are rogue operators now. They are more dangerous than ever. The situation outside is stable, but critical. There has been much unrest, much distrust between peoples, even bloodshed. Things have settled now, due to a great deal of effort and goodwill by all parties, but just one of your colleagues carrying forward a single mission, hitting just one target, they could bring everything down. You must understand this. They must be stopped, for everyone’s sake.’

Bilal moved closer to the raised slab of concrete on which she lay. He seemed tired and stressed out, but he retained much of the easy, feline grace that she recalled from pre-op surveillance. He looked in much better shape than Reynard. An immature, irrational part of her wished that Monique could see him now, and could see that she had not been lying.

‘Like you, Caitlin, I am merely a messenger,’ he said, sitting himself down carefully on the edge of the concrete surface, keeping his eyes on her face and away from the bruises and wounds that covered her body. ‘I obey a Lord who is compassionate, who will make you a partner in peace or war.’

Her mouth curved up in a vulpine sneer. ‘Well, Billy, if you knew your Ibn Ishaq as well as your Coppola, you would know the full context of that reference. That before whispering sweet nothings about peace and mung beans, the Prophet’s companion, Ubayy ibn Ka’b, first spoke of settling matters with the sword at Khaybar, where the faithful would bring death to those who struggled against them. Or something like that. Maybe I’m getting confused with Conan the Barbarian. That was a great flick.’

She had hoped to unsettle him, but Baumer nodded as though agreeing with her. He seemed almost pleased. ‘So not just an errand girl, then,’ he replied. ‘A scholar of the book, no less. In which case you would also know that Ishaq was not just a historian, but almost a prophet of sorts. A small “p” prophet, if you like. What prescience he must have had, Caitlin, to write “Evil was the state of our enemy so they lost the day. We slew them and left them in the dust. Those who escaped were choked with terror. A multitude of them were slain. This is Allah’s war in which those who do not accept Islam will have no helper.’”

He reached out and brushed away a few matted strands of filthy hair that had fallen over her eyes. ‘I understand you were a warrior, Caitlin Monroe. And you remain one. It is an honourable calling. But there is a time for war, and a time to put aside our swords and shields. The world has been wounded and it suffers gravely, Caitlin. We are all God’s subjects and we must bind up those wounds together. But we cannot do so without trust. That is why I am here, why “Reynard” has invited me here – to make peace with my old enemies.’

Her feet and hands were still bound, but if she could lock her arms around his head, she might still have a chance, with one wrenching pull, of separating his head from his spinal column…

‘I can trust you, Caitlin, because I know you,’ Baumer continued. ‘Just like you know me. I know you must be calculating the odds of lashing out at me now. You must be measuring your strength against the damage and pain you have endured in here for the last three weeks, perhaps weighing up what residual skills you retain from all your years of training, what strength of will you possess, even after Reynard has tried to break that will.’

He grinned and flicked one eyebrow up in a gesture of camaraderie.

Then his hand shot out in a blur and he gripped one of hers, turning it back on her cuffed, bleeding wrists so quickly that a spike of pure white fire ran up her arms. She almost screamed, biting deeply into the inside of her cheek in a desperate attempt to draw her mind off the agony of the wrist lock.

The holy warrior known as al Banna let her go. ‘So, shall we stop fucking around?’

He drove a fist squarely into her face, a blow that detonated inside her head like shellfire. As the back of her skull hit the hard concrete slab, she felt his iron grip on her arms again, wrenching her bodily over onto her stomach.

‘Or shall we begin?’ he snarled.