Abbott was about to move off, then stopped. ‘Ward?’ he said. ‘How did you know to get here?’

‘Your mate told us where to come. McGregor.’

‘McGregor?’

‘Yeah, now go. Go.’

And with his head spinning, Abbott set off for the quadrangle.

Up in his perch, Scolar found him. The other sniper. He’d made his nest in a huge noose that acted as a tunnel for the rollercoaster. Scolar saw that the other man was using a Barrett and at the same time realised with horror that the guy was aiming directly at him.

‘Mon dieu.’ He scuttled and heard the whistle of the bullet as it smacked into the brickwork.

And now Scolar dived down to his own rifle. He would be forcing the other sniper to adjust his aim, could maybe get a shot off in time.

‘Damn,’ cursed Brace from his own vantage point. The second sniper had adjusted his height, gone flat, had his own weapon as cover. A round banged into the housing of the rollercoaster nearby. Both men firing a little too hurriedly now, trying to find their aim through a process of trial and error.

‘Tom Brace,’ came the call from below. It was Miller. ‘We’re pulling out.’

‘I’ll be there in a moment,’ called back Brace, pulling a face, slightly irritated at having his concentration broken. His opposite number squeezed off another, and he could tell from the proximity of the strike that his aim was improving. This, he knew, was where the Barrett suffered, certainly in comparison to the weapon the other guy was using. Brace was under fire now, finding difficulty in maintaining the composure needed to draw a fine bead on a target so far away. The other guy had the same problem, but by the same token, the other guy had more suitable equipment.

Then again . . .

Up on the water tower, Scolar watched the other sniper doing something. Reloading.

Yes, that was it. Reloading. He put his eye back to the scope, wanting to use the pause in combat to his own advantage. He squeezed off a quick shot, hoping to keep his opponent off balance, prevent him being able to regroup and refine his aim. He flinched slightly as over on the noose, the other sniper fired in reply, a round that smacked harmlessly into the cladding of the water tower below, almost comically wide of the mark.

And then something belatedly occurred to Scolar.

How the Barrett was designed not as an antipersonnel rifle, but to penetrate military vehicles and even buildings.

How the Barrett could be loaded with high-explosive incendiary rounds.

Below him the water tower exploded, and Scolar was swallowed, screaming, in a mass of water and rubble, while over a mile away nestled in the noose at Murder World, Tom Brace paid homage to a worthy opponent, gave his rifle a kiss to thank it, and then began the climb down from the rollercoaster.

Chapter 57

CHAPTER 57