Before we left the house I dropped the magazines from the two nine millimeters and swapped bullets until I had a full magazine in one and a half-filled mag in my pocket. I took Nadja’s .25 popgun, too, and the valise that was filled with stakes, hammers, garlic, and holy water. Who knows, maybe I’d really need them.

Lingering in the doorway to the hall, I glanced down at the dead man and spat on the floor by his shoes.

“That’s for Taraneh and Arastoo Mouradipour, you piece of shit,” I said quietly. And although it was true, I felt a hollow place in my chest. I’d just shot an unarmed man, a man who was injured and bound, and I’d made a joke about it as I pulled the trigger. It made me feel like a piece of shit.

My phone rang again. No ID. I didn’t answer. Instead I headed toward the door, clicking my tongue for Ghost. After a moment I heard nails clicking on the floorboards.

Ghost followed right at my heel.

We went out the back.

There were two cars out back. I debated taking one, but there was no time to do a proper search for trackers or other bugs, and I already had enough problems.

I did rummage around, though. I found half a chicken sandwich on flatbread and gave that to Ghost, who didn’t even bother to sniff. He attacked it as if it was trying to escape. As he ate, he cut me some hard looks, letting me know that we still had some issues to work out.

The first car had nothing else in it.

In the second I found a locked briefcase under a blanket on the rear seat. The locks were good and the case was reinforced. No time to jimmy it now, so I decided to take that with me. I popped the trunk and stood staring for a ten count at a full-blown arsenal. Six AK-47s with bundles of magazines held together by heavy-duty rubber bands, two rocket-propelled grenade launchers, and a small duffle bag of 1980’s-era Russian hand grenades. The underside of the trunk lid was rigged with slots for a dozen of the stakes and four hammers. These guys were serious about this. I took some party favors and slammed the trunk.

Ghost finished his sandwich and looked up for more.

“Sorry, kiddo, but that’s all I have.”

His look of disgust eloquently showed how deeply disappointed he was in me. Man’s best friend indeed.

There was nothing else to find.

“Let’s go,” I said softly.

We did not exactly run, but we walked mighty damned briskly away from there.

Interlude Eight

Interlude Eight

Krak des Chevaliers

June 1203 C.E.

Sir Guy LaRoque stared at death.