Valerie slumps in a corner, as if she’s been thrown there like a sack of grain. Her hands and feet are bound. For a moment, I get a rush of perverse exultation, realizing finally that her absence from my cell was not her choice. The gag in her mouth somehow makes her eyes seem extravagantly wide. Sniffing around her is the puppy. He prances and cocks his head, confused by her inattention.

I duck back and scuttle into a reception room, pondering how I might neutralize Abdul and Qazwini without murdering Valerie. All I can feel is fear. I take a grenade from the cluster of six at my belt. I pull the pin and throw it against the far wall. It bounces off with the flat, leaden resonance of a cracked bell. I wait, crouching behind a phallic column. A thousand and one, my head is saying, above my bursting heart. I have ten seconds before the explosion, when Abdul and the General will come tearing in to investigate. A thousand and two. I’ll drop them with another pineapple, cut her bonds, and escape with her. A thousand and three.

Into the room bounds the puppy. He sees me, wags his tail, but what commands all his cocked-headed merriment is the oddly shaped toy that ticks provocatively in the corner. He pounces on it, sniffing. He growls and slaps it with a paw. He worries it between his jaws.

I sprint across the room, smack the grenade from his mouth, grab him by the scruff, carry him to the entry, and throw him like a bowling ball as far down the corridor as I can. He lands, rolls, and takes off like a scalded-assed ape. I dive back to the protection of the pillar. The grenade frags in a fountain of debris. Running footsteps stumble into the room, blinded by the dust. I expected both of them but, Jesus, the General is alone. He trips on a chunk of penis dislodged from the ceiling in the bombardment.

There is nothing protracted about our negotiations: I grab the shard and bring it down with such force that it shatters against his skull. For an unending moment he wavers, a disabled tank, then he sinks to the ground and is out. I unbuckle his belt with the two guns and the two knives and drape it over my shoulder like a Mexican bandolier. I draw a gun, moving into the throne room, weighed down by the hardware at my waist. I fire point-blank at Abdul, hitting the wall behind him, arresting his hand as it reaches for the .38.