First thing I found was my SIG-Sauer. There was an indentation on the slide where Rickard’s lucky shot had struck it. I doubted it would function properly, but still jammed it into my waistband. Call me sentimental but the gun had been with me through too many trials to leave it lying there.

I kicked through drifts of collapsed ceiling and shattered bodies and saw my assault rifle. I shook off the dust, ejected the magazine, slapped it back in place. Sliding the bolt, I ejected a shell, then racked a new one in the chamber. Around about then I felt blood spatter on my chin. It wasn’t the red rain falling from the ceiling, but my nose in full flow. I wiped the blood from my face with a sleeve, starting to walk, and cradling the gun.

My coordination was still shot to pieces, but movement helped. I only staggered twice before reaching the door. Leaning against the frame, I checked the short passageway ahead. Placing my finger on the trigger, I was acutely aware of the pain in my hand. Broken or not, it would just have to work.

Fifteen feet away a man lay facedown.

Hoping it was Rickard, I moved forward. At the body I paused long enough to kick it over on to its back. The round-faced soldier grinned up at me. Except this grin was a rictus smile. Beneath his chin a wound stretched equally wide. His throat had been opened from ear to ear and I guessed that Rickard had made it out of the room after all. Guarapo—the grenade thrower—had felt his wrath.

And now it was Rickard’s turn to feel mine.

The only thing stopping me was the man at the head of the stairs pointing a machine gun at me.

Chapter 37

37

Rickard was both exhilarated and furious.

Exhilarated because he was still alive. Intensely angered by more than one thing.

Foremost in his rage was that the cowardly son of a bitch, Guarapo, had tried to kill him by lobbing a hand grenade at him. Well, he’d shown that asshole the error of his ways soon enough. When the L2A2 had clattered to the floor between him and Joe Hunter, Rickard had known he had seconds to live. It’s surprising how much ground a man can cover when trying to save his ass. He made it out of the door just as the grenade blasted the room. The percussion knocked him sprawling, but he avoided the flying shrapnel and came immediately to his feet again. As he did he whipped out his ceramic knife, the same moment as Guarapo popped up from where he’d been crouching and blinked at him in dismay.

Guarapo didn’t expect anyone to survive the bomb.