Carmody drew his gun again, sprinted up to the rail through the weeds, and hopped it. The ridge dropped sharply to the street below. It was clogged with brush. The footing was loose and rocky. By the time he landed, Grigor was better than a third of the way to the bottom.

He yanked the Sig out of his waistband and fired. But he didn’t have a decent angle, and his shot went high. Grigor half spun in response, whipping the barrel of his carbine around his back as he scrabbled toward the base of the slope.

Bullets sprayed the upper hillside. Soil and pebbles spurted up an inch to Carmody’s left. He dove into the weeds to the right and then rolled onto his back, tumbling over his wounded arm with a grunt of pain.

Another volley clipped the weeds around him. Carmody slid about six feet downhill on his rump, rocks, twigs and soil scraping up under his jacket and shirt. Then he sprang to his feet and triggered a three-round burst through the scrawny trees, aiming for the middle of Grigor’s backpack. It was a broad target, bright yellow against the green and brown scrub. But his over-the-top angle hadn’t improved, and Grigor was jostling down the ridge fast, and the trees and bushes gave him cover.

Carmody still managed to hit him right of center. Or maybe just hit the pack. He couldn’t tell. He saw its fabric puff out over his hip, then saw Grigor lose traction on the crumbly soil. He went onto his bottom just as Carmody had seconds before, scuffing and skidding several feet down toward the street below.

Carmody scrambled after him through the snarled, matted growth. He was about fifteen feet above and behind him. Grigor had managed to stop his slide near the base of the slope, grabbing onto a spindly, outthrust branch for purchase.

A moment later Carmody saw his free hand go into one of the pack’s outer pockets and then reappear holding a small round object. At a glance it looked like a green golf ball. Except the ring and lever told him it wasn’t.

Grigor inserted two fingers into the ring and yanked it to pull the safety pin. He released the lever and threw it overhand to give it a high point of release. It was barely out of his fingers as he turned to run.

Carmody saw the grenade sail uphill, rotating in the air as it arced toward him. Then it dropped onto the slope and blew.