“My name is Carlos. I work with Dr. Habash of the Popular Front for the Liberation of Palestine,” the Scorpion declared arrogantly. Switching sides to make the interrogator believe that you’re on his side is the surest way to confuse things.

“Impossible! Habash knows this is an Al-Fatah …” the major broke off in horror. Got you, you fucker! the Scorpion thought exultantly. The interrogator was a major in Al-Fatah, the striking arm of the Palestine Liberation Organization. That tied Prince Abdul Sa’ad to the PLO, Nuruddin and the Yemenis, who had also been at the meeting. The only piece missing was the Latin.

Except that it didn’t look like the information would ever do him much good, because the Palestinian major was glaring at him, realizing his error. Even if the Scorpion was the infamous terrorist Carlos, no one would fault the major for getting the truth out of him. And if he wasn’t Carlos, so much the better. The Scorpion shivered as he watched awareness dawn on the major. Either way, they would never let him leave this room alive. What was left of him, he mused bitterly.

“I don’t believe you,” the major said, a crazy glare in his eyes. “You are perhaps right-handed? Fine. It is your right hand that you will lose first. When you are screaming, then you will tell us the truth.”

“Your mother’s diseased cunt came from a syphilitic Zionist pig’s cock!” the Scorpion shouted, spitting at the major.

“First, his right arm … all the way!” screamed the major in that high-pitched voice. The huge Arab and the one with the automatic were galvanized into obedience. They were furious with him, which was what he wanted, because you don’t want your enemies thinking clearly.

The Scorpion’s eyes darted furiously, measuring angles, which were going to be critical. Everything depended on where the Arabs were standing in relationship to each other when he moved. The real problem was the Arab by the door with the Kalachnikov. He figured the Arab wouldn’t shoot with all the bodies tangled together, but even if it all worked perfectly, there would be a moment when he would have a clear field of fire and the Scorpion didn’t know what he could do about that. Underneath it all was the queasy question about why Chambers hadn’t put up more of a fight. What was the missing factor? But there was no time to think about that, about anything, because they were already moving. He began the rhythmic kokyu no henko breathing to clear his mind, remembering how Koichi would stand in the middle of the do-jang, oblivious to anything but the sound of his own breathing.