Evan had to land a single destruction blow quickly, take out a limb, and press on from there. He didn’t dare glance at the pool, but he heard Calaca surface again. Soon enough the fat man would reach that Kalashnikov.

Marco’s eyes ticked to Evan’s swollen cheek, broadcasting his next move. His feet set, his shoulders swiveling as he shot out another jab. Evan threw a pencak silat double-hand glancing parry—slap-slap—to an arm trap, grabbing Marco’s wrist and immobilizing the arm. With the heel of his hand, he shattered the elbow, blowing the arm out in the wrong direction. He tried to hold a chicken-wing control, but Marco flailed free, his broken arm dangling limply at his side.

Over in the pool, Calaca forged through the water, taking another unsteady step toward his AK-47. Evan had to slow him down again.

Marco bared his teeth, blinking sweat out of his eyes. Evan weighed the odds, knew he’d pay either way. Turning his back on Marco, he snatched up the shotgun and fired off another round at Calaca. The beanbag ricocheted off the fat-padded base of the man’s skull, knocking him back underwater.

Evan braced himself, knowing that the strike would come, and sure enough, Marco’s side kick hammered him into the wall. He heard himself grunt as if listening from afar. Marco’s next kick was aimed not at Evan but at the shotgun, jamming Evan’s finger in the trigger guard and sending the gun flying. It crashed off the wall barely a foot from David’s face and fell to the tile.

Evan and Marco parted in the corridor, took some space. Marco cradled his broken arm across his stomach. Evan only had to watch his feet now. They circled each other, breathing hard. Marco set for a roundhouse, starting to throw his right leg. Evan thrust his lead foot forward into a jeet kune do oblique jam, striking Marco’s inner thigh at the junction of his hip. The counterstrike caused a crazy stop-motion effect, halting the kick before it started, Marco’s bent leg hinging away in reverse—a slammed door wobbling back from the frame.

Behind him Evan heard Calaca rise from the depths again, heard him paddle toward the AK. Evan let his eyes dart toward his dropped shotgun, but Marco moved swiftly, sweeping it across the slick tile with his instep. The gun plopped into a Jacuzzi.

Evan watched Calaca’s thick hand grab the far lip of the pool and pull his body to the edge. There was nothing Evan could do now until he got through Marco.

Marco had only one move, and Evan waited for him to take it.

He kept his eyes on Marco’s rear leg.