Remo stood like a statue, holding an automatic pistol haphazardly pointed at Henry, apparently thinking about using it.
Suarez had forgotten his own question and become engrossed in his laptop. It was obvious to Henry that the man could detonate those bombs in the ice from right here — from this innocent-looking little slimline machine. His leg gave a sudden throb and he gripped Shep’s fur in his clenched fist so tightly that the dog let out a soft whimper. But Shep didn’t pul away. Instead, he stood his ground and accepted the pain.
Henry released his hand.
“I’m sorry, Shep. Christ.” I’ve got to do something drastic, and soon.
He smiled at Remo.
“You know, you look like a wrestler I saw on TV when I was a kid. Big red fucking moustache. Always hittin’ on the good guy.”
Remo was listening. Henry heard the creak of metal as the safety was released.
“Oops, did I touch a nerve? I guess that wasn’t the most tactful thing to say, was it?”
Remo suddenly roared with laughter. “Please let me kill him, Rudy.”
Suarez, sitting on the sofa, elbows on his knees, regarded his laptop screen earnestly.
“Jesus. They’ve started to move the money.”
When Remo’s head turned to glance at his boss, Henry took it as his cue.
He reached behind him and pulled out the gun. It felt as evil as it had looked.
The thought flashed through his head that everything he’d ever known was coming to an end, and as usual it had all been his own damned fault.
His thumb clicked off the safety of the pistol.
Remo never saw it coming. And the reality of it, when it happened, appalled Henry. Twice the gun jumped hard in his hand and twice Remo made a horrible nuuuh! sound as the bullets slammed into him. He hit the floor, a bullet lodged in his spine. His body spasmed once. Blood gushed from his mouth onto the carpet.
Then the huge form was still.
Suarez couldn’t believe his eyes. He knew his best friend was suddenly gone. He cursed in the Moche tongue as he saw the blood spray from the man’s chest. Shep was already standing alongside Henry as he turned to face Suarez.
But Suarez drew a revolver, seemingly from nowhere, and fired at Henry.
The bullet hit Henry’s gun arm and he sprawled backwards across the stones of a rustic fireplace, smashing his head against them.
Iron implements went scattering across the red tiled floor.
Henry rolled over and opened his eyes. The world was pulling in and out of focus, but he could see enough to know he was staring right at Suarez. His gun had landed at least ten feet away.
He waited for Suarez to finish him off.
But Suarez sat down again and faced his laptop.
With a jabbing finger he hit its keyboard twice. The TV on the wall suddenly displayed the laptop screen.
Henry started to crawl towards his gun.
Suarez, as if on an afterthought, fired again.
The bullet shattered tile a foot from Henry’s head.
“Before you die,” yelled Suarez, “have a look at history being made! You’ve got guts — you deserve it.”
He seemed to have forgotten about Remo. The dead man lay only a couple of feet from Henry, his weapon beneath him.
On the big TV screen was what looked like an internet home page, but was in fact, Henry quickly worked out, a map of the Earth’s Southern Hemisphere.
A connection of points dotted the globe.
Suarez punched another button. The screen showed a computer-graphic closeup of Antarctica.
The next click of Rudolfo’s keypad brought the Ross Ice Shelf into view.
Henry knew what was happening, but he was near helpless. His wounded arm was numb. Its dead hand was still wrapped in the chain of Shep’s leash.
Strangely, Shep seemed calm, almost alert.
The dog stood poised, looking at Suarez, then at Henry. The leash was tight, but not taut. Can I make it to Remo’s body in time?
“They ought to call you a hero, Mr Henry Scott Gibbs of the Antarctic,” said Suarez, his voice under control once more. “You have killed the great Monstroso. He was a famous wrestler in Europe in his day, and a great man. And a friend of mine.”
Suarez pointed to the screen. “This is the result of your interference. This is what you make me do.”
Before Henry could react, three sites on the big screen become large red dots.
The dots grew, turned yellow, then white.
Then they faded from view.
“The bombs, you see. When you found us on the ice, you had to be brushed aside in case you got in the way of the biggest real-estate deal in human history. And you had to be brushed aside because you were a threat to the ascension of the Prince of the Sun God. And you had to be brushed aside because otherwise you might thwart me!”
Suarez raised the gun.
“What did you say?” Henry managed to untangle his hand from the leash. “Did you just set off — detonate — the fucking nukes?”
Suarez smiled at him. “You’re quick, Mr Gibbs. Yes, of course I did. And my ransom money has been transferred — although that was really always just a sideshow. Now that the bombs have detonated there can be no turning back.”
Henry couldn’t believe it. The man had actually done it. Set off the bombs.
Seeing his expression, Suarez laughed. He pushed another key on the laptop. With a crump! his radio room destroyed itself in a shower of sparks.
For a brief instant the light and heat from the blast radiated hotter than the summer sun. Within moments the sprinklers came on, and vacuum vents sucked the smoke safely into the sky.
“The condor has flown, Mr Gibbs. Everything is… no more. No radios. No bombs. No evidence.”
“No cities.” Henry stared at Death again. Death had a single dark eye, and it looked in whatever direction Suarez pointed it.
He thought of Kai Grimes, the invincible one. The guy everybody had pegged to kill Suarez. Now he lay dead in the next room, and Suarez had killed him without even knowing his name. Something Grimes had said leapt into his mind. “As long as you’re alive, you have an edge.”
Suarez’s grip around the butt of the pistol tightened. Henry dove towards Remo’s blood-soaked body.
The first two shots missed Henry entirely. The next clipped Shep’s ear.
Henry wrenched the corpse over and grabbed Remo’s gun. The safety was off.
He heard another shot.
Shep wasn’t beside him any more.
Everything became a blur.
Someone punched his hip. Another ferocious punch, this time to his good shoulder.
As he fell he saw Shep leap forward.
Then the pain left and everything faded to blissful black.
Eleven
Henry opened one eye and saw Sarah. Her face hovered above him like a large cloud — light, sunny, unreal.
He knew they’d lost the war, and it was his fault. He reasoned this must be the first step on the way to Purgatory — showing him, before God sent him to the place below, the life he could have lived. Sort of rubbing it in. He hadn’t wanted it to turn out this way. Didn’t that count?
Sarah spoke to him.
“Everything’s okay, Henry.”
Now he was sure he was hallucinating. What she was saying couldn’t be true. He tried to move, but his bandaged and splinted body was fastened to the bed. Now his other eye opened. He smelled her perfume. So sweet. God is really wanting me to suffer.