Earth Witch plucked at her sleeve and pointed out to the right, over the water. A boat was just visible, pushing out from the eastern shore.
"Got it," Curveball said, and sidearmed the stone like she was skipping it. The detonation sent a wave across the surface of the water. SomeoneJohn Fortune?pressed another rock into her hand.
"It's turning back," Earth Witch said.
"Good work," John said. His hand was hot, like a man with a fever. "Keep going."
The angry chop of helicopters cut through the noise. They'd crossed the river somewhere else and were circling back to come up behind them. "Mine! I've got 'em!" Bubbles yelled. "Take cover!"
Machine guns spat, fire blazing from their muzzles, as two huge, iridescent bubbles rose gracefully into the air. The transparent skins swirled with colors like oil on water, trembling in the wash of the propellers. When they detonated, the concussion was like a blow. The burning hulk of the copters arced down to the water and sank.
"Forward!" Fortune shouted. "Come on! Let's go!"
Curveball nodded, looking ahead to the battle, to the sky for an attack from above, to the water. Time didn't mean much. They might have been doing this for ten minutes or an hour or a day. No one noticed anything had changed until she looked out to her right and the water was gone. To her left, there was no clifflike drop.
They were on the other side. They'd crossed the dam; it lay ten or twelve meters behind them. Without being aware of it, they'd fanned out into the road. John called out for Simoon to let her storm slacken. As the sand began to fall from the air, half a dozen streaks of green buzzed past.
"Does this mean we won?" Bubbles asked. "I think this means we won."
"I don't think so," Curveball said.
On the dam, the battle had been restricted. Rustbelt, Lohengrin, Holy Roller, Sekhmet. They'd been able to hold a line. No more than eight or ten soldiers could reach them at a time. But the Egyptians had fallen back slowly, drawing them on. Drawing them to the shore where they could be surrounded and overwhelmed. The streets ahead were packed with men, with tanks, with guns.
They'd screwed up. They were dead.
No one noticed the sound at first. When the rumble penetrated, they realized they'd been hearing ita deep, bone-wrenching sound. Holy Roller was craning his thick neck, trying to spot the source. The Egyptians, across the small no-man's-land of the street, seemed confused as well.
"What's happening?" Simoon shouted over the growing cacophony. "What is that?"
And the earth opened before them. A great chasm yawned, sand and stone sliding down into an abyss that seemed to go for miles, though it probably wasn't more than a few hundred feet. Egyptian tanks and men slid down into the gap, rifles firing impotently. Buildings cracked and fell apart, walls tumbling end over end in the air.
Curveball turned. Earth Witch was on her knees, her hands grasping the medallion at her neck, her face red with effort. With a thump like an explosion, the chasm closed. The first wave of the army was gone, buried alive, dying under their feet. The soldiers that remained stood agape. The first of them turned and fled.
"Oh, God," Earth Witch said. Her voice was thin and unbelieving. "Oh, God. I did that. Did I do that?"
Curveball knelt, wrapping her arms around her friend. Earth Witch shook. "It's okay, Ana," Curveball said. "It's okay."
"I killed them," Earth Witch said. "I killed them, didn't I?"
"Yeah," Curveball said. "You did."
Earth Witch stared out at the rubble, her breath in gasps. Her eyes were wide and round, caught between elation and horror.
"Excuse me, ladies," Holy Roller said. "I don't mean to intrude."
"What's the matter?" Curveball asked.
"The dam," John Fortune said, appearing at their side. "Doing that weakened the dam. It's giving way. We need Earth Witch to shore it up. Now."
Earth Witch sagged into Curveball's arms.
"She can't do it," Curveball said. "She's too tired."
"I can," Earth Witch said.
"Ana," Curveball began, but Earth Witch shook her head. A voice called out from the shoresome stray Egyptian soldier surrendering himself to Lohengrin. Curveball stood, drawing her friend up with her.
"I can fix it. Just . . . stay with me," Earth Witch said.
"I will," Curveball promised.
So to all the folks who said we were fucked, here's the news: We won. The genocide stopped at Aswan, and we didn't even drown all the folks we were trying to save in the process. And no, I don't know how it's going to play out from here. International pressure's going to have to be placed on the Ikhlas al-Din and the government of Egypt. They may have to partition the country. That's all complicated and nuanced and may take years to figure out. The United Nations will almost certainly have to be involved, and the caliphate. And yes, that may be a pain in the ass for some people. Live with it.
The killing stopped. And we stopped it. And that, ladies and germs, is just plain good.
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"Bugsy," Fortune said. "Wake up. There's someone here wants to see you."
Jonathan rolled over on his bed, blinking up into the light. Fortune looked slightly better. Still cadaverously thin, still with the deep, bruiselike bags under his eyes. He and Sekhmet apparently hadn't quite settled on a schedule for sleep yet. And still, the poor bastard looked better.
"Someone wants to see me?" Jonathan asked.
"You should come."
"Beautiful blonde entomologist with no boyfriend and a webcam?"
"CNN," Fortune said.
Jonathan took in a deep breath and let it out with a sense of growing satisfaction. The traditional media finally there to agree he'd scooped them.
"A close second," Jonathan said. I'll be right there."
He washed his hair, considered shaving, decided that the stubble was a decent manly touchyou never saw Indiana Jones breaking out a safety razorand headed out for the lobby of the hotel that had become the aces' barracks. The camera crew had set up shop by one of the big couches designed for travelers to lounge on in times of peace. The reporter looked familiar; black guy in his late thirties, close-cropped hair with a little gray coming in at the temples. He was wearing a khaki shirt with epaulets, like he'd been trekking through the desert instead of driving in from the airport.
"Hey," Jonathan said, "I heard you boys were looking for me?"
Hands were shaken, admiration was expressed, someone got Jonathan a cup of coffee. Five minutes flat, and he was sitting on the couch, klieg lights shining in his face, sincere talking head leaning in toward him with an expression built to convey gravity and concern.
It was fucking sweet. Right up until it wasn't.
"How do you respond to the accusations that you've sided with terrorists?"
"That's stupid," Jonathan said. "And anyone who says it doesn't understand anything about how international politics works."
"But you have come to the defense of a group that's been accused of sheltering the Twisted Fists."
"Well, accused, sure . . ."
"And the assassination of the Caliph."
"These people didn't assassinate the Caliph," Jonathan said. "There were kids dying out on the road. Kids! You think some eight-year-old joker kid killed the Nur?"
"Right, and you also said in your blog that these people didn't kill the Caliph. You have investigated the alleged link between the Living Gods and the Twisted Fists, then?"
Jonathan tapped his fingers on his knee. "I've been a little busy being shot at," he said. "But I am perfectly comfortable that no such connection exists."
"And how would you reply to the critics who say that westernersespecially self-styled crusaders like Lohengrin and religious leaders like Holy Rollerrepresent an unacceptable western interference in the internal affairs of Egypt?"
"I probably wouldn't," Jonathan said.
"So you don't think there is an issue of national sovereignty here? You are a group of aces not affiliated with any government entering into armed conflict with the military of a legitimate state. How do you see that as different from a terrorist organization?"