Less good was the fact that he couldn’t see the killer and therefore didn’t know what direction he was looking in at that moment. He ran his eye along the façade. Just before the corner of the building he spotted a small window. Ducking down, he crept over to it and peered inside.
Yoyo was standing behind a table full of computers. All he could see of Zhao was legs, a hand and the massive barrel of his gun. He was clearly sitting facing Yoyo, which meant that his back was turned to the door. The window was open a crack, so Jericho could hear Zhao saying, ‘It can’t be that hard, can it?’
Yoyo mutely shook her head.
‘So?’
No reaction. Zhao sighed.
‘Right, perhaps I forgot to explain the rules. It’s like this: I ask, you answer. Or even better, you just hand the thing over to me.’ The gun-barrel came down. ‘That’s all you have to do. Okay? If you fail to reply, I’ll blow your left foot off.’
Jericho had seen enough. A few leaps and he was at the door. He jumped inside and aimed his gun at the back of Zhao’s head.
‘Sit right where you are! Hands up. No heroics.’
A glance took in the scene. At his feet lay the boy’s body, shredded as if bombs had gone off in his head and chest. Maggie crouched a few metres away. She kept her head lowered, mutely contemplating her belly, from which amazing quantities of innards spilled. Floor, chairs and table were sprayed with red. Disheartened, Jericho wondered what Zhao had fired with.
‘Flechettes.’
‘What?’
‘Dart-shaped projectiles,’ Zhao repeated calmly, as if Jericho had asked his question out loud. ‘Metal Storm, fifty tiny tungsten carbide arrows per round, one and a half thousand kilometres per hour. Pierce steel plates. Opinions are divided. On the one hand you create one hell of a mess, on the other—’
‘Shut up! Hands in the air.’
Painfully slowly, Zhao obliged. Jericho caught his breath. He felt helpless and ridiculous. Yoyo’s lower lip trembled, her mask slipped, shock took hold of her. At the same time he became aware of a flicker of hope in her eyes. And something else, as if a plan were brewing in her head—
Her body tensed.
‘Don’t,’ Jericho warned, speaking in her direction. ‘No chaos. First of all we have to bring this bastard under control.’
Zhao yelled with laughter.
‘And how are you going to accomplish that? The way you did in the Andromeda?’
‘Shut up.’
‘I could have killed you.’
‘Set the weapon down on the floor.’
‘You owe me a bit of respect, little Jericho.’
‘I said, put the gun on the floor!’
‘Why don’t you just go home and forget the whole thing? I would—’
There was a sharp bang. A few centimetres away from Zhao, Jericho’s bullet pierced the tabletop. The hitman sighed. He turned his head slowly so that his profile could be seen. He had a tiny transmitter in his ear.
‘Really, Owen, that’s too much.’
‘For the last time!’
‘It’s fine.’ Zhao shrugged. ‘I’ll set it down on the ground, okay?’
‘No.’
‘Meaning not yet?’
‘Drop it.’
‘But—’
‘Just let it slip off your knees. Keep your hands in the air. Then kick it over to me.’
‘You’re making a mistake, Owen.’
‘I have made a mistake. Do it, right now, or I’ll shoot your left foot off.’
Zhao gave a thin smile. The gun clattered to the floor. He pushed it with the tip of his boot, so that it slipped a little way towards Jericho and stopped halfway between them.
‘Shoot him,’ Yoyo said hoarsely.
Jericho looked at her.
‘That wouldn’t be a—’
‘Shoot him!’ Tears poured from Yoyo’s eyes. Her features distorted with revulsion and fury. ‘Shoot him, shoo—’
‘No!’ Jericho violently shook his head. ‘If we want to find out who he’s working for, we’ll have to—’
He went on talking, but his voice was lost amongst the hisses and wails of the airbike.
They had got louder. Why?
Yoyo cried out and recoiled. A dull blow made the floor shake as something landed outside the control centre. It wasn’t Zhao’s bike. It was more bikes.
Zhao grinned.
For a paralysing moment Jericho didn’t know what to do. If he turned round, the killer would get hold of his gun again. But he had to know what was happening outside.
And then he understood.
The transmitter in Zhao’s ear! It had been broadcasting his voice all that time. He’d called for reinforcements. Zhao got up from his chair, his fingers clutching its back. Jericho raised the Glock. His adversary paused, crouching like a beast of prey, ready to spring.
‘Drop it,’ said a deep voice behind him.
‘I’d do what he says, little Owen.’
‘I’ll shoot you first,’ said Jericho.
‘Then shoot.’ Zhao’s dark eyes rested on him, seemed to suck him in. He slowly started to sit up. ‘There are two of them, by the way, and it’s only thanks to me that you’re still alive at all.’
Footsteps rang out behind Jericho. A hand reached over his shoulder and grabbed his gun. Jericho unresistingly allowed it to be pulled from his fingers. His eyes sought Yoyo’s. She was pressing herself against the old control-desk, eyes darting back and forth.
A fist pushed him forwards.
Zhao took hold of him, drew back his arm and struck him full in the face with the palm of his hand. His head flew sideways. The next blow hit his solar plexus and forced the air from his ribs. Choking, he fell to his knees. Now he could see the two men, one a thick-set, bearded Asian who had been aiming his gun at Yoyo, the other gaunt, fair and with a Slavic look. They both carried pistols of the same type as their leader’s. Zhao laughed quietly. He brushed the silky, black hair off his forehead and drew himself up to his full height. He started walking around Jericho at a measured pace.
‘Gentlemen,’ he said, ‘what you are experiencing here is the triumph of the cerebellum over the belly. The primacy of planning. That’s the only possible way of explaining how a man who effectively had me in his power is now cowering at our feet. A detective, note. A professional.’ He spat the last word at Jericho. ‘And yet I welcome his visit. We now have the opportunity to learn more than before. We can, for example, ask Mr Jericho what he actually wanted to ask me.’
Zhao’s right hand darted forward, grabbed Jericho’s ponytail, pulled him up and to him, so that he could feel the hitman’s hot breath on his face.
‘The question of the client. Always interesting. Our guest could hardly have hit on the idea of looking for little Yoyo all on his own. So who is your client? I’m right, Owen, am I not? Someone threw the stick. Fetch the stick, Owen! Find Yoyo! Woof! – Isn’t there anyone else I should be taking care of?’
Even though the situation was anything but funny, Jericho laughed. ‘I’d be careful about wasting your time.’
‘You’re so right.’ Zhao snorted, shoved him aside and approached Yoyo, who was no longer trying to hide her fear. Her lower lip trembled, streams of moisture glistened on her cheeks. ‘So let’s devote ourselves to our lovely do-gooder here, and ask her to help us in answering questions that have been asked once already. Where – is – your – computer?’
Yoyo stepped back. Again her features underwent a change, as if she had just made a surprising discovery. Zhao paused, plainly irritated. At that very moment Jericho heard a faint metallic click.
‘You’re not going to do anything at all,’ a voice said.
Zhao spun round. Two young men and a woman in bikers’ leathers had stepped into the room, machine-guns at the ready, aiming at him and his two assistants, who in turn were aiming at the new arrivals. One of them was a giant with a barrel chest, gorilla arms, the top of his head a shaven hemisphere. The point of his chin was extended by a blue prosthesis into an artificial pharaoh’s beard. Jericho’s breath froze. Daxiong had misled him really badly, but there was no one else that he would rather have seen at that very moment.