Koschei studies the slowly crumbling tip of her cigarette as she gradually breathes out the aromatic smoke that's been keeping her warm for the past five minutes. The sounds of Tel Aviv rise up around the parking lot, reminding her of her past.

 

"Those things, they will kill you," Hector Sanchez finally announces his presence, even though she's been aware of him ever since she lit up. He wasn't an ambush predator by nature; they wouldn't wear such a pungent cologne on the wrong side of this sodding gust.

 

"I doubt I'll be that lucky," she answers, flicking it over his shoulder to land at the feet of one of his minions. who stubs it out.

 

"You are very perceptive, Miss Parker." He shakes his head, voice full of weighty gravitas. "In this business, we have an unfortunate tendency to die young."

 

Koschei sighs slightly, brushing a curly strand of newly blonde hair out of her face. "Doesn't seem to be something that's bothered you all that much. Do you have the information?"

 

"Of course. Do you have the body?"

 

"Of course."

 

She pulls open the front of the dun brown Volkswagen, allowing one of the minions to shine a torch onto its contents. Somewhere in the distance, a helicopter buzzes past. Probably out hunting more Palestinians under cover of the Sabbath.

 

"It's her," the minion reports in Spanish. "I'd recognise that face anywhere."

 

"Make sure she's dead."

 

The minion pulls out a Hush Puppy and empties the clip into the corpse, destroying all the major organs and both eyes. He reloads and repeats the process, using what she would swear blind were silver bullets. Probably blessed and dipped in holy water too.

 

"You must really have hated her," Koschei remarks blandly, strangely unperturbed by the sight of her own bullet ridden body.

 

"I do not like taking chances," Hector explains. "This Ash O'Connor is widely reputed to be a witch, one who trucks with Satan as his whore in receipt of ungodly powers, who cannot be killed easily. Some say that she is sister to the mad monk Rasputin. Alonso here saw her walk away unscathed from that gas explosion that destroyed that hotel in Buenos Aires three years ago that killed a hundred people."

 

"Well, she didn't do much ungodly stuff after I blew her heart out with a .50 anti-material round. Unless you count the mess she made in the water until I fished her out." Koschei smiles coldly. "Still doesn't explain why you wanted her dead in return for the information you promised."

 

"She murdered a good friend of mine. Asking anything further would be unwise."

 

Well, it's a believable excuse as any rate. "So where's the prison?"

 

"I don't know."

 

Koschei slams the bonnet shut, prompting the minions to go for their guns. "I beg your pardon? I didn't murder someone for an 'I don't know', Hector."

 

"Pitfall aren't exactly an easy nut to crack, and neither is their encryption." Hector reaches into his coat pocket, pulling out a PDA of proprietary design. "The information is on here. Or at least I'm assured it is."

 

She reaches across and snatches it from his hand.

 

"Mum!" Caitlyn yells over the earpiece. "Gunship ten o'clock!"

 

The quicksilver rolls over her eyes, provoking surprised gasps from the Columbians and plunging the world into a monochrome pall. It also showed the hideously gaudy thermal image of an Apache, the scintillating sparkle of its laser designator and the exhaust plume of the two Hellfires heading straight for the exchange.

 

"Run!" she yells, breaking left and sprinting for the edge. The horrendous explosion saves her the effort of diving over the railing. She lands hard, winded but unharmed save for a slight gravel rash, and clambers inelegantly to her feet as the sound of the chain gun opening up washes over her, accompanied by the rapidly increasing roar of the Apache's main rotor.

 

"Mum?"

 

"I'm fine, sweetie. You two head back home. I'll see you there in a couple of minutes.

 

"Alright."

 

She dashes across the street, shuddering as the glamour that had swapped her physicality with that of the contract killer she'd hired and executed six weeks ago is erased by the immolation of the body six storeys above. The sensation is akin to having her flesh flayed from her bones only to be reattached with molten metal. She wants to collapse in heap, vomit violently and cry a lot, but the sound of the Apache virtually overhead steels her resolve and she stumbles into a doorway.

 

Fumbling, she pulls a chain from around her neck; the key attached to it is old fashioned, similar to yet noticeably different from the one she'd won on distant Thule over three months ago. She jams it into the lock that it should never have been able ti fit, shoves the door open and flings herself through as 30mm HEAP rounds chew up the asphalt and concrete, and then the smooth basalt floor of the chamber into which she's arrived.

 

"Dozer, close the door!"

 

The golem that had been standing watch calmly moves forward and slams the door shut, ignoring the head-size chunk blown out of its side as it does so.

 

"Damn that was close."

 

The second door is flung dramatically open. Through it comes the thankfully somewhat distant sound of the Apache, still firing its nose gun. It also disgorges Caitlyn and Arnold and a view of the apartment they'd been observing the exchange from. Mother and daughter embrace thankfully.

 

"The others were caught in the missile blast," Caitlyn offers as she looks back through the still open door at the blazing rooftop of the parking station."

 

"Pitfall must have been on to them."

 

"Maybe they were tracking the PDA?"

 

"Possible. Moot point anyway." She holds it up, twisted and blackened from where it had been hit by one of the HEAP rounds passing through the doorway. "We're back to square one."

 

"Would Cathayan's people be able to pull something? I mean, she's all about information retrieval."

 

"Maybe, but this looks too far gone." She tosses it aside and closes the door to Tel Aviv. "What a waste."

 

"Is this Leopard worth it?"

 

"Yes," Koschei answers in a tone that brooks utterly no argument from man or godling. "I know you don't remember, but she's the reason you're alive today, and she means as much to me as you or Cathayan."

 

Means so much that I might be forced to do the unthinkable and ask that rat bastard 'Nox for help.

 

---
Fin