Greg Rucka - A gentleman_s game

Then he found them, and the sight of their bodies, on the floor, side by side, their blood staining the colors of the silk rug beneath them to red, struck him like a physical blow. Faud was on his stomach, his head turned, and Sinan could see where one bullet had entered the old man's eye and made blood flow from his nose. The Prince, beside him, lay on his side, the hole at the base of his skull still leaking.

Sinan felt his air go and almost lost his legs, and had to steady himself with a hand on the wall.

Voices behind him were asking what was wrong, what did he think he was doing, what had happened, and Sinan turned away, and then they saw, and went silent as well.

"What…?" Matteen looked from the bodies to Sinan, then back again. "How?"

Sinan shook his head, feeling grief and guilt clamoring in his chest. He sounded breathless and hoarse when he said, "It was that woman."

That stunned Matteen as much as the sight of the bodies.

"Kufr," Matteen murmured.

"Kufr," Sinan agreed.

Blasphemy.

Yemen-San'a', Old City 9 September 1103 Local (GMT+3.00) She'd worn the balta, hijab, and veil, checking herself in the bathroom mirror to make certain nothing would give her away before venturing out of the hotel. In the lobby, no one gave her a second look; in fact, most of the people there actively avoided looking her way altogether, afraid of giving offense. Vision behind the veil was remarkably good, even on the periphery, and Chace was relieved. One less thing to worry about.

Only three million, seven hundred thousand, and twelve remaining, she thought.

Beneath the balta, Chace wore her trainers, black stockings, her long skirt, and her long shirt, but this time she'd tucked the shirt in instead of letting it hang out. In the front of her bra she had stuffed the surgical gloves Hewitt had given her when he'd delivered the weapon. She hadn't bothered with a different head scarf; the hijab she wore with the balta was common, and she had confidence that, if something was going to betray her, it at least wouldn't be that.

The Walther she taped to the inside of her upper left arm, the silencer to the inside of the upper right. If she walked modestly, there was no possible way they could be seen, and that concerned her more than being able to access them quickly. The plan, such as she had, would require her to wait for Faud, and she intended to use that time to prepare the gun.

She had debated taking another handful of rounds from the ammunition box but in the end had rejected the idea. They would be hard to carry, they could conceivably collide and jingle in a pocket, calling attention to her, and it would take too much time to reload the weapon. If the six in the clip weren't going to be enough to do the job, then the job wouldn't be done, it was as simple as that. • She made her way through the Old City unmolested. Her worst fear was that someone, most likely another woman, might try to strike up a conversation or in some other way delay her, force her to speak. Her intention, if that happened, was to continue on her way without responding and hope that her rudeness would be enough to dissuade further contact.

As it happened, it didn't come up, and when she reached the Great Mosque, the muezzin was just finishing. She came from the north side this time, and again she saw the SUVs parked as they had been the day before, but instead of three there were five of them, with the fifth just then pulling up. Behind the veil and virtually anonymous, she stopped long enough to watch two men emerge, and one of them she immediately recognized as Muhriz el-Sayd, from his size as much as from a remembered file photo. El-Sayd was an unusually large man, six foot two, long in the torso and thick around and, depending on which source you believed, either thirty-eight or forty-one years old. The other man with him, comparatively much shorter, appeared younger, too, and Chace didn't recognize him.

She waited until both men had passed through the main entrance of the mosque before she made to follow them. The expected doubts were doing their best to clutter her thoughts, in particular the fear that Faud wouldn't, in fact, be at the Great Mosque today but rather worshipping in one of San'a's hundred others-one hundred and four others, at last count. But el-Sayd's appearance reassured her, because she agreed with Yosef's assessment. El-Sayd would want the minimum exposure possible.

She walked the block once, to give prayers time to get fully under way, then entered herself, moving quickly, as if late. She passed through the doors, her eyes falling on the rows and rows of rifles and boots set along the wall. She stepped out of her shoes, reassuring herself that the stockings were doing their job, concealing her Caucasian ankles, then quickly looked around. The service was well under way, and all eyes were on the mihrab, and Chace had hopes that they would remain there.

The tension in her stomach contracted, cramplike, and she blew a steady breath out her nose to drive it back, wishing for the millionth time that she'd been able to find some sort of map or diagram of the mosque's interior. But of course, there had been none to be found: from here on out, she'd need a combination of luck and skill.

She began moving slowly, staying against the wall. The mix of shadow and sunlight helped and hindered at once, but with the noon sun, the shadows were in her favor, and the balta certainly didn't hurt. The most important thing was to keep moving, she told herself, to look like she knew where she was heading, even if she didn't. She had time to find a position, at least until the service ended, but after that, it would be extremely hard to move about.

She wished she knew where she wanted to go, but she remained confident that she would know it when she saw it.

Turning along the western wall, toward the north, she looked down past the colonnades and caught sight of el-Sayd again, far enough away that it was his height rather than his face that identified him. To her right, beneath the elegant arches, the mosque opened wide, voices softly mixing in prayer. To the left and continuing along to the northern wall, smaller arches opened, and as Chace worked her way from colonnade to colonnade, she could see inside semiprivate spaces, sunlight dappling onto the worn rugs spread over the floors.

El-Sayd was moving away, turning right at the end of the hall, and Chace saw him slip through a shaft of sunlight, then disappear into the dimness of one of the almost-rooms. She licked her lips behind the veil, tasted the vaguely metallic flavor of her fear and excitement, the adrenaline driving up another notch, and continued forward.

She reached the corner, looked right in time to see el-Sayd's shadow spilling from the small room, moving back. She knew instantly what he was doing simply from the silhouette of his motion, that he was checking his back, searching for the searchers. Chace stepped lightly left, turned, pressing her back against the wall of an alcove all her own, then knelt on the carpet and lowered her head to the floor, imitating salat. Sunlight from the windows touched her balta, heating it.

She had no idea if she was being watched, and she knew that if she were seen, there would be an uproar. Certainly, women weren't permitted in this section of the mosque. But perhaps the sight of her in devoted worship would silence any objections, at least until she was finished with her prayers.

She could hear her own breathing, and then even that seemed to fade as other noises rose, the sound of bare feet moving over stone and carpet, voices mixing, louder.

Service over, time to get on with the day.

Time to get on with it.

Still bent, she worked her hands up her sleeves, to her top, and tugged the gloves free, feeling them peeling from her skin. She fought them onto her hands, the rubber closing around her fingers, then straightened, still in her imitation of faith. Reaching up the voluminous sleeves of the balta again, she found the Walther and its suppressor. She bowed a second time, biting her lip, and pulled each free from her skin, feeling the tape pull. It would hurt less to do it quickly, but she was afraid of sudden movement and so used steady tension, until she thought her skin was tearing along with the tape.