Ethan headed down the narrow street, running hard as he found his stride again, looking left and right into dingy alleys passing between the blocks. At the third he glimpsed someone moving out of sight at the last moment and he plunged through the shadows in pursuit.
A bright rectangle of light at the end of the alley was blocked by a low, mangled chain-link fence. Ethan took three long running strides and leaped up, vaulting over the fence. As he arced through the air he glimpsed abandoned apartment buildings that overlooked another square in greater disrepair than the last.
The blow came from his right as he landed hard, a whisper of movement in the air, and in an instant Ethan realized that he had vaulted over the fence without regard to anyone waiting for him out of sight against the walls.
The Bedouin slammed into him, his face obscured by the red scarf above which dark eyes blazed with unrestrained fury. Ethan threw his hands up in desperation as a rusty length of scaffolding pole whipped toward his skull. The cold metal smashed into his forearm, a dull but terrible pain shuddering along the length of the bone. Ethan cried out, the ragged edge of the pole barely deflected from his face as he was driven backward.
The man lunged forward with the point of the pole and Ethan twisted aside, swinging a wild left hook that connected with the Arab’s temple but barely checked his movement as he ducked aside and turned, swinging the pole up.
Ethan jerked left and raised his right arm, catching the pole under his armpit. He closed his arm around it and yanked his left knee up into the assassin’s rib cage. The man grunted and Ethan felt brittle bones somewhere in the man’s chest crunch against his kneecap. The Arab lost his grip on the pole as he fell sideways, and Ethan saw that the index finger of his left hand was missing.
Ethan grabbed the pole from under his arm and swung wildly for the man’s head but the Arab was too fast, ducking low and leaping back up, a fist flashing into Ethan’s vision and smacking across his cheek. Ethan reeled away, managing to hang on to the pole and his balance, but before he could regain his advantage the assassin slammed one foot into the inside of Ethan’s left knee. The leg buckled with a lance of bright pain that bolted up his thigh as he crashed down onto the unforgiving concrete.
The assassin swiveled expertly on one foot, driving the other toward Ethan’s chest. Ethan struggled to bring the pole up in both hands to deflect the blow, but the Arab’s foot smashed into his chest and hurled him onto his back, chunks of gravel painfully driving through his shirt and into his skin. Somehow he managed to keep the pole defensively in his hands as the assassin whipped a slim, glittering blade from his waistband and plunged down toward him.
Ethan brought one leg up against his chest and pushed out with the pole, catching the Arab in free fall with the blade a hairbreadth from his throat. Dull pain throbbed though Ethan’s skull as he struggled against the weight and insane strength of his assailant. He pushed hard on one end of the pole and thrust out with his leg, rolling the assassin off balance. The Arab toppled over and onto his back as Ethan rolled with him and forced his way on top, pinning the pole across the assassin’s throat while trapping the man’s arms beneath his knees. Ethan saw the Arab’s thorax collapse beneath the weight, his dark eyes bulging and something rattling deep in his esophagus.
Ethan felt a sharp jab in his flank. He looked down to see the blade held with its tip nestling under his rib cage. Needles of ice prickled Ethan’s skin as he realized that they were in a stalemate.
The assassin looked up at him without mercy as though he were examining a peculiar form of insect. Ethan shook his head. “It’s over, Rafael.”
The assassin gritted his teeth in a brutal smile, raising the blade as he rasped a few short words. “It is for you, my friend.”
Ethan grunted with effort, twisting away from the blade as he felt the tip lance him with a stab of exquisite pain. He pressed down on the pole, crushing the Arab’s throat further, and managed with one hand to retrieve a crumpled photograph from his