'Hey! Hey! said the radio. 'Come on! Who is that?
'We coming, jefe.
She took the radio up, clicked the button that fell beneath her thumb. 'Mr Dandridge? she said. She leant forward, took up the machine-gun again, shifting it to the side of the Gemini, aiming at the pontoon, dimly seen against Nadia's hull.
'Wha-shee-it! Ms Onoda? Dandridge coughed, laughed. 'Our little yellow friend? That you out there with the heavy weaponry?
She clicked the send button again. 'Hello, she said.
'Jesus aitch, I do believe it is. You still alive?
'No, she said.
The Gemini was still drifting. She took up the AK47 again, scanning the grey view. The Nakodo still showed no sign of life. Le Cercle was hidden behind the stern of the Nadia. She listened for engines.
'Ha, Ms Onoda. The radio cut out, came back. Dandridge wheezed, 'Dead and kicking, huh? Who the hell taught you to shoot like that? She didn't reply. She checked the machine-gun again, put it down and went back to the stern of the boat, restarted the outboard. 'What've you been doing, lady? What you been up to? How come you got a radio? She angled the inflatable parallel with the ship, sent it in the direction of the Nadia's bows, away from the course a boat from either of the other two ships would take. Dandridge had come from Le Cercle, not the Nakodo. The AK47 sight still showed nothing happening on or near the Nakodo.
'Ms Onoda; talk to me. You're screwing things up here. I think I deserve a little explanation. Let's talk.
'Did I hit you? she asked, putting down the assault rifle to talk into the radio.
'Just a scratch, as we say in the trade, Dandridge laughed. 'You don't cease to amaze me, ma'am. Hell, what you got against us? He laughed again.
'You comfortable, Mr Dandridge? she said.
'Hell, never felt better. How about you?
'Same here. She was within fifty metres of the Nadia's port bow. She swung the Gemini round until it was pointing back towards the pontoon. She let the throttle go, killed the engine, and went forwards to shift the machine-gun to the inflatable's bows again.
'Great. Well, look, we seem to have a minor disagreement here, but I'm sure we can talk it out. I just want you to know I personally don't bear you any ill will, you know — she heard him grunt, imagined him shifting position on the pontoon. She took another look through the nightsight. No movement. - but this is a real stupid way to negotiate, you know? I realise you have your own point of view and all, but I want to talk to you for a moment, and I hope you'll do me the honour of listening, right? There are aspects to what we're trying to do here that I don't think you fully appreciate. Now, you don't have to tell me that every, umm, aspect of these guys' behaviour has been everything you might expect under the Geneva Convention and all, but —
She held one of the little metal legs of the machine-gun down on to the pliant rubber with her left hand, squeezed the trigger with the index finger of the right.
The gun tried to leap; it barked and rattled and hissed. Fire trailed out across the water, calm enough to reflect it in places, and raised white feathers of water around the pontoon. She heard Dandridge shout as she paused, adjusted. The gun pulsed against her shoulder again, tracer bowing and falling. She saw sparks, then a ball of flame as the jerrycans on the pontoon ignited.
She looked up. The little mushroom of fire rose rolling, doughnut-like, against the dark hull, gathering itself under and through like a woman hoisting her skirts. Beneath it, a neck of flame throbbed in and out, and fire spilled over the deck of the pontoon, spreading over the waters to either side. She put the gun down.
'Hot damn, Ms Onoda, good shooting! Dandridge shouted from the radio. 'Outstanding! Just when I was starting to feel cold. Well thank you, ma'am.
She felt back into the pile of weaponry in the bottom of the Gemini, found what she was looking for and lifted it. She turned away from the distant light of the burning pontoon and used the cigarette lighter from her breast pocket to inspect the device.
'Jefe —
'Shut up. Ma'am, you have me quite incredibly impressed. You should be on our side, and I mean that as a compliment, I really do. And that's what I want to talk to you about. See, there's things in all this I don't think you fully understand. We are talking about the geopolitical situation here. What I mean is, you actually are on our side, if you only knew it. I mean that. You're a mercantile nation; this is about what matters to you, too. Ah, hell, Ms Onoda, it's all about trade; yes, trade; trade and spheres of influence and… and opportunities; the possibility of influence and power… you still listening, Ms Onoda?
'Keep talking, she said absently, wishing she knew more about the Cyrillic alphabet.
'Good. We have to keep talking. That's very important. I. think that's very important. Don't you think that's important, Ms Onoda?
She lifted the weight to her shoulder, tried a couple of switches. The device whined but the sight stayed dark. She tried different sequences, found a trigger guard and pushed it up and forward. The whine altered its tone.
'Well, I'm sure you do. You're one sensible lady. I can tell that. Very sensible and very clever and very sensitive. I hope we can talk as equals, and that's just what I intend to do. See, the great have to stoop, sometimes, Ms Onoda. To stay great you have to stoop; no ways round that. You can try and distance yourself from the people who do the stooping; I mean distance yourself from the cutting edge, but it still remains your responsibility. You have to do bad things in a bad world, if you want to stay able to be good. Do you understand that? I mean, there's all these people think goodness and rightness is somehow indivisible, but it isn't; can't be, in fact. It's a razor's edge, Ms Onoda; a real razor's edge. You have to balance, you have to keep working, you know. You try to stop, you ever think you got it all taped so well you can just let things drift, and you're dead. Not the next day, not the next year even, but soon; and it starts as soon as you let go. Romans found that; the Spanish and the English too. You got to remain dynamic, or you fall down; you sink into your own indulgence; you get decadent. Free society… free society like America's, that sort of stuff is bubbling away under the surface all the time; always people want to have a quiet life, be hippies, live in what they think is peace… and damn it, it might be, for a little while, but-
She clicked a button. The sight came alive; grainier than the rifle's nightsight, but the boiling stem of fire on the pontoon showed bright, like a vivid tear in the night. Centring, the whine became a guttural coughing noise, a protesting, damaged clock stuttering in her ear. Red symbols lit up above the display. She squeezed the trigger.
There was a moment of hesitation, and she almost put the missile launcher down, preparing to look at it again.
But while she was still waiting, just starting to wonder what she'd done wrong this time and what she'd have to do to make the thing work, it happened.
The tube shook, hammered her shoulder, kicked against her neck and the side of her head. The noise was not a noise; it was the end of sound, an editing mark that cut her off from the world beyond her suddenly deadened ears.
Flame burst around her. It swept, narrowed, funnelled, while she was still trying to cope with the image of herself the backwash of light had thrown before her, over the grey plastic of the Gemini's bows and the rippled lake beyond.