chuckled. “What good will it do here? I have already been shot.”
Paul levelled the gun and swallowed. It was a light, compact pistol.
“This is your last chance,” he said, voice wavering.
Nguyen laughed at him.
“You can’t kill me,” he said.
Paul clenched his jaw. His finger tightened on the trigger.
“Maybe not,” he admitted. The gun fired with a savage jolt. Nguyen fell to his knees. His hands went to his stomach. Blood welled between his fingers. “But I’ll bet that hurts.”
The old man groaned.
“I need the coordinates of Célestine’s world,” Paul insisted. Nguyen looked up at him helplessly. Blood dribbled from his lips.
“What’s the matter?” Paul asked. “Can’t you talk?”
Nguyen shook his head. He opened his mouth and retched ropes of thick, red gore. Disgusted, Paul stepped forward and pressed the gun barrel to the doctor’s temple. The hot metal sizzled against the old man’s mottled skin.
“Better luck next time.”
V ICTORIA WATCHED AS Paul pulled the trigger. She really hadn’t believed he’d actually do it, and she didn’t know whether to be relieved or horrified.
Beside her, K8’s fingernails rattled against the console’s keypad.
“Okay,” she said, “we’re re-spawning Nguyen in five, four, three, two...”
D OCTOR N GUYEN REAPPEARED at the exact centre of the helipad to find himself standing astride his own dead body, facing his killer, who brandished a still-smoking pistol.
“We can do this all day,” Paul said. “And it’s going to hurt just as badly every time.”
Nguyen put a hand to his stomach. Slowly, he looked up to meet his own reflection in Paul’s mirrored lenses.
“Perhaps we could come to some form of arrangement?”
Blam!
Nguyen tottered back on his heels, half-blinded by the muzzle flash. A hot, red pain skewered his chest. His pulse roared in his ears.
“Sorry,” he heard Paul say. “No deals.”
“R E-SPAWNING IN FIVE , four, three...”
CHAPTER TEN
CLAP OF SILENCE
P AUL’S HOLOGRAM STOOD at the edge of the wooden verandah. He’d changed out of his military fatigues, back into his Hawaiian shirt and white lab coat. His head was down, looking out through the Sun Wukong ’s nose at the island of Kishkindha, and his hands were in the pockets of his jeans. The sun slanting in from the glass panels above rendered his peroxide blond hair a dazzling white.
“Are you okay?” Victoria walked over to stand beside him.
He shook his head. “I don’t know.”
She gripped the bamboo rail. “Look, I’m really sorry. I expected him to give up much sooner than that.”
“Stubborn old git.” Paul looked ready to spit. “I think he was hoping I’d get sick of it before he did.”
Victoria wanted to hug him. “Is there anything I can do? I mean, I can’t offer you a stiff drink or anything, but if there’s something...”
“I’ll be all right.” His fingers worried at the gold stud in his ear. “I just need some time. I just need to forget.”
“It was worth it, you know.”
“Was it?” Paul kicked the toe of one trainer against the back of the other.
“He told us how to find Ack-Ack.”
A shrug. “Yes, I suppose.”
“Come on.” Victoria tried to sound cheerful. “The monkey would have done the same for you.”
“Would he?” Paul’s shoulders slumped even further.
“Yes, of course he would.” Victoria smiled. “Only more so.”
They stood side by side, looking down at the steep, tree-covered slopes of the volcano and the clustered huts of the monkey village. After a few minutes, Paul said, “I want to go home.”
Victoria looked at him. He sounded like a lost child, and she wanted desperately to take him in her arms.
“I’m serious,” he continued, as if she’d spoken. “As soon as we’ve got the monkey back, I want to go home, to our world, to our London. I want to see my flat again.”
Victoria bit her lip, all attempts at forced