The City and the City Part 22

"I'll just have to call every couple of hours. I'm afraid I'm going to have to bother bother you, a lot." He disconnected. I stared at Yallya's phone, looked up at last at Dhatt. you, a lot." He disconnected. I stared at Yallya's phone, looked up at last at Dhatt.

"Do you have any f.u.c.king idea how much I hate not knowing where I can look?" Dhatt whispered. "Who I can trust?" He shuffled papers. "What I should be saying to whom?"

"I do."

"What's going on?" he said. "Does he want out too?"

"He wants out too. He's afraid. He doesn't trust us."

"I don't blame him one bit."

"Neither do I."

"I don't have any papers for him." I met his eye and waited. "Holy Light Light, Borlu, you going to f.u.c.king ..." He whispered furiously. "Alright, alright, I'll see what I can do."

"Tell me me what to do," I said to him, without breaking my gaze, "who to call, what corners to cut, and you can f.u.c.king blame me. Blame me, Dhatt. what to do," I said to him, without breaking my gaze, "who to call, what corners to cut, and you can f.u.c.king blame me. Blame me, Dhatt. Please Please. But bring a uniform in case he comes." I watched him, poor man, agonise.

It was after 7 p.m. that night that Corwi called me. "We're go," she said. "I've got the paperwork."

"Corwi, I owe you, I owe you."

"Do you think I don't know that, boss? It's you, your guy Dhatt, and his ahem 'colleague,' right? I'll be waiting."

"Bring your ID and be ready to back me up with Immigration. Who else? Who else knows?"

"No one. I'm your designated driver, again, then. What time?"

The question, what is the best way to disappear? There must be a graph, a carefully plotted curve. Is something more invisible if there are no others around, or if it is one of many? "Not too late. Not like two in the morning."

"I'm glad to f.u.c.king hear it."

"We'd be the only ones there. But not in the middle of the day either; there's too much risk someone might know us or something." After dark. "Eight," I said. "Tomorrow evening." It was winter and the nights came early. There would be crowds still, but in the dim colours of evening, sleepy. Easy not to see.

IT WAS NOT ALL LEGERDEMAIN; there were tasks we should and did perform. Reports of progress to finesse, and families to contact. I watched and with occasional over-the-shoulder suggestions helped Dhatt construct a letter saying polite and regretful nothing to Mr. and Mrs. Geary, whose main liaison now was with the Ul Qoma militsya militsya. It was not a good feeling of power, to be present a ghost in that holding message, knowing them, seeing them from inside the words which would be like one-way gla.s.s, so they could not look back in and see me, one of the writers.

I told Dhatt a place-I did not know the address, had to describe it in vague topography, which he recognised-a piece of parkland walking distance from where Yolanda hid, to meet me at the end of the following day. "Anyone asks, tell them I'm working from the hotel. Tell them about all the ridiculous paperwork hoops they make us jump through in Besel, that keep me busy."

"It's all we ever f.u.c.king talk about, Tyad." Dhatt could not stay in one place, he was so anxious, so frenetic with lack of trust, in anything, so troubled. He did not know where to look. "Blame you or not, I'm going to be on school liaison for the rest of my f.u.c.king career."

We had agreed there was a good possibility we would not hear from Bowden again, but I got a call on poor Yallya's phone half an hour after midnight. I was sure it was Bowden though he said nothing. He called again just before seven the next morning.

"You sound bad, Doctor."

"What's happening?"

"What do you want to do?"

"Are you going? Is Yolanda with you? Is she coming?"

"You have one shot, Doctor." I scribbled times on my notepad. "If you're not going to let me come for you. You want out, be outside the main traffic gate of Copula Hall at seven p.m."

I disconnected. I tried to make notes, plans on paper, could not. Bowden did not call me back. I kept the phone on the table or in my hand throughout my early breakfast. I did not check out of the hotel-no telegraphing of movements. I sorted through my clothes for anything I could not afford to leave, and there was nothing. I carried my illegal volume of Between the City and the City of Between the City and the City, and that was all.

I took almost the whole day to get to Yolanda and Aikam's hide. My last day in Ul Qoma. I took taxis in stages to the ends of the city. "How long you staying?" the last driver asked me.

"A couple of weeks."

"You like it here," he said, in enthusiastic beginner's Illitan. "Best city in the world." He was Kurdish.

"Show me your favourite parts of town, then. You don't get trouble?" I said. "Not everyone's welcoming to foreigners, I heard ..."

He made a pooh-poohing noise. "Are fools all over everywhere, but is the best city."

"How long have you been here?"

"Four years and some. I was one year in camp ..."

"A refugee camp?"

"Yeah, in the camp, and three years study for Ul Qoma citizenship. Speaking Illitan and learning, you know, not to, you know to unsee the other place, so not to breach."

"Did you ever think of going to Besel?"

Another snort. "What's in Besel? Ul Qoma is the best place."

He took me first past the Orchidarium and the Xhincis Kann Stadium, a tourist route he had obviously taken before, and when I encouraged him to indulge more personal preferences he started to show me the community gardens where alongside Ul Qoman natives those Kurds, Pakistanis, Somalis and Sierra Leoneans who got through the stringent conditions for entry played chess, the various communities regarding each other with courteous uncertainty. At a crossroads of ca.n.a.ls he, careful not to say anything unequivocally illegal, pointed out to me where the barges of the two cities-pleasure craft in Ul Qoma, a few working transport boats unseen in Besel-wove between each other.

"You see?" he said.

A man on the opposite side of a nearby lock, half-hidden in people and little urban trees, was looking straight at us. I met his eye-for a moment I was not sure but then decided he must be in Ul Qoma, so it was not breach-until he looked away. I tried to watch where he went, but he was gone.

When I expressed choices between the various sights the driver proposed, I made sure the resulting route crisscrossed the city. I watched the mirrors as he, delighted with this fare, drove. If we were followed it was by very sophisticated and careful spies. I paid him a ridiculous amount, in a much harder currency than I was paid in, after three hours of escorting, and I had him drop me where backstreet hackers ab.u.t.ted cheap secondhand shops, around the corner from the estate where Yolanda and Aikam hid.

For moments I thought they had skipped out on me, and I closed my eyes, but I kept repeating in a whisper up close to the door, "It's me, it's Borlu, it's me," and at last it opened, and Aikam ushered me in.

"Get ready," I said to Yolanda. She looked dirty to me, thinner and more startled like an animal than even when I had last seen her. "Get your papers. Be ready to agree with whatever me or my colleagues say to anyone at the border. And get lover-boy used to the idea that he's not coming, because we're not having a scene at Copula Hall. We're getting you out."

SHE MADE HIM STAY IN THE ROOM. He looked as if he would not do as she asked, but she made him. I did not trust him to be un.o.btrusive.

He demanded to know again and again why he could not come. She showed him where she had his number, and she swore that she would call him from Besel, and from Canada, and that she would call for him there. It took her several such promises until he stood at last miserable as a neglected thing, staring as we closed the door on him and walked fast through the shadowing light to the corner of the park, where Dhatt was waiting in an unmarked police car.

"Yolanda." He nodded to her from the driver's seat. "Pain in my a.r.s.e." He nodded to me. We set off. "What the f.u.c.k? Who exactly have have you p.i.s.sed off, Miss Rodriguez? You've got me f.u.c.king my life and collaborating with this foreign wacko. There's clothes in the back," he said. "Course I'm out of work, now." He very well might not be exaggerating. you p.i.s.sed off, Miss Rodriguez? You've got me f.u.c.king my life and collaborating with this foreign wacko. There's clothes in the back," he said. "Course I'm out of work, now." He very well might not be exaggerating.

Yolanda stared at him until he glanced into the mirror and snapped at her, "For f.u.c.k's sake, what, you think I'm peeping peeping?" and she scootched down in the rear seat and began to wriggle out of her clothes, replacing them with the militsya militsya uniform he had brought for her, that almost fit. uniform he had brought for her, that almost fit.

"Miss Rodriguez, do as I say and stick close. There's fancy dress for our possible-other-guest too. And that's for you, Borlu. Might save us a bit of s.h.i.t." A jacket with a fold-down militsya militsya blazon on it. I made it visible. "I wish they had rank on them. I'd've f.u.c.king demoted you." blazon on it. I made it visible. "I wish they had rank on them. I'd've f.u.c.king demoted you."

He did not meander, nor make the mistake of the guilty nervous and drive more slowly, more carefully than the cars around us. We took the main streets, and he flicked on and off the headlights at other drivers' infractions as Ul Qoman drivers do, little messages of road-rage code like aggressive Morse, flick flick, you cut me up, flick flick flick, make up your mind flick flick, you cut me up, flick flick flick, make up your mind.

"He called again," I said to Dhatt quietly. "He might be there. In which case ..."

"Come on, pain in my a.r.s.e, say it again. In which case he's going over, right?"

"He's got to get out. Did you get spare papers?"

He swore and punched the steering wheel. "f.u.c.k I really wish I'd thought of a way to talk myself out of this f.u.c.king s.h.i.t. I hope he doesn't come. I hope f.u.c.king Orciny does does get him." Yolanda stared at him. "I'll sound out whoever's on duty. Get ready to crack out your wallet. If push comes to shove I'll give him my f.u.c.king papers." get him." Yolanda stared at him. "I'll sound out whoever's on duty. Get ready to crack out your wallet. If push comes to shove I'll give him my f.u.c.king papers."

We saw Copula Hall over the roofs and through cables of telephone exchanges and gasrooms many minutes before we arrived at it. The way we came, we first pa.s.sed, as unseeing as we could, the building's rear-to-Ul Qoma, its entryway in Besel, the queues of Bes and returning Ul Qoman pa.s.sengers siphoning in in patient dudgeon. A Bes police light was flashing. We were obliged not to and did not see any of it, but we could not but be aware as we did so that we would be on that side soon. We rounded the huge building to its Ul Maidin Avenue entrance, opposite the Temple of Inevitable Light, where the slow line into Besel proceeded. There Dhatt parked-a bad job not corrected, skewed from the kerb with the swagger of militsya militsya, keys hanging ready-and we emerged to cross through the night crowds towards the great forecourt and the borders of Copula Hall.

The outer guards of militsya militsya did not ask a thing or even speak to us as we cut across the lines of people, walked over the roads weaving through stationary traffic, only ushered us through the restricted gates and on into the grounds proper of Copula Hall, where the huge edifice waited to eat us. did not ask a thing or even speak to us as we cut across the lines of people, walked over the roads weaving through stationary traffic, only ushered us through the restricted gates and on into the grounds proper of Copula Hall, where the huge edifice waited to eat us.

I looked everywhere as we came. Our eyes never stopped moving. I walked behind Yolanda, moving uneasily in her disguise. I raised my stare above the sellers of food and tat, the guards, the tourists, the homeless men and women, the other militsya militsya. Of the many entrances we had chosen the most open, wide and unconvoluted under a vault of old brickwork, with a view clear through the yawning interst.i.tial s.p.a.ce, over the ma.s.s of crowds filling the great chamber on both sides of the checkpoint-though more, noticeably, on the Besel side, wanting to come in to Ul Qoma.

From this position, this vantage angle, for the first time in a long time we did not have to unsee the neighbouring city: we could stare along the road that linked Ul Qoma to it, over the border, the metres of no-man's-land and the border beyond, directly into Besel itself. Straight ahead. Blue lights awaited us. A Bes bruise just visible beyond the lowered gate between the states, the flashing we had unseen minutes before. As we pa.s.sed the outer fringes of Copula Hall's architecture, I saw at the far end of the hall standing on the raised platform where the Bes guards watched the crowds a figure in policzai policzai uniform. A woman-she was very distant yet, on the Besel side of the gates. uniform. A woman-she was very distant yet, on the Besel side of the gates.

"Corwi." I did not know I'd said her name aloud until Dhatt said to me, "That her?" I was about to tell him it was too far off to know, but he said to me, "Hold on a second."

He was looking back the way we had come. We stood somewhat apart from most of those heading into Besel, between lines of aspirant travellers and on a thin fringe of pavement vehicles travelling slowly. There was, Dhatt was right, something about one of the men behind us that was disconcerting. There was nothing about his appearance which stood out: he was bundled against the cold in a drab Ul Qoman cloak. But he walked or shuffled towards us somewhat across the directionality of the line of his fellow pedestrians, and I saw behind him disgruntled faces. He was pushing out of his turn, walking towards us. Yolanda saw where we were looking, and gave a little whimper.

"Come on," Dhatt said, and put his hand to her back and walked her more quickly towards the entrance of the tunnel, but seeing how the figure behind us tried as far as the constraints of those around him would permit to raise his speed as well, to exceed our own, to come towards us, I turned around suddenly and began to move toward him.

"Get her over there," I said to Dhatt behind me, without looking. "Go, get her to the border. Yolanda, go to the policzai policzai woman over there." I accelerated. "Go." woman over there." I accelerated. "Go."

"Wait," Yolanda said to me but I heard Dhatt remonstrate with her. I was focused now on the approaching man. He could not fail to see that I was coming towards him, and he hesitated and reached into his jacket, and I fumbled at my side but remembered I had no gun in that city. The man backed up a step or two. The man threw up his hands and unwrapped his scarf. He was shouting my name. It was Bowden.

He pulled out something, a pistol dangling in his fingers as if he were allergic to it. I dived for him and heard a hard exhalation behind me. Behind me another spat-out breath and screams. Dhatt shouted and shouted my name.

Bowden was staring over my shoulder. I looked behind me. Dhatt was crouched between cars a few metres away. He was wrapping himself up in himself and bellowing. Motorists were hunched in their vehicles. Their screams were spreading to the lines of pedestrian travellers in Besel and in Ul Qoma. Dhatt huddled over Yolanda. She lay as if tossed. I could not see her clearly, but there was blood across her face. Dhatt was gripping his shoulder.

"I'm hit!" he shouted. "Yolanda's ... Light, Tyad, she's shot, she's down ..."

A commotion started in the hall a long way off. Over the sedately moving traffic I saw at the farthest end of the enormous room a surge in the crowd in Besel, a movement like animal panic. People scattering away from a figure, who leaned on, no, raised, something in both hands. Aiming, a rifle.

Chapter Twenty-Two.

ANOTHER OF THOSE ABRUPT LITTLE SOUNDS, hardly audible over the rising screams the length of the tunnel. A shot, silenced or m.u.f.fled by acoustics, but by the time I heard it I was on Bowden and had pushed him down, and the explosive percussion of the bullet into the wall behind him was louder than the shot itself. Architecture sprayed. I heard Bowden's panicked breath, put my hand on his wrist and squeezed until he dropped his weapon, kept him down out of the sightline of the sniper targeting him.

"Down! Everybody down!" I was shouting that. So sluggishly it was hard to believe, the crowds were falling to their knees, their cowering and their screams more and more exaggerated as they realised the danger. Another sound and another, a car braking violently and with an alarm, another implosive gasp as bricks took a bullet.

I kept Bowden on the tarmac. "Tyad!" It was Dhatt.

"Talk to me," I shouted to him. The guards were all over the place, raising weapons, looking everywhere, yelling idiot pointless orders at each other.

"I'm hit, I'm okay," he replied. "Yolanda's head-shot."

I looked up, no more firing. I looked up further, to where Dhatt rolled and gripped his wound, to where Yolanda lay dead. Rose slightly more and saw militsya militsya approaching Dhatt and the corpse he guarded, and way off approaching Dhatt and the corpse he guarded, and way off policzai policzai running towards where the shots had come from. In Besel the police were buffeted and blocked by the hysterical crowd. Corwi was looking in all directions-could she see me? I was shouting. The shooter was running. running towards where the shots had come from. In Besel the police were buffeted and blocked by the hysterical crowd. Corwi was looking in all directions-could she see me? I was shouting. The shooter was running.

His way was blocked, but he swung his rifle like a club when he had to, and people were clearing from around him. Orders would be going out to block the entrance, but how fast would they go? He was moving into a part of the crowd who had not seen him shoot, and were surrounding him, and good as he was he would drop or hide his weapon.

"G.o.d d.a.m.n d.a.m.n it." I could hardly see him. No one was stopping him. He had some way to go before he was out. I looked, carefully, item by item, at his hair and clothes: cropped; grey tracksuit top with a hood behind; black trousers. All nondescript. Did he drop his weapon? He was into the crowd. it." I could hardly see him. No one was stopping him. He had some way to go before he was out. I looked, carefully, item by item, at his hair and clothes: cropped; grey tracksuit top with a hood behind; black trousers. All nondescript. Did he drop his weapon? He was into the crowd.

I stood holding Bowden's gun. A ridiculous P38, but loaded and well kept. I stepped towards the checkpoint, but there was no way I could get through it, all that chaos, not ever and not now with both lines of guards in uproar flailing guns around; even if my Ul Qoman uniform got me through the Ul Qoman lines, the Bes would stop me, and the shooter was too far for me to catch. I hesitated. "Dhatt, radio help, watch Bowden," I shouted, then turned and ran the other way, out into Ul Qoma, towards Dhatt's car.

The crowds got out of my way; they saw me coming with my militsya militsya emblazoning, saw the pistol I held, and scattered. The emblazoning, saw the pistol I held, and scattered. The militsya militsya saw one of their own, in pursuit of something, and did not stop me. I turned the emergency lights on and started the engine. saw one of their own, in pursuit of something, and did not stop me. I turned the emergency lights on and started the engine.

I sent the car breakneck, dodging local and foreign cars, screaming outside the length of Copula Hall. The siren confused me, I was not used to Ul Qoman sirens, a ya ya ya ya ya ya more whining than our own cars'. The shooter was, must be, fighting his way through the terrified and confused thronging tunnel of travellers. My lights and alarm cleared the roads before me, ostentatiously in Ul Qoma, on the topolganger streets in Besel with the typical unstated panic of a foreign drama. I yanked the wheel and the car snapped right, b.u.mped over Bes tram tracks. more whining than our own cars'. The shooter was, must be, fighting his way through the terrified and confused thronging tunnel of travellers. My lights and alarm cleared the roads before me, ostentatiously in Ul Qoma, on the topolganger streets in Besel with the typical unstated panic of a foreign drama. I yanked the wheel and the car snapped right, b.u.mped over Bes tram tracks.

Where was Breach? But no breach had occurred.

No breach had occurred though a woman had been killed, brazenly, across a border. a.s.sault, a murder and an attempted murder, but those bullets had travelled across the checkpoint itself, in Copula Hall, across the meeting place. A heinous, complex, vicious killing, but in the a.s.siduous care the a.s.sa.s.sin had taken-to position himself just so at the point where he could stare openly along the last metres of Besel over the physical border and though a woman had been killed, brazenly, across a border. a.s.sault, a murder and an attempted murder, but those bullets had travelled across the checkpoint itself, in Copula Hall, across the meeting place. A heinous, complex, vicious killing, but in the a.s.siduous care the a.s.sa.s.sin had taken-to position himself just so at the point where he could stare openly along the last metres of Besel over the physical border and into into Ul Qoma, could aim precisely down this one conduit between the cities-that murder had been committed with if anything a Ul Qoma, could aim precisely down this one conduit between the cities-that murder had been committed with if anything a surplus surplus of care for the cities' boundaries, the membrane between Ul Qoma and Besel. There was no breach, Breach had no power here, and only Bes police were in the same city as the killer now. of care for the cities' boundaries, the membrane between Ul Qoma and Besel. There was no breach, Breach had no power here, and only Bes police were in the same city as the killer now.

I turned right again. I was back where we had been an hour before, in Weipay Street in Ul Qoma, which shared the crosshatched lat.i.tude-longitude with the Bes entrance to Copula Hall. I drove the car as close as the crowds let me, braked hard. I got out and jumped on its roof-it would not be long before Ul Qoman police would come to ask me, their supposed colleague, what I was doing, but now I jumped on the roof. After a second's hesitation I did not stare into the tunnel at the oncoming Bes escaping the attack. I looked instead all around, into Ul Qoma, and then in the direction of the hall, not changing my expression, giving away nothing that suggested that I might be looking anywhere other than at Ul Qoma. I was unimpeachable. The car's stuttering police lights turned my legs red and blue.

I let myself notice what was happening in Besel. Many more travellers were still trying to enter Copula Hall than leave it, but as the panic within spread there was a dangerous contraflow. There was commotion, lines backing up, those behind who did not know what it was they had seen or heard blocking those who knew very well and were trying to flee. Ul Qomans unsaw the Bes melee, looked away and crossed the road to avoid the foreign trouble.

"Get out, get out-"

"Let us in, what's ...?"

Among the clots and grots of panicked escapees I saw a hurrying man. He caught my attention by the care with which he tried not to run too fast, not to be too large, to raise his head. I believed it was, then that it was not, then that it was, the shooter. Pushing his way past a last shouting family and a chaotic line of Bes policzai policzai trying to impose order without knowing what it was they should do. Pushing his way out and turning, walking with his hurried careful step away. trying to impose order without knowing what it was they should do. Pushing his way out and turning, walking with his hurried careful step away.

I must have made a sound. Certainly those scores of yards away the killer glanced backwards. I saw him see me and reflexively unsee, because of my uniform, because I was in Ul Qoma, but even as he dropped his eyes he recognised something and walked even faster away. I had seen him before, I could not think where. I looked around desperately, but none of the policzai policzai in Besel knew to follow him, and I was in Ul Qoma. I jumped off the roof of the car and walked quickly after the murderer. in Besel knew to follow him, and I was in Ul Qoma. I jumped off the roof of the car and walked quickly after the murderer.

Ul Qomans I shoved out of the way: Bes tried to unsee me but had to scurry to get out of my path. I saw their startled looks. I moved faster than the killer. I kept my eyes not on him but looking at some spot or other in Ul Qoma that put him in my field of vision. I tracked him without focusing, just legally. I crossed the plaza and two Ul Qoman militsya militsya I pa.s.sed called some tentative query at me which I ignored. I pa.s.sed called some tentative query at me which I ignored.

The man must have heard the sound of my step. I had come within a few tens of metres when he turned. His eyes widened in astonishment at the sight of me, which, careful even then, he did not hold. He registered me. He looked back into Besel and sped up, trotting diagonally away toward ErmannStrasz, a high street, behind a Kolyub-bound tram. In Ul Qoma, the road we were on was Saq Umir Way. I accelerated too.

He glanced back again and went faster, jogging through the Bes crowds, looking quickly to either side into the cafes lit by coloured candles, into the bookshops of Besel-in Ul Qoma these were quieter alleys. He should have entered a shop. Perhaps he did not because there were crosshatched crowds he would have to negotiate on both pavements, perhaps his body rebelled at dead ends, cul-de-sacs, while pursued. He began to run.

The murderer ran left, into a smaller alley, where still I followed him. He was fast. He was faster than me now. He ran like a soldier. The distance between us grew. The stallholders and walkers in Bes stared at the killer; those in Ul Qoma stared at me. My quarry vaulted a bin that blocked his way, with greater ease than I knew I would manage. I knew where he was going. The Old Towns of Besel and Ul Qoma are closely crosshatched: reach their edges, separations begin, alter and total areas. This was not, could not be, a chase. It was only two accelerations. We ran, he in his city, me close behind him, full of rage, in mine.

I shouted wordlessly. An old woman stared at me. I was not looking at him, I was still not looking at him, but fervently, legally, at Ul Qoma, its lights, graffiti, pedestrians, always at Ul Qoma. He was by iron rails curled in traditional Bes style. He was too far. He was by a total street, a street in Besel only. He paused to look up in my direction as I gasped for breath.

For that sliver of time, too short for him to be accused of any crime, but certainly deliberate, he looked right at me. I knew him, I did not know from where. He looked at me at the threshold to that abroad-only geography and made a tiny triumphant smile. He stepped toward s.p.a.ce where no one in Ul Qoma could go.

I raised the pistol and shot him.

I SHOT HIM IN THE CHEST. I saw his astonishment as he fell. Screaming from everywhere, at the shot, first, then his body and the blood, and almost instantly from all the people who had seen, at the terrible kind of transgression.

"Breach."

"Breach."