Cross Country

was telling the truth.
    He looked incredibly calm, his eyes barely registering emotion as he reached forward and grabbed me by the arm and throat. My only thought was to hold on to the shovel, and to swing it if I got the chance.
    He threw me back down the alley as easily as if I were a child. No, a child’s doll. I landed hard on splintering wood and plaster. Something sharp sliced into my back.
    I registered Houston Rockets blocking the other escape route. There was nowhere for me to run.
    The Tiger came charging at me. So I swung the shovel as hard as I could, going for the bastard’s knees.
    The shovel head connected — not a home run, but maybe a double. The Tiger buckled, but he didn’t go down. Unbelievable. I’d hit him in the kneecaps and there he stood, glowering at me.
    “That’s all you have?” he said.
    It was as though he didn’t feel anything at all. So I raised the shovel again and struck his left arm. He must have been hurt, but he didn’t show it, his face revealing no more emotion than a wall of slate.
    “Now — my turn,” he said. “Can you take a punch?”
    Suddenly a floodlight hit my eyes. There were voices behind it. Who was there?
    “Ne bouge pas!”
    I heard footsteps scuffing on the dirt and the metallic rustle of guns. Suddenly, green-helmeted AU soldiers were in the alley with us, three of them.
    “Laisse la tomber!”
one of the soldiers yelled.
    It took a second to realize I was just as much a suspect here as the Tiger. Or, worse — maybe I was the only suspect.
    I dropped the shovel and didn’t wait for any more questions. “This man is wanted in the United States and Nigeria for murder. I’m a policeman.”
    “Tais-toi!”
One of the soldiers said and put his rifle right in my face. Jesus! The last thing I wanted was to have my nose broken again.
    “Listen to me!
Écoutez-moi!
” This was a Senegalese platoon, and my French wasn’t the greatest. The scene was getting more insane and out of control by the second. “He’s got two accomplices.
Deux garçons, vous comprenez?
They are all murderers!”
    That last remark got me a punch in the gut. I doubled over, trying to catch my breath while the Tiger just stood there, mute, uttering not a word of protest.
    Perfectly calm. Smarter than I was.
    And in control?
I wondered.

Chapter 93
    THEY BROUGHT US both out of the alley at gunpoint and made us kneel in the dirt. A crowd had gathered, maybe a couple hundred people already.
    There were only five AU troops on the scene, barely enough to cover us and keep everyone else back a few yards. Several people were pointing — at the Tiger. Because he was so large? Or because they knew who he was? Or maybe how dangerous?
    “Alex? Alex?” I heard Adanne’s voice, and nothing could have sounded more welcome to me.
    Then I saw her push through the crowd to the front. Her eyes went wide when she spotted the Tiger kneeling a few feet away from me. He saw her too.
    “Let me through! I’m with the
Guardian
.” She took an ID out of her pocket, but a soldier shoved her back.
    She called out to me again, and she kept yelling, risking her own safety. “Alex! Tell them that the
Guardian
is doing your story! Tell them the
Guardian
is here. I will write their story.”
    But then my ears took in something else — the high-pitched whine of a vehicle traveling in reverse!
    Was that right? Was I hearing it correctly?
Who was coming now?
    The crowd on one side started to stir, from the rear at first. Then people were scattering wildly, screaming or cursing.
    Everything was turning to chaos, even worse than it had been.
    I could see a black pickup truck now,
backing
toward us at high speed. It weaved recklessly along the very narrow street, taking out several shade canopies as it came. There were gunshots too, possibly coming from the truck.
    The AU team scrambled back first. Then the truck stopped twenty yards away.
    Houston Rockets was in the back, shielding himself with a young girl. She was maybe twelve or thirteen. He had one arm around her throat. His other hand — held high over his head — was holding a grenade for everyone to see.
    The Tiger wasted no time. He jumped up and ran for the truck. The passenger door opened for him and he disappeared inside.
    I saw his huge hand come out and slap the roof hard.
    As the pickup raced away, the young girl was thrown from the back. Thank God for that anyway.
    But as we watched in shock, she clawed the air with both arms and hit the