'If they catch Ken, you could have a problem explaining the sword.'

'But I looked after the sword, when I could have sold it-'

'You looked after it because you were being blackmailed and you were being blackmailed because you're a Goddamn terrorist and frankly I don't much care what happens to terrorists. Open itup.'

He pushed up the metal curtain and I stepped cautiously out into the patchily-lit alley. Figures moved at either end, stepping back into doorways.

Somebody called: 'Put up your hands! '

I put them up and waited. A couple of police, one with an Uzi, the other a pistol, scuttled up and frisked me, then Gadulla. Sergeant Sharon appeared out of the shadows, muttering into a small walkie-talkie.

Then she said: 'You can put your hands down. Who are these?'

I introduced Mitri and Gadulla.

'Where is Mr Cavitt?'

I jerked my head at the shop; instinctively, both the other cops levelled their guns at it. Sharon lifted the radio.

Machine guns wentbrrrap in another street. Two bursts. Then a third. Then silence.

He was huddled along the bottom of a house wall, the submachine gun in one hand, the sword glinting dully in the middle of the dark alley.

'Don't touch him,' Sharon warned.

I didn't need to. A burst had caught him across the chest. I asked: 'Did he kill anybody? '

'No, but he hit one of our men in the legs.' Her voice was cold, almost contemptuous. 'What did he hope to do? There are only seven gates to the City. No other way out.'

'No?'

She stared at me. 'But why did he try to fight?'

I shrugged. 'I don't know. He was growing old. You die of that, too.'

Tamir materialised at my shoulder. He looked down at Ken. 'Ah.' Then, sounding a little breathless: 'Have you been told you are under arrest?'

'I guessed.'

'The charges – we can work those out later. But you will probably go to jail for a small time anyway.'

I nodded. 'There's nobody waiting.'