jherbert.sepulchre-第52部分

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hey　changed　at　the　next　station；　Gare　de　l'Est；　going　on　to　Chaussee　d'Antin；　and　from　there　to　Montmartre。　They　had　journeyed　no　great　distance；　but　enough　to　throw　off　any　pursuers　and　not　long　enough　for　the　police　to　set　up　checks　at　metro　exits　（even　if　that　were　possible　with　so　many　stations）。　They　emerged　into　the　soft　glow　of　evening　and　the　distant　sounds　of　sirens。
　　They　strolled　down　the　wide；　tree…lined　boulevard　towards　the　river；　mingling　with　tourists；　their　hearts　still　beating　wildly；　although　outwardly　they　managed　to　appear　nonchalant。　They　passed　streetside　restaurants；　sniffed　at　roasting　meat　and　spicy　sauces；　politely　declined　when　approached　by　smiling　prostitutes；　not　stopping　until　they　reached　the　Seine　where　they　watched　the　passing　bateaux…mouches　crammed　with　sightseers。
　　Only　then　did　they　look　slyly　at　each　other　and　giggle。
　　They　had　a　'safe　house'　to　go　to；　an　apartment　in　one　of　the　small　courtyards　in　the　Rue　Mouffetard　area　close　to　the　outdoor　market　just　across　the　river。　Hut　there　was　no　need　to　make　their　way　back　yet；　indeed；　training　had　taught　them　it　was　often　better　to　stay　lost　in　the　crowd　for　as　long　as　possible。
　　They　wandered　along　the　river　bank　for　a　short　while；　then　headed　back　into　the　streets　towards　St　Denis；　taking　their　time　rind　watching　the　street　entertainers…buskers；　dancers；　jugglers；　even　fire…eaters。　They　felt　frightened　but　exhilarated。　They　felt　alive。　The　operation　had　been　successful；　and　there　was　the　bonus　of　one　dead　gendarme。　Their　clothes　were　too　nondescript　for　easy　identification；　even　if　witnesses　to　the　stabbing　had　e　forward；　and　at　the　height　of　the　tourist　season；　with　students　of　all　races　gathered　in　this　city　of　culture　and　romance；　two　young　Arabs　of　murderous　natures　would　be　almost　impossible　to　wheedle　out。
　　The　only　disappointment　came　when　they　were　seated　at　a　streetside　cafe　drinking　white　wine　（so　wonderful　to　be　away　from　the　strictures　of　a　Moslem　society）　and　learned　from　the　conversations　around　them　that　nobody　appeared　to　have　been　killed　in　that　day's　bomb　blast　at　the　Gare　du　Nord；　although　five　people；　a　child　among　them；　were　seriously　injured。
　　Asil　and　Youssef　drifted　on；　soon　finding　a　creperie　where　they　took　delight　in　decadent　European　cooking。　As　they　consumed　the　food　and　wine；　it　was　with　each　other　they　flirted。　The　bustle　and　the　festive　atmosphere　（despite　the　bombing）　around　them　heightened　their　excitement；　the　killing　and　maiming　served　as　a　stimulus　for　their　passion。
　　Eventually　they　crossed　the　river　at　the　lie　de　la　Cite；　going　towards　the　market　quarter　and　their　apartment；　but　stopping　once　again　to　take　more　wine　at　one　of　the　cafes　on　the　Place　de　la　Contrescarpe。　After　two　more　glasses　they　decided　that　the　night　still　held　further　adventures　for　them。　The　crowds　had　dwindled；　most　of　the　tourists　having　tottered　back　to　their　hotels　and　pensions　leaving　the　streets　mostly　to　students　and　winos；　the　clochards。　Asil　and　Youssef　finally　went　in　search　of　yet　another　victim；　one　who；　would　fulfil　a　certain　need　in　them。
　　They　rejected　the　first　two　male　prostitutes　because　they　looked　too　old…in　their　twe=nties　at　least…and　too　tough。　The　third　was　an　effeminate　boy　who　locked　no　more　than　seventeen。　He　led　them　into　a　dark　cul…de…sac　where　he　assured　them　they　would　not　be　disturbed。　Youssef　did　not　have　leis　beloved　garotte　with　him；　but　the　tie　he　wore　would　do；　prolonged　torture　would　not　he　possible　here；　but　Asil　would　have　fun　with　his　blade　while　the　boy's　skin　turned　purple　and　his　tongue　swelled　from　his　mouth。
　　Unluckily　for　them；　the　'boy'　was　neither　as　young　as　he　appeared；　nor　what　he　claimed　to　be　（and　certainly　not　effeminate）。
　　Light　from　a　distant　lamp　glinted　on　the　pistol　he　produced　from　beneath　his　jacket。　'Police；'　he　informed　them；　holding　up　an　ID　in　his　left　hand。
　　The　bullet　scraped　along　the　bone　of　Asil's　lower　arm　as　he　lunged　with　the　knife；　this　time　his　victim's　stomach　exposed　and　an　easy　target。　The　fake　prostitute　dropped　like　a　stone；　the　gun　firing　into　the　pavement　before　falling　from　his　grasp。
　　Asil　screamed　with　the　pain　in　his　arm；　the　knife　slipping　away；　lodged　in　the　policeman。　Somewhere　not　too　far　away　a　whistle　blew　for　the　gendarmerie　were　out　in　force　that　night　because　of　the　bomb　outrage；　and　the　gunshots　had　been　heard。　Youssef　dragged　his　friend　away；　hurrying　him　through　the　narrow　streets　in　the　direction　of　their　apartment。　A　car　screeched　around　a　corner　ahead　of　them；　its　lights　blazing。
　　The　two　terrorists　ducked　into　an　alleyway；　breaking　into　an　awkward　run；　convinced　they　had　been　spotted。　They　had。　The　police　car　came　to　a　halt　at　the　alleyway　entrance；　doors　flew　open；　uniformed　men　jumped　out。　They　shouted；　'Arretez！'　before　aiming　their　weapons　and　firing。
　　Bullets　smacked　into　the　walls　around　the　fleeing　Arabs　and　one　ricocheted　off　cobblestones　to　tear　through　the　outer　edge　of　Youssef　s　calf。　Both　men　were　handicapped；　although　they　were　able　to　keep　on　the　move。　Youssef　was　weeping　as　he　limped　along；　the　whole　of　his　leg　numbed　with　the　shock；　pain　not　yet　registering。
　　They　emerged　into　a　wider　street　and　saw　other　uniformed　men　ing　towards　them。　There　were　still　a　few　pedestrians　around；　one　or　two　cars　crawling　close　to　the　kerbs。　All　came　to　a　standstill　as　the　shouting　gendarmes　weaved　through　them。　Asil　and　Youssef　started　in　the　opposite　direction；　running　as　fast　as　their　wounds　would　allow；　cursing　themselves　for　their　foolishness；　knowing　how　angry　their　masters　would　be　at　the　risk　they　had　exposed　themselves　and　the　organisation　to。　They　silently　implored　Allah　to　lend　them　wings。
　　Rounding　another　corner；　they　stumbled　over　the　bodies　of　three　clochards　huddled　on　a　metro　vent　（these　raggedy　men　relished　the　underground　warmth　whatever　the　season）。　Asil　struck　his　head　against　the　pavement；　stunning　himself。　The　plaining　winos　kicked　out　and　Youssef　rolled　into　the　gutter。　He　quickly　sat　up　and　was　horrified　when　he　saw　the　inert　body　of　his　friend。　Running　footsteps　drawing　near；　headlights　and　blaring　sirens　approaching　fast。　He　scrambled　to　his　feet　and　pulled　up　his　dazed　panion；　urging　him　to　run。
　　Into　an　alleyway　apposite　they　went；　the　smell　of　an　underoround　river　that　had　been　turned　into　a　sewer　strong　in　the　confines　of　the　narrow　space。　A　saxophone　played　bluesily　overhead；　the　musician　uninterested　in　the　motion　below。　Garbage　piled　up　in　heaps　against　walls　near　the　backdoors　of　restaurants。　Run；　Asil；　Run；　Youssef！　But　to　where？　Paris　was　not　familiar；　they　were　disorientated。　They　would　never　find　their　way　to　the　apartment　that　night。
　　The　numbness　had　left　Youssef's　leg。　It　felt　as　though　it　was　an　fire。　Ash's　head　had　not　yet　cleared；　and　all　he　was　really　conscious　of　was　the　searing　pain　in　his　arm。　He　had　to　rely　on　his　lover　to　lead　him　onwards。
　　Out　into　another　street；　this　one　wider　than　the　last；　but　with　little　cruising　traffic。　Across　the　road；　into　a　courtyard；　shouts　and　footsteps　behind。　Both　men　were　near　to　exhaustion；　their　wounds　draining　strength。　They　knew　they　could　not　go　much　further。
　　Akhoo　Sharmoota！　No　way　out！　The　courtyard　was　a　closed　trap！　Beloved　Allah；　show　mercy　to　loyal　soldiers　of　the　jihad！
　　Shouted　mands　outside。　Whistles　blowing。　Tyres　screeching　to　a　halt。　Doors　slamming。
　　But　Asil　was　pointing　and　Youssef　could　not　understand　how　his　dazed　panion　had　seen　the　tiny　opening　between　the　buildings；　a　dark　cleft　as　if　the　houses　had　been　eased　apart。
　　Yatamajad　ism　al　rab！　The　way　had　been　shown！
　　They　staggered　across　the　courtyard；　where　lights　from　windows　were　ing　on　to　throw　reflections　like　searchlights　down　on　them。　and　entered　the　pinch…black　opening；　just　enough　room　inside　far　them　to　lope　along　helping　each　ocher。　A　dim　glow　Seemed　to　rise　from　the　ground　ahead；　and　they　soon　found　themselves　at　the　tap　of　a　seep　flight　of　stone　steps。　A　single　streetlarnp　lit　the　exit　a　short　distance　away。
　　Voices　in　the　courtyard　behind。　No　time　to　linger。　Down　they　went。　But　blinding　pain　gnashed　throe　gh　the　muscles　of　Youssefs　calf　and　he　slipped；　gabbed　far　Asil　as　he　fe