This part of the estate hadn’t been damaged by Malone’s attack. He charged closer to the weapons-testing range, using hedges, trees, and bushes to provide cover. The trees to his left disappeared, the machine guns vaporizing them. He dove to the ground an instant before the hedges between which he’d been running burst into pieces, specks of leaves and branches filling the air, the chopper swooping over.

Again, before Bellasar could turn, Malone sprang to his feet and ran. Beyond one last line of shrubs, he rushed into the open, reaching the wooden stalls of the testing area. To his right was the.50-caliber machine gun Bellasar had threatened him with. But as Malone tried to reach it, Bellasar fired, dirt and grass flying, a trough appearing between Malone and the weapon.

Malone tried again, and again Bellasar’s bullets cut off his route. The bastard’s enjoying himself. Furious, Malone spun in another direction. Beyond the stalls was the mock village Bellasar and his clients used for target practice. It had been rebuilt since Malone had last seen it. He sprinted toward one of the stalls, flicked the switch Potter had used months earlier, and charged toward the suddenly animated village, realistic-looking soldiers, civilians, and vehicles now moving along the streets.

A volley from a machine gun tore up grass on his right. Veering to the left but continuing to race toward the village, Malone tensed in dread of the volley that would be aimed in that direction. Trying to time it, he swung to the right an instant before the next volley devastated the grass to his left, but now the bullets hit closer to him. Bellasar was tiring of the game.

The village loomed. Malone zigzagged across the final twenty yards, dove over a stone wall, landed hard, gasped from the pain in his ribs, then squirmed frantically toward the corner of a stone building, where he pressed himself behind a pile of rubble. Both machine guns firing, the helicopter attacked the village. It blew a gap in the wall, destroyed the corner of the house, and heaved up the cobblestones in a street farther along.

The moment the chopper sped over the tops of the buildings, Malone raced along the street. Before Bellasar could turn and see him, he darted left into a courtyard and sprawled behind another wall. His chest heaved. Sweat dripped from his face. When he wiped it, his hand came away bloody, and he realized the concussion of the near hits from the machine guns had made his nose bleed.

Bellasar skimmed the village, searching. “Don’t think you can hide!” his voice boomed from the loudspeaker. “This chopper has night-vision and heat-sensor equipment! As soon as it gets dark, I’ll have no trouble picking up your heat signature!”

Malone studied a military Jeep filled with mannequins dressed as soldiers. The Jeep was on a track that moved the vehicle along a street. Other mannequins dressed as villagers were on similar tracks that made them appear to walk.

“And don’t think you can wait for me to run out of fuel!” Bellasar’s voice thundered. “Before that happens, I’ll level this place!”

A flatbed truck filled with mannequins dressed as workers was so realistic that Malone had the start of an idea, interrupted by an explosion as a rocket blew the truck apart. It heaved, chunks flying in all directions. Burning mannequins, many without arms and heads, flipped through the air. A fireball soared. As black smoke drifted over him, Malone’s nostrils contracted from the stench of cordite, scorched metal, and burning gasoline.

Burning gasoline? Had Bellasar made the village that realistic?

The chopper crisscrossed the village, continuing to search. As soon as Bellasar faced the opposite direction, Malone rushed from cover and hurried toward another Jeep. Wary of the chopper, he grabbed a rifle from one of the mannequin soldiers and raced back to the cover of a wall.

Breathing heavily, he examined the weapon. An M16. Its magazine was fully loaded. Did that mean the grenades the mannequins carried were real also? Why would…

So the sound effects and the visuals will be accurate, Malone understood with a chill. When Bellasar and his clients shoot at this village, it has to seem as realistic as possible. An explosion has to detonate gasoline in vehicles. It has to set off grenades and ammunition as it would when fire engulfed military corpses.

The chopper pivoted, coming in Malone’s direction. He’ll fly right over me, Malone realized, his heart beating faster. He’ll see me behind this wall.

Racing toward an alley, Malone heard the chopper increase speed. He saw me! Entering the alley, charging between houses, he cursed when he saw the alley end at a doorway.

If that door’s a fake, if it’s jammed…

He didn’t have an option. He knew what Bellasar would do next. Stretching his legs to their maximum, he reached the dead end. Slamming against the door, pawing at its latch, he thrust it open. His momentum carried him into a house, but instead of stopping, he kept running. He saw an open window, raced toward it, dove through it, and, even as he flew through the air, an explosion behind him thrust him farther, the rocket Bellasar had launched hitting the front of the house. The force of the blast sent walls toppling, rubble flying. When Malone landed in a stone courtyard, the pain in his ribs almost made him pass out. Chunks of rock fell over him. Dust and smoke overwhelmed him.

Smoke. Despite his pain, a thought that had started forming earlier now insisted. Smoke. The fires in the ruined buildings had created so much smoke that this section of the village was blanketed with it. Bellasar couldn’t see where Malone was sprawled.

Wrong. As the chopper approached, its spinning blades dispersed the smoke, allowing Bellasar a glimpse of the wreckage.

The smoke will work, though, Malone decided. There just has to be enough of it.

Wincing from the pain in his ribs, he forced himself across the courtyard. Gaining speed, he reached a street and saw another Jeep approaching. He took off his windbreaker and formed a sling with it. He darted out, jumped onto the Jeep, grabbed grenades from the equipment belts on the mannequins, stuffed them into the sling, heard the chopper approaching, grabbed two more grenades, and leapt off, taking cover in a doorway as Bellasar flew over.

Straining to get enough air in his lungs, he pulled the pin from a grenade, heaved the grenade toward the receding Jeep, and raced the opposite way along the street. A truck came around a corner. He tossed a grenade into it as well and ran harder. The blast from the first grenade gutted the Jeep, set off a secondary explosion in the gas tank, and detonated the ammunition in the rifles. Pop, pop, pop, he heard, then winced from the louder explosion of the second grenade, the truck bursting into flames. Continuing to run, he hurled a third grenade at a pickup truck, a fourth at a bus, a fifth at a station wagon. The chain of explosions behind him was accompanied by rising columns of dense black smoke from burning gasoline and tires.

Bellasar shot into the smoke, but Malone was already in a different sector, blowing up a half-track, another Jeep, and another pickup truck. The secondary explosions added to the chaos, more dense smoke billowing. The stench was so acrid Malone bent over, coughing. The flames spread to buildings. Mannequins dressed as civilians moved on their tracks, continuing to walk even though they were burning.

The smoke drifted from the village, spreading across the field around it. Malone used it for cover, racing toward the weapons-testing stalls. The.50-caliber machine gun, he kept thinking. Bellasar had cut off his route to it earlier. If Malone had persisted, he was certain Bellasar would have decided the threat was sufficiently serious for him to quit toying with Malone and stop the game right then.