A Prayer for the Dying

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‘And what in the hell is this?’ Fallon said, picking it up.

‘A Czech Ceska,’ Kristou told him. ‘Seven point five millimetres. Model twenty-seven. The Germans took over the factory during the war. This is one of theirs. You can tell by the special barrel modification. Made that way to take a silencer.’

‘Is it any good?’

‘SS Intelligence used them, but judge for yourself.’

He moved into the darkness. A few moments later, a light was turned on at the far end of the building and Fallon saw that there was a target down there of a type much used by the army. A lifesize replica of a charging soldier.

As he screwed the silencer on to the end of the barrel, Kristou rejoined him. ‘Any time you’re ready.’

Fallon took careful aim with both hands, there was a dull thud that outside would not have been audible above three yards. He had fired at the heart and chipped the right arm.

He adjusted the sight and tried again. He was still a couple of inches out. He made a further adjustment. This time he was dead on target.

Kristou said, ‘Didn’t I tell you?’

Fallon nodded. ‘Ugly, but deadly, Kristou, just like you and me. Did I ever tell you that I once saw a sign on a wall in Derry that said: Is there a life before death? Isn’t that the funnlest thing you ever heard?’

Kristou stared at him, aghast, and Fallon turned, his arm swung up, he fired twice without apparently taking aim and shot out the target’s eyes.