It wasn’t long. Andy saw Cinqueda, a blur coming at the soldier from behind. The soldier didn’t know she was there until she touched him, and by then it was too late; Cinqueda had him disarmed and bent like a bow. One of her arms was around his throat, the chrome-nailed fingers of that hand caressing his hair. Her other hand held his weapon. His helmet spun lazily on the pavement. For a moment Andy didn’t understand why she’d stopped her assault, then he saw that Tom had pulled his pistol and was pointing it at Cinqueda’s head. At that range, he was unlikely to miss. Tom’s voice was deadly cold as he spoke.