He comes in low, aiming to drive the blade straight toward my gut, one of the toughest knife-moves to stop. I leap back half a meter, catch his wrist in the vee formed by my left wrist and the click-stick in my right hand, deflecting his thrust past my left side. (Just past: I feel the blade tug at my shirt.) Then I snap a quick backhanded shot at his head with the baton. The sharp crack as the stick hits Ranger’s forehead echoes in the room, and blood sprays from his scalp. For an instant he’s frozen, eyes defocused, wide open. It’d be so easy to drive the tip of the baton into his throat, shatter the hyoid bone and rupture his larynx, then just stand back and watch him die. Easy and, in the grand scheme, probably a very smart move.