It was neither! Tony stumbled over a carbon-gun, snatched it up in one motion, and simultaneously saw that beside the figure of Brady lay Phil, unconscious and bloodstained, red fluid seeping from a gaping hole in his chest. But Tony could spare only one glance at his brother. Beside him, between the pillars that towered to the roof, two men were locked in conflict—Jimmy and Commander Desquer!
Jimmy was getting the worst of it. He was weaponless and trying to hold on to the hand in which Desquer held his gun. The commander was slowly breaking his opponent’s grip. No expression showed in the Legion officer’s face, but his eyes were black and deadly as wet velvet. Jimmy was gasping and bleeding from a cut over one eye, almost exhausted.
Tony said, his voice like a whiplash, “Drop that gun, Desquer!”
The commander’s reaction was unexpected. All in one swift motion he released Jimmy and flung himself back. Hidden in the shadow of the pillars, he fired at Tony.
The shot missed. Tony lifted his own weapon—the one Jimmy had apparently dropped—but Desquer was fleeing, dodging in and out like a phantom. Why the devil—! Then Tony knew why. Desquer was no coward. But, on the other hand, he was no fool. He had run out of ammunition. A cartridge belt on the floor, its buckle torn off, explained the reason. In the fight Desquer had lost the belt.
He vanished through the door of the temple and was gone. Tony stared at Jimmy. “What the hell?”
The boy was white and gasping. “Phil got back. He’d seen you in the pyramid—told us where the machine was. But he’d been wounded—”
“Yeah. Keep talking, kid.” Tony was kneeling beside the unconscious form of Phil, rendering such first aid as he could.
“Desquer sent me outside to keep guard. I heard Phil yell, and came running in. I was just in time to see Desquer—” The boy swallowed. “He killed Phil, Tony. Shot him through the chest. I tried to stop him—and then you came in.”