Robert Ferrigno - Heart of the Assassin

"What's wrong?" Sarah pressed her hand against his chest. "Talk to me."

Rakkim looked at her standing there, naked in the moonlight. Her breasts were fuller now than before Michael was born, heavier. He was even more drawn to her ripeness.

"Did…did something happen between you and General Kidd?"

"You lied to me this afternoon."

Sarah didn't answer. Didn't compound the lie with another one. A small blessing…or just her knowing when to stay silent until she found out how much he knew.

"I was watching you this afternoon at the war museum," said Rakkim. "You didn't bump into Robert Legault by accident. You were there to meet him."

Sarah barely hesitated. "That's true."

"You lied to me."

"I was postponing telling you the truth."

Rakkim stared out the window. "Do you love him?"

"What? Love him? Rakkim…I've been in love with you since we were children."

"I know our history," Rakkim said. "I also know you lied about meeting an old boyfriend."

"Robert was never my boyfriend. He was suitable."

"And I wasn't."

"Redbeard was my uncle and my guardian; it was his responsibility to find me a suitable husband. You…you were a street urchin he brought home and trained to follow in his footsteps. He loved you, but-"

"That wasn't love."

"He loved you, Rikki. He loved you enough to treat you like his son. Loved you enough that he wanted you to take charge of State Security. His plans for you didn't include marrying his niece…but I didn't care. I stood up to him. I risked everything to…" Sarah shook him, the two of them so close that their naked bodies grazed. "Do you think I would bring Michael along if I was contemplating doing something immoral?"

"I don't know."

"Rikki, after all this time…don't you trust me?"

Rakkim looked into her eyes.

"Rikki…you have to answer."

"What were you doing there with him?" Rakkim ran his fingers through her hair, her neck soft under his touch. "It's a simple question. I'm sure there's a simple answer."

"You're not going to like it." Sarah took a deep breath. "Robert wants to do a three-hour TV special on Redbeard's life…not just a biography, but his effect on the nation, the difference that he made. Robert wants us to participate fully."

Rakkim shook his head. "You might as well send the Old One an invitation."

"Do you think he needs an invitation?"

"What's really going on, Sarah?"

"It's cold out here. Come back to bed and we'll talk about it."

"I can think better out here."

Sarah laughed. "God hates a coward, Rikki."

"God hates a fool too."

Sarah led him back to bed, the sheets still warm. She rested her head on his chest. "Aren't you tired of hiding from the Old One? Michael needs to start school."

"He's learning plenty. Between the two of us-"

"It's not just about us. We've always thought bigger than that."

"You have. Not me."

She sat up, the sheet falling away, and Rakkim couldn't take his eyes off her. "We have to get involved, Rikki. It was different when Kingsley was president, we had access, and Kingsley paid attention. Brandt, though…he's not listening to us, and according to what you found out in New Fallujah, the people he is listening to are determined to take the country back to the dark ages." She kissed him. "We can't afford to hide anymore."

Rakkim stroked her flank. "Why now?"

"What do you-?"

"Why does Legault want to do a special on Redbeard now ? Why not last year or next year?"

Sarah shook out her hair. "Because I suggested it to him."

"That's what I thought."

"I'll take that as a compliment." Sarah slid on top of him. Her mother's tiny crucifix hung from a chain around her neck, bounced between her breasts as she rocked. "Five years of marriage and you're still jealous." She reached back, gripped him. "I feel like a newlywed."

Rakkim groaned. "You're a Catholic girl at heart."

"Well?" said ibn-Azziz. "Why did you absolve those schoolgirls from their sin?"

"At first I was content to let them burn," said Jenkins.

"Yet you changed your mind." Ibn-Azziz scratched his arms, gouged the flesh with his yellow nails, lips curling with pleasure. "So…my dear mullah, why did you disgrace yourself with mercy?"

"Mercy?" Jenkins's cackle echoed off the stone walls. "I spared the girls' lives, but it was only for the greater glory of Allah. Have you not noticed how often our jihadis fail in their attacks, killed before they can detonate their suicide belts?" He leaned closer to ibn-Azziz. "But who would stop a schoolgirl from entering a movie theater or a crowded mall? Such an innocent could go anywhere unchallenged. If there was mercy in my actions that night, then it was the mercy of allowing their death to mean something, rather than simply die for modesty."

Ibn-Azziz narrowed his eyes. "Modesty is a great virtue."

"Not so great as the smiting of our enemies."

"True." Blood trickled down the inside of ibn-Azziz's arms. "This idea…was it yours?"

Jenkins shook his head. "I wish that I could take the credit, but that would be a lie." Ibn-Azziz was trying to trap him. One of the police or another black robe had seen him talking with Rakkim at the fire-in the darkness, they hadn't recognized Rakkim as the man in the surveillance footage, but ibn-Azziz's suspicions had been aroused.

"Who deserves my gratitude?" said ibn-Azziz. "I am most generous, as you know."

"A man approached me after the girls had fled the burning madrassa," said Jenkins, "a jihadi on his way to paradise. He suggested that the girls, having already forfeited their souls, be given a chance to redeem themselves."

Ibn-Azziz tugged at his wispy beard.

"Schoolgirl jihadis, the youngest angels," said Jenkins. "We should wait, though, give them a couple more years, so their will becomes resolute…and so they can carry more explosives."

"Who was this jihadi who gave you such an idea?" said ibn-Azziz. "Tell me his name."

"He said his name was Tamar and he was on his way to Santa Barbara to send some Catholics to hell."

"Pity," said ibn-Azziz, immobile in the faint light, so emaciated that it looked like his body was collapsing in on him. "I would have liked to have met this man. Given him my blessing on his journey."

"I asked him to stay, but he was eager for his divine reward," said Jenkins, sensing that ibn-Azziz was still waiting for him to make a mistake. "He did allow me to take him to the Bridge of Skulls. He said it was his favorite place in the city, a monument to our triumph over perversity. He and I walked to the very end and prayed together."

Ibn-Azziz nodded. "Yes…you were observed with this jihadi by the guards at the bridge." He dipped a fingertip in his blood, added a tiny red fingerprint to the hundreds of other red marks on the wall. "It was a stormy night, they said. The bridge bucking and heaving so much that they were afraid to set foot on it. Yet…you did."

"Have you not told me that those who love God have nothing to fear?"

"Inshallah," said ibn-Azziz.

"Inshallah," said Jenkins.

"Now then," said ibn-Azziz, showing his teeth, "what shall we do with the two men who let Rakkim Epps through the security cordon? The two who tried to cover up their incompetence."

"The Bridge of Skulls is hungry," said Jenkins, a chill starting up his spine. "We should feed it."

"Shall I accord you the honor?"

Jenkins inclined his head. "You are too kind."

"I'm confused," Hussein said to Amir, as they sat cross-legged in the tree-shaded garden at the rear of Hussein's villa, the surrounding walls dotted with electronic chaff generators to prevent eavesdropping. A stocky white man with a pugnacious jaw and short gray hair, Hussein had lost his left arm in battle, the sleeve of his Fedayeen uniform folded back to his shoulder. Orange and yellow koi glided in the pond beside them, Hussein trailing the fingertips of his right hand in the water. "Your father sends Rakkim into New Fallujah and he tells you nothing. Yesterday, Rakkim gives your father an after-mission report and again, your father tells you nothing. So illuminate me, O Lion of Durango…is Rakkim General Kidd's spawn, or are you?"