Robert Ferrigno - Heart of the Assassin

"It's a beautiful idea, Sarah, and I wish the world worked that way," said Rakkim, "but we don't even know where this…thing is."

"Not yet," said Sarah.

"Not yet." Rakkim looked around. "Have you thought that Leo might not be the only person who can walk back the data packet from the Web site?"

"I am the only one who could do it," sniffed Leo, a twist of tissue hanging from his nostril.

"No, you're not," said Rakkim. "You might be the smartest person in the world, but the second-smartest person will just need a little more time to do it."

"A lot more time," said Leo, the tissue jiggling with every word.

"This zombie…this Eldon, he had some powerful clients," said Rakkim. "Big money boys with the means to hire the best and the brightest. You might have plans to use the cross to bring the two nations together, Sarah, but I guarantee you, other people might have a completely different agenda."

Sarah kissed him. "Then we'll have to get busy, won't we?"

Ibrahim barged into the Old One's chambers after a perfunctory knock, out of breath, having hurried over from the communications offices. It was late and his father was leaving tomorrow morning, but this news couldn't wait. He started to speak, stopped when he saw Baby lounging on the couch. She wore a red silk robe, but one leg was up, wantonly exposing her bare flesh.

"What is it, my son?" said the Old One, seated across from Baby, his back to the wall.

"Father…I…"

The Old One gestured with his glass of chilled cider. "Out with it."

Ibrahim bit back his fury. To be addressed in such a matter, and in front of the slut…He bowed, certain that his face did not betray his emotions. "John Moseby just contacted his wife. It was a simple encryption this time."

Baby shifted position, the silk rustling. "If you were able to translate the message, it might be a ruse."

"It's Leo's encryption program we can't break," Ibrahim said. "Moseby doesn't have the same capability-"

"What did the man say?" snapped the Old One.

Ibrahim handed him a printout of the brief conversation. "The message itself is nothing. 'Sorry for leaving so abruptly, darling, but I promise to come back as soon as I can. Kiss Leanne for me, and know that I love you.' The message is nothing, Father, as I said, but it's where it was sent from that's of interest." Ibrahim let them wait for a few seconds. "Our men traced the call to somewhere in the zombie sector near Washington, D.C."

The Old One looked at Baby.

"Moseby is a finder," said Ibrahim. "He's doubtlessly been sent to retrieve something from the ruins."

"But y'all don't know what it is he's been sent after, do you?" said Baby.

"I think we can assume it was something very important, Father," said Ibrahim, ignoring her. "Otherwise why risk entering that cursed place?"

The Old One tapped his fingers together. "Do we have men in place?"

"They're already on their way," said Ibrahim.

"Have our men ask around," said the Old One. "See if any of the locals have had dealings with Moseby, or heard of any recent discoveries that might be of interest to us."

Ibrahim bowed.

"Baby and I will be leaving for the Belt later tonight," said the Old One. "See that you keep me apprised of any further news regarding Moseby?"

"Tonight?" said Ibrahim.

"Daddy and me are eager to hear a little of that old-time religion," said Baby, laughing. "If you're a good boy, maybe I'll bring you back a pecan nut log."

The Old One dismissed Ibrahim with a wave of his hand.

Flushed with rage, Ibrahim heard Baby's voice as he walked out the door.

"It's just like I told you, Daddy, Moseby's a family man. No way he wasn't going to talk with his sweetie."

Ibrahim kept walking. In spite of everything that had gone on before, all the things Baby had said and done to damage his standing with their father, it was at that precise moment that Ibrahim decided to kill her.

Baby clapped along to the gospel choir as the Old One danced in the aisle of the gigantic tent, hands waving, praising the Lord along with the hundreds of other participants who had rushed from their seats to lurch and howl and talk in tongues like fucking idiots. She saw Gravenholtz watching her from one of the exits, red hair slicked back so he looked almost human. He tossed aside the white carnation he had been given at the door, barreled up to one of Crews's deacons and jabbed him with a forefinger.

In the pulpit, the minister Malcolm Crews dipped and capered, long legs flying to the beat, his image magnified by the TV cameras on the jumbo screens on the walls as well as beamed out to the rest of the Belt. She saw the Old One bump into an enormous black woman in a polka-dot dress, then grab her hand and swing her round and round, sweat rolling off both their cheeks in the Atlanta heat. Baby clapped along with the soaring vocals of the choir, grateful to be back in the Belt.

At the last minute Ibrahim had tried to talk the Old One out of leaving Nueva Florida last night, warning of crime or illness from the strange food, even suggesting that Baby planned to assassinate the Old One far from the protection of his loyal retainers. She had remained silent and when Ibrahim ran out of breath, the Old One had kissed him on both cheeks, thanked him for his concern and told him not to worry. I journeyed alone into the teeth of our enemies before your mother was born…before your mother and grandmother drew their first breath. Am I less now than I was then?

"Feel God's healing grace crackling through this temple! Feel God's power shake your bones and roil your blood!" shouted Crews as he strode back and forth, his face all sharp angles, ax blades for cheekbones, a man always in motion, strutting and capering so that the cameras could barely keep up with him. "God's lightning gonna set you up, brothers and sisters, twist you up, juice you up!"

The Old One thumped and bumped along with the crowd, arms flailing, hair plastered to his forehead as he shouted "Praise Jesus!" to the heavens. Without his beard and with his hair dyed, he looked younger, and the stylish checkerboard suit wasn't much of a Sunday-go-to-meeting outfit, but more like something a wolf on the prowl might sport to sweep a girl off her feet. Ibrahim would positively shit if he saw him now.

Daddy had been acting very weird these last couple of weeks. He had always been steady, hardly showing any emotion at all, just watching things play out behind those cold dark eyes of his, but lately…he had been positively erratic-gloomy one day, just staring into space, and the next day, heck, the next minute, he was charging around, demanding everybody jump, acting like a man whose rent was about due and he didn't have money for the landlord. Now here he was in Atlanta, banging hips with strangers, sweating up a storm and seeming to have the time of his life.

It had been a year since Baby had fled the Belt. Miami was fun, but she had quickly grown restless. Eager to impress her father, she made use of her contacts in the Belt, gathering information, waiting for an opportunity. She didn't have to wait long.

Belt president Raynaud was derided for his upper-class accent and fake populism, but his wife, Jinx, flighty and beautiful, had charmed the nation with her honest smile and her small-town ways. Every time she changed her hairstyle the beauty parlors filled. Her only son's health problems made her even more beloved. It was when Baby got word that Malcolm Crews had resurfaced as a backwoods preacher in the Carolinas that she got excited. She had an eye for men she could use, always had-that's how she'd ended up married to the Colonel, a man in his sixties when she was still a teenager. It was nice being the wife of the Colonel, but what she was aiming at now was so far beyond that she could barely fathom it.