Robert Ferrigno - Heart of the Assassin

He leaned forward over the railing as the dots slowly neared, his fingers tapping on the railing in delight. Such a long time to have waited. There had been times lying in his bunk, surrounded by tons of steel and infidels, that he had almost smothered in doubt, but he had stayed true. He had remained faithful. Now…

Two speedboats…moving very fast…He squinted…could it be? Yes…bin-Siq clapped his hands in delight. The boats each towed a water-skier behind them, the tow ropes invisible…it looked as though the skiers were carried forward by wings of desire.

The Yucatan Princess made a minor course correction, and the speedboats kept pace.

In the sunset, the Gulf seemed ablaze, the two boats shooting across the flames toward the cruise liner. Down below, bin-Siq could see the tourists crowding the rail, pointing at the approaching speedboats. Their voices rose, excited, not in any way concerned-they were ten miles from land, the Belt a mere shadow in the distance. Surely this was some entertainment the company had planned for them, some small compensation for the cancellation of their New Orleans dive.

The captain's voice boomed over the loudspeakers, warning off the boats both in Spanish and in English.

One of the water-skiers waved and the crowd on deck cheered.

The captain would be on the radio now, alerting his superiors in Puerto Madero, asking for guidance.

Bin-Siq inhaled deeply, drew in the clean salt air. He felt himself growing lighter and more diaphanous by the moment. Were Juan here he could look right through him now.

The.50-caliber machine guns on the foredeck opened up, fired a warning burst near one of the boats. The crowd of tourists went silent for a moment…then cheered even louder.

The two speedboats came directly at the Yucatan Princess now, full speed. The water-skiers each unfurled the flag of the Belt, the banners snapping in the reddening glow.

The crowd lowered their voices, retreated back from the rail, hurrying inside.

The machine guns fired. Tore up the water. The crew were unused to anything other than simulations, and the speedboats zigzagged now, made themselves hard targets.

Bin-Siq had shaved his head before boarding the Yucatan Princess in Havana. This morning he had shaved his body completely, made himself presentable to enter Paradise.

The speedboats closed in, engines roaring. Close enough now that bin-Siq could almost make out faces. He wondered how long those men had waited to hear the call from the Old One, telling them their time had come.

The machine guns swept across the water, intersected one of the boats.

The explosion rocked the Yucatan Princess, sent debris from the speedboat skyward.

Screams echoed from below and bin-Siq himself cried out.

Each of the speedboats was packed with TNT, enough to cripple the Yucatan Princess but not sink her. Any more weight would have made the boats sluggish. No, the job of sinking the Yucatan Princess was left to bin-Siq. His luggage contained fifty pounds of plastic explosive. On his shift early this morning, he had formed the explosive between the bulkhead and the main fuel tanks, then attached a radio receiver to the detonator.

The other speedboat hurtled forward, aimed directly midship.

Bin-Siq took the small transmitter out of his pocket.

The machine gun fired frantically at the remaining speedboat, which was less than fifty yards away now, scudding over the waves.

The Belt speedboats would be blamed for the destruction of the Yucatan Princess; any investigation would identify the men responsible and doubtless there would be some connection to the authorities in Atlanta.

Bin-Siq held the detonator as the speedboat roared ever closer. He thought of his watercolors carefully taped to the wall of his cabin-seascapes, birds in flight, sunrise on the waves and a storm on the horizon. He didn't have much talent but he loved the softness of the images, the gentle gradations of color. They soothed him in the long years of waiting. Sad to think that all his work would be lost now.

The second speedboat crashed into the Yucatan Princess, the explosion knocking bin-Siq down. He quickly stood up, the ship listing as the captain's voice came over the loudspeaker, reassuring the passengers.

As bin-Siq pressed the detonator he gave thanks to Allah and hoped that he would be able to paint watercolors in Paradise.

The Old One swept Baby up in his arms, swung her around the cabana, her hair streaming out, the two of them giggling like children. Ibrahim glowered nearby, the wallscreen behind him frozen on the piece of the cross dotted with flowers. The Old One finally put Baby down, heart pounding, all trace of his cold but a memory. He had never realized how much he loved life until he had been faced with dying. Now…now Allah had graced him with a miracle, a most unforeseen reprieve from the claws of death.

"Oh, Daddy. " Baby fanned herself with her palm, breasts heaving in the green sundress. "Oh my, that was something."

"I fail to see the significance of this…this piece of wood, Father," said Ibrahim. "Rather than celebrate a useless relic, you should be reveling in our triumph with the Yucatan Princess. " He switched channels, the screen showing a dozen news helicopters hovering over the debris field clotting the Gulf. "See, every network in the world is covering what I did…what we did."

"Yes, yes, my son, a job well done," said the Old One. "I'm very proud of you."

Ibrahim remained defiant. "I just do not understand your… excitement over this thing." He glanced at Baby. "I can understand such behavior from her. She has lived among the infidel too long, but you…"

Baby switched the screen back to the piece of the cross. "Look at it, Ibrahim, this is what Sarah sent Moseby after. Daddy had our whole tech unit working on it for weeks now, and they finally captured the transmission the zombie sent from D.C."

"I'll send my blessing to them," said the Old One. "This is indeed a great-"

"This is foolishness," spat Ibrahim.

"Foolishness?" the Old One said softly. "Do you think me growing feebleminded in my dotage?"

Ibrahim shook his head.

"Perhaps you think I need a keeper," said the Old One. "A loyal son who will guide my halting steps?"

Ibrahim gestured at the screen. "Father…"

"Reunification will take a leap of faith by the Belt," said the Old One. "A trust that there's room in Paradise for all of us. With the cross of their savior in our hands-"

"The cross is a lie," said Ibrahim.

"Not where I come from," said Baby.

"Listen to her, Ibrahim. She speaks the truth," said the Old One. "Besides, has it not been said that Jesus Himself will appear to join the Mahdi in the final battle?"

"I don't see Jesus, I see a piece of wood, " said Ibrahim, "no better than some curio from a tourist shop. Father, this female has bewitched you."

"Enough." The Old One patted Ibrahim on the cheek. "Congratulations on your success with the Yucatan Princess, a flawlessly executed operation. All of Aztlan will be enraged, none more so than Presidente Argusto. Our moment of triumph approaches, my son, now go, make arrangements for my departure. I'm curious to see how Las Vegas has changed in my absence."

Ibrahim stalked out the door of the cabana.

The Old One watched him go, his good spirits tinged with regret. Ibrahim had served him well for many years. All things must pass, he told himself, then thought of the cross lying somewhere in D.C., and reminded himself that dust need not be his fate. Ibrahim's problem was that he was a modern man, steeped in facts and logic. A man who dismissed sacred relics as mere superstition. The Old One knew better. A piece of the cross would give legitimacy to the Old One's rule, just as he told Ibrahim…but that wasn't the root of his excitement.