Robert Ferrigno - Heart of the Assassin

Moseby kept his finger on the trigger.

Corbett opened the back door. Showed off the compartment inside. "This is what you're really paying for. Specially designed for treasure hunting, not sightseeing. See…you sit down on the jumpseat, close the door and press this button here." He pointed. "See it? Takes sixty seconds to cycle out the dust and air, pipe in fresh. That way you don't track radiation or toxins into the main compartment when you come and go. Pretty nifty, huh?"

"Yeah."

Corbett put his hands on his hips. Made him look like a banty rooster. "Most folks are more impressed."

"I thought this was the first one you made," said Moseby.

Corbett licked his dry lips. "Right. You…you're the first person who's had the money to pay for it. Most folks just kick the tires and say they'll come back later…but they never do." He wiped a line of brown spit that had run down his chin. "So, you got the funds?"

Moseby pulled out the chip Rakkim had given him.

"Good." Corbett handed him a remote credit tablet. Waited while Moseby slid the chip through. Checked the transaction. Nodded. "Congratulations. You're the proud owner of a grade-A war wagon, Mr. Moseby." He shook hands, held on.

Moseby tried to free himself.

Corbett looked toward the crashed F-77 interceptor, still squeezing Moseby's hand. " Do it. What are you waiting for?"

Moseby jerked free. Tossed Corbett the starlight scope. "I think this belongs to you."

Corbett dropped the scope, backed away. He turned and started running.

The two men pushed off from the van, reaching into their jackets. One pulled a revolver as his head exploded. The other almost got a shot off before he was knocked off his feet, brains everywhere. Big Mike jumped out of the limo, shotgun firing wildly before being brought down by a controlled burst from Moseby's flechette auto-pistol, the tiny, jagged projectiles almost cutting him in half.

Corbett dashed among the abandoned planes, seeking out the shadows, zigging and zagging through the night. He kept low, shifting his speed until he was out of sight.

Moseby checked the dead, put away his weapon. He looked up just as Corbett burst from the brush at the top of the ridge, running flat out. Corbett spun around at the same instant Moseby heard the gunshot, fell facedown in the moonlight. Another head shot. "That wasn't necessary," said Moseby.

Rakkim emerged from the darkness, the sniper rifle slung over his shoulders. "Sure, it was."

Baby saw the jeep stop atop the next hill over, faced it, assuming that the Colonel was watching her through some high-res binoculars. She had chosen this spot with care, a gentle slope overlooking the river, a few trees for shade but not enough to hide anyone. She wanted the Colonel to see that she was all alone. She sat on a blanket, a wicker picnic basket nearby-the Colonel was old-fashioned, which she had always found endearing, a sign that he didn't feel he had to keep up. Last thing she would do was show up with a liquid-nitrogen-cooled basket and an instant sweet-tea maker.

The breeze off the river below wafted her hair around her shoulders and she let her head fall back, reveling in the sensation. Oh, she was aware of the effect her actions had on the Colonel. The place under the trees was seductive and cool, the wildflowers fragrant. She loved the Belt. Miami was beautiful, but the days were too hot and the nights were humid. Air-conditioning was harsh on her skin, drying it, and her hair suffered too. No, all things considered, the Belt was best.

The Colonel must have seen enough, the jeep starting up, moving slowly over the surrounding hills toward her.

Baby leaned back, stretched her legs out as she watched the Colonel approach. A black ant crawled slowly up and down the folds of the blanket until it reached her bare leg. It hesitated, feelers twitching, then stepped onto her calf. She reached down, pinched the ant flat and tossed it aside, her eyes never leaving the jeep.

She wondered where Gravenholtz was. Two days ago, she sent him off to zombie country with some money and that bad attitude of his. Honey and vinegar to get the locals to give up what they knew about Moseby. Not that they'd tell him anything…and even if they did, Lester wasn't about to go into D.C. No, he'd drive around, getting lost and too dumb to admit he didn't belong there. She hadn't told him about the piece of the cross, of course. Just said to wait until Moseby showed up and bring him and whatever he was carrying back to Atlanta. By the time Lester finally gave up, Baby would be in Seattle, handing over the cross to her daddy and telling him just what she wanted as a token of his appreciation. How about the world, Daddy?

The jeep pulled up nearby and the Colonel got out, wearing the informal gray uniform that emphasized the width of his shoulders. He strolled over, taking his time, still handsome in spite of the years, carrying himself like a king.

The greatest hero of the war, the savior of the Belt, they called him. He could have been president, it had been offered to him on a platter, but he turned it down, went back to the Tennessee hills. It was only when the central government dissolved into a stew of greed and ineptitude that the Colonel had raised an army to protect his territory from bandits and renegades. His old comrades left everything to join him, brought their guns and their sons. The Colonel became the most powerful warlord in the Belt, independent of Atlanta politics and politicians, a free man in a free land. Twenty-five years later he controlled most of Tennessee. Crime was rare and quickly punished; taxes were low and he still retreated to his farm every winter, walking his fallow fields and reading the Bible.

Baby stood up. "I wasn't sure you were going to come, Zachary."

The Colonel looked at her, his eyes cool and blue.

"I wouldn't have blamed you." Baby felt the sun through the trees, her clothes warm against her. "I wouldn't blame you no matter what you did to me."

"I've been shot three times," said the Colonel, a faint quaver in his voice. "You've seen my scars. Doc pulled a 30.06 round out of me at Blitheville. We took so many casualties, he had run out of morphine, but he went ahead and did it, saved my life. Thought if I could survive that pain I could handle anything…but you leaving me…it hurt worse."

Tears ran down Baby's cheeks. "I…know."

"I got your message last night," said the Colonel. "Didn't sleep at all afterwards. Just laid there in bed trying to decide what to do." He reached out, wiped away the tear clinging to the corner of her mouth. "The bed…our bed…it's been empty since you left. Must have been a hundred times I promised myself I'd get rid of it, burn it to ashes, put a bullet in it…but I never could." He blinked back tears of his own. "Your smell still lingers…doesn't make any sense…been a whole year and then some, but there's times I turn over in the middle of the night, and I'd swear you're there."

Baby took his hand, held it to her cheek. "I am so sorry."

"No fool like an old fool, that's what they say."

"You're not the fool, Zachary. I am. I was so young when we got married, young and in love, but I never really had a chance to stretch my wings."

"Where's Lester?"

She had been ready for the question, but she didn't answer right away. "Does it matter?"

"It matters."

Baby smoothed down her dress. "It's not about Lester. It's about you and me. Lester…he's not worth a pinch of dirt."

"I heard stories…he was spotted in Atlanta not too long ago."

"I wouldn't know. I walked out on him a week after we stole your helicopter."

"Did…did he force you to steal it? To go away with him?"

"You think Lester Gravenholtz could make me do anything ?" Baby gave him her best pout. "I know I hurt you terrible, but that's no reason to insult me."