Robert Ferrigno - Heart of the Assassin

"It's…it's complicated."

"I've got time."

"Let's just say…maybe I'm not as bad as you think I am."

"Maybe." Rakkim pretended to flinch as she pretended to punch him. They drove on, back the way they had come. "The Old One's a Muslim. Did he ever tell you why he wanted a piece of the cross?"

"You're a Muslim. Why do you want it?"

"It's complicated."

"You got that right." Baby rested her hand on his leg. Waited for him to tell her to move it…but he didn't.

"How did the Old One look before you left?" said Rakkim.

"I don't know." Baby tried to keep her voice light, as though she had never considered the question before. She wondered how long Rakkim had been turning the idea over in his mind, before asking. "He looks old, but healthy. Like the Colonel." She patted his leg. "Except the Old One's got this strange energy about him. He stays up all night sometimes, doesn't seem to get tired. Why?"

Rakkim glanced over at her. "Most Christians think the cross has healing powers. Isn't that why you put it under Moseby's hospital bed?"

"I figured it couldn't hurt."

"So maybe that's why the Old One wants it."

"He's a Muslim," said Baby. "He doesn't believe in the crucifixion."

"Maybe he figured it couldn't hurt either."

Baby looked out the window. She knew where Rikki was headed. No wonder she was so attracted to him. A man that smart was dangerous, but once you put him in his place, once you trained him…well, then you really had something.

"The Old One told me once he was over a hundred and fifty years old," said Rakkim, driving with one hand on the wheel. "I didn't believe it, but he's been around for a long time. Maybe he's finally feeling his age."

"I did notice something different before I left," said Baby. "His doctor, Massakar…he doesn't look the Old One in the eye anymore. Like he feels guilty about something."

It was true too. That's what had made Baby suspect the real reason for the Old One's interest in retrieving the cross. Daddy might tell her and Ibrahim it was all about reunification, but she knew the man had gotten some bad news from his doctor and was ready to believe in anything that might turn things around. Baby knew better. She had held the piece of wood in her hand for two hours waiting to feel something. Might as well been holding a dead branch for all the good it did.

"There you go," said Rakkim, pleased with himself. "Piece of the cross…well, you can see how he might be tempted."

"I could see that," said Baby, like she had never considered it before. "Time is the only thing even money can't buy."

"Exactly." Rakkim watched her. "He would have given you anything for it."

"You ever think maybe I didn't want anything from him?"

"You worked for him in Miami."

"I didn't have a choice back in Miami." Baby played with her hair. "That old bastard can pound sand up his ass for all I care."

Rakkim laughed. First time she had seen him let loose since they buried Moseby.

"There was another reason I couldn't do it." Baby lowered her eyes. "You know how I feel about you."

Rakkim drove for a while before speaking and she let the silence tighten around them. "I'm married," he said at last.

"Man like you is only at home out on the edge with the other wild things," said Baby. "You got no business being married."

"Tell that to my wife."

"I just might do that."

Rakkim glanced over at her, then back at the road.

"You can't be serious, Amir," the president said, taking the snap from his brother-in-law. He stepped back, tall and graceful, his hair perfectly tousled.

"Completely serious," said Amir, easily faking out his coverage as he went for a pass.

General Kidd sidled to his right, blocking the two rushers coming in from that side-the president's nephew and older brother-giving Brandt time to launch a pass to Amir.

"Peter!" called Amir, dashing down the sideline, ten steps ahead of his pursuer.

Peter. Amir actually referred to President Brandt by his first name. Yes, they were in the presidential compound, and yes, it was a family barbecue and touch football game, but Kidd would have sooner cut off his thumbs than address the president in such a fashion. Yet the president didn't seem to mind. They weren't that far apart in age, and Brandt reveled in the informality between him and the young Fedayeen hero.

The president threw a high, tight spiral that dropped right into Amir's outstretched fingertips. He crossed the chalked goal line, held the football overhead in triumph.

Amir's wives applauded from where they sat on the lawn with their children, the only women at the barbecue in burqas. Three of Kidd's wives also applauded, young and fashionable in their iridescent chadors. Fatima, his oldest wife, was home with a migraine. She always had a migraine when they were invited for barbecue and football at the president's residence. How he longed for such a headache.

The president and Amir high-fived each other, mocking the inability of the other team to stop their relentless scoring. Forty-eight to six. An embarrassment for all concerned. As the only two Fedayeen present, fairness dictated that they be placed on separate teams, but the president wouldn't hear of it. A weak man who needed to win. When the first lady announced that the food was ready, Kidd gave thanks to Allah for His mercy.

The first lady, her sisters, and the general's wives served the men: corn on the cob, potato salad, hamburgers and barbecued goat. The first lady herself poured the general a tall glass of lemonade, blessed him as she handed it over. After all the men were served, the children were called. The president, Amir and General Kidd sat on a blanket laid out under one of the many trees in the compound. The president's older brother started to join them, but the president waved him away. General Kidd sat down across from the president, wondering what was so important.

The president nibbled at a grilled chicken kebab. "What do you think of Amir's idea?"

Kidd tore a strip of barbecued goat, eating with his fingers. "What idea is that?"

The president looked at Amir.

"I've not mentioned the strategic initiative to my father yet," said Amir.

Kidd chewed slowly, grinding the meat with his strong white teeth. "I'm waiting."

"I've suggested to Peter that he address the nation shortly," said Amir. "An address not just to our nation, but to the Belt. We'd have to contact the authorities in the Belt first, of course, ask them to drop their static generators, as would we, but that's easily done."

"What would you have the president say?" asked Kidd.

Amir glanced at the president, then back at his father. "I'd like him to make a formal declaration of support for the Belt against Aztlan. An affirmation that we were a united country at one time, and that though now divided, we remain united in spirit."

"United in spirit?" said Kidd.

Amir squirmed slightly. "Yes."

"I have no problem with the phrase as a rhetorical device," said the president, "but the political repercussions are enormous."

" You think we're united in spirit with the Belt?" Kidd said to Amir. "Since when?"

"Since it became necessary," said Amir. "Aztlan is a ravening beast. We keep tossing it bits of our territory to keep it at bay, but all we're really doing is stoking its appetite."

Kidd licked his fingers. The boy was right, but the idea of aligning with the Belt…that didn't come from him. Kidd had fought the Belt, seen the brave and the dead on both sides. He rejected Belt theology but he respected Christians. Good fighters. Passionate as any Somali. He would rather spend time with a Mississippi Baptist than a prissy modern any day. Not Amir. He despised Christians. Considered them blasphemers and idolaters, fit only for conversion or death. So who had this idea come from?