Robert Ferrigno - Heart of the Assassin

"Recent events, and in particular the brutal attack on Graceland, have forced me to conclude that a state of war exists between the Belt and Aztlan," intoned the president.

The diner was silent, only the sound of sizzling bacon interrupting the stillness.

"While Aztlan bombs innocent civilians in Tennessee, the government of Tenochtitlan also pressures the Republic for our territory and our natural resources," said the president.

Rakkim paid no attention to the president, drawn instead to Kidd and Amir. Kidd remained impassive, eyes straight ahead, but Amir betrayed a certain…eagerness.

"Citizens of the Belt and the Republic, I say to you…" The president's eyes darted toward Amir for a second, then back to the camera. "I say to you, my fellow countrymen, that this state of affairs cannot be allowed to stand."

"What the fuck did he just call us?" asked the farmer with the tattooed forearms.

"Shhhh," said someone else.

"We've had our difficulties, both Belt and Republic," said the president, "but like the great Abraham Lincoln once said…if we don't hang together, we'll hang separately."

That last line was a masterstroke. Lincoln was the patron saint of the Belt, even more revered than Elvis himself. For a moment Rakkim wondered if Sarah had worked on the speech for the president. Wondered if she had secretly begun advising him, the way she had counseled President Kingsley. The theme of reconciliation was exactly what she had been talking about for years now. Rakkim kept expecting someone in the diner to yell out an obscenity, or demand the TV be turned to another station, but no one said a word.

The president looked directly into the camera. "I say to you now, my fellow Americans, your war with Aztlan is our war too."

The waitress sobbed, wiped her eyes with the hem of her apron.

"I say to Aztlan, both Belt and the Republic stand united," said the president. "Do not suppose for an instant that our religious differences will divide Muslims and Christians forever. We share a belief in one God, with a common line of saints and prophets. There's room in Paradise for all of us."

Rakkim wished he had postponed killing ibn-Azziz, just so the Black Robe could have lived long enough to hear the president say such a thing. Men had ended up on the Bridge of Skulls for lesser apostasies.

Two men walked in the front door of the diner, started to say something and were immediately silenced by the other patrons.

"As of today, the Republic will no longer send half the electric power generated by the Great Dam to Aztlan as tribute." The president gripped the podium as his hands started to shake. "As of today, the Republic is suspending all talks on relinquishing water rights to the Colorado River. What is ours will remain ours."

"What does that mean?" whispered Baby.

"It means war," Rakkim said, still watching the president.

General Kidd didn't move, stayed beside the president. Only someone who knew him as well as Rakkim did could have seen the tension in his face, the resignation. Kidd understood as well as Rakkim that Aztlan's air superiority almost guaranteed them victory. Amir, though…Amir seemed almost cheerful, the happy warrior. He leaned over and whispered in the president's ear…the president nodded.

"I call on President Raynaud to send an emissary to Seattle at the earliest opportunity," said the president, "so that we may map out a strategy for the future. Thank you…and may God bless us all."

The TV screen went gray for a moment, then cut to a Belt newsman looking stunned. He realized his camera was live, cleared his throat…and had nothing to say.

The diner echoed with conversation, people already arguing over what it meant, if the Republic could be trusted, and how long before the bombs started to fall.

Malcolm Crews appeared onscreen, standing on a street somewhere, the news kiosks behind him already replaying President Brandt's speech. A female reporter held up a microphone, and Crews said something about a time to heal old wounds, and prepare to fight the new enemy. "Like the man there said," Crews said, voice rising, "we Christians don't sing the same hymns as the Muslims, but at least we both pray to one God, not some unholy cafeteria of pagan deities like the Mexicans. That's got to count for something."

Rakkim stared at the TV, aware of Crews but still seeing Amir whispering in the president's ear. Still seeing the president respond to what he had been told without even thinking. I don't know who the Old One's inside man is, Jenkins had said, almost his dying words as the gulls circled the Bridge of Skulls. I don't know who he is…all ibn-Azziz said was he had the ear of the president. Amir had done the same thing at the presidential inauguration a year ago, embracing Brandt, then said something in the smaller man's ear that pleased him.

"What is it?" said Baby.

Could Amir really be working for the Old One? Hard to imagine… the ear of the president …a common phrase. Meant nothing…but there had been something in their body language on the podium just now, some unseemly deference on Brandt's part. A small thing, but Rakkim had survived on the basis of noticing things others didn't: a glance, an intonation, the slight tightening of the jaw before a smile.

"What's wrong?" said Baby.

No…it couldn't be Amir. The Old One was attuned to every weakness, every human flaw-given his charm and powers of persuasion, he might have convinced even Amir to follow him, but General Kidd despised the Old One, recognized him for what he was. Amir might betray his country, but he would never betray his father. Never.

"Nothing," said Rakkim.

"You never tell me anything, " said Baby.

Hector Morales, Aztlan secretary of state, burst into the presidential suite as soon as the electronic locks disengaged. "El Presidente," he huffed, having raced down the corridor from his own office in the executive tower. "Have you seen…?" His voice trailed off as he saw the row of televisions all tuned to President Brandt's speech.

"How kind of you to join me, Hector." Presidente Argusto sat with his chair tilted back, riding boots up on the desk, puffing away on a long Cuban cigar.

"E-Excellency," sputtered Morales, "I had no idea that Brandt-"

"Of course you didn't." Argusto released a perfect smoke ring into the air. "That would require some competency on your part, which we both know is alien to your nature."

Morales watched the smoke ring float toward him. "This…speech of Brandt's is totally out of character, Excellency. It makes no sense."

"It makes perfect sense, Hector. I just never credited Brandt with either the insight or the cojones to act upon it." Argusto puffed happily away on his cigar. "It is, of course, too late for such dramatic action on the part of the yanquis to succeed, but still…" A pillow of gray ash from the cigar tumbled onto the white carpet. "One must admire the courage."

"Excellency, I have already placed a call to my counterpart in the Republic."

"You do that, Hector." Argusto beamed. "Talk, talk, talk until you and your fellow diplomats are hoarse. Meanwhile I have already put our air units on high alert." The cigar jutted up from the side of his mouth. " Discreetly, of course."

Morales felt his legs quiver. "Are we going to war, Excellency?"

"It will not be much of a war, Hector, but there will be blood enough to satisfy the gods…for a time, at least." Argusto swung his legs around, put them on the windowsill, stared out at the great pyramid of the sun that dominated the skyline of Tenochtitlan. "I had thought to devour el norte in tiny bites, but Brandt has given me all the excuse I need. We shall take back the land stolen by the yanquis in one great gulp."