Robert Ferrigno - Prayers for the assassin

“Proactive…I like that,” said Redbeard. “With proper training, there’s no limit to how far he could go.” Redbeard looked out the smoked windows. “Hate to see a young man with such obvious talent get shunted into the Fedayeen.”

“Maybe we could talk about that,” said Colarusso. “After this business is over.”

Redbeard let the offer linger as he watched the street. They were part of a long line of identical limos strung along the back streets behind the auditorium. Limos reserved for second-tier celebrities and minor industry honchos. The stars’ limos were in the parking garage under the auditorium. A lousy place to be if you had to make a hasty exit. Redbeard had two doubles at the event. One in a secure VIP lounge inside the auditorium. Another in a command limo with Redbeard’s regular driver.

Redbeard picked up the phone again, punched in a nontraceable number. Luc picked it up on the first ring. Crowd noise on the other end as Luc squeezed through, making his way toward Ibn Azziz. “Do it,” said Redbeard, clicking off. He settled back into the plush seat. Smiled.

“I’m going to walk the area,” said Colarusso. “I know the uniform working traffic control for this sector. I’ll bring him some coffee.”

“It was a pleasure seeing you again, Detective,” said Redbeard.

Colarusso got out, leaned over, poked his head inside. “My boy is a good driver, you don’t have anything to worry about.”

“Inshallah,” said Redbeard.

“Yeah, whatever,” said Colarusso, the door closing with a heavy thunk.

Their gray limo was like all the others in line, only it was fully armored, the glass bulletproof and bomb resistant, the air recirculated in case of tear gas or worse. The armor was important but the anonymity was better. If one’s enemies know where you are, no matter how well protected you are, you can be gotten. Better to be a chameleon than a turtle. The limo was as safe a place as there was around the auditorium-he was still glad he had insisted that Katherine not join them. Someone needed to have a copy of the download in case things went bad. That’s what he had told her anyway. He had told Sarah the same thing, ordered her to stay away, to go into hiding until things were clearer. She had kissed him, told him she loved him…and then said she was a grown woman who had survived two months on her own, two months with a Fedayeen assassin trailing her. She could handle a night at the Oscars.

Stevens hurried down the hall. One of the monitors set into the wall showed that skinny young actress accepting her Best Supporting Actress award, her voice high-pitched and with the hint of a lisp. He walked even faster. His new boots were a little stiff, but they were French. Well worth a few pinched toes. A right at the next split in the corridor, deeper into the labyrinth. Never should have left Rakkim back there. He touched the download in his pocket. He didn’t know what it was, but he knew what to do with it. Redbeard had said if either of them were caught with it, they would be executed, then offered him a chance to say no. He smoothed his pencil mustache. If Redbeard said to dive into a blast furnace, Stevens might ask for a cold drink first, but he would jump. He and Rakkim were supposed to take over the control room and lock it down. The download went into the preview bay of the central control panel. Redbeard had put a mock-up on the computer, run Stevens and Rakkim through the drill a few times. It was a simple procedure. When the preprogrammed career highlight reel started, one of them would switch the main feed to preview mode and the download would play. A trained chimp could do it. So why was Stevens’s heart pounding?

It must have killed Rakkim to get paired with him. Fedayeen thought they were God’s gift. Now look at him, stuck back there with those Secret Service yobs. In spite of his height, when he’d turned eighteen, Stevens had been accepted in the Fedayeen…but a broken ankle the first week of training had sidelined him. He got another chance after the ankle healed, but he came down with hypothermia during winter maneuvers and that was that. The only luck he had was bad luck. Except when it came to women. Stevens touched his nose. It had healed nicely, with just the faintest sign of the break. Stevens had insisted on that, against the wishes of his plastic surgeon. Women loved a man with a broken nose. He wished Rakkim were with him. Not that he needed him. To show him.

Kerenski and Faisal were outside the control room window, natty in their dress blazers.

“Redbeard wants the two of you shifted out front to reinforce the cops,” said Stevens. “Report to the watch commander, but maintain your autonomy.”

“Who’s minding the store back here?” said Faisal.

Stevens glanced into the control room; saw a half dozen people hunched over their consoles. Two young women, one a modern with blue-tipped hair. Very cute. “I am.”

“You’re welcome to it.” Kerenski nodded at the wall screen where the skinny actress was droning on with her acceptance speech. “This is one boring assignment.”

“Doorman…isn’t that a little below your pay grade?” said Faisal.

“Redbeard didn’t like the way I looked at his niece.” Stevens grinned, ran a fingernail along the curve of his sideburns. “Or maybe he didn’t like the way she looked at me.” His expression hardened. “Key combo?”

Faisal hesitated. “Three nine nine.”

“Go on,” said Stevens. “I’ll expect an action report a half hour after the broadcast.” He watched them double-time it down the corridor until they disappeared from sight. Turned and saw the cute modern in the control room watching him. He waved at her through the bulletproof glass and she went back to work, cheeks coloring. Another glance down the corridor. Still no Rakkim. His loss. The glory would all be Stevens’s.

It had been an honor to be selected by Redbeard for a secret assignment, but to be the one to initiate the action…Stevens unconsciously stiffened to attention. He had dreamed of doing brave deeds for as long as he could remember. A childhood playing Arabs and Crusaders, Stevens always taking the part of the outnumbered Arabs making a last, desperate stand against the desecraters of the holy places. He smiled at the memory. To put his life on the line for his country was a blessing he had received many times since joining State Security, but this was different. He could tell from the tone of Redbeard’s voice. The way his hand had shaken slightly as he’d laid it on Stevens’s shoulder. Whatever Allah required of him, Stevens was eager to meet his destiny. A final check for Rakkim, and Stevens stepped to the door, punched in three nine nine.

Heads lifted from their consoles, and quickly returned to work. Except for the cute girl who had been watching him before, lingering…and a man standing behind the consoles, hands clasped behind his back. Producer. Better get that settled. ASAP.

“I’m Stevens,” he said, shaking hands with the producer. “I’m taking over the room. Order of Redbeard, director of State Security.

The producer trembled. “Is there a problem?” He checked the screen showing the crowd of Black Robes milling around, bullhorns booming. “Surely we’re not in any danger?”

Stevens moved to the preview bay, slipped the download in. “Lock in the override. I’ll be running the preview in a few minutes.”

“But, that’s…that’s my job,” said the producer. “Just tell me what you want me to do.”

Stevens could see the cute girl watching him; saw the pulse in her throat throbbing. “I want you to get your people out of here. You can stay. You and the modern with the blue hair. I’ll need you to run things. You can do that, can’t you?”

“Yes…of course. We’ll go with a straight three-camera-”