Robert Ferrigno - Prayers for the assassin

“I told you not to call me that.”

Their knives darted back and forth, a sharp whisper in the church as they circled, mirroring each other’s moves. Their blades rarely touched, it was all feint and counterattack. Darwin bled from a dozen cuts on his hands and arms and face, none of them deep enough to slow him. Rakkim had been cut too, and Darwin was learning his rhythm, anticipated him more often, waiting for the killing opportunity.

“I was trained to snuff out great men. Generals and ayatollahs, popes and princes.” Darwin shook his head. “I’ve squandered my talents since leaving the Fedayeen, but you…you made me reexamine things.”

Rakkim closed in, forcing the battle. He had to. Time favored Darwin.

“After I kill you, I’ll kill Ibn Azziz.” Darwin backed up almost to a fallen statue of Jesus with his head broken off. “After I kill him…I’ll kill the president. Maybe I’ll even kill the old man. Would you like-?” He stumbled against the statue and Rakkim lunged. The stumble was faked though, and Darwin’s blade slid into him and back out again.

Rakkim clutched his side, gasping.

“Ouch.” Darwin laughed. “Do you know your Bible? Jesus got stabbed in the exact same place by a Roman centurion. Poor Jesus. Poor Rikki. Does it hurt?”

Rakkim felt blood leaking through his fingers.

“Don’t die on me.” Darwin spread his arms wide. “Not yet.”

Rakkim laughed. Took his hand away from his side. Letting the blood flow.

“What’s so funny?” said Darwin.

“You think you’re this world shaker, this history maker…” Rakkim hung to an overturned pew. “You’re nobody. You’ll sink without a trace.”

Darwin bobbed gently, a cork upon the waves.

“Who’s going to weep for you, Darwin?”

“It doesn’t matter. I won’t be listening.”

Rakkim winced, doubled over.

“I’m the one who’s going to take your pain away.” Darwin moved in. “I’m the last face you’ll see. The last voice you’ll hear. That has to mean something.”

Rakkim sprang up at him, nicked his throat, and Darwin tumbled back against a pillar. Rakkim felt warmth along the back of his head as blood soaked his scalp.

“Almost fooled me.” Darwin leaned against the wooden pillar, pressed three fingers against the side of his throat. “Another inch and you would have done some damage.”

“Move your hand and let me see.”

Darwin smiled. “Come a little closer.”

Rakkim shook his head.

“You don’t look so good, Rikki. Maybe you should sit down and rest.”

Rakkim wobbled. He rolled the knife across his knuckles, almost dropped it.

“Are you afraid to die, Rakkim?” Darwin waited in vain for an answer. “I know about the baby. Are you sure it’s yours?” He was pressing so hard against his neck his fingers were white, but still utterly alert. Knife poised. “Fatherhood…such a false refuge. Children suck the life out of a man. You can see the future in their greedy eyes.”

“It’s…it’s the only future we have.” Rakkim watched him.

“I’ll tell Sarah you said that when I slice the baby out of her…” Darwin heard the distant ringing of the streetcar, distracted for an instant. “I’ll tell her-”

Rakkim hurled the knife into Darwin’s open mouth. Pinned him to the pillar.

Darwin thrashed against the beam, the knife cutting into his brain stem. A gush of blood as he tried to speak. Eyes wide. Lips working against the hilt of the knife.

Rakkim stood over him. Watched him die. Darwin’s eyes seemed to flare one last time before going blank, and Rakkim’s gaze never left him. Wanting to make sure. When Darwin stopped moving, he tore the knife from his mouth.

Darwin slid slowly down the pillar, left a smear on the wood.

Rakkim wiped the knife clean on Darwin’s tunic. He was dizzy now, bleeding from a dozen places, but he had spray-stitch in his robe. He would heal. He would survive. In a few days…a week at most, he would be well enough to return to the Grand Mosque. Well enough to kill Ibn Azziz. Well enough to return home to Sarah.

Rakkim looked down at Darwin ’s body. The Holy Qur’an taught that two angels hovered around each believer. One angel sat on his right shoulder recording his good deeds; another angel sat on his left recording his evil acts. Rakkim had never felt the weight of either. Not once in his life. Now, however…perhaps it was blood loss…a smile creased his face at that thought…now, for the first time, Rakkim felt the flutter of wings, felt the softest touch against his right shoulder, enfolding him now in a feathery, loving embrace. His surprise…his surprise was exceeded only by his joy.

I would like to acknowledge my debt to Simone de Beauvoir, author, philosopher, and atheist, in the inception of this book. When asked by a journalist how it felt to have created a body of work that negated the existence of God, de Beauvoir responded, “One can abolish water, but one can not abolish thirst.” I wrestled with this insight of hers for many years, and hope this book is worthy of the struggle.

The following websites in particular provided background information used in the writing of this novel:

www.askimam.com

www.islam.com

www.techcentralstation.com

www.virturallyislamic.blogspot.com

www.memri.org

www.islamworld.net

In addition, Tactics of the Crescent Moon: Militant Muslim Combat Methods (Posterity Press) by H. John Poole, Michael Scott Doran’s article “The Saudi Paradox” in the January/February 2004 issue of Foreign Affairs, and Abdul Hadi Palazzi’s article “The Islamists Have It Wrong” from the Middle East Quarterly, Summer 2001, provided me with useful points of view.

My thanks to Colin Harrison, my editor and a man of many questions, for making the book richer and for not letting me blow the ending.

I am grateful to my agent Mary Evans for her strength and character.

ROBERT FERRIGNO is the author of ten previous novels, including Prayers for the Assassin, The Wake-Up, Scavenger Hunt, Flinch, and the bestselling The Horse Latitudes. He lives with his family in the Pacific Northwest.