Robert Ferrigno - Prayers for the assassin

Redbeard wanted to strike back, but James said the government might not survive such internal dissension. Besides, it was better to save their ammunition for when the hour was truly perilous. Timing, Thomas, he had said, this is the lesson you must learn, then turned away any resentment Redbeard might have felt in being so schooled by taking off the watch around his wrist, their father’s watch, and giving it to him. Redbeard had protested, but James had kissed him on both cheeks and told him that no man had been so blessed as he, to be given such a loyal brother.

“You’re staring at your watch, Thomas. We still have a few minutes, don’t we?”

Redbeard nodded, unable to speak. The numbers on the clockface were familiar…the hands in position, but try as he might, he couldn’t tell the time.

“Senator Simpson assures me he has the votes to defeat the hard-liners’ latest amendment,” said James. “Fine work. You’ve kept the Black Robes so busy fighting among themselves that they haven’t been able to rally support.”

“We’ve got other problems. One of my operatives in San Francisco has gone silent. One of my best men.” Redbeard hesitated. “He’s noticed some…disturbing activity in his sector. What with Ramadan approaching, I’m concerned.”

James moved closer, moved so quickly that he seemed to cross the office instantaneously, an old Sufi trick that Redbeard had never mastered. “Mormons? Or dead-enders?”

Redbeard shook his head “That’s what bothers me. The activity doesn’t seem connected to any group we’ve dealt with before. It’s a totally unfamiliar signature. My man said he had to dig in, and I haven’t heard from him since. It’s been three days. He was worried when last we spoke. He was frightened, and this is not someone who frightens easily.”

“Operatives are always worried, and the good ones are always frightened.” James was smiling again, but Redbeard knew him too well to believe it. James plucked at his mustache, serious now. “Do you have a name? A target?”

Redbeard shook his head. “My man wasn’t even sure there is a threat. He just said he felt there were too many coincidences. Accidental deaths and disappearances, people suddenly deciding to retire or relocate, and none of the traditional players seem to benefit from these events. It’s as unsettling as an empty chair at a dinner party-not what’s seen, but what’s not seen that gives one pause. I wish I had more to tell you.”

James nodded, distracted.

Redbeard stared at his brother. “What’s going on?”

The intercom on the desk crackled. “Director? We’re finishing the check on your car.”

James crossed to the window. Through the one-way glass he noted the armored limousine parked out front. One of his security men slid along the undercarriage, his uniform streaked with road grime. Another slowly walked a German shepherd around the vehicle.

Redbeard joined his brother. “You knew we had a new player in the game.”

James rested his hands on the windowsill. “He’s not new, he’s been in the game a long time. A very long time.”

“Why didn’t you tell me? Look at me, James.”

James turned to him. “I only had suspicions, but I have proof now, Thomas, proof enough, but I can’t act. Not yet. This is a time for caution. When I come back from Chicago, we can move against him then.”

“Director, your car is ready,” crackled the intercom.

“Check it again,” Redbeard barked at the intercom, not taking his eyes off his brother. They stood side by side at the window, as the dog handler made another slow circuit. A buzzing was in Redbeard’s head, as though his skull were filled with wasps. If he could only remember…“Who is our enemy, James?”

“We’ll talk when I get back. Trust me, I’ll tell you everything I know.”

Redbeard bit his lips shut. “As you wish, Director.”

“I had to keep my own counsel on this, even from you. I just…I thought we had more time.” James squeezed Redbeard’s massive shoulder. “You’ll understand my reticence when I show you the information I’ve gathered. We’ll have to tread lightly.”

“Stay here, then. We can get started-”

James shook his head. “I’m meeting the president in Chicago. I have to talk to him in person.” He looked in pain. “I’m sorry, Thomas.”

“I’ll ride with you to the airport.”

James picked up his gym bag. “I need you to go to the hospital and wait with Katherine.”

“I thought Sarah was being released today.”

“Damn pneumonia’s resistant…she’s had a relapse. The doctors want to keep her a few more days. The hospital is secure, but Katherine could use a friendly face.”

Redbeard smiled awkwardly. “Since when does Katherine consider me good company?”

“Take care of them for me, Thomas.” James touched the intercom. “I’m leaving now.” He keyed a number on his cell. “Go.” Through the window, he watched as his double strode out the front door of the villa and into the limo, his face half hidden in a burnoose.

The brothers stood beside each other, watching the limo accelerate down the winding driveway. Watched the gate swing up as it approached. Even after the limo was lost in the distance, the two of them stood at the window, half-expecting to see a flash of orange light, and the rumble of an explosion.

“The delivery van is waiting at the loading dock,” Redbeard said at last. “My bodyguard, Miller, will drive you to the airport.”

James slung the gym bag over his shoulder, eager now.

There was a light rap on the door, then two more.

Redbeard checked the peephole before unlocking the door.

Miller stepped inside rather than waiting in the doorway, and Redbeard knew. Miller brushed past him. “Let me help you, Director,” he said, his right arm reaching for something in his spotless white deliveryman’s jacket.

James rummaged around the couch. “I left my reading glasses somewhere.”

Redbeard tried to move, but his body was filled with concrete.

The room echoed with gunshots, and the sound seemed to break Redbeard free of his immobility. He grappled with the bodyguard. More gunshots, the sound muffled now, the gun pressed against him. Miller, who had been with them from the beginning, sneered up at him. Redbeard could see that the man’s eyes had been snipped out, replaced by images of James’s body lying in state under the Capitol dome. Sarah was holding on to the casket, but where was Katherine?

“My master sends greetings to you both,” said Miller. Another gunshot, but Redbeard had a grip on the man’s wrist and the bullet went wide, hit the wall. Miller tried to wrench free, fired again, and Redbeard felt the heat, his clothes smoldering from the muzzle blast. Redbeard broke the man’s wrist. Heard the gun hit the carpet.

Redbeard had his hands around Miller’s throat now. Redbeard had weak knees, it had cost him a national wrestling championship, but he had strong hands. Miller kicked and struggled, but Redbeard ignored the pain, ignored the blood oozing from his wounds as he slowly crushed the man’s windpipe.

“Thomas,” James called. “Don’t kill him. You will need what he can tell you.”

Redbeard watched the photos fade in the bodyguard’s eyes. The man’s arms were at his side now, twitching, but Redbeard kept squeezing.

“Thomas,” James gasped.

Redbeard threw Miller to the floor.

Someone was beating on the door to the office.

Redbeard cradled James in his arms. His brother’s running suit smelled of smoke, and the blue nylon was singed smooth where the bullets had entered. No blood, though. Not a drop. “Don’t move,” said Redbeard. “You’re going to be all right.”

James patted Redbeard’s cheek. “Ah, Thomas…who would have ever suspected you of being an optimist?”