Robert Ferrigno - Prayers for the assassin

Sarah wiped away a tear. “I promised I wouldn’t tell anyone. Not Redbeard. Not you.”

“Redbeard probably already knows.” All those men Redbeard had interrogated after his brother’s murder…even if they didn’t know about the fourth bomb, some of them would have talked about the Old One before they died. No telling the extent of Redbeard’s knowledge. “Where is she?”

“I have no idea. I’d go there if I did.”

“Why involve you after all this time? She had to know it could get you killed.”

“She didn’t have a choice. She’s been searching for the bomb for twenty years in Beijing and Shanghai, the political and financial centers, just like D.C. and New York. She had people she could trust, but they couldn’t find anything because they were looking in the wrong place. She wanted me to use my research skills to help her pinpoint the location in Shanghai, but I told her she had made a mistake.”

“Just like that, you knew she was wrong?”

“Not just like that.” Sarah yawned again. It was as though sharing her secrets had drained the last of her energy. “My specialty…my research specialty is aberrant data collection and interpretation. Do you even know what that means?”

“It means you use comic books and country music to write history.”

Sarah smiled. “It means you find treasure in places most people don’t dig.” She nestled against his chest. “Katherine’s basic premise was suspect. The Old One nuked New York and D.C. because he wanted to bring the country to its knees, but he couldn’t hope to take over China. Besides…wiping out Shanghai would have brought down the global financial community and crippled China for a generation. Destroying the dam and blaming the Jews would have been wiser. The dam is a source of national pride as well as a vast industrial engine. Its destruction would have made the Chinese part of the Old One’s new world axis and set them back twenty years economically.”

“Sarah…this is an interesting academic exercise-”

“In 2012, fissionable fuel rods from a new Tajik reactor were stolen. The reactor’s technology was risky,” Sarah muttered into his chest, “the rods made from a rare isotope, supposedly much more powerful than plutonium. Highly unstable. Half the workers at the plant died of radiation poisoning within a year. The theft of the rods was never publicized. My father only found out…a few months before his murder. That’s why…why he suspected there was another bomb.”

“The material used in the other bombs was standard plutonium,” said Rakkim.

“The dam was designed to survive a 9.5 earthquake. Chinese military provided security, so no way would the Old One’s men be able to get close. Bringing down the dam required a big bang, five megatons at least. That’s why the Tajik fuel rods were needed.”

“Okay.”

“Don’t humor me.” Sarah’s eyes fluttered. “I went through so many people before I found Marian. A Chinese folk dance expert in Los Angeles…geologist in Chicago…this retired politician from the former regime who attended the dedication of the dam in 1995. The old letch smacked his lips describing the pickled fruits they ate at the celebration afterward, but he was the one who told me about Marian’s father. Called him an ‘odd duck, always writing everything down.’ Marian was on campus, and I had to go to a trailer park outside of Barstow to find out about her.”

“I’ve skimmed a couple of the journals. Richard Warriq was a nut.”

“The journals gave me my first real clue.” Sarah breathed heavily. “Three years after the nuke strikes, Warriq was in a tavern near the main reservoir. He wrote about some travelers complaining about the poor fishing in one of their favorite lakes. Not that the fish weren’t biting, but that the shore was littered with dead carp.”

Rakkim stroked her hair. “What was the name of the lake?”

“Warriq was more interested in describing their foul odor.” Sarah yawned. “I know what you’re thinking.”

“No…not at all.”

“I track little things…small details that add up. Radiation detector at the airport in northern Laos went off a month before the attack. Town was a known smuggling center. The staff logged it in, but didn’t follow up.” Sarah dozed off for a few seconds, suddenly spoke. “See…the fourth bomb was leaking before it even got to China.”

“Go back to sleep, I’ll-”

“Article in a ten-year-old Journal of Aviary Science Online. There’s a species of arctic tern that rests in the wetlands around the Yangtze on their annual migration south. The broods have declined every year since the nuke strikes, and many of the chicks that did hatch were deformed. That’s interesting…don’t you think?”

“Where are the wetlands this flock used? Did the article name a specific spot?”

Sarah closed her eyes again. “There are wetlands for a hundred miles along the river. No one even studies arctic terns anymore. Virtually extinct. Pollution and global warming.” She yawned. “I’m so tired, Rikki. I’m tired, but I’m right.”

Rakkim kissed her. “You’re onto something. You scared the Old One, Sarah. That’s why he sent the assassin to dog you. He’s hoping you’ll lead him to Katherine.”

“Katherine said she missed me. I know I missed her. You miss your parents, don’t you?”

“It’s been a long time.”

“I know you, Rikki, you can’t fool me.” Sarah clung to him. “Let’s go to sleep. Let’s lie down and wake up in each other’s arms.”

“You sleep. I’m not tired.”

“Don’t leave me.”

“I won’t. No telling the kind of trouble you’d get yourself into without me.”

Sarah smiled…drifting now. “I haven’t had a good night’s sleep since I left home.”

“You’re home now.”

“We’re safe here, aren’t we?”

“We’re safe.”

Rakkim waited until her breathing evened out, then stepped into the privacy room off the main office, and closed the door behind him. It had been a state-of-the-art facility ten years ago, the builders dreaming of redevelopment profits, but the economy had remained stagnant. The office complex was largely vacant, but the privacy units were still working, signal diffusers built into the walls and windows. Even under the best conditions, no one could pinpoint their location.

Redbeard fumbled the phone before answering, his voice hoarse. He sounded half-asleep.

“It’s me.”

“Have you found her yet?” barked Redbeard, gruff as ever now.

“I want you to check on a werewolf encampment. I assume you still have contacts-”

“Do they have Sarah?”

“No. It’s approximately eight miles east of Green Briar Estates. Do you know it?”

“The werewolves are bad business, Rakkim, even for you. If you’re asking them for help in finding Sarah, I’d be very careful-”

“The encampment is located on a lane logging road that jogs off from Green Briar. From the air, you should be able to spot a burned-out car at the site. Recently burned-out. I want to know what else you find there.”

“You think Sarah was in that car?”

“A Fedayeen assassin was tracking me through the badlands last night. A rogue Fedayeen-”

“So you sicced the werewolves on him?” Redbeard’s chuckle was warm. They could have been discussing a practical joke played on a member of an opposing team.

“Contact the werewolves. I need to know if the assassin is dead.”

“Is he working for Ibn Azziz?”

“You know who he’s working for.”

Silence from Redbeard.

“I’ll call you in a day or so.”

“Do you know where Sarah is?”

“She’s in the next room. I found her, just like I promised.” Rakkim broke the connection.