Robert Ferrigno - Prayers for the assassin

Why did you leave me? A question without an answer. None that would satisfy Sarah. None that would satisfy Katherine either.

The night before his murder, James had held her close and whispered that if anything happened to him, anything, no matter how benign it seemed, she was to take Sarah and go into hiding. He had pressed a strand of prayer beads into her palm, said the plain wooden beads contained coded information, the keys to a secret more important than his life. The information had to be protected at all costs.

That morning in the hospital, Katherine had been forced to choose between an unknown secret and the daughter she loved. Still in shock from the news, and all too aware of her own adulterous fantasies, she had imagined that Redbeard was behind James’s murder. That it was Redbeard that James was afraid of. With only minutes to decide, she had chosen to leave Sarah behind. The good wife. The bad mother.

“We missed you at lunch,” said Bernadette. “There was lentil soup.”

Katherine fingered her prayer beads. Even with her suspicions, she couldn’t have left Sarah if Angelina hadn’t promised to look after her until Katherine returned. Twenty years and she still hadn’t returned. After the prayer beads had finally yielded their secrets, Katherine knew that Redbeard had been innocent…as innocent as she. The knowledge had come too late. Her flight had convinced the authorities that she had betrayed her husband and made her a marked woman.

“You heard about the difficulties in Newcastle?” said Bernadette.

“Early this morning I walked to the very top of the hill and I just knew something was wrong. All the stars in the sky and not one of them looked right to me.” Katherine worked her prayer beads. She was no longer Muslim, but the beads comforted her. “Just before noon I heard calls to the Newcastle police. Accusations that the local truck dealer, a Catholic, had gotten his corneal transplants from the eyes of healthy Muslim children. A mob was forming outside the dealership, egged on by women from the most conservative mosque.” Katherine looked at her cousin. “My instincts have always been acute, you know that. Not that it’s done me much good. I warned James not to go to Chicago that morning. I begged him to stay with me in the hospital until Sarah was better, but he just kissed me and hurried off, as though he was impatient to die.” She turned away, jaw firm. Even after all these years, she was still angry with him.

“The fire will burn itself out,” said Bernadette. “The madness will pass.”

Katherine took her cousin’s hand, felt her cool, dry skin, light as a bird’s wing. “I’m going away. With my glasses and dental appliance, I won’t be recognized. I doubt if anyone is even looking for me anymore. I’m ancient history, now.”

“I won’t hear of it.” Bernadette squeezed Katherine’s hand. “You’re safe here.”

Katherine shook her head. “None of us are safe anywhere.”

“‘The Lord is my shepherd,’” recited Bernadette. “It’s not just words, Kate. It’s the word of God. It’s His promise to us.”

Katherine kissed her cousin on each cheek. “I love you, Bernadette.”

Bernadette’s eyes glistened. “The world is a dark wood full of wolves…every time you leave the convent, I light candles for your safe return.”

Katherine had grown restless the last few years, taking ever more trips. Excursions to Sacramento and New Medina and Bakersfield. A secret visit to Tahoe in the Nevada Free State, where she had actually gone for a swim! Never to Seattle, though. She had been tempted to search out Sarah, observe her at a distance…but she never did. The risk was too great. Or her fear was. The best trip had been a glorious visit to Los Angeles three years ago with Bernadette. The sound of church bells had been everywhere.

“What’s so funny?” said Bernadette.

“I was remembering our trip to Hollywood, and the way you put your hands into the imprints of movie stars. You kept choosing the most brazen starlets. Wanton women playing wanton roles. I kept wondering what sinful thoughts you were thinking.”

Bernadette blushed. “Perhaps I was praying for their immortal souls.”

“You were having fun, Bernadette. You were like a schoolgirl.”

Bernadette looked away. The skin under her eyes was almost transparent. “It was fun.”

Katherine patted Bernadette’s hand. “I’m leaving tomorrow. There’s work to be done, and I can’t leave it all to Sarah.”

A knock and the door was thrown open. Sister Elena stood there, without being invited in. “Men! There are two men at the gate.” She was flustered. “They walked right in-”

Katherine and Bernadette were already on their feet.

“Hide,” Bernadette said to Katherine.

“Too late for that.” Katherine started for the door. “I’ll make it clear that you had no idea who I was. I’ll tell them I fooled you with my devilry. Perhaps…perhaps I can convince them.” She embraced Bernadette.

Bernadette held her tightly while they heard footsteps coming up the stairs.

“Have no fear, Bernadette. Sarah will do what we haven’t been able to.” Katherine kissed her on the cheek, turned to face those who had finally found her.

There were not two men standing in the doorway. It was a man and a boy. A short, hairy man and a scrawny, sullen boy, both of them filthy with road dust.

“My name is Spider, and this is my son Elroy,” said the man, smiling so broadly his face threatened to split. “You’re Katherine Dougan and I’m a genius.” He clasped his hands together with delight. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. We’re going to change the world.”

Rakkim nodded at the Welcome to Yorba Linda sign as they drove past. “Isn’t this where that old-time president was born?”

“I’m impressed,” said Sarah. “Richard Milhous Nixon, thirty-seventh president of the United States. Born January ninth, 1913; Yorba Linda, California.”

“Is he one of them carved into that mountain in South Dakota?”

“No. No.”

He could tell from her expression that she didn’t like being reminded of the mountain. Mount Rushmore, that was it. Blowing up the four faces on the mountain had been one of the first projects of the new Muslim republic. Redbeard had argued against it as a waste of time and money, but the Black Robes had insisted, calling it idolatry, and honoring kaffirs from a nation that no longer existed. In the end, Redbeard had deferred, doubtless using his acquiescence to extract concessions for his own goals. The destruction of the four faces had proven to be more trouble than anticipated, the sheer size of the monument daunting to even massive quantities of explosive. After six months of demolition, the faces still remained partially intact, grotesqueries in the wilderness.

There had been no message from Sarah’s mother on the good-wife recipe site. Just advice from devout wives on preparing their favorite dishes. Sarah had been inside the mosque for an hour, had spent most of the time praying, while Rakkim waited in the car. In spite of her disappointment, she seemed…peaceful when she came out. Ready.

Sarah checked the GPS. “Have you ever been to Sergeant Pernell’s house before?”

“Not since he moved down here. He was one of my hand-to-hand-combat instructors at the academy. We served briefly together when he rotated into one of the battle units a year later. The academy doesn’t like to keep instructors out of the field too long, and the instructors get bored with classwork.” Rakkim glanced up as a jet helicopter arced overhead, another one of the red corporate choppers. He was never going to get used to helicopters over the city. “We lost touch when I went into shadow warriors. Pernell’s a good man. Bitter, but who can blame him?”