Robert Ferrigno - Prayers for the assassin

Far beyond the city’s lights, beyond the mountains, Rakkim could see the stars. There was comfort in their unimaginable distance. Close enough to see, but too far to reach. He imagined God living out there among the galaxies. That’s where he would live if he were God.

The Old One leaned against the railing. “That last mission of yours…what exactly happened? I’ve tried to find out, but all the files have vanished. It must have been something special. All I know is that you were gone for months. Much longer than anticipated. It was assumed you were dead. Then you were back. Untouched as always. If you were debriefed, no records survived. Then, a few days later, the two officers above you in the chain of command disappeared. Two top Fedayeen gone. As though they had stepped into a mist one morning. From the disposition of the body, Darwin made his displeasure with General Cheverton quite apparent, but no trace of these two officers was ever found. Still, the message was clear. Perhaps that’s why they let you retire. Or perhaps it was Redbeard’s intervention. He was more powerful then.”

“Thanks for the conversation, and the nice view, but I’m a little tired. Still not fully recovered from my wounds. I think I’m going to take a nice warm bubble bath.”

“Be careful. You wouldn’t want to doze off in the tub. I hope you’ll consider my offer.”

“Sure, I’ll give it the full ponder. Either way, you win, right? If I sign up, you gain a shadow warrior. If I pass on the deal, Darwin dogs me and eliminates anyone who might harm you. I find the evidence, he gets rid of it.”

“There is no evidence.”

Rakkim shrugged. “Twenty million people dead…you didn’t even get what you wanted. Here we are all these years later, and you’re still worried you won’t make it. Pathetic.”

“I’ve acknowledged my mistakes. I misjudged the spiritual resiliency of the Christians. I had lived too long in the city. I believed their faith was flabby and would be quickly discarded. I never imagined the great migration after Kingsley was elected, millions of Baptists and Pentecostals and Catholics trekking to the Bible Belt. I would have expected this from Muslims-did not the Prophet himself, all blessing upon Him, flee Mecca for Medina in his own hour of need? But Christians? It would not have mattered if Redbeard had died that day along with his brother. My men at State Security would have taken over, and Kingsley’s days as president would have been brief. Then we would have crushed the Bible Belt. The nation needed to be unified then, and it needs to be unified now. No, the loss of the fourth nuclear weapon was an accident, but I take responsibility for underestimating the faith of the Christians.”

“That’s big of you. Still, you have to admit, that’s a major miscalculation. Don’t you wonder what else you might be wrong about?”

“Do you expect me to run and hide?” snapped the Old One, his mouth pinched. “When the West wallowed in greed and vice and vanity…I prayed. And paid the politicians. When the West banished religion…I prayed. And paid the ex-diplomats and journalists, people for whom everything has a price. There were times I thought I would never be able to wash myself clean. The nuclear attack merely toppled a rotten tree. Look at the map: China may dominate the globe now, but I’ve planted seeds in Russia too, and don’t you think there were many already there who hated their borders being thrown open to the Zionists? No, Russia is ripe…South America is ripe. China remains resistant, but look at the map. Iran, Iraq, Indonesia, Pakistan, East Africa, Nigeria, the whole patchwork of believers awaits only a caliph to stitch them together. A caliph come to lead Muslims to greatness. The long wait is over, Rakkim. We’ll start here.”

Rakkim applauded, the sound ringing hollow across the penthouse. “Wow. That’s a great little speech. I bet you don’t get interrupted very often. You just build up momentum and roll right on forever. That kind of power is fine when things are smooth, but it can be a disadvantage. You get so used to having your own way and your own say that, when things fuck up, and things always fuck up, you don’t know what to do. That instant of doubt shakes you. Not so that anyone can see it, you’re too good for that, but you know, and it scares you. So you call in somebody like Darwin, but he’s hard to control. You can’t even invite him up here, because he might do something you haven’t anticipated. I bet you haven’t even told him what you told me tonight. Am I right?” Rakkim wagged a finger. “See, that could be another mistake. It’s dangerous telling Darwin what you’re really up to, but it’s even more dangerous to keep secrets from him. Assassins and shadow warriors…we take things personally. I’d watch out for him if I were you.”

“Thank you for your advice.” The Old One gave no indication of anger or any other emotion. Not now.

Rakkim smiled. “Well, it’s been a nice view, a really nice view from the top of the world here, but I’m going to take that bubble bath.”

“Nervous?”

“Excited,” said Sarah.

Rakkim checked the mirrors as they left the Joy Luck Boutique. The main mall was crowded, filled with eager shoppers from all over the world. Sleek oil barons from West Africa, technos from Japan and Russia, Arabs trailing their retinues. Tourists in the brave new world. No sign of anyone tracking them; in fact he hadn’t sensed any stragglers in days. The Old One said they had free rein, but Rakkim always assumed he was being followed. Always assumed he was being followed by the best.

Sarah had gotten her hair styled at one of the fashionable shops in the Mangrove Hotel, had it cut and stiffened into layers of ringlets. Rakkim hated the flashy look, but it would wash out and allow her to change her appearance quickly. She wore Mylar pants and jacket, purple snakeskin stiletto half-boots, real attention-getters, but in one of the shopping bags Rakkim carried was a change of clothes and shoes.

“I saw Ibn Azziz on TV again, screaming about Zionists,” said Sarah. “His whole face looks infected.”

“It matches his soul.”

“I know you don’t think it was Redbeard,” said Sarah, “but who else would have gone after Ibn Azziz? Redbeard must have heard he tried to kidnap us at Disneyland and wanted to send him a message.”

“Ibn Azziz is too hard-core for messages. Redbeard knows that with someone like Ibn Azziz, you either kill him or turn them. Maybe another one of the Black Robes tried to assassinate him. Mullah Oxley had plenty of friends.”

Sarah swayed to the music piped through the mall. Calibrated cash, that’s what it was called, harmonies designed to give shoppers energy, to increase their pleasure and sensuality. Sales had increased 17 percent after the music service had been installed, but it was the subaudible program that really made the difference, a vibration tucked under the music that released endorphins in the brain. The music selection was changed every five days, but the subaudible stayed the same. The human constant. “Smile, Rakkim.” She wiggled her hips, the Mylar outfit throwing off sparks.

Rakkim smiled. It wasn’t an act or the subaudible, she was genuinely happy. Las Vegas didn’t apply Web filters-yesterday she had walked into a toy store, picked up a wireless stuffed bear, and tapped into the Devout Homemaker site. There had been a coded message from her mother. Katherine was in Seattle! Sarah posted her intention to taste the recipe for victory radishes soon. They had spent the next half hour in the toy store, playing with nano-bots, Sarah all the while keeping up a commentary on the history of toy soldiers and dolls with body functions and how it all meant…something.