Robert Ferrigno - Sins of the Assassin

The Special Forces man with the shaved head was more cautious-Rakkim could see that just by the way he moved, the care he took before every step, testing the ground before putting his weight on it. Rakkim circled in front of him, lay flat under a pile of wallboard as the man walked by, close enough that Rakkim could see his own reflection in the man’s polished boots. He waited until the man passed, then eased out from under the trash and cut the man’s throat as he had one foot still poised in the air.

Rakkim took the machine pistol from the dead man. Checked it out. Guns were loud and sloppy things, but when you needed to kill a lot of people fast, and from a distance, they were just what was needed. He approached Redbeard’s office. Heard someone saying, “Goddamnit, come out of there or somebody’s going to get hurt.” Rakkim stayed low, found a collapsed section of wall he had noted earlier. A glimpse was all he needed to pinpoint the positions of the four men. A full-auto spray and Sarah and he could grab Michael and Leo and get out of here. He held up his knife, checked the reflection in the blade. He saw one man in the office, just inches away, only one, the Special Forces operator talking to himself, nervous, his own weapon pivoting from side to side.

Rakkim killed him, then ran toward the water garden, ran as fast as he could.

Sarah heard them coming before she saw them through the waterfall. They kept their voices low, and the water was loud, but she heard them anyway, tramping through the flowers, crunching through the bushes. They walked past the waterfall once. Then twice. The third time they stopped.

This time they lowered their voices until she could barely hear them as they conferred. Three of them…one clearly in charge.

Michael squirmed but didn’t make a sound.

Leo looked as if he wasn’t able to take a breath, his chest heaving.

Sarah pushed Michael to safety on the far side of the shelf and picked up a rock.

A man peeked through the middle of the waterfall, water streaming down his face. He blinked for a moment before he saw her.

She bashed him as hard as she could with the rock. He fell facedown and she hit him again. And again. Somebody dragged him away by the feet.

Another man lurched into their hiding spot, cursing. She didn’t see the knife until it was too late. Leo surprised her. It wasn’t just that she couldn’t imagine him throwing himself in front of the blade, it was that she couldn’t believe he could move that fast.

“Ouch.” Leo stared at the knife sticking out of his stomach. His mouth worked. He touched the handle, jerked back. Blood seeped down the front of him. He looked over at her as though expecting her to chastise him.

The man who’d stabbed Leo was jerked backward by a thin, cream-colored cord that snapped around his neck and jerked him off his feet.

“I told you, I wanted them taken alive.” A man peered in from the side of the waterfall. “Look what you’ve done. You cut the boy.”

Sarah heard gagging from outside, someone trying to breathe.

A hand slipped through the waterfall. “Come on out. All of you.” The fingers beckoned. “We’ll get Leo some medical attention, but you’re going to have to come out. Please.” His tone was friendly, but a sharp edge was just under the surface, like broken glass on the beach. “I’m Tariq al-Faisal, Sarah. I’d hate for anything to happen to you and the baby. I honestly wouldn’t want that on my conscience.”

Leo looked at her, one hand on his stomach. He shook his head no.

As Sarah hefted the rock, a cord whipped through the waterfall, wrapped around her throat, and jerked her into the base of the waterfall. She came up coughing, trying to pull the cord from around her throat. The man she had hit with the rock lay facedown in the shallow stream, a scum of blood eddying round and round.

“Haskins, you get Leo out there, and slap a pressure bandage on him,” al-Faisal ordered the man who had stabbed Leo. “If he dies, I’m going to hang you by your balls until they explode.”

Sarah clawed at her throat as the man went under the waterfall, but the knotted cord seemed made of some unique material…a four-foot whip when al-Faisal wanted it, but a garrote that adhered to itself when he twisted it.

Al-Faisal watched her, an arrogant man in his thirties with a long face and small, dark eyes. “What, Sarah?” He tugged gently at the cord. “I can’t hear you.”

Sarah fell to her knees, the edges of her vision going dark.

“Nice dirty doggy,” said al-Faisal, continuing to tug at her. “Heel. That’s what the Catholics say, isn’t it?”

Sarah heard Michael crying, but she couldn’t seem to move. She was dimly aware of Leo on the ground, the other man hovering over him.

“Carlson?” Al-Faisal spoke into his wrist. “Any sign of him?”

“Yeah, he’s in the water garden,” said Rakkim.

Al-Faisal turned, saw Rakkim beside a nearby copse of bamboo trees, the machine pistol leveled at him.

“Let her go,” said Rakkim.

“Guns are for cowards.” Al-Faisal jerked the corded leash, sent Sarah sprawling. “Put it down or I’ll snap her neck.”

“You’ll be dead,” said Rakkim.

“We all die, Rakkim. Some of us go to Paradise.”

Sarah clawed at the stones, breathing through a pinhole.

“Haskins, you keep working on Leo. Rakkim and I can handle this between ourselves.”

Rakkim tossed the gun aside. His knife was already in his hand.

Al-Faisal made some small movement of his fingers and the leash fell away from Sarah’s neck.

Rakkim leaped at him, one hand raised to protect his neck, but al-Faisal whipped the cord around his knee, wrenched it. Rakkim flopped on the ground, grunting in pain-he got up quickly, but his left leg no longer fully supported him.

“Hurts, doesn’t it?” said al-Faisal, circling, the cord wriggling from his hand. “It’s okay, I can help you with that.”

Sarah took deep gasping breaths, her throat so swollen she couldn’t speak.

“The Old One wants you alive,” said al-Faisal. “Still…” The cord snaked out and back, Rakkim half-stumbling to avoid it. “I could turn you over to him paralyzed from the neck down…You’d still be alive, right? Just snap the third cervical vertebrae-”

“Why do guys like you always have to talk about what they’re going to do?” said Rakkim.

Al-Faisal laughed. “Guilty.” The cord whipped out, flicked Rakkim in the side.

Rakkim gasped. Felt as if one of his ribs had cracked.

“Strangler really doesn’t do justice to what I can do, does it?”

Sarah heard Michael crying inside the waterfall grotto, but she left him. He knew to stay put. The Fedayeen called Haskins continued to work on Leo, turning him slightly. He tossed away a bloody bandage, applied another one. Leo stared at Sarah, but she wasn’t sure he could see her. She concentrated on breathing, and crawling toward the dead Fedayeen lying in the stream.

The knotted cord flicked out again and again, and each time it struck Rakkim, something cracked. Something went numb. His ribs. His shoulder. His leg. His face. One eye was swollen shut and he could barely stand. He kept lunging at al-Faisal, but the man was fast, and Rakkim’s sprained left knee slowed him down.

“I’m bored,” said al-Faisal. “I was expecting more from you. My master…he spoke so highly of you.”

“S-sorry.”

Al-Faisal feinted another low strike, flicked the cord out around Rakkim’s neck, and jerked.

Had Rakkim pulled back, which was the natural response, his neck would have broken at precisely the third cervical vertebra…but he didn’t resist. Instead, Rakkim launched himself forward and drove his blade into al-Faisal’s chest. Al-Faisal exhaled in shock, and Rakkim smelled rotting peaches, the end of every summer there ever was.