Robert Ferrigno - Sins of the Assassin

“The noise went on for weeks,” said Stevenson over the din. “Feds brought in loudspeakers that blasted the Davidians around the clock for the whole fifty-one-day siege. Evidently the agent-in-charge’s personal favorite was the sound of rabbits being slaughtered.” He nodded. “If David Koresh wasn’t nuts when it started, he sure as fuck was when Janet Reno finally ordered in the tanks.”

Stevenson had led them up the stairs from his office to the top floor, the three of them stepping out onto the flat roof. From their vantage point, they had a perfect view of the nearby replica of Mount Carmel, a rambling structure of unpainted boards topped by a steeple. It looked as much like a prison as a church, an impression only strengthened by the presence of a half-dozen tanks, cannons pointed at the front door. Hundreds of tourists clustered around the viewing areas, hands clasped over their ears. Leo stood near the edge of the roof, mesmerized, his fingers taking apart the toy tank without even looking.

The lead tank churned across the flat Texas terrain, kicking up dust. The barrel of its 55-millimeter main gun punched through the flimsy walls of the citadel. FBI sappers in black jumpsuits zigzagged in, attached hoses from the tanks into Mount Carmel, started pumping in CS, a convulsive tear gas. The crowd booed. Children on the viewing areas started crying, their mothers carrying them away.

Rakkim’s attention wandered from the assault on Mount Carmel; he had seen the reenactment before and it always turned out the same. Once the little guy drew the attention of the big guy, it was all over. The little guy might fight, might even draw blood, but sooner or later there was going to be a big boot coming down hard on him. Sarah said it was more complicated than that. She said that Koresh bore responsibility for what had happened. Said he could have surrendered. Submitted to a higher authority. Right. Problem was that Koresh thought he was the higher authority and was willing to die to prove it. The Belt was filled with people who agreed with him.

“So what are you really here for?” asked Stevenson. “Man like you could find out what was waiting for him in Tennessee a lot easier than coming here to ask me.”

“Maybe I came for the company.”

“Yeah, and I’m in business for the betterment of mankind,” said Stevenson. “So?”

Rakkim turned back to the battle. “I need that thousand-dollar gold piece of yours.”

“Why not just ask for my left ventricle?”

“I don’t need your heart. I need the gold piece.”

“That’s the pride of my collection.”

“That’s why I need it,” said Rakkim.

The U.S. Mint had produced thousand-dollar gold pieces just before the Civil War started, but had never distributed any of them. A few prototypes had been released, but the rest were stored in Fort Knox along with the nation’s supply of gold bullion. When the army of the Bible Belt over-ran Fort Knox, they found the vaults completely empty. Not a single gold coin or gold bar in the place. Men had been searching for the treasure trove for the last thirty years.

“Never should have told you I had that thing,” Stevenson said. “My own damned fault…” He squinted at Rakkim. “I get it.” He hitched up his jeans. “My gold piece isn’t going to do you any good. Might have been a good plan if Bates was still warlord; he was a greedy bastard, but like I told you, this Malcolm Crews ain’t like any normal man. Money don’t mean shit to him, it’s all about heaven and hell.”

“You don’t have to look so happy.”

“Don’t have to, but why resist the impulse?”

Rakkim watched the two Texas Rangers he had noticed earlier clutching a couple of longnecks as they passed effortlessly through the crowd. Their Stetsons seemed to float above the throng as they ambled along, ignoring the people who scuttled out of the way. A father dragged his two children aside, but he was a step too slow, a kick in the ass from the white Ranger sending him sprawling. The children stared up at the Rangers before their father gathered them in his arms, limping away.

“Rangers haven’t been paid regular for the last year, and the job hasn’t gotten any easier,” explained Stevenson. “They’re losing control over the border, control over themselves. Can’t blame them for taking it out on the citizens.”

“You mean the citizens they’re sworn to protect?” said Rakkim.

“Yup. That would be the very ones.”

Rakkim watched as the Rangers tipped their hats at a couple of teenage girls in short shorts.

“You stay away from them two,” said Stevenson. “Don’t even make eye contact.”

“I don’t want any trouble,” said Rakkim.

Stevenson squinted at him. “I’m not so sure of that anymore.”

Rakkim felt Stevenson watching him, but he didn’t turn away from the siege, the flames from the burning church reflected in his eyes. “What is it?”

“You,” said Stevenson. “There’s something…I don’t know. You’re different.”

Rakkim smiled. “I’m married. I’m a father. It takes a toll.”

“That’s not it.” Stevenson hesitated. “Before, when I asked you why you come here, I had the thought…I thought maybe you come here to kill me.”

“What? Why…why would you think that?”

“I’m getting old. All kinds of foolish ideas been running through my head lately…Your wife…it’s good between you?”

“Good enough.”

“Good enough is plenty good.” Stevenson shoved his hands in his pockets. “I still think about Esther…wonder about the life we might have had. All these years, you’d think it would fade, but I still wake up some nights and reach for her.” He cleared his throat. “You hold Sarah close when you get home. Put your arms around her and don’t let go.”

“I’ll do that.”

Stevenson watched Leo play with the toy tank he had modified, the tank spinning on one end and barking like a dog. “I could make a million dollars with this kid.”

“He’s already sold,” said Rakkim. “This fellah in Nashville-”

“Don’t lie to me,” said Stevenson. “You don’t need the practice and I find it insulting. I seem like a patriot to you? My country right or wrong?” He spit over the side of the building. Watched it fall. “The Belt is like a sack of porcupines, too busy jabbing and poking each other to find their way to daylight. That republic of yours is just as bad. Nothing’s gone right since the old regime decided to split the sheets.” The light from the fire exposed every seam in his face. “So what are you really doing back here?”

“I’m not sure,” said Rakkim. “They tell me there’s a war on the way, a new war, and maybe I can stop it, but…”

“If there’s a war coming, no one can stop it. Leave it to you to try, though.”

“Don’t make me into something I’m not. Let’s just say I missed the rodeo.”

“What’s going on?” Leo pointed at the armored bulldozers punching holes through the outer wall of the compound. A heavy truck followed, sent white smoke streaming into the structure through the holes. “Is that real tear gas?”

“Just smoke,” said Stevenson. “During the actual raid the Feds pumped CS gas into the living areas. Stings much worse than tear gas. Toxic to children too.”

Rakkim couldn’t take his eyes off the compound. It was just a reenactment, and there was more than enough blame to go around, but still…

“But…” Leo turned from one to the other. “But weren’t there children inside?”

“Twenty-one of them,” said Stevenson. “I guess the government thought it was kind of academic, though, since they all burned up in the fire anyway.”

Rakkim watched as wisps of smoke swirled in the wind. Sarah said it had never been proven how the fire started; the only thing certain was the government ordering in the tanks and all those dead kids. No wonder folks in the Belt flocked here. To them, Mount Carmel was a clear sign that the United States had turned its back on God, and God had returned the favor by turning his back on the USA. Maybe, but Rakkim wasn’t sure if God took things all that personally.