Robert Ferrigno - Sins of the Assassin

“Pru?” said Annabelle.

An encrypted phone could work both ways. It allowed the Colonel to keep track of the four men here, but it also might allow someone to eavesdrop on the Colonel’s communications. With the phone, Rakkim and Leo wouldn’t be operating blind. “What’s Pru look like?”

“Tall, blond, and with sweet puppy-dog eyes,” said Leanne. “He hates Gravenholtz too. He says they all do…all of ’em miserable, except Jeeter.”

“Is that right?” said Rakkim. “They argue in front of you?”

“All the time,” said Leanne. “Jeeter’s always smacking somebody or making fun of Tom Tipton’s little chin whiskers, calling him Billy Goat Gruff and saying he’s going to slice them off some night.”

“I could crack this code you’re all excited about,” said Leo, watching Leanne out of the corner of his eye. “Won’t be any problem at all for me.”

“Yeah, you can bend steel in your bare hands too,” said Rakkim.

“To a man like you, cracking code must seem like bending steel.” Leo fingered the collar around his neck. “I’m not really an Ident, you know,” he said to Leanne.

“Wouldn’t matter if you were,” said Leanne.

Leo lightly stirred the three geometric shapes, set them bouncing against each other. “Who made these?”

“I did,” said Leanne.

“Do you know what they are?” said Leo.

“Do you?” said Leanne.

Leo touched the largest multifaceted shape. “Giant dodecahedron.” He tapped the spiky one. “Great icosahedron. Sometimes known as the Poinsot solids.” He spun another, even spikier, like the star on a Christmas tree. “Stellated dodecahedron.”

Leanne stroked her curls. Sniffed. “Two out of three isn’t bad.”

“I beg your pardon?” said Leo.

“Count the pentagramic faces.” Leanne stepped toward him. “Go on, count them.”

“Do you know what she’s talking about?” Rakkim asked Annabelle.

“Not since she was ten,” said Annabelle.

Leo turned the spiked ornament over and over in his hands. He looked up at Leanne. “This is impossible.”

“For you, maybe,” said Leanne.

“Fourteen faces instead of twelve?” said Leo. “Five pentagrams meeting at each vertex? How…how did you do that?”

“I call it a Derbyshire star,” said Leanne, “after an old-days mathematician.”

Leo stared at her, cheeks pinking up.

“Oh, sweet suffering Jesus, it’s love,” said Rakkim.

Rakkim slowly removed the automatic rifle from beside Jeeter, slid it under a heap of straw with the other three weapons. The sleeping sentry outside had been trickier to disarm, actually using his jackhammer shotgun as a pillow. Rakkim tickled him until he turned over, removed the weapon as the young man sighed, said a woman’s name. Jeeter was older than the other three, more muscular, a hardened vet, his face so blistered that one eye was swollen shut. Annabelle had caught him good with the hot grits.

Jeeter stirred as Rakkim watched him. That was Rakkim’s fault. Never let your gaze linger if you want to stay invisible. Jeeter might be lying in his own sweat and stink, but there was a good soldier under there somewhere. Gravenholtz knew what he was doing. Rakkim squatted beside the man, watching…waiting.

Jeeter opened his eyes.

Rakkim blew him a kiss. “Rise and shine.”

Jeeter reached for his weapon, found it gone, and rolled to his feet. Quick too.

Rakkim punched him in the throat. The two others in the barn woke to the sound of Jeeter gagging. Saw Rakkim standing there, hands in his pockets. “Morning, boys,” said Rakkim. “Come on over and let’s talk.”

They got carefully to their feet-Ferris, a chunky, bleary-eyed dullard, and Pruitt, lean and delicate somehow, both of them looking around for their weapons, embarrassed. The sentry stumbled inside, his hair wild, stopped when he saw Rakkim. Scraggly goatee on his chin. Tom Tipton. Billy Goat Gruff.

“Come on in, Tom.” Rakkim flashed the penlight video he had taken a few minutes ago. “Wish I could see Gravenholtz’s face when he sees this.”

They stared at the mini-movie on the wall, right about the axes and chain saws and dive gear-images of themselves snoring, scratching their privates, guns in the dirt, oblivious in dreamland.

“Please, sir…you don’t have to show this to Gravenholtz,” said Tom. “That’s not Christian.”

“Man wanted me to keep tabs on how you boys were doing,” said Rakkim. “Wouldn’t be Christian to keep the truth from him.”

“I didn’t do nothing,” said Ferris.

“One for all and all for one,” said Rakkim.

“What’s that mean?” said Ferris.

“Means we’re all responsible,” said Pruitt, working to hold himself steady. “One of us fucks up, we all fuck up.”

Jeeter made it to his knees, wheezing, trying to breathe.

Pruitt looked around, as though expecting to see other troops. “Sir, we…please tell Commander Gravenholtz that we never let down our guard before. Not once.”

“Once is kind of enough, don’t you think?” said Rakkim.

“This ain’t fair,” said Tom, small eyes blinking. “It’s ‘Tipton, do this, Tipton, do that, Tipton, you dumb fuck, wash out my socks,’” he said, voice cracking. “I do everything I’m told, and I still get tagged with guard duty five nights running, no relief. How am I supposed to stay awake? You tell me, how am I supposed to do that?”

Rakkim wagged a finger at Jeeter. “You run a sloppy outfit, top dog. I surely would hate to be you when I make my report.”

Tom tugged at his wispy goatee. “The women…those two women must have put something in our food…drugged us out.” He looked around for support. “Knockout drops or something.”

“I wouldn’t put anything past those two bitches,” mumbled Ferris.

Jeeter secured the strap of his overalls, looking hard at Rakkim. “I’m not worried. Gravenholtz knows me, knows I get the job done.”

“Please, mister,” said Tom.

“Too late, Tom,” said Rakkim. “Already sent it on. I put a three-hour transmission delay on it, give you boys a chance to head out for greener pastures.” He smiled at Tom. “Five straight nights of guard duty? You deserve a break. Besides, I hate thinking about what Gravenholtz will do to you if he finds you here. Gives me nightmares.”

“Ain’t nobody leaving,” said Jeeter.

Rakkim checked his watch. “It’s up to you.”

“Jeeter, hey, man,” said Tom, “you can stay, but me…” He bent down, started shoving clothes into a backpack.

“I said, stay put,” said Jeeter.

“Like this guy said, Jeeter, one for all…one for all and we’re all fucked,” said Ferris. “I seen Gravenholtz crush a man’s skull for stepping on his foot. What do you think he’s going to do to us?”

“He ain’t going to do nothing.” Jeeter glared at Rakkim with his one good eye. “This turd isn’t working for Gravenholtz. He probably don’t even know Gravenholtz. He’s running some game.”

Rakkim looked at his watch. Shrugged.

“What kind of a dumb game you think he’s running, Jeeter?” said Tom, the backpack overflowing. “He’s not asking nothing from us.”

Pruitt watched Rakkim.

Rakkim spread his arms wide. “It’s a free country. You want to stay here and find out who’s playing a game and who’s not, be my guest. Ta-ta.” He started toward the door.

“Where you think you’re going?” Jeeter grinned. “By my count, there’s four of us and one of you.” He scooped a hammer off a workbench. “So you hand over that vid and maybe I won’t nail your pecker to the wall.” He looked around. “Ferris, get your fat ass in gear. Pruitt, Tipton…move it.”