Robert Ferrigno - Sins of the Assassin

The Colonel’s shadow waved on the walls.

“Tell him, Colonel,” said Baby. “One look at Mr. Moseby and you know he’s different from the others. He’s a finder. You can trust him.” She leaned her head on his shoulder, snuggled against him. “Shoot, you owe him the truth. He’s risking his life down here at the bottom of the earth.”

The Colonel nodded, beckoned Moseby closer. “Somewhere down here, Mr. Moseby, hidden safely away…is the Declaration of Independence and the Constitution of the United States, the most sacred documents of the former regime. I intend for us to find them, Mr. Moseby, whatever the cost.”

The monorail into downtown Atlanta put even the grand transit system of Seattle to shame. Seattle’s elevated train was clean, smooth, and free of graffiti, but even the second-class cars of the new Atlanta monorail had plush seats, soft music, and the scent of magnolias piped in. No telling what first-class amenities were. Rakkim would have liked to find out but Idents weren’t allowed in first class. He enjoyed the last of the sun warming the glass of the train.

The outskirts of the Belt capital were the usual shabby apartments and run-down homes with brown lawns, but the people getting on to ride into the city were well dressed, the women in short, frilly skirts and purple anteater-skin boots, the men in suits with high collars and tight pants. They weren’t heading into the capital for a night on the town, they were the working poor looking their best for their service jobs taking care of the capital’s overclass-making drinks, driving town cars, or serving tiger prawn satay or veal tartare to the sleek civil servants, tech workers, and international-business desk jockeys that were the hot blood of Atlanta.

Rakkim had bought himself and Leo new clothes, spending more than he anticipated on his credit chip, but even so, he felt underdressed. From the glances of the other riders, it was a majority opinion. Even the Idents were fashionable.

“I’m scared,” whispered Leo.

“It’s okay,” said Rakkim.

“I checked the security phone for bugs,” said Leo. “I thought I found them all, but I was wrong.”

Rakkim stared at his hands. He had a small blister on each of his thumbs from digging graves for the Tigard family.

“I was wrong,” said Leo. “I’m never wrong about things like that.” Leo’s knees bounced rapidly up and down. “What happens when we get to the mountain? Maybe…maybe I’m not as smart as I think I am.”

“Little late in the game for humility, Leo. I liked you better when you were working out the value of pi to a hundred places while pounding it to Leanne.”

“Me too.” Leo caught himself. “I don’t like that phrase, ‘pounding it,’ in reference to Leanne.”

Through the scenic glass Rakkim could see that new skyscrapers had been built since his last visit. A couple of them had to be 250 or 300 stories at least, all titanium and glass, squatty at the base and tapering to fine points. South American money, for the most part, the Brazilian and Columbian conglomerates staking their claim, buying prime real estate in the capital. There were office buildings in Dubai and Singapore over four hundred stories tall, buildings that issued separate weather reports depending on your floor, but these new ones in Atlanta were impressive nonetheless. Nice to see a skyline without antiterror blimps hovering overhead or antiaircraft batteries on the rooftops-for all its flaws the Belt didn’t attract the hostility that the Islamic Republic did; its enemies preferred economic pressure and constant territorial encroachment rather than direct attacks.

A young blond Ident across the aisle batted her eyes at Leo-her lids, crusted with glitter stones, flashed rainbows. “Y’all just getting into town?”

Leo nodded.

“He’s allowed to talk, isn’t he?” The Ident smiled at Rakkim, her grill-work crusted with glitter stones too. She offered her hand to Leo, reaching across Rakkim. “I’m Amanda.”

“Leo.”

“Leo the lion.” She winked at him. “Bet you know how to growl too, don’t you?”

Leo looked away.

The monorail raced on, a light electrical hum the loudest sound in the compartment. Leo had phoned ahead after they left the Tigards’ farm. Told his contact what had happened, and what Rakkim wanted. Calls within the Belt were generally safe, but the conversation had been in code anyway. Someone overhearing it would have thought it was just casual talk, except for when the man at the other end had said, Your brother is getting a job offer from Switzerland? You’re absolutely certain of that? The slight change in his tone was a lapse in security, but Rakkim was probably just annoyed for having to use Leo’s Atlanta connection.

A few stops later, the trains slowed. Amanda leaned toward Leo. “This is your stop.”

Rakkim followed them down the ramp to the street, part of the throng of reverse commuters. At the bottom of the ramp, Amanda kissed Leo on the right cheek, left a lip print, and pointed toward a small cart selling soda. The man selling soda handed Rakkim a couple of RC Colas, whispered an address. Ten minutes’ walk later, an Ident led them to the service entrance of one of the largest buildings in the city, Freedom Towers.

Another Ident led them into a private elevator, thumb-coded the control panel. Leo put one hand on the wall, breathing rapidly as the car rose. The doors slid open at the penthouse on the 111th floor. The Ident stepped out, waited for them to exit, and then stepped back inside.

“Good talking with you,” said Rakkim.

The Ident didn’t change expression.

“There you are, dear hearts,” said Getty Andalou, fluttering over in a wave of ruffles and silk. The son of the Senate majority leader, he was well over six feet tall, late thirties, slender as a stick, his perfumed hair falling around his shoulders-a real dandy, elegant in cranberry tights and a loose white silk blouse with ruffled sleeves and collar. All he needed was a sword and a floppy hat with a feather in it. He stood with one hip cocked, hands on his hips. “You must be Leo. I’ve heard so much about you.”

Leo shifted from one foot to another. “Okay.”

“The infamous Rikki.” Andalou gave a slight bow. “I’m glad to see you’re taking such good care of the lad.”

Rakkim curtseyed.

Andalou chuckled. “Ah yes…Spider said you were droll.” He waved at the expansive living room. “Please, come in. I’ve had food prepared…” His nose wrinkled. “Perhaps you’d prefer to bathe first.” He lightly clapped his hands and another Ident appeared. “Please escort our guests to their bedrooms.” He looked at Rakkim. “I’ve taken the liberty of having clothes laid out for you.”

“I’m allergic to ruffles and bows,” said Rakkim.

“I’m sure you are.” Andalou’s teeth were perfectly even and white. “I take a certain pride in anticipating the tastes of my guests…although in your case I had some assistance.”

Rakkim followed the Ident down the hall, Leo tagging along after. The Ident opened a door, bowed, and Leo walked inside. Another door opened, and Rakkim thanked him. He tried the door after it closed behind the Ident. It opened easily. He assumed there were cameras. He checked out the spacious room, its high ceilings and buffed hickory flooring.

Situated at the corner of the penthouse, the panoramic windows afforded a view of the Congressional Building and the Lincoln Monument. Down the street was Traitors Square, whose embossed floor tiles noted the names of journalists and politicians who had covertly accepted Saudi oil money. A trip to the capital wasn’t complete until tourists had tromped all over those names. The Putin Building, the tallest skyscraper in Atlanta, cast a shadow across the city. Three hundred ten stories, according to what he had overheard on the monorail. High enough to make the point, but not too high; at 555 stories, the Rio Spire had been the tallest structure in the world-a ten-thousand-mile view, bragged the publicists-until it fell over one bright sunny day without a cloud in the sky or a seismic shift underfoot. Just toppled over into the Atlantic like a drunk on the white-sand beach. Too big to remove, the wreckage, and the twenty thousand dead under it, had become a major tourist attraction.