Robert Ferrigno - Sins of the Assassin

Rakkim touched a window, noted the anti-eavesdropping filaments in the armored glass. Nice touch. Some folks would feel safe. The bathroom was bigger than most apartments in the Belt or the Islamic Republic, all pink marble and granite, one entire wall a mirror. Probably two-way glass. He took off his clothes, kicked them into a corner, and walked into the bathroom.

The ultrasonic shower first sprayed a mist of scented water, then the ultrasonics kicked in, a barely audible hum that set the water beads vibrating on his skin, tingling him clean. He stayed there for three cycles, enjoying the sensation, then slathered barber cream on his face, his beard dissolving in the mist. His clothes were gone when he got out, replaced by blue breeches and a soft buckskin shirt. He had seen similar outfits on the monorail-a fine outfit, but not so fine as to draw attention. When he walked out of the bedroom, Leo and Andalou were already waiting for him in the living room.

Leo waved. He looked like he had lost ten pounds on the mission so far, the new clothes fitting him perfectly-a dark gray suit of some shiny material and a white shirt with a shroud of Turin impression of Jesus on it.

“Feel better?” Andalou didn’t wait for Rakkim to answer. “We were just discussing your situation. I notified Spider immediately after speaking with Leo this morning. You know Spider…he’s already started hacking into the KGB database. Russian security is very good, full encryption and false entry points, but Spider is quite confident. I hope you appreciate the magnitude of your request.”

“Cracking the database isn’t as hard as you think.” Leo sniffed. “Back-dating your name into the KGB files, that’s the tricky part. Probably not more than a dozen people in the world could-”

“My history has to be planted behind at least one wall, two would be even better, and the history has to be accurate,” said Rakkim. “From the beginning until three years ago, when I was managing the Blue Moon.”

Andalou smoothed his trousers. “I still don’t understand why you’re-”

“You don’t need to understand.”

“Such lovely manners.” Andalou poured ice tea for Rakkim. “Well, if this little game with your KGB file doesn’t work out, I suspect the two-hundred-million-dollar down payment you’re offering the Colonel will affirm your good intentions.”

Rakkim looked at Leo. “Two hundred million? I thought the president didn’t want to leave his fingerprints on the operation.”

Leo squirmed in his seat.

“The president doesn’t know anything about the Colonel’s new Chinese friends or the change of plans,” said Andalou. “Please…try your tea. I hope it’s not too sweet.”

Rakkim leaned forward. “What’s going on, Leo?”

“It’s Spider’s money,” said Leo. “He transferred it into an account at the Bank of Liechtenstein this morning. Left traces of a Russian point of origin.”

“That’s not what I mean,” said Rakkim.

“Rikki wants to know why the president hasn’t been updated,” said Andalou.

“Why do you think you have to explain things to him?” Rakkim said softly. “Does he seem stupid to you?”

Andalou plucked at the ruffles around his neck, pursed his shiny lips. “Kindly do not threaten me, sir.”

“Do you feel threatened?” said Rakkim.

“Hey, you two,” said Leo. “We’re on the same side.”

“If you want clarification of my good intentions, sir,” said Andalou, “perhaps you should talk with your wife.”

“Go ahead, call me sir again,” said Rakkim.

“Rikki, please,” said Leo. “Getty and Spider and Sarah…we’re working together.”

“Nobody told me.” Rakkim saw Sarah’s face the morning he left…he could see she was upset, holding something back. He just thought she was afraid to start crying. Joke’s on you, Rikki. Ha-ha. “Must have been too important to share with the help.”

“Rikki…if I may,” said Andalou. “I’ve been in contact with Sarah and Spider for some time now. Sharing information. Building up trust. Diplomacy 101.” He shook out his hair, sent perfume wafting through the air. “Sarah wanted to tell you, but I insisted on keeping our little circle small. After all, our lives depend on it.” He crossed his legs, the satin trousers rustling, and Rakkim thought of crickets and kudzu and ambushes when you least expected them. “If you want to know the truth, we thought we had more time. This business with the Chinese making overtures to the Colonel has moved everything up, and I’m not at all sure we’re ready.”

Rakkim waited, enjoying seeing Andalou discomforted. He probably had rehearsed this moment for hours, ready for all the likely responses, but without Rakkim asking Ready for what? Andalou didn’t know how to proceed.

“You’ve seen what things are like here now,” said Leo. “Mexicans taking back land, kidnapping tourists, diverting rivers. People all over the Belt are losing their jobs, or working for foreigners. Warlords and bandits everywhere, the cops have gone crazy, and the federal government needs press-gangs to fill the ranks of their army.”

“My country is dying.” Andalou clutched his glass. “My country…is dying. And so is yours.”

“What do you want me to do about it?” said Rakkim.

“Not you,” said Andalou. “Us. All of us.”

Leo brought his pudgy fists together. “Reunification.”

Rakkim laughed.

“It’s not funny,” said Leo.

“It’s not possible either,” said Rakkim.

“One of the early patriots, Ben Franklin, said we could either hang together or hang separately,” said Andalou. “It’s as true today as it was then. I’m not the only one who sees things this way. There are others…in high office, in business, good folks in the Islamic Republic as well as the Belt. People know things are wrong. Even if they’re too young to remember the way things used to be, the evidence is all around them. The bridge in San Francisco…New Fallujah, whatever you call it. The bridge is rusting, badly maintained, cables worn through. Another five or ten years, it won’t be usable. What happened to the people who built that bridge? The country that built that bridge?”

“I’m no traitor,” said Rakkim.

“Nor am I,” said Andalou.

“I want to talk with Sarah,” Rakkim said to Andalou. “Don’t tell me you can’t do it; you obviously talked to her after Leo called Spider yesterday.”

The ice in Andalou’s drink clinked against the glass. Rakkim wasn’t sure if his hand was trembling or if the dandy just liked the sound of it. “It’s dangerous,” he said.

“A cautious revolutionary? You’re not going to get anywhere like that.”

Andalou nodded. “Indeed.”

Rakkim and Leo followed Andalou into one of the other rooms of the penthouse. The bedroom suite. The love nest of a decadent playboy, the bed a round, canopied tent draped in red silk, paintings of fleshy nudes on the walls. Into the walk-in closet, his clothes a rainbow of peacock finery. Andalou pressed a light fixture and a false wall slid back, revealing a small alcove behind a rack of suits. A videophone link was built into a desk. He beckoned them into the cramped interior, the wall sliding shut behind them.

“Landline?” said Leo as Andalou keyed in a number.

Andalou nodded, moved slightly to give Rakkim more room.

“You intersecting through Mozambique?” said Leo.

“Sri Lanka,” said Andalou, checking various readouts.

“I’d have gone with Mozambique,” said Leo. “They’ve got faster switches. What’s your response delay? Fifteen seconds?”

“Nineteen,” said Andalou.

“That’s what I mean,” said Leo. “Mozambique, you’re talking about-” He stopped as Sarah’s face flickered on-screen. She looked worried.