Robert Ferrigno - Sins of the Assassin

“What do you want from me, Rikki?”

“You know what I want.”

“I’m not going to put some black ice into the hands of the republic.”

“You’d rather put it into the hands of the Colonel?”

“The Colonel’s a good man.”

“I know. I’ve met him.” Rakkim let that sink in. “You give the weapon to the Colonel, though, you’re giving it to Gravenholtz too. Maybe that’s what you want. After all, he was so kind to your family. Me, all I did was get them out of harm’s way.”

Moseby didn’t answer.

Rakkim inhaled. The logging truck smelled of rust and mildewed leather and cracked plastic. He pumped the brakes, his foot thudding on the floorboard. “What if the weapon didn’t end up back in the republic?”

Moseby shook his head. “Once something like that’s been found, you can’t just make it disappear.”

“I’m not talking about that.” Rakkim picked up two pinecones off the seat, held one up. “You’ve got the republic. Kingsley’s not going to live forever, and even if he did, the country-what’s left of it, anyway-is just one step ahead of a fundamentalist takeover.” He held up the other pinecone. “Then there’s the Belt, which, other than a few pockets of affluence, is a backwater dumping ground, owned and operated by foreign corporations.” He tossed both pinecones out the window. “Neither the Belt nor the republic can be trusted with the weapon.”

“You got another pinecone?”

Rakkim smiled. “I’ve got another option. We all do.”

“The Colonel doesn’t even know what the weapon is,” said Moseby. “All he knows is that it’s in a graphite canister small enough for a strong man to carry…and it’s got a marking on it. Seventy-two-slash-one-oh-six.”

“Seventy-two-slash-one-oh-six? What does that mean?”

“No idea.” Moseby grinned. “Maybe it’s the phone number for some general’s mistress.”

“Why does the Colonel think there’s black ice buried here anyway?”

“Dying man told him. Tobacco farmer outside of Daystrom. Don’t laugh. Farmer said the canister was hidden in the mountain by a special commando unit. Six men went into the mountain, only one came out. The farmer was the grandson of that man. This farmer reached out to the Colonel when he was on his deathbed. He had his grandfather’s medal, a commendation from the head of the black-ice program to back up his story. He just didn’t have the exact location of the lake they dumped it in.”

“Not really a lot of proof.”

“I found a Grave Digger ID badge beside an underground lake.”

“Damn. I was half hoping it was all bullshit.”

“Me too.” Moseby ran a hand across his skull, wiped sweat on his trousers. “So fuck the republic and fuck the Belt. What’s the other option?”

“My wife’s a liberal. Sarah’s Redbeard’s niece, raised moderate, but she might as well be a Catholic. She’s the one who uncovered the truth behind the suitcase nuke attacks.”

Moseby’s eyes widened.

“I know, I know,” said Rakkim. “I should have married a good Muslim girl who’d rub my back and never ask me how my day was, but I fell in love.”

Moseby’s black skin made his smile seem even brighter. “That makes two of us.”

“Sarah’s been working with people, both in the republic and in the Belt-Christians, Muslims, Jews-all of them evidently putting aside their differences for one goal. Reunification.”

Moseby didn’t laugh. Just watched him.

“You act like…like you’re not surprised,” said Rakkim.

“It’s the only logical alternative.”

“To you, maybe. To me…it was sort of a shock. My wife the traitor.”

“Is that the way you feel?”

Rakkim let it lie for a moment. “No. I think if I didn’t trust her on this, if I didn’t do everything I could to help her…then I’d be the traitor.”

“So this group, the ones trying to reunify the country, they want the weapon?” Moseby looked out the window. He didn’t need an answer. He shook his head. Turned back to Rakkim. “The Belt’s got plenty of problems, I know that better than you do…but I’m not about to let you turn the weapon against it.”

“It’s not about that,” said Rakkim. “It’s using the weapon to stop the Belt and the republic from getting nibbled away by our neighbors.”

“Our neighbors. I like the sound of it. Wish it wasn’t just you saying it.” Moseby kept chewing things over. “You ask a lot of your friends, Rikki.”

“I know.”

A truck full of young soldiers rolled past them, kicking up dust, the soldiers hooting and hollering.

“I’m not asking you to do anything I’m not doing myself,” said Rakkim. “The president expects me either to bring him the weapon or destroy it, and I’m going to lie to him. I’m going to give the weapon to people who want to change things in a big way. I don’t know how it’s going to turn out. That’s Sarah’s job. I’m just going on faith and her say-so that I’m doing the right thing.”

“You might be wrong. She might be wrong.” Moseby watched the troop transport until it was out of sight. “I might be wrong.”

“True enough, but, John…how long do you think either country is going to last split in two like it is?”

“I’ve got to go, Rikki.”

“One of the people working for reunification…I brought him along. His name is Leo. Young kid. Probably too smart for his own good. Jewish, so he’s not about to do anything with the weapon that’s going to make the mullahs happy.” Rakkim hesitated. “I think he’s in love with Leanne. Nothing’s happened,” Rakkim hurried, seeing the heat in Moseby’s eyes. “More of a puppy love kind of thing. I was going to let Leo tell you, but it would probably take him an hour to get the words out.”

“What does Annabelle think of him?”

“You figure out what women think, you let me know.”

Moseby put his hand on the door.

“Will you do it? If you find the canister…?”

“You think you’re going to waltz in, throw it across your back, and just walk out again?” Moseby snorted. “You’re good, but you’re not that good.”

“I’m working on it. In a day or so the Colonel is going to introduce me to you, so play nice. You’ll meet Leo too. I’m warning you, that could be a bit of a jolt.”

Moseby watched him and Rakkim had no idea what he was thinking. Whether he would go along when the time came, or whether he would betray them. Moseby kept accounts too. He owed Rakkim. The question was whether he owed him enough.

“So will you do it, John? If you find the weapon…will you let me know?”

Moseby opened the door to the truck, the rusted hinges screeching like something in pain. “Already found it.”

Rakkim heard footsteps approaching, heard whispers and someone circling around to the rear of the tent-plenty of time to get away or turn the ambush back on them, but he recognized the Colonel’s old-fashioned pine-tar soap and the gruff whisper…yes, that would be Gravenholtz. Best to let them think they had surprised him.

Gravenholtz passed by, breathing heavily, and Rakkim thought of Florence Tigard with her clothes on fire, her sons shot to pieces in front of her…thought of Bill Tigard dying as he tried to defend his family. Rakkim saw it all over again, the flames and gunfire, the look on Gravenholtz’s face as Tigard’s scythe barely broke the skin…he remembered that look and almost reconsidered his decision to let himself be caught napping. Let’s see if that second skin of his works against a Fedayeen blade. Rakkim imagined a hundred different ways to kill the redhead as he barged into the tent, each more painful than the last, more interesting…Instead, he lay back on his cot, forced the images out of his head. It was harder than he expected. Darwin’s face curled at the foot of his bed, wispy as a nightmare, his smile fading now, fading…Rakkim closed his eyes as the footsteps stopped just outside.