Robert Ferrigno - Sins of the Assassin

“I don’t know how they found out,” said Rakkim. “Not my department.”

“Still, we have to use the bird judiciously,” said the Colonel. “The Russians aren’t the only ones who might want to poke their noses into our business.”

“What’s the point in having it if we can’t use it?” said Gravenholtz. The Colonel glanced at him and Gravenholtz backed off. “I’m just saying…”

Deeper in the woods, Rakkim saw a small encampment, the tents pitched haphazardly, wet laundry hanging off nearby tree branches. Men stood around in the shadow of the pines, watching them pass by. No salutes to the Colonel, no greetings. They were different from the troops in camp, different from the miners too. Sullen brutes, unshaven, arms draped across the rifles slung across their backs. They looked like scarecrows.

Rakkim recognized one of them, and another one too. He had seen them at the Tigards’ farmhouse, howling with glee as they unloaded rounds into the burning home. He was about to make an excuse to get closer when Gravenholtz tugged on his earlobe and the men melted back into the forest.

The path forked. The Colonel started down the low road.

“What’s up there?” said Rakkim, pointing toward the other path.

It was close to noon, sun beating down directly on them; even the birds were retreating from the sky. “Just a view,” said the Colonel.

“Okay,” said Rakkim. “If you’re tired…”

The Colonel’s mouth worked.

“Don’t you want to head toward the lake, sir?” asked Gravenholtz. “It’d be cooler, and there’s been some rock slides along the ravine; I don’t think it’s safe.”

The Colonel hesitated, shook his head. “I haven’t been to the rift in a while-besides, I want to get Rikki’s opinion on using the area for antiaircraft coverage. If I decide to deal with the Russians instead of the Chinese, Beijing may be less than happy.”

“It’s a mistake, sir,” said Gravenholtz. “You’re giving this towelhead way too much credit.”

“Hey, Lester, let’s keep it civil,” said Rakkim. “I mean, I could call you a pasty-faced, freckle-assed, thimble-dicked mother-”

Gravenholtz swung on him. Rakkim slipped the blow, but slowly, not wanting to reveal his own speed. Might have been a mistake. One of Gravenholtz’s fists just barely grazed him, but drew blood and laid a welt along the side of his jaw.

“That’s enough, Lester,” said the Colonel. “Now, I’m showing Rikki the ravine. You can either accompany us or find something else to vent your spleen on.”

Rakkim walked beside the Colonel. Touched his fingertips to his jaw. Now he had a good idea of how fast Gravenholtz moved.

“I warned you,” muttered the Colonel. “Lester’s a dangerous man to provoke.”

Rakkim heard Gravenholtz start after them, the redhead slipping on the loose rocks.

They climbed on for another ten minutes, one switchback after another, when Rakkim heard it. The other two kept climbing, oblivious. A few minutes later, when they reached a large, flat area near the summit, even they could hear it. The call to noon prayer, the voice weak but insistent.

“Lester?” The Colonel glared at Gravenholtz. “Goddamn it, Lester, you try my patience.” He stalked into the woods, Rakkim and Gravenholtz following. The Colonel’s two guards trailed behind. The forest was sparse, the soil rocky and poor, the ground littered with broken whiskey bottles and empty cans of beef stew and Spam and creamed corn. The call to prayer was coming from a lean-to the size of an outhouse. A grimy man dozed beside a nearby tree, an assault rifle resting on his knees.

“Open the door!” the Colonel barked as the grimy man woke up.

The man got to his feet, fumbled in his pocket, and stuck a key in the padlock on the lean-to.

The Colonel pushed him aside, opened the door. He looked back at Gravenholtz.

“I can explain, sir,” said Gravenholtz.

“No, you most certainly cannot,” said the Colonel. He extended his hand into the lean-to, helped a man inside stagger out, the man half blinded by the light, blinking, his arms bound behind his back. “Give me your canteen,” the Colonel ordered.

The grimy man reluctantly handed it over.

The Colonel held the canteen to the prisoner’s mouth, water pouring down the man’s chin in his eagerness. “Easy, soldier,” urged the Colonel, giving him time, making him slow down. They stood there, the two of them, until the Colonel finally tossed the empty canteen aside. “I gave orders before I left last week that this man was to be executed,” he said to Gravenholtz.

Rakkim recognized the prisoner-a Fedayeen named Hodges, first in his shadow warrior class two years ago. Rakkim had been at the small graduation ceremony as a guest of General Kidd. It was Hodges, but his face was wrong…the planes of his cheeks were misaligned, his jaw unhinged, one eye swollen shut, his chin caved in. So broken he could never be made whole again.

The pain must have been agonizing, but Hodges stood there calmly, legs spread slightly, to the limit of the short chain around his ankles. His arms were strapped behind his back, bound at the wrist and elbow. At the Academy, Rakkim had seen a Fedayeen commando tied hand and foot like this, watched him jump and snap his knees into an instructor’s forehead. Knocked the instructor out. Nice move, but the commando didn’t have a broken ankle. Hodges did. Rakkim made eye contact with him, saw a glimmer of acknowledgment, a moment of relief, then resignation. Hodges had to have guessed what Rakkim was doing here. There was nothing Rakkim could do for him without jeopardizing the mission. They both knew it.

The Colonel’s two guards had joined them, their weapons trained on Hodges.

“You disobeyed my direct order, Lester,” said the Colonel.

Gravenholtz’s face was the color of a rotting orange. “Well, sir…the boys get so little entertainment, stuck up here, that I decided to do what I could to lighten their load.”

“Your boys, not mine,” said the Colonel. He gently turned Hodges’s head, noted the filth and scars along the side of it, the places where his broken bones had not healed properly. He unbuttoned Hodges’s shirt, saw his busted ribs sticking out like pickup sticks. The Colonel buttoned him back up. Smoothed his blood-crusted hair. “You have my apology, soldier.”

“He’s a damn spy, Colonel,” said Gravenholtz.

“Yes, he’s a spy. That’s why I sentenced him to be executed,” said the Colonel, his eyes still on Hodges. “He’s also a soldier operating under orders and one hell of a brave man, which is why he deserves to be put in front of a firing squad and executed with full military honors, not abused for the pleasure of cowards.”

Gravenholtz’s voice was a raspy whisper. “Sir, you got no call-”

“You disobeyed my order, and you disgraced yourself,” said the Colonel. “Torturing a man like this…If I didn’t need you, I’d put you down like a rabid dog, Lester.” He rested his hand on his sidearm. “You’re dismissed. Take this piece of shit with you.”

Gravenholtz gave a sloppy salute and ambled off, the grimy man following.

“Shall…sir, shall I put the prisoner back?” said one of the Colonel’s guards.

“Let him bathe first. You know where the freshwater spring is. Let him take all the time he wants, but don’t get too close and keep your weapons on him at all times. Every moment,” said the Colonel. “After he’s clean, give him time to pray and then bring him back here. We’ll put him out of his misery.” He stepped closer to Hodges. “Are you ready to meet your maker, soldier?”

Hodges nodded.

“Sorry I don’t have your holy book so you could read-”

“No need, sir,” croaked Hodges, “I’ve memorized the holy Quran.”