Robert Ferrigno - Sins of the Assassin

“It would be defiled by my touch anyway. That’s the way it works, right?”

Hodges looked straight ahead.

Rakkim watched Hodges limp away, the two guards following behind, weapons ready. The wind rose up from the lowlands, and he smelled pine and cedar, clean smells, earth and eternity. He hoped Hodges filled his lungs before he died. Strange business. Rakkim had been warned that the Colonel had become a ferocious Muslim-hater, preaching vengeance and genocide, but it wasn’t true. The Colonel had no qualms about executing his enemies, but there was no cruelty in the man, only a harsh justice. Gravenholtz was a beast-even worse, he slipped his leash from time to time.

The Colonel looked out over the hills and valleys below. The breeze blew through his long hair, his eyes squinting, as though waiting for some phantom army to appear, the heavenly host in all its glory.

Rakkim remembered seeing the new president of the Belt on TV in the diner. A grinny-Gus, that’s what the hunters at the Piggly Wiggly Diner had called him, forks scraping over their plates as they mocked the president. You would never hear anything like that in Seattle, not in public anyway, but politicians were the same everywhere. Most of them weak, preening word merchants eager to accommodate whoever was in front of them. Lip service. It sounded obscene. Even President Kingsley wasn’t immune to making the most repugnant compromises, playing off the conservative ayatollahs against the modern technocrats, watering down a proposed travel ban on unmarried females and trumpeting it as a victory. Maybe it was. All Rakkim knew was that if someone had to rule, he preferred a leader who was hard but honorable, with spine and a sense of decency. A man like General Kidd. Or the Colonel.

“Who were those men we saw on the way up?” said Rakkim. “The ones whose tents were falling down around them.”

“Those are Lester’s men. He brought them with him when he joined up about five years ago. Border raiders, one step ahead of the noose. Scum for the most part, and no field discipline, as you noted, but fierce fighters. Like Lester himself. He lacks charm, and he’s got a mean streak, but when the bugle blares…”

“It’s when the bugle goes silent that I’d worry, if I were you.”

“Lester’s a good ol’ boy.” The Colonel looked past him. “I think the prisoner recognized you.”

Rakkim was impressed. So much so that he didn’t trust a lie to go undetected.

“We were introduced the last time I was at the Academy.”

“Seeing you here with me…he must realize you’ve gone renegade,” said the Colonel, face turned to the wind. “’Bout to break his heart, I imagine.”

“A Fedayeen has to travel light, Colonel. A heart would be an unnecessary burden.”

The Colonel looked at him. “Betraying your country might not have been all that hard for you, but I suspect there’s plenty like that young prisoner who would never consider it. Not for love or money. The Russians are God-fearing people, just like you said, so I’ll consider doing business with you, mister, but make sure you stay downwind of me.”

It was an hour later when the two guards brought Hodges back, freshly scrubbed now. His clothes were rinsed clean, still wet. His chains clinked with every measured step, his hands bound in front of him.

“You ready, soldier?” asked the Colonel.

Hodges pulled back his shoulders as the wind rippled around him.

The Colonel waited until the guards walked Hodges over to a wall of rock. He gestured and they pointed their weapons, facing the Fedayeen.

“Colonel?” said Hodges. “Might I ask a favor?”

“Don’t worry,” said the Colonel. “You’ll be buried with the other Muslim war dead at the cemetery in Jackson Ridge by noon tomorrow. I know your procedures.”

“That’s not it, sir.” Hodges nodded at Rakkim. “I’d like to request that he be the one to execute me.”

The Colonel stared at Hodges. “You want a renegade to carry out the sentence? You mocking me, soldier?”

Hodges came to attention. “Sir, with all due respect, I would prefer to be executed by a renegade Fedayeen than a couple of pork-chop-eating kafir bastards.”

“With all due respect?” The Colonel laughed. Shook his head. “I will never understand you people.” He glanced at Rakkim. “You have a problem with this?”

Rakkim looked at Hodges. “It would be an honor, sir.”

The Colonel took out his sidearm, removed the magazine, left a single bullet in the chamber. He held it out to Rakkim.

Rakkim ignored the gun. He walked slowly over to Hodges, his Fedayeen knife concealed in his hand.

“Thank you,” Hodges said, barely moving his lips.

Rakkim watched him, saw no fear in the man. None at all. Hodges didn’t ask for Rakkim to revenge him. Didn’t ask for reassurance that their mission would be completed. He didn’t need to. “I’m sorry,” Rakkim said softly.

“Don’t look so sad, brother,” said Hodges. “Today I shall lie upon a golden couch in Paradise.”

Rakkim stabbed him in the heart, withdrew the blade before the man had time to blink.

“Shouldn’t we be hiding or something?” said Leo.

“The idea is for Malcolm Crews’s men to find us.”

Leo ducked into the shadow of the abandoned Stuckey’s, the former restaurant and tourist stop now a collection of burned cinder blocks, broken windows, and a collapsed yellow roof. A rat scurried around in the dark interior and Leo quickly joined Rakkim.

“Why don’t you sit down and relax?” said Rakkim. “I’ll let you know if I see anybody coming.”

“I’m tired of sitting down,” said Leo. “You spend three days on the mountain having fun, while I’m stuck in that lousy motel listening to trucks race past my window.”

“You should have gone for a walk, gone to a movie.”

“People looked at me funny every time I went out. ‘Where you from, buddy? What kind of accent you talking there, pard?’” he mimicked. “Nothing for me to do all day except sit in my room, watch TV, and think about Leanne.”

Rakkim walked past the gasoline pumps, looked down the highway. No lights anywhere. The Stuckey’s had been abandoned even before the war, left behind by the tourists and the new interstate. He looked up at the sky, saw only stars and a thin slice of moon.

Leo unwrapped another candy bar, gnawed at the end. “What did Leanne’s father say when you told him about me? Was he impressed?”

“Oh, yeah, I definitely sensed tumescence.”

“Ha-ha, very funny.”

The kid had screwhead priorities-merely nodded when Rakkim had told him that Moseby had found the black-ice canister, more interested in Moseby himself. A half-hour drive to Stuckey’s and all he talked about was Moseby and what did he think about Leo’s offer of marriage, and was Leo’s religion a problem, because if it was…and did you tell him how much Leanne and I have in common and how we really, really love each other? Well, did you, Rikki? Yeah, I told him you were regular soul mates, Rakkim had said, which didn’t even slow the kid down; he went right back to the questions. Did Moseby think they were too young? Should Leo pretend that he and Leanne had never made love? The kid never shut up.

“I’m taking you back up the mountain with me when we’re done here tonight,” said Rakkim. “You ready for that?”

“Yes.”

“I made it easy for you. I told the Colonel you’re an arrogant Jewish odd-ball who can look at the weapon and tell us what it is, and if it works and-”

“I said yes.”

Rakkim squeezed through the entrance of the tourist trap. He let his eyes adjust to the dim light, then moved forward, glass crunching underfoot, past the overturned racks of singed postcards. He bent down, picked up one that showed a leering crocodile biting a half-naked woman on the ass. TASTES LIKE CHICKEN, read the postcard. He tossed it aside. Christian humor.