Robert Ferrigno - Sins of the Assassin

“So…is that why you brought me here?” Gravenholtz said to Baby.

She burst out laughing.

The old man sighed. “No, Lester, you are not the prize of which I speak. I was referring to Baby’s marriage to the Colonel, which allowed her to bring me the weapon. You, Lester, you are…a bonus.”

Gravenholtz took in the elegant surroundings, the exquisite marble and hardwoods, the artwork…the view. Beaucoup bucks here. Plenty of power too.

“May I see your hand?” said the old man. He waited, snapped his fingers. “Your hand.”

Gravenholtz offered his hand. Reacted at the lightness of the old man’s touch, the sense of entitlement. Ownership.

“Yes, yes,” mused the old man as his hands wandered over Gravenholtz. “I didn’t want to get my hopes up, but he’s just as you said, Baby…just as the doctors confirmed.” He crooked a finger. “Closer.”

Gravenholtz did as he was told before he was even aware of the command.

The old man lightly thumped Gravenholtz’s chest…his stomach…his ribs. “Very nice.”

Gravenholtz backed away.

“Look, Baby, he’s shy,” said the old man.

“Not the last time I looked,” said Baby.

“Professor Yamato’s great experiment…in the flesh.” The old man peered at Gravenholtz. “I thought all of your kind were dead.”

“My kind…?” Gravenholtz had never spoken of his history to anyone. Would have lied had he been asked. But the old man wasn’t asking. “I’m my own kind. The others, the ones you might have heard about, they’re dead. Me, I was away at the time. Sent out on a test-drive. Solo. The others…they were made to be part of a team. Like I said, me, I’m different.”

“A solo model.” The old man clapped his hands with delight. “Lovely.” He reached out, touched the bandage on Gravenholtz’s side. Examined the tip of his finger. Showed Gravenholtz the spot of blood. The blood spread out on Gravenholtz’s white shirt too.

“That’s nothing,” said Baby. “Russian agent got lucky. He was working with the Colonel, trying to buy the weapon-”

“Doesn’t look like a bullet wound,” said the old man.

“My sheathing’s thin in places where I need to move fast.” Gravenholtz rubbed his neck.

“It doesn’t look like a bullet wound,” repeated the old man.

“Bullet wouldn’t have done shit. Guy stuck me with a knife-”

“Rikki…the Russian agent,” said Baby, “he was ex-Fedayeen.”

“Rakkim.” The old man stroked his beard. “You should have told me, Baby.”

“There wasn’t time…Father.” Baby lowered her eyes. “I was barely able to get you news of the weapon, and this Russian…this Rakkim-”

“I fought Fedayeen before and never got cut this bad,” said Gravenholtz. “He just got lucky, found a weak spot.”

The old man shook his head. “No, Lester, you got lucky.”

“Bullshit,” said Gravenholtz.

Baby prostrated herself. “What have I done, Father?”

The old man beckoned her to rise. “Rakkim is no Russian. He’s Fedayeen. Undoubtedly sent by the president to retrieve the weapon for the republic.” He gazed at Baby with what passed for affection. “You should be proud of yourself. Rakkim is…dangerous. Yet you stole the weapon right from under his nose.”

“What about me?” said Gravenholtz. “I had a little something to do with it too.”

“It’s true, Father,” said Baby.

“Do you believe in God, Lester?” said the old man.

“You already asked me that,” said Gravenholtz, balling his fists. Didn’t matter if there were machine guns behind every wall, he could crush the old man’s skull like a Concord grape before he was brought down. Break Baby’s neck too…same moment he broke his own heart. “Get it straight. I ain’t no Muslim.”

“And I believe you,” said the old man, unconcerned with the flush rising in Gravenholtz’s face, the bloodstain spreading out on his white shirt. “Let me tell you a story, Lester, a true story. Sultan Murad, the first ruler of the Ottoman Empire, was a practical man. Surrounded by mortal enemies, he had tens of thousands of soldiers, but real warriors, then as now, were in short supply. The sultan created a small group of elite fighting men, totally loyal, uniquely skilled-called the janissaries. Though, of course, the sultan was a Muslim, many of the best janissaries were dhimmis…infidels. The sultan would finish his late-night prayers, then sleep peacefully until dawn because there were Christians outside his door, weapons at the ready, eager to do his bidding.”

Gravenholtz found it hard to meet the old man’s eyes. Felt like the old man was rooting around in his skull.

“Do you understand my story, Lester?” The old man leaned forward in his chair. “Sultan Murad was a true believer, a devout Muslim, but he was also a practical man. And, Lester…I too am a practical man.”

Gravenholtz nodded. “Yeah…I get the message.”

An aide hurried in, bowed.

The old man waved him closer. Listened as the aide whispered in his ear. The old man’s expression didn’t change but his eyes hardened on Baby. He waited until the aide backed away before speaking. “It seems you and Lester were misled,” he said to Baby. “It’s Rakkim who deserves to be proud of himself at this moment, not you.”

Gravenholtz could see Baby tremble. Could see her trying to speak.

“The data cores for the isotope are useless,” the old man said quietly. “It’s only due to the skill of my acolytes that their flaws were discovered. We might have wasted weeks, months-”

“So fix them,” said Gravenholtz. “Reboot ’em or recode ’em, or whatever it is the math wizards need to do to make it work. We gave you prime goods-”

“Silence,” whispered the old man.

Gravenholtz felt his jaws snap shut.

“The data cores are ruined. My engineers have no idea how they were corrupted or how to make them function. Without the data-”

“Leo,” said Baby.

The old man glared at her.

Baby lowered her eyes. “Leo was Rikki’s companion. Jewish fellow. Practically a boy. He was the only one who had access to the data cores.” The old man nodded, eyes so bright Gravenholtz couldn’t look at him.

The Old One strolled across the anteroom barefoot after Baby and Gravenholtz left, humming a tune he hadn’t heard in a hundred years, excited as a schoolboy. He dug his toes into the carpet with every step. After so much time and so many setbacks, the Old One’s plans for the republic were finally coming to fruition, his ascension to power assured. At this precise moment, with the Old One about to spin the world again, Allah had signaled his approval through two most unexpected blessings. Not only had Baby shown up with Professor Yamato’s wondrous and terrible creation, but Sarah and Rakkim, the last of the Old One’s…vexations, were about to be delivered to him.

Sarah and Rakkim had exposed his deepest machinations, caused the Old One to flee like a common criminal. He had searched for them without success…until two weeks ago, when Sarah had been spotted at a Catholic street festival, she and a male child, and a woman believed to be her mother. They had been followed by one of the Old One’s operatives, but Sarah managed to lose him at the last minute, disappearing in a warren of abandoned buildings. No matter. The Old One’s men would pinpoint her location soon enough. Al-Faisal, his chief operative in the republic, had begged for the chance to snatch her up. Even better, now Rakkim was coming home, with his new friend, Leo, the Jew who held the secrets. All the Old One had to do was close his hand.

The Old One had little regard for superweapons-they were usually oversold by their makers, or as risky to their owners as their targets. The Old One valued tools, like this beast Gravenholtz, people whose abilities or contacts could serve his ends. Not that he would turn down such a weapon as this hafnium bomb. Yes, Baby’s sudden arrival had presented new opportunities. Glorious opportunities.