Robert Ferrigno - Sins of the Assassin

“How’s Michael?” said Rakkim.

“Sleeping peacefully. He has bad dreams when you’re away.” Katherine pushed back her long, reddish brown hair. More gray in it every day now, the lines deepening around her mouth.

“Are you all right, Mom?” asked Sarah.

Katherine waved away the question. “It was easier when I lived in the nunnery. I liked it better when I was insulated from the constant barrage of news, the endless threats and counterthreats.”

Rakkim sat up. “Did something happen?”

“Something is always happening, that’s why it’s a burden. Go on, enjoy your picnic, I’m going to sleep.”

Rakkim waited until the door closed behind Katherine. Reached down and poured them tea. “Katherine looks tired.”

“She’s worried about President Kingsley.” Sarah added a spoonful of honey to her tea. “We all are. His trip tomorrow is billed as a goodwill visit, but El Presidente Arbusto is interpreting it as a sign of weakness, a prelude to surrendering the Southwest.”

“It is a prelude to surrender.”

“When you’re in a weak position, getting the best deal possible is a victory.” She sipped her tea, enjoying the sweetness. “Kingsley has been playing the game for almost forty years. We have to trust his judgment.”

“I wish I could have brought the weapon back. It might have made a difference-”

“It’s done. The president still has faith in you. He recognizes how difficult the mission was. At least after what Leo did, no one can use the isotope.” Sarah tapped the edge of her teacup with a fingernail. “Perhaps after the president returns from Aztlán we could make some back-channel overtures to the Chinese-”

“You’re good at that sort of thing, aren’t you?” said Rakkim.

“Are you referring to Getty Andalou?”

“I don’t like him. And I like it even less that you had dealings with him without telling me…or the president.”

“Getty doesn’t like you either, but he’s willing to work with you again. That’s why it’s called diplomacy.” Sarah’s mouth formed a thin line. “And I’ll tell the president when I think the time is right.”

“When you think it’s right?”

Sarah set her teacup into the saucer so hard it almost broke. “For a man who gets indignant about my failure to disclose information, you’re keeping a secret of your own.”

“What’s that supposed to-?”

“Your doctor called while you were gone. Why did you want him to test your DNA?”

Rakkim reached for an apple slice. “What did he say?”

“He said you were fine…better than fine. He said your reaction time is faster-”

“What about my DNA?”

She shook her head. “Perfectly normal. No change. Were you worried about your genetic boosters? Have you had some kind of…problem?”

“No problems.”

“Talk to me, damnit. You’re worried about something or you wouldn’t have gone to the doctor. I’m your wife, Rikki. What’s going on?”

Rakkim stared at the ceiling. Started to speak. Stopped. When he finally spoke, his words were a whisper and his eyes stayed on the ceiling. “Ever since I killed Darwin, I’ve had some…strange thoughts. I know things I shouldn’t know. Assassin craft. I am faster, Sarah, faster than I’ve ever been-”

“You think Darwin…” She bent over him, cupped his face. “Even if his blood infected you or something, DNA isn’t transferable like that. Even if there was cross-contamination, you wouldn’t suddenly develop his skills or his-”

“I saw him.”

“Darwin’s dead.”

“Tell him that.” Rakkim felt his face flush. “He’s…in my head. I think he gets lost sometimes, or pushed to the edges, but he said he can-”

“Is he here now?” She looked around the room. “Can you see him?”

Rakkim shook his head.

She lay down beside him, drew him to her. She felt his heart beating.

“There are times…Sarah, there’re times that I’m not sure who I really am.”

“I know who you are.” She stroked his hair. “I’ve loved you since you were nine years old. You’re the same person now that you were then. Strong and brave and kind…scared too, sometimes, but it didn’t stop you. No matter what the cost, you never backed away.” She laughed. “It used to drive Redbeard crazy. He said you always picked the hardest path, the most difficult route.”

“I love you. I want you to always remember that.”

“I won’t have to remember it.” She kissed him. “You should have told me.”

“I didn’t want to admit it to myself.”

She kissed him again. “No more secrets. Deal?”

Rakkim kissed her back. “What kind of marriage would that be?” He stroked her belly, serious now. “We should move.”

“Shhh.”

“You said you’d been spotted at the street fair.”

“I said I might have been spotted, but here we are, safe and sound.” She kissed him. “Besides, I like it here.”

“So do I. That’s why we should move. We’re too comfortable. Sooner or later, we’re going to make a mistake. I’ll ask Spider tomorrow if he knows of a place. He’s already got Leo stashed away-”

“I think that’s an overreaction.”

“Spider didn’t think so.”

“What did Leo think?” said Sarah.

“He thinks Spider and I are treating him like a two-year-old, which we’re not. We’re treating him like someone with information in his head that a lot of people would kill for.”

“What about you?” Sarah tapped his forehead. “What have you got in there?”

Rakkim grinned. “Not a thing.”

Sarah kissed his ears, his cheeks, his nose, kept on kissing him, afraid to stop and not knowing why. “That’s…the way…I like my men. Strong and stupid.” She kissed his eyes shut. “Go to sleep. You’re home. You’re with your family. No one can hurt you now.”

She hummed softly as they lay tangled up in each other. Michael’s favorite lullaby, the mockingbird song. Rikki’s favorite too-their housekeeper, Angelina, used to sing it to them at bedtime. Sarah sang it now until Rakkim drifted off to sleep. A strange lullaby from the old days, about a baby getting one gift after another, each one needing to be replaced. A mockingbird that didn’t sing, a diamond that turned to glass, a dog that wouldn’t bark, a looking glass that broke…Rakkim said that it showed that love wasn’t perfect. All Sarah could think of was that the little baby sure had bad luck.

Bartholomew stepped into the security dock, stood quietly while the machine completed scanning him. The machine beeped and a guard waved him through. His electronic gear took much longer to be cleared, each tool and gauge minutely examined by a Secret Service agent. His heart rate and skin-conductivity index were probably also being monitored, so he concentrated on images of Paradise and the blessings that awaited him.

Give good news to those who believe and work righteousness that they will have gardens with flowing streams, and pure spouses therein. They abide therein forever.

“Master Inspector,” said the Secret Service agent, beckoning him over.

“Yes, Officer?” said Bartholomew, stomach churning.

The agent was a small man with a cleft chin and a spotless blue uniform with the presidential seal over his heart. He held up one of Bartholomew’s handheld resonance meters. “This is not on the approved list.”

“It’s the latest model,” sputtered Bartholomew. “Just came in last week from Lagos. That’s why it’s not on your list.”

The agent slipped the resonance meter into a plastic bag. Pursed his lips. “You can pick it up on the way out.”

Bartholomew bowed, seething, his cheeks flushed. He had practiced his reaction for weeks now, clenching his jaw muscles to bring color to his cheeks. Give the agent something easy to reject, something to justify his authority-that way they won’t look too closely at the rest of your things, that’s what al-Faisal had said. As always, the Black Robe was correct.