Брэд Мельтцер - The Fifth Assassin

From his pants pocket, the Knight pulled out a white linen handkerchief and, like Czolgosz, the third assassin, folded the handkerchief, then unfolded it again, then folded it, and unfolded it again, finally using it to hide the revolver as he tugged it—so carefully—from his jacket pocket.

He checked the hallway one last time. It was quiet back by the chapel. Grabbing the door-pull with his left hand, he held his right hand out, like he was offering a handshake, just like Czolgosz did over a hundred years ago.

Every generation has its Knight. And every Knight knows his sacred mission.

“Chaplain Stoughton…?” the Knight called out, tugging open the stained glass door. As the smell of rose candles wafted past him, he lifted the Lincoln mask into place and couldn’t help but think that Nico was right. With each new lamb, he was definitely getting stronger. “Chaplain Stoughton, are you in there?”

77

You’re joking, right? The Name of God ?” I ask.

“Most people don’t want to believe it,” Nico says.

I glance over at Clementine, who’s still digesting it herself. Even for Nico, it’s a new level on the tinfoil-hat scale.

“You asked about the Knight’s mission,” Nico adds, eyeing the two squirrels spiraling around the tree. “Now you won’t accept it?”

“So everything you told us… about the Knights and God’s Name…” Clementine interrupts. “Is that true ?”

Nico turns slowly toward his daughter, his crooked smile crawling back in place. “Does it matter if it’s true? Or only that the Knight believes it’s true?”

“And that’s why he’s killing pastors?” I ask. “He thinks he’s on a holy mission?”

“He knows he’s on a holy mission. Why do you think he’ll only kill in temples? Look at his predecessors! Why did John Wilkes Booth pick Good Friday—the most solemn day in the Christian calendar—to take down the king? Why did Czolgosz say that he could’ve shot his king at Niagara Falls, but instead wanted to shoot him at the temple?”

“Time out. Lincoln wasn’t—”

“Lincoln was a king! Just as Garfield and McKinley—and JFK—all were at the height of their power! Just as Wallace is today! ”

As Nico raises his voice, the perimeter guard, who’s still pretty far away, turns toward us. When it comes to Nico, they don’t take chances. The guard’s not just watching anymore. He heads toward the curving concrete path, coming our way.

Nico leans to his left, like someone’s whispering in his ear. I almost forgot. His imaginary friend.

“Benjamin, do you remember what I told you the first time we ever met?” he finally asks.

“You said I was the reincarnation of Benedict Arnold.”

“No. I told you about your soul . I told you we all have souls, and that our souls have missions. Missions that we repeat over and over, until we conquer them. That’s the battle you’re facing here.”

“So now this is my mission?” I ask skeptically.

“It’s all our mission. You, me, the President… Do you know what entanglement theory is, Benjamin?” Before I can answer, he’s already into it. “Scientists found that when two subatomic particles come in contact with one another, they’re forever entangled. Even when they leave each other’s presence, if you reverse the spin on one—no matter where they are—the other one automatically reverses its spin. It’s the same in life. The moment you meet someone, you cannot be unchained.”

Clementine is silent. I can’t tell if she’s horrified or mesmerized. But she can’t take her eyes off him.

“It’s why I’m chained to the Knight,” Nico adds. “He came to me thinking I was the Knight. That I was the chosen one. But don’t you see? The mission is his !”

“Nico, you need to lower your voice.”

“Look at the cards—think of the roles that Vignolles picked all those centuries ago: king, knight, knave. Always king, knight, knave. These roles exist forever, Benjamin. Always chained together. King Wallace rules . The Knight slays . And the Knave—Do you know what the Knave does?”

“The Knave serves. He’s the servant.”

“No. Look at the original meaning. The Knave is the Trickster—the one who claims to fight for good, but brings only darkness with him. That’s why the Knave always dies in battle, or causes others to die, Benjamin. So as you leave here—as you try to stop the Knight—don’t you see? That’s your role, Benjamin. You’re the Knave. You’re the one who’ll die in battle.”

On our left, one of the two fighting squirrels gets a piece of the other, sending him skidding across the snow. But he rights himself so quickly, it’s like it never happened.

“Nico, I came here to save innocent lives.”

“You say that, but what were the first questions you asked? You wanted to know about your father. Then about the burned man, about Marshall. Which haunts you more, Benjamin? The victims, or your own childhood guilt?”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m trying to catch a murderer.”

“Then if that’s the case, why haven’t you asked me one question about the next murder? We all know it’s coming; we all know who the Knight is building toward. So why haven’t you asked one question about how he’s going to kill King Wallace?” Nico asks, his voice grinding louder than ever. Clementine swallows hard, glancing at the guard walking toward us. “I’ll tell you the answer, Benjamin. It’s because, in your heart, you’d be happy to see the President dead. You’re the Knave, the bringer of evil. That’s why the Knave dies—and causes others to die with him.”

In my pocket, I feel my phone vibrate. I don’t bother to look.

“Nico, do you really know when the next murder will take place?” I ask.

“I told you: This is destiny, Benjamin. The Knight can’t be stopped.”

My phone continues to vibrate. I still don’t answer. On our left, the guard’s getting closer, approaching the curving concrete path. He pulls out a walkie-talkie, but we can’t hear what he says.

“Nico, if you know something,” Clementine pleads. “Please… Dad… Tell Beecher. He can help you. He can get stuff for you.”

Nico turns at the words. He kicks his shoulders back and stands up straight.

“That’s not true,” I say.

“Nico, everything okay?” the guard calls out.

Nico pretends not to hear. “What can you get me, Benjamin?”

“Tell us what you want,” Clementine says.

Nico doesn’t even have to think about it. He looks at me, but points at Clementine. “I want to talk to her . Without you . I want to know why she’s wearing a wig.”

Clementine stutters. “It’s not a—”

“I know it’s a wig. I need to know why you’re sick,” he demands, his voice cracking. Eyeing the guard in the distance, he’s fighting to hold it together. At his chest, he clutches his book tighter than ever.

My phone vibrates again, but goes silent when I don’t pick up. “We didn’t come here to make deals,” I say.

“Beecher, it’s okay.” She turns to her father. “If I stay, you’ll tell us when the next murder is?”

I wait for Nico’s eyes to narrow. They don’t. They go wide. Like a child. “You’ll really stay? You’ll talk to me about your sickness?”

“I wouldn’t have come here if I didn’t want to talk to you.”

Two days ago, I would’ve said she’s working him. But last night, I saw the tears in her eyes. And those freckles along her bald head. It’s still her father.

“Nico, you hear what I said?” the guard calls out from about half a block away. “Everything okay?”