Heart of the Assassin (30 page)

"National unity should be pursued
quietly,
through diplomatic channels," said Kidd, "not out in the open for all to see. That way, both nations can gradually redeploy their forces, building trust over a few years, and keeping Aztlan unaware of our intentions."

"That's exactly what I was thinking," said the president.

"Father, you're too cautious," said Amir. "Argusto does not suffer the same affliction."

Kidd's eyes flashed.

"We need to act immediately," said Amir. "These are dangerous times."

"What do you know about dangerous times?" snapped Kidd.

Amir stared back at him, the planes of his cheeks sharp and shiny as obsidian.

"We're just having an innocent discussion on a sunny day," said the president, stretching out his long legs. "No harm in that. As my two chief military advisors, I welcome such talk. It's...
stimulating.
"

Kidd stared at the president. This was the first time he was aware that Amir's advice was considered equal to his own.

"The goat is tasty, isn't it?" said the president.

"Publicly supporting the Belt will give Aztlan an excuse to take action against us, which is just what Argusto wants," explained Kidd. "Our ground forces may be superior, but Aztlan controls the air. We go to war, they win."

Amir didn't react, didn't lower his eyes, just kept staring at his father.

The president tossed aside his sandwich. "Who wants to pass the ball around?"

Amir slowly stood up. Bowed to his father.

Kidd watched the two of them trot off to the center of the field. He wished Rakkim were here. More and more lately he wished Rakkim were beside him.

The president tossed the football from one hand to the other, squinting in the sun. "Your father is right, Amir. We're in no position to take on Aztlan. They own the skies."

Amir snatched the ball away from the president. "What if they didn't?"

"Y'all want a refill, hon?"

"Thanks," said Rakkim, as the waitress filled his coffee cup and started down the counter.

"How about me?" demanded Baby. "What, am I invisible?"

The waitress ignored her, chatting with a hefty farmer with tattooed forearms. A game show played on the TV over the counter, a photo of the young, swivel-hipped Elvis on one corner of the screen,
Never Forget
superimposed.

Rakkim dropped a twenty-dollar bill into the
REBUILD GRACELAND
canister on the counter. "I don't think she likes you."

"If I was a bubblebutt like her, I wouldn't like me either," said Baby.

Their progress toward Atlanta was still slow, and their calls to the Colonel hadn't gone through. Aztlan was jamming most communications in the Belt.

A trio of rough-looking men walked through the front door, automatic rifles slung over their shoulders. What with the mobilization, restaurants and markets had abandoned their gun-check policy and just let people be. With everybody armed, things tended to stay polite. As long as folks weren't too drunk. One of the men noticed Baby, nudged the others. They tripped over their own feet twice on their way to a booth.

"Where you folks headed?" said the waitress, sliding a plate of grits and eggs in front of Rakkim.

"Atlanta," said Rakkim. "They say ninety-five is closed, but we're hoping to find an alternate route. If you got any suggestions..."

Baby gripped Rakkim's upper arm, cocked her head at the waitress. "It's our honeymoon. What with the war coming we didn't want to wait another minute."

Rakkim tried to shrug her off, but she held on.

"I thought me and the mister was about to set the sheets on fire last night," said Baby.

"My Gerald and I were the same way," said the waitress. "Wait until you have kids."

"Oh, I bet you and your husband still rock and roll," said Baby.

The waitress smiled as she topped off Baby's coffee. "We do all right."

"Knock that kind of talk off," said Rakkim after the waitress had left.

"Everybody likes lovebirds," said Baby. "Maybe she asks around to see if anybody saw Lester."

"I already asked," said Rakkim. "Nobody's seen him or the truck he boosted from the Colonel." He stretched. Definitely feeling better, the effects of his radiation exposure minimal now. "Gravenholtz might have changed rides."

"Like I said, we'll catch him in Miami." Baby watched herself in the mirror behind the counter, touched her cheek. "Look at my complexion. Sleeping in the car is ruining me."

Rakkim glanced at her, then went back to his grits. He spent too much time looking at her as it was. She knew it too. "How is it you think you can crack the Old One's security?"

Baby leaned closer. "You think shadow warriors are the only ones know how to make friends?" she whispered. "The Old One's got all kinds of people working for him, and most of them like nothing better than impressing a pretty girl with what they know." She reached over and scooped up some of his grits with her fork.

"If you're hungry, why didn't you order something?" said Rakkim.

"I like eating yours better," said Baby, sucking on the tines of the fork. "I know I said I wanted you to kill Lester when we catch up with him...I just hope you're up to it."

Rakkim stabbed at his sunny-side-up eggs, the yolk running across his plate.

"I didn't mean that the way it sounded."

"Sure you did."

"It's a bad habit of mine, I'd be the first to admit it." Baby rested her head on his shoulder. "Seems like I always got to be testing a man."

Rakkim shrugged her away.

Baby smacked the counter with her hand. Heads turned but she ignored them. "Jesus, Rikki, I was just playing."

"Maybe I don't want to play. You ever think of that?"

"Maybe you need some damn rest.
You
ever think of that? It's been days...."

The waitress came by again with the coffeepot. "Everything okay?"

Rakkim waved her off. "Just a little lovers' spat."

"I been asking around about alternate roads for you two honeymooners," said the waitress. "So far, looks like you're out of luck, but I'll keep trying."

Baby waited until the waitress moved away. "That was sweet what you said, Rikki."

"Don't get excited. I didn't want to draw any more attention than we already have."

"A
lovers'
spat." Baby tapped her nails on the Formica counter. "Seems to me you could have come up with some other phrase to deflect attention. That's interesting, don't you think...you choosing to say that?"

Rakkim put his coffee down as
LIVE SPECIAL REPORT
bannered across the TV. The camera showed Seattle, panned across the cityscape. He heard boos and curses as the Grand Caliph mosque appeared, then the camera cut to President Brandt standing behind a podium in his private office. Somebody turned the sound up. The picture quality was crisp--the usual signal jamming between the two nations halted for the broadcast.

"...welcome you all, citizens of the Belt as well as the Republic," said Brandt. "These are momentous times...challenging times, calling for anything but business as usual."

"What's going on?" said Baby.

The camera pulled back and Rakkim was startled to see the president flanked by General Kidd on one side and Amir on the other. The president usually chose to dominate the stage. For Kidd to be there implied a state of national emergency, since Brandt, who had no military experience, needed the presence of the general to reassure the country. Kidd's erect posture and serene confidence did just that. But why was Amir there?
Kidd
represented the Fedayeen. If anything, the chairman of the joint chiefs should have been present to affirm the support of the army.

"Recent events, and in particular the brutal attack on Graceland, have forced me to conclude that a state of war exists between the Belt and Aztlan," intoned the president.

The diner was silent, only the sound of sizzling bacon interrupting the stillness.

"While Aztlan bombs innocent civilians in Tennessee, the government of Tenochtitlan also pressures the Republic for our territory and our natural resources," said the president.

Rakkim paid no attention to the president, drawn instead to Kidd and Amir. Kidd remained impassive, eyes straight ahead, but Amir betrayed a certain...eagerness.

"Citizens of the Belt and the Republic, I say to you..." The president's eyes darted toward Amir for a second, then back to the camera. "I say to you,
my fellow countrymen,
that this state of affairs cannot be allowed to stand."

"What the
fuck
did he just call us?" asked the farmer with the tattooed forearms.

"Shhhh," said someone else.

"We've had our difficulties, both Belt and Republic," said the president, "but like the great Abraham Lincoln once said...if we don't hang together, we'll hang separately."

That last line was a masterstroke. Lincoln was the patron saint of the Belt, even more revered than Elvis himself. For a moment Rakkim wondered if Sarah had worked on the speech for the president. Wondered if she had secretly begun advising him, the way she had counseled President Kingsley. The theme of reconciliation was exactly what she had been talking about for years now. Rakkim kept expecting someone in the diner to yell out an obscenity, or demand the TV be turned to another station, but no one said a word.

The president looked directly into the camera. "I say to you now, my fellow Americans, your war with Aztlan is
our
war too."

The waitress sobbed, wiped her eyes with the hem of her apron.

"I say to Aztlan, both Belt and the Republic stand united," said the president. "Do not suppose for an instant that our religious differences will divide Muslims and Christians forever. We share a belief in one God, with a common line of saints and prophets. There's room in Paradise for all of us."

Rakkim wished he had postponed killing ibn-Azziz, just so the Black Robe could have lived long enough to hear the president say such a thing. Men had ended up on the Bridge of Skulls for lesser apostasies.

Two men walked in the front door of the diner, started to say something and were immediately silenced by the other patrons.

"As of today, the Republic will no longer send half the electric power generated by the Great Dam to Aztlan as tribute." The president gripped the podium as his hands started to shake. "As of today, the Republic is suspending all talks on relinquishing water rights to the Colorado River. What is ours will remain ours."

"What does that mean?" whispered Baby.

"It means war," Rakkim said, still watching the president.

General Kidd didn't move, stayed beside the president. Only someone who knew him as well as Rakkim did could have seen the tension in his face, the resignation. Kidd understood as well as Rakkim that Aztlan's air superiority almost guaranteed them victory. Amir, though...Amir seemed almost cheerful, the happy warrior. He leaned over and whispered in the president's ear...the president nodded.

"I call on President Raynaud to send an emissary to Seattle at the earliest opportunity," said the president, "so that we may map out a strategy for the future. Thank you...and may God bless us all."

The TV screen went gray for a moment, then cut to a Belt newsman looking stunned. He realized his camera was live, cleared his throat...and had nothing to say.

The diner echoed with conversation, people already arguing over what it meant, if the Republic could be trusted, and how long before the bombs started to fall.

Malcolm Crews appeared onscreen, standing on a street somewhere, the news kiosks behind him already replaying President Brandt's speech. A female reporter held up a microphone, and Crews said something about a time to heal old wounds, and prepare to fight the new enemy. "Like the man there said," Crews said, voice rising, "we Christians don't sing the same hymns as the Muslims, but at least we both pray to one God, not some unholy cafeteria of pagan deities like the Mexicans. That's got to count for something."

Rakkim stared at the TV, aware of Crews but still seeing Amir whispering in the president's ear. Still seeing the president respond to what he had been told without even thinking.
I don't know who the Old One's inside man is,
Jenkins had said, almost his dying words as the gulls circled the Bridge of Skulls.
I don't know who he is...all ibn-Azziz said was he had the ear of the president.
Amir had done the same thing at the presidential inauguration a year ago, embracing Brandt, then said something in the smaller man's ear that pleased him.

"What is it?" said Baby.

Could Amir really be working for the Old One? Hard to imagine...
the ear of the president
...a common phrase. Meant nothing...but there had been something in their body language on the podium just now, some unseemly deference on Brandt's part. A small thing, but Rakkim had survived on the basis of noticing things others didn't: a glance, an intonation, the slight tightening of the jaw before a smile.

"What's wrong?" said Baby.

No...it couldn't be Amir. The Old One was attuned to every weakness, every human flaw--given his charm and powers of persuasion, he might have convinced even Amir to follow him, but General Kidd despised the Old One, recognized him for what he was. Amir might betray his country, but he would never betray his father. Never.

"Nothing," said Rakkim.

"You never tell me
anything,
" said Baby.

Hector Morales, Aztlan secretary of state, burst into the presidential suite as soon as the electronic locks disengaged. "El Presidente," he huffed, having raced down the corridor from his own office in the executive tower. "Have you seen...?" His voice trailed off as he saw the row of televisions all tuned to President Brandt's speech.

"How kind of you to join me, Hector." Presidente Argusto sat with his chair tilted back, riding boots up on the desk, puffing away on a long Cuban cigar.

"E-Excellency," sputtered Morales, "I had no idea that Brandt--"

"Of course you didn't." Argusto released a perfect smoke ring into the air. "That would require some competency on your part, which we both know is alien to your nature."

Morales watched the smoke ring float toward him. "This...speech of Brandt's is totally out of character, Excellency. It makes no sense."

"It makes
perfect
sense, Hector. I just never credited Brandt with either the insight or the cojones to act upon it." Argusto puffed happily away on his cigar. "It is, of course, too late for such dramatic action on the part of the
yanquis
to succeed, but still..." A pillow of gray ash from the cigar tumbled onto the white carpet. "One must admire the courage."

"Excellency, I have already placed a call to my counterpart in the Republic."

"You do that, Hector." Argusto beamed. "Talk, talk, talk until you and your fellow diplomats are hoarse. Meanwhile I have already put our air units on high alert." The cigar jutted up from the side of his mouth. "
Discreetly,
of course."

Morales felt his legs quiver. "Are we going to war, Excellency?"

"It will not be much of a war, Hector, but there will be blood enough to satisfy the gods...for a time, at least." Argusto swung his legs around, put them on the windowsill, stared out at the great pyramid of the sun that dominated the skyline of Tenochtitlan. "I had thought to devour
el norte
in tiny bites, but Brandt has given me all the excuse I need. We shall take back the land stolen by the
yanquis
in one great gulp."

"The combined armies of the Republic and the Belt..." Morales moistened his lips, which had become quite dry. "Excellency, they are a formidable enemy."

"Airpower, Hector." Argusto waved his hand in dismissal, still staring at the great pyramid. "We shall sweep their armies away like dust beneath our feet."

"Did you know this was coming?" said Spider after the president had finished his speech.

Sarah shook her head.

"This was what you wanted, though, right?" said Leo. "Reunification."

Sarah watched the TV reporters interview people on the street. "That's what I wanted."

"Then why aren't you happy?" said Leo.

Sarah didn't answer. The three of them sat on the flat roof of Spider's house, cooling off in the night air. Gray clouds drifted over the city. From the backyard she could hear Michael playing with two of Spider's younger children, their voices high and giddy.

"Sarah?"
said Leo.

"I don't know," said Sarah.

"I feel the same uneasiness," said Spider, pulling a blanket over his knees. "Aligning ourselves with the Belt against Aztlan is a huge gamble, particularly now, and President Brandt has never impressed me as being courageous."

"So maybe he rose to the occasion," said Leo. "People
do
that, you know. Even the ones everybody thinks are scaredy-cats, sometimes they surprise you."

"It's not about you, Leo," soothed Spider. "It's about the president and the reasons behind a very aberrant decision."

Sarah walked over to the edge of the roof, looked over the parapet. While Spider and Leo continued to talk, she watched Michael play hide-and-seek with the other kids in the big backyard. They were older than he was but he was better at the game. He found a quiet spot, peeking out from under an overturned wading pool. A creepy place to hide, damp and dark, probably home to spiders and other bugs but he didn't seem to mind. Jonah, who was "It," wandered the yard and either spotted the other kids hiding, or waited until they gave themselves away by giggling. Michael stayed quiet in the darkness under the wading pool, stayed quiet and unmoving even when Jonah stood just inches away, stayed there until Jonah finally gave up.

"It's nice to see you smiling," said Spider. "It's been a while."

"I know," said Sarah.

Leo's pale skin was blotchy. "So...do you think Aztlan's going to declare war on us?"

"We may not get a formal declaration," said Sarah, serious again. "It may just happen."

"Perhaps Brandt's declaration of support for the Belt, presenting a unified front, will give Aztlan pause," said Spider. "It might at least buy time."

"Did you see General Kidd?" said Sarah. "He looked even grimmer than usual. At least compared to Amir."

"Young warriors are always eager for battle." Spider wrapped the blanket tighter around himself. "Old warriors know better."

"Do you want to go in?" Sarah asked him.

"I prefer it out here," said Spider. "I like hearing the children."

"Rakkim's got the cross," Leo said abruptly. "That's got to help."

"Are you getting religion, Leo?" Sarah teased.

"Whatever works, that's my philosophy," said Leo. "I don't care if it's magic beans or a prayer cloth dipped in the Jordan River."

"The cross
will
help," said Spider. "When Rakkim gets back he can turn it over to the president. Then Brandt can present it to the Belt president in a formal ceremony. Prove to the people of the Belt that Brandt's statement wasn't just words."

"The cross will do more than affirm Brandt's good intentions," said Sarah. "You have no idea the symbolic power it has for Christians."

Spider shrugged.

"I haven't heard anything from Rakkim in days," said Leo. "Has he contacted you?"

Sarah shook her head.

"Are you worried?" asked Leo.

Sarah went back to the parapet, looked down on the kids playing. "Always."

"You should learn to
relax,
Ibrahim," said the Old One. "Enjoy life."

"I am busy insuring my salvation." Ibrahim edged closer to his father as the crowd surged outside the Mighty Neptune Hotel and Casino, thousands of people pressed up against the railing surrounding the expanse of blue water. "Can we not
leave
this place?"

"Las Vegas is the happiest place on earth, that's what everyone says." Like many in the crowd the Old One carried a plastic trident and wore a seashell crown on his head. "Aren't you happy?"

"We've been here a week and I've hated every minute of it," said Ibrahim.

"I like this city and its endless enthusiasm. It makes me feel...it makes me feel young again. Hopeful. Have
fun,
Ibrahim. Life is short."

The crowd roared as Moby Dick surfaced from the center of the lake, the white whale spouting water two hundred feet into the air, a rainbow mist in the twilight. Japanese-made, of course. They made the best creatures.

The Old One cheered along with the crowd, waved his trident overhead. "Smile, my son, what you see before you is the handiwork of Allah."

"Father."

The Old One swept the trident across the water. "Over thirty billion gallons of freshwater. The largest man-made lake in the world, right here in the middle of the desert. Drained an aquifer to fill it and keep it filled, but did that stop the builders? No, it did not. They simply found another aquifer and piped it in. Where does such ambition and expertise come from other than Allah?"

Moby Dick rushed toward them, dove, its tail fluke kicking up a vast wave that broke over the crowd, drenching them.

The crowd howled with delight, none of them louder than the Old One, his clothes soaked, water dripping off his nose and ears.

Ibrahim looked miserable, his shirt soggy.

"I should have left you back in Miami," said the Old One.

"Doubtless you would have had a better time with the whore," muttered Ibrahim.

"Don't speak that way of your sister."

"My
half
sister," said Ibrahim.

"Baby is blood of my blood, as are you."

"Father--"

The Old One hooted as the
Pequod,
a full-sized, three-masted sailing ship, emerged from the casino and out onto the lake, sails catching the wind. Captain Ahab strode the deck with his peg leg, commanding the sailors while a tattooed man with a harpoon took a position near the bow. A tourist beside them hoisted a small boy onto his shoulders so he could see better, the boy wearing a pirate hat and waving a plastic scimitar.

"Avast, matey!" the Old One shouted at the child, shaking his trident.

The boy stared at him, then turned back to the
Pequod.

"I hope you know what you're doing with Brandt," said Ibrahim. "His speech today--"

"Brandt's irrelevant. He could barely stand up without Amir beside him."

"Amir is irrelevant without General Kidd," said Ibrahim.

The Old One glanced at his son, then turned away, peering at the surface of the water, trying to determine exactly where the whale would resurface. As often as he had seen the show he could never be sure. The whale's central processor used random selection to heighten the excitement. Leo could probably work out the math to predict its exact appearance, but...He jabbed a finger at the lake. "Thar she blows!"

Moby Dick shot straight up not too far from the spot he had indicated, twisting in the air before landing in the water with a huge splash. The wave raced across the lake, sent the
Pequod
bobbing, Captain Ahab fighting to retain his balance.

The crowd whistled and applauded as the whale headed for the ship.

"I fear that you underestimate Aztlan, Father," whispered Ibrahim, water still dripping from his beard. "Their air force rolled back the Central American military in less than a week, and two days of aerial bombardment was enough to convince Venezuela to cede Aztlan their offshore oil wells."

Moby Dick picked up speed, the enormous sperm whale rushing through the water. On the
Pequod,
the tattooed sailor reared back with his harpoon.

"Study your history," said the Old One, watching the great white whale charge the sailing ship. "In 1967, the Israelis destroyed the entire Egyptian air force in one single afternoon. The whole war was lost while the Egyptian commanders sipped tea."

The tattooed sailor launched his harpoon deep into the white whale, but Moby Dick barely slowed, crashing into the
Pequod
midship, rending the wood planking. The crowd fell silent as the ship split in half, started to sink, the child beside them clutching his father's hair while Moby Dick slowly circled.

The Old One looked at Ibrahim. "So tell me, boy...do you think we are any less capable of smiting our enemies than
Jews
?"

"I...I just feared we were taking an unnecessary risk, that's all," said Ibrahim hurriedly.

"I'm leaving for Seattle tonight to ensure the takeover proceeds smoothly in the weeks ahead." The Old One scanned the crowd. "I want you to go back to Miami."

"Father,
please
--"

"Seattle is rainy, my son," said the Old One. "You might catch your death of cold there. I would never forgive myself."