Heart of the Assassin (37 page)

"It's not too late to change your mind, Rakkim," said the Old One.

"The
fuck
it isn't," said Gravenholtz, blood leaking from his nose.

Rakkim sidled into the water.

Gravenholtz hesitated, came after him.

Rakkim backed farther out, waves lapping against his back.

Gravenholtz stayed put. "I'll make it quick. Just like I did for your buddy."

Rakkim stepped back. The water was chest-high now. "You scared of a little water?" He whipped his hand across the waves, sprayed Gravenholtz's face. As the redhead rubbed his eyes, Rakkim dove, grabbed both of Gravenholtz's ankles, jerked him under, Rakkim on the bottom now, and pulled the both of them into deeper water.

Gravenholtz bent his body, trying to get free, trying to reach him, but Rakkim just kept walking backward along the bottom, still hanging on to Gravenholtz's ankles. Rakkim had once held his breath for nine minutes.

Rakkim tried to keep him under but Gravenholtz was paddling hard with his hands, stirring up silt, the two of them rising slowly. Rakkim let go of Gravenholtz's ankles, clawed his way up the man's bulky body, fighting for every inch, trying to hold him down. Face-to-face now, Gravenholtz snarling, bubbles pouring from his mouth...Rakkim drove his fingers deep into the redhead's eyes, deeper, scooping through the warm jelly as Gravenholtz bellowed, trying to escape; deeper, Rakkim pushing his way right into the sinus cavity, opening him wide. Water poured directly into Gravenholtz's throat now, unstoppable, flooded into his lungs as he struggled, the water pink with blood.

The last of Gravenholtz's air dribbled out his nostrils. Weakened now, blinded, a sac of skin filling rapidly with water, he still managed to flail around, found Rakkim and wrapped his arms around him.

The two of them tumbled underwater, yellow viscous fluid from Gravenholtz's ruined eyes trailing behind them as they sank toward the bottom. Gravenholtz clung to Rakkim in a cruel embrace, their faces inches apart, slowly crushing him. Rakkim tightened his chest, but felt his ribs cracking, giving way. Light-headed, Rakkim watched a school of tiny orange fish zigzag around them, curious, nibbling at the bubbles of blood that floated past. A fish scooted in, nibbled at Gravenholtz's cavernous eye sockets.

Rakkim slammed the knuckle of his thumb again and again into Gravenholtz's temple, a killing strike that didn't kill him, but scared the fish away...and Rakkim would have laughed, but it hurt too much, and his vision was narrowing...narrowing...Terrible to die looking into Gravenholtz's face.

Then...then Gravenholtz released him, the redhead's arms drifting free, riding the watery currents. Rakkim coughed, a smoke ring of blood...but he didn't smoke. He feebly kicked toward the surface.

Rakkim broke through the waves, gasping, made his way to shore, crawled up onto the sand, exhausted. Breathing hurt, but not breathing hurt even more. He lay back in the morning light. Going to be...a great day in Rio.

Baby bent over him, kissed him. She had her party dress back on. Too bad. Rakkim rolled over, got onto his hands and knees. Baby helped him up.

"You...you knew he..." Rakkim coughed up pink water. "You knew he was too heavy to swim."

"I saw him about piss himself in a glass-bottom boat this one time," said Baby.

"Move away from him, Baby," said the Old One, pointing the fountain pen at Rakkim.

"You...you going to draw my picture?" Rakkim bent over again, coughing.

"That's not necessary, Daddy," said Baby.

"Move away from him
now,
" said the Old One.

Baby moved away.

"Very impressive, Rakkim," said the Old One. "Killing Lester with your bare hands...that's quite a feat."

"Save the applause until...after I...kill you," said Rakkim.

"Your friend Jenkins told ibn-Azziz this ridiculous story about you killing Darwin," said the Old One. "Doing it by
yourself.
I didn't believe it, of course, but seeing what you just did...well, it makes me wonder."

"Jenkins...would have said anything to buy a little...little more time," said Rakkim.

"Did you do it, Rikki?" said the Old One. "Did you kill Darwin?"

"Come closer, I'll whisper in your ear," said Rakkim.

The Old One smiled. "I'm going to miss you, Rakkim."

"Daddy,
no
!"

The Old One aimed the fountain pen. "I offered you the world and you turned it down." Thin white strings streamed out of the pen. "Remember that as you die."

Rakkim tried to push aside the white strings but they were
so
sticky, wrapping around him, squeezing him even tighter than Gravenholtz. He felt his ribs splintering...tried to scream but there was no breath left in him.

The Old One kept spraying those silky white strings...until the moment that his chest exploded. He staggered...gingerly touched the sharp tines of the titanium spear protruding from his breastbone. Looked behind him.

Baby rested the speargun against her shoulder. "I asked you
nice,
Daddy."

The world stopped. The Old One could see Rakkim staring up at him, the white polymer strings encasing him, and Rakkim's face was frozen in surprise, a single drop of water dripping off his earlobe, hanging suspended in space.

The surf froze, the waves immobile, about to crash on the virtual beach. The world as a snapshot. No such thing as snapshots anymore, they were as much an illusion as this stretch of sand, but the Old One remembered snapshots, photographs taken by tourists and lovers on holiday, snapshots taken with cheap cameras. Lovers would wait days to see what shining instants had been immortalized, precious moments to be tucked away in memory albums.
Here we are at Cannes, darling, here we are at Miami, at Honolulu, at Bali, at Sydney, at Capetown. Here we are, here we are, here we are.
The photographs were no more permanent than the newlyweds, yellowing and cracking over time, eventually fading to dust...like the lovers themselves.

The Old One bent over Rakkim, but he didn't react, just kept staring past him, and the Old One turned to see what had captured this new assassin's attention...and saw
himself,
arms flung to the sides, eyes wide, saw himself with the tip of a spear bursting through his chest in a spray of blood, each individual droplet shimmering like a ruby in the sunlight.

He moved closer, standing an inch from his own face, but got no reaction...this other self, this impaled self as immobile as the world. Behind him he could see Baby holding a speargun, her hair caught by the breeze, another frozen moment. She looked out of breath. No...not out of breath, exhilarated. Pleased. Proud.

The Old One walked toward her, moving quickly, his footsteps not even stirring the sand. He smacked her across the face, wanting to slap the joy out of her, but his hand...his hand passed through her as though she were just another illusion on the beach. He looked at his fingers, flexed them.

He looked closer at her, examined the speargun. It was one of the guns they had used yesterday when they went diving off the old airliner that had crashed into the bay. Baby's idea, the expedition booked through the hotel. The dive had been interesting, the submerged fuselage crusted with barnacles, sea anemones waving in the current, fish darting through the broken windows. The dive captain had been smitten with her, of course, eager to show her everything, and she had come back to the boat with a salmon wriggling on her spear. He wondered if she knew yesterday that she was going to use the speargun today, wondered if today had been an accident or an impulse.

No, no, of course it had not been an impulse. What was he
thinking?
This was no time to go soft-headed, no time...no time at all. It had taken foresight and planning to smuggle the speargun past hotel security. The dive captain had probably helped her do it, not even knowing what he was doing, accepting whatever explanation she gave him.

The Old One looked into Baby's eyes but he couldn't see his reflection, no matter how he twisted and turned.

He walked back to his other self, his doomed self. Put a finger on one of the droplets of blood bursting from his chest. His finger went right through it. He moved closer, looked into his own eyes. He couldn't see himself either, but he could see pain in the other's eyes. And surprise. The surprise was worse than the pain. The Old One couldn't afford to be surprised. Not like this. It showed a lack of awareness. A man could get hurt that way, and though the Old One was chosen by Allah, he was still a man. He would have to be more careful in the future. This was a lesson. He would not make this same mistake again. Yes, never again.

The sun...the sun seemed dimmer. Twilight at the beach, not at all what he expected. Have to...have to lodge a complaint with the management. He strolled along the tideline in the growing darkness, comforted by the feel of the sand on his feet and the warmth of the water. He wished he could see Gravenholtz bobbing along the bottom but the light...was almost gone. Maybe tomorrow. He wanted to see Gravenholtz's expression in death.
That
would be a look of surprise, and unlike the Old One, Gravenholtz would not get the opportunity to learn from his mistake.

Rakkim had killed Gravenholtz with his bare hands. Amazing. Too bad the boy had let his ego carry him away. Refusing the Old One's offer of a place at the table? Absurd. A fatal lack of imagination. Might even...might...even be characterized as blasphemy.

The Old One couldn't see a thing now, but he kept walking through the shallows. Must keep walking. Walk until the sun came up if he had to. He hated the dark. Always had. No one knew. Another of his secrets. The water was colder. Something else he hated. In utter darkness, he turned toward the beach, but the water got deeper, past his knees now, and when he turned in the opposite direction it got deeper still...and colder...much colder. Shivering, he kept on trying to find his way back, but it was so dark, and no matter what he did...

The Old One toppled onto the sand in front of Rakkim.

The beach at Rio blinked out, replaced by an enormous pool. Float a sailboat in that thing. Crystal-clear water. He could see Gravenholtz's body on the bottom, arms waving. No sand. No waves. No sunshine, just indirect lighting. Not that it mattered. Rakkim's eyes fluttered.

"Just a minute," said Baby.

Rakkim saw her bend down and pull the spear through the Old One's chest. Then she hurried over and used the sharp edge of the spear to cut away the strings from around him. He closed his eyes.

"Don't go to sleep," said Baby.

"Okay."

"I
mean
it."

"I thought...the speargun was fake."

"If it was fake, I couldn't have killed Daddy, now could I?" Baby helped him sit up. "The
fish
was fake, but I kept the speargun just in case."

"In case...in case of
what
?"

"In case I needed it, silly." Baby patted his cheek. "You notice how whenever Daddy talked about dividing up the world, and pivot points, it was always
you
he was talking about and not me? When you get right down to it, Daddy just didn't respect women."

Rakkim breathed shallowly, breathed as if he were sucking air through a straw.

"So...what do you want to do now?" said Baby.

"Like to...keep...breathing."

"I mean later.
Us.
"

Rakkim shook his head. "No such thing as us."

"Your loss." Baby must have had something in her eye.

"Are you...are you really afraid of thunderstorms?"

"Terrified." Baby wiped her eyes. "Damn you, Rikki, don't you make me miss you, or I'll kill you, I
swear
I will."

"I believe you."

"You better."

"I want...the piece of the cross," said Rakkim.

"Do you now?" Baby walked over to her father and nudged him onto his back. The piece of wood was suspended on a thin silver chain around his neck, tiny white flowers spattered with blood. "Didn't do Daddy much good, but if you want it, I'm going to have to get a kiss in exchange." She leaned over him, gently kissed him, her tongue tickling him, warm and sweet. She slowly broke the kiss. "That wasn't so bad, was it?"

"Compared...compared to what?"

"You really don't know what's good for you, Rakkim Epps." Baby walked to the edge of the pool and washed the blood off her hands. "You can stay here if you want, but me, I'm going back to Miami. Don't worry about me taking over the world or anything, that was Daddy's dream." She tossed her hair and it was as if somebody had thrown a handful of dirty gold into the air. "I got better things to do."

Rakkim watched her leave. His mouth tasted rusty. He stood up, dizzy, listened to the waves lapping against the sides of the pool, stirred up by the filtration system. Gravenholtz bobbed along the bottom, facedown, flotsam on the tide.

He looks better like that,
said Darwin.
Most folks do, but him more than most.

Rakkim saw Darwin standing beside him, the assassin almost transparent.

You could at least act surprised, Rikki.

"I don't have the energy. You could have helped me before. I almost got killed."

I don't have the energy either. Besides, you had the girl to help you with the Old One...and Gravenholtz, you didn't need me to take care of him either. Surprised me too. Dug right into the sticky stuff, didn't you? Couldn't have done it better myself. You didn't even need a blade to kill him--the best ones don't. Guys like us, we don't need anything.

"What...what are you doing here?"

I just stopped in to say good-bye.

"Where...where are you going?"

Anyplace but here, Rikki. I'm done with it.

"I thought you didn't like being dead."

You get used to it.
Darwin looked down at the Old One.
You would have had fun working for him...and then there's the daughter...that would have been doubly sweet. I would have jumped at the chance if I were you.

"No thanks."

Darwin's lips moved but no sounds came out.

"What?"

I said...
Darwin's face thinned out, only his eyes remaining sharp as ice.
Only thing I miss about life is the killing. I was good at it. Good as God. Better maybe.

"Me...I'm tired of killing."

Darwin said something.

"I can't hear you."

Darwin faded, fell apart like smoke, and Rakkim was alone.