Heart of the Assassin (16 page)

Senator Derrick Chambers slept with a night-light on. A small night-light in the shape of a sailboat, just like the one featured in his campaign ads--Chambers upright at the wheel, his sandy hair rippling in the sea breeze as he headed into the dawn. Captain Courageous. Rakkim switched the light off, the room almost completely dark now, except for a thin strand of moonlight that edged between the thick drapes. Plenty of light for Rakkim's Fedayeen eyes to see, but the senator would be blind. Terrible state for a man who needed a night-light.

Chambers sighed, turned over in bed. He was alone and Rakkim was grateful for that. The papers said his wife and children were in Hawaii while he attended to legislative matters, but there were always other possibilities. Not tonight, though.

Rakkim peeled back the hood of his stealth suit. Skintight, the material instantly mimicked any background color or pattern, rendering the wearer nearly invisible. The military used a slower version for night infiltrations, one that absorbed the infrared used by night-vision devices. Industrial spies and saboteurs used gadget-enhanced Chinese versions. Fedayeen assassins used the simplest-type stealth suit--no laser refraction, no sound-dampening capability, no auxiliary-light absorption. Anyone other than an assassin would get himself killed trying to get by with one. Rakkim had found it in a Level 6 security locker at the Fedayeen academy after he killed Darwin. It fit him perfectly.

He moved slowly across the room. Barely stirring the carpet. His heartbeat steady. He hovered over the senator, watching him breathe. He could count the hairs in his eyelashes in the darkness. He slipped out his knife, rested the flat of the blade across the man's lips.

The senator opened his eyes.

"Don't worry," said Rakkim.

The senator's eyes widened in the darkness.

"I'm going to remove the knife, but I want you to keep your voice down. I know the room is wired to alert your bodyguards if the sound level goes over ninety decibels, so we're going to have a nice conversation, you and I, like a couple of civilized gentlemen. Is that okay with you?"

The senator nodded.

Rakkim took the knife away.

"I can't see you," said the senator.

"It's all right, I can see you."

"What...what do you want?"

"Just what I said. A nice little conversation."

"May I sit up?"

"Sure." Rakkim waited until the senator shifted to an upright position, then sat down on the bed facing him. "Is that better?"

"Can I
please
put on a light?"

"I prefer the darkness."

"Yes, well, some of us don't have the advantage of night-vision goggles." Chambers cocked his head, listening. He was tall and handsome, lightly muscled, his chest waxed smooth in the modern style. "How...how did you get past my bodyguards?"

"That's my job, Senator. I'm good at my job, just as you're good at yours."

"What you're doing is a federal offense. Do you understand that?"

"Having a conversation is a crime? What a world we live in."

"Is it money...is that what you want?"

"You know better than that, Senator. I'm here at the request of a mutual friend."

"A friend?" The senator moistened his lips in the darkness. Squinted. "If a friend sent you, why won't you turn on a light?"

"I've always found that people speak more openly in the dark, and it's very important that we have an honest discussion, Senator." Rakkim saw Chambers's hand stray toward the medallion around his neck. "Please don't do that. If you attempt to summon help, I might have to do something rash." He saw Chambers carefully place his hands back on top of the sheets. "Thank you, Senator."

"I...I take a certain pride in being a rational man," said Chambers. "I'm sure we can come to some kind of accommodation."

"I'm not interested in an accommodation, Senator. I'm simply here to get some answers."

"I don't...I don't understand."

"This is a very...precarious time for all of us." Rakkim watched the senator's erratic breathing, trying to get a read on him. "So much planning has gone into your appointment to secretary of defense--"

"How did you find out about that?"

"Please lower your voice."

"I
asked
--"

Chambers went silent as the tip of Rakkim's knife lifted his chin. "Are you capable of lowering your voice, Senator?"

"Yes," whispered Chambers, barely moving his lips.

Rakkim watched a single drop of blood run down the blade of his knife in the darkness. "Good." He removed the knife. "I know about your appointment because I work for the man who secured it for you."

Chambers dabbed at his chin with the sheet. "If you work for the president..."

Rakkim laughed softly. "Don't insult me, Senator. You know who I work for."

Chambers shook his head. "I don't...I truly don't."

Rakkim sighed, let the weariness fill the room. "Fine. You're a cautious man, and that's to be commended. Up to a point. As a cautious man you may be interested to know that someone has been looking into the deaths of those two aides of yours."

Chambers looked perplexed. Rakkim still couldn't tell if Chambers was involved with the Old One, or if he was just the good modern that he seemed to be.

"Any idea who might be making those inquiries, Senator?"

"I assume State...State Security."

"It wasn't State Security."

"Well, then I don't know." Chambers started to speak, stopped himself for a moment. "Why should that concern me anyway? Sandor died of a heart attack. Alexander was killed in a car accident."

"I know how they died, Senator. I killed them."

"I...I beg your pardon?"

"'I...I beg your pardon?'" mocked Rakkim. "I'm trying to help you senator, but you're making it difficult."

Chambers smoothed the sheets. "I really don't know what you want me to--"

"Who do you think is trying to derail your appointment?"

Chambers continued to smooth the sheets. "The Black Robes despise me. If I have any enemies, it would be ibn-Azziz."

Rakkim jabbed Chambers lightly on both sides of his chest, his hand moving so quickly that the second puncture was made before the senator gasped from the first one. "Ibn-Azziz is not your enemy. He's an errand boy, just like you." Rakkim watched a drop of blood form on each side of Chambers's chest, a second set of nipples, black and shiny as obsidian in the darkness.

"
Please
...I don't know what you want from me."

"I want to know if you have any loose ends you haven't told us about. Something that could become a problem if the wrong people discovered them."

Chambers stared into the darkness.

"You're going to have to help me," Rakkim said gently, "because I can't allow even a
potential
loose end to interfere with our master's plans."

"Who...?"

"A great deal of effort has been put to bear for your advancement," said Rakkim. "Now it's time for you to do something in return."

Chambers wiped at the blood on his chest.

"Senator..." Rakkim's voice was barely a whisper. "If you don't tell me what the loose end is, that means
you're
the loose end."

"Could...could you put on a light, please?"

"Not just yet."

Chambers dabbed his eyes. "There was a boy...one you don't know about. I had almost forgotten him myself...no, no, that's not true." He shook his head. "This is very difficult."

"Take your time, Senator. I've been told I'm a good listener."

Chambers laughed. "By
whom
? The men you're about to kill?"

"Tell me about this boy you had almost forgotten."

Chambers trembled, the sheets rustling against him. "His name was Louis. I cared very much for him. The others were just...diversions. They didn't even know my name. Louis, though, he was different. When the Black Robes scooped the others up, I stayed silent, but I didn't want anything to happen to Louis. I couldn't bear that...so I warned him." He looked around, trying to find Rakkim's face in the darkness. "I haven't seen him in years. I've had no contact of any kind."

"Please keep your voice down."

Chambers took a deep breath, exhaled slowly. "Louis cared for me very deeply. Tell the Old One that I
know
Louis would never do anything to hurt me."

"Unless?"

"Unless...it was absolutely necessary. Unless he had no other options. You shouldn't blame Louis, you should blame whoever backed him into a corner."

"Why don't you get dressed? We'll go someplace and discuss the matter."

"It might not have been Louis. It could have been my two aides, Alexander...or Sandor." Chambers breathed so rapidly he was almost panting. "All those years they were in my employ, you would have thought there might have been some...some
discretion.
The more I think about it, I don't think Louis is responsible."

"Get dressed, Senator."

"I...I prefer to stay here."

"Get dressed."

Chambers's teeth chattered,
rat-a-tat-tat, rat-a-tat-tat.

"Senator," Rakkim said softly. "Would it help if I turned on a light?"

Malcolm Crews was on a tear. Dancing and prancing across the stage, jiggling like some retard stuck his dick in a light socket. Crowd loved it too, ate it up and asked for extra gravy. Made Gravenholtz want to walk down the pew squeezing their heads with both hands, pop their damn stupid noggins like green grapes.

"It's not enough that Aztlan invades our territorial waters in the Gulf and steals our oil," said Crews, his white suit flashing in the stage light, amplified voice booming off the walls of the great hall. "Not enough that they send troops splashing across the Rio Grande to claim our croplands. No, not nearly enough for these heathens." He shook his head in disbelief. "Now...now Aztlan's demanding we turn over Colonel Zachary Smitts to them! Turn over the last of our original warriors, the thorny bloom of the Belt. And for what? Because one of their oil ticks got himself killed in Nueva Florida." He shook his head. "Check the whorehouses and dope dens this oil tick frequented, don't come looking here for the guilty. Stay out of the Belt, Aztlan--
adios, muchacho,
Aztlan--this is the land of the free, the home of the God fearing, the one true God, you polytheistic cock-suckers!" He put a hand over his mouth in mock shock. "Did he say that? Did Pastor Crews really say that?" Hands on his hips now, face arrogantly thrust forward. "Oh sweet merciful heavens, and pass the biscuits, have I offended you, brothers and sisters?"

The crowd roared their approval, stamping their feet so hard that Gravenholtz thought they might bring the whole place down around their ears. The oil tick. That was a good one. He remembered the beaner oil minister looking at him from the back of the limo, talking about his poor fucked-up kid who needed somebody just as fucked up to hang out with. Gravenholtz had sat there, letting the man talk, trying to decide which one of the sentences qualified as his last words.
Are you lonely, Lester?
No, Gravenholtz had answered. It had been a lie, but he wanted to make the oil minister work for it.
My son has never had anyone to play with...no one who really wanted to play with him. Come live with him, Lester. You could have anything.
Anything? Gravenholtz answered, enjoying himself now, knowing what was coming.

"What's so funny, mister?"

Gravenholtz looked up.

A young woman stood there. Pretty girl in a frilly blue dress. White gloves and a gold crucifix bouncing between her little bitty tits. Light brown hair, turning up at the ends.

"Can you scoot over?" she said.

Gravenholtz scooted over, made room on the pew as Crews boomed away onstage in his shiny white suit, thrashing his arms overhead like he was summoning lightning.

She sat down in a rustle of blue fabric that spilled over on his leg. "Scuse me," she said, retrieving her skirt, her hand brushing against him. "You don't mind, do you?"

Gravenholtz shook his head, watching her eyes. Light blue, like her dress and...sweet. No, playful, like she was at a movie show.

She leaned closer, whispered in his ear. "I was going to sit further up, but I heard you laughing to yourself. I like a man who laughs in church. Too many serious folks make me want to run for the exits."

"Yeah...I like a good joke myself." Gravenholtz's throat was so tight he barely recognized his own voice.

"I could tell that right off." She smiled, her teeth white and a little crooked. "They say redheads got a good sense of humor."

A woman in the pew in front of them turned around, started to hush the young woman, but Gravenholtz caught her eye and she turned back around fast.

The young woman stuck her tongue at the woman's back and Gravenholtz laughed.

"There you go again," she said. "Oh my, where are my manners?" She held out her hand, charm bracelet jingling. "I'm Karla Jean Johnson."

Gravenholtz hesitated, placed his hand in hers. "Lester. Lester Gravenholtz."

"Pleased to make your acquaintance, Lester Gravenholtz," Karla said, giving his hand a soft squeeze before letting go.

"My hand's a little sweaty," said Gravenholtz. "Sorry."

"Just shows you're healthy," said Karla.

"Okay."

Karla Jean peered at him. "Gravenholtz? I know that name. You were the Colonel's right-hand man, right? I seen you and him on TV once."

Gravenholtz glanced around. "That was a while ago."

Karla Jean's eyes widened. "You're supposed to be dangerous. Bad to the bone." She fanned herself with a stick fan showing Jesus kneeling beside a white lamb. "Good thing we're in church or I might fear for my safety."

Gravenholtz cleared his throat.

Karla Jean patted his arm, her charm bracelet tinkling. "If Pastor Crews can turn away from Satan, I guess you can too."

Gravenholtz's face was hot. "Yes...if he can, so can I."

"Am I talking too much?"

Gravenholtz shook his head.

Karla Jean looked straight ahead now. "I haven't talked much lately...maybe I'm making up for lost time." She glanced over at him, then back at the stage. "I'm a widow. Almost two years now. Longer than I was married. Figured it was time to get out, be around people again. Said to myself, Karla Jean, wash your face, put on a nice dress...." She turned to him. "You want me to move? If I'm embarrassing you--"

"No. Please, stay."

"Moseby, you're a welcome sight." The Colonel embraced him. "You should have given me more notice, I would have--"

"I didn't get much notice myself," said Moseby, walking beside the Colonel toward the armored jeep.

Moseby had taken the train up from New Orleans, awake most of the way, jostled and bumped as the
Charlie Daniels
chugged through the Belt on the deteriorating railbed. His wife, Annabelle, had protested his sudden departure, but Sarah had said time was critical. His daughter asked if he was going to meet Leo in Tennessee, acted as if she didn't believe him when he said no. Like he could stop the lovebirds even if he wanted to.

"I've got a vehicle you can take into the hill country tomorrow," said the Colonel. "Rugged beast, get you over and through just about anything. Got a map for you too, best one I could find, but you might want to--"

"Appreciate it, Colonel."

"You sure you don't want me to send a guide along? Got a corporal from that same general area."

"No, thanks."

"This corporal, he's a white man. Some of the hill folks, they never let loose of the old ways."

"I'll get by, sir."

"Of course. Besides, you don't really want company, do you?" The Colonel, a lanky autocrat in his mid-sixties, with long, graying hair to his shoulders, tugged down his gray uniform. Even walking down a country lane, he carried himself as though he were astride a stallion. "You and Rikki have too many secrets, if you ask me."

"My wife says the same thing, sir."

"Oh, I understand the need, it's just not my way." The Colonel drew himself erect. "I prefer things direct and out in the open."

"You would have made a good Fedayeen, sir, but you wouldn't have lasted five minutes in shadow warrior training."

"No...I expect not." The Colonel kept the pace. "Fought a Fedayeen unit once on the Kentucky border. We outnumbered them ten to one, but they fought us to a standstill, then slipped away when we got more reinforcements. Good soldiers." His face was craggy in the moonlight, his thick brows obscuring his eyes. "Long time ago."

"Yes, sir."

"You glad you gave it up, Moseby? The Fedayeen...the life you had?"

"Very glad. I love the Belt, sir."

"Your wife and daughter...they're well?"

"I'm a lucky man."

The Colonel nodded. "Even luckier because you realize it. Some don't. Not until it's too late."

"Your wife...I haven't heard anything, in case you were wondering," said Moseby.

"Thank you for that. I...I didn't want to ask." The Colonel looked off into the woods surrounding them. "You must think I'm foolish."

"Not at all, Colonel."

"No fool like an old fool." A vein along the Colonel's jawline throbbed. "After all she's done to me, the lies and betrayal, the humiliation...if Baby was to step out of the darkness right now, I'd take her in my arms and I'd forgive her. I swear to God I would."

The wind rustled through the trees as though someone were leaving in a hurry.

The Colonel shook his head, and then keyed the remote to the jeep, the door opening. "I hope you're hungry. I nailed a wild turkey this afternoon. Mean son of a bitch too. Had him cornered and he went right for me."

"We've spent our time hating on the Muslims, and I'm not making any apologies for that, war is war, and even kin can fight to the death when the blood rises, but brothers and sisters, at least the Muslims are one-God folk. Just like us, one-God folk, whereas Aztlan, they got more gods than a blueridge retriever got ticks." Crews stalked the stage, blindingly white, like a moonbeam on fire.

The crowd ate it up, but from where Gravenholtz sat it was pretty much bullshit. Sure, Aztlan had brought back the Aztec gods, the gods before the conquistadors came to town, but it wasn't like they had x-ed out Christianity. They just kind of mashed it all up together--Mary alongside that killer god wearing blue hummingbird feathers, and the Virgin of Guadalupe beating a drum of human skin at the Easter parade. Religion was all about getting dumbasses to line up and sign up, making people pay today for heaven tomorrow. Every time Crews shouted
one-God folk,
the crowd amened--fucker was the best shit salesman Gravenholtz had ever seen and that was saying something.

Crews jabbed a finger at the front row and Karla Jean grabbed Gravenholtz's arm.

"Aztlan gods are dark gods. Gods that drown children. Gods that snare travelers, hook 'em up and hang 'em high. Gods of fire and gods of mud, lizard gods and rabbit gods and scorpion gods too...but no Jesus Christ in Aztlan. Not a word. At least Muslims revere Jesus. He may not be the son of God, to the folks in the Republic, but they sing his praises almost as loud as Muhammad himself. We got to remember who our real enemies are, brothers and sisters. We got to keep that thought in our hearts and minds. So when Aztlan says, 'Give us the Colonel,' well, I hear the crowd in Jerusalem shouting for blood. I hear the crowd screaming to Pontius Pilate, 'Give us Jesus! Crucify him!'"

Karla Jean squeezed Gravenholtz's arm tighter.

Crews shook his head. "Not this time. Not now. Not ever. Aztlan wants to try the Colonel for his sins. They want to drag him to their capital city in chains. They want to bend him backwards over a stone altar, tear his heart out and offer it to their gods. Their gutter gods." Crews listened to the people in the audience raging and sobbing. "That's right, we won't let that happen. Not this time. Not this time."

"Not this time," repeated the crowd. "Not this time."

"Not this time," said Crews, voice rising. "Not this time!"

"Not this time!" shouted the crowd. "Not this time!"

Karla Jean released Gravenholtz's arm. Smoothed his sleeve. "I am
so
sorry, Lester. I must about cut off your circulation."

"No...I liked it. Made me feel like I was taking care of you."

Karla Jean nodded.

"After the sermon..." Gravenholtz cleared his throat. "Maybe you'd like to get a drink."

"I don't drink spirits."

"We could get something to eat then. If...if you want."

"I like ice cream."

Gravenholtz smiled. "So do I."

Karla Jean clung to him. "You should know...I'm not ready for anything boy-girl right now. You know...I just would like to go have some ice cream with you."

"Sure. Me too."

"I don't like being rushed."

"Me neither."

"I knew I could count on you. I knew it the first time I laid eyes on you." Karla Jean lowered her eyes. "I got a weakness for gingers. My husband...he was a redhead too."

Gravenholtz watched a single tear fall into her lap.

"I don't really feel much like ice cream," said Karla Jean. "You're not mad, are you?"

"No."

"I'm going to go home now." Karla Jean looked up at him. "You planning to be at the service day after tomorrow?"

"If you are," said Gravenholtz.

"I surely am. Maybe...we could go out for ice cream then."

"I don't want to push you."

Karla Jean looked into his eyes. "No...I'll be ready by then."