“No, sir. That badge is two levels beyond top secret, reserved for a very small, very specific group of professionals. I’ve never seen one before, but it was described to me once. Grave Diggers, they call themselves. Private joke, because their work involves grave threats to national security.” Another spotlight flickered, but stayed on. Moseby closed in on the Colonel. “Grave Diggers do one thing and one thing only—they protect black-ice projects. The good stuff. World busters. The stuff presidents don’t trust to other politicians. So, tell me, sir…” Their faces were inches apart. “What the fuck am I really looking for?”
The Colonel looked out at the lake, waiting for the echo of Moseby’s voice to finally fade. “I wish I knew, son,” he said softly. “I wish I knew.”
Moseby nodded toward the lake. “Are you sure you want me to find what’s down there?”
The Colonel felt tired. Beyond exhaustion, or even his age…it was an ache, a weariness, a sense of everything he valued slipping away. “Too late now.”
“No, it’s not, sir. Let’s just…walk away. Tell the crew it was another false lead. Couple weeks more and you can shut down the whole site and go home. The people love you, sir, not just your men. Your territory…it’s practically half the state now…people know you’ll protect them, treat ’em fair and not take advantage. Not many places in the Belt you could say that about. The thing you’re looking for in the lake…it’s going to change everything. There’s a reason the old regime hid it away down here. A reason they didn’t want anybody to find it.”
“I know.”
“So let’s walk off.”
The Colonel shook his head. “I have responsibilities. There are certain…expectations I’m burdened by.” He looked at Moseby. “I’m not the man I used to be, Mr. Moseby, not nearly…but I have to pretend. Memory is a ravening beast, sharp of tooth and with a special fondness for the soft spots…the tender places.” He squared his shoulders. “Tomorrow morning, start searching the lake.”
“He’s coming!”
“Damn.” Gravenholtz pulled out of Baby, yelped as he caught his penis hastily zipping his pants.
Baby laughed. “I was just kidding.” Bent over the couch, wedding dress pushed up around her shoulders, she wiggled her bare ass at him. “Come on, cowboy.”
Gravenholtz cursed her.
Baby squeezed the back of the couch, bucking back and forth, whinnying softly. She turned her head, slowly rotated her hips against the cushions, showed off her sweet pinkness. She watched as he carefully lowered his zipper, wincing as his foreskin came free. She turned back to the window, gasped as he drove into her. No subtlety from Lester. No finesse. No foreplay.
Gravenholtz grunted behind her, fists grabbing at the wedding dress, crinkling the stiff fabric as he unleashed a string of obscenities.
Baby worked with him, enjoying his passion, directing him to all the best spots. She watched her reflection in the window, excited by her flaring nostrils as he lifted her off the couch with his thrusts. She moved her head back and forth, sent her hair swaying against her shoulders, a light tickle as Lester groaned and snapped at the air.
“You fucking whore,” spat Gravenholtz, “fucking…fucking whore.”
Baby pressed her ass back against him, felt him shudder.
“Fucking…fucking whore.”
Always the same thing with Lester. Men were so predictable. She felt him increase his pace, taking short little breaths. She examined her face in the window, bit her lower lip, opening even deeper for him. Always from behind, that was the best way for Lester. She had caught a glimpse of his penis that first time…and that was enough. Ugly, ugly thing, freckled and bent, a blue-veined monstrosity. She half closed her eyes with pleasure, giving in, imagining herself with other men…the young sentry outside. He stood there with his back to the glass, rain sluicing off him like a beast in the field. She pressed down on the base of Lester’s penis as he lunged into her, held him for a moment, tighter…tighter…tighter still.
“Fuck…” Lester burst inside her, a scalding eruption of anger and loneliness. He sobbed for an instant, slid out, and lay on the floor, gasping like a dying fish.
Baby blew a kiss to her reflection, turned around. She picked up his shirt from the couch, wiped herself with it, and threw it on his face. “You didn’t ask me if you could shoot that nasty stuff inside me.”
Gravenholtz raised himself up on one elbow, still panting, his face like a red balloon.
“Next time you ask permission, Lester Gravenholtz.”
He stood up, still wobbly. “Someday…I’m going to kill you.”
Baby shook her head. “Not unless I say so.”
Gravenholtz pulled on his pants.
“The Colonel’s gone into the mountain.” Baby crossed her legs, admired her tiny toes. “Moseby called and said he found something and the Colonel hurried right over.”
He shrugged on his shirt, stuffed it into his pants.
“Moseby brings that old-days weapon out from the lake, you best be ready to make yourself useful.” Baby tucked her legs under her, watched him finish getting dressed. “You’re going to have to move fast when the time comes.”
“I don’t know,” he said. “I been thinking…”
“That’s my job.” Baby could see the anger bubble to the surface of his face like swamp gas. She should slow it down, take it careful-like, but Baby had given up on slow and careful a long time ago. She had Lester on a choke chain—give him any slack and he might bite a piece out of her, just ’cause he could. “You leave the thinking to me, Lester. You try it, you might pull a muscle.”
Gravenholtz balled those big old hands of his into fists.
Baby reached for him, kissed those fists, kissed each and every knuckle while he breathed hot and heavy.
Gravenholtz had to step away from her to find his tongue. “New…new weapon or not, I’m not cut out to be what you want me to be.”
“Sure you are.”
“It’s the Colonel’s command,” Gravenholtz snapped. “The men are shit-scared of me, that’s not the problem—they seen me break enough heads to jump when I say so, but as soon as my back is turned…” He shook his head. “No, they’ll charge into hell itself if the Colonel gives the word, but not for me. Me, I’m born to be the hard case, the second in command that gets things done and don’t take excuses.”
She saw the shiny red hairs sticking out from his shirt collar, and the sight disgusted her. “That really all you aspire to, Lester Gravenholtz?”
“Ain’t such a bad thing. Colonel could take over the whole damn country with this weapon, and I’d be right there by his side. So would you. We could still—”
Baby sighed. She smoothed her wedding dress down, arranged and rearranged it until it was perfect. She looked up at him, shook her head. “Oh, Lester…aren’t you tired of sloppy seconds?”
Chapter 34
“Let’s just get out of here,” said Leo as Rakkim checked out their car.
Rakkim looked up, saw Malcolm Crews walking toward them, a few skeleton men trailing behind. It was late morning, the camp slow to get started after last night.
“Rikki?”
“Not yet,” said Rakkim, going back to work. “Can’t be in a hurry or you’ll ruin everything.”
“You don’t know what it was like after you tramped off with Malcolm,” said Leo, not making eye contact. “I got dragged along while they drove trails, howling and shooting guns…jacked up on methamphetamine, smoking whole chunks of it.” He scratched his arms. “Just being around them made my skin itch.”
Rakkim scratched the inflamed punctures on his arm where the rattler had bitten him. “I wasn’t having a picnic myself.”
“They…they took me to a…a body dump,” whispered Leo. “Sinville, that’s what they called it, like it’s some big joke. This old satellite relay station in the middle of the woods. Ground antennae was a steel dish fifty yards across and it’s filled, Rikki, it’s piled high with bodies, hund
reds of them, tourists and townspeople, they don’t care. They’ve been adding to it for the last year. I didn’t even know what it was at first, because we were downwind and it was so dark, and then…one of the jokers…”
“It’s okay,” said Rakkim. “We’re leaving soon.”
“…one of the jokers tossed in a white phosphorus grenade, made this big flash, and, Rikki, there were so many crows, I’ve never seen so many birds in my life, and the sound they made when they flew up…it was like the earth screaming.”
“Did I hear someone say my name?” said Crews, all in black, fresh flowers in his hair.
Rakkim finished with the car. “Leo didn’t appreciate the trip to the body dump.”
“Softhearted, is he?” said Crews. “Don’t worry, he’ll get over it. Come the Judgment, the whole earth is going to be a body dump.” He peered at Rakkim. “How are you feeling this morning, pilgrim? Seem a little peaked.”
“Took a piss this morning and it felt like hot lava splashing into the weeds,” said Rakkim.
Crews cackled. “Turpentine burns, that’s the value of it.”
Leo got into the car, but Rakkim lingered. The skeleton men hovered nearby, blinking in the sun. Automatic rifles slung over their shoulders, they stood there listening, clothes caked with mud.
“You trust the Jew?” said Crews, nodding at Leo.
“Enough for now,” said Rakkim. “The Colonel wanted a Jew to be there when he found the rest of the silver pieces. He thought there might be some writing along with it, old scrolls or something that might need translating.”
“Folks like you and me don’t need anything translated, we see things clear. We got the mark, that’s all we need to know.” Crews waved a well-thumbed Bible, the gilt lettering worn away on its black leather cover. “This belonged to a preacherman I met after my anointing. I was still in shock, trying to understand what had happened, what it meant. You have to remember, I was untutored in the ways of the Lord then. I thought the Church of the Mists contained a treasure, that’s why I braved the fires. It did contain a treasure, one more precious than silver or gold, didn’t it, pilgrim?” He tapped the Bible. “Preacherman tried to tell me that the reason the door wouldn’t open was because I wasn’t worthy to enter. Said Satan had led me to the door, but God wasn’t fooled.” He laughed. “That’s why I knew you were true. You couldn’t get inside either. It was like God telling us, ‘I got other plans for you boys.’”
“I can hardly fucking wait,” said Rakkim.
Crews whooped it up. “That’s the spirit. I’ve been hoping for somebody like you to turn up. There’s only so much I can do with these mush-heads.”
Rakkim glanced at the skeleton men. “The Colonel has only a fraction of his forces at the site, but they’re well equipped. I’ll get word to you in a couple days. Let you know if the Colonel has found the silver yet, and where the best point of attack is.”
“There’s an abandoned Stuckey’s on Highway Ninety-nine, not more than a half hour’s drive from the mountain. You show up anytime, day or night, I’ll know.” Crews grabbed Rakkim’s arm, turned his palm up. “You ever wonder why you were chosen to walk through the fire and make it back alive?”
Rakkim shook him off.
“You ever ask yourself, Why me, Lord?”
Rakkim didn’t answer. It didn’t matter to Crews.
“It’s because we’re special. We have brains and ambition. Not like the rest of this trash.” Crews crowded in on him again. “God needs someone to do the dirty work. He’s sick to death of humanity, but he doesn’t have the stomach to do what needs to be done. Last time he got fed up, he drowned the whole world. Maybe he can’t bear to do it again. That’s where we come in. God brought you and I together at just the right moment. Think about it, pilgrim. I got hundreds of righteous maniacs with too much time on their hands, and suddenly you show up with a piece of silver Judas himself once grabbed on to. Hell’s bells, for all I know maybe there is a splinter of the true cross buried under that mountain along with the silver.”
“All I know is if God’s sick to death of us, who could blame him?”
Tariq al-Faisal tripped on the hem of his brown burka as he walked inside. If he hadn’t grabbed the edge of the table, he would have fallen on his face.
Yusef closed the door, dismissed his wife, who had accompanied al-Faisal to their home. “Are you all right, imam?” Credit the man with the good sense to keep his smile hidden.
Al-Faisal threw back the face sack of the burka, sweating. “Someday I’ll have one of my wives tell me how she walks in these things.”
Yusef pressed his hands in supplication toward a tall, muscular Somali. “This is—”
“I am acquainted with our brother Amir the Fedayeen,” said al-Faisal, kissing the man on both cheeks, sensing his resistance. “Salaam alaikum.”
“Alaikum salaam.” The raised scar on Amir’s face was stark against his smooth skin.
“My bodyguard, Sulayman,” said Yusef, indicating a huge, bare-chested Arab with a bristly beard and silver hoops through his earlobes. A scimitar hung from his waistband, doubtless at Yusef’s insistence. Yusef was the worst kind of fundamentalist, aping tradition without truly internalizing it…and thereby needing the trappings of faith. Unlike al-Faisal, who was as comfortable hoisting a stein of bootleg beer as throttling an adulterer, both actions equally in the service of Allah.
Al-Faisal and the bodyguard exchanged greetings.
“And this is our brother Bartholomew,” Yusef said, beckoning toward the moderate who stood nearby, a rigid young man with a precisely cropped beard, and black shoes shined bright as mirrors.
“Salaam alaikum,” Bartholomew hurriedly murmured, head bowed.
“Alaikum salaam,” said al-Faisal. “Thanks to you and Amir for coming. Our master rejoices at your faithfulness.”
“I am honored,” said Bartholomew.
Amir stayed silent.
“Imam, if I may,” said Bartholomew. “Is your false attire necessary? I was told the authorities had determined you were dead.”
“Are you frightened to be in the presence of a corpse?” al-Faisal said lightly.
“No…no, imam,” said Bartholomew.
“Good.” Al-Faisal pulled off the burka, threw it on the floor. He wore the clothes of a modern underneath, with red trousers and a tight white shirt marked with silvery piping, accentuating his lean frame. “Yes, State Security has concluded that I died a martyr’s death when I detonated a car bomb, but there is a policeman…” He sat down amid the cushions on the floor, waved Bartholomew and Amir to do the same. He waited while Yusef poured them tea. “…a fat Catholic who is still making inquiries, poking his snout where it doesn’t belong.”
“What is this Catholic’s name?” Amir said softly.
“I’m grateful for your interest,” said al-Faisal, “but I shall talk of this policeman in my own good time, inshallah. Besides, Amir, our master values you too highly to see you troubled by such small matters.”
If Amir was flattered, it didn’t show in his face or eyes.
“May I ask…?” Bartholomew sipped his tea. “You have the device, imam?”
Al-Faisal smiled. The young brother was eager, but his hand was steady, not the slightest rattle of the teacup. All their lives depended on such steadiness. He reached into his jacket, handed Bartholomew the device.
Bartholomew handled the device cautiously, turning it over and over. Metallic, dappled with electronic readouts. No bigger than a child’s fist, yet big enough to change the world. “It looks exactly like a standard systems analyzer.”
“Performs exactly like one too,” said al-Faisal. “You could take it apart, field-test all the components, and you still wouldn’t see anything amiss.”
“Eagleton made this?” said Bartholomew, still examining it.
“An atheist, and a pervert, but talented.” Al-Faisal picked up a sweet from the tray Yusef had put out, popped it in his mouth. “Pity I couldn’t allow
him to live.” He wiped powdered sugar off his lip with a forefinger, sucked it clean. “Still, if you’re successful, Allah willing, then we won’t have need for such men in the future.” He reached for another sweet. “Sulayman? How long have you been in Yusef’s employ?”
“Eleven years, lord,” said Sulayman. “As soon as I completed my enlistment.”
“You were Special Forces, yes?” Al-Faisal nibbled a candied date. “A noble calling, but compared to Fedayeen…”
Sulayman glanced at Amir, then back at al-Faisal.
“You did apply for Fedayeen?” said al-Faisal.
“Yes,” said Sulayman, teeth gritted.
Al-Faisal stood up gracefully, so quick that he was beside Sulayman before the man could react. He traced a fingertip across the bodyguard’s bulging biceps. “A bull of a man like you…your failure couldn’t have been from lack of strength.”
“Brother?” Yusef said to al-Faisal. “Surely—”
Al-Faisal pulled down Sulayman’s right eyelid. “You’re clear-eyed, so you must be intelligent…”
Sulayman placed his hand on the hilt of his scimitar.
Al-Faisal patted Sulayman’s hand. “Indulge my curiosity a moment longer, great warrior.”
Sulayman’s eyes blazed.
Al-Faisal stepped back. “How you must have resented those who succeeded where you had failed…men like Amir.” He peered at Sulayman. “I’m trying to understand why you would have betrayed us.”
“I…I have not,” started Sulayman.
Amir was already on his feet.
As Sulayman drew his blade, al-Faisal plucked the silvery piping from his shirt and whipped it around Sulayman’s neck. He grabbed both ends…jerked…and Sulayman’s head rolled off his shoulders in a fountain of blood.
Yusef cried out, covered his mouth.
Amir stood beside al-Faisal, his Fedayeen knife in his hand.
Sins of the Assassin Page 28
