Heart of the Assassin

by Robert Ferrigno

  "You said there was a decontamination area," said Moseby.

  "In the back," said Corbett, beckoning.

  Moseby whipped around as one of the men stepped away from the wheel well. "Tell these two to stay where they are."

  "Easy now," Corbett said to Moseby. "We're all friends here." He spit again. "Boys, you stay put. Don't want Mr. Moseby to get his bowels in an uproar and shoot one of you." He looked at Moseby. "Happy now?"

  Moseby kept his finger on the trigger.

  Corbett opened the back door. Showed off the compartment inside. "This is what you're really paying for. Specially designed for treasure hunting, not sightseeing. See...you sit down on the jumpseat, close the door and press this button here." He pointed. "See it? Takes sixty seconds to cycle out the dust and air, pipe in fresh. That way you don't track radiation or toxins into the main compartment when you come and go. Pretty nifty, huh?"

  "Yeah."

  Corbett put his hands on his hips. Made him look like a banty rooster. "Most folks are more impressed."

  "I thought this was the first one you made," said Moseby.

  Corbett licked his dry lips. "Right. You...you're the first person who's had the money to pay for it. Most folks just kick the tires and say they'll come back later...but they never do." He wiped a line of brown spit that had run down his chin. "So, you got the funds?"

  Moseby pulled out the chip Rakkim had given him.

  "Good." Corbett handed him a remote credit tablet. Waited while Moseby slid the chip through. Checked the transaction. Nodded. "Congratulations. You're the proud owner of a grade-A war wagon, Mr. Moseby." He shook hands, held on.

  Moseby tried to free himself.

  Corbett looked toward the crashed F-77 interceptor, still squeezing Moseby's hand. "Do it. What are you waiting for?"

  Moseby jerked free. Tossed Corbett the starlight scope. "I think this belongs to you."

  Corbett dropped the scope, backed away. He turned and started running.

  The two men pushed off from the van, reaching into their jackets. One pulled a revolver as his head exploded. The other almost got a shot off before he was knocked off his feet, brains everywhere. Big Mike jumped out of the limo, shotgun firing wildly before being brought down by a controlled burst from Moseby's flechette auto-pistol, the tiny, jagged projectiles almost cutting him in half.

  Corbett dashed among the abandoned planes, seeking out the shadows, zigging and zagging through the night. He kept low, shifting his speed until he was out of sight.

  Moseby checked the dead, put away his weapon. He looked up just as Corbett burst from the brush at the top of the ridge, running flat out. Corbett spun around at the same instant Moseby heard the gunshot, fell facedown in the moonlight. Another head shot. "That wasn't necessary," said Moseby.

  Rakkim emerged from the darkness, the sniper rifle slung over his shoulders. "Sure, it was."

  CHAPTER 33

  Baby saw the jeep stop atop the next hill over, faced it, assuming that the Colonel was watching her through some high-res binoculars. She had chosen this spot with care, a gentle slope overlooking the river, a few trees for shade but not enough to hide anyone. She wanted the Colonel to see that she was all alone. She sat on a blanket, a wicker picnic basket nearby--the Colonel was old-fashioned, which she had always found endearing, a sign that he didn't feel he had to keep up. Last thing she would do was show up with a liquid-nitrogen-cooled basket and an instant sweet-tea maker.

  The breeze off the river below wafted her hair around her shoulders and she let her head fall back, reveling in the sensation. Oh, she was aware of the effect her actions had on the Colonel. The place under the trees was seductive and cool, the wildflowers fragrant. She loved the Belt. Miami was beautiful, but the days were too hot and the nights were humid. Air-conditioning was harsh on her skin, drying it, and her hair suffered too. No, all things considered, the Belt was best.

  The Colonel must have seen enough, the jeep starting up, moving slowly over the surrounding hills toward her.

  Baby leaned back, stretched her legs out as she watched the Colonel approach. A black ant crawled slowly up and down the folds of the blanket until it reached her bare leg. It hesitated, feelers twitching, then stepped onto her calf. She reached down, pinched the ant flat and tossed it aside, her eyes never leaving the jeep.

  She wondered where Gravenholtz was. Two days ago, she sent him off to zombie country with some money and that bad attitude of his. Honey and vinegar to get the locals to give up what they knew about Moseby. Not that they'd tell him anything...and even if they did, Lester wasn't about to go into D.C. No, he'd drive around, getting lost and too dumb to admit he didn't belong there. She hadn't told him about the piece of the cross, of course. Just said to wait until Moseby showed up and bring him and whatever he was carrying back to Atlanta. By the time Lester finally gave up, Baby would be in Seattle, handing over the cross to her daddy and telling him just what she wanted as a token of his appreciation. How about the world, Daddy?

  The jeep pulled up nearby and the Colonel got out, wearing the informal gray uniform that emphasized the width of his shoulders. He strolled over, taking his time, still handsome in spite of the years, carrying himself like a king.

  The greatest hero of the war, the savior of the Belt, they called him. He could have been president, it had been offered to him on a platter, but he turned it down, went back to the Tennessee hills. It was only when the central government dissolved into a stew of greed and ineptitude that the Colonel had raised an army to protect his territory from bandits and renegades. His old comrades left everything to join him, brought their guns and their sons. The Colonel became the most powerful warlord in the Belt, independent of Atlanta politics and politicians, a free man in a free land. Twenty-five years later he controlled most of Tennessee. Crime was rare and quickly punished; taxes were low and he still retreated to his farm every winter, walking his fallow fields and reading the Bible.

  Baby stood up. "I wasn't sure you were going to come, Zachary."

  The Colonel looked at her, his eyes cool and blue.

  "I wouldn't have blamed you." Baby felt the sun through the trees, her clothes warm against her. "I wouldn't blame you no matter what you did to me."

  "I've been shot three times," said the Colonel, a faint quaver in his voice. "You've seen my scars. Doc pulled a 30.06 round out of me at Blitheville. We took so many casualties, he had run out of morphine, but he went ahead and did it, saved my life. Thought if I could survive that pain I could handle anything...but you leaving me...it hurt worse."

  Tears ran down Baby's cheeks. "I...know."

  "I got your message last night," said the Colonel. "Didn't sleep at all afterwards. Just laid there in bed trying to decide what to do." He reached out, wiped away the tear clinging to the corner of her mouth. "The bed...our bed...it's been empty since you left. Must have been a hundred times I promised myself I'd get rid of it, burn it to ashes, put a bullet in it...but I never could." He blinked back tears of his own. "Your smell still lingers...doesn't make any sense...been a whole year and then some, but there's times I turn over in the middle of the night, and I'd swear you're there."

  Baby took his hand, held it to her cheek. "I am so sorry."

  "No fool like an old fool, that's what they say."

  "You're not the fool, Zachary. I am. I was so young when we got married, young and in love, but I never really had a chance to stretch my wings."

  "Where's Lester?"

  She had been ready for the question, but she didn't answer right away. "Does it matter?"

  "It matters."

  Baby smoothed down her dress. "It's not about Lester. It's about you and me. Lester...he's not worth a pinch of dirt."

  "I heard stories...he was spotted in Atlanta not too long ago."

  "I wouldn't know. I walked out on him a week after we stole your helicopter."

  "Did...did he force you to steal it? To go away with him?"

  "You think Lester Gravenhol
tz could make me do anything?" Baby gave him her best pout. "I know I hurt you terrible, but that's no reason to insult me."

  The Colonel toyed with a smile. It looked like he was out of practice.

  "I'm sorry," said Baby. "I don't expect you to ever forgive me for what I've done, but I wanted to see you face to face, let you know how sorry I am for everything."

  The Colonel stared at her. He had looked at her the same way on their wedding day at that little church in the wildwood. Calm and steady before the preacher, the Colonel in his dress uniform with the silver buttons, standing there evaluating the situation, trying to put aside his emotions and see what was right in front of him.

  Probably the exact same way he had approached one of the great battles of the civil war, Memphis or Nashville or Owensburg Wood, the Colonel assaying the risks and rewards, recognizing the inevitable casualties, the dead and dying, pain spread like a shroud across those he cared about. At the end of the day, the Colonel had led his men into combat, fearless as the bullets flew like rain, ordering them into certain death for the greater good, the band of brothers rent and bloodied, but charging forward just the same, until their enemies dissolved like mist in the dawn. The Colonel had never misread a battlefield or misjudged a strategic option, but he had misread Baby on their wedding day and he misread her now.

  "What's in the picnic basket?" asked the Colonel.

  "Who wants to know?"

  The Colonel's eyes took her in. "The man who loves you," he said so softly she thought it was the wind in the trees.

  Baby took his hand, pulled him onto the blanket, his knees popping. She opened the picnic basket. "Well..." She tapped a finger on her cheek. "I've got iced tea, lemonade, chicken sandwiches and red potato salad, pickled green beans, corn muffins--"

  "You make the muffins?"

  "Don't be silly," said Baby.

  The Colonel helped her set out the food on the blanket.

  "I did make the chocolate chip cookies myself," said Baby, putting the plate of cookies in front of them.

  "Always liked your cookies," said the Colonel, taking the biggest one. "I did look for you after you left. I had people on the lookout all over the Belt."

  "I wasn't in the Belt. I was in Miami."

  The Colonel pushed aside a wisp of his long gray hair, covering his disappointment. "I've never been to Miami. Heard it's nice."

  "Not near as nice as Tennessee."

  "Big hotels and people from all over the world splashing around in the ocean," said the Colonel. "They say the water is warm. Say you can stay in it all day and not get a chill."

  "Like Grandma's bathwater," said Baby. "I'd rather swim in one of our mountain lakes, where you come out covered in goose bumps, so alive your whole body's tingling."

  "Takes a while for a person to decide what they like best, I guess," said the Colonel. "Some folks never do decide. Always changing their mind, back and forth."

  Baby poured him a glass of lemonade. "I'm not going to change my mind, Zachary. That's not why I came back."

  The Colonel sipped his lemonade, winced. She always made it too sweet for him.

  "Zachary? I'm here now, but I'm not staying. I just wanted you to know it wasn't you that was at fault."

  The Colonel wiped his lips. "Married people have troubles once in a while--anyone who tells you different has never been to the altar."

  "You...you're not listening."

  "I heard everything I need to," said the Colonel. "You're here now, that's all that matters. From the first moment I saw you, the very first moment, that's all I ever wanted."

  Baby played with his fingers, aware of his yellowed nails. She watched the river flow past, on its way to God only knew where, and couldn't wait to get moving herself. Soon as she was done with her business here, she'd hightail it back to the Old One. Ibrahim would already be busy poisoning things behind her back. She was going to have to take care of that boy once and for all. Have to do it careful, though.

  "Just sitting here with you...never thought it would happen again," said the Colonel.

  "Hush now," said Baby. "Let's just enjoy what we got."

  Gravenholtz should be making the rounds of zombie territory by now. Two days after she left him and he was probably still grumbling about her going back to the Colonel and why did he always get the dirty jobs?

  Well, we all do what we're good at, Lester, honey, she had told him, standing there with the sun shining through her clothes.

  I thought we could have a little vacation, just the two of us, Lester had persisted. Who's gonna know? Shit, I'm not afraid of the Old One.

  I am, Baby had said. It was a lie. Kind of.

  Baby unwrapped a chicken sandwich, handed it to the Colonel. "I put a few mint leaves in there, just the way you like it." She put a hand on his knee. "You're too good for me."

  "I know." The Colonel took a big bite of the sandwich. "Maybe I'll let you dirty me up a little bit tonight. I am still your husband, aren't I?"

  "You're still my husband," said Baby.

  CHAPTER 34

  The Old One stood behind Leo, who was playing all six hands at a twenty-one table at the Gilded Lily, the biggest casino on the Las Vegas strip. Gigantic tropical flowers bloomed from hydroponic tanks along the walls, orchids and lilies the size of basketballs, their delicate petals wiggling in the air currents. The Old One wriggled his nose at their heavy fragrance. Leo was just as Baby had described him, big and soft and pale as an infant, his eyes fixed on something just out of range, something no one but he could see.

  Leo looked up at the Old One, went back to his cards. No reason anyone would recognize the Old One--he had always maintained a shield of privacy, was almost never photographed, but just in case, he had shaved his beard, lightened his skin and blued his eyes. He wore the shimmering, oversized silk suit of a modern European businessman.

  The dealer showed a jack, a good card. Leo split a pair of eights anyway. Stood pat on a twelve, two fourteens and doubled-down on a ten.

  The bored dealer actually raised an eyebrow, then turned over his hole card. A six, for a total of sixteen. House rules, he had to hit on sixteen or less. He slid a card out of the shoe: a queen. Busted. He paid off all six of Leo's bets.

  Leo added the chips to his already huge pile, then glanced behind him. "I'm going to have the table tied up until I take a cab to the airport." He placed a hundred-dollar chip in front of each of the six table positions. "Three hours, seventeen minutes."

  The Old One pulled out a chair, sat down. "That's plenty of time for us to talk, Leo."

  The dealer dealt two cards facedown to each of Leo's positions. Dealt two cards to himself, one faceup, one facedown. His up card was a king.

  "How do you know my name?" said Leo.

  "What are you going to do, sir?" said the dealer.

  Leo continued to bet against all good sense, hitting on sixteen, seventeen sometimes, splitting sixes...and he kept winning.

  The pit boss wandered over, a bulky man with the face of a bulldog.

  "I can't figure him out," the dealer said to the pit boss.

  "It's a system," said Leo.

  "You're a card counter," said the pit boss.

  "That's not illegal, is it?" said Leo.

  "No...not illegal." The pit boss looked at the dealer. "Are you using a fifty-deck shoe?" When the dealer nodded the pit boss smiled at Leo. "Good luck with your system."

  Leo watched the pit boss lumber away. Covered each of his spots with a thousand-dollar chip. He won four of the six. Won five of the next six. "You never did tell me how you knew my name," Leo said, stacking his chips.

  The Old One stuck out his hand. "Harry Voigt, Harry Voigt Investments. Geneva, Shanghai, Nairobi."

  Leo didn't take the hand. He put down a five-dollar chip, the minimum bet, at each of his positions. Lost all of them when the dealer made twenty.

  "I heard you read your paper at the Pure Math Symposium," said the Old One.

  "Did you come by to l
augh at me in person?" said Leo.

  "I came to apologize for the way you were treated."

  "Place your bets, sir," said the dealer.

  "May I buy you a drink?" said the Old One. "You don't need to prove anything at this table, and if it's money you're interested in...I'll be happy to pay for your time."

  "Place your bets, sir."

  Leo stood up, stuffed his chips into the pockets of his sport coat and followed the Old One into the lounge. They sat at a booth in the corner.

  "You have no idea what a pleasure it is to meet you," said the Old One.

  "Yeah...well, it would be if anybody understood my paper," sniffed Leo. "Nothing like being the smartest one in the room and having everyone think you're an asshole."

  "They were hostile," said the Old One. "I think they were expecting your father."

  "My father's brilliant, but he'd be the first one to tell you he can't keep up with me."

  "Beyond the Poincare Conjecture: An Exploration of the Fourth-Dimensional Spheroid." The Old One shook his head. "I had no idea what you were talking about, but I was certain that you did. It was your certainty that intrigued me...and the fact that the other mathematicians in the room felt so threatened by you. I decided you might be operating at a much higher level than they were...or you might be the unlettered buffoon they seemed to think you were." He looked at Leo. "May I order for the both of us?"

  "I don't drink alcohol."

  'Then I won't either." The Old One tapped the table-screen. "I've ordered a couple of Brain Fizzes. I think you'll like it. Cerebral stimulators in a base of fruit essence."

  "So what are you, some kind of math groupie?" said Leo.

  The Old One laughed. "I came to the conference with a rather complex problem to solve. None of the other speakers were able to solve it. I thought you might like a chance."