“I don’t want there to be a next time.” She felt Rakkim stroke her hair and she wished they were someplace else, someplace quiet and safe and with a fireplace. The rain beat against the roof, louder now.
“We should go.”
“How did you find me?”
“I was at Jill’s ranch. She said you knew Marian had been murdered. I figured you had come back for the journals.”
Sarah looked up at him, dizzy. “You know about the journals?”
“I have them. They’re in boxes beside my bed—”
Sarah kissed him hard. “Let’s get out of here.”
Rakkim smiled. “Definitive as ever.”
“Did you expect me to go all gooey once I left Redbeard’s protection?”
They walked downstairs together, Rakkim slightly in front, head cocked. He stopped in front of the door, checked outside through the side windows. Sarah waited. He knew what he was doing, that was one thing she was sure of. He rested a hand on the back of her neck as he watched the street, his hand light. The familiarity of his touch, the intimacy…not possessive, not a bit of that, it was a connection that ran both ways.
“Does your car run all right?” asked Rakkim.
“It’s beat up, but it’s a smooth ride.”
“Beat up is good, it will fit in with half the other cars on the road. I’d rather take yours than mine. We leave your car, one way or the other, it’s going to be traced back to Jill.”
Sarah opened the door, they stepped outside, then she closed it behind him. Locked it. She stared at Marian’s key. Marian had given it to her the last time she had visited. The wind lifted her hair, the night air cool against her scalp—a relief after the confinement of the head scarf. She tucked away the house key, stopped. Rakkim had taken the journals, not the Old One’s killers. The Old One didn’t know their value…if the journals even had any value. Her theory about the Zionist Betrayal was still just a theory.
“Is there a problem?” asked Rakkim.
“No…no problem.”
They walked through the rain to the car, refusing to hurry, waiting for the other one to break and run. Neither of them did. Sarah handed him the car key, then got inside, while Rakkim did a last survey of the area. “That’s odd,” she said as Rakkim got in.
“What?”
Sarah reset her wristwatch. Same result.
“What’s wrong?”
“I’m not sure.” Sarah checked her watch again. Same result. “Redbeard gave me this watch after my book came out. It detects a full range of tracking devices. Microwave, ultrasonics…everything. He was worried that I would be targeted—”
“The car is bugged?”
“I don’t see how. It wasn’t bugged when I got here. Anyone who wanted to harm me would have to know I was in Marian’s house.”
“Maybe they don’t want to hurt you. Maybe they just want to know where you are.”
Sarah opened her door. “We should take your car.”
Rakkim switched off the interior light. “Close the door.”
“We have to—”
Rakkim started the car.
Sarah closed the door. “We have to find the bug, don’t we?”
“No.” Rakkim switched on the wipers, watched them flick back and forth across the cracked windshield. “This is perfect.”
Darwin rested the side of his face in the palm of his hand as the headlights approached the guard shack. Beep-beep-beep went the tiny scanner on the counter. The rainstorm beat against the shack, sheets of water streaming down the glass sides, distorting the view. A blur looking out. A blur looking in. Bitter with the sweet.
He had waved Rakkim through about fifteen minutes ago, face down, pretending to read a newspaper. Sarah’s car drove past, not stopping. All Darwin got was a glimpse of the red taillights shimmering through the rain. They were both inside the car. Darwin had seen that much. He had watched them on the Cyclops. Watched them nuzzling in the front hallway, the two lovebirds finally reunited. Darwin had actually applauded at the tender moment, his clapping echoing off the walls of the guard shack. Sarah had discarded her chador, was garbed as a modern, a modern woman with all the modern desires. They would be inseparable now. Until Darwin decided to separate them.
Darwin still didn’t know if she had found what she had come back for, which was annoying. Very annoying. Sarah had been off-camera for ten or fifteen minutes in Marian’s bedroom, but she wasn’t carrying anything when she left. Neither was Rakkim.
There were those two boxes Rakkim and the fat detective had removed from the house a few days ago. That might be what she had come back for. Hard to know. Darwin could ask the Wise Old One about it, but the old man treasured his secrets. Ah, the mystery of it all…Darwin could hardly wait to find out what the old man was really up to. It would be interesting, that was for certain. In the early days he had done a few jobs for the Black Robes, but quickly grew tired of their narrow intentions, their joyless theological bickering. The thing about fundamentalists was, they had no curiosity. All they cared about was deciding where the line should be drawn, determining which side of the line was black, and which side was white. Right and wrong, good and bad…Darwin transcended all such categories. In spite of all the old man’s God talk, he was the same way. The two of them were unique.
Darwin whistled a happy tune as he peeled off the security guard’s lime green jacket. An ugly color for an ugly man. He tossed the jacket onto the floor, right next to where the guard lay curled beside the wastebasket, neck broken. Two guards killed in this same shack within a week. The homeowners’ association was going to have to pass a special levy to cover the increased cost of protection. An amusing thought. Death always brought so many surprises. So many unexpected consequences. A butterfly splatted against the windshield of a speeding car, and there went all hope of that typhoon in Japan that the philosophers were always prattling on about.
Some would call the killing tonight unnecessary. He had intended to talk his way past the guard, show his insurance-company ID, but then…then, instinct took over. A predator who takes no prey is no longer a predator. God had created Darwin to take pleasure in killing, and Darwin would not deny the wisdom of God. Darwin smiled at the blasphemy.
He slipped the scanner into his pocket, waved good-bye to the dead. It was a short walk to his car, the scanner beeping away. The microwave transmitter attached to Sarah’s car was working properly. Good timing on Darwin’s part. He had placed the device and gotten back to the shack just before Rakkim had driven up. Darwin slid behind the wheel, started his car. All things considered, things were working out perfectly.
CHAPTER 29
After late-night prayers
Sarah turned around, looked back into the dark.
“He’s there. The bug’s range would have to be at least four or five miles to make it effective.” Rakkim kept his eyes on the road, the headlights cutting a corridor through the night. He could sense her concern. “The bug gives us an advantage. We know he’s back there. He’ll follow us anywhere now…anywhere we take him.”
“This man who killed Marian…you’re sure that’s him behind us?”
Rakkim shrugged. “The Black Robes don’t go in for such sophisticated technology, and bounty hunters wouldn’t bother with a bug—they would have grabbed you back at the house. No…this guy is more interested in what you’re up to than killing you. Not yet, anyway. He doesn’t care about bringing you in. He wants to know where you’re going, who you’re meeting. That’s why he killed Marian and the others the way he did. He wanted you to know. To scare you. To make you do something stupid.”
“It worked, didn’t it? Going back to Marian’s was stupid.”
They drove on through the rain and into the badlands at the foot of the Cascade Mountains, a nest of narrow roads cut through the forest. A route for smugglers and illegal timber cutters, a dangerous detour for out-of-staters who took a wrong turn. He had taken this same road through the foothills when he’d left Redbeard�
��s last week, but he was headed deeper into the badlands now. Outlaw country. The last refuge for crazies and losers and malcontents with a million grudges. The abandoned ones. Only forty miles from downtown Seattle and the seat of government, the badlands were off the map, beyond the reach of God or man.
“There’s just one man following us? One man who did all those things?”
“He’s a Fedayeen assassin. They always work alone.”
“Like you.”
Rakkim glanced over at her, then back at the road.
“I’m just saying, there’s only one of him and one of you. So why are we running away?”
“I’m not going to go hand to hand with him, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“Okay.”
“I’m going to outsmart him.”
“I said, okay.”
“Are you disappointed? The flower of Islam refusing combat? It must shake your faith. I could call Redbeard, if you want. Ask him to send reinforcements.”
Sarah moved next to him, her face so close he could feel her warm breath. “Just kill him.”
“Assassinate the assassin?” Rakkim smiled. “What would that make me?” He couldn’t leave well enough alone. “You should have contacted me. You should have told me you needed to disappear.”
“I made a promise.” The only sound in the car was the beating of the rain and the slap of the wipers. “Did Redbeard tell you about the Old One? Is that how you knew what I was working on?”
“Redbeard would sooner share his left ventricle than share information. I didn’t need him.” Rakkim edged the car over, pines and cedar crowding the road, their roots cracking the pavement. “Once you open up a secret, it starts leaking out all over. There’s no way to stop it…unless you kill everybody even remotely connected to it.”
“Are you blaming me for Marian’s death? You don’t have to, I’ve already done it.”
“There’s enough blame to go around.”
The road took a hairpin turn, headlights flashing across a skeletal, burned-out truck at the bottom of the ravine. Rakkim relaxed his grip on the wheel, steering with his fingertips. The shocks on the car were lousy, the suspension mushy—it was all he could do to keep them on the road.
Sarah turned on the heater. Still broken. So was the defroster.
Rakkim wiped condensation off the inside of the windshield with the edge of his hand. Checked the rearview. “I’m surprised Redbeard didn’t put one of his own tracking devices in the watch he gave you.”
“He did. I had an electronics tech in the Zone remove it. Said it was Russian. Paid me a thousand dollars for it. Redbeard had to know what I had done, but he never mentioned it.”
“I brought the computer memory to a contact of mine. He pulled pieces of your book off it before the destruct-program was fully actualized.”
Sarah looked out the window.
“I know you want to believe the Zionist Betrayal was some monstrous historical fraud, but I think you’re wrong.”
“Then why is this assassin following us?”
“For the same reasons the Black Robes sent the bounty hunters after you. Redbeard has enemies and you’re a bargaining chip. The Old One is just another player.”
“You may be right.” Sarah stared straight ahead. “I just need to read through the journals. I’m only partway through the relevant volumes. With your help—”
“I could get us to Canada.” Rakkim watched the road. “We can switch cars and shake the assassin. Four or five days, depending on the weather and the patrols—”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
Rakkim glanced over at her, then back at the road. “You haven’t changed from the first day I met you. Five years old and you were already a troublemaker.”
Sarah laid her hand on his leg. “Let’s go get the journals. You know I like to read in bed.”
Rakkim gasped at the boldness of her touch. He checked the rearview mirror again to cover his arousal. “First things first.” Brave words from Sarah, but he could see her face by the dashboard lights, the strain showing as she stared out into the rain. She had never been out here before. Most city people hadn’t. Even the police avoided the badlands.
It had only been six months since Rakkim had seen her, but she looked older. It wasn’t just fatigue circling her eyes, it was recognition of the monsters that lurked out beyond the lights of home. For someone like Sarah, who prided herself on her logic and intellectual toughness, it had to be a shock to find out how insulated and privileged her previous life had been. Finding a friend murdered did that to you. Killing a man, and knowing you would do it again and it would be easier that second time…that was the ultimate wake-up. Sarah was learning. If they survived, she would be the better for it.
“Why are you slowing down?” Sarah asked.
Rakkim turned off the lights, but kept the car idling in the middle of the road. “If we’re not going to Canada, we’ll have to kill the assassin.”
A small mound of concrete was all that remained of a sign that had once announced Green Briar Estates, one of many outlying subdivisions built to house workers for Seattle. Affordable Muslim living in an unspoiled Muslim place. It hadn’t worked out at Green Briar, or any of the other remote housing developments. The moderns had fled the long commute, frightened by the surrounding forests and the growing lawlessness. The subdivisions had gone to rot and ruin, picture windows broken, chimneys crumbling, moss so thick on the walls you could stuff a pillow. Squatters had moved in, not caring that the power had been turned off. In fact, they would have cut the power lines and dynamited the water mains had they been working. The access road into the subdivision was blocked by dozens of felled trees. Green Briar existed now only in blueprints long since filed away.
“I don’t like this place,” said Sarah.
Rakkim flashed his headlights twice. Waited. Flashed them once again.
“We should go.” Sarah looked around. “The assassin…he’s going to catch up.”
“No, he stopped when we did. He doesn’t want to catch up. He doesn’t want us to know he’s back there. He wants to stay right where he is, lurking in the background. He enjoys being close, but choosing to stay back, holding our lives in his hand. It’s intoxicating for him. Better than sex. Our stopping here doesn’t make him think we’re onto him—he thinks we’re just exercising caution. He respects that. He’d become suspicious if we acted too trusting. It’s going to make killing us later all the sweeter for him.”
“You talk like you’re inside his head.”
Rakkim stroked her shoulder, felt her fear under the thin sweater. He didn’t blame her. The assassin’s head was filled with broken glass and tortured animals. Rakkim watched the woods on either side of the road. “That was him in the guard shack when we left. I was hoping to get a look at him, but he—”
“I talked to the guard. He didn’t seem—”
“The guard you talked to is dead. The assassin waved me through when I drove up, his face behind a newspaper. I was in a hurry…I didn’t think anything of it, but when you told me the car had picked up a bug at Marian’s, I knew it had to be him at the gate. I would have rammed the guard shack on the way out, but it had a concrete barrier.”
“Why would the assassin kill the guard? What would be the point?”
Rakkim smiled. After all that had happened to her in the last week, she still didn’t understand what they were up against. “I’ll be right back.” He opened his door, but remained in darkness. He had unscrewed the interior lightbulb. “They’re here.”
“Who?” Sarah saw them now. Three men had appeared out of the rain, stepped out of the night like ghosts. Phantoms in soggy wool clothes, their hair and beards long and matted. Phantoms armed with axes and machetes.
Rakkim showed the men his hands and got out of the car.
CHAPTER 30
After late-night prayers
“I should be going with you,” said Redbeard.
“I need you here, Thomas,
” said his brother. James tucked the latest progress reports into his gym bag, trying not to hurry. “I need you to look after Katherine and Sarah.”
“The best way to protect them is to keep you safe,” protested Redbeard, wanting to shake him, to make him understand. “Chicago is dangerous—”
“Every place is dangerous.” James added a wireless handheld, allergy pills, and his well-worn copy of the Holy Qur’an. The sun was bright through the bulletproof windows of Redbeard’s second-floor study, the villa’s undulating expanse of lawn impossibly green. James zipped the gym bag.
In the blue, nylon athletic suit, James looked just as he had at the Beijing Olympics, the gold medal around his neck as he declared his new faith to the cameras. One of the first of the high-profile converts, James’s hair was a mane of reddish blond, his goatee still downy as a youth’s. He was so handsome Redbeard had a hard time believing they were brothers. Redbeard was bulkier and more heavily muscled, a college wrestler, his full beard coarse. An ugly duckling, but James had never treated him that way, and Redbeard loved him all the more for it.
Redbeard stood with one hand in his pocket, fingering his prayer beads, the clicking of the amber beads muted. There was something he needed to remember, something nagging at him. He fingered the beads faster, trying to recall what it was.
“Don’t look so sad, little brother,” said James. “It makes you look like one of the pinch-faces in the Bible Belt.” James smiled. “You haven’t gotten that old-time religion, have you, Thomas?”
Redbeard grimaced. He didn’t have his brother’s sense of humor. Or his charm either. Few did. James Dougan was director of State Security, but he was as much of a politician as an intelligence chief, a moderate Muslim, devout, yet practical. In the chaos following the Zionist attacks, James had been the new Islamic president’s choice to head the agency. The fundamentalists had been opposed, but James had disarmed them with his wit, his popularity, and his adroit handling of the media. When those failed, Redbeard, his second-in-command, had been eager to step in. Redbeard had an eye for detail, the ferocity of a Kodiak bear, and was willing to lie to God himself if necessary.
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