“We’ll pay for the funeral,” said Sarah. “No strings.”
Jeri Lynn didn’t react.
“Did Fancy own a necklace from when she was a little girl?” said Sarah. “A small, round medallion with Chinese characters on it?”
“What do you want that thing for?” said Jeri Lynn. “It’s not worth nothing, except to Fancy.”
“Could I please see it?” said Sarah.
“It’s not for sale, I don’t care how much money you got. Fancy’s going to be buried in her favorite dress. In her favorite shoes. She’s going to be buried with her hair fixed just right, and her makeup perfect…and with that medallion around her neck.”
“That medallion is part of an investigation,” said Sarah. “That medallion—”
“What are you, cops? The cops are the ones who killed her.”
“Cops didn’t kill her,” said Rakkim.
Jeri Lynn stared at him.
“His name is Darwin,” said Rakkim. “I saw him do it. I tried to help, but—”
“The police shot Rakkim,” said Sarah. “He almost died.”
“Why did this Darwin do it?” Jeri Lynn’s face was flushed.
“That’s what he does,” said Rakkim.
“Could we please see the medallion?” asked Sarah. “Help us, Jeri Lynn.”
“Jeri Lynn!” Cameron stuck his dripping head out of the bathroom door. “Can I have some clothes, please?”
Jeri Lynn got up with a sigh, walked down the hall toward the bathroom.
“We know the medallion is here,” Rakkim said to Sarah. “At a certain point we have to stop asking.”
Sarah placed a small pile of $100 bills in the wooden bowl. “We’re not at that point yet.”
“You’re the one who thinks the medallion is the answer to all our prayers.”
“I said not yet.”
“I was remembering when we first met, Maurice,” said Redbeard. “You were adjutant to General Sinclair. I saw this tall African with the bearing of a king and wondered if you’d last a year with all the officers arrayed against you. The things they said behind your back…”
“It couldn’t have been worse than the things they said to my face,” said General Kidd.
Redbeard had shown up unbidden and unannounced at the small conservative mosque, the only white face among the Somali worshipers. He and General Kidd now sat cross-legged on rugs spread under a wisteria tree, eating dates and sipping strong, sweetened coffee that Kidd’s youngest wife brought them. No bodyguards in sight. None needed.
“We’ve seen a lot of history.” Redbeard spat out a date seed. “You and I sailed some dangerous waters together, yet I feel the worst of our voyage still lies ahead.”
“The nation has gone off course, Thomas.” Kidd blew across his cup. “We were to be a light upon the world. Now, we might as well be kaffirs, the way the young people behave. They are soft and given to indolence and idolatry.”
“The young should be given time to find the way.”
“The young should be instructed in the way.”
Redbeard slurped his coffee. “Would you want Ibn Azziz to do the instructing?”
Kidd popped a fat date into his mouth, chewed slowly. “I heard you had a death in the family. The men responsible…they are dead?”
“The men who stole her from outside her mosque are dead. Killed by the man who sent them before I could find them. As if I needed to question them to know who was responsible.” Redbeard tore at his beard. “Allah has given you a choice. You can keep your oath and stand beside your president, or you can become the sword of a mullah who abducts and murders devout women. A mullah who takes refuge in the Grand Mosque with a hundred bodyguards. Is the protection of Allah not enough for him?”
Kidd’s face was a mask, but his eyes betrayed his turmoil. “I love President Kingsley as my own father, but he is old. He is dying.”
“We’re all dying, Maurice.”
“Did you come to tell me that, old friend?”
Redbeard reached into the basket of sweets, smiled. “I came for the dates.”
Rakkim had just finished checking the street again when Jeri Lynn came back. She was carrying a small, red enamel box.
“God bless you,” said Sarah.
“Don’t get excited yet.” Jeri Lynn sat down beside Sarah, opened the box. “Fancy said her daddy give this to her when he came back from China that last time.” Jeri Lynn took it out of the box, dangled it by the black woven-fiber cord, the beaten-copper amulet decorated with Chinese ideograms. The amulet slowly turned as she held it up. “Fancy said she didn’t take it off for years, called it her good-luck charm, but then I guess her luck turned. She was older then and it made the skin underneath flake off, and things went downhill from there. She said she thought it was a judgment from Allah, because of the way she was living, so she put it away for safekeeping. I used to see her wearing it sometimes, looking in the mirror and smiling.” Jeri Lynn tucked it back in the box. “It’s not much to look at, but Fancy loved this necklace.”
Sarah made no move to take the box.
Jeri Lynn replaced the lid. She looked at Rakkim. “Cameron told me some things about you. He said he saw you kill a man with your bare hands. Said he never seen anything like it. I want your promise. I want you to promise that if I give you this medallion, you’re going to find this Darwin. You’re going to find him and you’re going to kill him.”
“It could take a while,” said Rakkim.
“Just promise that you’ll do it. I’m not asking for a schedule.”
“I promise.”
Jeri Lynn turned to Sarah beside her. “Can I trust him to keep his word? Fancy never had much luck with men, and I had even less.”
Sarah stared at Rakkim. She was thinking about what he had told her about the assassin. That he had no chance against him. “I trust him.”
Jeri Lynn handed her the case. “I hope this does what you think it will.”
Sarah tucked the box away.
“I don’t know if it makes a difference to you, but I would have killed Darwin anyway,” Rakkim said to Jeri Lynn. “I would have killed him for Fancy and a few others he’s butchered. I made up my mind about that a long time ago.”
Cameron wandered out from the back of the house. His hair was combed. He was wearing clean pants and a frayed L.A. Ramadan 2035 T-shirt. He sat in Jeri Lynn’s lap and didn’t even look embarrassed. “You sure I can stay?”
“Long as you want, baby.” Jeri Lynn put her arms around him, but kept her eyes on Rakkim. “You keep your promise, and if you can make this Darwin suffer, that’s all the better. Make it hurt. Make him howl so loud the demons in hell will know he’s on the way.”
CHAPTER 56
Before noon prayers
“You said we were to meet tomorrow,” said Professor Wu. He looked from Sarah to Rakkim, unsettled by the lack of harmony a broken engagement engendered. “We were to meet at the King Street Café, not here. Not at my home. We were to have dim sum, Sarah, and—”
“Could we come in, Professor?” said Rakkim. “I’d rather not stand out in the cold.”
Wu glanced at Sarah, disappointed, although she wasn’t sure if he was annoyed at their unannounced arrival or at Rakkim’s interruption of him. Wu backed away, waved them inside. “Please.” He led them into a small, sparsely furnished living room, moving slowly. The bare spot at the back of his head had expanded in the years since she had last seen him and now encompassed most of his liver-spotted skull. He waited for them to sit on the clean but threadbare sofa, then excused himself, said he had to retrieve the photos of the medallion that they had onlined him.
Rakkim and Sarah had driven straight through from Southern California, keeping to the main roads, lost in the traffic. According to a jeweler in Long Beach, Fancy’s medallion was slightly radioactive. Not enough to pose a danger, but still more proof of its connection to the planting of the fourth nuke. The trip had been uneventful, except for a multicar acciden
t in the Bay Area that threatened to detour them into San Francisco, a rabid fundamentalist stronghold. Terrible place, the old Golden Gate Bridge renamed for an Afghan warlord and decorated with the skulls of homosexuals purged after the transition. A section of the bridge had collapsed two weeks ago. Zionists or witches blamed. Any cars entering the city would be searched. Cells with picture capability or Web access would be confiscated, women dressed immodestly beaten. If Rakkim and Sarah’s forged marriage papers had been questioned, they would have been arrested for suspicion of fornication, and worse.
It had been raining in Seattle for the last five days, a cold, steady downpour that drove people off the streets and sent cars sliding into ditches. Sarah missed the heat and freedom of Southern California, but it was still good to be home. Or what passed for home. A warehouse in the industrial section south of the Sheik Ali Mosque. Another one of Rakkim’s hiding spots. Three days ago she had sent photos of the medallion to Wu, a Chinese scholar dismissed a few years ago during a bout of campus politics.
Wu shuffled back into the living room, slowly lowered himself into a reading chair. His fingers curled against the leather arms of the chair. His neck was so thin it could barely support his head. “Tuesday is the best day for dim sum at the King Street Café,” he said, Adam’s apple bobbling. “Madam Chen is only able to work one day a week, but her spring rolls with black mushroom are still the best in the city.”
“Perhaps next time,” said Sarah.
Wu had a laugh like the bark of a seal. He looked at Rakkim. “A brilliant student, but she seemed to delight in flaunting proper procedure. Always going her own way.”
“I’m shocked,” said Rakkim.
Another laugh from Wu, and then his expression slumped. “I’m sorry to disappoint you, Professor Dougan, but I am unable to help you determine the origin of the medallion. There are tens of thousands of small villages in China, and each one of them takes pride in minting their own medallion to celebrate the yearly plum festival.”
“No apology necessary,” said Sarah, trying to hide her disappointment. “I didn’t realize the enormity of the request.”
Wu clung to the arms of the reading chair. “I did what I could. The medallion commemorated the 2015 plum festival, the year of the sheep. The workmanship is crude, but that’s part of its charm to collectors. I assume that’s where you got it?”
“Yes,” said Sarah.
“The collector had no idea what village it came from?”
“No,” said Sarah.
Wu nodded. “The slogans on your medallion, longevity and prosperity, are a common hallmark of such items, I’m afraid. From the style of the ideograms, I would guess that it came from Sandouping, Yichang, or perhaps the Hubei province, but again, that is a lot of ground. China is vast.” He lowered his eyes. “I deeply apologize.”
Sarah clasped her hands in gratitude. Those three areas were all in the vicinity of the Three Gorges Dam, and the date, 2015, was the year the other bombs had been detonated. She stood up, bowed. “Professor, we appreciate your help.”
“Very little help.” Wu struggled to get to his feet. “A retired professor enjoys nothing more than to be called upon by a favorite pupil.” His eyes sparkled. “Other than sharing lunch with her and her companion.”
Rakkim helped him up. “Thank you again, sir.”
“I wish you could have waited,” said Wu, walking them to the door. “I still haven’t heard from Master Zhao.”
Rakkim stopped. “You forwarded the photos of the medallion?”
“Of course. When I realized my own poor knowledge was insufficient—”
“We asked you not to do that, Professor.” Sarah felt Rakkim’s tension, his eagerness to leave. He had been the one who had insisted they drop in on Wu unannounced.
“I thought…well, often collectors have been known to import historical objects without permission, but this is of such recent origin…” Wu looked from one to the other. “I was trying to help.”
“How many people did you send the photos to?” said Rakkim.
“Six.” Wu grimaced. “Including my son, Harry Wu, adjunct professor at the University of Chicago, who could not be bothered.” He caught himself. “I hope I have not caused a problem. Master Zhao may still be of use to you. He is quite knowledgeable.”
“There is no problem at all, Professor,” said Sarah. “May you be well.”
Rakkim lightly clasped Wu’s hand, felt the man tremble. “Professor, Sarah and I would like to invite you for dim sum a month from now. The fourteenth. That’s a Tuesday too.” Rakkim smiled. “We’ll see if Madam Chen’s spring rolls are as good as you say. We’ll meet you at the King Street Café at one P.M. on the fourteenth.”
“Wonderful!” said Wu, beaming. “I’ll bring my appetite, if you bring yours.”
The two of them were driving away before Sarah spoke. “I doubt that the six people Wu contacted will be in touch with the Old One.”
“They don’t need to. The Old One probably has all kinds of triggers scattered throughout the academic world. Computers, databases…A keyword in a query, that’s all it takes.”
Sarah cursed quietly, then stopped. “That’s why you made the lunch date.”
Rakkim nodded. “This way, if Darwin comes calling, he’ll want to keep the professor alive.” He checked the rearview. “If things go right, by next month the Old One will have other priorities.”
“Thank you, Rikki.”
“Yeah.”
“There’s another way we can find out what village the medallion came from. You’re not going to like it though.”
Rakkim laughed. “Why, is it dangerous?”
Her eyes were bright. “Worse.”
CHAPTER 57
After sunset prayers
“Ambassador, may I present Sarah Dougan and her escort, Rakkim Epps,” said Soliman bin-Saud.
Ambassador Kuhn nodded to Sarah, then Rakkim. “Welcome to our tiny bit of Switzerland.” He was a short, round man with an upward-curling, waxed mustache and watery blue eyes. An ornate red jacket with gold piping and full-cut black trousers gave him the appearance of an overfed bird. He gave a wan smile to bin-Saud. “A pleasure to see you, Soliman. Pity your esteemed father could not join us.”
Bin-Saud plucked a canapé from a tray offered by a liveried waiter, nibbled at foie gras wrapped in rose petals. Bin-Saud was a handsome Arab with a perfumed, square-cut beard, dark eyes, and lips that were too soft. “Matters of state called. I’m sure you understand.” He took another canapé from the hovering waiter, offered it to Sarah, holding it just above her lips. “You must try it, darling.”
Sarah took one from the tray. “Ummm, it is good. Rakkim?”
Rakkim waved the waiter away.
“Forgive my guest’s impertinence, Ambassador,” said bin-Saud. “Mr. Epps is Fedayeen, and as you know, they are creatures of simple pleasures.”
“Oh, my, yes, fearsome beasts from what I’ve heard.” The ambassador studied Rakkim. “Can you really kill a man with one finger?”
Rakkim reached out too quickly for the ambassador to react, twisted the left tip of his mustache. “There, that’s better.”
The ambassador stepped back, eyes wide. “Come…come with me, Soliman. You really should sample the hummingbird in aspic.” Kuhn nodded to Sarah and Rakkim. “Please enjoy yourselves.”
Sarah watched the ambassador and Soliman make their way across the room. The ambassador glanced back once, hurried on. She pretended she hadn’t enjoyed what Rakkim had done.
The party was crowded with perhaps three hundred guests, laughing and eating and drinking, ambassadors and diplomatic staff from almost every embassy in the capital of Seattle. Nigerians and East Africans in a blaze of color, Brazilians and Argentineans in Western formal attire, Swedes and Norwegians, and Australians, some Sarah recognized from past events she had attended with Redbeard, but plenty of new faces. Though they had no formal diplomatic relations, there was even a representative from the Bib
le Belt, an older man with a mane of gray hair, wearing a black frock coat like a country preacher.
“Soliman looked happy to see you tonight,” said Rakkim. “You don’t meet many Saudis who kiss ladies on the hand. And so elegant. How many pounds of emeralds do you think were sewn into the hem of his robe?”
A waiter offered alcoholic and nonalcoholic champagne. Sarah opted for non. He didn’t.
“Soliman did me a favor inviting us to come here tonight,” said Sarah, sipping her drink. The bubbles tickled. “When his father finds out, he’ll get in trouble, because his father thinks the Swiss are libertines. Besides, would you rather we went to Redbeard for help?”
“I just don’t like him.”
“That’s okay, he doesn’t like you either.”
Bin-Saud’s father was right about the Swiss: they were libertines. Decadent and agnostic and rich beyond counting. Strictly neutral for the last six hundred years, they dealt with every government regardless of politics or religion, and they made money from them all. The Swiss had no allies, no enemies—they only had clients. A string quartet played Mozart, making sure that no one’s sensibilities would be offended. The party featured trays of crab and prawns and caviar for the Chinese and Russians and South Americans, trays of halal delicacies for the faithful. Everyone got to partake of the euphoria generators in the air-conditioning, the microscopic mist of neurotransmitters and pheromones, a boon to relaxation and feelings of intimacy.
Sarah felt a little lightheaded. Her bare shoulders tingled and she could feel every inch of the body-hugging formal dress she had bought today in the modern district. She wished she and Rakkim were someplace alone. “What is it, Rikki?”
Prayers for the Assassin Page 40