Prayers for the Assassin

by Robert Ferrigno

  “I don’t know.”

  “You’re restless.”

  Rakkim exchanged glasses with a passing waiter, used the opportunity to scan the room. “I feel like we’re being watched.”

  “I’m sure we are being watched. That’s why people come to embassy parties: to look at other people and try to figure out what they’re really up to.”

  “I don’t mean like that.”

  “Well…we won’t stay long then.” Sarah felt the Chinese medallion tucked into a pocket of the gown. “Rakkim…when you promised Fancy’s girlfriend that you would kill Darwin, you were just saying that, weren’t you?”

  Rakkim nodded as he took in the room.

  “You were just making sure she would give us the medallion?”

  “I’ve already told you that,” said Rakkim.

  Sarah stared at him and couldn’t decide if he was telling the truth. “Dance with me.”

  “Living dangerously, are we?”

  “No.” Sarah took him by the hand, led him through the crowd. “I spotted the Chinese ambassador dancing with one of his concubines. The old letch has been giving me the eye since I was fourteen.”

  A tray of tiny curried eels passed by at eye level, and Rakkim wished he could join them curled on their beds of ice.

  Anthony Colarusso sat at the kitchen table in his boxers, slathering peanut butter onto white bread and wishing that Marie had stocked up before she’d left. The knife banged against the glass sides of the jar. Almost out. He had been living on peanut butter sandwiches and takeout ever since she and the kids had gone into hiding. The bread tore under his rough handling and he shook his head. Should have heated the peanut butter in the microwave, but he was no cook.

  “Toast the bread, Pop, you won’t have that problem.”

  Colarusso jumped up, knocked the chair over.

  Anthony Jr. stood in the doorway from the cellar, laughing.

  Colarusso ran to him, smacked him a couple times while the kid pretended to be hurt. “Trying to give me a heart attack, you little shit?”

  Anthony Jr. put him in a bear hug, lifted him off the ground. Colarusso outweighed his son by eighty pounds, but the kid swung him around as if the beefy detective were one of those ballet dancers with the short skirts.

  “Put me down!” Colarusso stood there in his polka-dot boxers, hands on his hips. “How did you get past Ames and Frank?” He picked his police-issue off the counter, thumbed the safety as he peeked out the kitchen window. “They’re supposed to be watching the place.”

  “Come on, Pop, I’ve been sneaking in and out of this house since I was twelve. Couple of uniforms aren’t going to spot me.” Anthony Jr. sat at the table, ran a finger around the rim of the peanut butter jar, and put it in his mouth. “Couple of uniforms aren’t going to spot the guy who came to our front door either. Even if they do, they’re not going to stop him.”

  Colarusso stayed standing. “You’re supposed to be with your mother and sisters.”

  “Eight days with Cousin Charlotte was like eighty years in purgatory. She’s even a worse cook than Mom, and all she does all day is knit sweaters for dolls.” Anthony Jr. dipped into the peanut butter again. “They’re safe, don’t worry. A Christmas card once a year isn’t much of a connection to follow. Besides, this guy at the door, it was you he wanted.”

  Colarusso hefted the pistol. “Well, I’m here if he wants to come knocking again.”

  Anthony Jr. looked up at him. “I’m here too, Pop.”

  “You’ve been taking dance lessons, Ambassador,” purred Sarah.

  “No, but I have lost a little weight,” said Lao, the Chinese ambassador, dipping her, using the occasion to lightly bump bellies. A short, round, middle-aged man in traditional garb, silk slippers on his feet. A player almost since the changeover, Lao was a deadly trade negotiator for one of the two current superpowers. Only the Russian ambassador carried as much heft in the capital, and he had been called back to Moscow. “I believe it’s changed my center of gravity for the better.”

  “Yes, I can definitely tell.”

  “I was a bit surprised to see you here tonight with Soliman.” The mascara didn’t make Lao’s eyes any less piercing. “A nice boy, but I thought you had sent him on his way.”

  Sarah smiled. “We’re just good friends.”

  “Of course, you are.” Lao nodded toward where Rakkim hung on the periphery. “I see Redbeard sent along a bodyguard. It’s really not necessary. One of the many delights of the Swiss embassy parties is the minimal need for security. We all have an interest in maintaining a place for civilized pleasures without the petty concerns of state.”

  “I’ll remember that next time, Ambassador, but you know my uncle. Nothing is more dangerous than a place of safety.”

  “Does he insist you take your bodyguard to your soft, warm bed?” Lao laughed at his wit, eyes glittering. “Forgive me, Sarah. Chinese women are bold, and I forget the sensibilities of Islamic women.”

  “Eighteen years in the capital and you forget?” Sarah gently chided him. “You’re a naughty boy, Ambassador.”

  “Getting more naughty every year,” said Lao, spinning her faster. The light caught the sheen of sweat on his forehead. He smelled like lilacs. He slipped a fan out of a voluminous sleeve, waved it rapidly. “I do believe that Ambassador Kuhn has turned up the euphoria mist. I feel positively giddy.”

  Sarah was grateful for the break in the music and strolled over to a quiet corner of the ballroom. “I have a favor to ask.”

  Lao’s flirtatiousness was gone.

  “I have a piece of jewelry I want to show you. A medallion from your own country. A small-town piece honoring the yearly plum festival.” Sarah laid the medallion in his hand.

  Lao looked it over, shrugged. “It’s of no value. No apparent value.”

  “I’m trying to find out what village it came from.”

  Lao slipped the fan back into his sleeve, showed her a hard smile. “I’m a city boy.”

  “I’d like you to keep the medallion,” Sarah said, closer now. “When you find out the village it came from, I think you should have the authorities start a search. There’s something in the vicinity of the village…something of great interest to all of us.”

  Lao waved the fan, covering his mouth. “What exactly am I looking for?”

  Sarah closed his hand around the medallion. “Radiation.”

  CHAPTER 58

  Before noon prayers

  Rakkim woke up, rolled into a fighting stance.

  Sarah closed the door behind her, swept into the room wearing a dark blue chador. “I didn’t want to wake you when I left.” She looked proud of herself for slipping out so quietly. She deserved to be.

  They had taken a circuitous route back to the warehouse after the embassy affair. Rakkim was still certain that they had been watched at the party, but he was just as certain that they hadn’t been followed. Still exhilarated by the euphoria mist, they had made love for hours, tearing at each other, more interested in friction and heat than intimacy. She had dozed off afterward, but he had lain awake thinking of Mardi. She had disappeared from the Blue Moon two weeks ago, just as he had told her to do. Her cell was not in service, which was smart. She had done everything right. He hoped it was enough. Tired now, the bed warm and Sarah curled beside him, he had fallen asleep as the call to dawn prayers had echoed down the cobblestones. And dreamed of Mardi and Darwin nuzzling and sharing drinks at the Blue Moon while Rakkim struggled to make himself heard.

  “You look so happy,” said Rakkim. “Did you call the Chinese embassy?”

  “Ambassador Lao is unavailable, which isn’t surprising. Even if they recognize where the medallion came from, it will take a while to search the area.” Sarah took off her head scarf, tossed aside her robe. She had a sheer slip on underneath, her nipples puckering the silk. “That’s not why I’m happy. I went to mosque and accessed the Devout Homemaker site. My mother left me a message.” Her cheeks flushed as she sa
t on the bed. “We’re meeting her this afternoon. She wants you there too.” Sarah played with the sheets. “I can hardly wait. I mean, I’m afraid too, but…it’s been so long.”

  “Where are we supposed to meet her?”

  Sarah lay beside him and cocked her leg across him. “I don’t know…but you do.” She kissed him, her face cold from being outside. “My mother must have found out that we’re together. Remind your companion to put his best foot forward. Must be code. She wanted to make sure I wasn’t a poacher.” Sarah’s head was on the pillow beside him as she slid her hand under the sheets. “Do you know what that means?”

  Rakkim felt as if he had stepped off the edge of the world. “I think so.”

  Ibn Azziz lay back as the hypodermic needle penetrated the infected abscess under his ruined left eye. The pain was incandescent. He felt warm fluid draining down his cheek, smelled the stink of rotting tissue, and for the thousandth time he silently cursed Redbeard’s housekeeper for what she had done to him. His hands clenched, but not a sound escaped his lips.

  The doctor started trimming away the dead flesh around the raw socket. The last thing that eye had seen before the old hag had clawed it to jelly was her determined face as his bodyguards stabbed her again and again. He wished he hadn’t given her body back. He should have heaved her into the sewer or left her in a cornfield for the ravens to pick at. He had been merciful to one who didn’t deserve mercy. Never again. Ibn Azziz had been in touch with the ayatollahs in San Francisco and Denver, two of the most devout cities in the country. They were ready to follow his commands at a moment’s notice.

  His good eye blinked rapidly, uncontrollably, tearing as the doctor began to drain another abscess, a deeper pocket under his nostrils that went almost to the bone. The pain rolled through him like a great tide pulled from the sea by the moon. If there was one great gift Allah had given Ibn Azziz, it was the ability to bear suffering. It wasn’t that he didn’t feel the pain, it was that he knew pain was a road to Paradise. Ibn Azziz hissed as the doctor applied antiseptic, lips fluttering with ecstasy.

  Rakkim pushed open the door to the barbershop, held it open for Sarah. He had walked past the storefront five minutes earlier, glanced inside to make sure that Elroy was in back.

  “Haircut?” said one of the barbers, looking up from his magazine.

  Rakkim jabbed a thumb toward the shoeshine stand. “Need to put my best foot forward.”

  “Wondered if you were going to figure it out,” said Elroy as Rakkim sat down in the chair, put his feet up. Elroy pulled brushes and polish out of his kit, still grumbling. “I told Spider he’d have to give you more hints.”

  Sarah sat beside Elroy. “Where is she?”

  “Nice to meet you too.” Elroy smeared black polish on Rakkim’s boots, worked it in. “Okay, I give up, you clouded my mind with your beauty. She’s in the parlor with Professor Plum.”

  “Clue?” Sarah laughed. “How do you know about Clue?”

  “Clue, Scrabble, Risk, Big Business, Candyland—we play all the old games in my family.” A brush in each hand, Elroy smacked Rakkim’s boots in a steady rhythm. “I could bankrupt your ass in Monopoly in less than an hour. Guaranteed. I’ll play you for a hundred dollars, real money, and spot you both utilities.”

  Rakkim had no idea what they were talking about.

  Sarah sat back and let Elroy continue.

  Rakkim watched the brushes fly. “Your family’s all right?”

  “I’m sharing a room with four brothers instead of two. Refrigerator keeps cutting out. The computers are up and running, that’s all that matters. That…and we’re together. We’re safe.” Elroy leaned back, examined his work. The boots were obsidian bright.

  Rakkim gave him a twenty. “They look great.”

  “Twenty bucks? Sucker.” Elroy tucked the bill away. “There’s a fix-it store around the corner,” he said quietly. “It’s closed, but if you go down the alley, Spider will let you in. She’s there too.” He eyed Sarah. “You look like her. Some people get all the luck.”

  “Thank you.” Sarah kissed Elroy on the cheek. “The utilities? Worst properties on the board. I’ll spot you the utilities, if you give me the three light blues. I’ll even let you land there rent-free twice.”

  “No deal, lady.” Elroy nodded at Rakkim. “Thanks for letting me meet the brains of the outfit, tough guy.”

  Rakkim and Sarah went out the back of the barbershop and started down the alley. A few abandoned cars, windows broken out. Boarded-up buildings. Dog shit and graffiti and soggy cardboard boxes. Typical rundown Catholic neighborhood.

  “I like him,” said Sarah.

  “He likes you too.” Rakkim heard a faint tapping and turned around. Looking. As though he had dropped something. They weren’t being followed. A door at the rear of the fix-it shop opened and Sarah stepped inside. Rakkim backed in, taking one more look outside, and the door closed behind him.

  Spider shook his hand. A gnome in the dimness of the shop, his curly hair under a watch cap, his smile nearly hidden by his full beard. Nearly.

  “I want to see my mother,” said Sarah.

  Spider opened another door, a door to a small workroom. She was standing inside, waiting. Katherine Dougan. Older than the pictures of her that Rakkim had seen, and she had clearly spent a lot of time outdoors, but definitely her.

  For all her prior eagerness, Sarah just stood there, staring back at her mother. Neither of them moved. Finally Sarah took a small step and her mother rushed toward her, held her, the two of them crying now, hanging on to each other, tears streaming down their faces.

  Rakkim turned to Spider, who shrugged, embarrassed.

  Katherine held Sarah back, taking a good look at her, staring at her hair, her face, her body, taking in her height, her skin, drinking her up.

  Sarah laughed. Did a slow pirouette.

  Katherine hugged her again, the two of them sobbing. They still hadn’t said a word.

  Rakkim looked around the workroom. It was grimy, but a new Chinese laptop with a couple of satellite nodules was poking out of a case. Straight-off-the-shelf legal in Las Vegas, but a major felony in the Islamic Republic. Ten years minimum. If you gave up your source. A whisker-thin monitor taped to the wall showed eight camera views. Two of the alley in both directions, two of the street the same way. The other four views were from high up, showing a panoramic view of the whole sector. If anyone was coming that didn’t belong, Spider would have plenty of time to get them all out of here.

  “How did you find her?” Rakkim asked Spider.

  Spider’s right eye twitched. “How long has Redbeard been looking for her? And that other one…how long has he been looking for her? Twenty years?” Spider’s mouth jerked with pleasure. “It took me three weeks. Not that I didn’t have some advantages.” He glanced over at Katherine and Sarah. They were talking quietly now, their hands still on each other, as though if they broke contact, one of them would disappear.

  “Was she in Seattle the whole time?” said Rakkim. “I can’t believe—”

  “Don’t be an idiot.” Spider checked the surveillance monitor every six seconds as if he had a chronograph inside his head. “She was in a safe spot. I have to give her credit. If she hadn’t communicated with Sarah, I doubt that she would have ever been found.”

  “You tracked her through her uplink? You told me she was bouncing all over the world.”

  Spider smiled. Way too many teeth. “It was impossible to track the call she made to Sarah at the Mecca Café, but I did some backtracking. I pulled the accounts of every business in the vicinity of the café, spreading out in concentric rings. It took a while, but I got a pattern of contacts between them going back over a year. I did some logarithmic analysis…” He looked pained. “I’ll try to keep it simple. The signals were bouncing all over the globe, but they all started at a certain satellite. Except there was no satellite at the point of origin. What I finally realized is that the satellite used for the original uplink wa
s an old regime satellite in a highly degraded orbit. No one uses that satellite anymore. Once I figured that out…well, it was just a matter of research and triangulation.”

  “You did all this while you were escaping from the Black Robes?”

  “I intimidate you, don’t I?” said Spider.

  “A little.”

  “Shall I make you feel worse?” Spider shifted his eyes, checked his screens. Rakkim barely noticed anymore. “Elroy is smarter than I am. I can barely keep up with him. I’ve got a seven-year-old daughter…in a few years, she’s going to put Elroy in his place.”

  “Benjamin?”

  “Yes, Katherine,” said Spider.

  Rakkim stared at Spider. He had never heard the man’s given name used before.

  “Show them, please,” said Katherine.

  Spider touched a key on the laptop. They huddled around him.

  On-screen there was a flicker of gray, then the image of a man sitting in a chair. “My name is Richard Aaron Goldberg.” One of the most recognized faces in the world, the Zionist team leader who had planted the nuclear bomb that had devastated New York City. His digital confession familiar to every schoolchild, a digital played endlessly on the anniversary of the attack. “Eleven days ago, my team—”

  “No, no, no. Your body language is wrong. How many times must we go over this? You have to maintain a back arch. And jiggle your leg slightly. You’re under duress, remember? Try it again.”

  “That voice…is that Macmillan?” said Rakkim.

  “My name is Richard Aaron Goldberg. Eleven days ago—”

  “You’re not maintaining pupil consistency. It doesn’t matter if they’re slightly dilated or not, what matters is consistency. It’s the change in size that denotes a lie.” A spindly man with thick glasses stepped into the frame, placed a hand on Goldberg’s diaphragm. “Use the breathing techniques I taught you.” He backed out of view.