Rakkim winced, doubled over.
“I’m the one who’s going to take your pain away.” Darwin moved in. “I’m the last face you’ll see. The last voice you’ll hear. That has to mean something.”
Rakkim sprang up at him, nicked his throat, and Darwin tumbled back against a pillar. Rakkim felt warmth along the back of his head as blood soaked his scalp.
“Almost fooled me.” Darwin leaned against the wooden pillar, pressed three fingers against the side of his throat. “Another inch and you would have done some damage.”
“Move your hand and let me see.”
Darwin smiled. “Come a little closer.”
Rakkim shook his head.
“You don’t look so good, Rikki. Maybe you should sit down and rest.”
Rakkim wobbled. He rolled the knife across his knuckles, almost dropped it.
“Are you afraid to die, Rakkim?” Darwin waited in vain for an answer. “I know about the baby. Are you sure it’s yours?” He was pressing so hard against his neck his fingers were white, but still utterly alert. Knife poised. “Fatherhood…such a false refuge. Children suck the life out of a man. You can see the future in their greedy eyes.”
“It’s…it’s the only future we have.” Rakkim watched him.
“I’ll tell Sarah you said that when I slice the baby out of her…” Darwin heard the distant ringing of the streetcar, distracted for an instant. “I’ll tell her—”
Rakkim hurled the knife into Darwin’s open mouth. Pinned him to the pillar.
Darwin thrashed against the beam, the knife cutting into his brain stem. A gush of blood as he tried to speak. Eyes wide. Lips working against the hilt of the knife.
Rakkim stood over him. Watched him die. Darwin’s eyes seemed to flare one last time before going blank, and Rakkim’s gaze never left him. Wanting to make sure. When Darwin stopped moving, he tore the knife from his mouth.
Darwin slid slowly down the pillar, left a smear on the wood.
Rakkim wiped the knife clean on Darwin’s tunic. He was dizzy now, bleeding from a dozen places, but he had spray-stitch in his robe. He would heal. He would survive. In a few days…a week at most, he would be well enough to return to the Grand Mosque. Well enough to kill Ibn Azziz. Well enough to return home to Sarah.
Rakkim looked down at Darwin’s body. The Holy Qur’an taught that two angels hovered around each believer. One angel sat on his right shoulder recording his good deeds; another angel sat on his left recording his evil acts. Rakkim had never felt the weight of either. Not once in his life. Now, however…perhaps it was blood loss…a smile creased his face at that thought…now, for the first time, Rakkim felt the flutter of wings, felt the softest touch against his right shoulder, enfolding him now in a feathery, loving embrace. His surprise…his surprise was exceeded only by his joy.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I would like to acknowledge my debt to Simone de Beauvoir, author, philosopher, and atheist, in the inception of this book. When asked by a journalist how it felt to have created a body of work that negated the existence of God, de Beauvoir responded, “One can abolish water, but one can not abolish thirst.” I wrestled with this insight of hers for many years, and hope this book is worthy of the struggle.
The following websites in particular provided background information used in the writing of this novel:
www.askimam.com
www.islam.com
www.techcentralstation.com
www.virturallyislamic.blogspot.com
www.memri.org
www.islamworld.net
In addition, Tactics of the Crescent Moon: Militant Muslim Combat Methods (Posterity Press) by H. John Poole, Michael Scott Doran’s article “The Saudi Paradox” in the January/February 2004 issue of Foreign Affairs, and Abdul Hadi Palazzi’s article “The Islamists Have It Wrong” from the Middle East Quarterly, Summer 2001, provided me with useful points of view.
My thanks to Colin Harrison, my editor and a man of many questions, for making the book richer and for not letting me blow the ending.
I am grateful to my agent Mary Evans for her strength and character.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
ROBERT FERRIGNO is the author of eight previous novels, including The Wake-Up, Scavenger Hunt, Flinch, and the bestselling The Horse Latitudes. He lives with his family in the Pacific Northwest.
CONTENTS
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
CHAPTER 27
CHAPTER 28
CHAPTER 29
CHAPTER 30
CHAPTER 31
CHAPTER 32
CHAPTER 33
CHAPTER 34
CHAPTER 35
CHAPTER 36
CHAPTER 37
CHAPTER 38
CHAPTER 39
CHAPTER 40
CHAPTER 41
CHAPTER 42
CHAPTER 43
CHAPTER 44
CHAPTER 45
CHAPTER 46
CHAPTER 47
CHAPTER 48
CHAPTER 49
CHAPTER 50
CHAPTER 51
CHAPTER 52
CHAPTER 53
CHAPTER 54
CHAPTER 55
CHAPTER 56
CHAPTER 57
CHAPTER 58
CHAPTER 59
CHAPTER 60
CHAPTER 61
CHAPTER 62
EPILOGUE
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Prayers for the Assassin Page 46