Sins of the Assassin

by Robert Ferrigno

  “If you believe me, you best put away the gun. One of us could get hurt.”

  Moseby slid the sawed-off back into his jacket. “You should go back where you came from. There’s nothing for you here.”

  “You like living in the Belt, John?”

  “It’s my home now.”

  “Met a lot of good people here myself. Lot of sick, twisted fucks too, but you find that anywhere. You wouldn’t believe New Fallujah now—I’ve seen slaughterhouses with better ambience.” Rakkim drummed on the wheel, not sure if he even knew what the word ambience meant. “Yeah, I like the Belt.”

  “What do you want from me, Rikki?”

  “You know what I want.”

  “I’m not going to put some black ice into the hands of the republic.”

  “You’d rather put it into the hands of the Colonel?”

  “The Colonel’s a good man.”

  “I know. I’ve met him.” Rakkim let that sink in. “You give the weapon to the Colonel, though, you’re giving it to Gravenholtz too. Maybe that’s what you want. After all, he was so kind to your family. Me, all I did was get them out of harm’s way.”

  Moseby didn’t answer.

  Rakkim inhaled. The logging truck smelled of rust and mildewed leather and cracked plastic. He pumped the brakes, his foot thudding on the floorboard. “What if the weapon didn’t end up back in the republic?”

  Moseby shook his head. “Once something like that’s been found, you can’t just make it disappear.”

  “I’m not talking about that.” Rakkim picked up two pinecones off the seat, held one up. “You’ve got the republic. Kingsley’s not going to live forever, and even if he did, the country—what’s left of it, anyway—is just one step ahead of a fundamentalist takeover.” He held up the other pinecone. “Then there’s the Belt, which, other than a few pockets of affluence, is a backwater dumping ground, owned and operated by foreign corporations.” He tossed both pinecones out the window. “Neither the Belt nor the republic can be trusted with the weapon.”

  “You got another pinecone?”

  Rakkim smiled. “I’ve got another option. We all do.”

  “The Colonel doesn’t even know what the weapon is,” said Moseby. “All he knows is that it’s in a graphite canister small enough for a strong man to carry…and it’s got a marking on it. Seventy-two-slash-one-oh-six.”

  “Seventy-two-slash-one-oh-six? What does that mean?”

  “No idea.” Moseby grinned. “Maybe it’s the phone number for some general’s mistress.”

  “Why does the Colonel think there’s black ice buried here anyway?”

  “Dying man told him. Tobacco farmer outside of Daystrom. Don’t laugh. Farmer said the canister was hidden in the mountain by a special commando unit. Six men went into the mountain, only one came out. The farmer was the grandson of that man. This farmer reached out to the Colonel when he was on his deathbed. He had his grandfather’s medal, a commendation from the head of the black-ice program to back up his story. He just didn’t have the exact location of the lake they dumped it in.”

  “Not really a lot of proof.”

  “I found a Grave Digger ID badge beside an underground lake.”

  “Damn. I was half hoping it was all bullshit.”

  “Me too.” Moseby ran a hand across his skull, wiped sweat on his trousers. “So fuck the republic and fuck the Belt. What’s the other option?”

  “My wife’s a liberal. Sarah’s Redbeard’s niece, raised moderate, but she might as well be a Catholic. She’s the one who uncovered the truth behind the suitcase nuke attacks.”

  Moseby’s eyes widened.

  “I know, I know,” said Rakkim. “I should have married a good Muslim girl who’d rub my back and never ask me how my day was, but I fell in love.”

  Moseby’s black skin made his smile seem even brighter. “That makes two of us.”

  “Sarah’s been working with people, both in the republic and in the Belt—Christians, Muslims, Jews—all of them evidently putting aside their differences for one goal. Reunification.”

  Moseby didn’t laugh. Just watched him.

  “You act like…like you’re not surprised,” said Rakkim.

  “It’s the only logical alternative.”

  “To you, maybe. To me…it was sort of a shock. My wife the traitor.”

  “Is that the way you feel?”

  Rakkim let it lie for a moment. “No. I think if I didn’t trust her on this, if I didn’t do everything I could to help her…then I’d be the traitor.”

  “So this group, the ones trying to reunify the country, they want the weapon?” Moseby looked out the window. He didn’t need an answer. He shook his head. Turned back to Rakkim. “The Belt’s got plenty of problems, I know that better than you do…but I’m not about to let you turn the weapon against it.”

  “It’s not about that,” said Rakkim. “It’s using the weapon to stop the Belt and the republic from getting nibbled away by our neighbors.”

  “Our neighbors. I like the sound of it. Wish it wasn’t just you saying it.” Moseby kept chewing things over. “You ask a lot of your friends, Rikki.”

  “I know.”

  A truck full of young soldiers rolled past them, kicking up dust, the soldiers hooting and hollering.

  “I’m not asking you to do anything I’m not doing myself,” said Rakkim. “The president expects me either to bring him the weapon or destroy it, and I’m going to lie to him. I’m going to give the weapon to people who want to change things in a big way. I don’t know how it’s going to turn out. That’s Sarah’s job. I’m just going on faith and her say-so that I’m doing the right thing.”

  “You might be wrong. She might be wrong.” Moseby watched the troop transport until it was out of sight. “I might be wrong.”

  “True enough, but, John…how long do you think either country is going to last split in two like it is?”

  “I’ve got to go, Rikki.”

  “One of the people working for reunification…I brought him along. His name is Leo. Young kid. Probably too smart for his own good. Jewish, so he’s not about to do anything with the weapon that’s going to make the mullahs happy.” Rakkim hesitated. “I think he’s in love with Leanne. Nothing’s happened,” Rakkim hurried, seeing the heat in Moseby’s eyes. “More of a puppy love kind of thing. I was going to let Leo tell you, but it would probably take him an hour to get the words out.”

  “What does Annabelle think of him?”

  “You figure out what women think, you let me know.”

  Moseby put his hand on the door.

  “Will you do it? If you find the canister…?”

  “You think you’re going to waltz in, throw it across your back, and just walk out again?” Moseby snorted. “You’re good, but you’re not that good.”

  “I’m working on it. In a day or so the Colonel is going to introduce me to you, so play nice. You’ll meet Leo too. I’m warning you, that could be a bit of a jolt.”

  Moseby watched him and Rakkim had no idea what he was thinking. Whether he would go along when the time came, or whether he would betray them. Moseby kept accounts too. He owed Rakkim. The question was whether he owed him enough.

  “So will you do it, John? If you find the weapon…will you let me know?”

  Moseby opened the door to the truck, the rusted hinges screeching like something in pain. “Already found it.”

  Chapter 38

  Rakkim heard footsteps approaching, heard whispers and someone circling around to the rear of the tent—plenty of time to get away or turn the ambush back on them, but he recognized the Colonel’s old-fashioned pine-tar soap and the gruff whisper…yes, that would be Gravenholtz. Best to let them think they had surprised him.

  Gravenholtz passed by, breathing heavily, and Rakkim thought of Florence Tigard with her clothes on fire, her sons shot to pieces in front of her…thought of Bill Tigard dying as he tried to defend his family. Rakkim saw it all over again, the flames
and gunfire, the look on Gravenholtz’s face as Tigard’s scythe barely broke the skin…he remembered that look and almost reconsidered his decision to let himself be caught napping. Let’s see if that second skin of his works against a Fedayeen blade. Rakkim imagined a hundred different ways to kill the redhead as he barged into the tent, each more painful than the last, more interesting…Instead, he lay back on his cot, forced the images out of his head. It was harder than he expected. Darwin’s face curled at the foot of his bed, wispy as a nightmare, his smile fading now, fading…Rakkim closed his eyes as the footsteps stopped just outside.

  “Peekaboo!” Baby peered through the tent flap.

  Rakkim yawned. He hadn’t picked up on Baby—her light footsteps overshadowed by the Colonel and Gravenholtz. He sat up in bed. “Morning.”

  The Colonel stepped into the tent, bending his head to clear the canvas. “Hope you don’t mind the interruption,” he said, pleased with himself. “Turnabout’s fair play.”

  “You’re a hard man to find,” said Baby. “The Colonel’s been looking high and low.”

  A bowie knife slashed open the back of the tent, the blade just inches from Rakkim on the downstroke. Gravenholtz muscled his way in.

  Rakkim swung his legs out of bed, fully dressed. “Thanks, Red, it was getting kind of stuffy in here.”

  “Lester, that wasn’t necessary,” chided the Colonel. “This is Lester Gravenholtz, my second in command.”

  Rakkim saw the challenge in Gravenholtz’s eyes as he sheathed the bowie knife in his boot. Double-barreled machine pistol. Blousy cammie trousers and a big-weave thermal T-shirt that showed his taut musculature. Dressed for intimidation. Rakkim had to admit, close up the Jap job was impressive. Gravenholtz moved naturally without any hint of the eighth-inch polycarbon-fiber sheathing under his skin. The redhead balled his fists. The knuckles would be reinforced, strike plates inserted along the sides of his hands. In spite of the advanced technology, Rakkim found the idea repugnant. Fedayeen genetic boosters dramatically improved one’s natural gifts, but without discipline and training the boosters were pointless. A Jap job led to arrogance and dependency.

  “What are you looking at, cocksucker?” said Gravenholtz.

  “Grandma, what big teeth you have.”

  Baby laughed.

  “Peace in the valley, you two,” ordered the Colonel. “This isn’t really a social call, Rikki. I had you checked out…there’s two hundred million dollars in the overseas account, just as you said. The money transfer bounced around the world before landing in the Bank of Liechtenstein, but my contact traced the point of origin to a bank in Moscow. It seems your story is accurate. That part of it anyway.”

  “I wish you’d hurry up and decide who we’re in bed with, Zachary,” said Baby. “That Chinaman you told me about sounded like a real stick-butt, wrinkling his nose at our food and asking if the water was safe to drink. Besides, how can we trust an atheist to keep their end of the bargain?” She eyed Rakkim. “I vote for this one.”

  The Colonel kissed her gently on the cheek. “You don’t have a vote, darling.”

  “Have you found the weapon yet?” Rakkim said to the Colonel. “The Russians are eager for their technical expert to get started.”

  “I’ll let you know when the time comes,” said the Colonel. “Don’t want to get ahead of yourself. In the meantime, I’m interested to know how you penetrated our security cordon. The sentries guarding my home have already been debriefed. Clever, bringing them coffee.”

  “I still say we should have shot the sons a bitches,” said Gravenholtz.

  “I don’t waste men, Lester.” The Colonel pulled down the jacket of his uniform, maintained his perfect appearance. “Reassignment and loss of a month’s pay is sufficient to spread the message that we have to remain vigilant.” He held open the tent flap and they all filed out into the morning. “I’ll give you a tour of the camp, Rikki, although I doubt you really need it.”

  “You boys have fun,” called Baby. “I’m going horseback riding.”

  “Take a couple men with you,” said the Colonel.

  Baby waved and kept walking.

  “She’s not going to listen.” The Colonel watched the tight seat of her jeans as she strode down the line of tents, her blond ponytail swinging with every step. “She’ll do exactly what she wants.” He kept watching her. “Are you married, Rikki? No, that’s right…you already told me you’re a bachelor. My first wife was killed during the war. Wife and all three children. An accident, not your people. I never thought I’d remarry. Wasn’t like I didn’t have enough to occupy me…and there’s a certain freedom to a life without emotional entanglements, as I’m sure you know. Then I met Baby a few years ago…and everything changed.” He sighed as she disappeared behind a cluster of machinery, absently touched his dyed black hair. “I know she’s too young for me…but I couldn’t imagine life without her.”

  “You’re a lucky man,” said Rakkim.

  “Yes, I am,” said the Colonel.

  The three of them walked past a line of seven-ton trucks being worked on. Men bent over the open hoods with wrenches and socket sets; others had removed the tires and were checking and replacing brakes. Too busy and too greasy to salute, the men acknowledged the Colonel with polite greetings and nods of their heads. He returned their greetings, acknowledging them by name.

  “Maintenance and resupply are the backbone of any military,” said the Colonel. “It’s not glamorous, they’ll get no parades, but if a truck full of munitions or gasoline breaks down, a battle can easily swing in the wrong direction. Keep your mechanics and drivers happy, that’s one of the key-stones of victory.”

  “My experience is mostly with very small units.” Rakkim noticed a couple of the Colonel’s personal guards had fallen in behind them, keeping their distance, but ready to defend him if need be. “We kept a low profile and lived off the land.”

  “Guerrilla operations do require different tactics,” agreed the Colonel. The sun came out; every button on his uniform gleamed. “Now, how did you get into camp? We had motion sensors along the perimeter, all of them in good working condition.”

  Rakkim smiled. The Colonel had lulled him into talking about himself. “It was a dog, Colonel. A large brown mutt.”

  The Colonel turned, raised an eyebrow. “A dog, Rikki?”

  “I figured you’d have a perimeter established so I picked up a stray in the nearest town,” said Rakkim. “Picked up a bag of hamburgers too. Cute pooch, but underfed. That night I started up the south slope. Every twenty or thirty yards, I’d toss a bit of hamburger up ahead, let the dog go bounding through the brush after it. Eventually he tripped the sensors and set off the alarm. Lights came on, sentry came out. He saw the dog, patted him on the head. Lights went out. I shadowed the sentry past the sensors and kept going.” Rakkim shrugged. “Wasn’t that hard, really.”

  The Colonel laughed. “No wonder the Russians hired you.”

  “That Fedayeen razzle-dazzle is overrated,” said Gravenholtz.

  “Lester has a point,” said the Colonel. “We’ve intercepted several of your former compatriots. Of course, that makes Rikki’s success even more laudatory.”

  “More like lucky,” said Gravenholtz.

  “Don’t take it personally, Rikki, Lester doesn’t like anyone.”

  “Let him take it personally,” said Gravenholtz. “Fine by me.”

  They kept climbing. Had to give the Colonel credit, he maintained a fast pace while giving a running commentary about troop rotations and local politics, the unique hazards of a mountain bivouac, and the necessity of his periodic trips to put down bandits and keep the peace.

  “What do the men think you’re looking for in the mountain?” said Rakkim.

  “The lost gold of Fort Knox,” said the Colonel. “Barrels of diamonds. A vein of platinum that goes clear to the center of the earth. I’ve heard it all bandied about. Besides you, Rikki, the only ones who know the truth are myself, Baby, and a
very special fellow from New Orleans, a finder named Moseby.”

  “I’d like to meet this Moseby,” said Rakkim.

  “Soon.” The Colonel pointed out the Monsoon 4 under a camouflage tarp. “I imagine that’s how the Russians realized something important was happening here.”

  “I don’t know how they found out,” said Rakkim. “Not my department.”

  “Still, we have to use the bird judiciously,” said the Colonel. “The Russians aren’t the only ones who might want to poke their noses into our business.”

  “What’s the point in having it if we can’t use it?” said Gravenholtz. The Colonel glanced at him and Gravenholtz backed off. “I’m just saying…”

  Deeper in the woods, Rakkim saw a small encampment, the tents pitched haphazardly, wet laundry hanging off nearby tree branches. Men stood around in the shadow of the pines, watching them pass by. No salutes to the Colonel, no greetings. They were different from the troops in camp, different from the miners too. Sullen brutes, unshaven, arms draped across the rifles slung across their backs. They looked like scarecrows.

  Rakkim recognized one of them, and another one too. He had seen them at the Tigards’ farmhouse, howling with glee as they unloaded rounds into the burning home. He was about to make an excuse to get closer when Gravenholtz tugged on his earlobe and the men melted back into the forest.

  The path forked. The Colonel started down the low road.

  “What’s up there?” said Rakkim, pointing toward the other path.

  It was close to noon, sun beating down directly on them; even the birds were retreating from the sky. “Just a view,” said the Colonel.

  “Okay,” said Rakkim. “If you’re tired…”

  The Colonel’s mouth worked.

  “Don’t you want to head toward the lake, sir?” asked Gravenholtz. “It’d be cooler, and there’s been some rock slides along the ravine; I don’t think it’s safe.”

  The Colonel hesitated, shook his head. “I haven’t been to the rift in a while—besides, I want to get Rikki’s opinion on using the area for antiaircraft coverage. If I decide to deal with the Russians instead of the Chinese, Beijing may be less than happy.”