Sins of the Assassin

by Robert Ferrigno

  He increased his pace. A chipmunk observed his progress, scampered deeper into the woods. Rakkim had expected an attempt on his and Sarah’s lives sooner or later—they had too many enemies for someone not to make a move, but he’d never considered that Leo might be a target. He remembered the look on the Black Robe’s face as he pushed the knife deeper into his own throat…as though the man had won some prize. Maybe he had. The prize of silence. Being beyond Rakkim’s questions. It didn’t matter. Rakkim had all the answers he needed. If the Old One wanted Leo, it was because he already had the isotope for making the hafnium bomb. The Big Bang. Hard to imagine the Old One reaching out to Baby and Gravenholtz, but if his operatives could penetrate the Black Robes hierarchy, State Security, and the Fedayeen, they might even have compromised the Colonel’s own household. Baby might not have put up much of a fight either.

  Rakkim knelt at the fringe of the woods, ready to make his final approach. This close, the villa was in even worse shape than he remembered. Two years ago during Ramadan, vandals and successive mobs of fundamentalists had swarmed the site—what they couldn’t carry away, they broke or burned. Even the water garden hadn’t escaped their fury.

  The water garden was Redbeard’s favorite spot, more him than even his office, a lush acre protected from the cold by a clear plastic dome. Filled with towering tropical trees and plants, waterfalls and streams. A good place to pray, the water garden was as close to Paradise as existed this side of death, that’s what Redbeard had said. Even at their worst moments, arguing over his studies or his insolence, even when Redbeard didn’t speak to him for a week after Rakkim told him that he was joining the Fedayeen, they still sat together beside one of the waterfalls, just the two of them, listening to the water splashing over the flat stones. He and Sarah had first kissed in the water garden, surrounded by flowers, laughing as a bluejay interrupted their innocent ardor with its angry squawks.

  He darted out of the woods, stayed low through the high grass, keeping the late-afternoon sun behind him to screen his movements from the main house. He slipped into the garden through a section where someone had crashed a stolen car through the dome, the car abandoned, covered with moss and yellow oleander blooms. Sweat rolled down his back in the sudden warmth and humidity. The mobs two years ago had uprooted plants, torn branches from the trees, and broken apart the fountains with picks and sledges, but the garden had reseeded itself, spreading out. It was much wilder now than when Redbeard lived here, a raw tangle of vines and bushes, more jungle than garden, the bamboo brushing the top of the dome.

  He heard laughter behind him, turned, but no one was there. Weeds rustled…whispers through the fronds. Still no one there, but he wasn’t alone. He listened for something, some sound beyond the water bubbling from one of the freshwater springs. He looked into the small pond…and Darwin looked back at him, pleased, a knowing smirk on his face.

  Let me out to play, Rikki. Look how I helped you with Fareed…the Black Robe. Not a bad fellow, but limited…

  The water rippled, Darwin’s face shimmering, struggling to maintain its outline. Something wolflike in the tilt of his head, the angular cheeks and large eyes…the hunger in his gaze.

  It helps when you cooperate, Rikki. Come on, let me out, I’m better at this than you are.

  Then why are you dead…and I’m alive? Rakkim said silently.

  Maybe…maybe there really was an angel on your shoulder. I’m sure of one thing, though, there’s no angel here now.

  I don’t need an angel anymore, said Rakkim.

  You still need me. I worked with the Old One for over ten years…I know the way he thinks, the little tricks he uses. The moment you’re feeling good, feeling safe…the moment you know you’ve won, that’s the moment you’ve lost.

  Go away.

  Listen to me. If you die, then I’ll really be dead. Al-Faisal is good, Rikki. You never went up against a strangler. You’ve got to do something he doesn’t anticipate…something unexpected. Darwin’s image shifted as the sun slanted across the surface of the water, breaking up. Show some gratitude, I’m trying to help you. You’re like the son I never—

  Rakkim plunged his knife into Darwin’s face. Is that unexpected enough? When the water smoothed out, he saw his own face looking back at him. He moved quickly through the water garden, following the path that Sarah and Michael and Leo had taken, brushing over their footprints. They had tried to be careful, but they were hurrying, and Leo kept stepping off the rocks. The sound of the waterfall got louder and louder as he approached, Rakkim circling around, leaving no trace. He eased himself through the thicket that covered the small waterfall, no more than a five-foot drop to the jagged stone below, but room enough underneath…He leaned over the side, the cold water misting his face. “Sarah?”

  “Papa!” squealed Michael.

  Rakkim quickly slid under the rushing water, managed to stay partially dry as he scrambled onto the mossy ledge under the falls, a tiny grotto they had discovered one day when they were teenagers. A secret spot to tell stories by candlelight, an innocent spot, never a hint of anything inappropriate, but their spot, private.

  Michael threw himself into Rakkim’s arms, clutched him.

  Rakkim saw Sarah in the twilight, face damp, trying to smile. She was thinking about her mother. He nodded, and Sarah closed her eyes for a moment…crossed herself. He raised an eyebrow at that, and she embraced him, the two of them banging their heads against the rock ceiling. They held each other, their clothes damp, hair dripping as they kissed. He gently bit her lips, and she drove her mouth against him, the two of them sharing their heat, warming themselves with their joy and their relief.

  “Nice to see you too,” muttered Leo.

  Rakkim saw Leo curled up in the corner, shivering and filthy, hardly any room to move.

  “I’m claustrophobic and freezing to death, but what the heck, it’s just Leo, right?”

  “I know somebody who would be happy to trade places with you,” snapped Rakkim.

  Leo stared at him. “S-sorry.” He glanced at Sarah. “Sorry.”

  “It’s okay.” Sarah turned to Rakkim, her arm still around his waist, Michael between them. “Now what do we do?”

  “I don’t want to spend the night in here,” said Rakkim. “We can try working our way back to the city. Com links are down, a lot of roads are blocked off, but if we can get back to Spider’s house, we should be safe.” He felt Sarah shiver, rubbed her shoulders.

  “The men who broke into our apartment…who were they?” said Sarah.

  “Al-Faisal…and a strike team.”

  “I thought he was dead,” said Leo.

  “He was after you, Leo,” said Rakkim. “Sarah and I were a bonus.”

  “Great.” Leo pressed himself deeper into the corner, folding his legs up against his chest. It was getting darker outside, less light filtering through the waterfall, but Leo’s eyes were large and shiny. “Somebody found out about the data cores, didn’t they?”

  Rakkim nodded. “The Old One.”

  “This is bad,” said Leo, trembling. “This is really, really bad.”

  “Rikki and I have faced off with the Old One before,” said Sarah. “We’re still here.”

  “Yeah, but look where you are,” said Leo.

  Rakkim and Sarah laughed, and Michael laughed too, clapping his hands.

  “It’s not funny,” said Leo.

  Sarah felt Rakkim’s back. “What is this?”

  Rakkim twisted, reached around and felt the small of his back. Felt a small metal button. “Oh…shit.” He peeled it away, held the button in the palm of his hand.

  “We’re dead,” moaned Leo, holding his head in his hands. “That’s a model seventeen. Got a thirty-mile range.”

  Sarah picked up a rock. “Put it down. I’ll smash it.”

  “Bad idea.” Rakkim kissed Sarah. Kissed Michael. “Stay here. No matter what happens, you stay here for as long as it takes. Don’t move until I come for you. Understand?”


  Sarah kissed him. “Go get ’em.”

  Rakkim slipped out the side of the waterfall, stayed on the rocks. He took off his wet jacket as he started walking, keeping to the hard places, the overgrown spots where he wouldn’t leave a trail that could be backtracked. The Black Robe at the apartment…he had grappled with Rakkim in the first few minutes. He had thought it simple desperation at the time, but now he knew better. The Black Robe had gladly sacrificed himself to plant the tracking button. The three men from the strike team probably had no idea they were being used to sell the trap. Rakkim stuffed his wet jacket deep into a blackberry thicket, trotted over to the edge of the water garden’s dome. He waited over three minutes, fighting back his impatience. The tracking device would indicate the general location of where he had been, how long he had stayed there. He had to make it appear as though he were wandering around the villa, not staying long in any one place. If he had let Sarah break the device, the grotto would have been pinpointed.

  For the next ten minutes Rakkim moved around the villa, stepping over piles of burnt furniture, broken masonry, and crushed, empty cans from spiced meat and Jihad Cola. He sat for a few minutes in Redbeard’s old office, remembering standing before the great man, Redbeard often angry at him for some real or imagined offense, sloppily executed prayers or a complaint from one of his teachers. It didn’t matter. Redbeard loved him, they both knew it. He walked over to where one of the roof supports had fallen, got down on his belly. The flooring had buckled, left a gap between the hardwood and the subbasement. Rakkim tossed the tracking button into the narrow opening, heard it clatter. He got up and started running toward the front of the house.

  Good timing. Two gray sedans were slowly coming down the winding driveway from the small private road leading to the villa. They didn’t hurry, just drove on steadily. They knew he was trapped. He and Sarah, Michael and Leo. Rakkim smiled, stepped deeper into the shadows. The strike team was trapped too.

  He watched as the cars stopped, and six men got out—three ex-Fedayeen, two army Special Forces…and al-Faisal. The military men moved with precision, fully alert, machine pistols at the ready, shock sticks on their belts. Al-Faisal could have been at a picnic, unarmed, dressed casually in loose-fitting pants and a dark-checked shirt. He strolled around the outskirts of the villa, hands in his pockets, picking up pieces of broken tile and bits of burnt wood as though they were treasures. He looked like a man with nothing to fear.

  Rakkim retreated deeper into the villa as the men separated—two of them fanned out around the north and south sides of the villa, while three of them accompanied al-Faisal in the direction of Redbeard’s office. The Fedayeen leading the way had a handheld locator keyed to the tracking button.

  “I’m not scared,” said Leo.

  Sarah pressed her finger against her lips. Michael did the same.

  “Rakkim and I…we’ve been through worse,” said Leo.

  Sarah watched the waterfall cascade a few inches in front of them, the garden dark and diffuse through the rushing water.

  Rakkim decided to kill the tall, blond Fedayeen first. He was part of the strike team working the perimeter, spread out by necessity. Their intention was to form a loose cordon around the site, preventing escape, while the other four worked on the current location of the tracking button. A reasonable plan…but it left the perimeter guards vulnerable to someone who knew every inch of the villa. Besides, al-Faisal’s men were combat warriors, fine enough for overpowering an objective, but marginally effective when stealth was demanded.

  Rakkim scooted ahead of the blond Fedayeen, not making a sound as he scrambled over the loose rubble. He flattened himself against an interior wall, listening as the blond Fedayeen approached. He heard the man stop. Operational training called for a sneak-and-peek around such a corner, a quick glance in and out. Rakkim timed it perfectly, stabbed him in the eye as he jerked his head in for a look. He lowered the blond Fedayeen to the ground. Went after the next one on the other side of the villa, taking a shortcut through the old laundry room. As he slipped through the house, he could hear them in Redbeard’s office, banging around.

  The Special Forces man with the shaved head was more cautious—Rakkim could see that just by the way he moved, the care he took before every step, testing the ground before putting his weight on it. Rakkim circled in front of him, lay flat under a pile of wallboard as the man walked by, close enough that Rakkim could see his own reflection in the man’s polished boots. He waited until the man passed, then eased out from under the trash and cut the man’s throat as he had one foot still poised in the air.

  Rakkim took the machine pistol from the dead man. Checked it out. Guns were loud and sloppy things, but when you needed to kill a lot of people fast, and from a distance, they were just what was needed. He approached Redbeard’s office. Heard someone saying, “Goddamnit, come out of there or somebody’s going to get hurt.” Rakkim stayed low, found a collapsed section of wall he had noted earlier. A glimpse was all he needed to pinpoint the positions of the four men. A full-auto spray and Sarah and he could grab Michael and Leo and get out of here. He held up his knife, checked the reflection in the blade. He saw one man in the office, just inches away, only one, the Special Forces operator talking to himself, nervous, his own weapon pivoting from side to side.

  Rakkim killed him, then ran toward the water garden, ran as fast as he could.

  Sarah heard them coming before she saw them through the waterfall. They kept their voices low, and the water was loud, but she heard them anyway, tramping through the flowers, crunching through the bushes. They walked past the waterfall once. Then twice. The third time they stopped.

  This time they lowered their voices until she could barely hear them as they conferred. Three of them…one clearly in charge.

  Michael squirmed but didn’t make a sound.

  Leo looked as if he wasn’t able to take a breath, his chest heaving.

  Sarah pushed Michael to safety on the far side of the shelf and picked up a rock.

  A man peeked through the middle of the waterfall, water streaming down his face. He blinked for a moment before he saw her.

  She bashed him as hard as she could with the rock. He fell facedown and she hit him again. And again. Somebody dragged him away by the feet.

  Another man lurched into their hiding spot, cursing. She didn’t see the knife until it was too late. Leo surprised her. It wasn’t just that she couldn’t imagine him throwing himself in front of the blade, it was that she couldn’t believe he could move that fast.

  “Ouch.” Leo stared at the knife sticking out of his stomach. His mouth worked. He touched the handle, jerked back. Blood seeped down the front of him. He looked over at her as though expecting her to chastise him.

  The man who’d stabbed Leo was jerked backward by a thin, cream-colored cord that snapped around his neck and jerked him off his feet.

  “I told you, I wanted them taken alive.” A man peered in from the side of the waterfall. “Look what you’ve done. You cut the boy.”

  Sarah heard gagging from outside, someone trying to breathe.

  A hand slipped through the waterfall. “Come on out. All of you.” The fingers beckoned. “We’ll get Leo some medical attention, but you’re going to have to come out. Please.” His tone was friendly, but a sharp edge was just under the surface, like broken glass on the beach. “I’m Tariq al-Faisal, Sarah. I’d hate for anything to happen to you and the baby. I honestly wouldn’t want that on my conscience.”

  Leo looked at her, one hand on his stomach. He shook his head no.

  As Sarah hefted the rock, a cord whipped through the waterfall, wrapped around her throat, and jerked her into the base of the waterfall. She came up coughing, trying to pull the cord from around her throat. The man she had hit with the rock lay facedown in the shallow stream, a scum of blood eddying round and round.

  “Haskins, you get Leo out there, and slap a pressure bandage on him,” al-Faisal ordered the man who had
stabbed Leo. “If he dies, I’m going to hang you by your balls until they explode.”

  Sarah clawed at her throat as the man went under the waterfall, but the knotted cord seemed made of some unique material…a four-foot whip when al-Faisal wanted it, but a garrote that adhered to itself when he twisted it.

  Al-Faisal watched her, an arrogant man in his thirties with a long face and small, dark eyes. “What, Sarah?” He tugged gently at the cord. “I can’t hear you.”

  Sarah fell to her knees, the edges of her vision going dark.

  “Nice dirty doggy,” said al-Faisal, continuing to tug at her. “Heel. That’s what the Catholics say, isn’t it?”

  Sarah heard Michael crying, but she couldn’t seem to move. She was dimly aware of Leo on the ground, the other man hovering over him.

  “Carlson?” Al-Faisal spoke into his wrist. “Any sign of him?”

  “Yeah, he’s in the water garden,” said Rakkim.

  Al-Faisal turned, saw Rakkim beside a nearby copse of bamboo trees, the machine pistol leveled at him.

  “Let her go,” said Rakkim.

  “Guns are for cowards.” Al-Faisal jerked the corded leash, sent Sarah sprawling. “Put it down or I’ll snap her neck.”

  “You’ll be dead,” said Rakkim.

  “We all die, Rakkim. Some of us go to Paradise.”

  Sarah clawed at the stones, breathing through a pinhole.

  “Haskins, you keep working on Leo. Rakkim and I can handle this between ourselves.”

  Rakkim tossed the gun aside. His knife was already in his hand.

  Al-Faisal made some small movement of his fingers and the leash fell away from Sarah’s neck.

  Rakkim leaped at him, one hand raised to protect his neck, but al-Faisal whipped the cord around his knee, wrenched it. Rakkim flopped on the ground, grunting in pain—he got up quickly, but his left leg no longer fully supported him.

  “Hurts, doesn’t it?” said al-Faisal, circling, the cord wriggling from his hand. “It’s okay, I can help you with that.”