Heart of the Assassin

CHAPTER 25

"I'll take them," said Leo.

The pale teenage chip jockey behind the armored glass rubbed his thumb and index finger together and Leo counted out $4,000 in hundreds, slipped them through the slot.

The chip jockey had the emotionless eyes of a crustacean, flat black eyes that should have been mounted on stalks. He lazily recounted the money, dragging out the process, then tucked the bills into his camouflage shorts. His long fingers placed the two new Chinese lithium chips into tiny glassine envelopes while his eyes did something else, maybe ran a salinization test or a plankton quality assessment. The chips slid out the one-way box onto the other side of the glass.

Leo rechecked the chips through a jeweler's loupe, nodded. "You got a demag case for these? Wouldn't want to scramble the configuration."

The chip jockey rubbed his thumb and forefinger together again.

Leo flipped him the finger, started for the door.

Rakkim waved to the chip jockey. "Good talking with you."

Leo jerked the door handle, but it didn't budge. He turned to the chip jockey. "Hey!"

The chip jockey picked his nose. Examined his fingertip. Pressed a button.

The heavy, metal-clad door hissed as the security bolts slid back into the door frame. Leo flung the door open, stepped out into the narrow alley, Rakkim right behind him. The door shut, the bolts slamming back in place.

Rakkim turned up the collar of his leather jacket against the light rain, but stayed put.

Every week it was the same thing. Leo asked Rakkim to come along on one of his buying expeditions in the Zone. The tech galleries along the lower level had the newest whizbang gear in the country, but they didn't open until after dark, and this part of the Zone was dangerous-even the police and tourists kept their distance. Leo pretended he wanted Rakkim along for company, and Rakkim pretended to believe him.

Every week they made the rounds, but they always ended up at this same chip shop, where the clerk reserved his best merchandise for Leo. Leo always bitched about the price or the condition, but the chip jockey didn't dicker. He didn't talk either. All these weeks and Rakkim had never heard the jockey utter a word. At the end of the transaction, Leo would ask for something. A demag case, a virus tracking number, a glass of water, something that should have been thrown in free after the money he had spent, and the chip jockey would demand to be paid, and Leo would always flip him off. Then Rakkim and Leo would go out for dinner. Rakkim would never understand brainiacs.

Leo zipped his jacket all the way up, not eager to step out into the rain. "I still wish you'd come with me to Las Vegas," said Leo. "We'd have fun."

"Yeah, you, me, a conference full of math whizzes, what could be better?" said Rakkim.

"Being invited to deliver a paper in front of the International Pure Math Symposium is a real honor," said Leo. "Just thought you might want to be there to see it."

"You said they invited Spider."

Leo sniffed. "What's your point?"

"They didn't ask you to deliver an address," teased Rakkim. "They asked your father."

"My father is too sick to travel. Besides…he'd be the first to tell you I've far surpassed him." Leo started down the alley.

Rakkim grabbed Leo by the shoulder, pulled him back.

"What? Oh."

Two men stood at each end of the alley, the four of them strolling toward them, jaunty as sailors home on leave. One was Kissell, a near-giant that Rakkim had seen a few days ago-Senator Chambers's chief bodyguard, a clean-shaven thug with tiny eyes and a soft gut. The other three he had only heard about, identical triplets, Black Robe enforcers working out of the Hassan Nasrallah mosque, three slender sadists given carte blanche to keep the faithful in line.

Rakkim's knife slid into his hand.

Leo banged on the chip jockey's door. "Hey! Open up!" The cameras over the door swiveled, took in the approaching men. Leo kicked at the armored door. "Let us in!"

The lights went out in the store.

"Son of a bitch!" screamed Leo.

"You looking for work?" Rakkim said to the bodyguard. "I hear the Kit Kat Klub is hiring toilet swabbers. I could put in a good word for you."

"Keep talking," said Kissell.

"I didn't think the senator recognized me," said Rakkim. "That's what I get for going easy on him."

"Chambers didn't have any idea who you were." Kissell had a small voice for such a big man, almost a squeak, as though all that flesh had compressed the sound. "It's Grand Mullah ibn-Azziz who told me your name. He's a little upset. Come along, I'll take you to New Fallujah-you can offer your apologies in person."

If ibn-Azziz had tagged him for exposing Senator Chambers, then Jenkins had given him up. "No, thanks. I get carsick."

"It wasn't really a request," said Kissell.

The triplets unslung shock whips from under their raincoats, slender three-foot flails that could shred flesh.

"Careful, fellas," said Rakkim. "You don't want to hurt yourselves."

Two burly workmen started down the alley from the main street, stopped when they saw what was going on, then turned and fled.

"What do we do, Rakkim?" whispered Leo.

"Move aside and let this tourist pass, Kissell," said Rakkim. "We'll discuss things in private. No reason to complicate-"

"No," hissed Leo.

"Go on, Leo," Rakkim said quietly, "I'll catch up with you later."

"I…I c-can help," sputtered Leo. He bent down, clawing at one of the paving stones, trying to dislodge it, but his fingers slipped on the wet surface and he went sprawling.

The triplets laughed, their whips coiling and uncoiling as they moved closer.

"Help!" Leo scrambled to his feet, shouting to the nearby stores. "Help!"

No answer.

Rakkim pushed Leo into a small alcove, the doorway to a boarded-up holo shop, then took up a position in front of him. "Be ready to run…and don't look back."

"What am I, a baby?" said Leo.

Rakkim watched the triplets approach, taking their time. Sparks crackled from their whips. He felt calm. Eye of the hurricane. Waiting around as the storm clouds rolled in and no way to avoid it. He stepped out into the alley, eager to get started.

The triplets fanned out, wolf-packing.

Rakkim tap-danced for them, got a smile from one of the triplets, the one with the scar under his right eye. A winner. He pointed at scarface. "You get to die first."

Scarface's smile disappeared. Eyes hot now. He moved ahead of his two brothers.

Rakkim advanced in a half crouch. He kept his left arm up to protect his face, his right hand held the knife close-like a bouquet of roses for your mama, that's what his blade instructor at the academy used to say.

A shock whip flicked, missed, not even close. Another one right behind, slightly closer, but scarface held off, closing in. Another snap of the whip. Another. They thought they were herding him, but he moved right where he wanted to be, waiting for an opening. He lunged at scarface, retreated across the wet stones.

CRACK.

Rakkim flinched, the whip snapping an inch from his face, sparks crackling.

Scarface cawed.

Rakkim dodged right, just out of reach of the other two, feinted as the whips cracked around him, then charged scarface as he moved in to catch Rakkim from behind. The man's eyes widened as Rakkim slipped by him, driving the blade into his chest with a twist as he passed. In and out, fast but not fast enough. Rakkim bit his lips shut as a whip caught him across the back-the leather jacket offered some protection, but the pain wobbled his legs as he scuttled out of reach.

Scarface stayed standing, stayed there as the drizzle drifted down on his vacant expression, then fell to his knees, still holding the whip. Fell forward, sparks shooting out from under him.

Rakkim smelled burned hair in the rain.

One of the other triplets bent over scarface, tenderly turned him over. Blood spread over the stones. He looked up at Rakkim. "Fuck ibn-Azziz. I'm bringing you back in pieces."

Rakkim laughed. "Did you rehearse that line before you left for the office?"

"Relax, Jerry," said the other one. "Killing him isn't going to bring back Jimmy."

Jerry stood up. "Shut up, Johnny."

Rakkim hooted. "Jimmy, Johnny and Jerry? What are you, the three blind mice?"

"Do something," ordered Kissell, rain dripping off his nose.

Leo dashed from the alcove, blew past the bodyguard, splashing down the alley.

"Let him go," said Kissell. "This is the one we were sent for."

The two remaining triplets moved in, whips snaking, reckless now. Rakkim darted from side to side, stayed away from any solid strikes, but the glancing blows cut through his jacket and seared his flesh.

Rakkim charged, feinted at the last minute, came in low and caught one of the triplets behind the knee, sliced his femoral artery. The man fell screaming in the alley. His brother rushed Rakkim.

Rakkim backed up, stumbled on a patch of uneven stones and fell.

The last triplet charged, his whip biting into Rakkim, slashing his arm, his chest, just missed his face, so close the sparks burned his cheek.

The wounded triplet lay curled up holding his leg, bleeding out onto the stones.

Kissell kicked the dying triplet in the back. "Get up!" He went to kick him again when the third triplet's whip snaked out, wrapped around his neck, Kissell's eyes bulging.

The last triplet jerked his whip and Kissell's head went flying off his shoulders, bounced down the alley.

Rakkim tried to dodge as the last triplet came at him, but his legs were numb, his movements slow. Water streamed down his face as the triplet stood in front of him, whip sizzling. He flicked the whip, the tip grazing Rakkim's chin, a perfectly controlled cut.

"I'm going to burn off your ears first," said the last triplet. "Then your nose…your hands, your feet. I'll deliver you alive, but you're going to wish you were dead."

"Talk, talk, talk." Rakkim wiped rain from his eyes, blood too. He raised a crooked arm to protect his face, holding his blade close. "Go ahead…do something stupid."

The last triplet eased toward Rakkim, the whip sparking.

Rakkim had to force himself to maintain his grip on the blade. He blinked, saw movement behind the triplet, heard footsteps splashing.

The last triplet turned and was hit full in the face with a paving stone. Knocked backward, he lay unmoving, skull crushed.

Leo stood over the last triplet, breathing hard.

"You…you throw like a girl." Rakkim laughed, as his legs gave out, sent him sprawling. "Leo…" He held his hand out. "Help me up."

Leo stared down at the dead triplet.

"Leo?"

Leo looked like he was about to cry. "I…I never killed anyone before."

"Well…you picked a good time to start." Rakkim lay back on the cold stones. Rainwater eddied around his head.