Heart of the Assassin

CHAPTER 31

Jenkins lifted his head away from the steel support beam of the Bridge of Skulls. "I…I thought that had to be you," he croaked.

"You saw me?" said Rakkim.

"Saw what you did." Jenkins's mouth sagged, half his lower lip torn away. One of his eye sockets was empty. "I might not have the night vision you do…but I see well enough. You killed…you killed the big one…entirely too quickly for my taste."

Rakkim glanced back toward the end of the Bridge of Skulls-the four dead sentries propped up in a semblance of duty along the railing. "I'm on a tight schedule."

"The big one…Salim…he likes…" Jenkins licked his cracked lips. "Likes looking up at me while he drinks soda pop, pouring out what he doesn't finish…" He gasped as Rakkim took a bottle of Jihad Cola out of his jacket.

"Next time I'll kill him slower, okay?" Rakkim slowly gave him a drink, cupping his hand under Jenkins's chin.

"You do that."

Rakkim sat on one of the rusted girders that formed the superstructure, perched there twenty feet above the bridge deck, right beside where Mullah Jenkins had been pinned to the main girder, steel bolts driven into his thighs and shoulders and hands. The gulls had been working on him for the last week, torn chunks of flesh from him, pecked out one of his eyes and near-missed the other. Dried blood crusted the girder.

"I don't think I can free you," said Rakkim.

Jenkins fixed him with his one remaining eye. "Sure you can."

Rakkim hesitated.

Jenkins's good eye fluttered. "Five days I've been stuck up here. Wind and fog and cold and heat…and when the sun comes up, the gulls start in again. Five days, no food, no water but the rain. Fedayeen tough…it's a curse sometimes." He opened his mouth and Rakkim dribbled in more cola. "What…what made you come back for me?"

"I didn't come back for you. I came back to kill ibn-Azziz."

"Ah." Jenkins's head sagged forward. It took an effort to pull it back. "So General Kidd finally decided to cut out the cancer."

"I decided. General Kidd doesn't know anything about it."

"Oh…my, you really have slipped the leash, haven't you?"

The bridge groaned as the tide rushed in.

"Were…were we ever friends?" Jenkins wheezed. "I can't remember."

"No. We weren't friends." Rakkim tried to give him another drink but Jenkins turned away. "We were brothers."

"I wasn't sure. I've been having such dreams these last few days…such beautiful dreams…" Jenkins looked past Rakkim, looked out toward the far shore, beyond the reach of the Black Robes. "I slipped my leash too. Slipped clean away and didn't even know it until it was too late. Couldn't find my way back if I tried."

"Where does ibn-Azziz-?"

"You should be careful, Rakkim."

"I'll be careful."

"Everyone says that…but we all make mistakes." Jenkins didn't take his eye off the distant shore, its outlines obscured, shrouded in mist. "We fool ourselves. The best of us…the best and the brightest, we're the easiest to fool." He started to cry. "I told him, Rakkim. I told ibn-Azziz it was you who ruined things with Senator Chambers."

"It's all right."

Jenkins sobbed softly in the night, tears running down his cheeks, even the ruined eye socket glistening. "He had his men…they did things to me, Rakkim-" He lunged forward, half pulled himself free of the spikes. "I was glad you ruined Senator Chambers. Even when they hurt me, I was glad. You made ibn-Azziz so angry…"

"Did he ever tell you who suggested the president appoint Chambers secretary of defense? The president would never have listened to ibn-Azziz."

Jenkins shook his head. "I don't think he knows. Did I…did I tell you ibn-Azziz belongs to the Old One?"

"Chambers already told me." Rakkim gently wiped away Jenkins's tears. "You did well. No one could ask more of you."

"Yes, that's why I'm pinned up here being pecked to pieces-because I'm such an inspiring success story." Laughing hurt, but Jenkins tried it anyway. "Before…you started to ask me…you wanted to know where ibn-Azziz sleeps."

"If you know."

"Of course I know. There hasn't been a day since ibn-Azziz became Grand Mullah that I haven't thought of killing him. I just…I just never did it." The breeze made him shiver, the bridge creaking. "Thinking of it, and doing it…they're not the same." His head lolled to one side. "It's not going to be easy to kill him. I don't care how good you are."

"Help me then. Tell me where he sleeps."

"Do you believe in God?"

"Yeah…sure," said Rakkim.

"Then you need help," Jenkins said. The bridge shifted, bones clattering around them. "Come closer."

Rakkim bent over him, straining to hear.

Jenkins forced himself to speak. "That's all," he said afterward, voice papery now. "I got no more left."

Rakkim bowed his head toward his teacher.

"Don't forget your part of the bargain." Jenkins looked toward the far shore. "I don't want to know when it's coming. Surprise me. Like it's my…like it's my birthday."

Rakkim's blade was already in his hand.

"I used to believe in God too," said Jenkins, still facing the dim hills in the distance. "Now, though…I hope there's no God. Nothing and nobody there. Me…I'd rather slide into the darkness and never wake up than be judged on what I've done here."

"God will understand."

Jenkins shook his head, still watching the distant shore. "Not the God I heard about."

"Maybe you heard wrong. Maybe God forgives."

Jenkins snorted. "You spent too much time in the Belt."

Rakkim drove the blade into Jenkins's heart in the middle of the man's laugh. Prayed to God to forgive them both.

Rakkim pulled ibn-Azziz's head out of the ancient porcelain toilet, the Grand Mullah collapsing onto the floor, sputtering, coughing up great gouts of filthy water. For twenty minutes Rakkim had brought him to the brink of death and back again, and for twenty minutes ibn-Azziz had refused to name his contact in Seattle who had promoted Senator Chambers for defense secretary. Twenty minutes…Rakkim had never heard of anyone lasting more than five in such circumstances without giving up anyone and everything.

"Go ahead, kill me," taunted ibn-Azziz through clenched teeth. Rakkim had broken his nose slamming his face into the toilet-blood streamed down the Grand Mullah's bony face, his eyes flaring with hate. "Kill me, you kaffir scum. I'll be in Paradise-"

Rakkim backhanded him, sent him sprawling onto the wet stone floor. "No room in Paradise for you, boy wonder. Not while the ovens of hell need shit to fire them."

Ibn-Azziz struggled to get to his knees, water still running from his nostrils.

Rakkim's earpiece vibrated-Sarah leaving him an encrypted message. She must have boosted the signal to reach him this far underground, which meant it was important, but right now, he had things to take care of. In the corridor, Rakkim could see two of ibn-Azziz's guards, dead, like the other six he had killed getting down here. A cramped cell deep under the main prison, torn from the raw rock and reserved for the worst of the worst, and ibn-Azziz had made it his home.

"Come on," said ibn-Azziz, breathing hard. Water dripped from his scraggly beard. "You're not giving up that easy, are you?"

There was a shift change in less than an hour. Plenty of time to escape. Not nearly enough time to get ibn-Azziz to tell what he knew.

Ibn-Azziz held up his trembling hands. "Break my fingers…perhaps that will make me talk." He wriggled his fingers. "Do it."

Nothing on the walls. No mattress. Just the toilet and a tiny cold-water sink. Condensation dotted the ceiling. "You ever think of redecorating?" said Rakkim. "Maybe put in a nice rug…or one of those free-standing fireplaces-"

"Shall I take you to see Jenkins?" said ibn-Azziz, still on his knees, enjoying the discomfort. "He's got a lovely perch on the Bridge of Skulls."

"I've already talked with him. He's out of your reach now."

"He…betrayed you, did he tell you that?" Ibn-Azziz spat out one of his teeth, sent it bouncing across the stone floor. "He gave up your name as though offering me a sweet."

"He told me."

Ibn-Azziz tried to hide his surprise.

"I told him it didn't matter. It just gave me an excuse to kill you. I should have done it sooner, but I didn't have time to study your habits. Jenkins helped me out on that."

"Do I appear frightened?" Ibn-Azziz wiped his nose, his torso crisscrossed with old scars. "Do you think death scares me?"

"No…I don't think it does. Not yet."

"Not yet? Do you intend to school me in fear?" Ibn-Azziz asked. "I bring pain, I do not feel it."

"You bring a lot of pain too. I've seen your handiwork."

Ibn-Azziz held his head high. "This world is a sewer, a vast cesspool fouled with sin and depravity. The people are beasts, rutting and sweating, abandoning Allah-"

"You need to get out more."

Ibn-Azziz launched himself at Rakkim, but Rakkim tripped him, knocked him back down, his head hitting so hard the sound echoed.

"You might want to put some ice on that," said Rakkim.

Ibn-Azziz rolled over.

"You're going to be a real disappointment to the Old One."

"Don't even speak his name."

"Yeah, it is a little pompous. 'The Old One.' Ooooh, I can feel my nut-sack clench." Rakkim squinted. "You got a little bit of toilet paper on your forehead."

Ibn-Azziz tore at his forehead for the nonexistent speck of tissue.

"That old bastard probably had high hopes for you," said Rakkim, "and now…well, not to be cruel or anything, but look at yourself."

"My…my master will understand my failings…"

Rakkim shook his head. "I've met him. He's not the understanding type." He checked his watch. "The rest of the mullahs consider the Old One an apostate, so when you're killed he won't have the Black Robes to back him up. That's going to upset him."

"My master has conquered death, he does not require the Black Robes' support." Ibn-Azziz pulled himself up, legs rubbery. "The Mahdi stands astride history."

"I'm going to kill him too, by the way. Gonna gut him like a feeder pig, as they say in the Belt. You…you're just the appetizer."

Ibn-Azziz laughed, sprayed a mist of blood. "Are you death?"

"Just an amazing facsimile." Rakkim lowered his voice. "Here's something to think about as you squat in hell. Before I kill the Old One, I'm going to tell him that you helped me find him. I'm going to tell him-"

"Liar!"

"I'm going to tell him you pissed yourself you were so eager to give him up."

Ibn-Azziz moved quicker than Rakkim would have believed, got his hands around Rakkim's throat, those yellowed nails digging in.

Rakkim looked into ibn-Azziz's eyes, and he could see the man's soul compressed into an oily black knot, smelled the stink of the Grand Mullah's breath and let him continue.

Ibn-Azziz clawed at Rakkim.

Rakkim gently placed his thumbs under ibn-Azziz's chin, pushed his head back. "Are you afraid yet?" he whispered, ibn-Azziz's fingers so tight around his throat he could barely speak.

Ibn-Azziz hung on.

Holding ibn-Azziz's head back with one hand, Rakkim drove the fingertips of his other hand into a spot just under the jaw. Not too hard a blow-that would have killed ibn-Azziz outright-but just enough to fracture the hyoid bone. The move yet another souvenir from Darwin, a particularly cruel assassin killing technique. Rakkim had no idea how he had learned the maneuver-perhaps something else that had passed between him and Darwin at the moment of the assassin's death. Rakkim dropped his hands to his sides, no longer worried about being strangled.

Ibn-Azziz tried breathing through his nose, his grip already weakening.

"How about now?" whispered Rakkim. "Afraid yet?"

Fear bloomed in ibn-Azziz's eyes, took root as he struggled. He released his grip on Rakkim's throat, frantic now.

Fracturing the hyoid bone caused the tissues to swell, pinching off the air passage-the more ibn-Azziz struggled, the more constricted his throat became. Ibn-Azziz had toughed out nearly being drowned in the toilet, had actually seemed to grow stronger, but this situation was infinitely worse. The very ferocity that had allowed him to laugh in Rakkim's face worked against him now, his rage narrowing down his airway with every beat of his heart. No pain, no glory, just the gathering darkness.

Rakkim watched ibn-Azziz flopping on the floor, watched as the panic overtook him, ibn-Azziz feeling his dreams dying, his memories dying…and at the end, he watched as ibn-Azziz's soul flared like a horsefly in a furnace, leaving only ashes.

Rakkim walked out of the cell. Soon as he got clear, he would check Sarah's message. See what was so important.