Heart of the Assassin

CHAPTER 43

"Y'all want a refill, hon?"

"Thanks," said Rakkim, as the waitress filled his coffee cup and started down the counter.

"How about me?" demanded Baby. "What, am I invisible?"

The waitress ignored her, chatting with a hefty farmer with tattooed forearms. A game show played on the TV over the counter, a photo of the young, swivel-hipped Elvis on one corner of the screen, Never Forget superimposed.

Rakkim dropped a twenty-dollar bill into the REBUILD GRACELAND canister on the counter. "I don't think she likes you."

"If I was a bubblebutt like her, I wouldn't like me either," said Baby.

Their progress toward Atlanta was still slow, and their calls to the Colonel hadn't gone through. Aztlan was jamming most communications in the Belt.

A trio of rough-looking men walked through the front door, automatic rifles slung over their shoulders. What with the mobilization, restaurants and markets had abandoned their gun-check policy and just let people be. With everybody armed, things tended to stay polite. As long as folks weren't too drunk. One of the men noticed Baby, nudged the others. They tripped over their own feet twice on their way to a booth.

"Where you folks headed?" said the waitress, sliding a plate of grits and eggs in front of Rakkim.

"Atlanta," said Rakkim. "They say ninety-five is closed, but we're hoping to find an alternate route. If you got any suggestions…"

Baby gripped Rakkim's upper arm, cocked her head at the waitress. "It's our honeymoon. What with the war coming we didn't want to wait another minute."

Rakkim tried to shrug her off, but she held on.

"I thought me and the mister was about to set the sheets on fire last night," said Baby.

"My Gerald and I were the same way," said the waitress. "Wait until you have kids."

"Oh, I bet you and your husband still rock and roll," said Baby.

The waitress smiled as she topped off Baby's coffee. "We do all right."

"Knock that kind of talk off," said Rakkim after the waitress had left.

"Everybody likes lovebirds," said Baby. "Maybe she asks around to see if anybody saw Lester."

"I already asked," said Rakkim. "Nobody's seen him or the truck he boosted from the Colonel." He stretched. Definitely feeling better, the effects of his radiation exposure minimal now. "Gravenholtz might have changed rides."

"Like I said, we'll catch him in Miami." Baby watched herself in the mirror behind the counter, touched her cheek. "Look at my complexion. Sleeping in the car is ruining me."

Rakkim glanced at her, then went back to his grits. He spent too much time looking at her as it was. She knew it too. "How is it you think you can crack the Old One's security?"

Baby leaned closer. "You think shadow warriors are the only ones know how to make friends?" she whispered. "The Old One's got all kinds of people working for him, and most of them like nothing better than impressing a pretty girl with what they know." She reached over and scooped up some of his grits with her fork.

"If you're hungry, why didn't you order something?" said Rakkim.

"I like eating yours better," said Baby, sucking on the tines of the fork. "I know I said I wanted you to kill Lester when we catch up with him…I just hope you're up to it."

Rakkim stabbed at his sunny-side-up eggs, the yolk running across his plate.

"I didn't mean that the way it sounded."

"Sure you did."

"It's a bad habit of mine, I'd be the first to admit it." Baby rested her head on his shoulder. "Seems like I always got to be testing a man."

Rakkim shrugged her away.

Baby smacked the counter with her hand. Heads turned but she ignored them. "Jesus, Rikki, I was just playing."

"Maybe I don't want to play. You ever think of that?"

"Maybe you need some damn rest. You ever think of that? It's been days…"

The waitress came by again with the coffeepot. "Everything okay?"

Rakkim waved her off. "Just a little lovers' spat."

"I been asking around about alternate roads for you two honeymooners," said the waitress. "So far, looks like you're out of luck, but I'll keep trying."

Baby waited until the waitress moved away. "That was sweet what you said, Rikki."

"Don't get excited. I didn't want to draw any more attention than we already have."

"A lovers' spat." Baby tapped her nails on the Formica counter. "Seems to me you could have come up with some other phrase to deflect attention. That's interesting, don't you think…you choosing to say that?"

Rakkim put his coffee down as LIVE SPECIAL REPORT bannered across the TV. The camera showed Seattle, panned across the cityscape. He heard boos and curses as the Grand Caliph mosque appeared, then the camera cut to President Brandt standing behind a podium in his private office. Somebody turned the sound up. The picture quality was crisp-the usual signal jamming between the two nations halted for the broadcast.

"…welcome you all, citizens of the Belt as well as the Republic," said Brandt. "These are momentous times…challenging times, calling for anything but business as usual."

"What's going on?" said Baby.

The camera pulled back and Rakkim was startled to see the president flanked by General Kidd on one side and Amir on the other. The president usually chose to dominate the stage. For Kidd to be there implied a state of national emergency, since Brandt, who had no military experience, needed the presence of the general to reassure the country. Kidd's erect posture and serene confidence did just that. But why was Amir there? Kidd represented the Fedayeen. If anything, the chairman of the joint chiefs should have been present to affirm the support of the army.

"Recent events, and in particular the brutal attack on Graceland, have forced me to conclude that a state of war exists between the Belt and Aztlan," intoned the president.

The diner was silent, only the sound of sizzling bacon interrupting the stillness.

"While Aztlan bombs innocent civilians in Tennessee, the government of Tenochtitlan also pressures the Republic for our territory and our natural resources," said the president.

Rakkim paid no attention to the president, drawn instead to Kidd and Amir. Kidd remained impassive, eyes straight ahead, but Amir betrayed a certain…eagerness.

"Citizens of the Belt and the Republic, I say to you…" The president's eyes darted toward Amir for a second, then back to the camera. "I say to you, my fellow countrymen, that this state of affairs cannot be allowed to stand."

"What the fuck did he just call us?" asked the farmer with the tattooed forearms.

"Shhhh," said someone else.

"We've had our difficulties, both Belt and Republic," said the president, "but like the great Abraham Lincoln once said…if we don't hang together, we'll hang separately."

That last line was a masterstroke. Lincoln was the patron saint of the Belt, even more revered than Elvis himself. For a moment Rakkim wondered if Sarah had worked on the speech for the president. Wondered if she had secretly begun advising him, the way she had counseled President Kingsley. The theme of reconciliation was exactly what she had been talking about for years now. Rakkim kept expecting someone in the diner to yell out an obscenity, or demand the TV be turned to another station, but no one said a word.

The president looked directly into the camera. "I say to you now, my fellow Americans, your war with Aztlan is our war too."

The waitress sobbed, wiped her eyes with the hem of her apron.

"I say to Aztlan, both Belt and the Republic stand united," said the president. "Do not suppose for an instant that our religious differences will divide Muslims and Christians forever. We share a belief in one God, with a common line of saints and prophets. There's room in Paradise for all of us."

Rakkim wished he had postponed killing ibn-Azziz, just so the Black Robe could have lived long enough to hear the president say such a thing. Men had ended up on the Bridge of Skulls for lesser apostasies.

Two men walked in the front door of the diner, started to say something and were immediately silenced by the other patrons.

"As of today, the Republic will no longer send half the electric power generated by the Great Dam to Aztlan as tribute." The president gripped the podium as his hands started to shake. "As of today, the Republic is suspending all talks on relinquishing water rights to the Colorado River. What is ours will remain ours."

"What does that mean?" whispered Baby.

"It means war," Rakkim said, still watching the president.

General Kidd didn't move, stayed beside the president. Only someone who knew him as well as Rakkim did could have seen the tension in his face, the resignation. Kidd understood as well as Rakkim that Aztlan's air superiority almost guaranteed them victory. Amir, though…Amir seemed almost cheerful, the happy warrior. He leaned over and whispered in the president's ear…the president nodded.

"I call on President Raynaud to send an emissary to Seattle at the earliest opportunity," said the president, "so that we may map out a strategy for the future. Thank you…and may God bless us all."

The TV screen went gray for a moment, then cut to a Belt newsman looking stunned. He realized his camera was live, cleared his throat…and had nothing to say.

The diner echoed with conversation, people already arguing over what it meant, if the Republic could be trusted, and how long before the bombs started to fall.

Malcolm Crews appeared onscreen, standing on a street somewhere, the news kiosks behind him already replaying President Brandt's speech. A female reporter held up a microphone, and Crews said something about a time to heal old wounds, and prepare to fight the new enemy. "Like the man there said," Crews said, voice rising, "we Christians don't sing the same hymns as the Muslims, but at least we both pray to one God, not some unholy cafeteria of pagan deities like the Mexicans. That's got to count for something."

Rakkim stared at the TV, aware of Crews but still seeing Amir whispering in the president's ear. Still seeing the president respond to what he had been told without even thinking. I don't know who the Old One's inside man is, Jenkins had said, almost his dying words as the gulls circled the Bridge of Skulls. I don't know who he is…all ibn-Azziz said was he had the ear of the president. Amir had done the same thing at the presidential inauguration a year ago, embracing Brandt, then said something in the smaller man's ear that pleased him.

"What is it?" said Baby.

Could Amir really be working for the Old One? Hard to imagine…the ear of the president…a common phrase. Meant nothing…but there had been something in their body language on the podium just now, some unseemly deference on Brandt's part. A small thing, but Rakkim had survived on the basis of noticing things others didn't: a glance, an intonation, the slight tightening of the jaw before a smile.

"What's wrong?" said Baby.

No…it couldn't be Amir. The Old One was attuned to every weakness, every human flaw-given his charm and powers of persuasion, he might have convinced even Amir to follow him, but General Kidd despised the Old One, recognized him for what he was. Amir might betray his country, but he would never betray his father. Never.

"Nothing," said Rakkim.

"You never tell me anything," said Baby.