Heart of the Assassin

CHAPTER 51

Rakkim was leaning against the railing overlooking Niagara Falls when he heard them come in. Just after 2 A.M. A virtual beach, they called it. He also liked Point Break, East of Oahu and Lake Como, all previously selected by the Old One and accessible, but you really couldn't beat Niagara Falls for sheer power. A place for honeymooners, that's what they called it. Danger and power and beauty. Prelude to a marriage.

He had been there for over an hour, waiting, enjoying the feel of the cool mist against his skin, and thinking about Sarah. When he confronted her outside the embassy, he hadn't even been sure that the cross was fake. Had half expected her to deny it, and would have been happy to accept her answer. People want to believe, Rikki…She was right, as usual. Instead, she had told him the truth. A small blessing with a sharp edge. He watched the three of them enter the cube, the mist floating around them.

"It is him," said Gravenholtz.

"Don't act so surprised, Lester, it reveals your ignorance." The Old One strolled into the cube, dapper in a lightweight dark blue suit that followed his every movement. "I expected you yesterday, or the day before, Rikki."

"I got delayed in Las Vegas," said Rakkim.

"Well, you're here, that's all that matters," said the Old One.

"Yeah, he's here," said Gravenholtz. "Light the candles on my birthday cake."

Rakkim watched them through the haze, the waterfall crashing behind him. Seeing Gravenholtz made him miss his blade even more. The New Mandarin was the only hotel in the Republic fitted with the latest Swiss security filters, able to detect even a Fedayeen DNA knife. No knives, no guns, no explosives…the system screened for eighty-seven poisons and biotoxins too. One big happy family at the New Mandarin.

The Old One looked around, the breeze from the falls stirring his fine gray hair. "A good choice, but have you tried…" He fingered the remote, the falls flickering for an instant, revealing the actual enormous swimming pool at the center of the cube, before popping to a clear lake surrounded by black volcanic rock, stars everywhere, the night air instantly colder.

"Where are we?" said Rakkim.

The Old One kicked off his shoes, rolled his pant cuffs up and waded out into the water. "Lake Neruda, in the Andes. Elevation so high and the soil so acidic that there's almost no life in it…hence its spectacular clarity."

"Fuck the travelogue," said Gravenholtz. "Is he on board or not? Because if he's not, I want to take him out."

The Old One looked at Rakkim, rolled his eyes.

Rakkim laughed.

"Are you going to let me in on the joke?" Baby stood in the doorway in a low-cut party gown. Rakkim hadn't expected to see her. "Don't worry, Rikki, I don't hold a grudge."

Rakkim ignored her, turned to the Old One. "You have the piece of the cross?"

The Old One patted his chest. "Right next to my heart." He splashed Rakkim. "Come on in, the water's fine."

Rakkim took off his boots, splashed out beside the Old One, the water numbing his feet, the gravel shifting slightly under his bare feet. He looked back at Gravenholtz glaring at him from the shore, his features brutal in the moonlight, and Rakkim couldn't tell if he was in a swimming pool in Seattle or in a lake on the other side of the world.

"Why don't you go out there and keep them company, Lester?" said Baby.

"No thanks," said Gravenholtz.

"Realistic, isn't it?" The Old One went under, came up spitting a fountain into the air. Tiny insects buzzed around them, their wings silky in the sunlight. A dragonfly landed on the Old One's outstretched hand, drying its wings before flying away. "Three-hundred-and-sixty-degree technology, every sense taken into account."

They were in bright sunshine now, the water warmer, the beach composed of smooth, flat rocks instead of gravel. Wooden cabanas and snack stands loomed behind Gravenholtz and Baby, men and women in bikinis waiting in line for cold drinks, the signs in French. "This is Cannes, on the Riviera of my youth. It doesn't exist anymore…except here." He sniffed. "You can actually smell the salt air and crisped potatoes."

"Ask him," said Gravenholtz.

"Lester, honey," drawled Baby, "shut the hell up and let Daddy handle things."

Gravenholtz kicked at the rocks, sent a couple of them scudding into the water.

Rakkim watched the ripples approach, felt them.

"I'm afraid Lester has a point," said the Old One, wading farther out, the water at his knees. "I asked you once before to honor me with your allegiance. You declined then, but I was hoping you might have changed your mind."

Rakkim watched the vendor walking down the strand selling ice cream bars to the sunbathers from a tiny icebox, an African immigrant…his features reminded Rakkim of Moseby, and for an instant he wondered if the Old One had programmed the holo display for maximum upset. He waded out to where the Old One stood.

"Leo is such an interesting young man," said the Old One. "He looks at the universe like a child presented with a new toy he can't wait to unwrap."

"You've spoken with him?"

"Don't be scared, Rakkim."

"I'm not scared."

"I think if I treat Leo right…treat him with care, I think he's going to be incredibly useful," said the Old One.

"You're not going to get the chance," said Rakkim.

"Don't threaten me, Rakkim-it demeans you." The Old One dragged a hand in the water, let it trickle through his fingers. "I could have had you killed on many occasions. You and your family. Didn't you ever wonder why I kept you safe?"

"I had all these questions when I came here," said Rakkim. "I was going to ask if Amir had signed up for your two-bit caliphate, and how the war with Aztlan fit in with your long-range plans. I really wanted to know what the puzzle was supposed to look like." He reached into the water, picked up a large rock, threw it at Gravenholtz, who tried to duck…the rock shimmered as it went right through him and clattered onto the beach. "Now…now I don't care," said Rakkim, unnerved by how real the rock had felt in his hand. "Answers would be nice, but I didn't come here for answers. I came here to kill you and Gravenholtz. That's good enough for me."

The virtual beach flickered, the scene at Cannes winking out, and Rakkim glimpsed again the Olympic-size swimming pool. Then he and the Old One were on a fine, white sand beach at dawn, the air already humid. Rakkim could see Sugarloaf Mountain and massive high-rises dotting the hills behind them. Rio.

"Why don't you wait a while to kill us? It's such a lovely morning." The Old One took off his suit jacket, tossed it onto the sand. He spread his arms, eyes half closed, his diaphanous white shirt flapping in the warm breeze off the Atlantic. "Relax, Rikki, enjoy the moment."

"Wheeeeeeee." Baby raced past them and high-stepped into the surf, completely naked, her white ass flashing in the sun as she dove in.

Rakkim looked back, saw her clothes strewn on the beach. Gravenholtz sat on the sand, knees clasped, glaring at him.

The Old One sat in a canvas lounge chair as Baby frolicked in the waves. "She's amazing…and even more beautiful than her mother." He drew on a sketchpad with a fountain pen-the breeze whipped his shirt, exposing the piece of the cross hanging around his neck on a silver chain, most of the tiny white flowers gone now. "Baby is part of the offer, Rikki," he said, not taking his eyes off her as the pen flew over the pad. "You can marry her with my blessing."

Rakkim watched Baby backstroking farther out. "What does she have to say about that?"

The Old One wiggled his toes in the sand. "It was her idea."

"Lester!" called Baby. "Come on in!"

"I told you, I don't want to," said Gravenholtz.

Rakkim felt the wind in his face.

"When I was a student at Oxford, I listened to professors argue whether it was a confluence of events or great men who changed the course of history," said the Old One, sketching away. "Whether Rome was brought down by overextension of the empire or the murder of Julius Caesar, whether it was slash-and-burn agriculture that collapsed the Mayan civilization or the inability of a single warrior-king to unite the cities. The sophistry of scholars." He glanced over at Rakkim. "The secret is to create the conditions for change, a process that sometimes takes decades, and then use certain men as pivot points, a fulcrum to move history." He went back to his drawing. "That's you, Rakkim. That's why you're here."

"Was Malcolm Crews one of your pivot points?" said Rakkim. "Because if he was, you're going to have to sit in the sad chair. Turns out Crews likes being the good guy."

"Well, I rather doubt that will last," said the Old One, "but no matter, Pastor Crews has served his primary function." His dark features were intense in the morning light, his mouth a thin slash. "Crews is a secondary player. Not easily replaced, but certainly replaceable. There's a country singer in Tupelo, Mississippi, drawing large crowds. Pretty girl, skin like cashew butter, sings gospel songs so sweetly you'd think she believed it." He watched Baby diving into the water. "Everyone's replaceable, Rikki. So what do you want?"

"You look tired," said Rakkim. "Vulnerable, somehow."

"Nonsense," said the Old One.

"No, it looks good on you," said Rakkim. "Nobody lives forever, do they? I bet when you lie down at night you can hear the clock ticking. Tickety-tock, tickety-tock."

The Old One's pen scratched away at the paper.

"It must hurt," says Rakkim. "All those years, all that effort, and what do you have to show for it? Just money and a line of corpses stretching on forever. If Allah chose you as the Mahdi he must be rather disappointed, don't you think?"

"Allah doesn't make mistakes," said the Old One.

"Exactly," said Rakkim.

Gravenholtz stayed on the sand, glaring at them.

Baby splashed into the shallows, waxed and smooth as a pink doll, a speargun in one hand, a large fish wriggling on the barbed tip. She tossed the gun up onto the beach as a fresh wave broke over her, white water foaming around her thighs.

Rakkim watched the fish flopping on the sand, its gills opening and closing.

Baby stayed at the waterline, squeezed out her hair-water ran down her breasts, collected in a sparkling arc at the bottom of her belly button…the promise of the dawn.

Rakkim turned to the Old One, who was as transfixed by her as he was. "Sending Baby and Mr. Ugly for the cross…you thinking of converting?"

The Old One showed the drawing to Rakkim. It was Baby, of course. Baby naked in the waves, precisely rendered. Baby, slim and sensuous, her expression playful, knowing just what she was doing. "A man picks up many skills over the years…"

"I wouldn't blame you for going Christian," said Rakkim. "Sure seems like Allah's fed up with you. Ibn-Azziz? Dead. Malcolm Crews? Born again. All you have left is the man with the ear of the president. Maybe that's Amir and maybe it isn't, but I'm talking with General Kidd tomorrow."

The Old One tore off the sheet of paper. "Amir's dead." He released the drawing to the wind, Baby's image rolling down the beach.

Gravenholtz started after it, stopped himself.

"How?" Rakkim's voice broke. "How did he die?"

"He tried to murder Kidd and the general killed him." The Old One shrugged. "I'm not surprised. Kidd is forceful, and Amir…well, it's always difficult for a son to take his father's life. Doubts creep in and slow the hand, divert the intention. Kidd evidently had no qualms killing his son."

"You don't know Kidd."

"No, I don't-not like you do, Rikki. The general has great affection for you, which is understandable. I feel the very same way about you, and with the traumatic events of today, I suspect the general is ready to relinquish control to you very soon now. So he can grieve, of course, perhaps make a pilgrimage home to that desolate stretch of dirt on the horn of Africa."

"I see. You thought you had it covered both ways," said Rakkim. "No matter who won, Amir or Kidd, your man would be in place."

"Are you my man, Rakkim?" The Old One stood up, tossed the sketchbook onto the chair. "The world is a big place, too big for even me to rule by myself. Time to decide whose side you're on."

Rakkim's index finger inadvertently twitched, a well-honed killing reflex.

The Old One noticed. "Do you miss your knife?"

"I don't need a blade," said Rakkim.

"Don't be like that, Rikki," said Baby, walking toward them, water glistening along the curves of her body. "Daddy's right. I see things in you…things you could become. You and me…there's no limit to us."

Gravenholtz rushed to Baby, wrapped a heavy white towel around her. "This ain't right," he said to the Old One, his face flushed. "You're treating him like the fucking prodigal son. I'm the one who brought you the cross."

"Well, Rakkim?" said the Old One.

Rakkim backhanded the Old One, sent him sprawling.

Gravenholtz smiled. A warthog smile, tufts of red hair sprouting from his skull.

"Lester Gravenholtz, you settle down right now," said Baby, helping the Old One up. "Rikki, why don't you go in the water and cool off."

Gravenholtz closed in on Rakkim.

Rakkim backed toward the water, saw Gravenholtz slow. "Come on, Lester, what are you waiting for?"

Gravenholtz charged.

Rakkim dodged, drove the bottom of his foot against the side of Gravenholtz's knee. Any other man would have been lying in agony on the sand, crippled by the blow. Gravenholtz limped slightly, his smile still in place.

They went back and forth on the beach. Rakkim was faster, much faster, but his kicks and punches barely affected Gravenholtz, who kept trying to narrow the arena. Twice Gravenholtz almost grasped him, his nails gouging Rakkim's arms. Rakkim landed a solid strike to Gravenholtz's face, snapped his head back. It should have killed him. Gravenholtz spit blood on the sand and kept advancing, circling…except whenever Rakkim backed into the water. Then Gravenholtz waited for Rakkim to come out. Rakkim glanced over at Baby.

"It's not too late to change your mind, Rakkim," said the Old One.

"The fuck it isn't," said Gravenholtz, blood leaking from his nose.

Rakkim sidled into the water.

Gravenholtz hesitated, came after him.

Rakkim backed farther out, waves lapping against his back.

Gravenholtz stayed put. "I'll make it quick. Just like I did for your buddy."

Rakkim stepped back. The water was chest-high now. "You scared of a little water?" He whipped his hand across the waves, sprayed Gravenholtz's face. As the redhead rubbed his eyes, Rakkim dove, grabbed both of Gravenholtz's ankles, jerked him under, Rakkim on the bottom now, and pulled the both of them into deeper water.

Gravenholtz bent his body, trying to get free, trying to reach him, but Rakkim just kept walking backward along the bottom, still hanging on to Gravenholtz's ankles. Rakkim had once held his breath for nine minutes.

Rakkim tried to keep him under but Gravenholtz was paddling hard with his hands, stirring up silt, the two of them rising slowly. Rakkim let go of Gravenholtz's ankles, clawed his way up the man's bulky body, fighting for every inch, trying to hold him down. Face-to-face now, Gravenholtz snarling, bubbles pouring from his mouth…Rakkim drove his fingers deep into the redhead's eyes, deeper, scooping through the warm jelly as Gravenholtz bellowed, trying to escape; deeper, Rakkim pushing his way right into the sinus cavity, opening him wide. Water poured directly into Gravenholtz's throat now, unstoppable, flooded into his lungs as he struggled, the water pink with blood.

The last of Gravenholtz's air dribbled out his nostrils. Weakened now, blinded, a sac of skin filling rapidly with water, he still managed to flail around, found Rakkim and wrapped his arms around him.

The two of them tumbled underwater, yellow viscous fluid from Gravenholtz's ruined eyes trailing behind them as they sank toward the bottom. Gravenholtz clung to Rakkim in a cruel embrace, their faces inches apart, slowly crushing him. Rakkim tightened his chest, but felt his ribs cracking, giving way. Light-headed, Rakkim watched a school of tiny orange fish zigzag around them, curious, nibbling at the bubbles of blood that floated past. A fish scooted in, nibbled at Gravenholtz's cavernous eye sockets.

Rakkim slammed the knuckle of his thumb again and again into Gravenholtz's temple, a killing strike that didn't kill him, but scared the fish away…and Rakkim would have laughed, but it hurt too much, and his vision was narrowing…narrowing…Terrible to die looking into Gravenholtz's face.

Then…then Gravenholtz released him, the redhead's arms drifting free, riding the watery currents. Rakkim coughed, a smoke ring of blood…but he didn't smoke. He feebly kicked toward the surface.

Rakkim broke through the waves, gasping, made his way to shore, crawled up onto the sand, exhausted. Breathing hurt, but not breathing hurt even more. He lay back in the morning light. Going to be…a great day in Rio.

Baby bent over him, kissed him. She had her party dress back on. Too bad. Rakkim rolled over, got onto his hands and knees. Baby helped him up.

"You…you knew he…" Rakkim coughed up pink water. "You knew he was too heavy to swim."

"I saw him about piss himself in a glass-bottom boat this one time," said Baby.

"Move away from him, Baby," said the Old One, pointing the fountain pen at Rakkim.

"You…you going to draw my picture?" Rakkim bent over again, coughing.

"That's not necessary, Daddy," said Baby.

"Move away from him now," said the Old One.

Baby moved away.

"Very impressive, Rakkim," said the Old One. "Killing Lester with your bare hands…that's quite a feat."

"Save the applause until…after I…kill you," said Rakkim.

"Your friend Jenkins told ibn-Azziz this ridiculous story about you killing Darwin," said the Old One. "Doing it by yourself. I didn't believe it, of course, but seeing what you just did…well, it makes me wonder."

"Jenkins…would have said anything to buy a little…little more time," said Rakkim.

"Did you do it, Rikki?" said the Old One. "Did you kill Darwin?"

"Come closer, I'll whisper in your ear," said Rakkim.

The Old One smiled. "I'm going to miss you, Rakkim."

"Daddy, no!"

The Old One aimed the fountain pen. "I offered you the world and you turned it down." Thin white strings streamed out of the pen. "Remember that as you die."

Rakkim tried to push aside the white strings but they were so sticky, wrapping around him, squeezing him even tighter than Gravenholtz. He felt his ribs splintering…tried to scream but there was no breath left in him.

The Old One kept spraying those silky white strings…until the moment that his chest exploded. He staggered…gingerly touched the sharp tines of the titanium spear protruding from his breastbone. Looked behind him.

Baby rested the speargun against her shoulder. "I asked you nice, Daddy."