Prayers for the assassin

CHAPTER 32

Darwin sat in the car, headlights off, listening to the patter of rain on the roof and thinking of the handsome young police officer. He remembered the way the man had washed his feet in the bathtub prior to prayers, his long toes, and the care with which he had prepared himself for his devotions. They said that a good Muslim was always ready for death. So, in this case, Darwin had been an instrument of divine instruction, a reiteration of the need for-

The tracking receiver suddenly started beeping, startling Darwin out of his metaphysical musings. With his night-vision goggles the flashing diodes of the receiver seemed bright as shooting stars, the beeping a high-pitched keening now. What’s your hurry, lovebirds? Darwin tromped on the accelerator, wheels spinning for a moment on the wet road, leaving tire patches as he raced after them.

Smart move on Rakkim’s part, speeding off after another fifteen-minute stop, a near surefire way to shake anyone tailing them. Anyone without a receiver. Darwin doubted that they knew he was following them, but it was a clever tactic. Just what he would have expected from Rakkim. That was the unique thing about this assignment…the challenge.

Not that his previous jobs had been without risk or difficulty. That was to be expected. That’s why the Old One used him. Darwin had once assassinated a powerful, liberal ayatollah within his own mosque, killed him as he was getting ready for dawn prayers. The ayatollah’s bodyguards and acolytes were just outside the door of his office when Darwin struck, the killing perfectly timed, the call of the muezzin drowning out the cleric’s dying groans. Darwin smiled, remembering how he had carved a Star of David on the ayatollah’s chest, the man still alive, struggling silently, his screams blocked by the head of a fetal pig Darwin had shoved into his mouth. It was those kinds of creative touches that Darwin took the most pride in. Oh, planning the operations was interesting, and the killings themselves were often done under perilous circumstances…but it was those jazzy little riffs that he remembered so fondly afterward.

Yes, when the time came to kill Rakkim, Darwin was going to make sure the method of his dying was worthy of the man. The girl…Sarah, she would have to figure in somehow. Was it turtle doves that mated for life? When one died, so did the other? Or was that just a story? Darwin accelerated, tires squealing around the curves, his hands loose on the wheel, steering with his fingertips. Most people thought that love was as close to immortality as we got in this corrupt and material world, but Darwin knew better. Love was the first tentative step into death, the toe-touch into the cold, infinite night. Darwin drove the curves, thinking of the way Rakkim and Sarah had clutched each other in the foyer of Marian Warriq’s house, one last touch before braving the dark. Rakkim and Sarah sitting in a tree…k-i-s-s-i-n-g. They could keep their love, sweet love. Darwin was going to live forever.

Darwin accelerated through the storm, heedless of the bad road, his goggles turning the darkness gold and glowing. The road dipped down into a series of switchbacks, and he was forced to slow, the beeping from the tracking device still faster now-Rakkim had obviously found a straightaway. Must have chosen that particular stretch of road to make his run. Should have known he had driven it before. Rain and leaves pelted the windshield, but the wipers swept it clear. He was tempted to discard the goggles and turn on his headlights, but Rakkim and Sarah would be looking back, looking to see if lights were following them. No, better to keep them guessing. The tracking device had a ten-mile range. They weren’t going to get away.

Darwin was driving a modified black Cadillac, a roomy, luxury sedan appropriate for his role as a real estate salesman, but the car had four-wheel drive and advanced steering and suspension. It handled like a race car. Darwin punched it down the slick road, exhilarated, tiny beads of sweat rimming the back of his ears. The car hit a pothole, but the heavy shocks absorbed the impact with barely a bump. Faster now, the road beginning to flatten out. The beeping from the receiver slowed slightly. He was gaining now. No danger of them outrunning the range of the unit. He intended to get close enough to see their red taillights and then back off.

Darwin raced through the night, lights off, thinking again of the handsome young policeman and the way he kept trying to raise the pistol, even at the very end. The persistence of the common man, the ones who knew they were overmatched and yet still kept fighting…it was a source of wonder and delight, as inspiring as the aurora borealis or an ancient Al Green gospel song. When this business was all over, when the dead were buried and the Old One was satisfied, Darwin was going to visit the handsome young policeman’s grave. He would return the policeman’s badge to him. Leave it resting against his headstone with a bouquet of red roses. It was the least he could do.

The car was doing sixty-five down the straightaway when Darwin caught a gleam of light on the road. A mere shimmer, but he knew what it was. Knew too late what Rakkim had done. He didn’t even try to brake. Not at that speed. Not on the wet road.

The spike strip blew out all four tires, the sound like distant fireworks within the thick-insulted interior of the Cadillac. Pow-pow-pow-pow. Rakkim was having a regular celebration. Darwin gripped the wheel, trying to maintain control as the car fishtailed. The tires had a solid core, a secondary tire able to be driven on…just not in these conditions. Not at this speed. The Cadillac veered to the right, caught the soft, rain-soaked shoulder, and flipped. Darwin relaxed, settled back in the seat cushion as the car landed on its roof, sending pain shooting through his neck.

The air bags deployed as the car rolled again and again, Darwin bouncing from side to side, over and over as the car tore through the tree line and down the embankment. Branches snapped against the frame, glass shattering, and with each bone-jarring impact, he drifted farther away. His last idle thought before the car came to a halt was whether the gas bladder would leak. It was designed like the fuel tank of a high-performance aircraft. Sheathed in a spark-resistant titanium alloy…but, still, one had to question. Technology was always prone to human error and the optimism of the engineers who had designed it. That’s why the Fedayeen always said the most reliable technology, the ultimate weapon, was a trained warrior left naked in the snow.

Darwin awoke to shouting. Men with flashlights and torches were outside the car. Lots of men. Beating on the sides of the car. Drumming on the dented metal. Men with painted faces. Teeth filed to points in the torchlight. Did he really see that? He pulled off his night goggles. The car was on its side, tilted downhill. The air bags deflated, sagging across the interior of the car like jellyfish. His right eye was swollen. His neck hurt. His knee too. The tracking receiver beeped steadily. So Rakkim and Sarah had stopped again. Were probably watching him from some vantage point. A picnic in the rain. Enjoy yourself, Fedayeen. In the rearview mirror he saw men popping open the trunk with crowbars, hooting and hollering, howling. Darwin tasted blood in his mouth. How nice to be the life of the party.

A shirtless fat man waved a golf club outside his window. Hairy teats like a sow. Taking a full windup.

Darwin covered his eyes with his arm as the golf club blasted through the window. He cupped his knife as they dragged him out the window, a shard of glass cutting a swath across his torso. A ribbon of flesh. Darwin gently eased the knife into the fat man with the golf club, slipped the blade into his belly button, slipped it in and out, with just the right twist at the deepest penetration.

The men around him didn’t even notice the sound the fat man made, too intent on kicking at Darwin, shouting in his face, tearing at his suit and patting his pockets for money. A boy swatted Darwin across the ear with a flashlight, and Darwin’s hand flew out, greeting him. A bulbous fellow in a soggy army jacket kneed Darwin, and Darwin thanked him with the edge of his blade. More men arrived, torches high, sliding down the steep slope. They didn’t even notice when man after man fell in a gush of blood, torches guttering on the wet ground. They just assumed the men had lost their footing and were eager to take their place, already arguing over how much ransom Darwin would bring.

Some people thought Fedayeen assassins moved outside of time, either too quickly or too slowly for the laws of the universe to apply. Of course, it wasn’t true. Assassins knew the moment to strike, the instant of vulnerability, the minute interval between attention and inattention.

Darwin let the men pass him around, his head ringing from their blows, his knife dancing among them as though looking for a partner. When they finally realized what was happening, when the mud was thick with them, Darwin threw back his head, rain beating against his face and laughed at the little trick that Rakkim had played on him. It had been a long time since he had been fooled so badly.

The men stopped for an instant, looking at each other. Filthy men. Bleeding. Hair matted. Beards full of dirt and leaves. Dead men. They raised their weapons, hefted their bats and chains and clubs and knives. They screamed and cursed, and they charged.

“That’s him, isn’t it?” Sarah shielded her eyes from the rain with her hand. Pointed at the lights flickering in the distance. “The werewolves got him.” She sounded giddy.

Rakkim hefted the tracking device he had removed from the undercarriage of the car, sailed it into the night. “Maybe.”

Sarah looked at him. “You said the crash alone would probably kill him.”

“The car didn’t explode. The gas tank should have gone up. Even in the rain, there should have been a fireball…something big enough to set the trees ablaze.” Rakkim watched the torches bob in the night. Torches up and down the ravine. If Rakkim were alone, he would drive back and see for himself if the assassin had survived the crash. And if he had survived, see if he had survived the werewolves. Rakkim wasn’t alone though.

“Let’s go back and make sure,” said Sarah. “What’s so funny?”

“I love you, that’s-”

There was a blast of light brighter than all the torches as the gas tank exploded.

Rakkim counted the seconds until the echo reached them. About four miles away. In that instant when the gas tank blew, Rakkim thought he had seen bodies flying through the air. The fire was shrinking, going out in the downpour. There were still torches, but they were fewer and scattered now. Two or three pine trees around the site crackled, their lower branches going up.

Sarah stood beside him, the two of them holding hands as though they were watching fireworks at their wedding. “You did it, Rikki. You killed him.”

Rakkim watched the trees burning in the rain.

“Can we go now?” said Sarah. “He’s dead, isn’t he?”

Rakkim kissed her, felt the warmth of her lips. “We can go now.”