Sins of the Assassin

Chapter 27

The monorail into downtown Atlanta put even the grand transit system of Seattle to shame. Seattle’s elevated train was clean, smooth, and free of graffiti, but even the second-class cars of the new Atlanta monorail had plush seats, soft music, and the scent of magnolias piped in. No telling what first-class amenities were. Rakkim would have liked to find out but Idents weren’t allowed in first class. He enjoyed the last of the sun warming the glass of the train.

The outskirts of the Belt capital were the usual shabby apartments and run-down homes with brown lawns, but the people getting on to ride into the city were well dressed, the women in short, frilly skirts and purple anteater-skin boots, the men in suits with high collars and tight pants. They weren’t heading into the capital for a night on the town, they were the working poor looking their best for their service jobs taking care of the capital’s overclass-making drinks, driving town cars, or serving tiger prawn satay or veal tartare to the sleek civil servants, tech workers, and international-business desk jockeys that were the hot blood of Atlanta.

Rakkim had bought himself and Leo new clothes, spending more than he anticipated on his credit chip, but even so, he felt underdressed. From the glances of the other riders, it was a majority opinion. Even the Idents were fashionable.

“I’m scared,” whispered Leo.

“It’s okay,” said Rakkim.

“I checked the security phone for bugs,” said Leo. “I thought I found them all, but I was wrong.”

Rakkim stared at his hands. He had a small blister on each of his thumbs from digging graves for the Tigard family.

“I was wrong,” said Leo. “I’m never wrong about things like that.” Leo’s knees bounced rapidly up and down. “What happens when we get to the mountain? Maybe…maybe I’m not as smart as I think I am.”

“Little late in the game for humility, Leo. I liked you better when you were working out the value of pi to a hundred places while pounding it to Leanne.”

“Me too.” Leo caught himself. “I don’t like that phrase, ‘pounding it,’ in reference to Leanne.”

Through the scenic glass Rakkim could see that new skyscrapers had been built since his last visit. A couple of them had to be 250 or 300 stories at least, all titanium and glass, squatty at the base and tapering to fine points. South American money, for the most part, the Brazilian and Columbian conglomerates staking their claim, buying prime real estate in the capital. There were office buildings in Dubai and Singapore over four hundred stories tall, buildings that issued separate weather reports depending on your floor, but these new ones in Atlanta were impressive nonetheless. Nice to see a skyline without antiterror blimps hovering overhead or antiaircraft batteries on the rooftops-for all its flaws the Belt didn’t attract the hostility that the Islamic Republic did; its enemies preferred economic pressure and constant territorial encroachment rather than direct attacks.

A young blond Ident across the aisle batted her eyes at Leo-her lids, crusted with glitter stones, flashed rainbows. “Y’all just getting into town?”

Leo nodded.

“He’s allowed to talk, isn’t he?” The Ident smiled at Rakkim, her grill-work crusted with glitter stones too. She offered her hand to Leo, reaching across Rakkim. “I’m Amanda.”

“Leo.”

“Leo the lion.” She winked at him. “Bet you know how to growl too, don’t you?”

Leo looked away.

The monorail raced on, a light electrical hum the loudest sound in the compartment. Leo had phoned ahead after they left the Tigards’ farm. Told his contact what had happened, and what Rakkim wanted. Calls within the Belt were generally safe, but the conversation had been in code anyway. Someone overhearing it would have thought it was just casual talk, except for when the man at the other end had said, Your brother is getting a job offer from Switzerland? You’re absolutely certain of that? The slight change in his tone was a lapse in security, but Rakkim was probably just annoyed for having to use Leo’s Atlanta connection.

A few stops later, the trains slowed. Amanda leaned toward Leo. “This is your stop.”

Rakkim followed them down the ramp to the street, part of the throng of reverse commuters. At the bottom of the ramp, Amanda kissed Leo on the right cheek, left a lip print, and pointed toward a small cart selling soda. The man selling soda handed Rakkim a couple of RC Colas, whispered an address. Ten minutes’ walk later, an Ident led them to the service entrance of one of the largest buildings in the city, Freedom Towers.

Another Ident led them into a private elevator, thumb-coded the control panel. Leo put one hand on the wall, breathing rapidly as the car rose. The doors slid open at the penthouse on the 111th floor. The Ident stepped out, waited for them to exit, and then stepped back inside.

“Good talking with you,” said Rakkim.

The Ident didn’t change expression.

“There you are, dear hearts,” said Getty Andalou, fluttering over in a wave of ruffles and silk. The son of the Senate majority leader, he was well over six feet tall, late thirties, slender as a stick, his perfumed hair falling around his shoulders-a real dandy, elegant in cranberry tights and a loose white silk blouse with ruffled sleeves and collar. All he needed was a sword and a floppy hat with a feather in it. He stood with one hip cocked, hands on his hips. “You must be Leo. I’ve heard so much about you.”

Leo shifted from one foot to another. “Okay.”

“The infamous Rikki.” Andalou gave a slight bow. “I’m glad to see you’re taking such good care of the lad.”

Rakkim curtseyed.

Andalou chuckled. “Ah yes…Spider said you were droll.” He waved at the expansive living room. “Please, come in. I’ve had food prepared…” His nose wrinkled. “Perhaps you’d prefer to bathe first.” He lightly clapped his hands and another Ident appeared. “Please escort our guests to their bedrooms.” He looked at Rakkim. “I’ve taken the liberty of having clothes laid out for you.”

“I’m allergic to ruffles and bows,” said Rakkim.

“I’m sure you are.” Andalou’s teeth were perfectly even and white. “I take a certain pride in anticipating the tastes of my guests…although in your case I had some assistance.”

Rakkim followed the Ident down the hall, Leo tagging along after. The Ident opened a door, bowed, and Leo walked inside. Another door opened, and Rakkim thanked him. He tried the door after it closed behind the Ident. It opened easily. He assumed there were cameras. He checked out the spacious room, its high ceilings and buffed hickory flooring.

Situated at the corner of the penthouse, the panoramic windows afforded a view of the Congressional Building and the Lincoln Monument. Down the street was Traitors Square, whose embossed floor tiles noted the names of journalists and politicians who had covertly accepted Saudi oil money. A trip to the capital wasn’t complete until tourists had tromped all over those names. The Putin Building, the tallest skyscraper in Atlanta, cast a shadow across the city. Three hundred ten stories, according to what he had overheard on the monorail. High enough to make the point, but not too high; at 555 stories, the Rio Spire had been the tallest structure in the world-a ten-thousand-mile view, bragged the publicists-until it fell over one bright sunny day without a cloud in the sky or a seismic shift underfoot. Just toppled over into the Atlantic like a drunk on the white-sand beach. Too big to remove, the wreckage, and the twenty thousand dead under it, had become a major tourist attraction.

Rakkim touched a window, noted the anti-eavesdropping filaments in the armored glass. Nice touch. Some folks would feel safe. The bathroom was bigger than most apartments in the Belt or the Islamic Republic, all pink marble and granite, one entire wall a mirror. Probably two-way glass. He took off his clothes, kicked them into a corner, and walked into the bathroom.

The ultrasonic shower first sprayed a mist of scented water, then the ultrasonics kicked in, a barely audible hum that set the water beads vibrating on his skin, tingling him clean. He stayed there for three cycles, enjoying the sensation, then slathered barber cream on his face, his beard dissolving in the mist. His clothes were gone when he got out, replaced by blue breeches and a soft buckskin shirt. He had seen similar outfits on the monorail-a fine outfit, but not so fine as to draw attention. When he walked out of the bedroom, Leo and Andalou were already waiting for him in the living room.

Leo waved. He looked like he had lost ten pounds on the mission so far, the new clothes fitting him perfectly-a dark gray suit of some shiny material and a white shirt with a shroud of Turin impression of Jesus on it.

“Feel better?” Andalou didn’t wait for Rakkim to answer. “We were just discussing your situation. I notified Spider immediately after speaking with Leo this morning. You know Spider…he’s already started hacking into the KGB database. Russian security is very good, full encryption and false entry points, but Spider is quite confident. I hope you appreciate the magnitude of your request.”

“Cracking the database isn’t as hard as you think.” Leo sniffed. “Back-dating your name into the KGB files, that’s the tricky part. Probably not more than a dozen people in the world could-”

“My history has to be planted behind at least one wall, two would be even better, and the history has to be accurate,” said Rakkim. “From the beginning until three years ago, when I was managing the Blue Moon.”

Andalou smoothed his trousers. “I still don’t understand why you’re-”

“You don’t need to understand.”

“Such lovely manners.” Andalou poured ice tea for Rakkim. “Well, if this little game with your KGB file doesn’t work out, I suspect the two-hundred-million-dollar down payment you’re offering the Colonel will affirm your good intentions.”

Rakkim looked at Leo. “Two hundred million? I thought the president didn’t want to leave his fingerprints on the operation.”

Leo squirmed in his seat.

“The president doesn’t know anything about the Colonel’s new Chinese friends or the change of plans,” said Andalou. “Please…try your tea. I hope it’s not too sweet.”

Rakkim leaned forward. “What’s going on, Leo?”

“It’s Spider’s money,” said Leo. “He transferred it into an account at the Bank of Liechtenstein this morning. Left traces of a Russian point of origin.”

“That’s not what I mean,” said Rakkim.

“Rikki wants to know why the president hasn’t been updated,” said Andalou.

“Why do you think you have to explain things to him?” Rakkim said softly. “Does he seem stupid to you?”

Andalou plucked at the ruffles around his neck, pursed his shiny lips. “Kindly do not threaten me, sir.”

“Do you feel threatened?” said Rakkim.

“Hey, you two,” said Leo. “We’re on the same side.”

“If you want clarification of my good intentions, sir,” said Andalou, “perhaps you should talk with your wife.”

“Go ahead, call me sir again,” said Rakkim.

“Rikki, please,” said Leo. “Getty and Spider and Sarah…we’re working together.”

“Nobody told me.” Rakkim saw Sarah’s face the morning he left…he could see she was upset, holding something back. He just thought she was afraid to start crying. Joke’s on you, Rikki. Ha-ha. “Must have been too important to share with the help.”

“Rikki…if I may,” said Andalou. “I’ve been in contact with Sarah and Spider for some time now. Sharing information. Building up trust. Diplomacy 101.” He shook out his hair, sent perfume wafting through the air. “Sarah wanted to tell you, but I insisted on keeping our little circle small. After all, our lives depend on it.” He crossed his legs, the satin trousers rustling, and Rakkim thought of crickets and kudzu and ambushes when you least expected them. “If you want to know the truth, we thought we had more time. This business with the Chinese making overtures to the Colonel has moved everything up, and I’m not at all sure we’re ready.”

Rakkim waited, enjoying seeing Andalou discomforted. He probably had rehearsed this moment for hours, ready for all the likely responses, but without Rakkim asking Ready for what? Andalou didn’t know how to proceed.

“You’ve seen what things are like here now,” said Leo. “Mexicans taking back land, kidnapping tourists, diverting rivers. People all over the Belt are losing their jobs, or working for foreigners. Warlords and bandits everywhere, the cops have gone crazy, and the federal government needs press-gangs to fill the ranks of their army.”

“My country is dying.” Andalou clutched his glass. “My country…is dying. And so is yours.”

“What do you want me to do about it?” said Rakkim.

“Not you,” said Andalou. “Us. All of us.”

Leo brought his pudgy fists together. “Reunification.”

Rakkim laughed.

“It’s not funny,” said Leo.

“It’s not possible either,” said Rakkim.

“One of the early patriots, Ben Franklin, said we could either hang together or hang separately,” said Andalou. “It’s as true today as it was then. I’m not the only one who sees things this way. There are others…in high office, in business, good folks in the Islamic Republic as well as the Belt. People know things are wrong. Even if they’re too young to remember the way things used to be, the evidence is all around them. The bridge in San Francisco…New Fallujah, whatever you call it. The bridge is rusting, badly maintained, cables worn through. Another five or ten years, it won’t be usable. What happened to the people who built that bridge? The country that built that bridge?”

“I’m no traitor,” said Rakkim.

“Nor am I,” said Andalou.

“I want to talk with Sarah,” Rakkim said to Andalou. “Don’t tell me you can’t do it; you obviously talked to her after Leo called Spider yesterday.”

The ice in Andalou’s drink clinked against the glass. Rakkim wasn’t sure if his hand was trembling or if the dandy just liked the sound of it. “It’s dangerous,” he said.

“A cautious revolutionary? You’re not going to get anywhere like that.”

Andalou nodded. “Indeed.”

Rakkim and Leo followed Andalou into one of the other rooms of the penthouse. The bedroom suite. The love nest of a decadent playboy, the bed a round, canopied tent draped in red silk, paintings of fleshy nudes on the walls. Into the walk-in closet, his clothes a rainbow of peacock finery. Andalou pressed a light fixture and a false wall slid back, revealing a small alcove behind a rack of suits. A videophone link was built into a desk. He beckoned them into the cramped interior, the wall sliding shut behind them.

“Landline?” said Leo as Andalou keyed in a number.

Andalou nodded, moved slightly to give Rakkim more room.

“You intersecting through Mozambique?” said Leo.

“Sri Lanka,” said Andalou, checking various readouts.

“I’d have gone with Mozambique,” said Leo. “They’ve got faster switches. What’s your response delay? Fifteen seconds?”

“Nineteen,” said Andalou.

“That’s what I mean,” said Leo. “Mozambique, you’re talking about-” He stopped as Sarah’s face flickered on-screen. She looked worried.

“What’s wrong?” said Sarah.

Andalou looked at Rakkim.

“Our friend here just told me that you’ve been keeping secrets,” said Rakkim. “When were you going to tell me?”

They waited for the signal to travel the long way around the world to Seattle, a small packet of information among the flood of anonymous words and images. Waited for Sarah’s response to make the same journey. Indirect, and slower than satellite feeds, but landlines were safer. Not safe. Data mining by both the Belt and the republic filtered all communication channels, searching for useful intelligence, but Andalou must trust his connection. It was his head at risk. Safer, but not safe.

“I know you’re angry, but I was waiting for the right moment. Waiting for things to be bad enough. Conditions desperate enough.” Her image broke up for a second, reconstituted itself. “I knew how you would react. You have to trust my judgment. It’s the only way we’re going to survive as a nation.”

“What do you think Redbeard would say? Would he trust your judgment?”

“I think…I think he saw where things were going for a long time before he died. I think he did his best to make things work…to give the nation time to grow, but if he saw what was happening now, he’d say do what you need to do. That’s the most basic rule of statecraft. Do what has to be done, regardless of the consequences. If a nation torn apart can’t survive, then the nation has to be put back together.”

“Who rules this new nation once you put it back together?” said Rakkim.

Her response seemed to take forever to reach him. “A candidate acceptable to both parties. North and South. There will be a vote…that’s certain.”

“So you don’t really know,” said Rakkim. “You’re just hoping it will all work out. You’re praying, they’re praying, and God, oddly enough, will come down on the side of the one with the most guns and most willing to use them. God always does.”

Sarah shook her head. “We don’t have time to work out the details. The president came back from Geneva with very bad news. The Aztlán Empire has put in a claim for the whole Southwest and half of Texas. Greater Cuba wants to annex the rest of Florida and south Georgia. The Canadian government, using the Indigenous People’s Doctrine, is demanding the return of most of New England, Pennsylvania, Michigan, and Wisconsin. Both the Belt and the republic are being eaten away. Reunification is risky, I don’t doubt that…but it’s our only chance.”

Rakkim stared at her on the screen. Wished he were there.

“Rikki?”

“How’s Michael?”

“He misses you. So do I.”

“You’re going to have to tell the president. He’s the only one who can sell reunification to the people.”

“I know.”

“And General Kidd. The president’s going to have to work on him. Even Kingsley might not be able to do it, but you won’t have a chance without Kidd, and he’ll never listen to a woman.”

“You sound like you’re already convinced.” She waited.

“Any word about al-Faisal?”

“State Security concluded he blew himself up rather than be captured. Anthony…he’s not so sure. Neither am I. You didn’t tell me he was a strangler.”

“I’m a bad boy. I wish I was there so you could put me to bed without my supper.”

“I’d like that.”

“Kiss Michael for me. Tell him Daddy loves him.”

“You tell him.” Sarah wiped her eyes. “Come back and tell him yourself.”