Sins of the Assassin

Epilogue

“You look good,” said Rakkim.

Leo tried to laugh, started coughing, the IV tubes in his arms twitching.

“Thank you, Leo,” said Sarah.

Leo sat up in the hospital bed. “You…you’re repeating yourself.”

“Seeing you like this”-Sarah touched her throat, still bruised purple from al-Faisal’s cord-“brings it back…what you did in the garden. You saved my life.”

Leo nodded. “Weird, huh?” He looked over at Rakkim. “Surprised you, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, I thought you could bend steel with the power of your mind,” said Rakkim.

“I know your secret now, Rikki,” said Leo.

“Oh, yeah?” Rakkim winced as he moved closer, one eye still swollen from the fight with the strangler, his body covered in welts. “Which one?”

“Risking your life for someone…being a hero, it changes a person,” said Leo.

Rakkim rested his hand on Leo’s shoulder, the only part of the kid’s torso that wasn’t bandaged.

“I wasn’t really awake much these last few days,” said Leo, “but I was still thinking. Can’t turn it off even if I wanted to, you know? Like when I overloaded my brain in the Belt. You thought I was unconscious, but I wasn’t. I was just…someplace else.” He grabbed Rakkim’s wrist, held on. “I know all kinds of things now. Things you wouldn’t believe. I’m a lot smarter than I was before. A lot.”

Sarah stood beside the hospital bed. Smoothed the sheet. “You should rest.”

“I’m not bragging,” said Leo. “It’s the truth.”

“Just get better,” said Sarah.

“I didn’t do it on purpose. Jumping in front of the knife…I didn’t mean to do it. I just…did.” Leo glanced at Rakkim. “That still counts, doesn’t it?”

“It still counts,” said Rakkim.

“I remember being so surprised.” Leo shook his head. “I remember lying there and thinking that I was going to die. Me…dead, and all the things I knew, all the things I was going to do, the discoveries I was going to make, the breakthroughs…they were never going to happen.” Tears shimmered in his eyes. “And I thought that was so sad, so…tragic, but I heard your voice, Sarah, and you were talking to Michael, and I thought…maybe it’s okay, dying, you know, maybe it’s not the worst thing that could happen.”

“I’m glad you’re here to tell us about it,” said Sarah.

“Me too,” said Leo. “The world caught a lucky break.”

“Yeah, there’s celebrations going on all across the planet,” said Rakkim. “Haven’t you heard the fireworks?”

Leo smiled, lips cracking. “Michael’s okay?”

“Fine,” said Rakkim. “He’s with your mother and father.”

“We have to go,” said Sarah. “The presidential inauguration is this afternoon.”

“Is that safe?” said Leo.

“Don’t worry. Go back to sleep…or whatever it is you do,” Rakkim said. “The hospital is secure, but as soon as you’re well enough, Spider has a new facility he wants to move you to. The Old One isn’t going to stop looking for you.”

“Let him,” said Leo. “He doesn’t know who he’s dealing with.”

Three hours later, Rakkim and Sarah were in the gallery above the great hall of the Congress, watching Peter Brandt take the oath of office. The president-designate tall and assured, one hand resting on the Quran. Only the second president in the history of the republic. The hall was silent except for Brandt’s solemnly repeating the words spoken by the grand ayatollah, the senators and representatives assembled below leaning forward in their seats.

General Kidd and Amir sat in the front row in their plain blue uniforms. The overhead lights gleamed off Kidd’s stark black cheekbones, his eyes locked deep into their sockets. With the nation still in turmoil and the army in disarray, more than ever the Fedayeen were the key to the nation’s security.

“It’s my fault,” Sarah said softly. “If I had gotten through to President Kingsley ten minutes sooner-”

“You did better than any of us.”

“That day at the apartment,” said Sarah, “Leo asked if I needed help…and I told him I could handle it. He asked me…and I turned him down. Bright as he is, bright as I knew he was…I turned him down.”

“…in the name of Allah, the merciful, I do solemnly swear,” intoned Peter Brandt.

“I didn’t want help,” Sarah said angrily. “I’m Redbeard’s niece, I didn’t need any help. Now…now the president’s dead.”

The grand ayatollah closed the Quran, bowed before President Brandt as the senators and representatives jumped to their feet, shouting, “Assalaamu Alaikum!”

“And now there’s a new president. You make mistakes, people die, you move forward. Perfect people accomplish nothing.” Rakkim noted the fundamentalist legislators glowering at the podium, Black Robes not even bothering to hide their hate. “We’re lucky Brandt was next in line. A solid moderate, just like Kingsley.”

The gigantic screen behind the podium filled with a close-up of Brandt’s handsome face framed by his tousled, sandy hair. Tears streamed down his cheeks as he acknowledged Kingsley’s widow.

General Kidd and Amir stood with their hands folded in front of them as the politicians applauded wildly, and everyone else seemed smaller and dirtier by comparison.

“Brandt’s flexible too, and well traveled,” said Sarah. “We’re going to need that.”

“You trying to convince yourself?” said Rakkim.

Sarah fingered her mother’s small, gold cross as the new president basked in the applause. She had been wearing the crucifix under her blouse since the funeral three days ago, had wept when Rakkim presented it to her. He kept waiting for her to take it off.

“I’ve read the dossier on him,” said Sarah. “He’s the best we could have hoped for. The Old One wanted chaos and insurrection, but he didn’t get it. We won. He lost.”

Rakkim stayed silent.

Brandt walked down from the podium, kissed his wife, drawing a gasp from the Black Robes, who fled up the aisles and out of the hall. Brandt continued his progress through the hall, gracefully accepting the prayers of the most powerful legislators. He looked as if he was enjoying every moment of it, his easy manner reassuring the country, the people desperately wanting a smooth succession.

“Camelot,” murmured Sarah.

“You think this is Camelot?” said Rakkim. “What, am I supposed to wear a suit of armor and joust?”

“It’s a historical allusion…” Sarah squeezed his hand. “Never mind.”

Amir must have felt Rakkim’s eyes on him, turned and found Rakkim in the gallery. He pressed his palms together in greeting. Rakkim returned the salutation. Amir had performed nobly during the rioting after the president’s death-directing Fedayeen units to secure vital facilities, initiating contacts between his father and various foreign governments, and personally protecting Brandt and his family. Kidd had promoted him to his senior staff; Amir now the heir apparent. Rakkim had called to congratulate him, their bad blood of weeks ago forgotten.

Rakkim watched as the president approached General Kidd. The president embraced Kidd warmly, kissed him on both cheeks, but Rakkim knew the general well enough to see that Kidd was keeping his distance.

The president stepped over to Amir, kissed him also, kissed him even more eagerly, then whispered in his ear. They broke the embrace, the president and Amir smiling into the cameras, side by side, the new guard, the hope and future of the republic.

Applause thundered across the hall, louder than ever, the sound rolling and echoing off the marble, building on itself like a storm growing in power and intensity. Hardened politicians wept with joy, sensing this opportunity, this last great chance for the nation to regain its former grandeur.

“Allahu Akbar!” shouted Rakkim, his voice lost in the roar. “Allahu Akbar!”

Sarah stood beside him, beating her hands together as loudly as he did, eager to believe, swept up by the moment and the glorious possibilities ahead. God was indeed great.