“Let’s just get out of here,” said Leo as Rakkim checked out their car.
Rakkim looked up, saw Malcolm Crews walking toward them, a few skeleton men trailing behind. It was late morning, the camp slow to get started after last night.
“Rikki?”
“Not yet,” said Rakkim, going back to work. “Can’t be in a hurry or you’ll ruin everything.”
“You don’t know what it was like after you tramped off with Malcolm,” said Leo, not making eye contact. “I got dragged along while they drove trails, howling and shooting guns…jacked up on methamphetamine, smoking whole chunks of it.” He scratched his arms. “Just being around them made my skin itch.”
Rakkim scratched the inflamed punctures on his arm where the rattler had bitten him. “I wasn’t having a picnic myself.”
“They…they took me to a…a body dump,” whispered Leo. “Sinville, that’s what they called it, like it’s some big joke. This old satellite relay station in the middle of the woods. Ground antennae was a steel dish fifty yards across and it’s filled, Rikki, it’s piled high with bodies, hundreds of them, tourists and townspeople, they don’t care. They’ve been adding to it for the last year. I didn’t even know what it was at first, because we were downwind and it was so dark, and then…one of the jokers…”
“It’s okay,” said Rakkim. “We’re leaving soon.”
“…one of the jokers tossed in a white phosphorus grenade, made this big flash, and, Rikki, there were so many crows, I’ve never seen so many birds in my life, and the sound they made when they flew up…it was like the earth screaming.”
“Did I hear someone say my name?” said Crews, all in black, fresh flowers in his hair.
Rakkim finished with the car. “Leo didn’t appreciate the trip to the body dump.”
“Softhearted, is he?” said Crews. “Don’t worry, he’ll get over it. Come the Judgment, the whole earth is going to be a body dump.” He peered at Rakkim. “How are you feeling this morning, pilgrim? Seem a little peaked.”
“Took a piss this morning and it felt like hot lava splashing into the weeds,” said Rakkim.
Crews cackled. “Turpentine burns, that’s the value of it.”
Leo got into the car, but Rakkim lingered. The skeleton men hovered nearby, blinking in the sun. Automatic rifles slung over their shoulders, they stood there listening, clothes caked with mud.
“You trust the Jew?” said Crews, nodding at Leo.
“Enough for now,” said Rakkim. “The Colonel wanted a Jew to be there when he found the rest of the silver pieces. He thought there might be some writing along with it, old scrolls or something that might need translating.”
“Folks like you and me don’t need anything translated, we see things clear. We got the mark, that’s all we need to know.” Crews waved a well-thumbed Bible, the gilt lettering worn away on its black leather cover. “This belonged to a preacherman I met after my anointing. I was still in shock, trying to understand what had happened, what it meant. You have to remember, I was untutored in the ways of the Lord then. I thought the Church of the Mists contained a treasure, that’s why I braved the fires. It did contain a treasure, one more precious than silver or gold, didn’t it, pilgrim?” He tapped the Bible. “Preacherman tried to tell me that the reason the door wouldn’t open was because I wasn’t worthy to enter. Said Satan had led me to the door, but God wasn’t fooled.” He laughed. “That’s why I knew you were true. You couldn’t get inside either. It was like God telling us, ‘I got other plans for you boys.’”
“I can hardly fucking wait,” said Rakkim.
Crews whooped it up. “That’s the spirit. I’ve been hoping for somebody like you to turn up. There’s only so much I can do with these mush-heads.”
Rakkim glanced at the skeleton men. “The Colonel has only a fraction of his forces at the site, but they’re well equipped. I’ll get word to you in a couple days. Let you know if the Colonel has found the silver yet, and where the best point of attack is.”
“There’s an abandoned Stuckey’s on Highway Ninety-nine, not more than a half hour’s drive from the mountain. You show up anytime, day or night, I’ll know.” Crews grabbed Rakkim’s arm, turned his palm up. “You ever wonder why you were chosen to walk through the fire and make it back alive?”
Rakkim shook him off.
“You ever ask yourself, Why me, Lord?”
Rakkim didn’t answer. It didn’t matter to Crews.
“It’s because we’re special. We have brains and ambition. Not like the rest of this trash.” Crews crowded in on him again. “God needs someone to do the dirty work. He’s sick to death of humanity, but he doesn’t have the stomach to do what needs to be done. Last time he got fed up, he drowned the whole world. Maybe he can’t bear to do it again. That’s where we come in. God brought you and I together at just the right moment. Think about it, pilgrim. I got hundreds of righteous maniacs with too much time on their hands, and suddenly you show up with a piece of silver Judas himself once grabbed on to. Hell’s bells, for all I know maybe there is a splinter of the true cross buried under that mountain along with the silver.”
“All I know is if God’s sick to death of us, who could blame him?”
Tariq al-Faisal tripped on the hem of his brown burka as he walked inside. If he hadn’t grabbed the edge of the table, he would have fallen on his face.
Yusef closed the door, dismissed his wife, who had accompanied al-Faisal to their home. “Are you all right, imam?” Credit the man with the good sense to keep his smile hidden.
Al-Faisal threw back the face sack of the burka, sweating. “Someday I’ll have one of my wives tell me how she walks in these things.”
Yusef pressed his hands in supplication toward a tall, muscular Somali. “This is-”
“I am acquainted with our brother Amir the Fedayeen,” said al-Faisal, kissing the man on both cheeks, sensing his resistance. “Salaam alaikum.”
“Alaikum salaam.” The raised scar on Amir’s face was stark against his smooth skin.
“My bodyguard, Sulayman,” said Yusef, indicating a huge, bare-chested Arab with a bristly beard and silver hoops through his earlobes. A scimitar hung from his waistband, doubtless at Yusef’s insistence. Yusef was the worst kind of fundamentalist, aping tradition without truly internalizing it…and thereby needing the trappings of faith. Unlike al-Faisal, who was as comfortable hoisting a stein of bootleg beer as throttling an adulterer, both actions equally in the service of Allah.
Al-Faisal and the bodyguard exchanged greetings.
“And this is our brother Bartholomew,” Yusef said, beckoning toward the moderate who stood nearby, a rigid young man with a precisely cropped beard, and black shoes shined bright as mirrors.
“Salaam alaikum,” Bartholomew hurriedly murmured, head bowed.
“Alaikum salaam,” said al-Faisal. “Thanks to you and Amir for coming. Our master rejoices at your faithfulness.”
“I am honored,” said Bartholomew.
Amir stayed silent.
“Imam, if I may,” said Bartholomew. “Is your false attire necessary? I was told the authorities had determined you were dead.”
“Are you frightened to be in the presence of a corpse?” al-Faisal said lightly.
“No…no, imam,” said Bartholomew.
“Good.” Al-Faisal pulled off the burka, threw it on the floor. He wore the clothes of a modern underneath, with red trousers and a tight white shirt marked with silvery piping, accentuating his lean frame. “Yes, State Security has concluded that I died a martyr’s death when I detonated a car bomb, but there is a policeman…” He sat down amid the cushions on the floor, waved Bartholomew and Amir to do the same. He waited while Yusef poured them tea. “…a fat Catholic who is still making inquiries, poking his snout where it doesn’t belong.”
“What is this Catholic’s name?” Amir said softly.
“I’m grateful for your interest,” said al-Faisal, “but I shall talk of this policeman in my own good time, inshallah. Besides, Amir, our master values you too highly to see you troubled by such small matters.”
If Amir was flattered, it didn’t show in his face or eyes.
“May I ask…?” Bartholomew sipped his tea. “You have the device, imam?”
Al-Faisal smiled. The young brother was eager, but his hand was steady, not the slightest rattle of the teacup. All their lives depended on such steadiness. He reached into his jacket, handed Bartholomew the device.
Bartholomew handled the device cautiously, turning it over and over. Metallic, dappled with electronic readouts. No bigger than a child’s fist, yet big enough to change the world. “It looks exactly like a standard systems analyzer.”
“Performs exactly like one too,” said al-Faisal. “You could take it apart, field-test all the components, and you still wouldn’t see anything amiss.”
“Eagleton made this?” said Bartholomew, still examining it.
“An atheist, and a pervert, but talented.” Al-Faisal picked up a sweet from the tray Yusef had put out, popped it in his mouth. “Pity I couldn’t allow him to live.” He wiped powdered sugar off his lip with a forefinger, sucked it clean. “Still, if you’re successful, Allah willing, then we won’t have need for such men in the future.” He reached for another sweet. “Sulayman? How long have you been in Yusef’s employ?”
“Eleven years, lord,” said Sulayman. “As soon as I completed my enlistment.”
“You were Special Forces, yes?” Al-Faisal nibbled a candied date. “A noble calling, but compared to Fedayeen…”
Sulayman glanced at Amir, then back at al-Faisal.
“You did apply for Fedayeen?” said al-Faisal.
“Yes,” said Sulayman, teeth gritted.
Al-Faisal stood up gracefully, so quick that he was beside Sulayman before the man could react. He traced a fingertip across the bodyguard’s bulging biceps. “A bull of a man like you…your failure couldn’t have been from lack of strength.”
“Brother?” Yusef said to al-Faisal. “Surely-”
Al-Faisal pulled down Sulayman’s right eyelid. “You’re clear-eyed, so you must be intelligent…”
Sulayman placed his hand on the hilt of his scimitar.
Al-Faisal patted Sulayman’s hand. “Indulge my curiosity a moment longer, great warrior.”
Sulayman’s eyes blazed.
Al-Faisal stepped back. “How you must have resented those who succeeded where you had failed…men like Amir.” He peered at Sulayman. “I’m trying to understand why you would have betrayed us.”
“I…I have not,” started Sulayman.
Amir was already on his feet.
As Sulayman drew his blade, al-Faisal plucked the silvery piping from his shirt and whipped it around Sulayman’s neck. He grabbed both ends…jerked…and Sulayman’s head rolled off his shoulders in a fountain of blood.
Yusef cried out, covered his mouth.
Amir stood beside al-Faisal, his Fedayeen knife in his hand.
“I didn’t know,” blubbered Yusef. “I had no idea…”
“It is done.” Al-Faisal tossed the silvery strand of razor wire aside. His white shirt was splattered with red. He turned at the sound of Bartholomew vomiting. “Bring the young brother something to settle his stomach, Yusef, and fetch me a clean shirt.”
Amir stared at Sulayman’s body. “Who was he working for?”
“Your father.” Al-Faisal enjoyed the look on Amir’s face. “Not directly, of course, but Sulayman has appraised him of your…more questionable activities in the past. I’m sure our new association would be of great interest to the general.” It was a lie, of course. Sulayman was as innocent as any man could be. No matter. His death had served its purpose. He nudged Sulayman’s head, rolled it facedown so that it lay in a black nest of his beard. “Don’t worry. We are brothers now. Your enemies are my enemies.”
“Two thousand, three hundred and fifty-seven, with a five percent margin of error,” Leo said softly.
Rakkim stood with one foot on the wooden railing, looking off at the gleaming skyscrapers of the small metropolis in the distance. Columbia City. College town, one of the small tech centers in the Belt, exporting gadgets and expertise around the globe. The last time he had been there, he had been amazed at how clean it was, how well dressed and happy the people seemed. Churches on every block, but folks didn’t beat you over the head with it. The town should have been a target for every bandit and warlord within a hundred miles, but Columbia had a first-class militia. Every citizen-man, woman, and child-had formal military training and kept up their skills. Best equipment too, and willing to use it. Eager to use it. The Colonel had put Columbia under his nominal protection, but they paid him no tribute, which spoke well of them. And the Colonel.
The melting root-beer Popsicle ran down across Rakkim’s hand. He licked the sweetness from his fingers. They had stopped for gas about an hour after leaving Crews, bought clean clothes and threw away the others. After all the time spent shampooing their hair in the bathroom sink, scrubbing their hands and faces, scraping the grit from under their nails…the stink still clung to them.
He watched the town again, trying to keep his mind occupied. He used to like to quiet his thoughts, stop the words, the anticipation. The time of no thinking, that’s what the Fedayeen called it. One of the secrets to going days without sleep. Weeks, even. Now, though, Rakkim kept his mind active. Vigilant. Not out of concern of what might happen to him and Leo, some external threat. No, he was afraid that if he quieted his thoughts, he’d hear Darwin scuttling around in there.
“Two thousand, three hundred and fifty-seven, five percent margin of error,” Leo repeated.
Rakkim glanced over at him, sucked the last of the Popsicle into his mouth. Made his teeth ache but it tasted good. Leo’s own Popsicle had fallen off the stick, untouched.
“I thought…I thought calculating the dead would help,” said Leo, “but…it didn’t help.”
“I’m sorry, Leo. I didn’t know what they were going to do with you.”
“The satellite antenna was fifty yards across with a five percent slope to a depth of fifteen feet.” Leo’s voice sounded distant. “The bodies…the bodies were stacked about a foot above ground level. Assuming an average height of five feet ten inches, and an average of three months decomposition-”
“You said it was dark. You said you didn’t even know what you were looking at until the white phosphorus grenade went off.”
“The grenade lit things up.”
“Just for an instant. You couldn’t have come up with those calculations.”
“That’s all I needed. I remember things. Shapes and angles, extrapolations and measurements…Archimedes said if he had a lever long enough he could move the earth. Well, I can calculate the exact length of the lever required, and the size and weight of the fulcrum too, and-”
“Who’s Archimedes?”
Leo’s head slumped forward. “I’m just saying, I wish I could forget the things I saw last night.”
“You will. Give it time.”
“No, Rikki…” Leo’s tears fell onto the ground, beside the melted Popsicle. “That’s not the way my mind works.”
Rakkim put his arm around the kid.
“I…I don’t want to tell Leanne about this,” sobbed Leo. “My father says…he says when you love somebody, really love them, you can’t have secrets, but-”
“That’s bum advice. Spider’s plenty smart, but he’s wrong about that.”
“You don’t tell Sarah everything?”
Rikki laughed.
They stood there for a long time, Rakkim patting his back, listening to him blubber. Softhearted, that’s what Crews had called him. Rakkim liked the kid even more for it.
Leo wiped his nose. “Why…why did Crews think you didn’t go inside the church?”
“Because that’s what I told him.”
“Oh. Oh.”
“Man like Crews, you can’t let him think you’re one up on him.” Rakkim finished the Popsicle, tossed the stick away. Columbia City gleamed in the distance. “If it makes you feel any better, I’m going to make sure Crews and his men don’t make any more additions to the body dump. Say what you want about the Colonel, he’s a solid military tactician. If his mountain camp has got any points of vulnerability, it won’t matter. I’m going to have Crews and his men charge straight into the killing zone. Let the Colonel wipe them out. I just need Crews to create enough of a diversion so that you and I can take possession of the weapon. Assuming that Moseby has found it by now.”
“Sarah said…” Leo sniffed. “She said Moseby was very good at his work.”
“He’s a shadow warrior, what do you expect?”
Leo saw him grinning. “I didn’t like you at first, but now…now I think maybe I was wrong.”
“Don’t get carried away. First impressions are usually pretty reliable.”
“Not always. I hated the Belt in the beginning,” said Leo. “Hated the danger and the violence and the ugly accents. Hated the heat and the bugs and the ignorance…then I met Leanne. None of that other stuff matters now.”
“You can tell Moseby all about your honorable intentions when this is over.” Rakkim watched the sun glinting on the solar panels along the Columbia City waterfront. He wished there was time to take Leo there, give him a sense of the best of the Belt. There wasn’t time, though. “Right now, we should get moving.”
“What if Moseby doesn’t want to help us?”
“Moseby’s not working for the Colonel willingly. Gravenholtz took him at gunpoint, left a group of armed men holding his family hostage. You think he’s going to want to put some new, powerful weapon in the hands of people like that?”
“Not that I blame him, but Moseby went renegade. He betrayed his oath and his country. He doesn’t owe the republic anything.”
“John didn’t stay behind in the Belt because he turned against the republic. If he had, I would have killed him when I was supposed to. Moseby was no traitor-he just found someone he loved more than his country.”
Leo nodded. “I can understand that.”
Rakkim looked over at him. The kid was growing up.
“The church…” said Leo. “You said it was real quiet inside. Peaceful.”
“That’s right.” Rakkim smiled. “I couldn’t wait to leave.”