Rakkim heard footsteps approaching, heard whispers and someone circling around to the rear of the tent-plenty of time to get away or turn the ambush back on them, but he recognized the Colonel’s old-fashioned pine-tar soap and the gruff whisper…yes, that would be Gravenholtz. Best to let them think they had surprised him.
Gravenholtz passed by, breathing heavily, and Rakkim thought of Florence Tigard with her clothes on fire, her sons shot to pieces in front of her…thought of Bill Tigard dying as he tried to defend his family. Rakkim saw it all over again, the flames and gunfire, the look on Gravenholtz’s face as Tigard’s scythe barely broke the skin…he remembered that look and almost reconsidered his decision to let himself be caught napping. Let’s see if that second skin of his works against a Fedayeen blade. Rakkim imagined a hundred different ways to kill the redhead as he barged into the tent, each more painful than the last, more interesting…Instead, he lay back on his cot, forced the images out of his head. It was harder than he expected. Darwin’s face curled at the foot of his bed, wispy as a nightmare, his smile fading now, fading…Rakkim closed his eyes as the footsteps stopped just outside.
“Peekaboo!” Baby peered through the tent flap.
Rakkim yawned. He hadn’t picked up on Baby-her light footsteps overshadowed by the Colonel and Gravenholtz. He sat up in bed. “Morning.”
The Colonel stepped into the tent, bending his head to clear the canvas. “Hope you don’t mind the interruption,” he said, pleased with himself. “Turnabout’s fair play.”
“You’re a hard man to find,” said Baby. “The Colonel’s been looking high and low.”
A bowie knife slashed open the back of the tent, the blade just inches from Rakkim on the downstroke. Gravenholtz muscled his way in.
Rakkim swung his legs out of bed, fully dressed. “Thanks, Red, it was getting kind of stuffy in here.”
“Lester, that wasn’t necessary,” chided the Colonel. “This is Lester Gravenholtz, my second in command.”
Rakkim saw the challenge in Gravenholtz’s eyes as he sheathed the bowie knife in his boot. Double-barreled machine pistol. Blousy cammie trousers and a big-weave thermal T-shirt that showed his taut musculature. Dressed for intimidation. Rakkim had to admit, close up the Jap job was impressive. Gravenholtz moved naturally without any hint of the eighth-inch polycarbon-fiber sheathing under his skin. The redhead balled his fists. The knuckles would be reinforced, strike plates inserted along the sides of his hands. In spite of the advanced technology, Rakkim found the idea repugnant. Fedayeen genetic boosters dramatically improved one’s natural gifts, but without discipline and training the boosters were pointless. A Jap job led to arrogance and dependency.
“What are you looking at, cocksucker?” said Gravenholtz.
“Grandma, what big teeth you have.”
Baby laughed.
“Peace in the valley, you two,” ordered the Colonel. “This isn’t really a social call, Rikki. I had you checked out…there’s two hundred million dollars in the overseas account, just as you said. The money transfer bounced around the world before landing in the Bank of Liechtenstein, but my contact traced the point of origin to a bank in Moscow. It seems your story is accurate. That part of it anyway.”
“I wish you’d hurry up and decide who we’re in bed with, Zachary,” said Baby. “That Chinaman you told me about sounded like a real stick-butt, wrinkling his nose at our food and asking if the water was safe to drink. Besides, how can we trust an atheist to keep their end of the bargain?” She eyed Rakkim. “I vote for this one.”
The Colonel kissed her gently on the cheek. “You don’t have a vote, darling.”
“Have you found the weapon yet?” Rakkim said to the Colonel. “The Russians are eager for their technical expert to get started.”
“I’ll let you know when the time comes,” said the Colonel. “Don’t want to get ahead of yourself. In the meantime, I’m interested to know how you penetrated our security cordon. The sentries guarding my home have already been debriefed. Clever, bringing them coffee.”
“I still say we should have shot the sons a bitches,” said Gravenholtz.
“I don’t waste men, Lester.” The Colonel pulled down the jacket of his uniform, maintained his perfect appearance. “Reassignment and loss of a month’s pay is sufficient to spread the message that we have to remain vigilant.” He held open the tent flap and they all filed out into the morning. “I’ll give you a tour of the camp, Rikki, although I doubt you really need it.”
“You boys have fun,” called Baby. “I’m going horseback riding.”
“Take a couple men with you,” said the Colonel.
Baby waved and kept walking.
“She’s not going to listen.” The Colonel watched the tight seat of her jeans as she strode down the line of tents, her blond ponytail swinging with every step. “She’ll do exactly what she wants.” He kept watching her. “Are you married, Rikki? No, that’s right…you already told me you’re a bachelor. My first wife was killed during the war. Wife and all three children. An accident, not your people. I never thought I’d remarry. Wasn’t like I didn’t have enough to occupy me…and there’s a certain freedom to a life without emotional entanglements, as I’m sure you know. Then I met Baby a few years ago…and everything changed.” He sighed as she disappeared behind a cluster of machinery, absently touched his dyed black hair. “I know she’s too young for me…but I couldn’t imagine life without her.”
“You’re a lucky man,” said Rakkim.
“Yes, I am,” said the Colonel.
The three of them walked past a line of seven-ton trucks being worked on. Men bent over the open hoods with wrenches and socket sets; others had removed the tires and were checking and replacing brakes. Too busy and too greasy to salute, the men acknowledged the Colonel with polite greetings and nods of their heads. He returned their greetings, acknowledging them by name.
“Maintenance and resupply are the backbone of any military,” said the Colonel. “It’s not glamorous, they’ll get no parades, but if a truck full of munitions or gasoline breaks down, a battle can easily swing in the wrong direction. Keep your mechanics and drivers happy, that’s one of the key-stones of victory.”
“My experience is mostly with very small units.” Rakkim noticed a couple of the Colonel’s personal guards had fallen in behind them, keeping their distance, but ready to defend him if need be. “We kept a low profile and lived off the land.”
“Guerrilla operations do require different tactics,” agreed the Colonel. The sun came out; every button on his uniform gleamed. “Now, how did you get into camp? We had motion sensors along the perimeter, all of them in good working condition.”
Rakkim smiled. The Colonel had lulled him into talking about himself. “It was a dog, Colonel. A large brown mutt.”
The Colonel turned, raised an eyebrow. “A dog, Rikki?”
“I figured you’d have a perimeter established so I picked up a stray in the nearest town,” said Rakkim. “Picked up a bag of hamburgers too. Cute pooch, but underfed. That night I started up the south slope. Every twenty or thirty yards, I’d toss a bit of hamburger up ahead, let the dog go bounding through the brush after it. Eventually he tripped the sensors and set off the alarm. Lights came on, sentry came out. He saw the dog, patted him on the head. Lights went out. I shadowed the sentry past the sensors and kept going.” Rakkim shrugged. “Wasn’t that hard, really.”
The Colonel laughed. “No wonder the Russians hired you.”
“That Fedayeen razzle-dazzle is overrated,” said Gravenholtz.
“Lester has a point,” said the Colonel. “We’ve intercepted several of your former compatriots. Of course, that makes Rikki’s success even more laudatory.”
“More like lucky,” said Gravenholtz.
“Don’t take it personally, Rikki, Lester doesn’t like anyone.”
“Let him take it personally,” said Gravenholtz. “Fine by me.”
They kept climbing. Had to give the Colonel credit, he maintained a fast pace while giving a running commentary about troop rotations and local politics, the unique hazards of a mountain bivouac, and the necessity of his periodic trips to put down bandits and keep the peace.
“What do the men think you’re looking for in the mountain?” said Rakkim.
“The lost gold of Fort Knox,” said the Colonel. “Barrels of diamonds. A vein of platinum that goes clear to the center of the earth. I’ve heard it all bandied about. Besides you, Rikki, the only ones who know the truth are myself, Baby, and a very special fellow from New Orleans, a finder named Moseby.”
“I’d like to meet this Moseby,” said Rakkim.
“Soon.” The Colonel pointed out the Monsoon 4 under a camouflage tarp. “I imagine that’s how the Russians realized something important was happening here.”
“I don’t know how they found out,” said Rakkim. “Not my department.”
“Still, we have to use the bird judiciously,” said the Colonel. “The Russians aren’t the only ones who might want to poke their noses into our business.”
“What’s the point in having it if we can’t use it?” said Gravenholtz. The Colonel glanced at him and Gravenholtz backed off. “I’m just saying…”
Deeper in the woods, Rakkim saw a small encampment, the tents pitched haphazardly, wet laundry hanging off nearby tree branches. Men stood around in the shadow of the pines, watching them pass by. No salutes to the Colonel, no greetings. They were different from the troops in camp, different from the miners too. Sullen brutes, unshaven, arms draped across the rifles slung across their backs. They looked like scarecrows.
Rakkim recognized one of them, and another one too. He had seen them at the Tigards’ farmhouse, howling with glee as they unloaded rounds into the burning home. He was about to make an excuse to get closer when Gravenholtz tugged on his earlobe and the men melted back into the forest.
The path forked. The Colonel started down the low road.
“What’s up there?” said Rakkim, pointing toward the other path.
It was close to noon, sun beating down directly on them; even the birds were retreating from the sky. “Just a view,” said the Colonel.
“Okay,” said Rakkim. “If you’re tired…”
The Colonel’s mouth worked.
“Don’t you want to head toward the lake, sir?” asked Gravenholtz. “It’d be cooler, and there’s been some rock slides along the ravine; I don’t think it’s safe.”
The Colonel hesitated, shook his head. “I haven’t been to the rift in a while-besides, I want to get Rikki’s opinion on using the area for antiaircraft coverage. If I decide to deal with the Russians instead of the Chinese, Beijing may be less than happy.”
“It’s a mistake, sir,” said Gravenholtz. “You’re giving this towelhead way too much credit.”
“Hey, Lester, let’s keep it civil,” said Rakkim. “I mean, I could call you a pasty-faced, freckle-assed, thimble-dicked mother-”
Gravenholtz swung on him. Rakkim slipped the blow, but slowly, not wanting to reveal his own speed. Might have been a mistake. One of Gravenholtz’s fists just barely grazed him, but drew blood and laid a welt along the side of his jaw.
“That’s enough, Lester,” said the Colonel. “Now, I’m showing Rikki the ravine. You can either accompany us or find something else to vent your spleen on.”
Rakkim walked beside the Colonel. Touched his fingertips to his jaw. Now he had a good idea of how fast Gravenholtz moved.
“I warned you,” muttered the Colonel. “Lester’s a dangerous man to provoke.”
Rakkim heard Gravenholtz start after them, the redhead slipping on the loose rocks.
They climbed on for another ten minutes, one switchback after another, when Rakkim heard it. The other two kept climbing, oblivious. A few minutes later, when they reached a large, flat area near the summit, even they could hear it. The call to noon prayer, the voice weak but insistent.
“Lester?” The Colonel glared at Gravenholtz. “Goddamn it, Lester, you try my patience.” He stalked into the woods, Rakkim and Gravenholtz following. The Colonel’s two guards trailed behind. The forest was sparse, the soil rocky and poor, the ground littered with broken whiskey bottles and empty cans of beef stew and Spam and creamed corn. The call to prayer was coming from a lean-to the size of an outhouse. A grimy man dozed beside a nearby tree, an assault rifle resting on his knees.
“Open the door!” the Colonel barked as the grimy man woke up.
The man got to his feet, fumbled in his pocket, and stuck a key in the padlock on the lean-to.
The Colonel pushed him aside, opened the door. He looked back at Gravenholtz.
“I can explain, sir,” said Gravenholtz.
“No, you most certainly cannot,” said the Colonel. He extended his hand into the lean-to, helped a man inside stagger out, the man half blinded by the light, blinking, his arms bound behind his back. “Give me your canteen,” the Colonel ordered.
The grimy man reluctantly handed it over.
The Colonel held the canteen to the prisoner’s mouth, water pouring down the man’s chin in his eagerness. “Easy, soldier,” urged the Colonel, giving him time, making him slow down. They stood there, the two of them, until the Colonel finally tossed the empty canteen aside. “I gave orders before I left last week that this man was to be executed,” he said to Gravenholtz.
Rakkim recognized the prisoner-a Fedayeen named Hodges, first in his shadow warrior class two years ago. Rakkim had been at the small graduation ceremony as a guest of General Kidd. It was Hodges, but his face was wrong…the planes of his cheeks were misaligned, his jaw unhinged, one eye swollen shut, his chin caved in. So broken he could never be made whole again.
The pain must have been agonizing, but Hodges stood there calmly, legs spread slightly, to the limit of the short chain around his ankles. His arms were strapped behind his back, bound at the wrist and elbow. At the Academy, Rakkim had seen a Fedayeen commando tied hand and foot like this, watched him jump and snap his knees into an instructor’s forehead. Knocked the instructor out. Nice move, but the commando didn’t have a broken ankle. Hodges did. Rakkim made eye contact with him, saw a glimmer of acknowledgment, a moment of relief, then resignation. Hodges had to have guessed what Rakkim was doing here. There was nothing Rakkim could do for him without jeopardizing the mission. They both knew it.
The Colonel’s two guards had joined them, their weapons trained on Hodges.
“You disobeyed my direct order, Lester,” said the Colonel.
Gravenholtz’s face was the color of a rotting orange. “Well, sir…the boys get so little entertainment, stuck up here, that I decided to do what I could to lighten their load.”
“Your boys, not mine,” said the Colonel. He gently turned Hodges’s head, noted the filth and scars along the side of it, the places where his broken bones had not healed properly. He unbuttoned Hodges’s shirt, saw his busted ribs sticking out like pickup sticks. The Colonel buttoned him back up. Smoothed his blood-crusted hair. “You have my apology, soldier.”
“He’s a damn spy, Colonel,” said Gravenholtz.
“Yes, he’s a spy. That’s why I sentenced him to be executed,” said the Colonel, his eyes still on Hodges. “He’s also a soldier operating under orders and one hell of a brave man, which is why he deserves to be put in front of a firing squad and executed with full military honors, not abused for the pleasure of cowards.”
Gravenholtz’s voice was a raspy whisper. “Sir, you got no call-”
“You disobeyed my order, and you disgraced yourself,” said the Colonel. “Torturing a man like this…If I didn’t need you, I’d put you down like a rabid dog, Lester.” He rested his hand on his sidearm. “You’re dismissed. Take this piece of shit with you.”
Gravenholtz gave a sloppy salute and ambled off, the grimy man following.
“Shall…sir, shall I put the prisoner back?” said one of the Colonel’s guards.
“Let him bathe first. You know where the freshwater spring is. Let him take all the time he wants, but don’t get too close and keep your weapons on him at all times. Every moment,” said the Colonel. “After he’s clean, give him time to pray and then bring him back here. We’ll put him out of his misery.” He stepped closer to Hodges. “Are you ready to meet your maker, soldier?”
Hodges nodded.
“Sorry I don’t have your holy book so you could read-”
“No need, sir,” croaked Hodges, “I’ve memorized the holy Quran.”
“It would be defiled by my touch anyway. That’s the way it works, right?”
Hodges looked straight ahead.
Rakkim watched Hodges limp away, the two guards following behind, weapons ready. The wind rose up from the lowlands, and he smelled pine and cedar, clean smells, earth and eternity. He hoped Hodges filled his lungs before he died. Strange business. Rakkim had been warned that the Colonel had become a ferocious Muslim-hater, preaching vengeance and genocide, but it wasn’t true. The Colonel had no qualms about executing his enemies, but there was no cruelty in the man, only a harsh justice. Gravenholtz was a beast-even worse, he slipped his leash from time to time.
The Colonel looked out over the hills and valleys below. The breeze blew through his long hair, his eyes squinting, as though waiting for some phantom army to appear, the heavenly host in all its glory.
Rakkim remembered seeing the new president of the Belt on TV in the diner. A grinny-Gus, that’s what the hunters at the Piggly Wiggly Diner had called him, forks scraping over their plates as they mocked the president. You would never hear anything like that in Seattle, not in public anyway, but politicians were the same everywhere. Most of them weak, preening word merchants eager to accommodate whoever was in front of them. Lip service. It sounded obscene. Even President Kingsley wasn’t immune to making the most repugnant compromises, playing off the conservative ayatollahs against the modern technocrats, watering down a proposed travel ban on unmarried females and trumpeting it as a victory. Maybe it was. All Rakkim knew was that if someone had to rule, he preferred a leader who was hard but honorable, with spine and a sense of decency. A man like General Kidd. Or the Colonel.
“Who were those men we saw on the way up?” said Rakkim. “The ones whose tents were falling down around them.”
“Those are Lester’s men. He brought them with him when he joined up about five years ago. Border raiders, one step ahead of the noose. Scum for the most part, and no field discipline, as you noted, but fierce fighters. Like Lester himself. He lacks charm, and he’s got a mean streak, but when the bugle blares…”
“It’s when the bugle goes silent that I’d worry, if I were you.”
“Lester’s a good ol’ boy.” The Colonel looked past him. “I think the prisoner recognized you.”
Rakkim was impressed. So much so that he didn’t trust a lie to go undetected.
“We were introduced the last time I was at the Academy.”
“Seeing you here with me…he must realize you’ve gone renegade,” said the Colonel, face turned to the wind. “’Bout to break his heart, I imagine.”
“A Fedayeen has to travel light, Colonel. A heart would be an unnecessary burden.”
The Colonel looked at him. “Betraying your country might not have been all that hard for you, but I suspect there’s plenty like that young prisoner who would never consider it. Not for love or money. The Russians are God-fearing people, just like you said, so I’ll consider doing business with you, mister, but make sure you stay downwind of me.”
It was an hour later when the two guards brought Hodges back, freshly scrubbed now. His clothes were rinsed clean, still wet. His chains clinked with every measured step, his hands bound in front of him.
“You ready, soldier?” asked the Colonel.
Hodges pulled back his shoulders as the wind rippled around him.
The Colonel waited until the guards walked Hodges over to a wall of rock. He gestured and they pointed their weapons, facing the Fedayeen.
“Colonel?” said Hodges. “Might I ask a favor?”
“Don’t worry,” said the Colonel. “You’ll be buried with the other Muslim war dead at the cemetery in Jackson Ridge by noon tomorrow. I know your procedures.”
“That’s not it, sir.” Hodges nodded at Rakkim. “I’d like to request that he be the one to execute me.”
The Colonel stared at Hodges. “You want a renegade to carry out the sentence? You mocking me, soldier?”
Hodges came to attention. “Sir, with all due respect, I would prefer to be executed by a renegade Fedayeen than a couple of pork-chop-eating kafir bastards.”
“With all due respect?” The Colonel laughed. Shook his head. “I will never understand you people.” He glanced at Rakkim. “You have a problem with this?”
Rakkim looked at Hodges. “It would be an honor, sir.”
The Colonel took out his sidearm, removed the magazine, left a single bullet in the chamber. He held it out to Rakkim.
Rakkim ignored the gun. He walked slowly over to Hodges, his Fedayeen knife concealed in his hand.
“Thank you,” Hodges said, barely moving his lips.
Rakkim watched him, saw no fear in the man. None at all. Hodges didn’t ask for Rakkim to revenge him. Didn’t ask for reassurance that their mission would be completed. He didn’t need to. “I’m sorry,” Rakkim said softly.
“Don’t look so sad, brother,” said Hodges. “Today I shall lie upon a golden couch in Paradise.”
Rakkim stabbed him in the heart, withdrew the blade before the man had time to blink.