Heart of the Assassin Read Online Free Page B
Jenkins said quietly, looking straight ahead.
"I'll take my chances." Rakkim stepped closer, blocking anyone's view as the knife caressed the man's flesh. "How about you?"
"You smell of fire...and the soap used in the madrassa," whispered Jenkins.
"Your senses are sharp as ever. It's a burden sometimes, isn't it?"
"Rakkim?"
Rakkim's lips brushed the man's ear. "You're going to give new orders, old friend. You're going to declare the girls who escaped the flames innocent of immorality."
"Why...why are you doing this?"
Rakkim twisted the blade ever so slightly.
Jenkins kept his gaze on the burning embers. "So my choice is to be murdered by you...or executed by the Grand Mullah for encouraging lust?"
"Not at all," murmured Rakkim. "Wonder of wonders, imam, it was the grace of Allah that led them through the fire. Is this not a clear sign of God's intention?" He felt Jenkins tremble, a trickle of blood running warm across Rakkim's fingers. "The Grand Mullah will applaud your decision, imam. Think of the babies these girls will someday present to Allah, the future warriors and wives of warriors."
"You don't know the Grand Mullah."
"A man of your talents," said Rakkim, "you could convince the stones to sing."
Firefighters hosed down the wreckage, steam rising, red in the firelight.
" Give the proclamation," said Rakkim, the blade cutting deeper with every beat of Jenkins's heart. "Declare the girls innocent."
"Hear me!" Jenkins's voice echoed across the site, the command voice that cut through outside noise and reached directly to believers.
Rakkim listened as the imam spoke of the girls spared from the flames and the infinite mercy of Allah. Listened as the crowd blessed this news, women weeping with joy, men falling to their knees. The firefighters continued to spray down the embers.
Jenkins remained standing as the crowd dispersed, letting the night close in around them before he turned to Rakkim. "A shadow warrior who brings attention to himself," said Jenkins, as the wreckage popped and hissed. "Threatening me...playing the hero...and for what? Schoolgirls. " His mouth twisted. "You're a disgrace to the Fedayeen."
Rakkim slipped the knife free, wiped Jenkins's blood on his black robe, the stain shiny in the moonlight. "Alas, I had a poor teacher."
CHAPTER 3
Sarah glowered at the wallscreen in Spider's bedroom, watching a news conference from earlier today--Aztlan's Presidente Argusto at his hacienda outside Tucson; chair tilted back, silver-heeled boots on the desk as he lectured the press. Sarah was glad the sound was off; she couldn't stand hearing that strutting popinjay's voice. The narco-billionaires who had formerly ruled Mexico had been morally reprehensible, but at least their concerns were money and power, not territorial expansion. Not so the Aztec militarists like Argusto who had ousted the drug lords and resurrected the empire. El Presidente had already peeled a chunk of Texas off from the Belt; now he had turned his attention back to the Republic, and he wasn't going to be happy until he gobbled up the whole Southwest. Reclaimed it, while President Brandt dithered in the Oval Office, more concerned with the state of his hair than the state of the nation. She looked over at Leo, Spider's son, who slumped in a chair. "Are you sure of your information?"
"I don't make mistakes," Leo sniffed, a teenage brainiac with a pale pudding face and soft hands, awkward and arrogant and allergic to everything from dust mites to roses.
"Encryption was nine levels deep, Sarah, they don't waste that kind of effort on trial balloons," explained Spider, propped up in bed, head lolling on the pillows. The room smelled faintly of ozone from the static generators that prevented eavesdropping. The house was a run-down two-story box in a Catholic neighborhood of Seattle, a ramshackle Craftsman with buckled floors, peeling paint and state-of-the-art security. "The memo Leo decoded said the president will issue an
"I'll take my chances." Rakkim stepped closer, blocking anyone's view as the knife caressed the man's flesh. "How about you?"
"You smell of fire...and the soap used in the madrassa," whispered Jenkins.
"Your senses are sharp as ever. It's a burden sometimes, isn't it?"
"Rakkim?"
Rakkim's lips brushed the man's ear. "You're going to give new orders, old friend. You're going to declare the girls who escaped the flames innocent of immorality."
"Why...why are you doing this?"
Rakkim twisted the blade ever so slightly.
Jenkins kept his gaze on the burning embers. "So my choice is to be murdered by you...or executed by the Grand Mullah for encouraging lust?"
"Not at all," murmured Rakkim. "Wonder of wonders, imam, it was the grace of Allah that led them through the fire. Is this not a clear sign of God's intention?" He felt Jenkins tremble, a trickle of blood running warm across Rakkim's fingers. "The Grand Mullah will applaud your decision, imam. Think of the babies these girls will someday present to Allah, the future warriors and wives of warriors."
"You don't know the Grand Mullah."
"A man of your talents," said Rakkim, "you could convince the stones to sing."
Firefighters hosed down the wreckage, steam rising, red in the firelight.
" Give the proclamation," said Rakkim, the blade cutting deeper with every beat of Jenkins's heart. "Declare the girls innocent."
"Hear me!" Jenkins's voice echoed across the site, the command voice that cut through outside noise and reached directly to believers.
Rakkim listened as the imam spoke of the girls spared from the flames and the infinite mercy of Allah. Listened as the crowd blessed this news, women weeping with joy, men falling to their knees. The firefighters continued to spray down the embers.
Jenkins remained standing as the crowd dispersed, letting the night close in around them before he turned to Rakkim. "A shadow warrior who brings attention to himself," said Jenkins, as the wreckage popped and hissed. "Threatening me...playing the hero...and for what? Schoolgirls. " His mouth twisted. "You're a disgrace to the Fedayeen."
Rakkim slipped the knife free, wiped Jenkins's blood on his black robe, the stain shiny in the moonlight. "Alas, I had a poor teacher."
CHAPTER 3
Sarah glowered at the wallscreen in Spider's bedroom, watching a news conference from earlier today--Aztlan's Presidente Argusto at his hacienda outside Tucson; chair tilted back, silver-heeled boots on the desk as he lectured the press. Sarah was glad the sound was off; she couldn't stand hearing that strutting popinjay's voice. The narco-billionaires who had formerly ruled Mexico had been morally reprehensible, but at least their concerns were money and power, not territorial expansion. Not so the Aztec militarists like Argusto who had ousted the drug lords and resurrected the empire. El Presidente had already peeled a chunk of Texas off from the Belt; now he had turned his attention back to the Republic, and he wasn't going to be happy until he gobbled up the whole Southwest. Reclaimed it, while President Brandt dithered in the Oval Office, more concerned with the state of his hair than the state of the nation. She looked over at Leo, Spider's son, who slumped in a chair. "Are you sure of your information?"
"I don't make mistakes," Leo sniffed, a teenage brainiac with a pale pudding face and soft hands, awkward and arrogant and allergic to everything from dust mites to roses.
"Encryption was nine levels deep, Sarah, they don't waste that kind of effort on trial balloons," explained Spider, propped up in bed, head lolling on the pillows. The room smelled faintly of ozone from the static generators that prevented eavesdropping. The house was a run-down two-story box in a Catholic neighborhood of Seattle, a ramshackle Craftsman with buckled floors, peeling paint and state-of-the-art security. "The memo Leo decoded said the president will issue an
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