“What about General Kidd? His forces-”

“The Fedayeen are already stretched thin. We have to choose our battles.”

Colarusso gnawed at his lower lip. “Plane full of politicians…president and vice president…seems to me that’s just asking for trouble.”

“Air Force One is safer than the Presidential Palace. Redbeard used to pack Rakkim and me along when he rode with the president,” said Sarah. “Amazing technology. The freeways may be crumbling, but Air Force One gets every security upgrade. Microwave chaff generators, triple redundancies, complete system assessment prior to takeoff…”

“I had no idea.”

“You’re not supposed to.” Sarah opened the door. “Raincheck on the dinner invitation? Rakkim and I will come by as soon as he gets back.”

“Just bring your antacids.”

Chapter 37

Rakkim was peeling potatoes when Moseby walked into the mess tent, looking exhausted, and started moving through the chow line. He didn’t notice Rakkim stuck in the back, working through a pile of spuds.

Rakkim tossed his apron aside. “Taking a break.”

The cook grunted, stirred the pot of chili he was working on.

Rakkim had been working in the miner’s mess since he slipped out of the Colonel’s house early yesterday morning. Just wandered in and told the morning cook that he had been assigned as his line monkey until the rest of his unit came up from Murfreesboro. The cook didn’t question the orders, grateful to have the help. Rakkim got a cot next to the cooler, a hideout where no one would think to look for him, and sooner or later, Moseby had to show up. Midafternoon on the second day, there he was.

The miners, covered in dust, tended to congregate together even when there was room, sitting so close they were constantly banging elbows. Moseby was off in a corner by himself, digging into his chicken steak and greens like he hadn’t eaten in a month, when Rakkim tapped him on the shoulder.

“Get you some gravy, suh?” said Rakkim, standing behind him.

Moseby recognized his voice immediately, fingers tightening on his knife.

“What is it with you people?” said Rakkim, sitting beside him with a cup of coffee. “You think I’ve got nothing better than to go around all day killing folks?”

Moseby kept his grip on the knife. Not that it would do him any good. “How’d you find me?”

“Please.” Rakkim put two heaping spoons of sugar into his coffee. Stirred. “You think you’re the only finder in the world?” He sipped his coffee. Added another spoon of sugar. “Annabelle sends her best. Leanne too. Smart girl. Must have got that from her mama.”

Moseby didn’t move. Barely breathed. “Are they all right?”

“They are now.” Rakkim sipped his coffee. “I moved them out of New Orleans. They’re staying at her cousin’s place in Arkansas.”

Moseby relaxed slightly, lowered his shoulders. “Good. Her kin may not like me but they’ll do what’s right.”

Rakkim rested his head on his elbow, looking past Moseby, checking out the rest of the room. “Annabelle’s worried about you. I promised her I wouldn’t let anything happen to you, but I’m not sure she trusts me.”

“Thanks.” Moseby set the knife down. “I owe you.”

“I know.”

“It’s never free, is it?” said Moseby. “You always keep a running tally.”

“A man can never have too many friends.” Rakkim finished the coffee. “How’s the treasure hunt going? Must have been four or five crews through here in the last day, and that’s all they talk about. Some say it’s at the bottom of an underground lake, others say it’s buried under a filled-in mine-shaft. They’re not even sure what they’re looking for-gold, silver, Billy Clinton’s crocheted jockstrap-but they’re all convinced they’re the lucky ones. Me, I’d put my money on you anytime.” He reached over, took a roasted potato off Moseby’s plate, popped it in his mouth. “So…did you find anything?”

Moseby watched him chew.

“Interesting indentations around your eyes-looks like a face mask,” said Rakkim, going back to Moseby’s plate. “You been scuba diving, John? Probably no crawfish around here, but I bet there’s some mighty tasty freshwater crabs in that river I saw on the way up here. That it? You find yourself a good spot for a little R and R?”

Moseby stood. “There’s a rusted-out logging truck broken down near the trailhead to town. Meet me there in fifteen minutes.”

Rakkim slid Moseby’s plate in front of him as the man walked off. Picked up the fork and started in on the rest of the chicken.

Rakkim was sitting in the driver’s seat of the logging truck when Moseby showed up ten minutes later. He brought company, of course. Rakkim couldn’t blame him.

“Nice sawed-off you got there,” said Rakkim as Moseby slid into the passenger side. “Nothing like a wide field of fire. Say what you want about full-auto, a scattergun-”

“Stop talking.” Moseby centered the shotgun on Rakkim’s midsection. No matter how fast a man was, there was no avoiding a load of double-aught at that range.

“Sure.” Rakkim kept both hands on the wheel. “Why destroy the peace and quiet of a summer day? I bet if we sit here for a few minutes we’ll hear all kinds of birds.”

“I’m serious.”

“Me too. Honest.” Rakkim peered through the cracked windshield, cranking the steering wheel back and forth, making vroom-vroom sounds.

“What’s wrong with you?”

Rakkim went silent. Sat back in his seat. Looked at Moseby. “I don’t know,” he said softly. “I don’t…I don’t seem to be myself lately.” He started laughing, couldn’t stop.

“Are Annabelle and Leanne really okay?”

Rakkim shook with laughter.

Moseby nudged him with the sawed-off. “Did you hurt my family, Rikki?”

“No.” Rakkim wiped his eyes, serious now. “You know me better than that.”

“I thought I did. Now…I’m not so sure.”

Rakkim took his hands off the wheel, stared at his fingers like they didn’t belong to him. He wiped his palms on his pants. “I’m sorry, John. Didn’t mean to worry you. Annabelle and Leanne, they’re fine. Both of them.”

Moseby stared at him. Nodded. “I believe you.”

“If you believe me, you best put away the gun. One of us could get hurt.”

Moseby slid the sawed-off back into his jacket. “You should go back where you came from. There’s nothing for you here.”

“You like living in the Belt, John?”

“It’s my home now.”

“Met a lot of good people here myself. Lot of sick, twisted fucks too, but you find that anywhere. You wouldn’t believe New Fallujah now-I’ve seen slaughterhouses with better ambience.” Rakkim drummed on the wheel, not sure if he even knew what the word ambience meant. “Yeah, I like the Belt.”

“What do you want from me, Rikki?”

“You know what I want.”

“I’m not going to put some black ice into the hands of the republic.”

“You’d rather put it into the hands of the Colonel?”

“The Colonel’s a good man.”

“I know. I’ve met him.” Rakkim let that sink in. “You give the weapon to the Colonel, though, you’re giving it to Gravenholtz too. Maybe that’s what you want. After all, he was so kind to your family. Me, all I did was get them out of harm’s way.”

Moseby didn’t answer.

Rakkim inhaled. The logging truck smelled of rust and mildewed leather and cracked plastic. He pumped the brakes, his foot thudding on the floorboard. “What if the weapon didn’t end up back in the republic?”

Moseby shook his head. “Once something like that’s been found, you can’t just make it disappear.”

“I’m not talking about that.” Rakkim picked up two pinecones off the seat, held one up. “You’ve got the republic. Kingsley’s not going to live forever, and even if he did, the country-what’s left of it, anyway-is just one step ahead of a fundamentalist takeover.” He held up the other pinecone. “Then there’s the Belt, which, other than a few pockets of affluence, is a backwater dumping ground, owned and operated by foreign corporations.” He tossed both pinecones out the window. “Neither the Belt nor the republic can be trusted with the weapon.”