Baby stood up. “Father, this is the man I’ve told you about. I’d like to present Lester Gravenholtz. Lester, this is my father.”

Gravenholtz went to shake hands, but the man’s expression made it clear that shit wasn’t happening. He had a neatly trimmed beard, smooth brown skin, and black eyes so intense Gravenholtz felt he could see clear through him. He looked around. The three of them were alone.

“You’re feeling well…Lester?”

“Full of piss and vinegar.”

“How lovely for you,” said the old man, his mouth tightening slightly. “Thank you for assisting my daughter in securing the black-ice canister. My scientists are still analyzing the contents. I expect their evaluation any moment-”

“So I guess I’m not getting my share of the money,” said Gravenholtz.

The old man cocked his head.

“I told Lester that we’d be selling the weapon to the Chinese,” said Baby.

The old man nodded. “Of course.” He sat in a plain, high-backed chair. Crossed his legs, one knee over the other. “I’m offering you something of infinitely greater value, Lester.”

“Ain’t nothing more valuable than money,” said Gravenholtz.

“Do you believe in God?” said the old man.

“Jesus H., that’s just what the Colonel asked me the first time we met.”

The old man smiled. “The Colonel worships a false god. I am servant of Allah, may his name be praised.”

Shit, oh dear. Gravenholtz should have known. All that bowing and scraping…only ones who did that other than the gooks were the towelies.

“You look in pain, Lester,” said the old man. “Should I summon a physician?”

Gravenholtz turned to Baby. “This is your father? I seen you in church, girl. I seen you take Communion.”

“You’ve seen me do a lot of things,” purred Baby.

Lester felt his skin grow warm.

“I have many daughters,” said the old man. “Hundreds. The sons I keep close, the infant daughters I spread like seeds across the earth. Raised carefully, they marry rich men, powerful men, politicians and military officers on the way up. Sometimes I aid the process…a wife dies suddenly, and a young woman is there to comfort the grieving widower, or a diplomat too busy for love finds it easier than he had imagined, and finds a bride more skilled in statecraft than himself. Yet, even with all my efforts, most of my seeds fall on barren ground, but some”-he smiled at Baby, and she lowered her eyes-“some bear fruit beyond my wildest expectations.”

“So…is that why you brought me here?” Gravenholtz said to Baby.

She burst out laughing.

The old man sighed. “No, Lester, you are not the prize of which I speak. I was referring to Baby’s marriage to the Colonel, which allowed her to bring me the weapon. You, Lester, you are…a bonus.”

Gravenholtz took in the elegant surroundings, the exquisite marble and hardwoods, the artwork…the view. Beaucoup bucks here. Plenty of power too.

“May I see your hand?” said the old man. He waited, snapped his fingers. “Your hand.”

Gravenholtz offered his hand. Reacted at the lightness of the old man’s touch, the sense of entitlement. Ownership.

“Yes, yes,” mused the old man as his hands wandered over Gravenholtz. “I didn’t want to get my hopes up, but he’s just as you said, Baby…just as the doctors confirmed.” He crooked a finger. “Closer.”

Gravenholtz did as he was told before he was even aware of the command.

The old man lightly thumped Gravenholtz’s chest…his stomach…his ribs. “Very nice.”

Gravenholtz backed away.

“Look, Baby, he’s shy,” said the old man.

“Not the last time I looked,” said Baby.

“Professor Yamato’s great experiment…in the flesh.” The old man peered at Gravenholtz. “I thought all of your kind were dead.”

“My kind…?” Gravenholtz had never spoken of his history to anyone. Would have lied had he been asked. But the old man wasn’t asking. “I’m my own kind. The others, the ones you might have heard about, they’re dead. Me, I was away at the time. Sent out on a test-drive. Solo. The others…they were made to be part of a team. Like I said, me, I’m different.”

“A solo model.” The old man clapped his hands with delight. “Lovely.” He reached out, touched the bandage on Gravenholtz’s side. Examined the tip of his finger. Showed Gravenholtz the spot of blood. The blood spread out on Gravenholtz’s white shirt too.

“That’s nothing,” said Baby. “Russian agent got lucky. He was working with the Colonel, trying to buy the weapon-”

“Doesn’t look like a bullet wound,” said the old man.

“My sheathing’s thin in places where I need to move fast.” Gravenholtz rubbed his neck.

“It doesn’t look like a bullet wound,” repeated the old man.

“Bullet wouldn’t have done shit. Guy stuck me with a knife-”

“Rikki…the Russian agent,” said Baby, “he was ex-Fedayeen.”

“Rakkim.” The old man stroked his beard. “You should have told me, Baby.”

“There wasn’t time…Father.” Baby lowered her eyes. “I was barely able to get you news of the weapon, and this Russian…this Rakkim-”

“I fought Fedayeen before and never got cut this bad,” said Gravenholtz. “He just got lucky, found a weak spot.”

The old man shook his head. “No, Lester, you got lucky.”

“Bullshit,” said Gravenholtz.

Baby prostrated herself. “What have I done, Father?”

The old man beckoned her to rise. “Rakkim is no Russian. He’s Fedayeen. Undoubtedly sent by the president to retrieve the weapon for the republic.” He gazed at Baby with what passed for affection. “You should be proud of yourself. Rakkim is…dangerous. Yet you stole the weapon right from under his nose.”

“What about me?” said Gravenholtz. “I had a little something to do with it too.”

“It’s true, Father,” said Baby.

“Do you believe in God, Lester?” said the old man.

“You already asked me that,” said Gravenholtz, balling his fists. Didn’t matter if there were machine guns behind every wall, he could crush the old man’s skull like a Concord grape before he was brought down. Break Baby’s neck too…same moment he broke his own heart. “Get it straight. I ain’t no Muslim.”

“And I believe you,” said the old man, unconcerned with the flush rising in Gravenholtz’s face, the bloodstain spreading out on his white shirt. “Let me tell you a story, Lester, a true story. Sultan Murad, the first ruler of the Ottoman Empire, was a practical man. Surrounded by mortal enemies, he had tens of thousands of soldiers, but real warriors, then as now, were in short supply. The sultan created a small group of elite fighting men, totally loyal, uniquely skilled-called the janissaries. Though, of course, the sultan was a Muslim, many of the best janissaries were dhimmis…infidels. The sultan would finish his late-night prayers, then sleep peacefully until dawn because there were Christians outside his door, weapons at the ready, eager to do his bidding.”

Gravenholtz found it hard to meet the old man’s eyes. Felt like the old man was rooting around in his skull.

“Do you understand my story, Lester?” The old man leaned forward in his chair. “Sultan Murad was a true believer, a devout Muslim, but he was also a practical man. And, Lester…I too am a practical man.”

Gravenholtz nodded. “Yeah…I get the message.”

An aide hurried in, bowed.

The old man waved him closer. Listened as the aide whispered in his ear. The old man’s expression didn’t change but his eyes hardened on Baby. He waited until the aide backed away before speaking. “It seems you and Lester were misled,” he said to Baby. “It’s Rakkim who deserves to be proud of himself at this moment, not you.”

Gravenholtz could see Baby tremble. Could see her trying to speak.

“The data cores for the isotope are useless,” the old man said quietly. “It’s only due to the skill of my acolytes that their flaws were discovered. We might have wasted weeks, months-”

“So fix them,” said Gravenholtz. “Reboot ’em or recode ’em, or whatever it is the math wizards need to do to make it work. We gave you prime goods-”