The woman turned as he approached. His wheels were silent, but she turned anyway, sensing his presence, and his heart leaped at the connection between them…and just as quickly sank. The woman was beautiful, her mouth tender, but she wasn’t Katherine. The woman bowed to him. Her little girl scurried over, kissed Redbeard’s hand, and retreated. He blessed them and rolled on. Head high, his jaw clamped shut.

Rakkim closed in on Stevens, matching his footsteps to the pockmarked dandy’s. While Stevens hid his form and features within the hood of the burnoose, Rakkim had on a plain, gray suit and thin, knitted skullcap, as befitted the well-dressed modern. He had narrowed his goatee, his beard extending in a thin line from his sideburns down his jawline. His walk was poised, shoulders back, eyes sweeping the room-the best camouflage was to move as though unafraid of being observed, of inviting observation.

A man with a baby carriage cut across his path and Stevens went to cuff him aside, but stopped himself, allowed the man to pass.

Rakkim moved as Stevens moved, closing in. A tug on the man’s right earlobe…yes, that would be the perfect greeting. Turn him around by that clump of cartilage. Lead him like a lamb. Eye to eye. No permanent damage. Just a bruised ego. Keep hate alive.

Rakkim didn’t know why he had taken such an immediate dislike to the man. His preening at the Blue Moon had been part of it, but it was more than that. Their hostility had an instinctive, almost a cellular component, a mutual recognition. Rakkim had shared the last of his water with dying men who had tried to kill him minutes earlier, had held their hand and told them they were going to be fine. Stevens was different.

Rakkim was only two steps behind Stevens now, close enough to smell his aftershave. Stevens had enjoyed using the stun gun on Rakkim. Given the opportunity, Stevens would veer across three lanes of traffic to run him down, and Rakkim would welcome the attempt. Which was, of course, the reason that Redbeard had Stevens accompany him here today. Why Redbeard had sent Stevens to fetch Rakkim at the Blue Moon. Rakkim had thought it was just an accident that first time, but he should have known better-Redbeard didn’t have accidents. He had wanted to stir Rakkim up. To gain a faint advantage then…and now. Rakkim stopped, let Stevens walk on. It was too late though.

“Shall I slice your femoral artery or deball you, boy?”

Rakkim didn’t turn around. He could feel the tip of the knife pressed against his thigh, the tip poking through the fabric of his trousers. “Good morning, Uncle.”

Redbeard slipped the knife back into his sleeve, sat back in his wheelchair.

Rakkim slowly turned. A wheelchair. No gait to give him away. He bowed.

“Don’t just stand there, push me.” Redbeard waved Stevens back, the security agent sullen now, retreating. “You’ve embarrassed him again,” he said, as Rakkim got behind him. “I would have thought you had made enough enemies.”

“You should talk.”

“What have you found out about Sarah?”

“Do you want to talk here?” Rakkim slowly pushed the chair. “There’s a man with a briefcase eyeing the aerial photos of Indianapolis. He’s supposed to be a businessman, but he has faint stains at the corners of his mouth. Betel nut juice. A Black Robe-”

“I’ve got a blocking device in effect. You can say anything you want.”

“You’re certain?”

“It’s Russian. Sonic, subsonic, microwave, and ultrahigh frequencies.” Redbeard shook his head. “I remember when the best gear was made in this country.”

“I don’t.”

“That is your loss.” Redbeard waved to an annex. “What have you learned?”

“I talked to one of her colleagues…one of her friends. A sociology professor named Marian Warriq. They used to have tea, but she hasn’t spoken with Sarah for weeks.”

Rakkim slowed as they passed the D.C. Qur’an. The clicking of prayer beads from a hundred hands echoed off the gently sloping dome.

“I said, is that all you’ve accomplished?” said Redbeard. “I would have thought you had some method of contacting Sarah.” He stood up as they entered the annex, left the wheelchair behind.

“We had a method. I’ve used it. No response.”

“So much for the power of love.” Redbeard stretched, seemed to expand to twice his former size. “You must be disappointed.”

“I’ll find her.”

“We haven’t much time.” Redbeard took Rakkim’s hand, the two of them strolling the perimeter of the museum. “Do you know who Ibn Azziz is? No? He’s the new grand mullah of the Black Robes.”

“So what? He can’t be any worse than Oxley.”

“Don’t be a fool. Oxley was predictable, content to bide his time, gathering power slowly. He would never have gone after Sarah. Ibn Azziz is a zealot, angry and impatient. He’s the one who sent the bounty hunters after Sarah. He acted in secrecy before, fearing Oxley’s displeasure. Now…there is no one to stop him.”

“I’ll stop him.”

“Tempting, but, you’re needed to find Sarah. I’ll take care of Ibn Azziz.”

“I discovered that Sarah didn’t run away from an unwanted engagement. That’s something useful, isn’t it?” Rakkim leaned closer. “Did you say something? Or was that the sound of your story collapsing.” He locked eyes with Redbeard. “She was working on a book. She seemed to think it was dangerous.”

“If this book was dangerous, she should have stayed where I could protect her.”

“Maybe she didn’t think you could protect her.” Rakkim patted Redbeard on the back and he stiffened. “You should have told me the truth, Uncle. You wasted our time, and as you said, we don’t have much of it.” Rakkim gave a perfect bow. “Go with God.”

CHAPTER 18

Rakkim sensed something wrong as soon as he pulled up to the security gate at Marian’s hillside community and saw the guard shack empty. He waited in his car, engine idling as he looked around. He hadn’t called Marian before driving over, certain that Redbeard already had her phone bugged. No reason to let him think that Marian was more than a colleague of Sarah’s, a good Muslim intellectual she shared only tea with. A follow-up call from Rakkim would tell Redbeard that she merited closer scrutiny. Better to show up unannounced. Marian had told him he could come by anytime.

He wasn’t sure how China and the Three Gorges Dam figured into Sarah’s research, but Sarah had been looking for something in Warriq’s journals. Besides, he wanted to talk more with Marian, she might have remembered something. Something that Sarah said. Something she didn’t say. First contact was always awkward. Trust took time. Distrust was immediate. For an instant at the War Museum this morning he had actually considered telling Redbeard about the journals. The impulse had passed. He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel, watched another car drive into the resident’s lane and flash an entry code. The gate flew up, then back down as the car zipped past.

Rakkim backed up and parked in the visitors’ lot, then slipped into the guard shack and buzzed Marian’s house. No answer. Marian and her staff might have gone into the city, or shopping, or left for afternoon prayers at the mosque, but he took off toward her house, walking at first, then faster, until he was running flat out up the steep, winding streets.

He was out of breath when he got to Marian’s front door, chest aching. He rang the bell, then beat on the door before anyone inside would have had a chance to answer it. The door was locked. A good lock too, and he didn’t have any tools. He trotted around to the back, peeked through the windows but couldn’t see inside. The back door was ajar, an invitation. The knife was in his hand.

He slowly opened the door, moved inside on the balls of his feet, taking a few steps, listening, then taking a few steps more. A fly hovered around his ear. He swatted it away, but it returned, a sluggish, fat green fly humming an ugly tune as Rakkim silently worked his way across the kitchen. No sound other than the ticking of the antique grandfather clock in the foyer. And the buzzing of the flies.