“You talk like you’re inside his head.”

Rakkim stroked her shoulder, felt her fear under the thin sweater. He didn’t blame her. The assassin’s head was filled with broken glass and tortured animals. Rakkim watched the woods on either side of the road. “That was him in the guard shack when we left. I was hoping to get a look at him, but he-”

“I talked to the guard. He didn’t seem-”

“The guard you talked to is dead. The assassin waved me through when I drove up, his face behind a newspaper. I was in a hurry…I didn’t think anything of it, but when you told me the car had picked up a bug at Marian’s, I knew it had to be him at the gate. I would have rammed the guard shack on the way out, but it had a concrete barrier.”

“Why would the assassin kill the guard? What would be the point?”

Rakkim smiled. After all that had happened to her in the last week, she still didn’t understand what they were up against. “I’ll be right back.” He opened his door, but remained in darkness. He had unscrewed the interior lightbulb. “They’re here.”

“Who?” Sarah saw them now. Three men had appeared out of the rain, stepped out of the night like ghosts. Phantoms in soggy wool clothes, their hair and beards long and matted. Phantoms armed with axes and machetes.

Rakkim showed the men his hands and got out of the car.

CHAPTER 30

“I should be going with you,” said Redbeard.

“I need you here, Thomas,” said his brother. James tucked the latest progress reports into his gym bag, trying not to hurry. “I need you to look after Katherine and Sarah.”

“The best way to protect them is to keep you safe,” protested Redbeard, wanting to shake him, to make him understand. “Chicago is dangerous-”

“Every place is dangerous.” James added a wireless handheld, allergy pills, and his well-worn copy of the Holy Qur’an. The sun was bright through the bulletproof windows of Redbeard’s second-floor study, the villa’s undulating expanse of lawn impossibly green. James zipped the gym bag.

In the blue, nylon athletic suit, James looked just as he had at the Beijing Olympics, the gold medal around his neck as he declared his new faith to the cameras. One of the first of the high-profile converts, James’s hair was a mane of reddish blond, his goatee still downy as a youth’s. He was so handsome Redbeard had a hard time believing they were brothers. Redbeard was bulkier and more heavily muscled, a college wrestler, his full beard coarse. An ugly duckling, but James had never treated him that way, and Redbeard loved him all the more for it.

Redbeard stood with one hand in his pocket, fingering his prayer beads, the clicking of the amber beads muted. There was something he needed to remember, something nagging at him. He fingered the beads faster, trying to recall what it was.

“Don’t look so sad, little brother,” said James. “It makes you look like one of the pinch-faces in the Bible Belt.” James smiled. “You haven’t gotten that old-time religion, have you, Thomas?”

Redbeard grimaced. He didn’t have his brother’s sense of humor. Or his charm either. Few did. James Dougan was director of State Security, but he was as much of a politician as an intelligence chief, a moderate Muslim, devout, yet practical. In the chaos following the Zionist attacks, James had been the new Islamic president’s choice to head the agency. The fundamentalists had been opposed, but James had disarmed them with his wit, his popularity, and his adroit handling of the media. When those failed, Redbeard, his second-in-command, had been eager to step in. Redbeard had an eye for detail, the ferocity of a Kodiak bear, and was willing to lie to God himself if necessary.

Now, two years after the cease-fire that had ended the civil war, they should have been celebrating their success. State Security had stymied major terrorist attacks and forced the remnants of the Christian underground to flee to the Bible Belt. Civil liberties had been curtailed, but after the chaos that had marked the transition from the former regime, complaints were few. Except from the fundamentalists. The right-wing clerics had called for James’s ouster for his refusal to stone unbelievers, denouncing the brothers as converts in name only, soft on doctrine, soft on sin.

Redbeard wanted to strike back, but James said the government might not survive such internal dissension. Besides, it was better to save their ammunition for when the hour was truly perilous. Timing, Thomas, he had said, this is the lesson you must learn, then turned away any resentment Redbeard might have felt in being so schooled by taking off the watch around his wrist, their father’s watch, and giving it to him. Redbeard had protested, but James had kissed him on both cheeks and told him that no man had been so blessed as he, to be given such a loyal brother.

“You’re staring at your watch, Thomas. We still have a few minutes, don’t we?”

Redbeard nodded, unable to speak. The numbers on the clockface were familiar…the hands in position, but try as he might, he couldn’t tell the time.

“Senator Simpson assures me he has the votes to defeat the hard-liners’ latest amendment,” said James. “Fine work. You’ve kept the Black Robes so busy fighting among themselves that they haven’t been able to rally support.”

“We’ve got other problems. One of my operatives in San Francisco has gone silent. One of my best men.” Redbeard hesitated. “He’s noticed some…disturbing activity in his sector. What with Ramadan approaching, I’m concerned.”

James moved closer, moved so quickly that he seemed to cross the office instantaneously, an old Sufi trick that Redbeard had never mastered. “Mormons? Or dead-enders?”

Redbeard shook his head “That’s what bothers me. The activity doesn’t seem connected to any group we’ve dealt with before. It’s a totally unfamiliar signature. My man said he had to dig in, and I haven’t heard from him since. It’s been three days. He was worried when last we spoke. He was frightened, and this is not someone who frightens easily.”

“Operatives are always worried, and the good ones are always frightened.” James was smiling again, but Redbeard knew him too well to believe it. James plucked at his mustache, serious now. “Do you have a name? A target?”

Redbeard shook his head. “My man wasn’t even sure there is a threat. He just said he felt there were too many coincidences. Accidental deaths and disappearances, people suddenly deciding to retire or relocate, and none of the traditional players seem to benefit from these events. It’s as unsettling as an empty chair at a dinner party-not what’s seen, but what’s not seen that gives one pause. I wish I had more to tell you.”

James nodded, distracted.

Redbeard stared at his brother. “What’s going on?”

The intercom on the desk crackled. “Director? We’re finishing the check on your car.”

James crossed to the window. Through the one-way glass he noted the armored limousine parked out front. One of his security men slid along the undercarriage, his uniform streaked with road grime. Another slowly walked a German shepherd around the vehicle.

Redbeard joined his brother. “You knew we had a new player in the game.”

James rested his hands on the windowsill. “He’s not new, he’s been in the game a long time. A very long time.”

“Why didn’t you tell me? Look at me, James.”

James turned to him. “I only had suspicions, but I have proof now, Thomas, proof enough, but I can’t act. Not yet. This is a time for caution. When I come back from Chicago, we can move against him then.”

“Director, your car is ready,” crackled the intercom.

“Check it again,” Redbeard barked at the intercom, not taking his eyes off his brother. They stood side by side at the window, as the dog handler made another slow circuit. A buzzing was in Redbeard’s head, as though his skull were filled with wasps. If he could only remember…“Who is our enemy, James?”