“We’ll talk when I get back. Trust me, I’ll tell you everything I know.”

Redbeard bit his lips shut. “As you wish, Director.”

“I had to keep my own counsel on this, even from you. I just…I thought we had more time.” James squeezed Redbeard’s massive shoulder. “You’ll understand my reticence when I show you the information I’ve gathered. We’ll have to tread lightly.”

“Stay here, then. We can get started-”

James shook his head. “I’m meeting the president in Chicago. I have to talk to him in person.” He looked in pain. “I’m sorry, Thomas.”

“I’ll ride with you to the airport.”

James picked up his gym bag. “I need you to go to the hospital and wait with Katherine.”

“I thought Sarah was being released today.”

“Damn pneumonia’s resistant…she’s had a relapse. The doctors want to keep her a few more days. The hospital is secure, but Katherine could use a friendly face.”

Redbeard smiled awkwardly. “Since when does Katherine consider me good company?”

“Take care of them for me, Thomas.” James touched the intercom. “I’m leaving now.” He keyed a number on his cell. “Go.” Through the window, he watched as his double strode out the front door of the villa and into the limo, his face half hidden in a burnoose.

The brothers stood beside each other, watching the limo accelerate down the winding driveway. Watched the gate swing up as it approached. Even after the limo was lost in the distance, the two of them stood at the window, half-expecting to see a flash of orange light, and the rumble of an explosion.

“The delivery van is waiting at the loading dock,” Redbeard said at last. “My bodyguard, Miller, will drive you to the airport.”

James slung the gym bag over his shoulder, eager now.

There was a light rap on the door, then two more.

Redbeard checked the peephole before unlocking the door.

Miller stepped inside rather than waiting in the doorway, and Redbeard knew. Miller brushed past him. “Let me help you, Director,” he said, his right arm reaching for something in his spotless white deliveryman’s jacket.

James rummaged around the couch. “I left my reading glasses somewhere.”

Redbeard tried to move, but his body was filled with concrete.

The room echoed with gunshots, and the sound seemed to break Redbeard free of his immobility. He grappled with the bodyguard. More gunshots, the sound muffled now, the gun pressed against him. Miller, who had been with them from the beginning, sneered up at him. Redbeard could see that the man’s eyes had been snipped out, replaced by images of James’s body lying in state under the Capitol dome. Sarah was holding on to the casket, but where was Katherine?

“My master sends greetings to you both,” said Miller. Another gunshot, but Redbeard had a grip on the man’s wrist and the bullet went wide, hit the wall. Miller tried to wrench free, fired again, and Redbeard felt the heat, his clothes smoldering from the muzzle blast. Redbeard broke the man’s wrist. Heard the gun hit the carpet.

Redbeard had his hands around Miller’s throat now. Redbeard had weak knees, it had cost him a national wrestling championship, but he had strong hands. Miller kicked and struggled, but Redbeard ignored the pain, ignored the blood oozing from his wounds as he slowly crushed the man’s windpipe.

“Thomas,” James called. “Don’t kill him. You will need what he can tell you.”

Redbeard watched the photos fade in the bodyguard’s eyes. The man’s arms were at his side now, twitching, but Redbeard kept squeezing.

“Thomas,” James gasped.

Redbeard threw Miller to the floor.

Someone was beating on the door to the office.

Redbeard cradled James in his arms. His brother’s running suit smelled of smoke, and the blue nylon was singed smooth where the bullets had entered. No blood, though. Not a drop. “Don’t move,” said Redbeard. “You’re going to be all right.”

James patted Redbeard’s cheek. “Ah, Thomas…who would have ever suspected you of being an optimist?”

Redbeard was slumped over his desk, weeping, when Angelina finally shook him awake. He clung to her, pressed his face into her flesh while she stroked his hair. “I couldn’t save him. I couldn’t save my own brother.”

“Let me help you to bed,” said Angelina. “You have fever.”

“I’m afraid to sleep.”

“Shhhh.” Angelina helped him up.

“If I couldn’t even save my brother, how can I save my country?”

Angelina braced herself against him as they walked. He was like this more and more lately, delirious, racked with nightmares and riven by doubt.

“If James were here, he would have known what to do. James had allies…James had friends. You…you’re the only one I can trust.” He staggered against her and Angelina almost fell. “Rakkim…I was counting on him and he joins the Fedayeen.”

“You drove him away,” said Angelina.

“I should have died that day, not James.”

“Are you God? Then do not question that which He has brought about.”

Redbeard broke free of her. Was she his wife to speak like that to him? He shuffled forward, head bowed, so weary his very bones ached. He had barely slept these last weeks, and when he did, he found no peace. It was too much for one man. Angelina was right, he had driven Rakkim away. Had driven Sarah away too. His brother’s only child and the son he had never had. Gone. Angelina was right. She was always right.

He staggered down the hallway and into his bedroom. Left the lights off. The darkness cool on his smoldering skin. He shrugged off his robe and left it in a heap on the floor. The mattress groaned under him like the beams of a sailing ship. Just a chance to close his eyes, that’s all he wanted. No sleep. No dreams. Just to close his eyes for a moment.

It was so hard to maintain the impression of strength. To appear resolute and confident at all times. Redbeard kicked off the sheets, sweating. The world seized on the first hint of weakness. His so-called allies would turn on him in an instant. The Old One was waiting. Always he was waiting. Where did such patience come from? It wasn’t faith that kept the Old One in the shadows, it was devilry. Yet…such devilry was succeeding. The president was sick. Redbeard had seen the private medical records. When the president died…

The bedroom door opened. Angelina sat on the bed, laid a cool cloth across his forehead.

Redbeard covered his nakedness with the sheet. “I don’t need babying-”

Angelina slapped his hand away as he tried to remove the cloth. “If the fever isn’t broken by noon prayers, I’m calling your doctor.”

Redbeard waved her away. He waited until the door closed behind her, started to toss aside the damp cloth, then thought better of it. The coolness of it felt good. He would rest his eyes. He would give himself time to recover his strength. Sleep was the answer. Sleep the balm to the thoughts boiling in his brain. If only James were here. Twenty-five years dead and gone. Redbeard’s head lolled against the pillow, pulled the darkness closer. The Old One preoccupied his waking moments, but at times like this, drifting deeper, he thought of James…and Katherine. Both gone.

Katherine…the name he never spoke aloud. The face he saw when he closed his eyes. Forgive me, Brother, for the thoughts I had. The desires I harbored. He had hidden such thoughts from his brother, but Katherine had sensed them. Must have sensed them. To abandon her daughter…to flee without a word after hearing of James’s death. She was a rare woman to hold her husband’s honor so dear. Forgive me, James.