“I won’t hear of it.” Bernadette squeezed Katherine’s hand. “You’re safe here.”

Katherine shook her head. “None of us are safe anywhere.”

“‘The Lord is my shepherd,’” recited Bernadette. “It’s not just words, Kate. It’s the word of God. It’s His promise to us.”

Katherine kissed her cousin on each cheek. “I love you, Bernadette.”

Bernadette’s eyes glistened. “The world is a dark wood full of wolves…every time you leave the convent, I light candles for your safe return.”

Katherine had grown restless the last few years, taking ever more trips. Excursions to Sacramento and New Medina and Bakersfield. A secret visit to Tahoe in the Nevada Free State, where she had actually gone for a swim! Never to Seattle, though. She had been tempted to search out Sarah, observe her at a distance…but she never did. The risk was too great. Or her fear was. The best trip had been a glorious visit to Los Angeles three years ago with Bernadette. The sound of church bells had been everywhere.

“What’s so funny?” said Bernadette.

“I was remembering our trip to Hollywood, and the way you put your hands into the imprints of movie stars. You kept choosing the most brazen starlets. Wanton women playing wanton roles. I kept wondering what sinful thoughts you were thinking.”

Bernadette blushed. “Perhaps I was praying for their immortal souls.”

“You were having fun, Bernadette. You were like a schoolgirl.”

Bernadette looked away. The skin under her eyes was almost transparent. “It was fun.”

Katherine patted Bernadette’s hand. “I’m leaving tomorrow. There’s work to be done, and I can’t leave it all to Sarah.”

A knock and the door was thrown open. Sister Elena stood there, without being invited in. “Men! There are two men at the gate.” She was flustered. “They walked right in-”

Katherine and Bernadette were already on their feet.

“Hide,” Bernadette said to Katherine.

“Too late for that.” Katherine started for the door. “I’ll make it clear that you had no idea who I was. I’ll tell them I fooled you with my devilry. Perhaps…perhaps I can convince them.” She embraced Bernadette.

Bernadette held her tightly while they heard footsteps coming up the stairs.

“Have no fear, Bernadette. Sarah will do what we haven’t been able to.” Katherine kissed her on the cheek, turned to face those who had finally found her.

There were not two men standing in the doorway. It was a man and a boy. A short, hairy man and a scrawny, sullen boy, both of them filthy with road dust.

“My name is Spider, and this is my son Elroy,” said the man, smiling so broadly his face threatened to split. “You’re Katherine Dougan and I’m a genius.” He clasped his hands together with delight. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. We’re going to change the world.”

CHAPTER 44

Rakkim nodded at the Welcome to Yorba Linda sign as they drove past. “Isn’t this where that old-time president was born?”

“I’m impressed,” said Sarah. “Richard Milhous Nixon, thirty-seventh president of the United States. Born January ninth, 1913; Yorba Linda, California.”

“Is he one of them carved into that mountain in South Dakota?”

“No. No.”

He could tell from her expression that she didn’t like being reminded of the mountain. Mount Rushmore, that was it. Blowing up the four faces on the mountain had been one of the first projects of the new Muslim republic. Redbeard had argued against it as a waste of time and money, but the Black Robes had insisted, calling it idolatry, and honoring kaffirs from a nation that no longer existed. In the end, Redbeard had deferred, doubtless using his acquiescence to extract concessions for his own goals. The destruction of the four faces had proven to be more trouble than anticipated, the sheer size of the monument daunting to even massive quantities of explosive. After six months of demolition, the faces still remained partially intact, grotesqueries in the wilderness.

There had been no message from Sarah’s mother on the good-wife recipe site. Just advice from devout wives on preparing their favorite dishes. Sarah had been inside the mosque for an hour, had spent most of the time praying, while Rakkim waited in the car. In spite of her disappointment, she seemed…peaceful when she came out. Ready.

Sarah checked the GPS. “Have you ever been to Sergeant Pernell’s house before?”

“Not since he moved down here. He was one of my hand-to-hand-combat instructors at the academy. We served briefly together when he rotated into one of the battle units a year later. The academy doesn’t like to keep instructors out of the field too long, and the instructors get bored with classwork.” Rakkim glanced up as a jet helicopter arced overhead, another one of the red corporate choppers. He was never going to get used to helicopters over the city. “We lost touch when I went into shadow warriors. Pernell’s a good man. Bitter, but who can blame him?”

“What do you mean?”

“He was wounded on an op in New Guinea. Land mine. Lost his legs-”

“Fedayeen have never been sent to New Guinea.”

“Tell that to Pernell. You’ll probably learn a few new words.” The GPS chirped, Right turn at next intersection. “His legs are gone and one of his arms was amputated above the elbow, but he got the best prosthetics available. Russian plastics. Chinese biochips. He can dress himself, run marathons, handle a knife better than any civilian. He’s got four wives and he keeps them all busy. He just can’t do field work anymore. Not by a long shot.”

“That’s why he’s bitter?”

Rakkim shrugged. “Who wouldn’t be?”

“Do you miss it?”

“Pernell tried teaching at the academy again,” said Rakkim, not answering. “He lasted a year before he pissed off everyone in the chain of command. Pernell was never a very astute barracks politician, and his injuries just made it worse. He was awarded an honorable discharge and mustered out with full retirement pay. The day before he moved to Yorba Linda, he stopped by the Blue Moon. Knocked out two of my bouncers just on general principles before I could take him into the office. I’d never seen him drink anything stronger than khat infusion, but that night we finished off a bottle of Polish vodka while we solved the problems of the world. I haven’t seen him since.”

They passed a mosque, a grand one in the traditional style, the dome covered with tiny lapis lazuli chips. Yorba Linda was a bastion of devout Islam, a small city of scrubbed storefronts and one-acre housing lots, home to doctors and lawyers and successful businessmen. With the highest birth rate in California, its madrassas overflowed with serious students.

“What makes you think your friend is going to be able to help us find Fatima Abdullah?” said Sarah.

“I didn’t say he was my friend.” Turn right at the stop sign. “Pernell is connected with the local cops. He trains SWAT teams in advanced tactics, gives them a heads-up on any exotic weaponry. He’ll be able to make inquiries about her where we can’t.”

“You trust him?”

“He’s Fedayeen.”

A few minutes later, after buzzing the house, they drove up and found Pernell waiting for them in the double doorway, his four wives behind him. One of the wives was burping a baby. All four were dressed in pale yellow hajibs and chadors, only the perfect ovals of their faces visible. Pernell was a tall, weathered man in his midforties, with short, dark hair, a full beard, and a cheek full of khat. Loose white slacks and a long-sleeved shirt on a warm day. He embraced Rakkim, kissed him on both cheeks, pounded him on the back with his good hand. “By the pope’s saggy tits, I missed you.”

“The only man in the world with a dozen kids who’s lonely,” said Rakkim.