Redbeard kept his back to him. “I appreciate that, Anthony.”

“I don’t know about this SWAT team…but there’s a Fedayeen assassin after him.” Colarusso shifted. “I think…I think this assassin showed up at my place last week. Not more than a day after they left town. He talked to my boy.”

Redbeard turned. Walked over. Right beside him now. Concerned.

“Nothing happened. Everyone’s okay.”

“Then it wasn’t the assassin,” said Redbeard.

“He showed up with some story about being from the mayor’s office. Anthony Jr. wouldn’t let him in. Said he got a bad feeling about the guy. Anthony Jr. said he practically pissed himself. You don’t know my boy, but that’s not the kind of thing he would normally admit to. I called the mayor’s office. They didn’t send anybody-”

“Call your family and tell them to pack their things. I’ll send some men over-”

“Already shipped them out. Made Anthony Jr. go with the wife and girls. Told him he had to protect them. He didn’t like it, but he went.”

“What about you?”

“Let him knock on my door again,” Colarusso growled, “I’ll blow his brains out. I’ll empty the fucking clip.” He shivered in the cold wind. “Don’t worry, Anthony Jr. didn’t tell him anything. He didn’t know anything to tell.”

Redbeard shook his head. “He knows your boy was worried about visitors. A Fedayeen assassin can practically read minds.”

Colarusso felt sick. “Rakkim needed some information and this woman in Personnel helped me. She hasn’t been at work in a few days and I’m worried. The girls in the office say she’s got all kind of sick days accrued, but she didn’t give notice.” He looked around. “I let myself into her apartment. Nothing out of place. Nothing that jumped out at me anyway.” The engine of the ferry shuddered and he fought for his footing. “I tried calling Rakkim…but he has his cell switched off. He thinks people can track him just from accessing a message.”

“They can.”

Colarusso licked his lips. “I didn’t know that.”

“That headache of yours is back.”

Colarusso rubbed his forehead. “Feels like a couple of guys cracking rocks inside me.”

Redbeard had a sad smile. “I know just what you mean. Perhaps when you pass me the information you gave Rakkim, we can both get some relief.”

CHAPTER 50

The four men grabbed Angelina on the way out of the mosque. Big men who lifted her by the elbows and carried her quickly to a waiting black car. She cried out, her toes dragging across the parking lot. Others saw her. Heard her. Women she had prayed alongside of for twenty years, but they all pretended not to see or hear. Except for Delia Mubarak, who called her name. Delia, who looked around for support, but was smacked by her husband, led away by the hand like a naughty child. The men hustled Angelina into the backseat of the car, one on either side of her. The other two got in front. Doors slammed, heavy as the gates to hell.

“When Redbeard finds out what you’ve done, I wouldn’t be you for all the gold in Switzerland,” said Angelina.

The men remained silent. Stared straight ahead.

“So Ibn Azziz thought he needed four men to bring in a little old lady. You must be very proud to fetch for such a mighty lord.”

The man to her right cursed her, but the driver ordered him quiet.

Angelina fingered her prayer beads. They could stay silent all they wanted now, she had learned what she wanted. It had been Ibn Azziz who’d ordered her capture. She listened to the clicking of her prayer beads, fingers flying, comforted by the names of God.

Rakkim slowly opened his eyes. It took an effort. Too much light coming in through the curtains. His eyes closed again, heavy-lidded. No. No.

“Good job.” An old man sat beside the bed, legs crossed at the knee. Dapper old gent in a pale green three-piece suit. White hair. White beard, lightly perfumed. Light brown skin…the color of Rakkim’s own face. “Don’t doze off again. Stick around.”

Rakkim struggled awake. The back of the bed moved silently to a more upright position.

“Better?” said the old man. “I was getting bored watching you sleep.” He smiled. Such small teeth. “You looked like you were dreaming.”

Rakkim licked his dry lips. Maybe this was a dream? He sipped cool water from the glass the old man held to his lips. “Where…am I?” His voice was as cracked as his lips.

“Las Vegas.”

“Sarah?”

“She’s quite all right.”

Rakkim shifted in the hospital bed, winced. He and Sarah had been in California the last time he remembered. It had been night and…

“The thoracic surgeons are very impressed with the rapidity of your recuperation.” Another smile from the old man. “Of course, they’ve had no experience with Fedayeen.”

“How…long have I been here?”

“They wanted to medicate you for pain, but I told them you had an extremely high threshold, and beside, I’m sure you’d prefer clarity regardless.”

“How long?”

“Two days. Your body has already absorbed most of the stitches. Amazing.”

Rakkim took a deep breath. It hurt but he didn’t show it this time. “Are you my doctor?”

“That’s one way of looking at it.” The old man’s hands flopped. “My personal physicians are treating you. You couldn’t get better care anywhere on the planet, although at this point it’s just a matter of giving your body time to regain its strength.”

Rakkim’s head was pounding so loudly he could barely hear. The last thing he remembered was being frightened. Not for himself…but, for Sarah.

“What I wouldn’t pay to have your constitution,” said the old man.

“Sarah? Is she all right?”

“She didn’t get a scratch. You were shot. Twice. Do you remember that?”

Rakkim shook his head. “I was inside a fish. How can that be?”

“Maybe you’re Jonah. Or Pinocchio.”

“No…I was inside a shark.”

The old man patted his hand. “I shouldn’t take advantage of your present condition. Will you forgive me? You were shot. One bullet just grazed your side, but the other tore a hole in your lung. You lost some blood. Don’t you remember anything?”

Rakkim licked his dry lips. The old man had a faint British accent. “I’m in Las Vegas? How did I get here?”

The old man helped him to another drink. “You couldn’t very well be taken to a local hospital. All those dead policemen…” The old man shook his head. “Rather hard to explain, don’t you think?”

Dead police? Rakkim remembered now. SWAT pouring into the ride at Disneyland. Body armor. It was dark inside the shark…and there was all this smoke…and gunfire and blood splashing on his hands. “Where’s Sarah?”

“She has a room in the visitors’ wing, but she’s spent most of the last two days sitting in this very chair. I suspect that now she’s getting some rest herself.” The old man plucked at the crease in his trousers. His socks had tiny clocks on them. Black silk socks with tiny orange clocks. “Or perhaps she’s out shopping. Ah, the female of the species. What would we do without them?”

Rakkim stared at him. “Who are you?”

The door to his room opened and a nurse bustled in, a brusque woman with dark hair tucked back into a white cap. She bowed to the old man, then seemed startled to see Rakkim sitting up. “You’re awake?” She walked over, took his wrist. “Hush.” She glanced at her watch, waited, checked her watch again. “Good.” She checked his eyes, shook her head. “I don’t understand it…but, Allah be praised.”

He remembered something else about being inside the big shark. Fancy. He and Sarah had found Fancy inside the shark…and then the assassin…the assassin had killed her.

“Where do you think you’re going?” said the nurse, holding him back, surprised at his strength.