“Why?” Rakkim eased closer. “You were just following orders. That’s what you do, isn’t it?” He noted the faint tinge to Darwin’s earlobes and knew he had hit a tender spot. “Maybe I should thank the Old One. He’s the one holding the leash.”

“There were plenty of times these last couple weeks I wanted to carve on you a bit. I’d be the first to admit that.” Darwin had light gray eyes, widely spaced, and slightly upturned at the ends. Wolf eyes. “I’ve grown fond of you. A lovely, young killer, that’s what you are. Reminds me of someone I knew a long time ago. That nonsense with the werewolves…nasty, nasty. Yeah, even if the old man hadn’t asked me to bring you here, I’d have saved you back at Disneyland. I can change the rules when I want to.” Darwin showed his teeth. “I can change them back again too. Anytime I want.”

“What a sweet man. Can I buy you an ice-cream cone?”

“Haven’t you wondered how SWAT knew where you were?”

Rakkim watched him. “I figured you must have called them in so you could play hero.”

Darwin shook his head. “It was your old Fedayeen buddy Pernell. He heard about the million-dollar bounty the Black Robes were offering and grabbed it.” He smiled. “Million for Sarah. You’re not worth a thing to Ibn Azziz.”

Rakkim shrugged. Kept his breathing level. Darwin was telling the truth.

The waitress reappeared, set their drinks in front of them and left.

Darwin picked up his glass, examined the color. Sipped. Smacked his lips. “You know your bourbon. I guess you picked that up in the Bible Belt. Never been there myself, but I hear parts of it are pretty enough.” He savored another sip. “I already dealt with Pernell. That’s what you should really thank me for. That was a pure favor to you.”

Rakkim cupped his glass. “I didn’t need you to take care of Pernell.”

“What are friends for?”

Rakkim let the bourbon slide down his throat in a warm rush. “Must have been a real challenge, killing a cripple.”

“No such thing as a crippled Fedayeen.” Darwin watched Rakkim over the rim of the glass.

“Pernell must have gotten word that you got away. Probably heard about all the dead men left behind too. He was holed up in a local police station. Surrounded by badges. So there’s the challenge you were wondering about.” Darwin stuck a forefinger in the last of the drink, sucked it. “I told him you sent your regards before I killed him. Knew you’d want it that way.” He leaned forward, pointed to the wall screen behind the bar. “Look what happened to your favorite mullah.”

Mullah Ibn Azziz was being interviewed by a reporter from the state news agency. Ibn Azziz’s face was heavily bandaged, one eye completely covered as he railed about terrorists and how only the hand of Allah had saved him from the Zionist devils.

“Kind of an improvement,” said Darwin.

Rakkim spotted Lucas walking past the row of slot machines, silently cursed his bad luck. There must be a tobacco exporters convention in the city, “Did you do that to Ibn Azziz?” he asked Darwin.

“Don’t insult me.” Darwin banged his glass on the table for a refill. “If I had gotten the call, he wouldn’t be showing off his wounds.” He leaned forward, the skin stretched taut across his face as though what was inside could barely be contained. “I’d take him down at his mosque. I’d take him down in the middle of Friday prayers, right in front of the faithful. I’d shove a pork chop in his mouth and scamper off, and that would be that. I’ve told the old man, all he has to do is say the word-”

“Dave!” Lucas strode over, grinning.

Rakkim stayed seated. Not much chance that Lucas wouldn’t notice him-not with his eyes. Lucas was a tobacco grower now, but had been a sniper in the civil war, had killed twenty-seven Islamic soldiers during the house-to-house battle for Nashville. He was still the best shot in Gage County, Georgia, a maker of cornhusk dolls in his spare time.

“Dave, I can’t believe it.” Lucas clapped him on the shoulder, sat down beside him, a fleshy good ol’ boy in a badly cut blue suit. “I’m in town for the China Expo. What are you doing here?”

“Just…taking in the sights.”

Lucas glanced at Darwin, then back at Rakkim, then tugged at Rakkim’s goatee. “What’s with the chin whiskers? You look like a billy goat or one of the towel heads around here.” His laughed tapered off. “Oh, no. Don’t tell me that.”

“Lucas-”

“Christ o’dear, you’re one of them.” Lucas stood up, knocked the chair over. “They always tell us, watch out for spies, don’t trust strangers…”

“I guess the joke’s on you, peckerwood,” said Darwin.

“I’m sorry,” Rakkim said, before Lucas could swing on Darwin.

“They tell us to watch for strangers, but you weren’t no stranger,” said Lucas, still trying to make sense of it. “First time I met you, it was like you were kin.” The bags under his eyes had gotten puffier in the four years since Rakkim had seen him. “You sat on my sofa and drank my whiskey. We went hunting together, fishing together…My niece…Jesus, my niece is still on me, asking when you’re coming back.”

“I wish I had a violin, so I could properly accompany this tale of woe,” said Darwin.

Lucas stared down at Darwin. “Hey, shit-fer-brains, are you a spy too?”

Rakkim could see tiny flecks of light in Darwin’s eyes. “No, Lucas, he’s the guy who’s going to kill me someday.”

“Yeah?” said Lucas. “That true, mister?”

“It’s a possibility.” Darwin’s right hand flexed ever so slightly.

“Well, sooner rather than later.” Lucas turned to Rakkim. Unsure what to do now. He wanted to say something. To keep things going. To unleash his hurt and betrayal. Darwin would be happy to help him. To goad him into more trouble than Lucas could imagine.

“Good-bye, Lucas,” said Rakkim.

“Don’t leave, peckerwood,” said Darwin, affecting a mock-Southern drawl.

“Good-bye,” said Rakkim.

Lucas stalked away.

“Here.” Darwin palmed Rakkim’s knife over to him. He must have been waiting for the opportunity to gut Lucas with Rakkim’s own blade. “You spoil all my fun.”

Rakkim tucked the knife away. “You haven’t seen anything yet.”

The waitress brought fresh drinks.

Rakkim took a swallow. The last time he had tasted Mayberry Hollow, he was in Lucas’s living room watching old football games. Lucas had years of Georgia football, all the way back before the war. The Georgia Bulldogs-leave it to the rebels to pick a dog as a mascot. There had been some good times with Lucas. The man knew how to tell a joke, and he laughed hardest when the joke was on him. Not this time, though.

Darwin sipped his whiskey. “What have you got on the old man?” He tapped his glass with a fingernail. “Must be something special, because you and the girl got him spooked.”

“Hasn’t he told you?” Rakkim tilted back in his chair. Darwin had good control, but from this angle Rakkim could track minute changes in the assassin’s respiration by watching the tiny hairs in his nose. “Golly, I wonder what that means.”

Darwin slid his index finger along the rim of his glass. “I don’t need to know everything that goes on in the old man’s head.”

“Still, a man with your specialty…” Rakkim shook the glass so that the ice rattled. “It has to sting.”

Darwin’s mouth smiled. “Sometimes.” He cocked his head, listening, then glared at Rakkim. “We’ll have to continue the foreplay some other time, Rikki. The old man wants to talk with you. Chop-chop.”