Ibn-Azziz nodded. "Yes…you were observed with this jihadi by the guards at the bridge." He dipped a fingertip in his blood, added a tiny red fingerprint to the hundreds of other red marks on the wall. "It was a stormy night, they said. The bridge bucking and heaving so much that they were afraid to set foot on it. Yet…you did."

"Have you not told me that those who love God have nothing to fear?"

"Inshallah," said ibn-Azziz.

"Inshallah," said Jenkins.

"Now then," said ibn-Azziz, showing his teeth, "what shall we do with the two men who let Rakkim Epps through the security cordon? The two who tried to cover up their incompetence."

"The Bridge of Skulls is hungry," said Jenkins, a chill starting up his spine. "We should feed it."

"Shall I accord you the honor?"

Jenkins inclined his head. "You are too kind."

CHAPTER 13

"I'm confused," Hussein said to Amir, as they sat cross-legged in the tree-shaded garden at the rear of Hussein's villa, the surrounding walls dotted with electronic chaff generators to prevent eavesdropping. A stocky white man with a pugnacious jaw and short gray hair, Hussein had lost his left arm in battle, the sleeve of his Fedayeen uniform folded back to his shoulder. Orange and yellow koi glided in the pond beside them, Hussein trailing the fingertips of his right hand in the water. "Your father sends Rakkim into New Fallujah and he tells you nothing. Yesterday, Rakkim gives your father an after-mission report and again, your father tells you nothing. So illuminate me, O Lion of Durango…is Rakkim General Kidd's spawn, or are you?"

"I don't need my father," said Amir, keeping his temper in check, refusing to take the bait. "I'll find out myself what Rakkim told him."

"Oh really?" said Hussein. "Will you ask the birds in the trees? Or perhaps…" He jerked his hand from the pond, clutching a dappled koi. Held it out to Amir. "Ask him. He's old and wise. Go ahead, ask him. No?" He kissed the wriggling fish on the lips and returned it to the water. "Don't make promises you can't keep."

"Then you tell me," demanded Amir. "What was Rakkim doing in New Fallujah?"

"I don't know either." Hussein wiped his hand, then leaned over the holographic display between them-thousands of red-plumed Roman Legionnaires caught between the two flanks of the Carthaginian cavalry, swords flailing as the horsemen attacked. "But I'm sure Rakkim wasn't there to go to mosque."

Known for his harsh criticism, Hussein had been one of the great tacticians of the civil war, a Fedayeen commander second in skill only to his father. While General Kidd had found renown on the northern front, defeating the Belt forces in New Jersey, Pennsylvania and Ohio, Hussein had attacked the Belt from the west, driving the rebels out of New Mexico and Colorado, taking the fight into Texas and Oklahoma.

Hussein pointed at the holographic display. "As the Carthaginians charged through the trapped Romans, their enemy was so tightly packed together that Hannibal instructed his men to simply cut the hamstrings of the Romans and keep advancing-that way they could slaughter the crippled Legionnaires at their leisure once the battle was won." He looked at Amir. "The ultimate objective takes precedence over any individual player. You must not let yourself be distracted."

Amir nodded.

"Are you not troubled by your father keeping Rakkim's mission a secret from you?" Hussein waved a hand over the military reenactment of the Battle of Cannae, the soldiers dissolving into fine gray powder, the topography shifting from the trampled banks of the Aufidus River to a barren, gray landscape. Fedayeen armored strike troops were spread out, waiting to be deployed against the small city in the distance. Another wave of Hussein's hand and the holographic display changed to the dusty flatlands surrounding Amarillo, the heavy infantry of the Texas volunteers arrayed against the tanks of the Fedayeen Third Army. "It's almost as if he doesn't trust you."

"My father is teaching me the lessons of leadership," said Amir. "Trust no one more than is absolutely necessary. His caution is a compliment."

"Ah. A compliment." Hussein tugged down the jacket of his blue uniform. "How foolish of me not to recognize the accolade. You must be flattered."

"What is your point?"

"You need to see what is in front of your nose." Hussein curled two fingers and the Texas volunteers shifted into position along the western edge of the city. Drone surveillance aircraft drifted overhead, diaphanous as dragonflies. "Your father's not going to join us, you know that," he said, waving up antiaircraft batteries around the core of the city. "When the time comes, you're going to have to kill him."

Amir stiffened. "No."

"I remember your father in the early days. He looked like a king, moved like a king. None of us had the benefit of genetic boosters; we achieved what we did on strength and courage…and faith. We burned with belief and our faith sustained us more than food or drink. Your father should have acknowledged the Old One long ago. He had his chance twenty years ago, but turned it down. I suspect he will turn down the opportunity again. Blind loyalty, the Somali curse…it's going to be the death of him yet."

"I won't raise a hand against my father," said Amir. "Better the Old One asks me to kill Rakkim. I would, gladly."

"You might have some trouble with that, from what I've heard."

Amir felt his face grow hot. "Say the word and I will lay his head before you."

"An empty promise, I'm afraid. The Old One wants Rakkim left unharmed. It is your father who stands in our way." Hussein finger-flicked the Fedayeen forces into existence, spread them out into a pincer nearly circling the city, deliberately allowing an avenue of retreat toward the east. He kept his eyes on the display, making fine adjustments with his thumb and forefinger. "The question, Amir…the question is do you love your father more than your own salvation? At the end of days you will have to choose."

Amir remembered riding on his father's back as a child, feeling as though he were astride the world.

Hussein glanced up. "Don't trouble yourself. When the moment comes, you will act as Allah wills it." He nodded at the elaborate hologram. "The Fedayeen numbered five thousand arrayed against approximately twelve thousand Belt irregulars, tired and hungry men, but dug in and fighting on their own territory. So tell me, youngster, what would you do if you commanded these Fedayeen?"

Amir studied the hologram. Amarillo was a minor battle in Hussein's dash across Texas. He remembered studying it briefly at the academy…something about Hussein splitting his main force and sending the bulk of his men south toward San Antonio, a decision contrary to established military doctrine.

"What would you do?" demanded Hussein. "You don't have the luxury of time, so a siege or long bombardment is out of the question. The tanks are needed to support the attack on San Antonio, and you can't bypass the city and leave your forces subject to attack from the rear. What do you do, Amir?"

Amir leaned over the display, zooming in. The faces of the Fedayeen troops were in high relief, the sand on the treads of the Saladin tanks clearly evident. He gestured with his right hand and the city opened up, every major street revealed, every collapsed building and shattered overpass. "The enemy line is heavily reinforced…but static. Once it's cracked…or flanked, the city will be exposed and vulnerable to a blitzkrieg attack."

"Where would you make your assault?"

Amir examined the hologram, noting the access routes into the city, and the choke points where any Belt counterattack would bog down. A koi leaped out of the pond, landed with a splash, but Amir didn't react. He tapped a finger in the northeast quadrant where a new freeway system offered eight lanes into the heart of the city. "Here."