The Old One didn't react. Not a twitch or a blink betrayed him, but he wondered if Ibrahim wasn't right after all, that Baby was a witch, able to read minds.

"Living forever, that's not a bad thing, is it, Daddy?"

"Allah promises the gift of eternal life to all believers, my child."

Baby squeezed his arm. "Yeah, Daddy, but I don't want to have to die to find out."

The Old One switched the screen back to the sunken Yucatan Princess. The camera focused on various items designed for maximum emotional impact: a child's sneaker decorated with red hearts, a smoldering life preserver, a party hat with streamers and sequins. All well and good, anything to turn the temperature up in Aztlan. Argusto was going to have to retaliate in some truly grand fashion now.

Baby watched the rescue boats search for survivors. "Kind of sad, isn't it?"

The Old One switched back to the cross, the flowers tiny but perfectly formed. "Someday we'll have to go on hajj together."

"Me?" Baby shook her head. "I want radiation poisoning, I'll go to D.C."

"The nuke that went off in Mecca was much smaller than the ones that detonated in New York and Washington, D.C.," said the Old One. "I was very clear about that. The idea was to blame the attacks on the Israeli Mossad, not ruin the holiest shrine in Islam."

"Didn't work out quite like you planned, did it?"

"Nothing ever works out as planned, my dear. Only weaklings and atheists let that stop them. One adapts, one regroups, one continues."

"I was just making a point." Baby lightly squeezed his arm. "What are you doing in Las Vegas, anyway? I'd like to come along, if it's okay."

"I have other plans for you." The Old One pointed at the cross. "I want you to go back to the Belt. Link up with Mr. Gravenholtz, and bring that back to me. Do whatever you need to, but bring it to me."

"Daddy…like you said, D.C. is lots worse than Mecca," Baby said. "Besides, how do you expect Lester and I are going to find it?"

"You don't have to find it, that's Mr. Moseby's job. He's the finder. You merely have to…" The Old One snatched at the air. "…take it from him after he's fetched it." He kissed the crown of her head. "Mr. Moseby's a family man, just as you said. He'll be eager to call his wife if he's successful, and when he does, my men will be listening. Go to the Belt. I'll let you know where he is when the time comes."

"I've got a better idea," said Baby. "Don't give me that look, Daddy, it's just that I know some people who keep me up to date on the Colonel. Dowdy housewives that I said had pretty ankles, or menfolk who watch dirty movies of me in their mind." She tossed her hair. "Anyway, one of the mechanics in the motor pool saw Moseby with the Colonel about a week ago. Mechanic said the Colonel came to him and wanted him to fix up one of the heavy-duty trucks, put in some lead shielding, install an air filter, trick out the transmission. Didn't take a genius to figure out somebody was going into D.C. Mechanic was surprised when the Colonel and Moseby woke him up in the middle of the night, asked him to explain how to operate all the special things he had done to the truck."

"You think Moseby will come back to the Colonel's with the cross?"

"He can't leave D.C to the north or west; too much radiation," said Baby. "Coming back the way he came makes more sense. Besides, he might need help."

"So you intend to join Gravenholtz and wait someplace near the Colonel until-"

"Hell's bells, no. Can you imagine me laying low in some motel with Lester, watching wrestling matches and the hunting channel on TV?" Baby shook her head. "No, I'll find something else to keep Lester busy."

"What are you going to do?" asked the Old One.

Baby saw her reflection in every shiny surface of the room. "Me…I'm going home to my loving husband."

"You think the Colonel will take you back?"

"Look at me, Daddy." Baby slowly turned, gave him a good look. "Wouldn't you?"

CHAPTER 31

Jenkins lifted his head away from the steel support beam of the Bridge of Skulls. "I…I thought that had to be you," he croaked.

"You saw me?" said Rakkim.

"Saw what you did." Jenkins's mouth sagged, half his lower lip torn away. One of his eye sockets was empty. "I might not have the night vision you do…but I see well enough. You killed…you killed the big one…entirely too quickly for my taste."

Rakkim glanced back toward the end of the Bridge of Skulls-the four dead sentries propped up in a semblance of duty along the railing. "I'm on a tight schedule."

"The big one…Salim…he likes…" Jenkins licked his cracked lips. "Likes looking up at me while he drinks soda pop, pouring out what he doesn't finish…" He gasped as Rakkim took a bottle of Jihad Cola out of his jacket.

"Next time I'll kill him slower, okay?" Rakkim slowly gave him a drink, cupping his hand under Jenkins's chin.

"You do that."

Rakkim sat on one of the rusted girders that formed the superstructure, perched there twenty feet above the bridge deck, right beside where Mullah Jenkins had been pinned to the main girder, steel bolts driven into his thighs and shoulders and hands. The gulls had been working on him for the last week, torn chunks of flesh from him, pecked out one of his eyes and near-missed the other. Dried blood crusted the girder.

"I don't think I can free you," said Rakkim.

Jenkins fixed him with his one remaining eye. "Sure you can."

Rakkim hesitated.

Jenkins's good eye fluttered. "Five days I've been stuck up here. Wind and fog and cold and heat…and when the sun comes up, the gulls start in again. Five days, no food, no water but the rain. Fedayeen tough…it's a curse sometimes." He opened his mouth and Rakkim dribbled in more cola. "What…what made you come back for me?"

"I didn't come back for you. I came back to kill ibn-Azziz."

"Ah." Jenkins's head sagged forward. It took an effort to pull it back. "So General Kidd finally decided to cut out the cancer."

"I decided. General Kidd doesn't know anything about it."

"Oh…my, you really have slipped the leash, haven't you?"

The bridge groaned as the tide rushed in.

"Were…were we ever friends?" Jenkins wheezed. "I can't remember."

"No. We weren't friends." Rakkim tried to give him another drink but Jenkins turned away. "We were brothers."

"I wasn't sure. I've been having such dreams these last few days…such beautiful dreams…" Jenkins looked past Rakkim, looked out toward the far shore, beyond the reach of the Black Robes. "I slipped my leash too. Slipped clean away and didn't even know it until it was too late. Couldn't find my way back if I tried."

"Where does ibn-Azziz-?"

"You should be careful, Rakkim."

"I'll be careful."

"Everyone says that…but we all make mistakes." Jenkins didn't take his eye off the distant shore, its outlines obscured, shrouded in mist. "We fool ourselves. The best of us…the best and the brightest, we're the easiest to fool." He started to cry. "I told him, Rakkim. I told ibn-Azziz it was you who ruined things with Senator Chambers."

"It's all right."

Jenkins sobbed softly in the night, tears running down his cheeks, even the ruined eye socket glistening. "He had his men…they did things to me, Rakkim-" He lunged forward, half pulled himself free of the spikes. "I was glad you ruined Senator Chambers. Even when they hurt me, I was glad. You made ibn-Azziz so angry…"

"Did he ever tell you who suggested the president appoint Chambers secretary of defense? The president would never have listened to ibn-Azziz."

Jenkins shook his head. "I don't think he knows. Did I…did I tell you ibn-Azziz belongs to the Old One?"

"Chambers already told me." Rakkim gently wiped away Jenkins's tears. "You did well. No one could ask more of you."