"Yes, that's why I'm pinned up here being pecked to pieces-because I'm such an inspiring success story." Laughing hurt, but Jenkins tried it anyway. "Before…you started to ask me…you wanted to know where ibn-Azziz sleeps."

"If you know."

"Of course I know. There hasn't been a day since ibn-Azziz became Grand Mullah that I haven't thought of killing him. I just…I just never did it." The breeze made him shiver, the bridge creaking. "Thinking of it, and doing it…they're not the same." His head lolled to one side. "It's not going to be easy to kill him. I don't care how good you are."

"Help me then. Tell me where he sleeps."

"Do you believe in God?"

"Yeah…sure," said Rakkim.

"Then you need help," Jenkins said. The bridge shifted, bones clattering around them. "Come closer."

Rakkim bent over him, straining to hear.

Jenkins forced himself to speak. "That's all," he said afterward, voice papery now. "I got no more left."

Rakkim bowed his head toward his teacher.

"Don't forget your part of the bargain." Jenkins looked toward the far shore. "I don't want to know when it's coming. Surprise me. Like it's my…like it's my birthday."

Rakkim's blade was already in his hand.

"I used to believe in God too," said Jenkins, still facing the dim hills in the distance. "Now, though…I hope there's no God. Nothing and nobody there. Me…I'd rather slide into the darkness and never wake up than be judged on what I've done here."

"God will understand."

Jenkins shook his head, still watching the distant shore. "Not the God I heard about."

"Maybe you heard wrong. Maybe God forgives."

Jenkins snorted. "You spent too much time in the Belt."

Rakkim drove the blade into Jenkins's heart in the middle of the man's laugh. Prayed to God to forgive them both.

Rakkim pulled ibn-Azziz's head out of the ancient porcelain toilet, the Grand Mullah collapsing onto the floor, sputtering, coughing up great gouts of filthy water. For twenty minutes Rakkim had brought him to the brink of death and back again, and for twenty minutes ibn-Azziz had refused to name his contact in Seattle who had promoted Senator Chambers for defense secretary. Twenty minutes…Rakkim had never heard of anyone lasting more than five in such circumstances without giving up anyone and everything.

"Go ahead, kill me," taunted ibn-Azziz through clenched teeth. Rakkim had broken his nose slamming his face into the toilet-blood streamed down the Grand Mullah's bony face, his eyes flaring with hate. "Kill me, you kaffir scum. I'll be in Paradise-"

Rakkim backhanded him, sent him sprawling onto the wet stone floor. "No room in Paradise for you, boy wonder. Not while the ovens of hell need shit to fire them."

Ibn-Azziz struggled to get to his knees, water still running from his nostrils.

Rakkim's earpiece vibrated-Sarah leaving him an encrypted message. She must have boosted the signal to reach him this far underground, which meant it was important, but right now, he had things to take care of. In the corridor, Rakkim could see two of ibn-Azziz's guards, dead, like the other six he had killed getting down here. A cramped cell deep under the main prison, torn from the raw rock and reserved for the worst of the worst, and ibn-Azziz had made it his home.

"Come on," said ibn-Azziz, breathing hard. Water dripped from his scraggly beard. "You're not giving up that easy, are you?"

There was a shift change in less than an hour. Plenty of time to escape. Not nearly enough time to get ibn-Azziz to tell what he knew.

Ibn-Azziz held up his trembling hands. "Break my fingers…perhaps that will make me talk." He wriggled his fingers. "Do it."

Nothing on the walls. No mattress. Just the toilet and a tiny cold-water sink. Condensation dotted the ceiling. "You ever think of redecorating?" said Rakkim. "Maybe put in a nice rug…or one of those free-standing fireplaces-"

"Shall I take you to see Jenkins?" said ibn-Azziz, still on his knees, enjoying the discomfort. "He's got a lovely perch on the Bridge of Skulls."

"I've already talked with him. He's out of your reach now."

"He…betrayed you, did he tell you that?" Ibn-Azziz spat out one of his teeth, sent it bouncing across the stone floor. "He gave up your name as though offering me a sweet."

"He told me."

Ibn-Azziz tried to hide his surprise.

"I told him it didn't matter. It just gave me an excuse to kill you. I should have done it sooner, but I didn't have time to study your habits. Jenkins helped me out on that."

"Do I appear frightened?" Ibn-Azziz wiped his nose, his torso crisscrossed with old scars. "Do you think death scares me?"

"No…I don't think it does. Not yet."

"Not yet? Do you intend to school me in fear?" Ibn-Azziz asked. "I bring pain, I do not feel it."

"You bring a lot of pain too. I've seen your handiwork."

Ibn-Azziz held his head high. "This world is a sewer, a vast cesspool fouled with sin and depravity. The people are beasts, rutting and sweating, abandoning Allah-"

"You need to get out more."

Ibn-Azziz launched himself at Rakkim, but Rakkim tripped him, knocked him back down, his head hitting so hard the sound echoed.

"You might want to put some ice on that," said Rakkim.

Ibn-Azziz rolled over.

"You're going to be a real disappointment to the Old One."

"Don't even speak his name."

"Yeah, it is a little pompous. 'The Old One.' Ooooh, I can feel my nut-sack clench." Rakkim squinted. "You got a little bit of toilet paper on your forehead."

Ibn-Azziz tore at his forehead for the nonexistent speck of tissue.

"That old bastard probably had high hopes for you," said Rakkim, "and now…well, not to be cruel or anything, but look at yourself."

"My…my master will understand my failings…"

Rakkim shook his head. "I've met him. He's not the understanding type." He checked his watch. "The rest of the mullahs consider the Old One an apostate, so when you're killed he won't have the Black Robes to back him up. That's going to upset him."

"My master has conquered death, he does not require the Black Robes' support." Ibn-Azziz pulled himself up, legs rubbery. "The Mahdi stands astride history."

"I'm going to kill him too, by the way. Gonna gut him like a feeder pig, as they say in the Belt. You…you're just the appetizer."

Ibn-Azziz laughed, sprayed a mist of blood. "Are you death?"

"Just an amazing facsimile." Rakkim lowered his voice. "Here's something to think about as you squat in hell. Before I kill the Old One, I'm going to tell him that you helped me find him. I'm going to tell him-"

"Liar!"

"I'm going to tell him you pissed yourself you were so eager to give him up."

Ibn-Azziz moved quicker than Rakkim would have believed, got his hands around Rakkim's throat, those yellowed nails digging in.

Rakkim looked into ibn-Azziz's eyes, and he could see the man's soul compressed into an oily black knot, smelled the stink of the Grand Mullah's breath and let him continue.

Ibn-Azziz clawed at Rakkim.

Rakkim gently placed his thumbs under ibn-Azziz's chin, pushed his head back. "Are you afraid yet?" he whispered, ibn-Azziz's fingers so tight around his throat he could barely speak.

Ibn-Azziz hung on.

Holding ibn-Azziz's head back with one hand, Rakkim drove the fingertips of his other hand into a spot just under the jaw. Not too hard a blow-that would have killed ibn-Azziz outright-but just enough to fracture the hyoid bone. The move yet another souvenir from Darwin, a particularly cruel assassin killing technique. Rakkim had no idea how he had learned the maneuver-perhaps something else that had passed between him and Darwin at the moment of the assassin's death. Rakkim dropped his hands to his sides, no longer worried about being strangled.