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Cypress planking underfoot, and the smell of bacon cooking and sourdough biscuits in the oven. Someone stirred in the next room, stifled a yawn and then turned over, sheets rustling. This was his favorite part of a mission. Insinuated into a subject’s routine. Inside their private moment. His solitude. Silent as a kiss. This ability to absorb another person’s pattern, to slip between the spaces of his routine, was the essence of shadow warrior training. Impossible to teach, the training was only able to improve an i
To graduate the shadow warrior had to infiltrate one of the instructor’s own haunts and tap him on the shoulder without being caught. His favorite restaurant or coffee shop. His mosque. His streetcar. Rakkim had watched his chief instructor’s home for three days from the house next door, lain atop the neighbor’s roof for two days and nights, not moving, watching everything inside through the bulletproof windows. On the third day, the instructor’s wife went outside to feed the birds, as she did every morning, and Rakkim slid off the roof, vaulted the fence, and went inside. That night, as the instructor sat down for di
A
She had been more delicate the last time he saw her, the twenty-seven-year-old mother of a young daughter, plump and rosy. He had watched her and Moseby from the shelter of the surrounding forest, watched them go about their daily routine while he tried to decide whether to kill the renegade shadow warrior. Trying to decide if he would turn his back on his duty, as Moseby had. She was thirty-five now, lightly ta
A
Rakkim reassured her. “I’m Rikki. A friend of John’s.”
The mug of tea trembled in her hands. “I know who you are.” Hot water ran down the sides of the mug and over her fingertips, but she didn’t react. “You here to kill me?”
“No. No. I’m here to help you. To help John.”
“I saw you that night,” whispered A
Rakkim took the mug of tea from her hand, set it down before she burned herself worse.
“John told me who you were afterwards. Told me who he really was too.” A
“You’ve got me wrong.” Rakkim heard the bed creak in the next room. “I’m here to help you.”
“Sure you are,” she said.
“Mama? What’s going on?” The girl stood in the doorway in a pair of red fla
“It’s all right, Lea
“You don’t look like you’re all right.” Lea
“A
A
“I’ll find him,” said Rakkim. “I’ll find him and bring him home.”
“You’re not kin, and for certain you’re no saint.” A
Rakkim touched her hand and she pulled it away. “I need his help.”
“John’s in no position to help anyone,” said A
“Let me be the judge of that. When exactly did he leave?”
“Twelve days, twenty-two hours, and nine minutes,” said Lea
“That ugly redheaded toad wanted to leave at dawn, but John made him wait,” said A
“The redheaded bastard, that would be Gravenholtz?” said Rakkim.
A
So the Colonel had sent his number-two man to fetch Moseby. “I’ve read about him.”
“What you read doesn’t do justice to the malignant toad that he is,” said A
“The men that Gravenholtz left behind,” said Rakkim. “Is there just the four of them?”
“Just four?” said Lea
A
Rakkim glanced out the window. It would be dawn soon.
“I bring them breakfast at eight-thirty,” said A
“It didn’t stop Jeeter from peeking in my bedroom window,” said Lea
“No, it was a pot of hot grits that stopped him,” said A
“I thought he was go
Rakkim had seen the small grave at the edge of the woods. “You won’t have to worry about this Jeeter-” He heard footsteps, had already flattened against the wall beside the side door when he recognized the clumsy pace. Knock-knock on the door. Unbelievable. Rakkim opened the door, pulled Leo inside.
“C-careful,” sputtered Leo.
“This is Leo,” said Rakkim.
Blushing, Leo waved. “Hi.”
A
“Do Gravenholtz’s men check in with him?” asked Rakkim.
“I don’t know,” said A
“Twice a day,” said Lea
“You’ve seen them clock in?” asked Rakkim.
Lea