"Your friend Jenkins told ibn-Azziz this ridiculous story about you killing Darwin," said the Old One. "Doing it by yourself. I didn't believe it, of course, but seeing what you just did…well, it makes me wonder."
"Jenkins…would have said anything to buy a little…little more time," said Rakkim.
"Did you do it, Rikki?" said the Old One. "Did you kill Darwin?"
"Come closer, I'll whisper in your ear," said Rakkim.
The Old One smiled. "I'm going to miss you, Rakkim."
"Daddy, no!"
The Old One aimed the fountain pen. "I offered you the world and you turned it down." Thin white strings streamed out of the pen. "Remember that as you die."
Rakkim tried to push aside the white strings but they were so sticky, wrapping around him, squeezing him even tighter than Gravenholtz. He felt his ribs splintering…tried to scream but there was no breath left in him.
The Old One kept spraying those silky white strings…until the moment that his chest exploded. He staggered…gingerly touched the sharp tines of the titanium spear protruding from his breastbone. Looked behind him.
Baby rested the speargun against her shoulder. "I asked you nice, Daddy."
CHAPTER 52
The world stopped. The Old One could see Rakkim staring up at him, the white polymer strings encasing him, and Rakkim's face was frozen in surprise, a single drop of water dripping off his earlobe, hanging suspended in space.
The surf froze, the waves immobile, about to crash on the virtual beach. The world as a snapshot. No such thing as snapshots anymore, they were as much an illusion as this stretch of sand, but the Old One remembered snapshots, photographs taken by tourists and lovers on holiday, snapshots taken with cheap cameras. Lovers would wait days to see what shining instants had been immortalized, precious moments to be tucked away in memory albums. Here we are at Cannes, darling, here we are at Miami, at Honolulu, at Bali, at Sydney, at Capetown. Here we are, here we are, here we are. The photographs were no more permanent than the newlyweds, yellowing and cracking over time, eventually fading to dust…like the lovers themselves.
The Old One bent over Rakkim, but he didn't react, just kept staring past him, and the Old One turned to see what had captured this new assassin's attention…and saw himself, arms flung to the sides, eyes wide, saw himself with the tip of a spear bursting through his chest in a spray of blood, each individual droplet shimmering like a ruby in the sunlight.
He moved closer, standing an inch from his own face, but got no reaction…this other self, this impaled self as immobile as the world. Behind him he could see Baby holding a speargun, her hair caught by the breeze, another frozen moment. She looked out of breath. No…not out of breath, exhilarated. Pleased. Proud.
The Old One walked toward her, moving quickly, his footsteps not even stirring the sand. He smacked her across the face, wanting to slap the joy out of her, but his hand…his hand passed through her as though she were just another illusion on the beach. He looked at his fingers, flexed them.
He looked closer at her, examined the speargun. It was one of the guns they had used yesterday when they went diving off the old airliner that had crashed into the bay. Baby's idea, the expedition booked through the hotel. The dive had been interesting, the submerged fuselage crusted with barnacles, sea anemones waving in the current, fish darting through the broken windows. The dive captain had been smitten with her, of course, eager to show her everything, and she had come back to the boat with a salmon wriggling on her spear. He wondered if she knew yesterday that she was going to use the speargun today, wondered if today had been an accident or an impulse.
No, no, of course it had not been an impulse. What was he thinking? This was no time to go soft-headed, no time…no time at all. It had taken foresight and planning to smuggle the speargun past hotel security. The dive captain had probably helped her do it, not even knowing what he was doing, accepting whatever explanation she gave him.
The Old One looked into Baby's eyes but he couldn't see his reflection, no matter how he twisted and turned.
He walked back to his other self, his doomed self. Put a finger on one of the droplets of blood bursting from his chest. His finger went right through it. He moved closer, looked into his own eyes. He couldn't see himself either, but he could see pain in the other's eyes. And surprise. The surprise was worse than the pain. The Old One couldn't afford to be surprised. Not like this. It showed a lack of awareness. A man could get hurt that way, and though the Old One was chosen by Allah, he was still a man. He would have to be more careful in the future. This was a lesson. He would not make this same mistake again. Yes, never again.
The sun…the sun seemed dimmer. Twilight at the beach, not at all what he expected. Have to…have to lodge a complaint with the management. He strolled along the tideline in the growing darkness, comforted by the feel of the sand on his feet and the warmth of the water. He wished he could see Gravenholtz bobbing along the bottom but the light…was almost gone. Maybe tomorrow. He wanted to see Gravenholtz's expression in death. That would be a look of surprise, and unlike the Old One, Gravenholtz would not get the opportunity to learn from his mistake.
Rakkim had killed Gravenholtz with his bare hands. Amazing. Too bad the boy had let his ego carry him away. Refusing the Old One's offer of a place at the table? Absurd. A fatal lack of imagination. Might even…might…even be characterized as blasphemy.
The Old One couldn't see a thing now, but he kept walking through the shallows. Must keep walking. Walk until the sun came up if he had to. He hated the dark. Always had. No one knew. Another of his secrets. The water was colder. Something else he hated. In utter darkness, he turned toward the beach, but the water got deeper, past his knees now, and when he turned in the opposite direction it got deeper still…and colder…much colder. Shivering, he kept on trying to find his way back, but it was so dark, and no matter what he did…
The Old One toppled onto the sand in front of Rakkim.
The beach at Rio blinked out, replaced by an enormous pool. Float a sailboat in that thing. Crystal-clear water. He could see Gravenholtz's body on the bottom, arms waving. No sand. No waves. No sunshine, just indirect lighting. Not that it mattered. Rakkim's eyes fluttered.
"Just a minute," said Baby.
Rakkim saw her bend down and pull the spear through the Old One's chest. Then she hurried over and used the sharp edge of the spear to cut away the strings from around him. He closed his eyes.
"Don't go to sleep," said Baby.
"Okay."
"I mean it."
"I thought…the speargun was fake."
"If it was fake, I couldn't have killed Daddy, now could I?" Baby helped him sit up. "The fish was fake, but I kept the speargun just in case."
"In case…in case of what?"
"In case I needed it, silly." Baby patted his cheek. "You notice how whenever Daddy talked about dividing up the world, and pivot points, it was always you he was talking about and not me? When you get right down to it, Daddy just didn't respect women."
Rakkim breathed shallowly, breathed as if he were sucking air through a straw.
"So…what do you want to do now?" said Baby.
"Like to…keep…breathing."
"I mean later. Us."
Rakkim shook his head. "No such thing as us."
"Your loss." Baby must have had something in her eye.
"Are you…are you really afraid of thunderstorms?"
"Terrified." Baby wiped her eyes. "Damn you, Rikki, don't you make me miss you, or I'll kill you, I swear I will."
"I believe you."
"You better."