Baby sighted down the speargun at Gravenholtz, tossed it aside. Shooting him with the speargun would have been as dangerous to the redhead as pelting him with a marshmallow.
The Old One observed a translucent jellyfish undulate past, the jellyfish a delicate, pulsing umbrella trailing acid tendrils. He plucked the fountain pen from the pocket of his white cotton shirt, looked up at Gravenholtz. "May I have your autograph?"
Gravenholtz wrinkled his brow.
"You must be a great and powerful man to speak to me in such a rude manner." The Old One held out the pen. "I'd like your autograph as a memento of our meeting."
Gravenholtz moved toward him, hands balling into fists.
The pen sprayed a stream of clear strings at Gravenholtz, the strings wrapping around his legs, tripping him, Gravenholtz's face slamming into the glass floor. He tried pulling himself up, but the Old One sprayed his torso now, the strings pinning his arms, tightening around him like a cocoon, tightening…tightening until he couldn't move. Gravenholtz lay there looking up at the Old One. "What…what did you…do to me?"
The Old One held up the pen. "An aerosol polymer with molecular memory. Heat activated. Amazing what they're coming up with in laboratories these days. I sometimes wish Allah had led me to a career in the sciences." He cupped an ear. "Did you say something?"
Gravenholtz's face puffed out as he tried to pull his hands free, but the strings only tightened further. "I…I didn't mean…" His voice was high-pitched and wheezy as the strings squeezed around his rib cage, compressing his lungs.
"I understand completely," said the Old One. "You're reevaluating your comments. Perfectly understandable. It does hurt, does it not? Not so much the physical pain, but a man like you…it's the sense of helplessness that truly stings." He watched Gravenholtz flop about on the floor, sweat dotting his forehead. "A man such as you, serene in your brutality…yet here you are." He bent down on one knee, gently dabbed Gravenholtz's forehead with his handkerchief and tossed it aside. "I could just as easily have one of my servants wipe and diaper your ass and you couldn't do anything about it. Not. A. Thing."
Gravenholtz tried to bite at the strings, but couldn't reach. "Get…me…out of here."
"Patience, Lester. Patience and humility and obedience are the lessons I have to teach you. Obedience most of all." The Old One tossed the pen to Baby. "Go ahead, my dear."
Baby bent down, lightly circled the inside of Gravenholtz's left nostril with the tip of the pen as he tried in vain to squirm away.
"My daughter finds you entertaining, Lester. Amusing even, but she's dutiful and obedient above all else. Would you like to see what would happen if I ask her to shoot the snare string into your nasal passages?"
"No."
"Shhh, Lester," said Baby as she eased the pen deeper into Gravenholtz's nostril. "Don't you fret now," she cooed, pushing it in still deeper as he struggled, bound like a mummy.
"No!" said Gravenholtz, rolling against Baby. "Please. Please."
"I think we've gotten Lester's attention," said the Old One. He watched as Baby slowly slid the pen free. The Old One chuckled, seeing her disappointment. The girl raised his spirits. He looked toward the geometric sculpture. "Yusef, come here."
A few moments later one of his aides entered the room, bowing, a slender young man in white shorts and shirt. He fell to his knees, pressed his forehead against the carpet, and the Old One thought again of the Iranian girl he had married so many years ago. He could remember everything about her from the downy hair at the base of her spine to her long toes…but he could no longer remember her name.
"How may I serve you, Mahdi?" said Yusef, his forehead still pressed against the carpet.
"Rise," said the Old One.
Yusef stood up, his eyes downcast as the Old One approached. He smiled as the Old One whispered in his ear. "Thank you, Mahdi."
After Yusef hurried away, the Old One walked back and stood over Gravenholtz. "It's important for you to learn your true place in the firmament, Lester. Important for you to appreciate exactly what your value is."
"Got it," gasped Gravenholtz.
Baby moved closer, gently stepped on his earlobe.
"I said I got it," shouted Gravenholtz as she ground his earlobe against the glass floor.
"I had a Fedayeen assassin named Darwin in my employ for many years." The Old One peered at the hotel they were passing over, a pink Moorish monstrosity with battlement walls and high turrets. Sand sharks floated over the swimming pool. Sea anemones waved from the tennis courts in a mosaic of bright colors. "Darwin was troublesome in his own way, very independent, with a mocking tone of voice that annoyed me greatly." He watched as a hammerhead shark slid along the bottom, restless, stirring up sand. "Yet, I tolerated Darwin's many indiscretions because he was so wonderful at what he did. It took my medical staff hours to determine the eleven spots on your body vulnerable to attack, the intersections where your subcutaneous plates need room to move. Darwin would have known in seconds, just from watching you walk. He'd have filleted you without even breathing hard." The hammerhead turned, circling closer. "A master assassin, that's who Darwin was, a perfect killing-" The hammerhead turned and shot upward with a powerful kick of its tail section, black eyes glaring at the Old One as it slammed full speed against the glass.
Gravenholtz screamed.
Baby lost her balance, laughed as her yellow sundress swirled around her.
The Old One's knees buckled, but he kept his footing as the hammerhead glided off into deeper water. "Are you feeling all right, Lester? Would you like something to calm yourself? A saucer of warm milk, perhaps?"
"No."
"Stout fellow." The Old One glanced at Baby. "I wish you could have met Darwin, my dear. I think he would have been quite a match for you."
"Where's this Darwin you're so fucking in love with?" said Gravenholtz. "He's so good, why do you need me?"
"Darwin is dead," said the Old One.
"So I guess he's not such hot shit after all," said Gravenholtz.
"That's one explanation." The Old One beckoned to Baby. "Turn his head, my dear. I prefer not to touch him." He waited until Baby had forced Gravenholtz's head down, so he could look into the water. "Do you see him, Lester?"
Gravenholtz craned his neck. Jerked back.
Baby leaned closer.
Yusef, the Old One's young aide, sank slowly through the blue-green water, a weight belt around his waist. He bowed his head toward the Old One, trailing bubbles as he drifted down toward the pink hotel.
"Don't let yourself be burdened with thought, Lester," said the Old One, watching the young aide scattering fish in his descent. "No thoughts, no ego, no freelancing. Obedience is everything."
"Fuck," said Gravenholtz, watching the bubbles leak out of Yusef's mouth, each one smaller than the one before. "Fuck the duck."
"Baby and I will be doing a lot of traveling in the days ahead," the Old One said to Gravenholtz. "If you promise to be a good boy, we'll take you along with us."
"We're going to have us a grand time," said Baby. "Visiting some old friends and making new ones. Come on, Lester, don't be a stick in the mud."
Yusef's head flopped back as he plummeted through the blue water.
Gravenholtz turned away from the glass. He stared at Baby. "Hey, you know me, I'm always up for a party."
CHAPTER 11
Rakkim saw General Kidd and his son Amir at one of the outside tables of the Kit Kat Klub, the two men lounging in the late-afternoon sun, their long legs outstretched. The crowds that thronged the Zone gave them room, dropping their voices as they passed. A native-born Somali in his sixties, black as an anvil, Kidd commanded the Fedayeen, though his plain blue uniform was without rank, insignia or medals. Powerfully built, his cropped hair shot with gray, he radiated a dangerous calm. Amir was even taller, lean as a panther, his shaved head emphasizing his natural severity-he watched the crowd with undisguised contempt. As Kidd sipped his drink, he spotted Rakkim approaching and stood up.