Kidd laughed.
"Please, Father, you must…you must declare your allegiance to the Mahdi."
"Or what, my son?"
Amir locked eyes with him.
"Or what?" said Kidd.
"Or step aside, Father, relinquish command and let me do my duty." Amir didn't blink, seemed to grow even taller. "With the backing of the Fedayeen the Mahdi will be able to assume power, directing President Brandt until the time is ripe to reveal himself." His dark eyes bulged slightly. "The kaffirs in the Belt will learn soon enough the price for reconciliation. Convert or die."
"Why?"
"Why what, Father?"
"Why would this Mahdi of yours need the support of the Fedayeen if he has Allah on his side?" said Kidd.
Amir started to speak, went silent.
"Ask yourself that, Amir. Think, boy."
Amir lifted his jaw. "Too late for such word games."
"Your Mahdi is a perversion of Islam," said Kidd. "He's the lord of lies, not the lord of the earth. I've rejected that fraud's entreaties for twenty years-"
"Enough, Father." Amir slowly shook his head. "Enough."
Kidd felt a weariness descend over him, the leaden weight of shame…and worse. He saw Amir again as a small boy, covered in the dust of the arena, refusing to submit against an older brother twice his size, fighting on until he was knocked senseless and carried to bed. Too late for that now.
"You can still go back to the motherland, Father," pleaded Amir. "I won't let anyone raise a hand against you. Take your wives and your glory, and bask in the sun."
"You've dishonored yourself," said Kidd. "I'm placing you under arrest."
Amir went into a fighting crouch, knife held close to his body.
"Amir…don't do this."
Amir eased toward him, not making a sound on the hard-packed sand.
Kidd barely avoided Amir's sudden attack, dodged and twisted away. Amir kept coming. Kidd's own movements were feints, not meant to draw blood as much to keep Amir off balance. Their bare feet kicked up sand as they circled each other, knives flashing in the sun, back and forth. Amir jerked forward, leaped aside at the last moment and opened a long cut in Kidd's side. Kidd didn't make a sound. Another round of attack and counterattack, both of them breathing hard now. Amir cut him twice more, a third time, shallow wounds but painful. Kidd's own actions remained purely defensive.
"You can still stop," said Kidd. "It's not too late."
"Is there time to be forgiven, Father?" snarled Amir. His blade snaked out, drew blood. "Still time to receive your blessing?" Another strike. Another. Fresh blood trickled down Kidd's body, soaked his tunic. Amir's eyes glistened with tears. "Is there time for that? Or have you already given your blessing to Rakkim?"
Kidd danced out of reach, taking advantage of the shifting topography of the arena floor.
"He's back, Father, did you know that? We're all here now…you and I, Rakkim, the Mahdi." Amir circled, darted in, his shoulders loose and relaxed, a hunting posture that Kidd had taught him.
Kidd still hadn't launched an attack, hadn't touched him with his blade.
Amir moved fast, so fast, shifting his feet to come in from the side…there was an instant he left himself open, but Kidd couldn't bring himself to strike, and took yet another cut across his chest as he retreated across the arena. He pretended to limp slightly, favoring his right leg.
Amir's face dripped with sweat, droplets shimmering on his eyebrows like pearls. A beautiful boy…the most beautiful of all his many sons, so serious, always so serious, always in a hurry, as though worried that everything he had been given, everything he had achieved, would be snatched away from him at any moment.
Just under the main skylight, Kidd backed into a shallow depression, his right leg seeming to give way, and Amir moved in with a high thrust, knife hand arcing down from above his head. It was what Kidd had hoped for, the attack leaving him open for a brief moment, but Amir was too fast…His blade should have struck Kidd at the juncture of shoulder and neck, an instantaneous killing blow, but at the last instant Amir hesitated and Kidd drove his knife between his son's ribs and into his heart.
Amir gasped. That was all. Just a single, surprised gasp, his eyes wide.
Kidd lowered him to the sand, his hand still clutching the knife, warm blood running across his fingers. He knelt beside him, feeling Amir's heartbeat through the hilt…fading…fading.
"F-Father?"
Kidd caressed his face.
"I…I couldn't…"
"I should…" Tears ran down Kidd's cheeks, splashed onto Amir's lips. "I should have known."
Amir sighed, his eyes drifting shut.
General Kidd sang softly as his son died in his arms, offering Amir his blessing, calling him by his childhood nickname as he rocked him back and forth. A cloud slid across the sun, throwing the arena in shadow as Kidd begged Allah's mercy for a boy who had been led off the path to Paradise, a noble warrior betrayed by a false prophet.
CHAPTER 49
The balding French ambassador brushed her hand with his dry lips. "Congratulations to your marvelous country, Madame Sarah. You have rid the world of a dangerous threat, and inspired free people everywhere."
"Give the credit to our brave armed forces and President Brandt," said Sarah.
The French ambassador winked at her. "With all due respect, your President Brandt would never have challenged Aztlan without the counsel of someone wiser and more experienced in matters of state." He winked at her again and she wondered if he had a tic. "You have spoken and written on such matters for years. The diplomatic community is quite aware of who deserves the credit." He clicked his heels together, bowed, then turned to Colarusso. "Charmed to meet you, Monsieur Detective."
"Back at you," said Colarusso, gulping his champagne. He waited until the ambassador had left. "Your ass must be getting sore from being kissed all night."
"Thank you for your concern, Anthony. You should have considered a career in the diplomatic corps."
"I'll talk it over with Marie. Never too late, and the food's a hell of a lot better than at a police potluck." Colarusso handed his empty glass to a passing waiter, grabbed another one off the tray. "You heard anything from Rikki?"
"He's on his way back, that's all I know."
Sarah looked around the packed ballroom of the Brazilian embassy, decorated tonight like the Amazonian rain forest, wild orchids blooming in the lush green canopy overhead, enormous butterflies fluttering above the tropical flowers, and caged parrots squawking from the dwarf banyan trees. Colarusso had spent the first hour there wandering around with his head tilted back saying, What the fuck? She knew just how he felt. The two of them glided across the room, Colarusso in a rented tuxedo a little small on him, Sarah in a sea-foam green silk ball gown that rustled faintly with every step, the tiny seed pearls across the bodice gleaming softly in the light.
The international elite were here-billionaires and ambassadors, kings and queens, presidents and pashas, everyone eager to congratulate the victorious regime on vanquishing the evil empire. The very same empire that they had courted and cajoled for the last ten years. Everyone loved a winner, and the French ambassador wasn't the first one to compliment Sarah as being the hidden architect of the rapprochement with the Belt and the defeat of Aztlan. Legault had been relentless in promoting her contributions on television news specials, and it hadn't hurt that President Brandt had been incapacitated for the last two days with the flu, leading to all sorts of ugly jokes and rumors.
"He'll be fine," said Colarusso.
"I beg your pardon?"
"Rikki." Colarusso jerked as an iridescent blue hummingbird zipped past him. "He'll turn up, don't worry."
"I'm not worried," said Sarah, not caring that they both knew it was a lie. She looked around. "I'm surprised Amir isn't here."