Christians might believe that Jesus died on the cross, but Muslims didn't. The cross was a symbol of rebirth to Christians, but for Muslims it was just the vehicle of Jesus' deception and escape from the Romans. To them, Jesus was a great man, a prophet second in importance only to Muhammad, but he wasn't the Son of God.

"Professor Hoffman is very highly regarded internationally," said Sarah.

"Last night Satrice referred to him as Professor One Note."

Sarah splashed him. "Ask your friends in the Belt what the cross means to them."

"We're not in the Belt."

Sarah swam over to the end of the pool, sat on the steps, drying off in the last of the sun. "It always comes down to that. The Belt and the Republic. Christian and Muslim. We have to get beyond that, Rikki. Look at Spider, as Jewish as Moses, but he's helping me because he knows that reconciliation is best for everyone."

Rakkim strode over to her, sat beside her, feeling her heat. "You want me to go to D.C.? I'll do it. You want me to go to fucking Mars to find the Holy Grail or the Ark of the Covenant or any of that other junk from the Goldberg movies, fine, just say the word."

Sarah smiled. "Mars?"

"Well, maybe not quite that far." He kissed the water off her shoulder. "Just saying, if you want me to see what's really in that safe room…"

"I'll let you know." Sarah shook her hair out. "It's Spielberg, by the way. Goldberg was the political historian, Spielberg was the filmmaker."

Rakkim lightly pinched her nipple and she squealed, pushed him back into the water. He swam back, lay beside her, serious now. "I worry that maybe you're right. That we don't have time."

"For babies?"

"For anything," said Rakkim. "We walk around Seattle and everyone pretends to get along-maybe they avoid eye contact or curse you quietly, but we keep the peace. Even in the conservative districts, no one has been stoned to death in years for adultery or blasphemy. Then you go to New Fallujah…and you see what happens when fundamentalists take over."

"I know."

"You don't know. You might read about it, or see censored images on TV, but it's not the same as being there. I think about what Jenkins told me, all the new Black Robe mosques going up around the country, President Brandt backing down…Senator Chambers set to become secretary of defense. If that happens, ibn-Azziz will be able to do anything he wants. Him and his master, the Old One-"

"You don't know that Chambers is in the pocket of ibn-Azziz."

Rakkim rested his cheek against her belly. "No, but I'm going to find out."

"Redbeard had a technique…what did he call it?" Sarah played with his hair. "The affirmation trap, that was it. Remember?"

Rakkim kissed her belly button. "No."

"I had stolen a bottle from his stash of Coca-Cola and he counted and found out…but he didn't know which one of us was responsible. He confronted us separately. I said I didn't know what he was talking about, but you…you took the blame."

"It was my fault for showing you where he kept them."

"He knew you well enough not to trust your admission of guilt, not when it came to me. So he never disagreed with you, just accepted the truth of what you were saying and took it to its logical conclusion. The simpler the better. In this case, it was just asking for your help in covering up your crime."

"Son of a bitch." Rakkim sat up. Importing Coca-Cola or anything else from the Belt had been a felony then; even Redbeard might have been charged if caught. "He asked me what I had done with the empty bottle, so he could dispose of it safely. He wasn't angry, he just said he wanted to protect us. We even talked about how good Coca-Cola tasted, how much better it was than Jihad Cola, how everyone drank it when he was a boy." He shook his head. "I tried to tell him that I had taken care of it, but he insisted on seeing the empty bottle. 'The whole household could be in jeopardy, Rikki. You, me, Sarah…we would all be equally guilty. You wouldn't want that to happen, would you?'" Rakkim looked at Sarah. "When I couldn't come up with the empty…he just patted me on the head and walked away. He didn't tell me the interrogation technique actually had a name."

"The affirmation trap. That's what Redbeard called it."

"Redbeard told you this? You were five years old. I was ten."

Sarah ran a finger down his spine, made him shiver. "I was smarter."

"Affirmation trap," said Rakkim. "I'll have to try that."

Sarah squeezed out her hair, water running down her shoulders. "It doesn't work on me."

"I wasn't planning on using it on you."

They were on their way back to the car, clothes still damp, when Sarah spoke again. "You said before that you felt like time was running out. You were right. That's why President Brandt and President Raynaud need to forge some kind of alliance."

"Good luck."

"The true cross can help bridge the gap," insisted Sarah. "People need symbols, Rikki. We're wired for it. Symbols are the most potent and direct language we have."

"Yeah, well, that's your specialty, not mine. Like I said, I'll go to D.C. I'll search for the true cross like some crusader on a mission from the pope. Just ask Spider and Leo if they can narrow the search. I'm not interested in sightseeing."

Sarah shook her head. "I already asked John Moseby to go."

Rakkim stopped. "When?"

"Leo contacted him on a secure link a few days ago. He's already on the way," said Sarah. "I know you think I should have asked you, but John's a finder. You said yourself he was the best. He's also a Christian."

"It's too dangerous."

"He's not going into D.C. Not yet, anyway. I sent him to talk with the wife of the zombie that found the safe room."

"I don't want John going into D.C. by himself, Sarah."

"He won't."

"You don't know Moseby."

Senator Derrick Chambers slept with a night-light on. A small night-light in the shape of a sailboat, just like the one featured in his campaign ads-Chambers upright at the wheel, his sandy hair rippling in the sea breeze as he headed into the dawn. Captain Courageous. Rakkim switched the light off, the room almost completely dark now, except for a thin strand of moonlight that edged between the thick drapes. Plenty of light for Rakkim's Fedayeen eyes to see, but the senator would be blind. Terrible state for a man who needed a night-light.

Chambers sighed, turned over in bed. He was alone and Rakkim was grateful for that. The papers said his wife and children were in Hawaii while he attended to legislative matters, but there were always other possibilities. Not tonight, though.

Rakkim peeled back the hood of his stealth suit. Skintight, the material instantly mimicked any background color or pattern, rendering the wearer nearly invisible. The military used a slower version for night infiltrations, one that absorbed the infrared used by night-vision devices. Industrial spies and saboteurs used gadget-enhanced Chinese versions. Fedayeen assassins used the simplest-type stealth suit-no laser refraction, no sound-dampening capability, no auxiliary-light absorption. Anyone other than an assassin would get himself killed trying to get by with one. Rakkim had found it in a Level 6 security locker at the Fedayeen academy after he killed Darwin. It fit him perfectly.

He moved slowly across the room. Barely stirring the carpet. His heartbeat steady. He hovered over the senator, watching him breathe. He could count the hairs in his eyelashes in the darkness. He slipped out his knife, rested the flat of the blade across the man's lips.

The senator opened his eyes.

"Don't worry," said Rakkim.

The senator's eyes widened in the darkness.