Heart of the Assassin by Robert Ferrigno

almost from the moment she arrived, and he had come to realize that even her seemingly idle suggestions were worth considering.
    "Daddy?"
    "The Belt president will be blamed," said the Old One. "Not immediately, of course, not directly. Aztlan has many enemies, but I'll make sure their suspicions eventually turn to the Belt."
    "You looking to stir up border troubles or start a trade war?"
    "It's a bit more subtle than that," said the Old One.
    "Subtle? See, that's the problem, Daddy." Baby kicked off her shoes, vaulted onto the wide, flat marble railing, teetered slightly as a gust caught her skirt, the fabric boiling up around her. Forty stories above the earth she stretched out her arms, wiggled her pink perfect toes. " Subtle 's just another word for safe. " She looked down at him, blond hair whipping across her face. "Daddy...it feels like everybody here's moving in slow motion, afraid to make a move. Well, I can't live like that. You may have all the time in the world, but I don't."
    "Yes..." The Old One looked up into her eyes and the stars seemed to go out. "Having all the time in the world does change things, doesn't it?"
    She hopped off the railing, stood before him, so close he almost took a step backward.
    Baby breathed harder, a flush rising in her cheeks. "So what's really going on?"
    The Old One watched her. There was a tautness to her, an eagerness, as though she were straining at an invisible leash. It made her incredibly attractive. He wished he could remember her mother, but he had only a vague recollection of a beautiful, pale-skinned girl with hair that smelled like pine soap. They hadn't had much time together, a few weeks...never enough time. A thousand years wouldn't have been enough and now he had so much less than that.
    " Please, Daddy?"
    "The murder of the oil minister is just the first step," said the Old One. "I intend to start a full-scale war with Aztlan, bullets and bombers and the rockets' red glare."
    "Now you're talking." Baby clapped her hands in glee. "If you want a war, though, you better forget slow and steady. You need to jump-start a regular shitstorm...pardon my French."
    "Yes, you may be right..." said the Old One. "It might be best to move forward my timetable...even at the cost of increasing the risk." Baby slipped her arm through his and the Old One suddenly could see her mother's excited face, the two of them locked in passion. "So...how would you suggest we start this shitstorm, as you so colorfully described it?"
    "Well, FYI, blaming the Belt president for the murder of the oil minister is the wrong play," said Baby. "President Raynaud's popularity is thin as tissue paper. Aztlan demands his head on a stick, the senate's likely to give it to them. You want to set the Belt boiling, sic Aztlan on the Colonel. Folks in the Belt love him. Raynaud's just a vote whore. My husband's a certified hero with a chestful of medals. If Aztlan blames him for what Lester did, you're going to get your war sooner than later."
    The Old One locked eyes with her. If it were possible for him to be afraid of a woman, she would be the one. Blood of his blood. "Thank you."
    "You're welcome." Baby bit her lower lip. "I know what y'all are thinking. You're wondering if you underestimated me. Don't feel bad, men do it to me all the time."
    "Yes...I imagine they do." The breeze kicked up off the ocean, moist and briny. He hadn't lived in the desert for well over a hundred years, but sometimes he still missed it. "Will the Colonel accept help from the Republic?"
    "The Republic helping out the Belt?" said Baby.
    "Would he?"
    Baby pretended to be thinking about the question, but he knew she was really thinking about the rationale behind the question. "Well...there's plenty of bad feelings to go around, but he's a Christian. To forgive's divine."
    "Good."
    Baby moved closer. "So you're stirring up a war between Aztlan and the Belt, so the Republic can come riding to the rescue. You're going to a lot of trouble