A Calculated Magic

11

The call came an hour later. Jack had contacted Cassandra immediately after entering the apartment. She, in turn, relayed the bad news to Merlin and Jack’s mother. All of them, and the two ravens, assembled shortly afterward in the penthouse, to impatiently await the phone message and make plans. When the telephone Finally rang, it was almost anticlimactic. Placing the speaker on its loudest setting, Jack picked up the receiver.

“Jack Collins here.”

“Good evening, Mr. Collins,” said the caller. The supernatural being spoke without the slightest trace of an accent. His tone was surprisingly mellow. He talked with the quiet self-assurance of a gambler holding a fistful of aces. “Men call me Hasan al-Sabbah, the Old Man of the Mountain.”

“I find that hard to believe,” said Jack. “The original leader of the Hashashin never waged war against women. He fought his battles with men. The Old Man of the Mountain, in his own fashion, was a man of honor.”

“As am I,” declared al-Sabbah. “I sent my Afreet to merely kidnap your fiancée, not harm her. She arrived here a short while ago in perfect health. Ask her yourself.”

There was an instant’s silence on the phone. Then, to Jack’s immeasurable relief, Megan’s voice filled the room.

“Jack? Is that you?”

“I’m here, sweetie. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” said his fiancée, “other than having a miserable headache. My ears kept popping whenever the genie flew over a mountain. He’s not very good at controlling air pressure.”

Megan paused. “That damned Afreet loved old movies. The entire trip he regaled me with impressions of his favorite stars in their best roles. He did everything from Bogart discussing the water in Casablanca to Cagney’s death scene from White Heat. It was terrible.”

“I understand,” said Jack, realizing what Megan left unsaid. With Hasan al-Sabbah close at hand, she had to watch her words carefully.

“Keep the faith, honey,” said Jack. He wanted to say a great deal more, but not with an audience present. “I’ll rescue you. Somehow.”

Silence again, then al-Sabbah returned on the line. “Ms. Ambrose is safe and unharmed, Mr. Collins. As my guest, she will be treated like visiting royalty. In fact, her quarters will be heavenly. And, within a week, at the conclusion of certain business transactions that need not concern you, she will be returned unsullied.”

The Old Man of the Mountain paused. His pleasant voice grew cold. “I must apologize for the inept assassination attempts by my followers. Acting on the advice of several business associates, I foolishly delegated a team of Hashashin to ensure your noninterference in an upcoming… transaction. I suspected any mortal capable of dealing with Dietrich von Bern was more than a match for my recruits. But my client insisted, and the customer is always right.

“Three attempts and three failures convinced my patrons they were wasting their money and my time. Freed to follow my own instincts, I decided that kidnapping your sweetheart was the solution to our problems. Please do not disappoint me by playing the hero.”

Jack grimaced, knowing what came next. The routine never varied. By their very definition, supernaturals followed certain basic behavior patterns. It was part of their nature. All of them talked too much. They explained their reasons for every action. Villains, like al-Sabbah, always began by flattering their opponents. Then, afterward, came the threats.

It was terribly predictable. Jack felt as if he had become part of a cliché-filled manuscript. Unfortunately, Megan’s life depended on his outwitting the script. And for all of his melodramatic poses, Hasan al-Sabbah was a very dangerous opponent.

“If you insist on meddling in my affairs,” declared the Old Man of the Mountain, “your beautiful lady love will suffer the consequences. I believe you understand my method of conditioning the faithful. The routine, with minor variations for modern times, remains remarkably similar to that I employed centuries ago. Heavily drugged men are easily fooled by willing houris and low-level magical effects. The treatment provides me with assassins willing to do anything to achieve their heavenly reward. The only problem is that the coarse, brutal thugs I am forced to recruit lately are oftentimes extremely harsh with the nymphs in my gardens. Very harsh, Mr. Collins.”

The blood drained from Jack’s face. “You’re not threatening to put Megan…”

“She is a beautiful woman,” said al-Sabbah slowly. “Exactly the type of female reputed to inhabit paradise.”

“You fiend,” said Jack, his hands clenched into fists. “You dirty rotten monster.”

The Old Man of the Mountain laughed, a high-pitched cackle that barely sounded human. “Of course,” he declared. “I am no more and no less than what humanity made me. Don’t blame me for your basest instincts, Mr. Collins. Blame mankind.”

Jack drew in a deep breath, calming himself. “A week, you said?”

“Seven days,” said al-Sabbah. “Remain in Chicago that time and she will be returned to you unharmed. You have my word. Disobey me and her blood will stain your hands.”

“How do I know I can trust you?” asked Jack. “Von Bern made lots of promises. And he broke every one of them.”

“A man in my profession requires a spotless reputation, Mr. Collins,” said al-Sabbah, sounding slightly miffed. “No one wants to deal with an assassin who lies. My word is my bond. Once given, it is never compromised.”

“I guess I have no choice,” said Jack.

“Correct,” said al-Sabbah. “You have no choice at all. Goodbye, Mr. Collins.”

Hands shaking. Jack replaced the receiver on the telephone. Folding his arms across his chest to steady his nerves, he turned to the others. “Well, what do you think?”

“Word or not,” said Cassandra, “I don’t trust him.”

“Whatever he is planning,” said Merlin, “it bears directly on the fate of our civilization. The Old Man of the Mountain must be stopped.”

“As long as Megan remains in al-Sabbah’s power,” said Freda, “his hands are locked around your throat. There’s nothing to stop him from squeezing them shut.”

“Guys like al-Sabbah only understand one thing,” said Hugo. “Force. Negotiating is seen as a sign of weakness. Your mom’s right. The Old Man’s a snake. The only way to deal with a snake is to bite off its head.”

“For all of his remarks about returning Megan unharmed,” said Mongo, “I noticed that al-Sabbah offers no guarantees about your safety afterward. Villains of his nature strongly believe in protecting their back. To them, the only good enemy is a dead one. And you can be sure he considers you his enemy.”

Jack nodded. “I expected to hear nothing less. As legendary heroes, you refuse to compromise with evil. It’s against your basic nature. On the other hand, being strictly mortal, I’ve spent my entire life learning how to make compromises. Up to a few weeks ago, I would have readily agreed to all of the Old Man’s conditions. But since then, I’ve learned some valuable lessons. Ones that will hopefully help me formulate a plan to defeat al-Sabbah and rescue Megan.”

“Meaning what?” asked Merlin. “Remember, Jack, Megan’s my only daughter. I want her back. Unharmed.”

“Me, too,” said Jack, his features grim. “That’s why we can’t make any deals with the Old Man of the Mountain. Al-Sabbah can’t be trusted. Outwitting him is the only way to save Megan and protect mankind. Which is why understanding how the Old Man of the Mountain thinks is so incredibly important. We have to devise a scheme that will catch him by surprise. And he’s a master of deceit.”

Pausing to gather his thoughts, he slipped into his basic lecture mode. Old habits died hard, especially after years of graduate school. “Humans are unpredictable. That’s because they make decisions based on emotions as well as logic. Despite the best efforts of social scientists, no one yet has been able to accurately predict how different people will react to the same situation. Identical experiments yield conflicting results. That violates the fundamental tenets of the scientific method. Thus, traditional hard-science practitioners such as chemists and physicists refuse to think of psychology as a true science. The basic rules of cause and effect don’t work when applied to people.”

Drawing in a deep breath, Jack continued. “However, supernaturals aren’t human. Created by mankind’s shared subconscious mind, they obey specific rules. Though you have plenty of latitude in your everyday actions, you can’t violate certain basic defining characteristics. Each of you, in your own fashion, acts logically,” Jack grinned. “Which means that someone trained in mathematics can predict how you will react to specific events.”

“Big deal,” interrupted Hugo. “So you knew in advance we’d all reject al-Sabbah’s demands. Maybe you actually guessed what the Old Man of the Mountain was going to say. What’s it matter? Megan’s still his prisoner. I don’t see you predicting her free.”

“Not yet,” said Jack, “but give me time. The Old Man of the Mountain has a league of assassins and an Afreet on his side. That’s an awful lot of firepower to overcome. As I said before, the only way for us to defeat al-Sabbah is by outthinking him. Using logic is the answer.”

“Well,” said his mother, “if anyone can do it, you’re the one, Johnnie. Didn’t Merlin call you the Logical Magician?”

Jack nodded, the weight of the world once again slipping onto his shoulders. He only hoped that Merlin wasn’t wrong.

Defeating Dietrich von Bern had been a major struggle. He had an uneasy feeling that the Old Man of the Mountain was going to be a much more difficult opponent. And sooner or later he was going to have to face the demigod behind the scenes. A god that, by definition, couldn’t be killed.