A Calculated Magic

33

Jack blinked, then rubbed his eyes as he stepped off the elevator into the Old Man of the Mountain’s third-floor throne room. The ravens had briefly described the immense chamber but their report had not done the palatial room justice. It was a scene right out of The Arabian Nights.

Fifty feet square, the room was lavishly decorated with gold-and-ivory murals, depicting famous historical battles. The ceiling stretched forty feet over their heads and consisted of a huge mosaic pattern of colored glass. Located in the center of the chamber was a massive obsidian throne. Next to it was a small folding table, on which rested a tiny glass vial and a thick wad of notebook paper held together by rubber bands.

Arranged in a semicircle ten feet away from the throne were a dozen high-backed chairs. Scattered on the floor were several dozen large cushions. Though there was no visible source of lighting, the chamber was brightly illuminated.

Further to the left was a long table with a fancy display of finger sandwiches and an elaborate punch bowl filled with ginger ale and melting sherbet. A small group of men stood there engaged in conversation. Several houris, dressed in their transparent outfits, acted as hostesses. Jack was relieved that he didn’t recognize any of the nymphs’ faces. Or figures.

Oddly out of place in the Arabian Nights setting was a butler’s folding table in the far corner of the chamber. On it was a plain black telephone. It was the Old Man of the Mountain’s lone link to the outside world, and seeing it gave Jack a boost. The phone increased his chances of survival a thousand percent. Or so he thought at the time.

“Mr. Green, Ms. Jones,” exclaimed Hasan al-Sabbah, rushing over to greet them. The Old Man of the Mountain wore a simple white robe belted around the waist by a black sash. The simple outfit suited his ascetic features perfectly. Hasan glowed with the force of his personality.

“Welcome to my humble abode,” he declared, inclining his head in a bow of respect. Carefully looking around to make sure none of his other guests were nearby, he lowered his voice before continuing. “My sincerest apologies for the crude behavior of those camel-scum members of the Brotherhood of Holy Destruction. In more civilized days I would have ordered their tongues ripped out for uttering such insults to my honored company.”

“The gentlemen had other neckties in their luggage?” asked Cassandra primly.

The Old Man of the Mountain smiled. “An impressive display,” he declared. “I wondered if your presence here with Mr. Green reflected more than mere decoration. Your demonstration proved my suspicions well grounded.”

“The Man prides himself in using his personnel to their best advantage,” said Cassandra, smiling in return. Jack couldn’t decide which of the two had a more threatening expression.

“If you ever find yourself interested in changing jobs,” said al-Sabbah, “please think of me. I could use a woman of your skills in my organization,” He paused. “Are you truly an expert in the death of a thousand cuts? It always has been my favorite torture.”

“I learned it from Dr. Fu Manchu in Limehouse during the 1920s,” said Cassandra. “He was an excellent teacher.”

“The recognized master in the field,” said Hasan al-Sabbah, nodding. He turned to Jack. “Your companion is a rare gem. Mr. Green. I commend you for your good taste.”

He sighed heavily. “Please excuse me. I must circulate among my other guests, lest they feel slighted. We are impatiently waiting the arrival of Nergal, the Lord of the Lions, Master of Death and Destruction, and chief pain in the ass. These demigods are always late. They relish making a grand entrance. Once he is here, we will begin the auction.”

Bowing again, the Old Man of the Mountain returned to the hors d’oeuvres table. Jack, not anxious to socialize with the other attendees, especially Loki and his frost giants, steered Cassandra in the other direction.

“You met Dr. Fu Manchu?” he asked the Amazon as they walked. “I thought he existed only in novels.”

“Enough people read those books and believed them true,” said Cassandra, “to give him life. Talk about a melodramatic character. Though created with a brilliant mind, the poor doctor spoke mostly in clichés. He had a terribly difficult time adjusting to postwar England. The last I heard, he was operating a Chinese restaurant in Soho called the House of Si-Fan.”

“What about Sherlock Holmes?” asked Jack, overwhelmed by what he was hearing. “Millions of fans assumed he actually existed.”

“Never met him,” said Cassandra. “But Jack the Ripper told me years ago that the great detective was writing mystery novels. I forgot what pen name he was using.”

“Enough,” declared Jack. “My brain is overloading,” The more he learned about the supernatural community, the more he realized how little he truly knew. “I notice that Hasan didn’t say a word about your outfit.”

“The Old Man of the Mountain strikes me as the type of man not interested in women,” said Cassandra. “Like most brilliant but evil masterminds, he considers females as sexual playthings and nothing more. He’s a typical male chauvinist megalomaniac, albeit a polite one.”

Jack shook his head. It was hard to conceive anyone not being stunned by Cassandra’s latest costume. The Amazon wore a black bodysuit made of cotton and Spandex, with a skin-baring scalloped neckline. Over it she had on a quilted crop-length jacket in a bright tie-dyed polyester print. Black stretch cotton denim jeans, a pair of calf-high cowgirl boots, and a wide leather belt with silver decorations completed the picture. If looks could kill, Cassandra was lethal tonight. As was her clothing.

Tucked in the lining of her boots were a pair of switchblade knives. The metal decorations on her belt were miniature throwing stars, small but absolutely deadly in the hands of a professional. A dozen poison darts formed the bracelets she wore on her wrists.

Concealed within her jacket were two pair of thin brass knuckles. And the length of dark ribbon knotted in an exotic pattern through her hair was steel wire that doubled as a strangler’s cord. The Amazon had come prepared for war.

Jack, who was well aware of his limitations as a fighter, was armed with a padded airline bag containing his blue bottle. Nestled in one corner were the pocket camera and tape recorder Cassandra had purchased that afternoon. Those few items and his quick wit were his only weapons against a horde of supernatural foes. He hoped they would be enough.

Sitting transparently on his left shoulder, unusually quiet thus far, was Hugo. Mongo had flown off immediately after they reached their suite, on his secret mission. He swore to return before the evening’s events were concluded.

“A big guy’s coming over,” warned the bird. “Somebody I never saw before. Damned if he don’t remind me of a bear.”

The newcomer did resemble a huge, furry circus bear. He stood well over six feet tall and weighed nearly 350 pounds. He was dressed in a dark brown suit whose seams were pushed to the limit by his massive barrel chest. A thick tangle of brown hair covered his head and peered out of his collar and sleeves. His face was clean shaven, with a wide bulb nose and bright red cheeks. Beneath big bushy eyebrows, his dark black eyes, piercing and direct, stared at Jack and Cassandra with undisguised curiosity. Remembering Big John’s story. Jack concluded that he was about to encounter the mysterious Boris Bronsky.

“Goodt evening,” said the stranger pleasantly, in a rumbling voice that furthered his bear comparison. His accent was as thick as molasses. He extended a huge hand in greeting. “My name is Boris Bronsky, of the Russian KGB. I’m pleased to meet yous.”

“Jack Green,” said Jack, remembering at the last instant not to use his real name. “My lady friend is Saman’ta Jones.”

Cassandra dipped her head slightly, acknowledging the stranger. Then she frowned, as if confronted by an unpleasant memory.

Wondering what was bothering his companion, Jack shook hands with the newcomer. Bronsky had a firm, unyielding grip. Though the Russian looked soft and flabby, Jack surmised that he labored hard to maintain that image. There was a core of steel beneath the outer layer of paunch.

“I have heardt of you from our host, Mr. al-Sabbah,” continued Boris. “He tells me that you are here merely as observers. I gather he owes you a lot of money?”

“Not us,” said Jack. “Our employer. Are you here to bid in the auction, Mr. Bronsky, or also merely to watch?”

“Call me Bear,” said Bronsky. “Everyone does. It is a goodt nickname. As to why I am in attendance, I am most definitely anxious to place bids in this auction. When my government learned of this event, they flew me here on a special jet to represent our interests. Russia wants Professor Karsnov’s formula destroyed, my friends. And we are willing to pay lots and lots of money to assure that happens.”

“You’re the one,” said Cassandra unexpectedly, “who hired the Eumenides to eliminate Karsnov.”

Bronsky tilted his head and stared at the Amazon in astonishment. “The Unseen Three? That is their title? The Eumenides? In twenty-five years, they never once mentioned it.”

“You’ve dealt with the Furies for a quarter century,” said Jack, astonished, “and didn’t know their proper identities?”

The Russian shrugged. “It hardly seemt important. Year after year, I was given termination assignments from my superiors. Every one of them I passed on to the mysterious trio for completion. They never failed. Their payment came from a secret KGB slush fund controlled by my office. Since no one other than me knew of their existence, I received full credit for the kills. It made for an easy life. Until this Karsnov business arose. What a mess.”

“The Furies killed the scientist but they didn’t destroy his sample virus or notes,” said Jack, guessing the Russian’s plight.

“You comprehended the situation perfectly,” said Bronsky. “I sent the Unseen Three out on their mission of vengeance several weeks ago. Since nobody suspected the possibility of a new batch of plague virus, I gave no orders to my agents to destroy it. When I learned a few days ago of this auction, I realized immediately that even if the Unseen Three succeeded in eliminating Karsnov, the danger would still exist. That’s when I made arrangements to fly to Las Vegas. Whether the traitor was alive or dead, I had to attend this event to make sure his legacy did not survive. When I arrived, I learned that the Unseen Three had done their job. Now I got to do mine. Is a lot of extra work, but that’s life.

“My country wants to make absolutely sure that all traces of the infernal plague are destroyed. That is why I am here. My instructions are to spend whatever is necessary to obtain the items.”

The Russian paused. He stared at Cassandra. “How did you divine my association with the Three? I had hardly mentioned my assignment before you spoke.”

“The smell,” said the Amazon, wrinkling her nose. “The Eumenides possess a distinct odor. A trace of it clings to you.”

Boris sniffed, then shook his head. “You have a strong nose,” he declared. “It was nice talking widt you. I think before the bidding starts I will grab me another drink. All this excitement, it makes me thirsty.”

The Russian shuffled off in the direction of the punch bowl. Jack turned to Cassandra, smiling faintly. “What do you think?” he asked, raising his eyebrows. “A possible ally?”

“Perhaps,” said Cassandra. “I’ve encountered men like our friend Boris before. They give the impression of being stuck in situations far beyond their capabilities. Yet somehow they always come out on top. Ineptness is a perfect disguise. Oh, damn.”

“What’s wrong?” asked Jack, swinging his head in the direction of Cassandra’s vision. He immediately spotted her cause for concern. Loki, trailed by his two ice giants, was approaching.

“What a pleasant surprise,” murmured the Norse deity. “Freda Valkyior’s son, Jack, and his darkling companion. I didn’t expect to run into the pair of you at this gathering. But I should have known better,” Loki laughed nastily. “After all, you are the Logical Magician.”

Jack didn’t bother denying his identity. A master of treachery and deceit, Loki wasn’t fooled by the simple disguises they employed. Remembering his mother’s evaluation of the trickster’s character. Jack instead went on the offensive.

“Hasan al-Sabbah told me you were scheduled to attend the proceedings,” he said casually. “I’m glad to see you here.”

“You are?” said Loki, confused. “Why is that?”

“I want the Old Man of the Mountain’s downfall tonight reported far and wide,” said Jack. “His fate is meant to serve as an object lesson to others considering plotting against me. Obviously, if Cassandra tells the tale, certain supernaturals would doubt its validity. But none will question its truth if you’re the witness.”

Jack tried imitating Cassandra’s nastiest smile. “Watch closely, Loki. You’ll learn quite a bit before the evening ends. You might even discover how a demigod can be returned to the outer darkness.”

The Norse deity licked his bloodless lips. His jet black eyes flickered uneasily. “You… you … are lying. The means do not exist.”

“Maybe not before,” said Jack, confidently. He knew he had the trickster frightened. “But I’ve developed a technique I’m confident will do the job. If you don’t believe me, look into my soul. Go ahead, I won’t stop you.”

“No,” said Loki. Anxiously, he gestured for the two frost giants to close around him. “As the prince of lies, I can easily tell when a mortal is bluffing. You’re not.”

Loki’s eyes narrowed. His voice turned mellow. “Please recall that despite our differences, I’ve done nothing to meddle in your affairs. My position has been one of strict neutrality. Any disagreements you have are with Hasan al-Sabbah and the Crouching One. I see no reason why our truce should not continue through the evening.”

“Precisely my feelings,” said Jack. “I’m glad we see things eye to eye. Otherwise, the results could be exceedingly unpleasant.”

“I think,” said Loki, nervously, “that I need another drink before the auction starts.”

Cassandra chuckled as Loki, trailed by his two frost giants, headed for the punch bowl. “Too bad Hasan isn’t serving spiked drinks,” She glanced at Jack. “Your remarks scared Loki out of his wits. Have you actually solved our impossible riddle? Can you vanquish a God?”

“Perhaps,” said Jack. “Unfortunately, it’s a method that will take weeks to work. Which means we have to survive tonight’s festivities to learn if I guessed right.”

“Elevator’s coming up,” said Hugo in Jack’s ear. The raven’s sense of hearing was incredible. “The show’s about to get on the road.”