Then she was gone. He breathed a heavy sigh of relief and thanked God he hadn't gone through with the "indignant club owner" routine. If he had stormed out of the place in a huff, he might have been dead before he reached the corner.
He glanced at the watch "Doc" Dunfy had given him for just this occasion. 10:25. He gave the dial a push, sending a signal to "Numbers." If everything had gone smoothly, Nagle and a recovered "Dutchman" had tailed him to the Golden Dragon and were down the block now in a nondescript sedan. Bennington's signal meant he and Jasmine would probably be leaving soon for a meet with the big bosses, and the boys should be ready to move.
Jasmine returned promptly, looking none too happy. "My employers are displeased with the turn events have taken. They consider your manner of doing business unorthodox, but are willing to concede the point in the interests of sealing the deal. You will accompany me to their offices."
"What, now?" he said, sounding put out. "These aren't exactly banker's hours."
This time, his wit failed to impress. "My employers are not the sort of bankers with whom you are familiar. Please come along."
* * *
Together, Bennington and the stunning Jasmine departed the Golden Dragon, a hundred potentially hostile eyes following them all the way.
Her car was waiting, a large black sedan with an Oriental driver. She said something to him in a language Bennington recognized as Japanese and they sped off into the night. He was seated behind the driver and so could keep an eye on the rear-view mirror. In the distance, two pinpoints of light could be seen trailing their vehicle.
He did his best to keep track of the route they were driving and the amount of time it was taking. He knew they had crossed the El Giza Bridge, apparently heading for the Geziret El Roda district. "The Dutchman" was staying well back, but apparently not far enough. Jasmine's driver suddenly began executing a series of sharp turns, the kind that would force the pursuing car to speed up and smoke out the tail. After fifteen minutes or so, the driver seemed satisfied and the headlights were gone from the mirror.
Great, Bennington said to himself. Even if I could risk signalling, they've got to be out of range of the watch at this point. And after going in all those circles, I'm not even sure where the hell I am.
He fought down a brief surge of panic. There was nothing that could be done about the situation, at least not until they got wherever they were going. He decided not to worry, instead reflecting on why Jasmine had looked as upset as he had over her driver's behavior.
They came to a stop on a dark street behind what appeared to be an office building. No lights were on within, but as they drew closer, Bennington saw the reason for this — blackout shades, much like most buildings in Terran Europe were still equipped with, for during the war.
As soon as Jasmine and Bennington had stepped out on to the curb, the car pulled away and was soon gone from sight. The woman silently led him through a rear door and up a winding staircase that smelled slightly of disinfectant. Bennington disliked the antiseptic feeling of the place, so unlike most buildings in Cairo. He had been told that many of the places taken over by representatives of Nippon had this same cold, sterile feeling.
The hallway was carpeted and no sounds came from any of the offices they passed, although lights were on within. When they reached the end of the corridor, they were confronted by a set of double-doors, mahogany by the look of them. Jasmine placed her hand against one of the wood panels and the doors swung open.
Bennington's experiences with natives of the "mysterious East" were limited. If he was expecting one of Wu Han's fiendish torture chambers or a golden throne room filled with concubines, he was disappointed. The room they entered was an executive boardroom, all but two of the seats at the long table filled. The lighting was dim, so none of the faces of the men and women could be made out. Stronger light played upon the two empty chairs, to which he and Jasmine were ushered.
"Welcome, Mr. Bennington," the man at the head of the table said. His voice was husky, as if smoked too much. "We are pleased that you were able to join us."
Bennington felt uncomfortable, like he was about to get grilled, but he assumed that was the purpose of the room's set-up. "You want to put some lights on? If you guys can't afford your electric bill, how are you going to afford my place?"
The executive's laugh had no trace of mirth in it. "The eyes of some of my colleagues are sensitive to bright light. In addition, we see no reason to reveal our identities until we are certain you are interested in doing business."
"What choice do I have?" Bennington said, trying to get just the right trace of bitterness into his voice.
"Indeed," the man replied. "I believe the agreed-upon price was fifty million royals?"
So that was how they were going to play it. "I was told one hundred million," he said hotly.
The executive's voice was silk over steel. "You were told a great many things, some of which should never have reached your ears."
Out of the corner of his eye, Bennington saw Jasmine pale. She started to speak, but her employer cut her off.
"You will speak when spoken to, Jasmine. Naturally, your conversation was monitored. Or did you believe that bracelet you wear was simply payment for services rendered?"
She looked stung. Apparently, she's not in as solid with these guys as she thought, Bennington mused.
"I ask you but once, sir: will you agree to our offer?" the executive growled. No one else at the table had spoken a word — for an instant, Bennington wondered if they were all mannequins, put there for effect.
More and more, he was getting the feeling that he wasn't going to walk out of this place under his own power, no matter what he agreed to. Might as well go down in a blaze of glory.
"No," he said stridently. "I've done business with my share of cutthroats and killers, but I'm not playing ball with you bums. Somebody said something to me a little while ago about there being 'no honor among thieves,' but things are different here.
"There isn't a gang in Cairo that wouldn't gladly see all the others rubbed out and take the whole pie for themselves. Crooks here trade bullets on the street, pinch from each other's warehouses, and cross each other at every turn. But let an outsider try to muscle in, and everybody hangs together. It may seem strange to you, but the underworld is a family, just like any other — and I won't sell them out to a bunch of cowards that have to hide in the dark."
Bennington could hear the sound of nails being pounded into his coffin, but he felt better for having made the speech. What the hell, it'll give them something to carve on my tombstone, if there's enough left to bury.
There was a long moment of silence before anyone moved. If Jasmine had looked shocked before, she was doubly so now. Caught up in the idea of landing a big deal and getting a promotion, she had swallowed Bennington's apparent surrender completely. She knew well the penalty for failure in her world.
"Your attitude is ... regrettable," the executive said from the shadows. "Do you remember the story of Icarus, Mr. Bennington? He was a fool with wings of glue and feathers, who perished when he soared too close to the sun. A most apt analogy to your own situation, as it turns out."
The executive rose. "You realize, of course, that you cannot be allowed to leave here, knowing all that you know. We will eliminate you and take your club, only slightly behind schedule."
Bennington was going to say something about counting chickens, but thought better of it. Jasmine had started to shake — she knew what was coming next.
The executive's words flew like daggers across the room. "Jasmine, you have failed us. You foolishly believed that this man would give up the most important thing in his life without a fight. You allowed yourself to be tailed from the Golden Dragon — had we not contacted your driver before your departure and warned him of just such a possibility, our location might have been discovered. We should turn you over to Marketplace Security, but I believe we of the board will take more satisfaction from doing the jo
b ourselves."
Bennington remembered that one of the reasons he got out of the pulp villain game was he hated all those long-winded speeches the bad guys were always making — himself sometimes included. "If you're going to kill us, get it over with," he snarled. "Or are you planning to bore us to death?"
The executive was unfazed. "Traditionally, we favor clean, quick methods of execution—a bullet to the brain is a most efficient way of dealing with one's enemies. But — for reasons I still do not completely understand — a decision was made to get into the spirit of this city, and so we will offer you a sporting chance to survive. If you can make it out of this building, you are free to go — if not, you will both be found floating in the Nile on the morrow."
The executive reached under the table while two of the board members moved to guard the doors. Ben-nington braced himself for anything. "The death traps of the Nile are legendary, even in Nippon," the executive rumbled. "But we have successfully wedded our ingenuity to the concept. We trust you will appreciate the results — though not for long."
Suddenly, the floor opened beneath the club owner and the disgraced agent. To the sound of the executive's laughter, they plunged down into the darkness.
* * *
They came to an abrupt stop on a pile of mattresses. Jasmine had tucked and rolled with the impact, and seemed none the worse for wear. Bennington was a little less graceful, but knew that an aching head was the least of his problems for the moment.
Looking around, he saw that they were in the basement of the building. There were no windows, but a wooden staircase led up to the ground floor and there was what appeared to be an elevator off in the corner, partially blocked by a huge pillar. It was too dark in that section of the cellar to be certain, though.
"I do not understand," Jasmine said, as she tore off her bracelet and ground it into dust with her heel (she hadn't even been deemed worthy of true diamonds — just glass). "If our deaths are desired, why place bedding here to break our fall?"
"Death is an art form in the Nile, kid," Bennington said, dusting himself off. "Everybody tries to outdo the other with how creative and unique their trap is, and there's nothing all that new about a fall from a high place."
She nodded. It was obvious she still didn't understand, but didn't care to pursue it. He had other concerns as well.
"Listen, Jasmine," he said. "I doubt you like me much better than I like you. But we're in the same mess, so I suggest until we find a way out of it, we work together. Deal?"
"There are some in my land who would say the honorable thing would be for me to die," she said quietly. "But I was raised to believe that honor can be regained through revenge. My superiors allowed me to err with the intention of eliminating me as a potential threat to their positions — so yes, I will help you . for now."
"Not exactly the ringing endorsement I'd hoped for, but it will have to do," he said wryly. "Now the first thing we should do is —"
Bennington was interrupted by the sight of the pillar at the far side of the basement moving toward him. When it stepped into the light, it became clear that this was no thing of unliving stone, but a man, taller and more massive than any he had seen before. He was unmistakably Asian and clad only in a loincloth. Bennington watched him move closer, stunned, while Jasmine retreated and assumed a defensive posture.
When she saw Bennington freeze, she reached out and yanked him toward her. "What the hell is that?" he asked.
"Sumo," she breathed. "Among the most powerful unarmed combatants on the planet. Let him get a grip on you and you are as good as dead."
Bennington watched the mass of muscle move slowly toward them. He's big, but slow. That might work in our favor, he noted. He considered telling Jasmine to try and escape while he held off the side of beef, but reminded himself she was an agent of Nippon. They did things differently there.
He cast his eyes about for a weapon and spotted a piece of iron pipe lying on the ground. With one fluid motion, he grabbed it and swung for the sumo's head.
The behemoth moved faster than he had thought possible and caught the pipe in his hand before it could strike. With no apparent effort, he crushed the metal in his huge hand.
"Your turn!" Bennington said, narrowly avoiding a blow that would have crushed his skull into paste.
Jasmine let out a shrill cry and rushed at her opponent, launching herself into the air and striking him hard in the chest with both feet. It was like attacking the side of a mountain — the sumo seemed not to feel it, while she flew back to land against the wall.
Bennington considered trying to land a few fists in his foe's face, but then remembered what Jasmine had said about a sumo's grip. Best not to get that close, he decided. But the brute would have to be distracted long enough for Jasmine to recover.
Saying a little prayer, he dove through the sumo's legs, rolled, and came up beside one of the cellar's wooden support pillars. Keeping his back to it, he shouted, "Nice outfit you're wearing! I didn't know they made diapers in that size!"
Bennington had hoped the giant would take a swing at him, shatter the pillar, and bring some masonry down. That might buy some time for an escape. But apparently size didn't equate with stupidity in Nippon—the sumo ducked low and tried to scoop Bennington up in his massive arms. Only quick reflexes saved the club owner from being caught in a devastating embrace.
By this time, Jasmine was back in the fight, landing two quick punches to the wrestler's kidneys then maneuvering too quickly for the brute to lay a hand on her. Bennington realized the only way to win was to harry their opponent like gnats around an elephant. He grabbed a plank and smashed it over the sumo's head, then slipped out of the way of an answering fist.
Jasmine picked up on his strategy and closed for a blow, then moved away again. For the next few minutes, she and Bennington took turns mounting quick attacks, then retreating. As long as they stayed on opposite sides, the sumo couldn't commit to attacking one without leaving his back exposed to the other.
It couldn't work for long, though. They were both slowing down, and the wrestler finally succeeded in tagging Bennington with the back of his hand, sending him sprawling against a pillar. Jasmine responded by leaping high into the air, landing on the giant's shoulders with her legs wrapped around his throat, cutting off his air. The sumo tried desperately to shake her off, to no avail, then raised his hands and slammed them against her sides, trying to crack her ribs.
The color of his face showed the wrestler couldn't last much longer without oxygen, but it might be long enough to cripple Jasmine. Bennington fought down his own dizziness and fired a piece of stone at the sumo, catching him square in the face and shattering his nose. The giant let out a roar and brought his hands down to his face — in that instant, Jasmine whipped a wicked-looking pin out of her hair and plunged it into the sumo's ear.
The brute screamed and tore Jasmine from his shoulders with the strength of a maniac. She crashed into some shelving and lay still. Blood streaming from his nose and ear, amazingly still upright, the sumo turned his attention to his remaining foe.
Bennington backed away, moving toward the staircase. His only hope was a maneuver he had seen a bullfighter try once on Terra — unfortunately, he had no cape to wave, and his whole body felt like one big bruise. He tossed another brick at the onrushing mammoth, then dove out of the way, expecting to hear his opponent crash through the stairs.
The sight he saw was something quite different. The sumo passed through the stairs as if they weren't there, and his screams were cut off seconds later by a huge splash and a horrifying sizzling sound.
Bennington pulled himself painfully to his feet and tentatively reached toward the floor beneath what had appeared to be a solid staircase. His hand passed right through, and the stench coming from the area was unmistakable — sulfuric acid. Had they taken a step on those "stairs," the powerful liquid in the pit below would have taken care of the problem of disposing of their corpses.
He moved to
where Jasmine lay. Her pulse was strong and it took only moments to revive her. He helped her to her feet and she pushed him away, wanting to stand on her own. Her black dress was in tatters, but she didn't seem too badly hurt.
"I have been most fortunate," she said coldly. "The sumo did not break my bones. But I will inflict double the pain I have suffered upon my former employers."
"Where did you learn to fight like that?" Bennington asked.
"When one is trained in the art of arousing a man, one must be prepared to deal with some of the possible consequences of that situation," she replied. "A well-placed blow has allowed me to escape a number of unwanted embraces."
Bennington chose not to follow up on that. "As much as I hate to say it, it looks like the elevator's our only way out of here. It turns out the stairs weren't stairs."
He explained the fate of the sumo to her. She seemed unsurprised. "I knew we . they had purchased crude hologram technology from a weird scientist. I was not made aware to what use it had been put."
They both entered the elevator as if stepping into a coffin. Bennington pulled the gate shut after them. He hesitated before pressing a button — there were certain to be guards waiting by the first floor doors. Better to ride up to the second floor and take them by surprise coming down. He pressed "2."
"There's no way it's going to be this easy." he muttered as much to himself as his companion.
The elevator began to move, making far too much noise for Bennington's tastes. So much for our nice, quiet escape, he said to himself. They were almost to their destination when the car stopped and the hissing sound began.
His eyes widened as he saw the red vapor seeping through the floor of the elevator. "Gas!" he shouted, taking a handkerchief from his pocket and placing it over his nose and mouth. Jasmine tore a piece off her skirt and did the same.
The ceiling hatch was the only escape. Without a word, Bennington hoisted Jasmine up into the air and she climbed through the small doorway. It was a tighter squeeze getting him through, but soon they were on top of the car, the hatch shut against the lethal fumes.
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