“Except,” said Mongo, “the identity of the One Without a Face? Who’s he?”
When Jack shook his head, the raven turned to Cassandra. “How about you, Lady Death? The name strike any chords? You’ve been awfully silent since Jack returned.”
“I never heard of the One Without a Face,” said Cassandra slowly. There was a strange, unreadable look on her face. Something was bothering the Amazon.
“Describe to me again,” she said to Jack, “the smell in the office.”
“I told you,” he replied, “it stank like the alligator pit at the zoo. Or the room where they keep the snakes. It wasn’t pleasant.”
He sighed as he wrenched off his necktie. It had been an incredible day, filled with more than its share of thrills and chills. The supernaturals hardly needed any sleep but he was exhausted. His eyes burned and his head throbbed. He craved rest.
“Don’t ring no bells with me,” said Hugo. The two ravens had remained with Cassandra when Jack left with al-Sabbah. After depositing his winnings, the three supernaturals had returned to their rooms to await Jack’s return.
“Me neither,” said Mongo. “What’s the story, sis? You seen a ghost? Never saw you so pale before.”
“Karsnov betrayed his own country, didn’t he?” asked Cassandra, her voice muted, her eyes closed. “In a sense, he murdered people who were his kith and kin.”
“I suppose you could put it that way,” said Jack, wondering why she asked.
“I thought them vanished in the sands of history,” said Cassandra softly. She sounded almost philosophical. “I should have realized their breed never retire.”
“Mind clueing the rest of us into what you’re talking about?” asked Hugo.
“Karsnov is dead,” said the Amazon. “Of that, I am quite sure. He was slain, while those unlucky enough to be in his vicinity were neutralized through fear and hypnosis, by three contemporaries of mine. A trio of terrible supernatural sisters, the Greeks called them the Eumenides, meaning the Kindly Ones.”
“The Kindly Ones,” repeated Hugo. “I got no problem with a monicker like that.”
“Mortals used the title,” said Cassandra grimly, “because they feared repeating their true names aloud.”
Jack shivered and it wasn’t from the cold. The lights in the room seemed to dim as the ancient Greek words rolled off Cassandra’s tongue. “They are Megaera, the Rager; Alecto, the Endless; and Tisiphone, the Retaliator,” Each name resonated through the chamber like the beat of a giant drum. “Ugly beyond measure, with living snakes for hair, they dispense final justice for the betrayers of parents or kin. They are the Furies.”
“Hell’s bells,” cawed Hugo. Flapping his wings, he flew up to the ceiling. “And you call them the Kindly Ones, huh? You think they’re still in the hotel?”
“No,” said Cassandra. “Once they complete a responsibility, they depart at once. You are quite safe, my fine feathered friend.”
“I wasn’t scared,” protested Hugo, dropping onto Jack’s shoulder. “But snakes for hair? Ugh.”
“Well,” said Mongo, “their unexpected interference helped our cause. No way al-Sabbah’s running an auction with his prize plague master ripped to ribbons.”
“I’m not convinced of that,” said Jack, stretching out on the bed. With the two ravens sitting on the pillows and Cassandra relaxing cross-legged on the edge of the mattress, it was impossible for him to sleep. “A few more minutes, then you characters better leave. I’m ready to collapse.”
“You think the Old Man of the Mountain has a sample of the anthrax virus hidden away for emergencies?” asked Cassandra, ignoring Jack’s last remarks. The Amazon thought more than two hours of sleep a night was a sign of weakness.
“It makes good sense to me,” said Jack. “We know Karsnov used a batch to kill those people Mongo mentioned. Al-Sabbah strikes me as being too shrewd not to obtain a specimen for insurance purposes. Using it, any competent scientist can deduce the proper formula. Dead or not, the Russian’s grisly legacy lives on. And will be offered for sale tomorrow, or should I say since it’s nearly morning, this evening.”
“Enough complaining,” said Cassandra, with a laugh. Rising from the bed, she gathered the two ravens in her arms. “We’ll leave you alone for your beauty rest. Tomorrow will be a busy day.”
“Tell me about it,” said Jack. “First, I visit Paradise. If all goes well, I’ll locate Megan there and figure out a method to set her free. Once that’s accomplished, it’s off to the auction. Where I have to destroy a world-threatening plague culture, defeat an indestructible genie, and outwit his immortal master.”
“Don’t forget the Crouching One,” said Hugo. “He’s going to be at the auction. As is Loki. And those terrorist fanatics. We can’t ignore them. They might be nuts, but they’re dangerous nuts.”
“Too many problems and not enough solutions,” murmured Jack, trying to keep his eyelids open a few seconds longer and not succeeding. “Maybe being this close to Megan, the spell disrupting dream communication won’t work. She always has great suggestions.”
Unfortunately the barrier held. Jack slept like a log.
22
The insistent ringing of the telephone dragged Jack from slumberland. Groggily, he rolled over and stared at the clock. It was nearly ten in the morning. Flopping across the mattress, he grabbed the phone receiver.
“Whozzit?” he asked, barely able to speak.
“Jack, Jack?” came Merlin’s worried tones. “Are you in trouble?”
“Other than suffering from sleep deprivation?” retorted Jack, shaking the cobwebs out of his head. “I’m fine. At least, I’m surviving as best can be expected considering the circumstances,” His brain cleared rapidly. “Did you make those inquiries I asked about?”
“Yes,” said Merlin. “That’s the main reason I called. The situation’s exactly as you described. I’ve spoken to my Japanese friends and they are definitely interested. The wheels have been set in motion. The only problem is that their representative will not arrive until eleven in the evening.”
“That fits in fine with my timetable,” said Jack, mentally rubbing his hands together. He loved sneak attacks. Grinning, he relayed to the mage the day’s schedule. “I’ll phone if whatever happened last night postpones the auction. Otherwise, proceed as planned.”
“I’ll notify our associates as soon as I hang up,” said Merlin. There was no disguising the anxiety in his voice as he asked, “No luck finding Megan?”
“Not yet. But I’m scheduled to take a trip to Paradise at noon. The ravens will accompany me. Together, we’ll locate her. Don’t worry. She’s continually on my mind. Rescuing her is my first priority.”
“Sorry to be a pest,” said Merlin. “I realize you’re equally concerned about her safety. But Hasan al-Sabbah has such a nasty reputation. And Megan’s always been very special to me.”
“No need to apologize,” said Jack. “She’s special to me, too. Don’t worry. I’ll save her. Remember, I’m the Logical Magician.”
“Any luck dealing with the genie?” asked Merlin, changing the topic. “Have you discovered any frailty you can exploit?”
Two fireballs of black feathers bulleted into the bedroom, coming to rest on the headboard. “See,” said Hugo to Mongo, “I told you he was awake.”
“I heard him, too,” said the other bird. “My ears are the equal of yours. It merely occurred to me that, being on the telephone. Jack might like some privacy.”
“Nah,” said Hugo. “Jack’s not like that. Who’s on the phone, Johnnie?”
Jack groaned. Cassandra, he expected, was outside somewhere, exercising. Leaving him alone with the two blackbirds for company.
“It’s Merlin,” he answered. “He’s curious if we’ve found a method to deal with the Afreet.”
“No such luck,” said the raven. “He’s a major pain.”
“Hugo’s right,” said Jack, trying to regain control of the conversation. “I’ve had the opp
ortunity to watch the genie in action several times now. He presents a real challenge. The creature displays the capacity to change nearly instantaneously from a mist to a solid. In a gaseous state, he’s incredibly quick, faster perhaps than even the ravens.”
“I protest,” interrupted Mongo. “No entity in the material world flies faster than us. We are lean, mean, flying machines.”
“Perhaps,” said Jack, trying to maintain two distinct conversations at the same time. “But it would be a close race.”
“He cannot be invulnerable,” declared Merlin. “No supernatural is without some flaw. Basic human nature demands imperfection in any creation, good or evil.”
“I agree,” said Jack. “The problem is that the Afreet’s vulnerable only to glass. His powers are neutralized by it. The one method of defeating him is to trap him in a bottle. Unfortunately, without Solomon’s signet, there’s no means of effectively sealing the container. Even using a glass stopper won’t work, because there’s a microthin layer of air between the two pieces. In his gaseous form, the genie could slide through that easy. There’s no bottle in the world that can hold him.”
“Too bad,” said Hugo, “they don’t make containers with openings on the outside but none on the inside.”
Jack’s brow knotted in concentration. “Say that again.”
“I said it’s too bad they don’t make…,” began Hugo.
“You have an idea?” asked Merlin.
“Perhaps,” said Jack. “Just perhaps. Manipulating the circumstances might take some effort, but I believe they could be arranged. The one thing going for us is that the Afreet’s not very bright. He obeys Hasan’s orders without question. Neither of them strike me as being mathematically oriented. I doubt that they would recognize the trap I’m contemplating.”
“Mathematics?” squawked Hugo. “You’re planning to use algebra to capture an Afreet?”
“Not algebra,” said Jack. “A subject a tad more complex,” Speaking directly into the receiver, he asked, “Is Fritz available? And Witch Hazel?”
“Both of them are here,” said the magician. “Like me, they hunger for news. And want to help.”
“Well, I’ve got a special object for them to construct,” said Jack. “It requires his building skills and her talent for magic. Together, I think they can make it happen. The big problem is whether or not they can complete the job in the next few hours. And transport the finished product to me before the auction tonight.”
“If they succeed,” said Merlin, “you will have it. And I am certain they will not fail.”
“Neither do I,” said Jack. “Put the dwarf on the phone. Describing what I want him to assemble is going to be difficult. And I’m due downstairs shortly for my trip to Paradise.”
When Cassandra entered the suite thirty minutes later, Jack, otherwise fully dressed, was pulling on his shoes. Munching on the last remnants of a room-service breakfast, he was humming the third movement from Scheherezade by Rimsky-Korsakov.
“You’re in remarkably fine spirits,” the Amazon remarked, “considering the odds we’re facing.”
Jack grinned. “Why shouldn’t I feel good? I’m about to experience the joys of Paradise.
“More significantly,” he continued, “I recalled an important lesson learned during our fight with Dietrich von Bern and his minions.”
“Which is?” prompted Cassandra, as Jack paused to swallow a gulp of Coke.
“In our contemporary world, old techniques no longer work against the forces of darkness. If monsters evolve, so must the method of combating them. We can’t use outmoded ideas to defeat modern menaces. Changing times require changing solutions. We’ll overwhelm the Old Man of the Mountain and his genie not with King Solomon’s ring or some other ancient relic, but by utilizing today’s science and technology. As long as we don’t forget that, we can’t fail.”
“Brave words, Johnnie,” said Mongo, gravely. “But talk is cheap. Are you sure you can back them up with solid results?”
“I’d better,” said Jack, rising to his feet. “If not, civilization is in big trouble. Not that we’ll be around to watch it collapse. I doubt if the Old Man of the Mountain grants second chances.”
“What do you want me to do while you’re visiting sin city?” asked Cassandra.
“Go out and buy me an inexpensive pocket camera and film,” said Jack. “I need a miniature tape recorder also. Afterward, come back to the room and wait for the arrival of a package from Merlin. He promised it would be delivered here this afternoon. It’s the key to our success tonight at the auction. Guard it carefully.”
“With my life,” said Cassandra solemnly.
Jack nodded. He wasn’t worried about anyone stealing his precious secret weapon. No one other than a mathematician would have any idea what it was. However, his instructions gave Cassandra a sense of purpose and kept her from being bored. A good general, he understood the importance of maintaining the morale of his troops. Even if his entire army consisted of a solitary Amazon and a pair of sarcastic blackbirds.
“You two ravens turn transparent,” he instructed, “and take your positions on my shoulders. Remember, I’m counting on you locating Megan in Paradise. Don’t disappoint me.”
“Failure isn’t part of our vocabulary, Johnnie,” said Mongo. “If Megan’s a prisoner in this place, we’ll find her. I promise.”
“We never fold under pressure,” said Hugo. The bird’s voice dropped an octave and took on an peculiar inflection. After a few seconds, Jack realized the raven was imitating Humphrey Bogart. Badly, with a Swedish accent. “After all, we’re blackbirds. We’re the stuff dreams are made of.”
Speechless, Jack shook his head in dismay. His mother was definitely letting the ravens watch too many classic detective films on TV.
23
Years before, Jack read a story titled, “To Heaven Standing Up,” The title flashed through his mind as he stood patiently waiting for the elevator behind the Colossus of Rhodes in the hotel atrium. Unless he was mistaken, he was heading for Paradise, straight down.
His party consisted of six other guests, all men, and their female tour guide. An attractive dark-eyed young lady, she wore a no-nonsense skirt that descended to her ankles and bright blue blazer with the resort’s name on the pocket. That she was of supernatural origin did not surprise Jack in the least. He suspected the secrets of Paradise were not for mere mortals. Stationed by the lift door, the woman checked off each visitor’s name as they arrived against a master list. None of the men seemed anxious to talk, and they waited patiently in complete silence.
Curiously, Jack studied his fellow travelers. He estimated they ranged in age from his own mid-twenties to well over sixty. Nothing about them struck him as particularly exceptional. Tall and short, fat and thin, bearded and clean shaven, they shared nothing in common other than an expensive taste in clothing. None of these men were middle-class tourists. Evidently, only high rollers received invitations to Paradise.
At five minutes to twelve, their guide pressed the call button for the elevator. When it arrived, she ushered them inside. Lining the walls of the spacious interior of the car were fifteen seats, similar to those found in upscale movie theaters. As soon as they were all seated, the door to the outside world slid closed.
“Please make yourself comfortable,” the woman said in a voice that tinkled like fairy bells. As she spoke, a gentle gust of cold air, with a bare hint of orange blossoms, announced the presence of an unseen air-conditioning unit in the car’s ceiling. At the same lime, the lights dimmed to a gentle, golden glow. “My name is Sharon. I’ll be your hostess on this marvelous journey to a point beyond harsh reality, a place that heretofore existed only in your wildest dreams.”
She chuckled, a deep, throaty, sexy sound, at odds with her austere, businesslike appearance. As if in response to that thought, Sharon removed her jacket and casually let it fall to the floor. Beneath it, she wore a wispy top made of a transparent gauze that left nothing t
o the imagination. Her firm, melon-shaped breasts, capped with large red nipples, were unencumbered by a bra. For an instant, seven men stopped breathing.
“That feels better,” said Sharon. She stretched her arms over her head, shifting Jack’s heartbeat into overdrive. “Paradise delivers physical substance to your most intense erotic fantasies. No matter what you imagine, it can happen here. That is more than a slogan. It is a promise.”
“It sounds like a canned advertisement for a theme park aimed at oversexed adults,” said Hugo, its beak in Jack’s right ear.
“Notice that it’s aimed only at men,” said Mongo in Jack’s left ear. “In early Muslim doctrine, only men are eligible for admission to Paradise. Obviously, Hasan is a believer in the old-time religion.”
The ravens’ caustic remarks jolted Jack back to reality. The birds were right. Sharon’s byplay, though remarkably sensual and visually stimulating, appeared rehearsed. She acted as if she were carefully following a well-plotted script. Which did not prevent Jack’s breath from catching in his throat when she unbuckled the belt to her long skirt and slid the garment down to her feel. With a kick, the skirt joined her blazer.
Her baggy pantaloons were as transparent as the thoughts of every man in the elevator. Smiling seductively, Sharon twirled around on her toes like a ballet dancer, proudly revealing every inch of her incredible body. “In Paradise,” she intoned, as if praying, “sexual diseases are nonexistent. As is conventional morality. Every woman matches my beauty. And their only aspiration, like mine, is to fulfill your every desire.”
Jack brushed the sweat off his temple. There was no mistaking the genuine lust in the supernatural’s voice. While he felt sure Sharon conformed to a scripted dialogue, the emphasis she put into the words made it quite clear she meant exactly what she stated.
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