“The sphinx threw herself off her rock,” said Alis, her breath hot against his neck. “But that didn’t kill her. She was so upset that someone guessed the answer to her question that she went into seclusion. Remained there for centuries. If I looked like her, I’d wall myself up in a cave, too.”
The nymph paused to tug his shirltails free of his pants. “Mind removing your top? I can’t do this properly through the cloth. I promise to be good. Word of honor.”
“Okay,” said Jack, permitting the nymph to pull off his shirt. He resumed his position on the pillows, his hands tucked beneath his chin. Shutting his eyes, he tried to relax as Alis’s warm hands expertly manipulated the sinews of his shoulders and upper arms. “Remember, keep it clean.”
“I wouldn’t think of trying anything bad,” said Alis innocently. The tips of her fingers tiptoed gently along his spine. “Your skin is so nice and white. You can’t imagine how tired I get of entertaining the bronzed Adonis types that frequent this resort.”
“Mathematicians don’t have a lot of free time for the beach or tanning salons,” said Jack, defensively.
“Don’t misunderstand me,” said Alis, her hands toying with his belt. “I find intellectuals fascinating. They think of such inventive… ideas.”
She rested her palms on his waist. “Any objections to removing your trousers? You’re wearing shorts, so it’s not sinful. I can sense there’s a lot of tension built up in your calves.”
“What about Hugo and Mongo?” asked Jack. “I wouldn’t want them to get the wrong idea.”
“Those two birdbrains went hunting for chocolate syrup with Candi,” said Alis, her hands busy with Jack’s pants, “We keep some in the other room for a few of our kinkier guests. I doubt if they’ll return soon.”
It took the nymph only a few seconds to strip Jack of his slacks. For some unknown reason, his lack of clothing didn’t disturb him. Nor did he worry about the nymph keeping her promises, even though he knew such beings were notorious liars. Smiling happily, he luxuriated on the thick cushions. “The air in here smells terrific,” he remarked, as Alis massaged his lower legs.
“It’s scented,” said the nymph. She scrambled around so that her head was facing his feet, putting her in a much better position to massage his calves. “They lace it with a subtle but amazingly powerful aphrodisiac. It works wonders.”
“That’s interesting,” said Jack, dreamily. He hated admitting it, but Alis’s silky caresses were getting him aroused. Very aroused. He smothered a yawn. Meanwhile, the peaceful surroundings were lulling him to sleep.
“Tell me more about the sphinx,” he said, trying to steer the conversation toward his problems.
“I’m not positive when she finally emerged from hiding,” said Alis, “but the old girl was singing a new song. Instead of asking questions, she was answering them. Evidently, she spent most of her years in solitude reading and memorizing facts. I guess she wanted to establish herself as some sort of oracle. But the ugly buzzard soon discovered that no one liked a know-it-all.”
“I’m familiar with that phenomenon myself,” said Jack, thinking of his friend Simon. He wondered what the changeling was doing lately. Hazily, he wondered what Alis was doing at that moment.
“What are you doing?” he asked, momentarily alarmed.
“The waistband of your shorts is stifling the natural flow of blood to your thighs,” said Alis patiently, hooking her thumbs beneath his underwear. In one quick motion, she slid the garment off, leaving Jack completely naked. “Now, doesn’t that feel lots better?”
“I guess so,” he admitted, yawning again. His mind was filled with cobwebs and he was having difficulty thinking straight. He still felt quite aroused, though it no longer seemed very important. It obviously didn’t bother Alis. “How did the sphinx end up working here?”
“She held a job in a Coney Island sideshow for years,” said Alis, “running a memory scam. When Mr. Hasan opened this resort, he hired her as his special assistant. She oversees operations in Paradise from Hell. And she guards special prisoners when the necessity arises.”
“Sort of a den mother and warden combined,” said Jack. “Is she still obsessed with information?”
“You bet,” said Alis, rising from the cushions. “Excuse me while I remove my own clothing.”
“No problem,” said Jack, completely at peace with the world.
“That damned sphinx brags constantly how nobody can ask her a question she can’t answer,” remarked Alis, wiggling out of her pantaloons. She dropped them in a heap on top of her jacket. “Talking with her is a real drag.”
“If she comes from ancient Greece,” said Jack, languidly, “and like all supernatural beings is true to her nature, she doesn’t know lots of things. Facts aren’t answers.”
“Whatever,” said Alts. “Enough discussion. I’m interested in intercourse of another nature.”
Sensuously, the nymph straddled Jack’s lower back, her naked thighs pressing against his. The entire weight of her extremely hot, extremely desirable body rested on his buttocks. Alis was right, he decided. No more verbalization. Fully relaxed, he inhaled deeply, filling his lungs with the marvelous air. Free of worry, his mind soared. Barely conscious, he floated in a slate of absolute bliss.
“Roll over,” murmured Alis, her voice fuzzy and indistinct, “Show me what a nice big boy you are.”
The nymph was stronger than she looked. Moaning in anticipation, she wrenched Jack over onto his back. Eyes closed, he vaguely sensed her large breasts pressed against his chest. Her long, very sexy tongue licked his left earlobe. The heat from her body enveloped him completely.
“Now, we’ll address a few of my questions,” she chuckled. Her hands roamed freely across Jack’s naked body. The nymph moaned in anticipation. “I think you’ll answer them in fine fashion. Just leave me in complete control, lover, and relax. I’ll do the asking from now on.”
Dreamily, Jack released his last hold on reality. And drifted into fantasy land.
26
Two hours later, Jack sat on the bed in his suite, describing his visit to Paradise to Cassandra.
“Then, after the birds departed with Candi to hunt for chocolate, you interviewed Alis and learned what you could about the sphinx,” said the Amazon.
“Right,” said Jack. He saw no reason to mention his own vague recollections of that session or the following half hour entirely missing from his memory. He remembered questioning the nymph while she massaged his back, then waking up from a sound sleep right before it was time to depart. He was sure there had been some talk about removing his shirt, but he and Alis were both fully dressed when he awoke. Shrugging his shoulders in dismissal of the whole incident, he continued.
“We made a deal right before I was rendered unconscious by sleeping gas for the elevator ride upward. The two nymphs agreed to meet us at a door to Paradise at six tonight. That’s when they get off work. Alis gave me her extra set of harem garb already. I concealed it under my shirt on the trip up. You can put it on before we leave. When we contact them later, she’ll have another outfit for Megan—to wear as a disguise once we set her free. The girls will also provide us with a key for the doors. Fortunately, one passkey fits every lock in Paradise.”
“Six p.m.,” said Cassandra, glancing at the clock. It was nearly four. “That’s going to be cutting it close. Which reminds me. There’s a message on our telephone answering machine from our buddy, Hasan. It’s about the auction tonight.”
“I gather, then, the event’s not canceled,” said Jack, studying the complex phone system on the endtable. Like most modern hotels, their suite featured a message center for missed calls. The orange light signaling a recording was flashing orange. After carefully reading the small print several times, Jack finally discovered the correct button to push.
“Mr. Green,” Heard over the telephone, Hasan’s voice was definitely not human. “I regret to inform you of the untimely passing of Professor Karsnov. We found t
he body of our late guest in the rear chamber of the security floor. His remains were not a pretty sight and I thought it best to cremate them at once.”
The blood drained from Jack’s face. Incidents like this murder helped remind him that they were not engaged in a game. The principals engaged in this auction meant business. And their business was death and destruction.
“In any event, I call to assure you that the auction is still scheduled for tonight at ten o’clock. While the dear doctor is no longer with us, I was wise enough to keep a set of his notes on the virus in my personal safe. Along with those papers, I have a vial filled with a small sample of the actual plague virus. Together, the two items should fetch a tidy sum. Karsnov’s execution is a minor inconvenience. Nothing more. I will see you tonight. Have a nice day.”
Jack grimaced. “A minor inconvenience.”
He stood up. “That package from Merlin arrive?”
“Right here,” said Cassandra, patting a padded airline bag at her feet. “It came about an hour ago by special messenger. Merlin reeled in a few favors to get it here today,” The Amazon lifted the bag to her lap. “I didn’t look inside. It’s not very heavy.”
“It shouldn’t be,” said Jack, unzipping the bag. “Where are the ravens? I thought they’d be swarming over me to see what’s inside.”
“They left a short time ago,” said the Amazon. “Hugo mentioned something about visiting some old friends that are in town for the weekend. It was while you were taking a shower. They didn’t say when they would return, but I’m sure they’ll be back in time for tonight’s festivities.”
“I’m not worried,” said Jack. “They probably stopped off somewhere looking for chocolate bars,” For some reason, the mention of chocolate brought a smile to his lips. He had no idea why.
Carefully, Jack removed a glass bottle from the travel bag. Less than a foot long, it was made of light blue glass that glistened in the artificial light. The neck of the container twisted at a very unusual angle. After staring at it for a few seconds, Cassandra shook her head and turned away.
“I can’t look at that thing,” she declared. “It gives me a headache.”
“It should,” said Jack, grinning. Gently, he lowered the vessel back into the bag. Though he had instructed Fritz to use the strongest glass possible. Jack was taking no chances. “This bottle combines mathematics and magic in a unique manner. I think King Solomon would have approved.”
“That’s for tonight,” said Cassandra. “But what are we going to do about this afternoon? Notably, concerning the rescue of a young lady in distress. The sphinx is a deadly opponent. As is Cerberus. That trio of heads on him think independently, making him the equivalent of three enemies. Only Hercules ever defeated the hellhound. I’m afraid I’m not in his class.”
“His heads act on their own,” said Jack, his brow creased in thought. “Talk about a split personality. I think we should be able to exploit that disorder to our advantage.”
He extracted a Coke from the refrigerator. Other than a minor, unexplainable ache in his hips, Jack felt terrific. It was amazing, he concluded, what a good nap accomplished.
“You have the card Big John left us?” he asked Cassandra, sipping his drink.
“It’s here on the dresser,” said the Amazon. “You want me to give him a call?”
“Right away,” said Jack. “Keep your fingers crossed that he’s free. We require someone familiar with Las Vegas to drive us to a big pet store. Our visit to Paradise necessitates the purchase of a few special items. And in the meantime I’m aiming to persuade him to assist us once we extricate Megan. We could use his help.”
“He struck me as the type who doesn’t like getting involved,” said Cassandra as she dialed the chauffeur’s answering service.
“His ingrained character, as defined by his song, forces him to assume that attitude,” said Jack. “Basically, he’s a good man. He won’t refuse a lady in distress.”
The relay service contacted Big John just as he was dropping off a passenger at the Empress Casino. “He’s less than a mile from our hotel,” said Cassandra, after a brief conversation. “I told him we’d meet him at the lobby door in fifteen minutes—if nobody gives me a hard time in the elevators.”
Jack sighed. Most guests at the resort studiously ignored the Amazon’s outrageous outfits. A few loudmouths spewed forth lewd remarks that, to Jack’s immense relief, Cassandra shrugged off with a nasty laugh. However, one obnoxious drunk made the mistake of trying to fondle the Amazon while in the elevator returning from her morning exercise routine.
The unfortunate soul was resting peaceably in the Las Vegas hospital, nursing two handfuls of broken fingers, several bruised ribs, and a minor concussion. After examining the drunk’s injuries, the police labeled the beating a professional job and concluded the man had been lucky to escape with his life. No one connected the thrashing with Mr. Green’s beautiful companion, Ms. Saman’ta Jones.
At present, Cassandra wore a pair of white twill stretch cotton pants that laced up the sides of both legs from her ankles to her waist. Matching it was a white cotton Lycra top with molded cups that left most of her back, chest, and stomach bare. Few women possessed the figure and posture to do the outfit justice. Oddly enough, Cassandra Cole, Amazon warrior, was one of them. To Jack, it didn’t make sense.
“I thought Amazons were repulsive,” he remarked, writing a note for the ravens. He didn’t want the birds worried if they returned to find nobody about. “Most mythology books describe them as hideous, scarred women with haglike features. In fact the only trait you share in common with the legends is your love of battle.”
“You’re confusing fantasy with reality, Jack,” said the Amazon, laughing. “Maybe there were real Amazons once, as described in The Iliad, but I’m not them. Humanity’s shared subconscious mind brought me to life. I’m the creation of many thousands of mortals’ dreams. The real Amazons may have been gruesome crones, but not the imaginary species. Men fancied taming our cold, imperious loveliness. Women thought of us as the embodiment of female power. They wanted us strong but desirable. We were shaped by both sexes. My companions and I were always beautiful.”
“That’s why supernaturals talk so dramatically,” said Jack, nodding in comprehension. “And act with such flair.”
“Definitely,” said Cassandra. “People dream in Technicolor, not in black and white. That’s why the good guys are so good and the bad guys are so bad. We’re created with panache. Hugo wasn’t kidding when he quoted Shakespeare and Bogart, Jack. We are the stuff dreams are made of.”
27
The elevator trip to the lobby of the hotel proved uneventful. However, as they were crossing the atrium, heading for the entrance, they were waylaid by Hasan al-Sabbah. The Old Man of the Mountain, the Afreet in attendance, was escorting a pair of visitors through the casino.
Both of the men wore light tan suits, brown shirts, bloodred ties, and dark sunglasses. One was tall and thin, the other short and broad. Each had swarthy skin and jet black hair. The short man had a mustache, while his companion was clean shaven. Hasan introduced them as Mr. Smith and Mr. Wesson.
“Pleased to meet you,” said Jack, with a polite nod. He had no desire to shake hands with either man. These were without question the representatives of the Brotherhood of Holy Destruction. Jack did not think highly of terrorists.
Smith grunted in reply. Wesson didn’t make a sound.
The Old Man of the Mountain shrugged as if in apology.
“Mr. Green represents one of my major backers. He is here to witness the auction tonight,” Al-Sabbah waved a hand and smiled at Cassandra. “He is accompanied by the charming Ms. Saman’ta Jones.”
Both terrorists turned and stared at Cassandra through dark lenses. Smith grunted again. Wesson’s face twisted in an expression of disgust.
“In my country, a woman wearing such an outfit would be flogged,” he declared coldly. “Decadent, capitalist bitch.”
“D
epraved lackey of the sex-crazed bloated warlords of the Great Satan,” added Smith.
“Gentlemen,” said Hasan al-Sabbah, his white features ashen. Jack’s relationship to Cassandra was unclear and the Old Man of the Mountain feared offending The Man’s emissary. Equally worrisome was the possibility that Cassandra herself might be a confidant of the diabolical vice lord. “Ms. Jones is my guest. Please apologize at once.”
Wesson laughed harshly, “Never.”
The Old Man of the Mountain frowned unhappily. He was caught in a vise. He dared not push Smith and Wesson too hard. He was relying on their participation at the evening’s auction. Yet he was equally loath to allow them to insult agents of his major creditor. As if sensing al-Sabbah’s dilemma, Cassandra resolved Hasan’s predicament.
“You gentlemen represent the Brotherhood of Holy Destruction, I believe?” she asked rhetorically, her voice cool and calm. If anything, Cassandra sounded amused. “I pray, for your sake, that you come fully prepared to bid extravagantly for the prize offered tonight. Because I suspect you were instructed to return with the virus or not return at all. Groups like the Brotherhood do not tolerate excuses. Which would thus leave you at my tender mercies.”
Finishing her short speech, Cassandra’s hands flashed quicker than the eye could follow. Steel glistened then vanished. Smiling, the Amazon handed each man the remnants of his crimson tie, sliced off an inch below the knot. “An expert can prolong the death by a thousand cuts for weeks,” she declared, the tone of her voice making it quite clear she was such an expert.
“Time for us to do some sight-seeing before dinner,” said Jack, taking Cassandra by the elbow. “We don’t want to be late for tonight’s proceedings.”
He nodded again at the Old Man of the Mountain and the two terrorists. Smith and Wesson stood frozen in place, their slashed ties dangling from petrified fingers. Jack couldn’t resist a parting dig. “We’re cutting it close already.”
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