A Calculated Magic lm-2

by Robert Weinberg

  They struggled to maintain straight faces until they exited the casino. Once outside, spotting Big John’s limo at the curb, Jack and Cassandra exploded with laughter. “You know how to cut off a conversation, Ms. Jones,” Jack declared in mock serious tones. “Talk about castration nightmares.”

  “Do you think I wounded their pride?” asked Cassandra, her eyes glowing with a mixture of laughter and rage.

  “You definitely cut them down to size,” said Jack. “I bet they’re fit to be tied.”

  “I don’t mean to break up your party,” said Big John, coming up behind them, “but your car is waiting, folks. Pet store closes at six sharp.”

  Still chuckling, they followed the giant chauffeur over to the limo. Politely, he opened the rear door of the automobile. As Cassandra slid inside. Big John whispered, “Didn’t mean to rush you, but a couple of gents back there were giving you the eye. They didn’t look like the friendly type.”

  “Where are they?” asked Jack once they were all in the car. The dark glass enabled them to look out without anyone looking in. “Can you point them out?”

  “Sure,” said Big John, “That’s them over by the cab stand. The two huge albino dudes and the slick operator standing between them. I’ve seen some pretty bad operators in this burg, but that mean mother beats the rest six ways to Sunday.”

  “It’s Loki,” said Jack to Cassandra. “Along with your two friends, the frost giants.”

  “They’re here for the auction,” said Cassandra. “Hopefully, our disguises fooled them.”

  “Maybe, maybe not,” said Jack. “I don’t think it matters. Mom struck me as reading Loki right. He’ll keep his mouth shut until there’s a clear winner in the game. And with Karsnov dead, that could be anyone, including us.”

  “Karsnov?” said Big John. Once Jack identified their adversaries, the chauffeur had steered the limo out onto the road leading to downtown Las Vegas. “I heard that name today.”

  “You did?” said Jack, “When. And from whom?”

  “Another big dude,” said Big John. “Not the size of those white-haired wonders, but plenty large. Reminded me of one of those trained bears in the circus. Guy in his mid-fifties, he spoke English with a thick accent. He asked me if I ever heard of this scientist, Karsnov, and where he might be staying. When I told him I never heard of his buddy, he switched subjects and queried if there had been any unexplained deaths in town lately. When I mentioned the rash of pneumonia cases the past month, he got real excited. Cursed like a sailor in some foreign language.”

  “How did you know he was swearing if it was in another tongue?” interrupted Jack.

  “Curses is curses,” said Big John. “No hiding those words.”

  “The words are unimportant,” said Cassandra. “What matters is where this new player in the game is staying.”

  “Why, at your hotel, of course,” said Big John. “I dropped him off there a few hours ago. I heard him say to the doorman he had reservations for the night. His name’s Bronsky, Boris Bronsky.”

  Jack digested the name in silence. He was certain the Old Man of the Mountain had not mentioned another bidder. Bronsky was an X factor.

  “Was he mortal or supernatural?” asked Jack.

  “Definitely mortal,” said Big John. “You folks involved in some kind of secret mission or whatever?”

  “Why do you ask?” replied Jack, winking at Cassandra.

  “Oh, just curious,” said the driver. “You got me wondering, with this talk of an auction and the like. Why are we heading for a pet store? You scheduled for a secret strategy conference with some spies there?”

  “No such luck,” said Jack. “I need a few treats for a special dog.”

  “It must be special if you’re in such a hurry,” said Big John. “You got this pet of yours up in your hotel room?”

  “He’s no pet,” said Jack. “His name is Cerberus, the Hound of Hell.”

  “Cerberus?” said Big John. “Ain’t he an aardvark?”

  “You’re thinking of the comic book character,” replied Jack. “This monster lives beneath the Seven Wonders of the World Resort and is guarding my kidnapped girlfriend.”

  “Girlfriend?” Big John’s shoulders hunched together and his voice dropped an octave. “Kidnapped. And you’re planning to rescue her?”

  “You got it,” said Jack. “Tonight.”

  “Those three hoodlums at the hotel involved in the scam?” asked Big John.

  “Definitely,” said Jack. “It’s too complicated to explain all the sordid details in a few minutes, but the gist of it is simple enough. There’s a major auction of dangerous drugs taking place at the casino office tonight. Attending it are a number of major crime lords. My partner and I work for a secret agency trying to break up the operation. The bosses knew they couldn’t buy me off, so they kidnapped my sweetheart. One move on my part and she’s history.”

  “Our task force hijacked two high-level couriers to the meeting,” said Cassandra, smoothly taking up the fable when Jack paused for a breath. “They disguised us to take the messengers’ place. Thus far, we’ve avoided detection. Loki’s the only member of the organization we’ve dealt with in person, and until this afternoon, we managed to stay clear of him and his goons.”

  “What’s the sting?” asked Big John.

  “We have to free Jack’s girlfriend before the auction,” said Cassandra. “Once she’s safe, we’re prepared to bust apart the entire organization.”

  “I’m in,” said Big John, parking the limo in front of a huge pet supply warehouse. “The one thing I can’t ignore is a woman in peril. If you want my help, you’ve got it.”

  “We want it,” said Jack, grinning. “And I know exactly what I want you to do.”

  28

  Persuading Big John to cooperate proved to be relatively easy. Convincing Cassandra to wear a houri’s costume was not nearly as easy. The Amazon refused to don the transparent outfit.

  “Why bother?” she asked angrily. The clock in their room read five thirty-five. They had less than a half hour till their scheduled meeting with Alis and Candi on the resort’s lower level. Jack fretted they might not make the rendezvous on time. Or at all. Cassandra adamantly rejected his pleas that she change clothes. “You can see right through the material. It’s degrading and sexist and totally unacceptable.”

  “It looks good on the nymphs in Paradise,” said Hugo. The two ravens had been waiting for them when they returned from the pet store. Neither bird offered to explain his absence and Jack was too busy with other concerns to pry. “Those girls ain’t afraid of displaying their charms.”

  “Bird,” said Cassandra, an edge to her voice, “beware comparing me with those wantons. I am a true Amazon, not a common trollop. I do not take such insults lightly.”

  “Sorry,” said Hugo. “I didn’t mean no offense. It’s just that there’s a lot riding on your dressing the part.”

  “Honor,” snapped Jack, the brief exchange between the Amazon and raven inspiring him. “On the blade of your knife, you pledged your sacred honor that this effort would succeed. Are you prepared to compromise the entire mission because of your modesty?”

  The Amazon scowled. Jack breathed a sigh of relief. He recognized the signs. Cassandra was trapped by her own pledge. Honor was her life. She was bound by her word. Grabbing the outfit, Cassandra exited into the bedroom. “Watch your tongues,” she warned before closing the door, “if you value your lives.”

  The arrived at the scheduled rendezvous point exactly at six. Taking a cue from Sharon, the elevator operator to Paradise, Cassandra wore one of her few respectable outfits, a slacks-and-coat combination, over her harem gear. Jack was casually dressed in a sport shirt and slacks. He carried a leather attaché case under one arm. The two ravens, silent and transparent, sat on his shoulders.

  Turning the corner at the end of a corridor to the washrooms, they soon came upon a pitch black door engraved in red letters. Employees Only No Admittance. Softly
, Jack knocked three limes on the unyielding metal.

  The door swung open immediately, Standing on a narrow landing fronting a long series of steps leading downward were Candi and Alis. The two nymphs were dressed in their street clothes. According to the information they had provided Jack, there was a locker room and changing area at the base of the stairs. That it was patrolled by three members of Hasan al-Sabbah’s security force troubled Jack not in the least. In her present mood, Cassandra hungered for a melee.

  The two houris’ taste in clothes reflected their personalities. Both of them wore apparel that looked as if it had been painted on. Candi favored a knit red cotton tank dress that barely covered her breasts and thighs. Alis preferred black, sporting a shimmery leather skirt and bustier along with black seamed stockings.

  “Welcome, pilgrims,” giggled Candi, beckoning them inside. She closed the door, ensuring that they wouldn’t be seen by any curious tourists. “Here’s the key and the second set of clothes. No one’s in the locker area and the guards are eating supper. We’re the last girls to leave. The other shift arrived a half hour ago. No one’s due till midnight. It’s a quiet night in Paradise. Those invisible birds around to guide you to your lady love?”

  “We sure are,” said Hugo, his voice seemingly coming out of thin air. “Bring any chocolate with you, babe?”

  “Not tonight, sweetie,” said Candi. “Sorry.”

  Jack handed the nymph a white envelope. “The money’s inside. Don’t spend it all in one place.”

  “Retirement fund,” said Candi. She opened the letter and divided the money into two equal shares. After giving Alis her half, Candi tucked the balance into her purse. “That’s the only spot the police don’t touch when they search me,” she declared, laughing.

  Alis winked at Jack, causing him to blush beet red. “This has to be the most I ever earned,” said the dark-haired nymph, “not flat on my back.”

  “What should I do with the passkey?” asked Jack, anxious to change the subject. “Won’t somebody miss it?”

  Alis handed Jack a small white card. Printed on it were the words, Alis in Wonderland, Private Dancing for Discriminating Gentlemen, along with a phone number and a post office box. “Mail it back to me,” said the nymph. “It’s a spare but I might need it someday.”

  She licked her upper lip, a motion that inexplicably caused Jack to tremble. “Besides, who can tell what me future holds? Call me if you’re in Vegas again. We can get together and have a drink. Maybe even discuss shared dreams.”

  “Uh, sure,” said Jack, not certain what the nymph meant. Cassandra, busily removing her outer garments, chuckled at his obvious discomfort. He carefully stuck the card in his wallet. While he couldn’t imagine ever contacting Alis again, these days anything was possible.

  “Give us five minutes’ head start before you descend into Paradise,” said Candi. “I want to be well away from the hotel before the fireworks start.”

  “Don’t worry,” said Jack. “If my plan runs smoothly, nobody will realize Megan’s gone for hours. By then, Hasan will have other difficulties on his mind.”

  “Time for us to go,” said Candi, reaching for the door. “Good luck.”

  Catching Jack completely off guard, Alis twined an arm around his neck and kissed him gently on the lips. “Stay safe, lover,” she whispered, then followed her companion out the exit.

  “Sweet girl,” said Mongo. “A truly caring individual.”

  “Yeah,” said Hugo, “but take my advice, Johnnie. Mentioning her to Megan would be a big mistake.”

  Jack, still recovering, silently nodded his head in agreement.

  29

  “Tonight,” declared the Crouching One, “the world is mine.”

  “Aren’t you a tad premature in reaching that conclusion?” asked Roger. He peered over the top of the novel he was reading to stare at the pacing demigod. For the past two hours, the Lord of the Lions had done nothing but march to and fro in their suite, rubbing his hands together in anticipation of the night’s events. His constant gloating was driving Roger crazy. “I recall you saying almost the exact same words the night of von Bern’s aborted human sacrifices.”

  “A God learns from his mistakes,” answered the Lord of the Lions. “Last month, that thrice-damned Logical Magician interfered with my schemes. I seriously underestimated Collins’s abilities. However, al-Sabbah has successfully neutralized our worst enemy. Without him present, my plans should proceed like clockwork. There is nothing anyone can do to stop me.”

  Roger smothered a smile. The demigod was completely unaware of his own plans. Tonight, it was going to receive an unexpected jolt. As were Hasan al-Sabbah and any other supernatural beings present. Nor was Roger convinced that Jack Collins and his allies were not nearby. The mathematical magician had displayed an astonishing talent for turning up at the right place at the right time. As before, the Crouching One was underestimating Collins’s abilities.

  “What about the representatives from the Brotherhood of Holy Destruction?” he asked. “And Loki and his frost giants?”

  “Annoyances, nothing more,” said the Crouching One, dismissing his competition with a wave of a hand. Blue sparks flickered from his fingertips. “I have a score to settle with the Brotherhood. They rescued Karsnov using my information, but afterward they refused to deal directly with me. Instead, they went to the Old Man of the Mountain. Their mistake shall cost them dearly.”

  The demigod laughed, an unnerving sound. “As to Loki, I know him from olden days. He is still the same sniveling coward, hiding behind brainless henchmen. I have nothing but contempt for the Sly One. He is a worm. If he stumbles into my path, I will crush him beneath my heel.”

  Roger placed his book on an end table. Like most murder mysteries, he found it too contrived for his tastes. Normally, he read computer manuals for relaxation. But he had been unable to find one in the resort’s newsstand.

  “Hasan al-Sabbah won’t be pleased if the auction flops,” he remarked. “The Old Man of the Mountain is counting on generating a fortune to pay off his bet. I gather a representative of his major creditor flew in specifically to observe the proceedings.”

  “Then he wasted a trip,” said the Crouching One. “The plague virus will be mine. At the price I set.”

  “Why do you want the stuff anyway?” asked Roger. It was rare that the demigod was this talkative. Inadvertently, it might reveal some important information. Roger understood the importance of taking advantage of the moment. “How can a plague virus reestablish your power?”

  “The greatest power in the world, my befuddled human servant,” said the Crouching One, “is fear. Though the last of my worshipers died thousands of years ago, the same terrors that frightened them continue to haunt mortals today. I ruled ancient Babylon as the God of Death and Destruction. Plague served as my loyal servant, chastising those who disobeyed my commands. A small amount of pain, properly applied, worked wonders. What I accomplished then I can do again, once I am equipped with the proper tools.”

  “But people won’t worship a disease,” protested Roger.

  “No,” said the Crouching One, “but they will bow down to the one who controls that disease. They will worship me or perish. Do not mistake cynicism for intelligence, sophistication for knowledge. Civilization is a thin shell, with barbarism lurking close beneath the surface. The wars raging right now in Africa and Eastern Europe demonstrate how easily mankind reverts to savagery.”

  The Lord of the Lions chuckled. “To use your own terminology, I am an expert at pushing the right buttons. Using the plague virus selectively, I will undermine the basic tenets of your society. Darkness will descend upon the Earth. And as darkness engulfs the world, I shall emerge once again as the supreme master of everlasting night. Nergal, Lord of Death, will reign supreme.”

  “Very dramatic,” said Roger, shaken more than he cared to admit, “But it all hinges on you obtaining the anthrax germs.”

  Blue sparks crackled like fi
reworks over the Crouching One’s forehead. “In a few hours, the Old Man of the Mountain will discover my will is not easily thwarted. He will deliver the plague virus to me, or suffer the consequences.”

  The demigod’s fingers curled like claws. Sparks leapt from one digit to another. Remembering the deadly spots on his elbow, Roger shivered. He muttered a silent prayer to the printout in his pocket. If it didn’t work tonight, he was doomed. And from the sound of the Crouching One’s threats, the entire world was doomed with him.

  30

  Cassandra led the way descending the steps. Though the nymphs had assured them that the three security guards were occupied with their dinner, the Amazon didn’t believe in taking unnecessary chances. “A true professional assumes nothing,” she declared. “One man with heartburn, searching the locker room for antacid pills, could ruin our entire venture. With me in front, he’ll never have a chance to alert the others.”

  Jack wasn’t about to object. He fought to the best of his ability when necessary, but he was not in Cassandra’s class. As the Logical Magician, he was content to play his role as the master planner. To him, being a hero meant using his brains. Conan the Conqueror had his place in the universe, but battling fiends in the neon jungle of Las Vegas was not it.

  It was nearly a hundred steps to the bottom of the stairwell. Jack, walking a few steps behind the Amazon, kept his gaze fixed to Cassandra’s neck. Early on, she had made it quite clear that if he looked anywhere else, he would be very, very sorry. Though temptation gnawed at him, Jack kept it at bay by concentrating on the vision of an angry Amazon handing him his eyeballs on a platter. It worked wonderfully well as a deterrent.

  The locker room was empty. Lining the walls were nearly fifty brightly lighted dressing tables, like those used in nightclubs. Behind them were a series of a hundred metal lockers. One door led off to the powder room and shower. A second consisted of a steel frame and two pieces of frosted glass. Next to the door, engraved in the brick wall, were etched the words, Entrance to Paradise. Best Behavior, Please. The Customer Is Always Right. Especially Here.