“While Achilles moves from A10 to A11,” declared the sphinx, shaking its head in annoyance but otherwise remaining captivated by the diagram, “the turtle advances from All to A12. The distance between them continues to shrink, but it nonetheless remains,” The monster snorted in disgust. “When he moves to A12, the turtle is at A13…”
The sphinx never saw them leave. If it was like most of the fanatic Trivial Pursuit players of Jack’s acquaintance, nothing short of the island sinking into the lava would tear it away from the enigma. The sphinx was trapped by a paradox that had confounded philosophers and mathematicians for twenty centuries.
“What would you have done if the beast knew calculus?” Megan whispered in one ear, kissing him delightfully as she did so. Among her many charms, his fiancée was an accomplished mathematician. “Or studied the theory of limits?”
“I held Cantor’s theorem proving that the infinity of the irrational numbers is larger than the infinity of the integers in reserve,” replied Jack, grinning. “I came well prepared.”
“I hope so,” said Megan, shuddering. “Because Cerberus looks hungry. And he’s not interested in trivia.”
They had advanced halfway across the marble bridge. Only a few yards separated them from the three-headed dog. This time, it did not step aside to let them pass. As Cassandra had remarked, Cerberus was trained to admit people into hell. It did not allow them to leave.
Jack crossed his fingers and reached into the small bag he carried beneath his shirt. His hand emerged with a fistful of dog biscuits. “Be ready to run,” he advised Megan as he raised his arm.
“You don’t really think that monster will be distracted by dog food?” she replied anxiously.
“Not in the least,” said Jack, flinging the biscuits forward. They landed at the monster’s feet. Sniffing, one of the hound’s three heads bent over to examine the food. “That’s just the signal.”
“Signal for what?” asked Megan.
Cerberus howled. Two of its heads jerked upward into the air, snapping at things not visible to the naked eye. The third head, caught unawares, was pulled along. The path to the outer rim was momentarily clear.
“For that,” shouted Jack. Grabbing Megan by the hand, he hurtled past the baying hound. Cassandra followed close behind. They were on the ledge, nearly at the door, before Cerberus ever noticed they were gone. A few seconds later, the trio crowded into the empty chamber on the other side of the portal.
“Neat trick,” said Megan, hugging Jack passionately. Cassandra tactfully stared in the other direction. “How did you manage it?”
“Not me,” said Jack, disentangling his girlfriend’s arms from around his waist. Kissing Megan was one of life’s great pleasures, but they were running on a tight schedule. “The birds did it.”
“The ravens?” said Megan.
“Yeah, the ravens, sweetie,” said Hugo, flashing visible for an instant as it landed on Jack’s right shoulder. In one claw, the blackbird held a slender piece of metal. Cawing, the bird waved the instrument about. “Us and these marvelous things called high-frequency dog whistles.”
“It occurred to me,” said Jack, “that three heads on one body presented a major dilemma in mental mechanics. Coordinating movement among a trio of separate entities is difficult enough under ordinary circumstances, much less when they’re linked together by muscle and bone. I merely overloaded Cerberus’s capacity for synchronized action.”
Jack patted Hugo on the head fondly. “Hugo and Mongo flew around two of the hound’s heads blowing their ultrasonic whistles. You saw Cerberus’s reaction to the racket. The shrill noise drove the dog crazy. It had to attack the cause. But, the hound couldn’t physically direct three entirely distinct motions at once. As we were the least painful distraction, the monster ignored us and concentrated on the birds.”
“My Logical Magician,” declared Megan cheerfully. “I knew you would rescue me. I never gave up hope, even after losing thirty-one games in a row of Trivial Pursuit. What’s next on the agenda?”
“First,” said Jack, “you have to take off that nightgown…”
“Jack,” giggled Megan, “don’t you think we should wait till we have more time?”
“…and put on this costume I brought with me,” Jack concluded, his face red as Megan’s lingerie. His girlfriend wasn’t as raunchy as the nymphs in Paradise, but she tried. “Dressed like a houri, you’ll blend in with the rest of the girls as we make our escape.”
“Prepare yourself to be exposed to scenes of utter depravity,” warned Cassandra as Megan, not the least bit self-conscious, stripped off her nightgown and pulled on the transparent harem garments. Jack, gentleman at heart, turned his head while she changed. Though afterward, seeing Megan’s stunning figure totally revealed in the wispy material, he wondered why he bothered.
“I’m a big girl,” Megan declared. “Living most of my life in the big city, I doubt if anything can shock me.”
The two ravens clearly took Megan’s statement as a challenge. They steered Jack and his two female companions on a completely different path to the locker room. On this trip, none of the rooms were empty. And each chamber provided a scene more scandalous than the one preceding it.
After a few minutes, Jack mentally dubbed their route the “orgy circuit,” Chess and checkers were nowhere to be seen. Instead, the nymphs were engaged in much more stimulating games. Their behavior added new meaning to the word outrageous. Jack concentrated as best as humanly possible on searching each room they entered for the door. He preferred retaining a few private sexual fantasies, and the nymphs’ conduct left absolutely nothing to the imagination.
Fortunately, Jack’s uniform gained them clear passage through the byways of Paradise. Most of the nymphs ignored them completely. The few that were physically able to stare in their direction did so for an instant, then returned to their other pursuits. No one questioned their presence as they journeyed from one chamber to another. Making idle conversation was not something that concerned the nymphs. They were too busy using their mouths in other ways.
Megan’s reaction to their first orgy was a muffled “oh,” Five nymphs engaged in a clearly impossible sexual position elicited an even quieter “oh, oh,” When they were forced to weave their steps between a dozen women moaning simultaneously in pleasure, Megan’s “oh, oh, oh,” was nearly inaudible.
To Jack’s relief, the door leading out of that particular room brought them to an empty chamber. Which, in turn, exited into the guards’ retreat. Too much of a good thing, Jack decided, thankful to be free of Paradise, was too much.
While Cassandra checked the ghuls, carefully ensuring they were securely bound and remained in dreamland, Megan changed into the skirt and blouse Jack had brought for her, “I take back everything I said,” she declared somberly when she was finished. “I guess I’m not as worldly as I thought. I still can be shocked.”
“Which,” replied Jack, “is nothing to be ashamed about. That’s one of the things that makes us human.”
Megan grinned. “That’s also one of the things I love about you. Jack Collins. You have a wonderful talent for saying the right words at the right times.”
She reached out and drew Jack’s face to hers. He didn’t resist. Life was too short not to pause a few instants to enjoy a kiss. Especially with the most dangerous events of the evening yet to come.
32
Big John met them in the front of the resort lobby at eight-thirty. Relief flooded the giant chauffeur’s face when he spotted them approaching. “I was beginning to worry,” he admitted, squeezing Jack’s hand in a grip of steel. “You said eight o’clock.”
“We encountered an unexpected surprise or two,” said Jack. “Megan, this is Big John. John, my fiancée, Megan Ambrose. She’s the love of my life. Please take good care of her.”
“You can count on me,” said Big John. His massive hands curled into fists the size of coffee cans. “I won’t let nobody lay a hand on her.”
&nb
sp; “Wait a minute,” said Megan, indignantly. “I’m not going anywhere. That auction’s tonight. You can’t send me scurrying off to safety while you take all the risks. I want to help.”
Jack nodded. He had anticipated exactly this reaction from Megan. And was prepared to deal with it.
“As I explained climbing the stairs, I deceived Hasan al-Sabbah into inviting me and Cassandra to the auction. We’re attending as his honored guests. However, I doubt that I could explain your presence there. There’s no way you can attend.”
He paused, preparing himself for the big lie. “Besides, Cassandra and I won’t be in any danger until the event’s nearly over. That’s when my scheme goes into effect. Before, we’ll act as observers, nothing more.
“When the action starts, I’ve mapped out our precise moves. I’m not going to minimize the danger, There’s an element of risk in my plan, but with Cassandra there to protect me, I’m not very concerned. We’ll destroy the anthrax virus and neutralize the genie using advanced mathematics. Loki won’t interfere once he realizes there’s no profit to be made. Nergal, judging by his past attempts, prefers working behind the scenes. The only ones who worry me are the representatives from the Brotherhood of Holy Destruction. Fanatics can be remarkably unpleasant, especially when their dreams go awry.”
“I’ll handle them,” said Cassandra, rubbing her hands together in anticipation. “Don’t forget Mr. Wesson called me a decadent bitch. I owe them one.”
“There,” said Jack. “Another worry put to rest.”
“You studiously avoided mentioning the Old Man of the Mountain,” said Megan. “He’s the mastermind directing this whole operation. Maybe Hasan al-Sabbah’s not a demigod, but he’s centuries old, impossible to kill, and plenty mean. Meeting him the night I was kidnapped, I could feel the evil force oozing out of him. He’s no pushover.”
“I’m well aware of that fact,” said Jack. “Which is why you can’t stay here with me. I need you elsewhere. When you leave the resort with Big John, he’s driving you directly to the airport. The two of you are meeting a very important surprise guest flying in for tonight’s auction. His plane is due at eleven sharp. Your father and I arranged his appearance this evening. Your job is to make sure he shows up at the auction before Hasan leaves. All of my plans hinge on his arrival.”
“Who is this mystery man?” asked Megan.
“I’ll leave that for you to discover,” said Jack. “Merlin assured me that you’ve met him before. That’s why I particularly want you to greet him at the airport. He’s a wary, exceptionally cautious gentleman, and your familiar presence will put him at ease.”
“I’m not certain I understand what you’re planning,” said Megan.
“Neither am I,” said Jack. “But I’m convinced this conspiracy is our only chance of permanently dealing with the Old Man of the Mountain.”
He consulted his watch. It was less than twenty minutes to the hour. “Convinced?”
“Not one hundred percent,” said Megan. “I suspect you’re trying to shield me from danger. That’s typical of you. But there’s no time to argue about it now. I'm stuck following orders and I know it.”
She grabbed him by the collar and kissed him hard upon the lips. “Take care of yourself, Jack Collins. Life without you would be dreadfully boring.”
Megan turned to Big John. “Come on, my chauffeur. Let’s get moving before I start bawling. You know any good songs to chase away the blues?”
“Miss,” declared Big John, starting to hum his theme, “I am a good song.”
Watching them walk away, Jack wondered if he would live to see Megan again. He had deliberately minimized the danger he would face in the auction. Cassandra was incredibly tough. But even she couldn’t defeat stupendous odds. If their surprise visitor didn’t arrive exactly at the right moment, things could gel awfully grim.
“Let’s make a quick stop at our suite,” said Jack. “We can change clothes and collect our special package. Then it’s off to the races.”
“Cheer up. Jack,” said Cassandra brightly as they headed for the elevators. Faced with the prospect of imminent battle, the Amazon was bubbling with good spirits. “Whether we succeed or fail, it will be a glorious fight.”
“I just hope it’s not our glorious funeral,” said Jack. “I sort of looked forward to spending the next few years enjoying my life.”
“That’s the trouble with you mortals,” declared Hugo, invisible as usual on Jack’s left shoulder. “You worry too much about living dull lives and not enough about dying magnificent deaths.”
“That’s easy for you to say,” declared Jack. “You spent centuries preparing for Götterdämmerung. I’m not ready yet for the Twilight of the Gods.”
“Hmm,” said Mongo. “That image raises an interesting notion. Hugo, fly with me for a minute. I want to ask you something.”
“Ravens with secrets?” said Cassandra. “That’s a novelty.”
The birds returned to Jack’s shoulders as he boarded the elevator to their suite, “Don’t fret too much about tonight, Johnnie,” said Mongo, mysteriously. “Hugo and I promised your mom we’d take care of you. And we aim to keep our word.”
“Would you mind explaining exactly what mischief you birds are plotting?” asked Jack, bewildered.
“Sorry,” said Hugo, chuckling. “If you can keep secrets from Megan, we can do the same with you. Trust us.”
As Jack saw it, he didn’t have much choice.
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 prov
ed 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.”
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