by Siegel, Alex
Andrew's stomach grumbled. By this time of day, he was always starving. Eating before a training session was a bad idea so he always skipped breakfast. Sorcery was best performed on an empty stomach.
He checked his watch. "It's 10:30. We have time for brunch before class if we hurry."
He looked at Charley. She was wearing a puffy pink parka, wool mittens, and a fur-lined cap with big ear flaps. The coat almost went down to her knees. Brown leather boots went nearly as high so only a narrow band of her blue jeans was exposed. The cold had brought color to her cheeks.
"Be careful on the ice," she said. "It's slippery out here."
Andrew took her hand, and they walked off together.
Dan followed at a discreet distance. It was no secret that the apprentices didn't like him hovering too closely. Andrew kept his eyes pointed forward and tried to ignore the agent. Other students in the area hardly glanced at him.
Theosophical University was located in a suburb west of Chicago. The stone buildings employed a Gothic architecture which made them look almost like cathedrals. The doorways were arched, and the windows were very tall and narrow. Sheets of copper covered the steeply sloped roofs, and the metal had a green-blue patina.
Andrew and Charley went straight to the school cafeteria, and as they entered, warm air came as a relief. The dining room had brown tile on the floors and red tile on the walls. The cuisine was supposed to be international, but it all came from one kitchen and pretty much tasted the same. Andrew could choose from American, Mexican, Chinese, Italian, and Russian serving stations. Students wearing white aprons stood behind the stations with bored expressions on their faces. It was still early, so there were plenty of free seats.
Andrew went for Chinese today. The server gave him a plate of "orange chicken" which was the color of a pumpkin. Mushy broccoli on the side made the dish even less appetizing.
Andrew met Charley at one of the many tables. She was eating spaghetti and meatballs, and he decided she had made a better choice.
Dan sat by himself, but he was still close enough to be an effective bodyguard. His back was against a wall, and his eyes never stopped moving.
Andrew took a bite of chicken. The meat had been cooked until it was dry and stringy.
"I need a break from all this training," he said. "It's too intense. Do you think Tonya might give us a couple of days off?"
Charley shook her head. "I doubt it. Every extra day gives Blake more time to cause trouble. Are you really that tired? You seem to be holding up better than me. I was ready to bail out this morning."
"I don't blame you. Tonya played rough today. She's not holding back."
"Maybe that's a good sign. We could be close to done."
"We're not that close," Andrew said. "I certainly don't feel ready to fight an evil master sorcerer."
Charley sighed sadly and stuffed a meatball in her mouth.
"But we'll get there." He gave her an encouraging smile. "We have what it takes."
"I know." She smiled back at him. "We just have to keep each other motivated to the end. We can't quit."
He squeezed her hand.
Chapter Two
Blake looked down the famous strip in Las Vegas. The Mandalay Bay Resort was closest on the left. Golden windows went up to a height of forty-three stories. The Luxor was next down the strip, and the giant black pyramid was just as recognizable as its neighbor. A full-scale reproduction of the Great Sphinx of Giza stood out front along with an impressively tall obelisk.
Blake knew the town very well. He had performed in several of the casinos during his long career as a stage magician. All told, he had probably spent a year of his life in Las Vegas. That fact was ironic because he hated gambling. He didn't understand how losing money for hours on end could be any kind of entertainment. He only played games he knew he could win and for stakes that really mattered.
Blake wasn't planning to enter any of the big casinos today. All of them had sophisticated surveillance systems, and he was very much a wanted man. He expected the United States government was going to extreme efforts to find him. He had a good disguise, but he wasn't going to take any unnecessary chances.
He went to his right instead. He walked towards a two-story office building covered in brown stucco. Heavily tinted windows prevented him from seeing the interior. Mature willow trees were a decadent luxury in a land where every drop of water was precious. He saw cars in the parking lot made by Porsche, Mercedes, Bugatti, and Lamborghini.
The security was just as impressive. Men wearing black suits and sunglasses guarded every door, and more men patrolled the parking lot. Blake expected plenty of surveillance cameras, but he saw only a few tucked away in the shadows. The rest were probably better hidden.
A small sign above the front door read, "Panetta & Associates." The public knew the office as a law firm specializing in criminal defense. In fact, Mr. Panetta and his team had defended many dangerous crooks successfully, but that was just part of the story. The truth was Panetta ruled the shady underworld of Las Vegas with absolute authority. No dirty deal could happen until he got paid his cut. A healthy chunk of the police force was on his payroll.
Blake straightened his jacket and adjusted his tie. He was wearing a gray silk business suit tailored to fit him perfectly. He carried a black leather satchel. His most valuable possession, the Russian Eye, was in a pouch under his shirt. Mind-control was more effective when the victim looked into the green depths of the emerald, but Blake could still perform sorcery with it hidden. The tiny seam inside the crystal sputtered like a fuse on a stick of dynamite. The energy flow lubricated his mind and gave him confidence.
He went to the front door. One of the guards immediately moved to block him.
"Can I help you?" the big, Hispanic man said.
"I have an urgent appointment with Mr. Panetta," Blake said.
His sorcery and the power of the Russian Eye made the words extremely compelling. It wasn't full mind-control. It was just a small adjustment in the man's beliefs, a conviction that Blake was telling the truth, but the situation didn't demand an elaborate spell. Swaying such a weak mind was child's play for Blake. He simply had to project a command telepathically.
"I have to pat you down," the guard said.
"No, you don't. I'm unarmed."
The guard hardly blinked as he opened the door and held it. Blake went inside. The lobby was an impressively large space with chestnut brown carpeting. Real wooden panels on the walls and ceiling created a rustic atmosphere. The receptionist looked lonely behind a desk at the far end of the room.
Blake walked up to her. She was a strikingly beautiful woman with long, black hair.
"Hi." He smiled. "Mr. Panetta wants to see me. It's urgent."
"You are?"
"Mr. Torvus."
The receptionist typed on her computer. "I'm sorry, but I don't see an appointment."
"Mr. Panetta wants to see me now. Take me to him."
Blake tapped into the power of the Russian Eye and hammered the statement into her mind.
She shuddered and stood up. "Follow me, sir."
"Thank you."
The receptionist led Blake through the building. Scores of lawyers and clerks were working hard at their desks. It was a real law office and probably very profitable even without the illegal income.
Mr. Panetta had a private secretary, and Blake used mind-control to get past her. More beefy guards in business suits presented another obstacle. Their guns in holsters were barely concealed. Some well-chosen words and a blast of sorcery deflected their interest in Blake. He finally entered Panetta's office.
The space was big enough for three executive offices. It was furnished with Victorian antiques which Blake assumed were authentic. Obsidian inlays turned a massive mahogany desk into a work of art. Mother of pearl highlights created a contrasting effect in a tall cabinet. Stuffed trophy animal heads were mounted on the walls, and the collection included a bison and a lion. The windows
were so dark and thick, it was hard to tell it was daytime.
An old man stood up from behind the desk. "What's going on? Get the hell out of my office. I'm in a meeting!" He moved his hand towards a drawer where he probably had a gun.
Blake recognized Panetta from a description he had heard. The crime boss had short, black hair on top with gray on the sides. He was wearing a black jacket over a white shirt. His face was very light brown, but the slightly orange tint indicated it was a spray-on tan.
Other well-dressed men were in the room, and they reached under their jackets, but Blake ignored them. He walked swiftly towards Panetta. Mind-control had a limited range, particularly when using a tiny seam like the Russian Eye. Blake had to get close to his target before anybody stopped him.
"Sorry to interrupt," Blake said, "but I have a business proposition for you, and it can't wait."
Two guards in the room tried to grab him. When they got close, he stunned them with a blast of fear. It was a crude psychic attack, but Blake didn't see any need for subtlety. The two men froze and looked around with wide eyes. They would recover in a minute, but Blake didn't even need that much time.
He reached Panetta and immediately dove into his mind. Panetta was a very intelligent, paranoid, devious man, and controlling him was far more difficult than the others. Blake needed leverage. He quickly discovered Panetta was terrified of spiders. Blake used an image of a spider to temporarily freeze and disorient Panetta. Blake went deeper and found that Panetta's mother had severely abused him. As a child, Panetta had been beaten and starved regularly. Those experiences had left psychological weaknesses that Blake could now exploit.
"We need to talk privately," Blake said. "Send everybody else away."
Panetta nodded. "You heard the man. Clear the room."
The others appeared worried and remained where they stood.
"Get out!" Panetta yelled.
There was a rush for the door, and a moment later, Blake and Panetta were alone. Blake sat across the desk from the crime boss.
"What's the business proposition?" Panetta said.
Blake reached into his leather satchel and pulled out a bar of solid platinum. He handed it across the desk. "Do you know what that is?"
Panetta rubbed the silver-gray bar. "Platinum?"
"10 ounces worth fourteen thousand dollars. I know a place where two million bars are stored."
Panetta raised his eyebrows.
"The Strategic Platinum Reserve," Blake said.
"Never heard of it."
Blake took a map out of his satchel and pushed it over. It showed the Mumford Army Base in a reasonable amount of detail. A red circle highlighted the location of the Physical Containment Facility inside Montaña de la Serpiente.
"It's top secret, of course," he said. "Platinum is critical to industry, and most of it comes from overseas. The United States government wanted to make sure our supply didn't get cut off, so they created the Reserve. I have a plan to rob the place. It will be the biggest heist in history."
Panetta leaned over the map with a very interested expression. Blake didn't need mind-control to hold Panetta's full attention now.
"What am I looking at?"
"An Army base in New Mexico near Alamogordo," Blake said. "This won't be a simple burglary. The platinum is buried deep inside a mountain behind layers of hard-core military security. There are tanks, howitzers, and plenty of soldiers with orders to shoot intruders. Getting inside is practically impossible."
"What if we bribe one of the soldiers?" Panetta said.
"The security measures are overlapping and redundant. It's an underground fortress designed to hold off an entire army. You would need a ton of inside help to steal any of that platinum. I don't see how to accomplish that without the government getting tipped off. It's not even worth discussing."
"But you have a plan?"
Blake nodded. "I do, but it will take money and manpower to execute. You have plenty of both."
"How do you know that?"
"The word on the street is you're the kingpin of organized crime in Las Vegas. Prostitution, loans, money laundering, drugs, blackmail. It all goes through you, and you have friends all over the country. I estimate my plan will cost somewhere in the neighborhood of ten million dollars. I want to move fast, so be prepared to write some big checks right away."
"Ten million?" Panetta raised his eyebrows. "That's a substantial investment."
"A drop in the bucket when we're talking about a multi-billion dollar haul."
"What's my cut?"
"It's my plan," Blake said, "so fifty-fifty sounds fair."
"It's my money and my men. I want seventy-five percent."
Blake didn't know if the Vault held platinum, but he expected there was little if any, and it would be in the form of sorcerous artifacts, not bullion. He could promise Panetta ninety-nine percent and it wouldn't matter. The crime lord would get nothing in the end regardless. He'd be lucky if he survived the operation at all. Blake used his powers to keep Panetta from feeling any doubts or asking any tough questions.
"Sure," Blake said. "That sounds fair. I'm not greedy. The plan begins with a large real estate purchase, and I already have some potential locations picked out. I just need to know how you'll pay for it. This will be a cash transaction, of course."
Panetta furrowed his brow. He pressed the intercom button on his phone and said, "Send in Mr. Ebbers."
"Who is that?" Blake said.
"My banker."
Blake spent the next hour speaking with Panetta's staff. Blake wanted to be sure he wouldn't have to come back to Las Vegas later. The next time he visited, the authorities might be waiting for him. His survival depended on moving fast and being unpredictable. Only he would know the precise details of his next move.
After all the initial arrangements had been made, Blake went back to Panetta's office for a final meeting. Blake sat across the desk from Panetta again.
"Other people may come here and ask about me," Blake said. "They could have powers similar to mine. They will reach into your mind and try to untie the knots I've tied. They will force you to tell the truth."
Panetta's head bobbed back in forth. The man was trapped in a private nightmare which looped endlessly in his mind. He could function normally, more or less, but shackles of fear kept him under Blake's control.
"Do you have a gun?" Blake asked.
Panetta opened a desk drawer and pulled out a 9 mm pistol. Its beautiful finish used a combination of gold plating and matte black.
"If my enemies come here," Blake said. "Use the gun. Kill them all. You'll know them when you see them."
He hammered the command into Panetta's mind using the full power of the Russian Eye. Blake made sure the order was wedged in deep where even a skilled sorcerer would have trouble prying it out. Panetta would probably suffer some brain damage as a result of the rough treatment, but Blake didn't care. The failsafe had to work.
He finally left the office and walked out into late afternoon sunlight. The weather was warm by normal standards but relatively cool for Las Vegas. It was actually nice to be outside.
Blake's green Jaguar was parked on the street. He hurried over and sat in the back seat.
The driver glanced at him. "How did it go, sir?"
"Great." Blake smiled. "Take us to the airport. Tell the others to meet us there."
The driver was a short, very muscular man. His blonde hair was cut in a military style. A T-shirt with a green camouflage pattern showed off impressive biceps with tattoos of barbed wire on them. A scar along his jaw looked like the result of a knife wound. His name was Skater.
Skater was a member of a team of six professional assassins which Blake now employed as his personal henchmen and bodyguards. He controlled them completely, allowing them only limited mental freedom. They would kill for him or die for him, but hopefully, it wouldn't come to that. He didn't plan to be directly involved in any violence. Gunplay was for fools and tools.
Skater started the car and drove off.
* * *
"What is a neutrino?" Charley asked.
Andrew pursed his lips for a moment. "An electrically neutral subatomic particle. It has a very tiny mass."
"What are the components of an atomic nucleus?"
"Protons and neutrons, and those are made of quarks."
Charley was lying on the bed in her bedroom while Andrew sat at her wooden desk. He had a test tomorrow, and she was making sure he was ready.
Even though she had lived in the room for less than two months, it was overflowing with her stuff. Toy unicorns filled a high shelf, and snow globes from all around the world were on a shelf below. She had so many textbooks, some had to be stacked in the corner. She had a closet, but her famous sweater collection was too large for that small space. Her sweaters had their own dedicated shelving system which went from floor to ceiling. She could wear a different sweater every day for a semester if she wanted.
The bed dominated the room aesthetically. The bedspread was such a bright pink, Andrew wondered if it glowed when the lights were off. Fuzzy tassels all around the edge were an unnecessary addition. A stuffed Teddy bear shared the bed with Charley, and it was almost as big as her.
Andrew quietly moved over to the bed, set the Teddy bear on a chair, and took its place. He was close enough to Charley for their hips to touch, and he held her hand. She gave him an inquisitive look.
"Keep testing me," he said.
She tilted her tablet so he couldn't see the notes. "Ionization."
"Converting an atom into an ion by adding or removing electrons."
"Kelvin."
"A unit of measurement of temperature," he said. "Absolute zero is zero, but the degrees are the same as Celsius."
He moved his hand to her thigh. She was wearing jeans, but he could still feel the warmth of her skin. He rubbed her gently.
He was expecting her to tell him to remove his hand, but she just continued with the quiz.
"Superconductor," she said.
"A material that has zero electrical resistance," he replied, "usually at extremely cold temperatures."