by Sean Ellis
Though he carried his dazzling daughter on his right arm, Higgins could not have looked more uncomfortable in his formal wear. The ship's tailor had gotten his proportions exactly right, but Higgins acted as if the suit were choking the life from him. Kismet resolved to get a drink into his friend before dinner, and asked the maître-d' to send two Macallans to their table. Annie asked for a cosmopolitan. The man nodded, and then gestured to the seats they were to have for the night. Kismet’s smile fell when he saw who was waiting at the table.
Elisabeth looked stunning. During the course of their time together, Kismet had not exactly seen her at her best, but tonight she looked ready for an Academy Awards red carpet walk. A strapless evening gown of black velvet clung to her enticing figure, accentuating every curve and displaying every asset. Her long blonde hair cascaded in waves down her bare shoulders and back. Her full lips were seductively painted and her smile was, as ever, hypnotic. And yet, while her beauty was almost enough to make him forget about her mercurial nature, it was not sufficient to distract him from the other person seated at the table.
Kismet almost did a double take. Unlike nearly every other man in the room, Leeds had disdained formal attire, and was instead wearing what looked to Kismet like the black cassock of a Catholic priest, though instead of a clerical collar, the garment continued up, almost to the underside of his jaw. Stranger still was the black skullcap that completely hid his steely gray hair.
Leeds did not rise to greet them, but held Kismet’s gaze contemplatively as the latter held a chair for Annie. Kismet matched the stare, but did not comment until he and Higgins were seated as well. “I didn’t realize this was a costume party. Let me guess: Nostradamus?”
If Leeds took offense, he did not let it show. He simply folded his hands on the table in front of him. “This is my professional attire.”
Kismet was tempted to continue testing the other man’s implacability, but the glint of a gem encrusted ring on Leeds’ right hand distracted him.
“Dr. Leeds is going to conduct a séance after the meal,” intoned Elisabeth. “It promises to be very exciting.”
“No doubt,” remarked Annie, disdainfully appraising the other woman.
Elisabeth flashed a perfect smile that somehow lowered the temperature in the room. “My goodness, if it isn’t Annie. You certainly cleaned up well. Has Nick told you all about our adventures together?”
Annie matched her smile. “Why no, he didn’t. It must have slipped his mind. Perhaps it didn’t make that much of an impression.”
“A séance?” Kismet interjected, trying to steer the conversation away from his indiscretions. He focused on Leeds. “That sounds a bit lurid for such a highly-regarded religious scholar.”
“I am a student of the mysteries of the human mind and spirit,” Leeds replied. He shifted his hands again, steepling his index fingers together in front of his chin. “There is only so much that can be learned from books. Precious little, in fact.”
Kismet tried to match Leeds’ stare, but his eyes were drawn to the ring. He now saw that, the precious stones were set in distinctive pattern which he recognized as an Ouroboros—a snake devouring its own tail—an ancient symbol of immortality. “Whereas the dead have all the answers?”
“For thousands of years, wise men have inquired of the spirits of the dead. More than three-quarters of people living today believe that the soul lives on after death, and if it indeed does, then certainly the departed would have insights into matters beyond our comprehension. Contacting them, of course, has never been a simple matter.”
The waiter arrived with the drinks they had ordered. Kismet gulped down the contents and nodded for another. He had once again made the mistake of getting Leeds started, but as before his curiosity got the better of him. “And who will you be contacting tonight?”
“Why, Hernando Fontaneda, of course.”
“And he will lead us to the Fountain of Youth!” chimed Elisabeth. “Isn't it marvelous?”
Kismet could not imagine why Leeds had taken Elisabeth into his confidence; he had not expected the man to be so open about his intentions. “The Fountain of Youth? So you think it’s real? Just on the basis of that old letter?”
Leeds continued turning the ring so that, in the prismatic depths of the gemstones, the light seemed to dance. It gave the illusion that the Ouroboros was alive and writhing on his finger. “It seems imprudent not to make the effort.”
Kismet wanted to answer him, wanted to accuse him of being foolish, but the words would not come. He was entranced by the undulating snake on Leeds’ ring and stared deeper into the image, as if doing so might reveal some secret truth to him.
“The Fountain of Youth?” Annie looked around at her dining companions. “Are you off your nut?”
Leeds smiled without turning to look at her. “Miss—?”
“Crane. Annie Crane.”
“Miss Crane, consider this. If you heard a rumor that a buried treasure was concealed in your back yard, would you fear to dig it up because the rumor might prove false?”
“Of course not. But a fountain that can make someone young again?”
“If it does exist then it is certainly worth discovering. Mr. Kismet and I discussed this at some length. Isn't that right?”
Kismet nodded slowly, unable to tear himself away from the light show of Leeds’ ring.
Leeds continued. “I would have thought he would have shared the particulars with you. There are countless tales of men who have received the gift of extreme longevity. Dozens of men in the Bible lived for many centuries.”
“The Bible?” Annie did not attempt to conceal her disbelief. “What does that have to do with the Fountain of Youth?”
“Oh, a great deal. It would require a source of, dare I say, divine power to turn ordinary water into Waters of Life. That source is a Seed of the original Tree of Life, described in Genesis.
“After the Great Flood, the priests of the Serpent cult captured the Seed and fled their home in Mesopotamia. They escaped across the oceans, perhaps traveling across a bridge of ice from what is now Russia, to the North American continent. They took their prize as far as they could, and placed it at the bottom of a pool, transforming the waters into a Fountain of Youth.”
Kismet heard every word Leeds uttered, but his attention kept returning to the twisting image on Leeds’ finger. Serpent, he thought. Serpent cult. Immortality.
“Is it any surprise that snake worship, in one form or another, is so ubiquitous in ancient American cultures?” asked Leeds, as if sensing Kismet’s fascination with the Ouroboros. “They would most certainly be the descendants of those original Serpent priests. The ancient Maya and Aztec worshipped snake gods—Quetzalcoatl, or Kukulcan—with human sacrifices, hearts cut out of still living victims.”
Annie mouthed: Eew! Gross!
“So this Seed,” intoned Higgins. “And the Fountain of Youth, are probably in Mexico?”
“Not at all. Those cultures arose thousands of years after the theft of the Seed. The object of my quest might be anywhere in the Americas. However, the next clue in our search is the legend of the Fountain of Youth itself. Those natives who instructed Ponce de Leon sent him to the north of Cuba. And Hernando Fontaneda, one of his contemporaries, may have actually found it. You know something about that don’t you, Mr. Kismet?”
Distracted by the serpent's dance in Leeds’ ring, Kismet did not even hear himself answer. “Fortune talked about a cave. But he's dead now.”
“Dead?” Leeds asked the question sharply, and for a moment, the turning of the jewel stopped. Kismet blinked and started to look away, but the rhythmic motion commenced anew. “Well, perhaps it could happen. But he did make contact? He wrote you? Mentioned the cavern?”
Leeds’ voice seemed to cushion him, enabling him to float on the ether as he returned to the fugue, descending deeper into the kaleidoscopic labyrinth. “He took his secret to the grave.”
“Who told you that?”
/> Kismet opened his mouth to answer, but a sudden sharp pain in his thigh, like the sting of a wasp, distracted him. He closed his mouth and tried to swat the imaginary insect away.
“Who told you of Fontaneda's death?” prompted Leeds again.
In his mind's eye, Kismet saw his hand, brushing at the invisible pest that stung at his thigh. But his hand did not move, and no effort of his will could make it comply. He tried to ignore the sting, but it persisted, growing into a throbbing ache. Beads of sweat broke out on his forehead as the irritation blossomed into unbearable pain.
“What was his name? You told me, but I can't seem to remember.”
“King,” whispered Kismet. Perspiration trickled into his eyes, stinging them. He wanted to blink, but found himself deprived of even that small act of voluntary movement.
“Of course,” replied Leeds, his voice soothing. “Now I remember. And he wrote from...Where was it again?”
As Kismet opened his mouth to speak, the pain in his leg redoubled. He gasped, and the intensity of the sensation broke his concentration. As the spell gave way, so did his ability to tolerate the pain. His hand flew to the place on his leg where the sensation was most intense, encountering not an insect, but a hard, unyielding object. He looked down to identify the source of his agony.
Annie was staring at him, her eyes wide in disbelief. Her fingers were gripping a dinner fork, the tines of which were buried in the fabric of Kismet's trousers, piercing through to his skin. With an abrupt movement, he wrapped his hand around hers and extricated the fork from the meat of his thigh. He half expected to see blood dripping from the prongs; it felt like she had penetrated through to muscle.
When their eyes met, she relaxed her grip, allowing the fork to fall the floor. He also relaxed, suddenly realizing why she had acted as she had.
“Kismet?”
Kismet turned to look at Leeds again. The other man continued to turn ring with his thumb. At his side, Elisabeth looked on hungrily. Kismet locked his gaze on Leeds’ eyes, refusing to be sucked in again. “I'm sorry. Suddenly I'm not feeling very well.”
Leeds’ visage was hard as ice, and did not crack with disappointment. “How unfortunate. We shall have to conclude our discussion at another time.”
Kismet pushed away from the table, rising to his feet. He did not have to exaggerate his motions; nausea clenched at his stomach. Annie quickly rose, wrapping a protective arm around his waist. “I'll help you to your stateroom.”
Higgins also rose, looking uncertainly from Kismet to Elisabeth. The actress was on her feet instantly, darting around to take Higgins’ arm. “Oh, Alex, you simply must stay. You don't want to miss the séance.”
Kismet nodded weakly. “I'll be fine.”
As soon as Annie helped him away from the table, Kismet began feeling better. He said nothing however until they were outside the noisy dining hall. “What the hell was that all about?”
“I was going to ask you? I think that nutter Leeds hypnotized you.”
Kismet shook his head. “Impossible.”
“He was asking you all these questions about some man who found the Fountain of Youth—”
“Fontaneda?”
“That's it. Only you kept saying ‘Fortune.’ You told him Fortune was dead. Then he asked you about another man. I think you said it was the king.”
Kismet nodded slowly. “Joseph King. He wrote the second letter, telling us that Henry Fortune, who also might have been Fontaneda, was dead. But why on earth would I tell Leeds about him?”
“Well, you did. When I figured out what was happening, I knew I had to break the spell somehow.”
Kismet stopped walking, and fixed her with an accusing stare. “You stabbed me in the leg. With a fork.”
“Good thing I did, too. Who knows what else Leeds would have gotten out of you.”
“You're right,” sighed Kismet. “I can’t believe I let him do that. I owe you one.”
“Yes, you do.” She smiled, then took his arm again and pulled him along. “Come on. Let's get back to your stateroom and see how much damage I did to your leg.”
He laughed. “It takes more than a fork in the leg to slow me down.”
“Is that a fact? Well, I will have to try harder next time.”
Kismet found that he liked the feel of her hand on his arm. It had been a long time since he felt that way. He didn’t have the best track record in affairs of the heart. His single-minded pursuit of the Prometheus group always seemed to get in the way. His last relationship, with a young woman that had accompanied him on an expedition to the Black Sea, had ended almost as soon as it had begun. His attraction to Elisabeth had been more of a primal thing; animal magnetism at work. He had taken little comfort in their time together, and got no joy from the memory of her touch. What she had done wasn’t that much different than Leeds’ attempt to violate him hypnotically. The thought caused him to start, like an electric shock.
Annie could not help but notice his reaction. “What's wrong?”
“Al,” he said after a long pause. “We left him alone back there. What if Leeds tries to pump him for information?”
“I think he has more to worry about from that tramp Elisabeth.” Her reaction brought back his smile. “However, I think you should give Dad some credit. After all, you were the one who let yourself be hypnotized.”
He grinned ruefully. “Even so, I don't like the idea of leaving him alone in there. I don't trust Leeds for a second. Or Elisabeth.”
“Really? I got the impression you two were sort of chummy.” There was no mistaking the acid in her tone.
Kismet's grin became a grimace. “Ancient history. She almost got me killed. Twice—No, make that three times. It's kind of hard to define our relationship.”
Annie laughed aloud, and the intensity of her expression melted away. “I think I understand. As I recall, you tried to kill me.”
“And I see you won't be letting me forget that, either.” Kismet paused as they rounded the end of the corridor, leading to their stateroom. “That's peculiar.”
“What?”
He led her forward a few steps to the stateroom door; it stood slightly ajar. Kismet reached out and gently pushed the door, swinging it wide open. Beyond it, he saw a man wearing what looked like a crewman’s uniform hunched over the computer on the desktop.
Not sure why they even bother with the key cards around here, he thought, and turned to Annie. “Friend of yours?”
Though his tone was half-joking, he steeled himself for a confrontation with the intruder. He noticed Annie similarly tensing at his side
“I'm afraid not.”
The stranger stopped moving, aware he had been caught. Though Kismet could only see the man's back, he judged him to be perhaps six inches taller than himself, broadly built like a football lineman. Kismet pushed forward ahead of Annie and entered the room. “I suppose you're going to tell me that there's a perfectly good reason you’re here.”
The man remained motionless for a second then sprang into action. His first act was to clasp his hands together and bring them down like a hammer on the keyboard of the laptop computer. There was a sickening crunch of plastic breaking, and several of the keys flew away like pieces of shrapnel. Then the intruder whirled to face them. Kismet's estimate of the man's size was right on the mark, but the fellow apparently did not wish to rely on the advantage of his larger physique. Kismet saw his own pistol locked in the man's grip and point directly at his chest.
Kismet's eyes drew into narrow, defensive slits. “I guess not.”
The intruder smiled, revealing crookedly spaced, yellowed teeth, with a single peg of silver replacing a lower incisor. The man’s face and head were clean-shaven, but dark stubble clung to his rough features like a permanent stain. His face, craggy and leathery from exposure to sun and wind, looked vaguely familiar to Kismet, probably someone he had passed by earlier in the cruise. The man thrust the gun forward, as if doing so might intimidate the people who ha
d caught him.
Kismet was not intimidated. He crossed the room in two leaping steps, brandishing his fists as he closed on the intruder. The other man's grin fell as his opponent, flying in the face of reason, ran headlong toward the Glock. He tried to pull the trigger, but Kismet was there first.
He struck the man's wrist with the edge of his left hand, knocking the gun away. In the same motion, he lashed forward aiming his right fist at the intruders jaw.
The man reacted faster than Kismet expected, reflexively raising his right knee and driving it into Kismet's solar plexus. Kismet's fist glanced off of the intruder's jaw, doing little more than annoying the big man. With the wind knocked from his lungs, Kismet staggered backward.
Kismet fell back against the wall as the intruder dashed past him, intent on fleeing the stateroom. He tried to will his feet to chase after the man, but the message got no further than his bruised diaphragm.
As the escaping intruder passed through the doorway, his head suddenly snapped to the side. The force of the unseen blow drove him against the bulkhead, but he recovered quickly, shrugging off the effects. He swatted at the source of the blow with the back of his hand, as if at an irritating fly, and then took off running.
Kismet’s breath returned in a sudden gasp, and he lurched into motion, running after the man. He found Annie, laid out on the carpeted floor of the hallway. She sat up, massaging the knuckles of her right hand. Kismet knelt for a second beside her, confirming that she had suffered no injury more serious than bruised pride, and then resumed the pursuit.
“Stay here,” he shouted over his shoulder.
Annie struggled to her feet. “Not a chance.”
Kismet quickly closed the distance to his quarry. He caught sight of the man at the far end of hallway, looking back over his shoulder to see if he was in the clear. When he spied Kismet, he put on a fresh burst of speed. The intruder darted to a stairway and ascended quickly. Kismet reached the foot of the stairs as the other man reached the top.