by Daniel Diehl
“One small thing, if you don’t mind.”
“Name it.”
“Could you disrupt Mrs. Morgan’s entire computer system? Hopefully to such an extent that the damage may be irreparable?”
Nemo chuckled into his hand. “I do like your style, old man. Consider it done.”
“Thank you. Now, what do I owe you, Mr. Nemo?”
“A day’s work. For you, because you’re friends of Jonathan, three thousand pounds.”
Merlin reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a wallet from which he extracted thirty, one hundred pound notes and silently laid them on the keyboard. As Jason’s eyes flew open in surprise, Nemo picked them and stuffed them into a pocket of his coveralls.
“Nice doing business with you, Mr. Merlin.”
“And with you, Mr. Nemo.”
As he saw them to the door of the haystack, Nemo coughed to get their attention. “Ah, one other thing, lads.”
Merlin and Jason both turned their heads to look at him.
“If you need me again, just have Jonathan get in touch. Don’t come back here ‘cause I’m never in the same place twice. And, nothing personal, but don’t recommend me to your friends, or to anybody else, for that matter. This was a lot of fun, but I like my privacy.”
Walking toward the car, Merlin answered over his shoulder. “Even as we speak, I can barely remember who you are.”
Chapter Fifteen
Morgana le Fay stepped out of the private elevator and into her office on the eleventh floor of Excalibur Holding Corporation, pausing to adjust her lavender silk suit coat. Had she entered through the public area of the building, she would have witnessed an unusual amount of activity. If she had passed through the lobby or halls of her building, she would have seen technicians in white lab coats, private security guards, electricians and men from British Telecom running madly from one place to another, shouting to each other, crawling under desks and computer terminals and others simply staring into space on almost every floor, scratching their heads in confusion. But she saw none of this because she considered it beneath her to mingle with the men and women who worked for her unless it was absolutely necessary. This morning it would prove to be necessary.
“Jerry. Get in here NOW.”
Seconds later Jerry McGuire scuttled through her office door like a dog running with its tail between its legs after being kicked in the ribs.
“Yes, Mrs. Morgan.”
Except for the fact that his small, dark brown eyes were set too close together – and this morning they were wide with a look bordering on terror - there was nothing really wrong with Jerry McGuire except his attitude. He was a groveler, one of those people so naturally frightened of everything and everyone they never quite manage to make eye contact. Jerry was one of only two types of people that Morgana le Fay kept on her staff. He was one of the toadies. Toadies were personal assistants and worker bees; the minions that filled the hundreds of minor positions in her company - under paid and over worked. She liked them because they were too scared of losing their jobs to make suggestions or ask questions the boss might not want to answer. The other type she hired were the sharks, expensive lawyers, bully-boy enforcers and other bottom feeders that came and went as she needed them.
“My goddamn computer is down.”
“Yes, Mrs. Morgan.” Jerry answered, addressing the radiator behind her big mahogany desk. “All the computers in the building are down.”
She drew a deep breath in order to keep calm enough not to bite his head off. “And why are all the computers in the building down?”
“The technicians say it might be a communications software problem.”
“And?”
“The telecom people say it’s an interface breakdown in the main frame and it’s not their problem.” His voice was beginning to quaver ever so slightly. Finally, he added cautiously, “Some of the guys in the lab think it might be a problem with the new web design.”
“Then where the hell is the web designer?”
“Snowboarding in San Moritz.”
“Jesus Christ, Jerry. What the hell do I pay you people for anyway?”
“I don’t know, Mrs. Morgan.”
“Maybe that’s the problem. None of you know what the hell you are supposed to be doing.” Her voice shook with as much anger as his did with fear. Her violet eyes were as hard and cold as the blade of a surgeon’s scalpel. “Get out; get this thing fixed and I don’t want to see your ugly face again until everything is working like it’s supposed to.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Jerry lurched toward the door like a frightened rabbit.
“And Jerry.”
He stopped dead in his tracks, head down, but did not dare turn around.
“If it isn’t fixed by lunch, consider yourself fired.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Jerry closed the door behind him in silence.
“Son-of-a-bitch. I’m surrounded by cretins.” She muttered to herself, drumming her fingers on the glistening desk. “Here I am, just about to crush that meddling old fart like the cockroach he is and everything goes to shit. Damn.” Breathless with anger, there was a pause in her train of thought so intense she could almost hear the gears grinding inside her own head. “That old man.” She shook her head, her mouth pursed until her crimson lips nearly disappeared. “No. No, it couldn’t be. He was never that clever and he is WAY out of touch.”
For a moment she sat like stone then, pushing her chair back with a shove, she stood up shouting the single word “SHIT”, and dashed to her private elevator.
The entire twelfth floor of the Excalibur building was Morgana le Fay’s apartment. Every room was decorated in perfect taste: expensive, professionally flawless and executed in a minimalist modern style. Nothing that anyone could ever want was lacking except the merest hint of the owners personal taste. Three million British pounds in construction and decorating costs had left the space absolutely devoid of personality. She stepped out of the elevator, took three steps down the tiny hall and walked into the massive living room. It was so large that even with a ten foot ceiling the room looked low. On the walls hung paintings by Matisse, Renoir, Picasso and Warhol. In front of the Carrera marble fireplace were sofas in crushed gray leather encircling a white Berber carpet. The only sign of life in the room was an arrangement of pale orange Bird of Paradise flowers, an exact duplicate of which was delivered fresh daily. As she stormed across the room, jerking off her suit coat, a figure appeared in the door leading to the dining room. The old man was dressed in black trousers, a matching waistcoat, black tie and a spotless white shirt. On his hands were a pair of yellow rubber gloves, one of which held a rag covered with silver polish.
“Madam is back rather early.”
“Very observant, George. You always were quick.” She snapped, walking in his general direction.
“May I do something for you, Madame?”
Holding out her jacket, she replied testily “Hang this up.”
George started to look down at the gloves smeared with silver polish when the lavender coat landed on his head, covering his face as though he were a hat rack. He did not move a muscle, but murmured “Yes, Madame.”
“I’m going to my library, George. I don’t want to be disturbed.”
“Of course, Madame. I never enter your library. It is one of the conditions of my employment.”
“It’s also one of the conditions of your remaining alive.”
George heard the heavy door at the far end of the living room slam with a crack like a gunshot.
Under his breath, George muttered. “I fear it is too late to worry about being disturbed. Madame is already a very disturbed woman.” Without touching the coat, he turned back toward the dining room, stripping the gloves from his hands.
Inside the library Morgana approached the bookcase. Fingering the gilt lettering on the spine of Le Morte D’Arthur, she could feel the hatred and frustration throbbing in her temples. Finally, the need to know how far into her syste
m the damage went overcame the anger, and she jerked the edge of the book. She stared at the gold disk, the ancient crystal control panel and the keyboard that superseded it. It was toward the keyboard that Morgana’s trembling hand strayed. Punching the ‘enter’ key, she waited to hear the reassuring whir of her computer powering up. Nothing happened. She tried again with similar results. Twice more she pounded the enter key.
“Damn it.” She stomped her foot against the hardwood floor. “Damn it to hell. Five years to get this fucking thing to work and now it crashes with the rest of the system.” She paced the floor of the library trying to calm herself. “No help from the Dragon Lords now. No lovely fire. No destruction. No death. At least not until the system is back up and running.” It was a one-sided conversation, but Morgana le Fay had long since realized that she was the only person in the world who she could trust, and therefore her own best council.
“All I wanted was a few more days to play with that arrogant old man and then I would have done away with him permanently and everything would have been back to normal. Back to the way it should have been after that miserable little turd Arthur was dead. Damn you, Merlin. Damn you and that pretty little boy who dug you up.” She paused, a small light of realization entering her eyes. “It was that boy. Name, name...Jason. You did this, didn’t you, Jason? I should have sucked you as dry as a squeezed orange when I had the chance. I should have killed that woman at the door and finished you off then and there.”
For a thousand and a half years Morgana had been nurturing her hatred of Merlin. She tended it like a fine vintage wine, keeping it out of the light, turning it over in her mind so it never went stale. Now, when she was ready to pull the cork and savor every drop, someone had stolen her corkscrew; and she knew exactly who that someone was.
“Ok, old girl. Be calm. You’ve been on your own for a very long time. No need to panic now” she muttered, striding toward the liquor cabinet on the far side of the room. “If that’s the way the old man wants to play it, fine. You just have to fight him the old fashioned way. Hand to hand. Up close and personal.” Splashing three fingers of brandy into the snifter, she smiled to herself. “Who knows, this might even be fun. But if we’re going to play, we don’t want the game to end too quickly, do we? What to do. What to do. These things must be handled delicately.” She swirled the brandy around, watching it cling to the sides of the glass. Finally she raised her head and smiled. “Yes. Oh, yes. Oh, how perfect. How absolutely delicious. I’ll bet you don’t even know you trapped one of my poor friends on this side when you closed the gate, do you old man? I think it’s time the two of you get reacquainted.” Nodding her head with satisfaction, she added with a smirk, “Reunions are so sentimental.”
Wandering in a small circle, she started developing the plan, embellishing it as she went. “I can’t risk bringing him here. I need to lure you to him. Something to entice you. Something you can’t resist. I need to leave a good trail. I don’t want to lose you along the way. But we wouldn’t want this to be too quick or too easy. I want to watch you hurt… to savor your pain.”
She sat the snifter down untested, moving calmly to the phone. The area code she dialed was 976. Mongolia. But the number that followed was across the Mongolian border, just inside China. The voice at the other end of the line answered in a rich, musical, Mandarin dialect.
“Damn it, speak English.”
“I very sorry, Missus.” He pronounced the word so that it sounded like Me-sis.
“I’m coming for a little visit, Chen. I’ll be there in a week. Get my rooms ready.”
There was a long, expectant pause on the line before the voice answered. “Is there a problem, Missus? Has Chen been remiss? I always do as you say, Missus.”
Placating now, she replied “Yes, Chen, you always do as I say and, no, I’m not upset with you. The money always arrives and the goods always arrive. Everything on your end is in order.” Christ, she thought, you have to speak to these damned Chinks like retarded children. Then she continued. “I just have some business to take care of and I’ll be a lot more comfortable doing it up there.”
There was obvious relief in Chen’s voice. “Good. Very good. Chen will have everything ready for you. It will be very nice to see you.”
“Cut the crap, Chen. It’s never nice to see me.”
“No, Missus…I mean, yes, Missus...”
“Stop babbling.”
“Yes, Missus. Shall I go now, Missus?”
“One more thing, Chen; I want you to find Fu Ling Chu. Have him at the compound when I get there.”
She could almost hear Chen swallow. “Doctor Fu a very bad man, Missus.”
“Of course he’s a bad man. Why the hell do you think I want to see him?”
“Missus, please. I not know where Doctor Fu is.”
“He’s in China, you ignoramus. Find him.” She slammed down the receiver, a carnivorous grin spreading across her bright red lips. Then she picked up the phone again.
“Barbara, my dear, this is Lu Morgan. I’m just fine. How are things in the travel business?...Good...Now, listen, Barbara, I want you to book me a flight...No, the company plane is down for servicing,” She lied. “Outer Mongolia. Borhyn Tal. That’s right, Borhyn Tal is the name of the town...No, perfectly serious...Yes, another of my little archaeological digs and you know how fond of them I am. Changing planes won’t be a problem...Heathrow is fine. I think the nearest airport of any size is at Ulan Bator and the last four or five hundred miles will have to be by train. Borhyn Tal is just the railhead nearest my destination. Oh, and could you arrange to have a car waiting for me at the rail station in Borhyn Tal?...No, no, I can drive to the site myself...Of course, I understand. And you’ll ring me back just as soon as you have it all sorted out?...Good. And Barbara, thank you so much. I don’t know what I would do without you.”
Morgana settled back in her chair, brushing her silky hair back with one hand. “This is going to be so damn much fun, old man. It’s just going to kill you…and your little friend, too.”
Walking with a spring in her step, back to the abandoned drink on the bar, Morgana le Fay paused half way across the room to execute a delicate little pirouette. Then she threw her head back and laughed maniacally. “That’s right, children. Just follow the trail of breadcrumbs.”
Chapter Sixteen
“Six, seven, eight...”
“What are you making?”
“Shh...” Merlin was balanced on the edge of the chair by the computer table. In one hand he held a funnel-shaped glass and in the other a slender glass wand, the end of which he held suspended over the glass. From the tip of the wand a clear liquid dripped into the half full glass.
“Ten, eleven, twelve. There.” Merlin placed the glass on the table and stirred its contents gently.
“Ok? Now can I ask what you’re doing?” Jason stood in the bedroom door with a bag of groceries in each hand.
“I’m not certain, it’s an experiment.” Merlin mumbled, raising the glass slowly to his lips.
“Wait.” Jason stepped forward. “Do you always taste your experiments without knowing what they might do?”
Merlin peered over the edge of the glass without removing it from his lips. “In this case, yes.” Seeing Jason’s concern, he lowered the glass an inch before continuing. “I know the general effect; I’m simply unsure of how it might taste.”
Jason squinted at him with one eye. “So what is it?”
“Something called a perfect, dry martini.” Merlin offered with a grin. “Want some?”
“Oh, no. I had one once and that was quite enough, thank you.”
Merlin shrugged, tilted the glass toward his lips and instantly stifled a gag. Placing one hand over his mouth, he made a dash toward the bathroom where Jason heard him empty his mouth into the sink. “Ptuth. Ptuth.” Then came the sound of a glass being emptied into the toilet. A moment later, Merlin stepped out of the bathroom wiping his mouth on the corner of a towel. “That is the mos
t wretched thing. How can people drink such a concoction? More to the point, why?”
“I’ve often wondered the same thing myself.” Jason turned from the room with a chuckle, shaking his head. “Do you want something to wash the taste from your mouth?”
“Please. Some of that lovely Jack Daniels, if there is any left and you don’t mind.”
Jason scowled slightly, walking toward his tiny stash of liquor. “A little early to be hitting the sauce, isn’t it?”
“It’s a day to celebrate, my boy.”
Pausing in mid stride, Jason turned with a quizzical stare. Merlin smiled and nodded.
“I’ve been spying on our mutual friend and it seems Mr Nemo did his job to perfection.”
“Her computers are down, then?”
“It would seem that her entire system is - what’s the word - fried?” An immense, self-satisfied grin crept across Merlin’s craggy face, the corners of his moustache reaching toward his eyes.
“No reason she should be the only one having fun, but what about the dragons?”
“Of course, I can’t hear what is being said through my scrying glass, but judging by her reaction, the communicating device is also useless.”
“Now that is worth celebrating. Mind if I join you?”
“I would be delighted. But you still haven’t heard everything.”
“There’s more?” Jason was both amazed and excited.
“It would seem that either we have her on the run or, more likely, she is leading us on some merry chase so she can marshal her forces against us. In either case, she is on the move and we have no choice but to follow her.”
“How do you know? Where’s she going?”
“One question at a time, please. Since I can’t hear what people say through the scrying glass, I can only assume much of this, but it would seem that her first stop is a place called Ulan Bator.”
“Where?”
“Ulan Bator. I understand it is the capital of a place called Mongolia and probably has the only airport in the entire country.”