A Calculated Magic

36

Jack sat at the end of the semicircle of chairs farthest from the table. Gently, he laid his bag outside the ring of furniture. Bending over, he pulled open the zipper and examined the bottle inside. It looked fine. Carefully, he stood it erect so that the mouth of the container stuck out the top of the canvas grip.

“You understand the plan,” he subvocalized to Hugo, sitting invisible on his shoulder.

“I know what I’m supposed to do when you give the signal,” the bird muttered in his ear, “but I sure the hell don’t understand why. I ain’t complaining, mind you. The All-Father sent us on plenty of missions without explaining the reasons. That was his style— brooding, mysterious, incomprehensible. I’m just kinda curious how you’re gonna trap the genie, destroy the virus and save the world using a bottle with a funny neck.”

“I’ll explain after it happens,” promised Jack. “I was hoping Mongo would take care of the notes during the confusion, but since he’s not here, we’ll have to improvise.”

“He’ll be back,” said Hugo. “With the cavalry.”

“I hope so,” said Jack. “The odds are definitely stacked against us tonight.”

Cassandra sat next to Jack. The Amazon was relaxed and loose.

Her hands rested on her lap, close to the knives in her boots and throwing stars in her belt. She was ready and anxious for battle.

Beyond the Amazon were Loki and his two frost giants. The Master of Lies, sitting between his massive bodyguards, studiously avoiding meeting Jack’s gaze. Loki desperately wanted the plague virus. But, more important, the Sly One wished to be on the winning side.

Positioned directly past the farther frost giant was Boris Bronsky. The big Russian sat with his arms folded across his chest, his eyes closed and head bent as if in deep thought. Or in deep sleep. With Bronsky, it was hard telling.

To the right of the Russian were Smith and Wesson. The two terrorists chatted in low, guttural voices while they waited. Like all of the guests, they were anxious for the auction to start.

Roger Quinn sat slumped in the chair next to the fanatics. His right hand was thrust deep in his jeans pocket, as if clutching a life preserver. There was a frightened yet determined look on his face.

At the other end of the ring waited the Crouching One. The Babylonian demigod appeared remarkably cheerful. It sat cross-legged on the chair, supporting its head with its hands. Every few seconds, its gaze shifted from the vial of plague germs to the Muslim extremists. Blue sparks flickered across the Lord of the Lion’s fingertips, sputtering in the silence.

“I will now state the rules of the auction,” declared Hasan al-Sabbah, perched like a vulture on his obsidian throne. “If there are any questions or remarks, please save them until I am finished.”

The Old Man of the Mountain glared meaningfully at Nergal, but the Crouching One didn’t make a sound. Jack snatched a quick peek at his watch. It was ten-thirty. Even if the plane carrying his mysterious guest arrived right on time, the trip from the airport would take at least thirty minutes. He had to stay alive for an hour or more. He hoped Hasan had a lot of explaining to do.

“Since there are only four parties involved in this event, we will keep formal procedures to a minimum,” said the Old Man of the Mountain. “I see no reason why we should spend the entire night involved in this business. To the victor belongs the spoils. For the rest of you, I have arranged magnificent entertainment in appreciation of your participation.”

“Faugh,” said Mr. Wesson, “Get on with it, already. The sooner we depart this salacious den of iniquity and sin, the better.”

Hasan’s narrow, bony fingers curled into fists. Master of his domain, the Lord of Assassins was clearly growing weary of the terrorists’ insults. “The joys of Paradise are available for those of you who care to indulge in such pleasures,” The Old Man of the Mountain’s thin lips narrowed into pencil lines. “For those who prefer to mate with camels, that too can be arranged.”

There was no mistaking the animosity in Hasan’s tone. Wesson’s jaw dropped as the full implication of the veiled threat hit home. His mouth slammed shut and remained tightly closed as me Old Man of the Mountain continued.

“The bidding will start at ten million dollars. As the Lord of the Lions bears prime responsibility for discovering this treasure, he will be given the honor of starting the proceedings. We will continue in the semicircle, excluding of course my guests, Mr. Green and Ms. Jones. To expedite matters, minimum raises will be ten percent of the previous bid. Thus, if Loki bids twenty million, Nergal will either respond with twenty-two million or drop out. Bidding will continue until all bidders but one have passed. That final participant will be the winner.”

“The exact prize?” asked Loki.

“Karsnov’s notes on the development of the virus,” said Hasan, pointing to the stack of papers on the table. “Using those, any capable scientist should be able to duplicate his formula. Not that it matters. In the vial is an actual sample of the plague serum. If used properly, there is enough material in that container to kill several hundred thousand people.”

“What assurances do we have that you didn’t photocopy the notes and plan to sell them to the losing participants in the weeks to come?” asked Smith.

“My word,” said Hasan curtly. “That is guarantee enough. Are you implying otherwise?”

“Of course not,” said Smith hastily. “I was merely checking. No offense intended.”

“Good,” said Hasan viciously, obviously no longer in absolute control of his temper. “My female camels are extremely lonely. They are starved for affection.”

The Old Man of the Mountain laughed nastily. “Any other questions? Or comments?”

“What about delivery?” asked the Crouching One.

“At your convenience, to wherever you wish,” said Hasan.

“Arranged by the winner and my Afreet. No safer method of transportation exists.”

“What about payment?” asked Loki. “When do you need the money?”

“Within the week if not sooner,” said Hasan. “Payable in cash. Large bills are fine, but no checks.”

He bowed his head slightly in Jack’s direction. “My note to Mr. Green’s employer comes due in seven days. I am anxious to be free of that obligation.”

The Old Man of the Mountain rose to his feet. “If there are no more—”

“I have a comment,” said Boris Bronsky, unexpectedly. “May I speak a few words before the auction commences?”

“Go ahead,” said Hasan. “But please keep it short.”

“Idt is not much to say,” declared the Russian, “so it will not take long.”

Bronsky climbed to his feet. His mild voice rang with surprising authority. “This stuff is very evil. I am filled with great disgust that some of you plan to make use of idt. The virus should be destroyed. My government intends to do just that if we win this auction.”

Boris paused. Loki yawned. Smith and Wesson sneered.

“This plague virus was developt on Russian soil by a Russian scientist. Thus, idt belongs to the Russian people. If you buy it here, you are receiving stolen property and will be liable to criminal prosecution,” The Russian hesitated for a second, frowning at the smiles forming on several of his listeners’ faces. “Laugh at me if you like. Karsnov, that traitor, thought he was above the law, too. He paidt the price for his arrogance. Maybe I’m not so threatening. But I got some friends who aren’t as nice. Dey think poorly of those who betray a trust.”

“Enough lecturing,” said the Lord of the Lions. “I am a God. My purposes are my own. I refuse to be bullied by a mere mortal. Bring on the Kindly Ones. Once I control the plague virus, the Three Sisters will be helpless against me,” The Crouching One extended a clawlike hand. Dramatically, he jerked his fingers closed. “I will crush them to dust if they dare interfere.”

“We are not afraid of anyone associated with the rotting carcass of your depraved Communist empire,” declared Wesson. He spat on the floor then rubbed a shoe in the wetness. “We spit on the bankrupt running dogs of the Great Satan.”

Loki shrugged. “I’m simply acting as a middle man for other parties,” he stated lazily. “Talk to them if you want. They live pretty close to your borders.”

Hasan al-Sabbah raised his hands in mock astonishment. “It appears that you are the lone altruist at this auction, Mr. Bronsky. Why am I not shocked? Please take your seat. If the Russian government wants the plague virus returned, bid for it.”

Hasan clapped his hands together twice. Instantly, the Afreet, stationed behind the table, swelled to twice its size. The suit it had been wearing fell in shreds at its feet. The genie, glowing neon red, nude and sexless, glared at its audience. “I guard this treasure!” the creature bellowed in a voice that crackled like thunder. It flexed its immense, octopus arms. “Touch it without permission and die.”

“Impressive,” murmured Jack. “What do you think, Hugo?”

“He’s fast but I’m faster,” replied the bird. “I can steal the vial right out of his hands. Keeping it more than a few seconds is what worries me.”

“I’ll handle that,” said Jack confidently. He glanced at the blue bottle at his feet. “Mathematically.”