Robert Weinberg - A Calculated Magic

The man in white focused his attention on the blonde. She seemed to shrink in the chair as he stared at her. “You have visited our establishment many times, Mrs. Adams. Please do not force me to deny you further entrance. I believe an apology is in order.”

“Oh yes,” said the blonde nervously. Hastily, she rose to her feet. “I’m sorry. I truly am. The booze went to my head. It won’t happen again.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Adams,” said Mr. Hasan. “Good night, Mrs. Adams.”

“Good night, good night,” said the blonde and half walked, half ran from the table, her two bodyguards trailing behind like frightened puppies.

“Excitement’s over, folks,” said the Afreet. “Drinks, as always, are on the house.”

Quickly, Jack rose to his feet. Hasan and the genie were already walking away. “Cash me in,” he told Cassandra, as he flipped the dealer a red chip, “and deposit the money in a safe-deposit box. I’ll see you later.”

Anxiously, he hurried after the man in white. His whole plan of action depended on the next few minutes.

“Mr. Hasan,” he called, “can I have a word with you?”

The Old Man of the Mountain, for Jack knew he could be no one else, turned. As did the genie, who showed no signs of recognizing Jack. “Yes? Do I know you?”

“No,” Jack said, and mentally crossed his fingers, “But you know my boss. He sent me here to observe your auction.”

“Auction?” repeated the Old Man of the Mountain, his voice no longer friendly. “To what event do you refer, Mr…?”

“Green,” supplied Jack, preparing for his biggest gamble of the night. “The auction taking place tomorrow evening, Mr. Hasan, involving a certain Russian.”

“Who is your boss, Mr. Green?” hissed the Old Man of the Mountain, sounding remarkably like a snake. A very deadly snake.

“He has many different names,” said Jack slowly, “but most people just call him The Man .”

Hearing that name, the Old Man’s features underwent a startling transformation. His white cheeks paled yet further, until not a bit of color remained. The sneer on his lips changed to a sickly grin. The harshness disappeared from his voice, replaced by an alarming false heartiness.

“My apologies,” he declared, taking Jack by the arm, “Please don’t be offended by my lack of manners. I had no idea. Usually, The Man sends the One Without a Face to inform me of his wishes.”

“No problem,” said Jack, wondering who the One Without a Face might be. It was the least of his worries at the moment. Al-Sabbah on his one side, the Afreet on the other, they were heading across the casino to the registration area. “Where are you taking me?”

“My office, of course,” said al-Sabbah, “We can speak in privacy there. I assume you came about the loan?”

“There is the question of payments,” said Jack, trying not to say too much or too little.

“I fully understand The Man ’s concern,” said al-Sabbah. Reaching the main desk, he signaled to one of the clerks to admit them through a gate at the end of the counter. An unmarked door in the rear wall led to a luxuriously furnished office.

“Would you care for some liquid refreshment?” the Old Man of the Mountain asked, dropping into a large armchair behind an oak desk. There was a fully equipped bar in the rear of the chamber. “My Afreet is an accomplished bartender. I, of course, do not consume alcohol.”

“A Coke will be fine,” said Jack. He wondered if the two ravens were with him or Cassandra. It didn’t matter. He was on his own for this encounter.

The Afreet handed Jack his drink and took up a position behind al-Sabbah’s chair. Standing there motionless, it could have been a statue carved from red neon.

“My obligation with your boss comes due next week,” said the Old Man of the Mountain, leaning forward on the desk. “Is there a problem?”

“Nothing in particular,” said Jack, sipping his drink. “Though there have been rumors…”

“Lies, lies, lies,” said al-Sabbah passionately. “Untruths spread by my enemies.” The Lord of the Assassins paused, regaining his composure. “There were unexpected cost overruns involving construction. Nor did anyone, including my most trusted soothsayers, expect this accursed recession to last this long. However, business has increased dramatically the past few months. I anticipate no problem meeting the terms of our agreement. Especially with the additional funds generated by the auction tomorrow evening.”

“Care to explain?” asked Jack.

“A wise businessman seizes opportunity by the throat,” said al-Sabbah. “The resurrected Ancient One. Lord of the Lions, alerted me to the value of the renegade Russian scientist. With the aid of the Brotherhood of Holy Destruction, I rescued Karsnov from otherwise unavoidable execution and brought him here. However, instead of lending his talents to either party, I decided to put his services up for auction. Though complaining bitterly about my betrayal, both parties agreed to participate. As has Loki, representing certain unnamed Eastern European powers. The bidding should be fierce. And the returns quite profitable, for both me and your employer.”

“I hope so,” said Jack, trying to recall classic hard-boiled movie dialogue, “for your sake. The Man sent me here to act as an observer. Nothing more. He likes to keep an eye on his investments. I assume you have no objections to my attending the auction?”

“No,” said the Old Man of the Mountain. “Of course not. The Man ’s wishes are my own.”

“Good,” said Jack, nodding. “The boss will appreciate hearing that.”

He put down his glass. “The Russian is safe?”

“Absolutely,” said the Old Man. “He rests in a heavily guarded suite on the floor above us. Would you care to meet him?”

“Why not?” said Jack. If the situation grew desperate, any information he could provide Cassandra about Karsnov’s location would be invaluable. “How do we get there?”

“Follow me,” said the Old Man of the Mountain. Leaving his office, they walked over to the statue of Jupiter. Behind it was a single elevator There was no call button on the wall, only a numeric keypad.

“This leads to my private sanctum upstairs,” declared al-Sabbah. “It can be accessed only by entering the proper security codes.”

The Old Man’s nose wrinkled in disgust. An odd expression swept across his face. “Do you notice a strange odor in the air?”

Jack sniffed. “Funny. It smells like the reptile house in the zoo.”

“My thoughts exactly,” al-Sabbah said, and hurriedly punched in the correct numbers. The elevator doors slid open. The smell inside the lift was nearly overpowering. There were three buttons on the inside control panel. The Old Man of the Mountain punched the middle one.

Silently, the elevator rose to the second floor. Not sure what to expect, Jack was relieved when they stepped out into an empty office much like the one they had left only a few minutes before. The only difference was a pair of smoked-glass doors situated behind the oak desk. The same reptilian smell greeted them as they moved forward.

“Where are the guards?” asked al-Sabbah, not expecting an answer. “They know better than to desert their posts.”

“They are not here,” declared the genie, peering behind the desk. Jack breathed a sigh of relief. He had half expected the Afreet to find the receptionists’ bodies stuffed into the desk drawers. With supernaturals, anything was possible.

“Where did they go?” asked Jack. “What happened to them?”

“I do not understand,” said the Old Man of the Mountain, his tone apprehensive. “They have strict orders to allow no one other than myself onto this level. This elevator offers the only access to the floor. A surprise attack is out of the question.”