Robert Weinberg - A Calculated Magic

Both of the men wore light tan suits, brown shirts, bloodred ties, and dark sunglasses. One was tall and thin, the other short and broad. Each had swarthy skin and jet black hair. The short man had a mustache, while his companion was clean shaven. Hasan introduced them as Mr. Smith and Mr. Wesson.

“Pleased to meet you,” said Jack, with a polite nod. He had no desire to shake hands with either man. These were without question the representatives of the Brotherhood of Holy Destruction. Jack did not think highly of terrorists.

Smith grunted in reply. Wesson didn’t make a sound.

The Old Man of the Mountain shrugged as if in apology.

“Mr. Green represents one of my major backers. He is here to witness the auction tonight,” Al-Sabbah waved a hand and smiled at Cassandra. “He is accompanied by the charming Ms. Saman’ta Jones.”

Both terrorists turned and stared at Cassandra through dark lenses. Smith grunted again. Wesson’s face twisted in an expression of disgust.

“In my country, a woman wearing such an outfit would be flogged,” he declared coldly. “Decadent, capitalist bitch.”

“Depraved lackey of the sex-crazed bloated warlords of the Great Satan,” added Smith.

“Gentlemen,” said Hasan al-Sabbah, his white features ashen. Jack’s relationship to Cassandra was unclear and the Old Man of the Mountain feared offending The Man’s emissary. Equally worrisome was the possibility that Cassandra herself might be a confidant of the diabolical vice lord. “Ms. Jones is my guest. Please apologize at once.”

Wesson laughed harshly, “Never.”

The Old Man of the Mountain frowned unhappily. He was caught in a vise. He dared not push Smith and Wesson too hard. He was relying on their participation at the evening’s auction. Yet he was equally loath to allow them to insult agents of his major creditor. As if sensing al-Sabbah’s dilemma, Cassandra resolved Hasan’s predicament.

“You gentlemen represent the Brotherhood of Holy Destruction, I believe?” she asked rhetorically, her voice cool and calm. If anything, Cassandra sounded amused. “I pray, for your sake, that you come fully prepared to bid extravagantly for the prize offered tonight. Because I suspect you were instructed to return with the virus or not return at all. Groups like the Brotherhood do not tolerate excuses. Which would thus leave you at my tender mercies.”

Finishing her short speech, Cassandra’s hands flashed quicker than the eye could follow. Steel glistened then vanished. Smiling, the Amazon handed each man the remnants of his crimson tie, sliced off an inch below the knot. “An expert can prolong the death by a thousand cuts for weeks,” she declared, the tone of her voice making it quite clear she was such an expert.

“Time for us to do some sight-seeing before dinner,” said Jack, taking Cassandra by the elbow. “We don’t want to be late for tonight’s proceedings.”

He nodded again at the Old Man of the Mountain and the two terrorists. Smith and Wesson stood frozen in place, their slashed ties dangling from petrified fingers. Jack couldn’t resist a parting dig. “We’re cutting it close already.”

They struggled to maintain straight faces until they exited the casino. Once outside, spotting Big John’s limo at the curb, Jack and Cassandra exploded with laughter. “You know how to cut off a conversation, Ms. Jones,” Jack declared in mock serious tones. “Talk about castration nightmares.”

“Do you think I wounded their pride?” asked Cassandra, her eyes glowing with a mixture of laughter and rage.

“You definitely cut them down to size,” said Jack. “I bet they’re fit to be tied.”

“I don’t mean to break up your party,” said Big John, coming up behind them, “but your car is waiting, folks. Pet store closes at six sharp.”

Still chuckling, they followed the giant chauffeur over to the limo. Politely, he opened the rear door of the automobile. As Cassandra slid inside. Big John whispered, “Didn’t mean to rush you, but a couple of gents back there were giving you the eye. They didn’t look like the friendly type.”

“Where are they?” asked Jack once they were all in the car. The dark glass enabled them to look out without anyone looking in. “Can you point them out?”

“Sure,” said Big John, “That’s them over by the cab stand. The two huge albino dudes and the slick operator standing between them. I’ve seen some pretty bad operators in this burg, but that mean mother beats the rest six ways to Sunday.”

“It’s Loki,” said Jack to Cassandra. “Along with your two friends, the frost giants.”

“They’re here for the auction,” said Cassandra. “Hopefully, our disguises fooled them.”

“Maybe, maybe not,” said Jack. “I don’t think it matters. Mom struck me as reading Loki right. He’ll keep his mouth shut until there’s a clear winner in the game. And with Karsnov dead, that could be anyone, including us.”

“Karsnov?” said Big John. Once Jack identified their adversaries, the chauffeur had steered the limo out onto the road leading to downtown Las Vegas. “I heard that name today.”

“You did?” said Jack, “When. And from whom?”

“Another big dude,” said Big John. “Not the size of those white-haired wonders, but plenty large. Reminded me of one of those trained bears in the circus. Guy in his mid-fifties, he spoke English with a thick accent. He asked me if I ever heard of this scientist, Karsnov, and where he might be staying. When I told him I never heard of his buddy, he switched subjects and queried if there had been any unexplained deaths in town lately. When I mentioned the rash of pneumonia cases the past month, he got real excited. Cursed like a sailor in some foreign language.”

“How did you know he was swearing if it was in another tongue?” interrupted Jack.

“Curses is curses,” said Big John. “No hiding those words.”

“The words are unimportant,” said Cassandra. “What matters is where this new player in the game is staying.”

“Why, at your hotel, of course,” said Big John. “I dropped him off there a few hours ago. I heard him say to the doorman he had reservations for the night. His name’s Bronsky, Boris Bronsky.”

Jack digested the name in silence. He was certain the Old Man of the Mountain had not mentioned another bidder. Bronsky was an X factor.

“Was he mortal or supernatural?” asked Jack.

“Definitely mortal,” said Big John. “You folks involved in some kind of secret mission or whatever?”

“Why do you ask?” replied Jack, winking at Cassandra.

“Oh, just curious,” said the driver. “You got me wondering, with this talk of an auction and the like. Why are we heading for a pet store? You scheduled for a secret strategy conference with some spies there?”

“No such luck,” said Jack. “I need a few treats for a special dog.”

“It must be special if you’re in such a hurry,” said Big John. “You got this pet of yours up in your hotel room?”

“He’s no pet,” said Jack. “His name is Cerberus, the Hound of Hell.”

“Cerberus?” said Big John. “Ain’t he an aardvark?”

“You’re thinking of the comic book character,” replied Jack. “This monster lives beneath the Seven Wonders of the World Resort and is guarding my kidnapped girlfriend.”

“Girlfriend?” Big John’s shoulders hunched together and his voice dropped an octave. “Kidnapped. And you’re planning to rescue her?”

“You got it,” said Jack. “Tonight.”

“Those three hoodlums at the hotel involved in the scam?” asked Big John.

“Definitely,” said Jack. “It’s too complicated to explain all the sordid details in a few minutes, but the gist of it is simple enough. There’s a major auction of dangerous drugs taking place at the casino office tonight. Attending it are a number of major crime lords. My partner and I work for a secret agency trying to break up the operation. The bosses knew they couldn’t buy me off, so they kidnapped my sweetheart. One move on my part and she’s history.”