Robert Weinberg - A Calculated Magic

Roger smothered a smile. The demigod was completely unaware of his own plans. Tonight, it was going to receive an unexpected jolt. As were Hasan al-Sabbah and any other supernatural beings present. Nor was Roger convinced that Jack Collins and his allies were not nearby. The mathematical magician had displayed an astonishing talent for turning up at the right place at the right time. As before, the Crouching One was underestimating Collins’s abilities.

“What about the representatives from the Brotherhood of Holy Destruction?” he asked. “And Loki and his frost giants?”

“Annoyances, nothing more,” said the Crouching One, dismissing his competition with a wave of a hand. Blue sparks flickered from his fingertips. “I have a score to settle with the Brotherhood. They rescued Karsnov using my information, but afterward they refused to deal directly with me. Instead, they went to the Old Man of the Mountain. Their mistake shall cost them dearly.”

The demigod laughed, an unnerving sound. “As to Loki, I know him from olden days. He is still the same sniveling coward, hiding behind brainless henchmen. I have nothing but contempt for the Sly One. He is a worm. If he stumbles into my path, I will crush him beneath my heel.”

Roger placed his book on an end table. Like most murder mysteries, he found it too contrived for his tastes. Normally, he read computer manuals for relaxation. But he had been unable to find one in the resort’s newsstand.

“Hasan al-Sabbah won’t be pleased if the auction flops,” he remarked. “The Old Man of the Mountain is counting on generating a fortune to pay off his bet. I gather a representative of his major creditor flew in specifically to observe the proceedings.”

“Then he wasted a trip,” said the Crouching One. “The plague virus will be mine. At the price I set.”

“Why do you want the stuff anyway?” asked Roger. It was rare that the demigod was this talkative. Inadvertently, it might reveal some important information. Roger understood the importance of taking advantage of the moment. “How can a plague virus reestablish your power?”

“The greatest power in the world, my befuddled human servant,” said the Crouching One, “is fear. Though the last of my worshipers died thousands of years ago, the same terrors that frightened them continue to haunt mortals today. I ruled ancient Babylon as the God of Death and Destruction. Plague served as my loyal servant, chastising those who disobeyed my commands. A small amount of pain, properly applied, worked wonders. What I accomplished then I can do again, once I am equipped with the proper tools.”

“But people won’t worship a disease,” protested Roger.

“No,” said the Crouching One, “but they will bow down to the one who controls that disease. They will worship me or perish. Do not mistake cynicism for intelligence, sophistication for knowledge. Civilization is a thin shell, with barbarism lurking close beneath the surface. The wars raging right now in Africa and Eastern Europe demonstrate how easily mankind reverts to savagery.”

The Lord of the Lions chuckled. “To use your own terminology, I am an expert at pushing the right buttons. Using the plague virus selectively, I will undermine the basic tenets of your society. Darkness will descend upon the Earth. And as darkness engulfs the world, I shall emerge once again as the supreme master of everlasting night. Nergal, Lord of Death, will reign supreme.”

“Very dramatic,” said Roger, shaken more than he cared to admit, “But it all hinges on you obtaining the anthrax germs.”

Blue sparks crackled like fireworks over the Crouching One’s forehead. “In a few hours, the Old Man of the Mountain will discover my will is not easily thwarted. He will deliver the plague virus to me, or suffer the consequences.”

The demigod’s fingers curled like claws. Sparks leapt from one digit to another. Remembering the deadly spots on his elbow, Roger shivered. He muttered a silent prayer to the printout in his pocket. If it didn’t work tonight, he was doomed. And from the sound of the Crouching One’s threats, the entire world was doomed with him.

Cassandra led the way descending the steps. Though the nymphs had assured them that the three security guards were occupied with their dinner, the Amazon didn’t believe in taking unnecessary chances. “A true professional assumes nothing,” she declared. “One man with heartburn, searching the locker room for antacid pills, could ruin our entire venture. With me in front, he’ll never have a chance to alert the others.”

Jack wasn’t about to object. He fought to the best of his ability when necessary, but he was not in Cassandra’s class. As the Logical Magician, he was content to play his role as the master planner. To him, being a hero meant using his brains. Conan the Conqueror had his place in the universe, but battling fiends in the neon jungle of Las Vegas was not it.

It was nearly a hundred steps to the bottom of the stairwell. Jack, walking a few steps behind the Amazon, kept his gaze fixed to Cassandra’s neck. Early on, she had made it quite clear that if he looked anywhere else, he would be very, very sorry. Though temptation gnawed at him, Jack kept it at bay by concentrating on the vision of an angry Amazon handing him his eyeballs on a platter. It worked wonderfully well as a deterrent.

The locker room was empty. Lining the walls were nearly fifty brightly lighted dressing tables, like those used in nightclubs. Behind them were a series of a hundred metal lockers. One door led off to the powder room and shower. A second consisted of a steel frame and two pieces of frosted glass. Next to the door, engraved in the brick wall, were etched the words, Entrance to Paradise. Best Behavior, Please. The Customer Is Always Right. Especially Here.

“Evidently, not everyone agrees with the sentiments,” whispered Cassandra, pointing to a line of graffiti scratched directly below the company motto. “The difference between heaven and bell is merely a matter of perspective.”

“Beyond this portal,” whispered Jack, “is the guard post. Once you’ve taken care of them, we’re free to enter Paradise and find Megan. Can you handle it?”

Cassandra grinned. “Three humans against one Amazon? Those aren’t odds, they’re a sure thing. Give me two minutes. Since I’m not carrying any weapons, I want to be positive that none of them are—”

Without warning, the door to the inner chamber opened, cutting off Cassandra in midsentence. A big, husky figure, nearly seven feet tall and dressed in a black-and-gold uniform, stared at Cassandra in surprise, “What are you doing here?” he growled, in a deep bass voice. “You’re twenty minutes late.”

Then the giant’s features knotted in bewilderment. “Wait a minute. Who the hell are you? We don’t got no tall, dark houris working here,” The guard’s eyes widened in astonishment. “And who the hell is that guy? No humans are allowed in the locker area for any reason. That’s against the rules.”

“Rules are made to be broken, big boy,” said Cassandra, and grabbed the guard by the collar of his shirt. In one smooth, continuous motion, she jerked him forward and dropped her body to the floor. Her feet lanced up, caught the shocked sentry in the chest. Shrieking in disbelief, he flew over Cassandra’s head and crashed into the metal lockers behind them.

“Take care of him,” she said over her shoulder as she darted into the next room. “I’ve got to stop the other two before they set off the alarm.”

Jack whirled. Amazingly, the guard was climbing to his feet, shaking his head more in surprise than in pain. Obviously, Hasan al-Sabbah stationed his most dependable servants at the entrance to Paradise. Grimly, Jack noted the giant had no aura. He was supernatural in origin.