Robert Weinberg - A Calculated Magic

“Is goodt decision,” said Boris Bronsky when the Valkyrie left to speak with the Old Man of the Mountain. “Enough fighting for one night. We won, no?”

“No,” answered Cassandra, before Jack could reply. “Hasan al-Sabbah’s immortal and close to invulnerable. The Old Man of the Mountain is a deadly foe and he won’t forget this defeat. Nor will the Crouching One. You’ve foiled its plans twice now. Until we eliminate those two fiends, your life will be in constant danger.”

Jack merely smiled. “Don’t fret,” he said to Cassandra. “The evening’s not over. Why not say hello to the Valkyries? I’m sure they’d be happy to see you. Help them supervise the ghuls’ evacuation. And listen for a phone call.”

“A phone call?” repeated Boris Bronsky, as a perplexed Cassandra wandered off. “You’re expecting an important message?”

“A friend I never met,” said Jack, “is going to solve one of my problems in a most unexpected manner.”

It took twenty minutes to clear the throne room of ghuls. Their departure left Jack, Cassandra, the birds, and Boris, along with the Valkyries and their pets, facing the Old Man of the Mountain and the Crouching One. To no one’s surprise, Loki and the frost giants had made a quick exit immediately after the arrival of the Valkyrior. The Sly One was no favorite of the warrior maidens and he knew it.

“You win this round, Collins,” snarled Hasan al-Sabbah, “but there will be other games. And you won’t be able to hide behind the skirts of these women forever.”

“My, he’s a spiteful character,” said Jack’s aunt Hannah. It was difficult remembering the names and faces of six newly acquired relatives, but Jack was adjusting quickly. Plus, Hugo supplied the correct identity when necessary. “Maybe we should tie him in a sack and bury the bag in the Gobi Desert for a few years. That would teach the old goat some manners, I bet.”

“It might not be a had idea,” declared Aunt Siglunda. “What do you say, nephew?”

“I’m afraid it would be an exercise in futility,” said Jack. “Hasan al-Sabbah’s pretty indestructible and is a master schemer. Sooner or later, he’d escape from whatever prison we employed and come after me again. There’s a simpler and better means to vanquish him.”

“Nonsense,” said the Old Man of the Mountain. “I am implacable, vindictive, and without mercy. You will never master me, Collins. You’re not ruthless enough.”

As if in response to Hasan’s bragging, the phone in the corner rang. Jack grinned. Perfect timing.

“Better get it,” he said to al-Sabbah. “It’s for you.”

“Who calls at this hour?” asked the Old Man of the Mountain, puzzled. He walked over to the telephone and picked up the receiver. “Yes?”

The Old Man’s face clouded in annoyance. “Can’t he wait until the morning? I am busy at the moment,” He paused, listening intently. “He said what? Repeat that—at once.”

Hasan al-Sabbah’s features turned from white to ashen gray. His harsh voice sank to a shocked whisper. “Yes, I heard you perfectly. Send him up. Immediately. I will wait here.”

A shriveled husk of a man staggered back to the obsidian throne. The Old Man of the Mountain collapsed in his chair, his blazing eyes transformed to burned-out cinders.

“You,” he muttered, barely able to turn and stare at Jack, “orchestrated this disaster. The one who approaches comes at your bidding.”

“Merlin arranged the details,” said Jack, “but I called the shots. Your history betrayed you,” Jack pursed his lips, as if in deep contemplation. “Perhaps I’m more ruthless than you thought.”

The elevator door slid open. Out of the lift stepped Megan, Big John, and a short, squat Asian man dressed in a conservative three-piece suit carrying a brown attaché case. Spotting the group clustered around the throne, they walked forward.

“We should be going, nephew,” whispered Aunt Gretta, “but this is too good to miss. The show must go on—but a little later than usual tonight.”

Megan, catching sight of Jack, rushed over and threw her arms around his neck. The following few moments blurred as his sweetheart kissed him with the intensity of an atomic explosion. When he recovered his equilibrium, Jack noted that his six aunts were all beaming with pride.

“Nice girl,” declared Boris Bronsky. “Friend of yours?”

“My fiancée,” said Jack. “Megan, this is Boris Bronsky, a friend and ally from Russia. And if you haven’t already guessed, the Six-Gun Sweethearts are my mother’s sisters, the Choosers of the Slain from Norse mythology.”

“Pleased to meet you,” said Megan cheerfully. “Sorry we were a bit delayed. Toshura’s plane didn’t arrive until eleven-fifteen. We rushed over here as quick as possible. Big John broke nearly every traffic law on the books. I was worried we would arrive too late.”

“No problem,” said Jack. “I’ll tell you all about it later,” The oriental visitor had reached the obsidian throne. “I want to hear what our friend has to say.”

“It was nice seeing him again,” whispered Megan. “We met in Japan last year when Dad was working on the big Godzilla oxygenation project.”

“ Shhh ,” said Jack as the Japanese businessman began to speak.

“Mr. Hasan al-Sabbah, I presume?” he asked rhetorically. “I am Toshura Miyamoto, senior partner of Akasaka Holdings International. My company represents a number of Japanese Firms interested in investing funds in valuable real estate in the United States of America. For several years, we have been anxious to acquire a casino in Las Vegas. Many of our wealthy tourists visit this city expressly to gamble. A resort catering to their special needs, operated and owned by their countrymen, would no doubt be a tremendous success.”

“No doubt,” said Hasan al-Sabbah, dryly.

“My friend and associate, Mr. Ambrose, contacted me the other day and informed me of the possibility of acquiring the Seven Wonders of the World Resort. Aware of the constantly shifting circumstances, Akasaka Holdings acted with all possible speed. With the cooperation of Ambrose Associates, my firm was able to purchase in the past day the outstanding stock, notes, and debts on the property. We completed the last transaction, with a gentleman known as The Man, only a few hours ago.”

Miyamoto bowed. “I regret to inform you that this hotel no longer belongs to Hashashin Enterprises. It is now part of Akasaka Holdings International. That is why I am here—to facilitate the transfer of ownership of the property as smoothly and quickly as possible. The necessary documents are in my briefcase.”

Hasan al-Sabbah drew in a deep breath. “Of course. I understand your concern, Mr. Miyamoto, and will do everything in my power to assure a swift and orderly transition,” The Old Man of the Mountain hesitated for a second. “By some small chance, were any of your ancestors Mongols?”

Miyamoto stared at al-Sabbah with a curious expression on his face. “How intriguing. My friend, Mr. Ambrose, asked the exact same question the other day. My great-great-grandmother came from Mongolia, According to family tradition, she traced her ancestry back to the great khans.”

“She didn’t exaggerate,” declared the Old Man of the Mountain sadly. “The resemblance is quite remarkable.”

Hasan al-Sabbah didn’t elaborate and Mr. Miyamoto was too polite to ask what he meant. The Old Man of the Mountain sluggishly raised himself from his throne. “Come,” he said wearily, stepping to the floor, “I will introduce you to my senior staff.”

A broken Hasan al-Sabbah stopped in front of Jack. “I salute you, Collins. Defeating me by purely economic means is both diabolical and depraved. It is a scheme worthy of the most heinous masterminds.”