He doubted if any of them would adjust easily to the notion that magical entities shared man’s world.
Mathematicians, however, dealt with abstractions. Accepted beliefs meant nothing to them. Abstractions governed the universe. Prove a statement true and it was true. Thus, when Merlin originally demonstrated that magic worked, Jack accepted it as truth. He merely adjusted his frame of reference. As would any mathematician. It was all, he reflected, perfectly logical.
Hasan al-Sabbah interrupted Jack’s thoughts by clapping his hands together sharply three times. Immediately, all conversation in the room ceased. “My friends,” announced the Old Man of the Mountain, “we are ready to begin. Please be seated. The proceedings will commence in a few moments.”
“Wait,” said the Crouching One, raising one gnarled hand in protest. The demigod spoke with a surprisingly mild voice. “Before we start the bidding, I want to personally thank the representatives from the Brotherhood of Holy Destruction for rescuing Professor Karsnov from certain death in Russia. If it was not for their swift action, none of us would be here tonight They are true heroes.”
Smith and Wesson appeared astonished. Jack couldn’t blame them. According to Hugo, the demigod had been livid with rage over the fact that the terrorists double-crossed him and delivered the scientist to the Old Man of the Mountain. The Crouching One did not strike Jack as a God who forgave and forgot.
“A commendable attitude,” said Hasan al-Sabbah, his voice betraying his own bewilderment at the demigod’s unexpected shift in opinion.
“Come,” said the Lord of Lions, stepping over to the two fanatics, “let me congratulate you both,” The demigod thrust forward its hand. “Gentlemen, I salute your courage.”
Hesitantly, Smith reached out and grasped Nergal’s outstretched hand. When nothing unusual occurred, the tall man grinned, revealing a mouthful of yellowing, broken teeth. Moments later, his companion also accepted the demigod’s commendatory handshake.
“Wonderful,” said Hasan al-Sabbah. “Let bygones be bygones. Now may we begin?”
Only Jack noted that Roger Quinn’s face had turned a sickly shade of green. He wondered what was behind Nergal’s actions. Somehow he suspected it wouldn’t be a lengthy wait before he found out.
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.”