“Good move,” said the Amazon, “Why confuse him with the truth.”
Frowning, Cassandra surveyed the room. “Did you notice that Roger Quinn is still missing? I wonder what’s keeping him?”
“Here he comes now,” muttered Hugo. “Over there, by the elevator. He’s unfolding a piece of paper.”
“Mr. Quinn,” called Hasan al-Sabbah from in front of his throne, “please be seated. We are about to continue the auction.”
“One second,” Roger said, and staring down at the document in his hands, began reading in a loud voice.
“O spirits of darkness, who are wicked and disobedient, hear my commands and obey. Let those who are named Nergal, Master of Destruction; Hasan al-Sabbah; Loki, the Sly Trickster; and any others present of lesser rank but supernatural origin, heed my words and obey. The Curse of the Chains binds you to me forever and aye. By the glorious and incomprehensible names of the true God and creator of all things, by the irresistible power of those same names, I curse thee into the bottom of the Bottomless Pit. There thou shall remain until the Day of Judgment unless thou heed my each and every command and do my will.”
“Oh, brother,” murmured Hugo in Jack’s ear as Quinn paused for a breath. “The Curse of the Chains. I haven’t heard that clinker in centuries. I wonder if he’s mastered the correct pronunciation of the holy names. That’s the section that separates the magicians from the apprentices.”
Jack quickly scanned the room. Loki, Hasan al-Sabbah, and Nergal appeared frozen in place. The Afreet hovered above the table with the plague vial, looking puzzled. As did Boris Bronsky. Cassandra, standing absolutely motionless, winked.
“Obey me now,” continued Roger, sweat dripping down his forehead, “in the mighty names of Adonai, Zebaoth, Amioram, Tetragrammaton, Anexhexeton, and Primematum. Obey me always in the names of Baralamensis, Baldachiensis, Paumachie, Apolorosedes, and Liachide. Obey me, now and forever, amen.”
No one moved. No one spoke. For an instant, time stopped. Reaching into his pocket, Roger pulled out a revolver. “Now, I’m in charge,” he declared, cheerfully.
“Not really,” said Loki, shaking his head. He applauded politely. “But you did recite that spell nicely.”
“An excellent job,” agreed Hasan al-Sabbah. “One rarely hears that many sacred names invoked with the proper accents. It must have taken many hours of study.”
“But… but,” stuttered Roger, sounding confused, “you’re bound by the Curse of the Chains. You can’t move or talk without my permission. I uttered the spell perfectly. It had to work. You’re my slaves.”
“These fools never learn,” said the Old Man of the Mountain. He clapped his hands. “Guards, take charge of this idiot before he accidentally does some real damage with that toy gun.”
Mentally, Jack groaned when three gigantic ghuls emerged from a sliding door in the wall. He had hoped Hasan employed cult members in his chambers. Cassandra could hold off a horde of ordinary humans for hours if necessary. She was no match for dozens of ghuls. Timing remained critical if they hoped to survive.
“Don’t kill him,” said Nergal, shaking its head in disgust. “Despite Roger’s faults, he normally performs his tasks adequately. He can’t help being greedy. Training a new assistant would be tiresome.”
“But why didn’t the spell work?” demanded Quinn, struggling helplessly in the arms of his captors. “The summoning spell I originally used to raise you from the outer darkness functioned perfectly. All the spells I recited summoning demons ran smoothly. What went wrong with the Curse of Chains?”
Supernaturals couldn’t resist a question, no matter who asked it. They loved to talk. It was part of their nature.
“The answer is obvious,” said Loki. “We supernaturals have been closely involved with the publishing industry since its beginnings. Didn’t you ever hear the phrase, ‘printers’ devil’? While we see nothing wrong with issuing books containing summoning spells, we are not foolish enough to permit any binding spells to be published intact. That would be suicidal. You pronounced the incantations perfectly, foolish mortal. However, the spell itself, as written, is gibberish. As are all magical charms and enchantments of that category available to the general public. Your attempted rebellion was doomed from the start.”
“Take him below,” commanded Hasan al-Sabbah, waving a hand in dismissal. “He can share the rock with the sphinx and Collins’s girlfriend. They will welcome the company.”
The ghuls, dragging a befuddled Roger Quinn, disappeared into the elevator “Now,” said the Old Man of the Mountain, “we can continue the auction in peace.”
Reaching over, Jack unzipped his bag completely, revealing the blue bottle within. He lifted it out and placed it on the floor between his and Cassandra’s chairs. The bag containing the camera and tape recorder he pushed off to the side. No one paid him any attention.
Casually, he peeked at his watch. It was exactly eleven, If the airlines could be trusted, his secret weapon was now in Las Vegas. In approximately thirty minutes, Hasan al-Sabbah was going to receive a highly unwelcome phone call. At that precise moment, Jack planned to steal the plague virus. And all hell would break loose.
It did, but not in the manner Jack had imagined.
39
“I am confused about the last bid,” said Boris Bronsky, as the auction resumed. “My government authorized me to spend lots of U.S. dollars on Karsnov’s secret. However, I cannot offer control of a section of my country as part of the deal. Maybe we could discuss some land in Siberia, but no people. Under the old system, you could probably get terms. But we are a democracy now. Trading people for merchandise is forbidden.”
The Old Man of the Mountain sighed heavily. He was starting to look older than his centuries. It had been a tiresome evening for the Lord of Assassins. “A strictly monetary bid will suffice for now. We can discuss extra incentives later. What is your bid, Mr. Bronsky?”
“Uh,” said the Russian, “I forget where we are. It is a high of seventy miltions?”
“No,” said Loki. “I bid sixty-six, then Nergal raised the ante to seventy-five. You’re at eighty-three.”
The Russian frowned. “What happened to eighty-two million, five hundred thousand? Five hundred thousand dollars is a lot of money to round off. I offer eighty-two, five. No people.”
For the first time since his arrival in al-Sabbah’s throne room. Jack relaxed. With Bronsky slowing the action to a crawl, the auction could drag on for hours. Which meant that his scheme would proceed like clockwork. All was good with the world. For about fifteen seconds.
That was when the phone in the far corner of the room rang. Startled, Jack checked his timepiece. It was only five minutes past the hour. It could not be his call.
“Use that spectacular hearing of yours to eavesdrop on this conversation,” he whispered to Hugo as Hasan al-Sabbah hurried over to the telephone.
“Yes,” said the Old Man of the Mountain curtly. His sunken eyes shrank to the size of pinpoints as he listened. “What? They’re what? They will pay for that mistake—pay dearly. Yes, you did right to continue. The girl is missing? How can that be? What does the sphinx say?” Hasan’s voice had risen with each question until he was nearly screaming. “Well, tell the dolt to forget the puzzle and answer you!”
“The guards escorting Roger to Hell found the other ghuls unconscious,” whispered Hugo. “Instead of reviving them, they rushed over to Hell. They’re calling from the phone in the sphinx’s home. You can fill in the rest.”
“Son of a bitch,” said Jack, disgusted by the unexpected turn of events. “Toss my schedule out the window. It’s history.”