"All right," Circe said, picking up her handbag with shaking hands. "There's a place along the shoreline..." She gasped. The pocketbook fell to the floor.
"What is it?" He followed her eyes to the doorway, where eight big black men stood. They held clubs, and their steely eyes were riveted on Remo and the girl. As Remo watched, the men walked toward them slowly. "We've got company," Remo said. "Did you bring your car?"
She nodded, the corners of her mouth white with saliva.
"Get in it and wait for me."
"But there are too many of them—"
"Go. Run." He pushed her out of the way of the oncoming thugs.
Two of the men swung sticks above their heads. The music faded to scattered, tuneless sounds, then died. A woman's scream set off the stampede for the door. People rushed everywhere, overturning tables and knocking each other down as they hurried to clear the room for the lone white man surrounded by a circle of paid fighters.
One of the thugs hurled his club at Remo's head. Remo held out his arm, palm flat, and met the blow squarely. The club shattered in the man's hand. Then, with one finger, Remo lodged the man's nose up into his brain while he kicked out at the tightening circle. Two more fell, groaning, to the floor.
The air whistled. So swift that it was almost invisible, a leather cat-o'-nine-tails cracked, its metal-tipped streamers shooting out toward Remo's chest.
"In the holy name of Abraxas," the man holding the whip cried.
"In the holy name of Holy Mackerel," Remo said. With a subtle motion of his hands, he extended his fingertips to meet the steel ends of the cat. The tiny balls sprang back with nine chiming pings and embedded themselves like bullets into the forehead of the man who held the whip. He stood stock still for a moment, the nine red holes in his head too deep to bleed, as his eyes glazed and he fell forward over a table with a crash.
They were all on him now, fists pummeling the air as again and again they pounded at the thin young man with the thick wrists who moved so quickly that no one could strike him. A head splintered against a wall, gushing blood like a fountain; one man armed with a long knife wailed in terror as he beheld his weapon in his right hand and the bloody stump where his left had been. The smell of death crept into the dim, sweat-smelling room as men screamed and prayed against the magic of the white man who could kill as easily as he breathed.
Then the lights went out. The already shadowy room was plunged into utter darkness.
Remo widened his pupils to see. A few men were left, strewn around the floor waiting in despair for their final death blows. No one was fighting anymore.
"Tell Abraxas he's next," Remo said, and walked out.
The white Opel was waiting by the doorway. As Remo climbed in, it skidded away down the dirt road.
"Was it you who pulled the lights?" he asked.
Circe nodded. "I thought it would help you escape. The odds were somewhat against you." She stuck a cigarette into her mouth and lit it with violently trembling fingers.
"You smoke too much," Remo said. "Keep that up, and you won't live long."
She expelled a dry, bitter little laugh and drove on.
?Chapter Thirteen
She turned off into a wooded copse where the scrub pines concealed the car from the road. It was a dark night, overcast by heavy clouds that hid the moon from view.
"The shore's down there, past the hill," Circe said, gesturing forward with her chin. "You can't see it tonight, but there's a cave nearby. We can talk there."
"Don't you think you're being a little paranoid?" Remo said, picking his way through the sharp rocks along the deserted beach. Big tufts of algae and sea grass grew in the sand holes where the water gushed in rhythmically and, hissing, withdrew. "No one could have followed us here."
"You don't know Abraxas," she said. The red glow of her cigarette led him into a cool place smelling of sea and everlasting darkness.
"The cave I spoke about," Circe said. "We'll be safe here." She settled into a moss-covered cleft of smooth rock. "I don't even know where to begin."
"Start with Abraxas. Who is he?"
His eyes were already at home in the darkness. Circe sat on her haunches, her arms wrapped around her knees, as she began to pick up the threads of the story that had ended here for her, in this secret place, begging a stranger for help.
"Abraxas isn't his read name," she said hesitantly. "His real name is Perseus Mephisto. His father was a shipping tycoon."
"Greek?"
"Yes. I, too, am Greek, although I've spent much of my life traveling." She lit a cigarette off the butt still glowing between her fingers. "The Mephisto family was very wealthy. In their house at Corinth alone, more than fifty servants were housed. I was one of them."
Remo said, "You don't act like anybody's servant."
"I'm not anymore. Not exactly, anyway." She sighed. "I was young when I lived in Corinth. Both my parents worked for the family, and I did small chores around the house to help my mother. Perseus was already a young man by the time I was ten years old. He used to tell me that when I grew up I would be beautiful." Involuntarily, she touched the scar on her face.
"He was right about that," Remo said, removing her hand. "You are."
She took a deep drag from her cigarette. "I adored him. All i remember about my youth is Perseus. Perseus, on his father's great ship, the wind ruffling his hair. Perseus coming home on his visits from the university, running up the servants' staircase to lift me so high, I could touch the ceiling. Perseus... it was always Perseus. He was as brilliant and warm as the sun itself, and handsome as a god."
"Are we talking about the same man?" Remo asked. "The one who's trying to kill us both?"
"He's different now," she said softly. Her eyes were strange and faraway, as if trying to envision a past as distant and removed from the present as a drugged dream.
"It didn't happen all at once. I started to notice the change in him when Perseus entered the family business. He was the firstborn son. In a family like the Mephistos, that's like being heir to a throne. Perseus was groomed to take over his father's empire."
"What happened? Didn't he measure up to his old man? Happens all the time," Remo said, thinking briefly of Chiun.
"Quite the opposite," Circe said. "From what I understood, he was brilliant. His mother was very proud of him. But after seeing his son's successes, his father complained that Perseus was too rash and too independent. I think that Mephisto was envious of his son's ability. He was an arrogant man, and hated it when Perseus went against him on matters of policy, even though his son's ideas were usually better than his own." She paused as if collecting her thoughts.
"It was around that time that Perseus began to confide in me. I was still young, but I was no longer a child. He often told me that I was wise beyond my years, and that was why he trusted me. Actually, though, I think I was his only friend during those months. I was fifteen."
"Was he your lover?"
"No. He was not like ordinary men, even then. He shunned women— all personal contacts, really. He said that great men must stand alone." She smiled. "He called me his siren," she said. "I was the temptation that whetted his appetites and gave him strength. In some twisted way, he believed that by resisting me he became greater."
"I remember that story from school," Remo said. "Listening to the sirens' song without giving in to it. What is it? Ulysses?"
"Exactly. That's when he began to call me Circe. To tell the truth, I like thinking of myself that way. It was a far cry from the cleaning girl I was during the days. It made me love him more than ever.
"Then one day he told his father of his plans to take over the business. Mephisto laughed at him. He said he wouldn't be ready to retire for years. He hurt Perseus even more by saying he was going to bring his younger sons into the business as well. For Perseus, it was an insult beyond bearing. He came to me that evening, still trembling with anger. He called his father terrible things, and said that the old man's time had passed. He said he would take power from his father. 'How?' I asked him. He said, I'll have to kill him.'