Assassin (16 page)

“On the contrary,” Hawke said through gritted teeth, “I read my horoscope this morning. Today’s going to be the best day of my life.”

Hawke staggered to his feet, ignoring the searing fire in his right side, and charged from a low crouch. He stayed low, feinting left and right before diving, and, then, lunging to his full extent, he hurled himself with all the force left in him directly at the man’s knees. Ligaments tore, cartilage ripped, and the giant bellowed in rage. But he did not go down. His face a mask of bloody fury, his coal eyes suffused with a red glow, he stooped and swung a great looping blow at Hawke’s head.

But Alex managed to scramble and roll away and was on his feet again, dodging and feinting, lunging forward to deliver slashing body blows with the edges of his hands, then springing back desperate for another opening. That’s when he saw the giant reach into the folds of his robe and withdraw a heavy flat blade from his waistband. Holding the hilt in two hands, the enraged monster advanced towards Alex, swinging his whistling sword like a scythe.

The first thrust flicked Hawke’s ribs, drawing blood. The next one Alex almost dodged, but he was a second late. The flat of the blade caught his left temple squarely. He staggered, willing himself to stay on his feet despite the roaring sound of blood pounding inside his head. The giant advanced, the blade poised above him, clearly meaning to split Hawke in half. Alex had other ideas. He managed to get his right hand up just as the stubby machete descended.

Six long weeks worth of recuperation later, Tippu Tip was released from St. Thomas’s Hospital. He had suffered a broken nose, a crushed sternum, a splintered clavicle, three fractured fingers, and two broken legs. In addition, his right ear had been torn off, but had been, somewhat successfully, reattached.

And Alex Hawke never did get round to sending him a get-well card.

T
HERE WERE A HUNDRED EYES IN THE ROCKY PASS, AND BIN
Wazir could feel every one of them. His frozen caravan approached, then finally staggered to a halt at the outer walls of the fortress. The ancient white stone walls, some thirty feet thick, rose to a height of over sixty. Attila had taken this fortress once and was the only one who’d lived to tell the tale.

The White Palace.

Within minutes, the four sumo giants had unlashed and removed the ebony chaise from between the exhausted beasts. As bin Wazir was being lowered to the ground, Tippu went forward to the heavily armed sentries to announce their arrival. Such an announcement of the obvious was ridiculous but customary. When one visited the Emir, one adhered to custom.

The penalties for noncompliance were severe. Eyes gouged out, the living burial, the swift loss of hands and feet—these were only a few of the Emir’s ways of keeping order and control within the walls of his fortress and among the ranks of agents and sleepers flung to every corner of the earth. The cage was reserved for more serious breeches of decorum.

Snay bin Wazir would enter the gates in a simple black lacquer chair. It wouldn’t do for the Emir to see his elegant ebony sedan, or even the magnificent robes of snow leopard that bin Wazir now removed to reveal a simple black burnoose. The Emir knew of bin Wazir’s sumptuous and exotic tastes, but it would be the height of suicidal stupidity to remind him.

There was a grinding of steel on steel as the massive gates began retracting within the walls. The blizzard had abated somewhat and bin Wazir raised his eyes to the top of the wall, looking up at the sentries looking down at him. They knew who he was but it didn’t stop them from training their weapons on him. This was the Emir’s standard welcoming committee. Heavily armed men, largely unseen, would be watching every move he made until his caravan was once more outside these walls and the gates closed behind him.

But now they were standing inside one of the most closely guarded, highly fortified, and impenetrable places on earth. The vast white marble and stone complex, regularly swept clean of snow, contained a warren of small roads and paths leading to the various buildings, homes, shops, and military facilities within its walls.

And, buried deep beneath the fortress, a labyrinth of massive, bombproof bunkers. The deepest was said to be impervious to all but a direct nuclear blast.

The four sumos and Tippu Tip were subjected to a total body search. The Japanese had been forewarned and remained sublimely indifferent to what would normally be an intolerable degradation. The Pasha’s five men would be led to a garrison where they would be fed and housed for the night. The Pasha would meet alone with the Emir in the residence. A small sleeping chamber would then be provided for him until, hopefully, his party departed at dawn with their heads intact.

The camel drivers and camel boys took the mounts off to be fed and stabled, and bin Wazir found himself alone, ignored, and somewhat wobbly, leaning on his stout walking stick just inside the gates. A minute later, a group of six imperial guards, tall bearded men in identical white robes and turbans, approached him, bowed slightly, then separated to provide a space for him in the center of their formation. They turned and marched him up the main steps of the residence and through the arched entrance, then disappeared.

He stood alone, waiting in a massive empty chamber of pure white marble, keenly aware of the ascetic quality of the Emir’s residence. There was no trace of decoration, no hint of luxury within these walls and bin Wazir knew this was true throughout the entire fortress. It was said the simple purity of the white stone was but a shining outward reflection of the Emir’s soul itself.

Musing upon what this surely said about his own soul, he was startled by the appearance of a tiny man wearing the familiar yellow robe and a black turban. This was Benazir, the wizened personal servant of the Emir.

“Allah be praised, you’ve made it safely,” Benazir said, his hands clasped together before his small, wrinkled face. “Follow this way, please. His Eminence the Emir is with his orchids. He has been told of your arrival.”

Bin Wazir followed the little elf through endless marble halls and passageways until they came to the gardens. Benazir placed his hand upon a towering wall of glass and it instantly slid down into the floor. The thick air was wet, steamy and so redolent of blooming orchids as to almost stagger the still unthawed Snay bin Wazir.

The Emir’s White Palace had nearly two acres under glass.

Snay, who had no knowledge of botany, was passing through some of the most exotic species of flora gathered in one place on the planet. The glass walls and roof were heavily misted and fat drops of moisture splashed down on the plants. The light inside was greenish and unreal, like light filtered through a vast aquarium. Snay did his best to keep up with Benazir, but was continually smacked in the face with sodden leaves.

They found the Emir seated on one of two stone benches in the middle of a small oval space paved with white stone. This small garden was overhung with lovely white blossoms, all seeming to be of the same species of orchid. Songbirds and butterflies flitted about in abundant profusion.

Benazir and the visitor dropped immediately to their knees in deference and bent forward, their foreheads touching the cool white marble, slick with moisture.

“Dendrobians,” the Emir said softly in his sing-song voice, delicately stroking a blossom. “You may rise. Be seated and enjoy them in silence for a few moments, Snay. When I have finished conversing with them, you shall have my undivided attention.”

Snay gratefully collapsed his huge frame on the bench opposite. He breathed deeply, and took this time to study the Emir, looking for clues as to his present mood and disposition.

The Emir was tall and wraithlike beneath his flowing white robes. His beatific face was framed with curls of snow-white hair and a full white beard lay upon his chest. Snay bin Wazir had never seen such physical grace in another human. His long, delicate white fingers caressing the orchids reminded Snay bin Wazir of those of the harpist he’d hired five years earlier to play in the lobby of Beechum’s. But then—

“It has been some time since your last visit,” the Emir said, finally turning his powerful dark eyes on bin Wazir. “You have grown most notably of girth.”

“I am most sorry, Excellency, but—”

The Emir held up a hand to silence him. Bin Wazir shifted uncomfortably under his gaze. The Emir had hard black eyes and, once he pinned you with them, their force was unshakable.

“It was not a rebuke,” the old man said, in his papery whispered voice, “It was a statement of fact. Facts, not feelings, interest the Emir this day. You have brought some with you? Facts?”

“Indeed, Excellency,” bin Wazir said. “I have much news that I pray will please you, King who is Most High.”

“You are making progress in our Holy War against the infidels? Our assassins have some successes? Speak! I desire every detail. Every word about my beautiful
hashishiyyun.
”

The word
assassin
has its origins in the bowl of the hashish pipe. Derived from the ancient Arabian political concept of
hashishiyyun,
originally, the word was derogatory, meaning ‘hashish taker.’ Over centuries, it had evolved to connote a captive harem of seductive assassins, kept faithful and ever more dependent by the constant supply of hashish. The sweet scent of the potent hemp, the lush surroundings of the lord’s luxuriant gardens, and the lure of willing love slaves all served to keep a ready supply of seductive and resourceful killers on hand. All eager to please their revered provider.

“Yes, Excellency,” bin Wazir said, risking a smile for the first time. It looked as if he might keep his head after all. “Your humble servant comes bearing gifts of the
hashishiyyun
that greatly exceed his pitiful powers of description.”

“Yes?”

Snay bin Wazir then handed the Emir the leather satchel he’d been carrying inside his robes. The Emir delicately unfastened the silver buckle and eagerly peered inside. When he looked up, he rewarded Snay with a radiant smile. The dangerous journey through the bandit-infested mountains now seemed an infinitely small price to pay.

“Allah be praised,” the Emir said. “You were able to obtain the visual records I demanded?”

“The stuff of many ecstatic hours, Most Revered One. I myself have viewed the videos countless times. My engineers have been working to improve the quality of the sound and pictures. Your summons came just as they completed their technical work. I pray you will not be disappointed.”

The Emir clapped his hands smartly and Benazir appeared through a tangle of orchids. He took the satchel, bowing deeply.

“I shall watch these immediately following evening prayers. Make sure all is in readiness.”

Benazir bowed deeply and disappeared the way he’d arrived, a soundless apparition.

“And your report?” the Emir asked with a level gaze.

“Four of the initial five components of Phase I have been successfully completed by the
hashishiyyun,
Excellency, as you will see with your own eyes this very night. Preparations for the final component of this phase are well under way.”

“And, so far, what is the reaction of the Satanists?”

“As you predicted, oh Great Sire and Redeemer. Widespread panic in their diplomatic community. Confusion. Fear reigns where the arrogance of the nonbelievers once held sway.”

“The Americans are even weaker than we thought.”

“Wickedness breeds weakness, as you have told me many times, Emir.”

The Emir’s black eyes narrowed then and Snay realized, with a spike of terror, the stupidity of his remark. Wicked and weak. The Emir’s precise definition of Snay himself. He had but a split second to recover and his mind was racing.

“You, the exemplar of all that is profane, dare,
dare
speak to me of wickedness and weakness?” the Emir said, and Snay bowed his head.

“I know that you live in a world on a plane far above my own, Most Revered Emir. But my belief in our global Holy War against the infidels gives me strength and faith beyond measure,” Snay said.

“Your faith is beyond transparent as well as measure, Snay, son of Machmud. Were it not for my Yasmin’s abiding love for you, I should never abide an abomination such as you. Ah, well, it is as it is. We will have our reckoning one day, you and I.”

“When my earthly work is done, when my service to the Great Redeemer of our people is complete, then I shall accept my fate with honor, Excellency.”

The Emir waved this familiar verbal flatulence away with a sharp gesture of his hand beneath his nose, glaring at the creature who, through some cruel joke, was husband to his cherished Yasmin.

“I will need confirmation from my agents in the field that the first phase has produced the desired effect. If all is as you say it is, and the fifth attack is perfectly executed, I am prepared to move at once to the second phase. Do you have a Phase II target in mind?”

“Most Revered One, I have had this target in mind for many, many years.”

“And the
hashishiyyun
who will execute it?”

“She is well beyond sufficient, Excellency.”

“Which one? Amaryllis? Aubergine, perhaps?”

“Ah, the Deadly Nightshade. No, sire. It is another, just as good. The Rose.”

“Well, see to it. I am eager to move quickly. Tell me. The preparations for staging our ultimate jihad?”

“Well under way, Sire. Most assuredly.”

“A suitable staging location is critical. Dr. Soong has precise scientific requirements.”

“Indeed, Sire. I own a remote island hotel in Indonesia. Suva Island itself is accessible only by a jungle airstrip controlled by my forces. Soong and I believe it is perfect for our needs. The Angel of Death will fly from Suva Island.”

The Emir held a pale pink butterfly up before his eyes and for a moment Snay thought he would pop it into his mouth and eat it, so pleased did he seem by what the Pasha had described.

“America’s Day of Judgment,” the Emir said. “I see it so very clearly now.”

“Yes, Sire, I share your vision.”

“Millions will die,” the Emir whispered to the flower.

“No, Sire,” Snay bin Wazir said softly, “Tens of millions will feel the shadow of the angel.”

Without a word, the Emir returned his gaze to his lush white orchids, and Snay bin Wazir realized that he’d been dismissed. He laid a hand to the side of his head to reassure himself that it was still there and then he vanished quickly and silently into the Emir’s gardens.

The Emir, alone once more with his beloved orchids, stroked the soft white blossoms and buried his nose amongst them, whispering to the flowers.

“All that is necessary for the triumph of good,” he said, laughing softly at the perfect perversion of his own small joke, “is for evil men to do nothing.”