Fortune Favors (10 page)

Kismet shook his head in weary disbelief. “Listen, Al. I'm sorry this has got me so upset. I’m hungry. I’m tired. I haven't slept in a bed in God only knows how long. This is just a bit much right now.”

“So you won’t help?” The Kiwi made no effort to hide his disappointment.

“Just leave me alone for now.” He tried to punctuate his request with an emphatic gesture, and only then realized that he was still holding the covered plate with his dinner. “Look, she’s welcome to use my stateroom. I’ll sleep in a deckchair or something. We can sort this out tomorrow.”

Higgins nodded slowly, the defeated expression still in evidence. “Right, then. I’ll let her know what you’ve decided.”

“Damn it,” Kismet muttered as he watched the big Kiwi disappear back down the companionway. “I was really looking forward to that bed.”

* * *

Dr. Leeds was gone, as was the steward in charge of the bar, but the contingent of security guards seemed to be a permanent fixture in the adjoining gallery. Kismet did not venture beyond the salon, but instead settled at a table near the exit and commenced his long overdue repast. The food was lukewarm and flavorless, but he barely noticed.

He struggled to get Elisabeth out of his thoughts. His anger was already yielding to the arguments Higgins had presented in her defense. He knew better, of course. Higgins had not been there in the tiger pit; had not heard her mocking laughter...

He shoveled another forkful of food into his mouth, chewing vigorously as if to shake the memory loose. “So Dr. Leeds thinks he can find the secret of immortality,” he wondered aloud, hoping that by articulating the thought, he might force his mind to switch tracks.

To some extent, it worked.

What intrigued him was the scope of Leeds’ search. In one short conversation, the man had incorporated a mosaic of Judaism, Christianity, Gnosticism, and an obscure Mesopotamian myth, into a seemingly coherent philosophy. Despite his superior manner, Leeds expressed himself with a certainty that made a person feel foolish for doubting.

Kismet searched his memory for details of the Epic of Gilgamesh. Elisabeth’s untimely intrusion had side-tracked him from his original plan to research the legend, but he still remembered his college course on mythology, where he had read translations of the tablets of
Shin-eqi-unninni
, largely considered to be the most complete account of the Epic. The tablets, recovered from the same library in the ruins of Nineveh as the prism Leeds was studying, had been tentatively dated to 2000 BCE, making them the closest thing to a contemporary account. Gilgamesh was generally accepted as an actual historic figure, king of Uruk, a city in Babylonia, though Kismet could not recall if he had ever been linked to the Nimrod of the Genesis account.

Leeds had focused on the latter third of the Epic, the final three tablets describing Gilgamesh's search for the secret of immortality. The character of Uta-Napishtim indeed bore a close resemblance to the biblical Noah; survivor of a global flood, preserving alive all species of animal life in a great boat, even right down to the detail of his sending forth birds to see if the waters had receded.

Gilgamesh himself was anything but heroic. He began the story as an oppressive king and demi-god, demanding, among other things, the right to share the bed of every virgin bride before her husband. The people of his kingdom called out to the gods for someone to deliver them from the oppressor, and their prayer was answered in the form of Enkidu, a shaggy wild man who lived in the forest and could talk to animals. At first, Enkidu and Gilgamesh fought, but soon they became fast friends. Together, they challenged and slew Humbaba, demon of the cedar forest, and in the process offended the goddess Ishtar. Humbaba's dying curse was fulfilled when Ishtar smote Enkidu with a fatal illness.

Following the death of his friend, Gilgamesh troubled by his own mortality, began the search for the immortal Uta-Napishtim and the secret of eternal life. Along the way, he was repeatedly advised to abandon his quest; even Uta-Napishtim tried to reason with Gilgamesh that human death was the will of the gods and the search for eternal life could only end in futility. The outcome of the tale, with Gilgamesh losing the plant that possessed the secret of immortality, seemed underscore this eventuality.

The story was told from Gilgamesh's point of view, a retrospect on his life, inscribed on the lapis lazuli stone foundations of his city. Gilgamesh's transformation from an oppressive jerk into Enkidu's fast friend and mourner seemed like the stuff of heroic fiction, not history. The kings of ancient times never recorded their own failings, or allowed their scribes to show them in less than favorable light.

Leeds’ premise seemed to turn on the connection between Gilgamesh and Nimrod. If the two men were one and the same, it would seem to indicate that an epic quest for a life giving plant, what Leeds thought was a Seed of the Tree of Life, really did occur. Of course, that assumed the Bible account about Nimrod—and for that matter Noah, and the Great Flood—was historically accurate, despite very little supportive evidence.

Kismet pushed his plate away and asked the bartender if there was a place where he could get computer access. A few minutes later in the ships cybercafé, he accessed an online edition of the Authorized Version of 1611, better known as the King James Version of the Holy Bible. He clicked on ‘Genesis’ and began skimming through the lines of text until he reached the first mention of Nimrod. There were only three short verses:

“And Cush begat Nimrod: he began to be a mighty one in the earth. He was a mighty hunter before the LORD: wherefore it is said, Even as Nimrod the mighty hunter before the LORD. And the beginning of his kingdom was Babel, and Erech, and Accad, and Calneh, in the land of Shinar.”

He set the book down thoughtfully. Erech was easily Uruk—the ancient name for Iraq—the city-state built and ruled by Gilgamesh in the parallel legend. In fact, both men were described as city builders and kings. It was a tenuous link, but a link nevertheless.

Still, a great distance separated Gilgamesh from the Fountain of Youth. He would have dismissed the matter as a crackpot scheme on Leeds’ part if not for one thing. Though his recall remained faint, he kept coming back to the name Henry Fortune; and something about a cave where ‘fire danced on the water.’

It had been almost exactly the same language as that used by a Spanish colonial three hundred and fifty years earlier, a man whose name curiously enough, translated into Henry Fortune. He felt certain that he had first encountered that pairing while perusing the archives of GHC and UNESCO correspondence.

Over the course of its seventy year history, the United Nations’ cultural organization had received thousands of letters, often formal request from governments and preservation societies requesting that certain historically important places receive World Heritage Site status, but interspersed among them were inquiries from private citizens. Gaining access to that prodigious database had been Kismet’s primary motivation for taking the job as Global Heritage Commission liaison; he was convinced that somewhere in those files, he would find a clue that would lead to the mysterious Prometheus organization, and answers about the mystery that had dominated his life.

Prometheus.

While the quest for Prometheus was never far from his thoughts, seeing Sergeant Higgins again had brought it all back to the surface. That night in the desert, so long ago now, had been his first and only real encounter with Prometheus. He had surmised that they were some kind of secret society devoted to scooping up sacred relics—he could only guess about what else they had their hands in—but could not fathom their interest in him personally. He still remembered the words of the Prometheus team leader, a man who had identified himself as Ulrich Hauser:

Kismet, if I killed you, your mother would have my head
.

Two decades later, that remained the extent of his knowledge.

“The Fountain of Youth.” It seemed ludicrous on the surface, but if, by some miracle, it really did exist, it was exactly the sort of thing Prometheus would want to control.

The information he wanted was only a few keystrokes away, but he didn’t dare access the GHC database from an unsecure computer. That would have to wait until he could get his laptop from his stateroom. Still...

He typed the words he had just muttered into a search window.

“Nick?”

Kismet jumped when he felt the soft touch on his arm. He spun around to face the person that had startled him, recognizing her voice at the same instant he saw her face. Elisabeth's hand remained on his arm, her touch strangely appealing. Almost guiltily, he closed the Internet browser, even as the screen filled up with websites promising answers to his inquiry, and then stood, putting Elisabeth at arm’s length.

He knew he ought to rage at her, but some instinctive need held him back. He was attracted to her...aroused by her. He managed to keep the conflicting emotions out of his voice, addressing her in a flat tone. “What do you want from me?”

She smiled, fixing his gaze with her own. “I think you know.”

He forced his eyes away from hers. There was a purple discoloration on her cheek, just above the jaw, that her make-up could not quite conceal. He’d done that, but then she’d been point a gun at him moments before. He reached out with a finger, caressing the bruise gently. “You almost got me killed. Twice.”

“Believe it or not, you almost got me killed twice, too.”

“Is that supposed to make me trust you?” He could not entirely mask the bitterness in his tone. “You betrayed me to Jin.”

“He caught me as I was taking the sapphire. Nick, I had to play along and hope for the best. If he had suspected that I was trying to escape, he would have killed me on the spot.”

“It didn't look that way from where I was standing...in the tiger pit.”

“I'm an actress, Nick. It's what I do.”

“You were awfully convincing.” He sighed, his eyes flashing back to meet hers. “You’re pretty convincing right now. Is this just an act?”

She took a step forward, close enough that he could almost feel her body heat radiating against his skin. “Am I convincing enough?”

Kismet felt her hand take his. He drew back as if her touch was venomous, but her eyes did not waver. “Alex told me that I took your stateroom. I’m willing to share.”

“What the hell do you want from me?” he repeated, his voice a dry rasp.

She extended a finger, caressing his cheek as he had hers a few moments before. Her eyes held his, their intensity forcing him to look away. “Can't you believe that this is what I want?”

Her mouth drew close to his, and though every fiber of his conscience screamed that this was wrong, when her lips touched his, he yielded. The kiss filled his mouth with a flavor of sweet tobacco; a lusty fragrance that he drank greedily. His hands moved involuntarily to pull her close, against his body.

“I'll probably regret this tomorrow,” he whispered, his voice husky with rising passion.

“Only if you refuse.”

* * *

From the end of the corridor, Alex Higgins watched as Elisabeth and Kismet entered the stateroom, arm in arm. The expression on his face was unreadable, but his eyes remained fixed on the closed portal for a long time. After several minutes, he turned away, entered his own stateroom, and firmly closed the door.

A second pair of eyes, unseen by Higgins was also watching; watching Kismet and Elisabeth lost in a strange animal passion for each other, and watching Higgins wage a conflict of friendship and jealousy. A faint smile crossed the face of the watcher, the seed of a plan, beginning to germinate.

* * *

Their lovemaking was frenzied; as if, by the ferocity of their passion, they might exorcise the demons that had haunted them from the moment he had appeared in Elisabeth's window. Their fire for each other burned hot, a vain attempt to cauterize the open wound of their mutual distrust; each struggling to give the other a fulfillment that neither really desired. In the end, their mutual volcanic release satisfied a physical craving, but only exacerbated the deeper emotional hurts.

In the aftermath, Kismet held her in his arms; afraid to pull away, but feeling acutely the discomfort of having taken something he neither deserved nor wanted. As he gazed at Elisabeth's beautiful face, he couldn’t help but feel pity for her. At the same time, he could not quell the deep-seated embers of loathing that smoldered just beneath the surface.

His inner turmoil quickly subsided as he watched the gentle rise and fall of her breasts; in repose, she seemed so innocent that he felt a pang of self-recrimination. There was so much he felt he needed to say to her, yet he could not articulate a single syllable.

After a long while, her eyelids fluttered open. She was barely visible in the silvery moonlight that flooded through the porthole. Her smile surprised him; it seemed so genuine that he found himself wanting to apologize for having ever doubted her. He gazed into her eyes, and for a long silent moment they seemed to be daring each other to speak.

Kismet's lips parted, the beginning of a thought taking shape on his tongue. Then, he saw something that caused him to hesitate.

Something like the shadow of a hidden agenda flickered across her eyes. The heady fragrance of their lovemaking that had lingered in his nostrils was now overpowered by a vile, unclean odor.

Kismet's body reacted to the premonition faster than his mind could. He rolled over, throwing his hand up in time to arrest the downward plunge of the scimitar-shaped dagger. Its curved blade quivered a mere inch from his sternum. In that moment, as adrenaline began coursing through his body, his mind caught up.

The silent attacker, a leering man with Asian features ravaged by disease, bore down on the long knife, trying with all his might to impale Kismet. The assassin was not as strong as he, but it was all Kismet could do to hold the blade away from his heart. Refusing to accept the stalemate, the attacker rose up on his toes, trying to force the blade down.