Fortune Favors (15 page)

Kismet was not intimidated. He crossed the room in two leaping steps, brandishing his fists as he closed on the intruder. The other man's grin fell as his opponent, flying in the face of reason, ran headlong toward the Glock. He tried to pull the trigger, but Kismet was there first.

He struck the man's wrist with the edge of his left hand, knocking the gun away. In the same motion, he lashed forward aiming his right fist at the intruders jaw.

The man reacted faster than Kismet expected, reflexively raising his right knee and driving it into Kismet's solar plexus. Kismet's fist glanced off of the intruder's jaw, doing little more than annoying the big man. With the wind knocked from his lungs, Kismet staggered backward.

Kismet fell back against the wall as the intruder dashed past him, intent on fleeing the stateroom. He tried to will his feet to chase after the man, but the message got no further than his bruised diaphragm.

As the escaping intruder passed through the doorway, his head suddenly snapped to the side. The force of the unseen blow drove him against the bulkhead, but he recovered quickly, shrugging off the effects. He swatted at the source of the blow with the back of his hand, as if at an irritating fly, and then took off running.

Kismet’s breath returned in a sudden gasp, and he lurched into motion, running after the man. He found Annie, laid out on the carpeted floor of the hallway. She sat up, massaging the knuckles of her right hand. Kismet knelt for a second beside her, confirming that she had suffered no injury more serious than bruised pride, and then resumed the pursuit.

“Stay here,” he shouted over his shoulder.

Annie struggled to her feet. “Not a chance.”

Kismet quickly closed the distance to his quarry. He caught sight of the man at the far end of hallway, looking back over his shoulder to see if he was in the clear. When he spied Kismet, he put on a fresh burst of speed. The intruder darted to a stairway and ascended quickly. Kismet reached the foot of the stairs as the other man reached the top.

Kismet's foot left the final step in time to see the intruder pulling the large double doors to the dining rooms shut behind him. Kismet charged the door, bursting through without stopping. The man had not lingered to keep him out, but was already crossing the busy dining room. As Kismet stumbled headlong, trying to regain his balance after crashing through the doors, the big intruder glanced backward.

In that instant, he collided with a waiter carrying a tray of desserts. Artfully decorated pastries flew into the air in a confectionery cloud. The shock of the impact spread throughout the dining room, shouts and gasps rising into a cacophony. The intruder quickly regained his feet, his clothing streaked with buttercream frosting, and maneuvered through the minefield of broken plates and desserts on the floor.

The collision with the waiter allowed Kismet to close the distance to his prey, but the gain was short lived. Vaulting over the fallen waiter, Kismet's leading foot set down on the remains of a piece of cake, and slid away from beneath him, dropping him on his backside.

Before he could recover from the indignity of his fall, he heard the pitch of the room change from amused confusion to outright chaos. Amid the strident screams of a dozen women, Kismet discovered Annie standing in the doorway of the dining hall, brandishing his Glock.

“I told you to stay put,” he shouted.

He did not belabor the point, but rose to his feet and picked his way through the splattered desserts before she could even attempt to answer. The fleeing intruder had reached the exit doors at the far end of the dining room, and was rapidly increasing his lead. Kismet leapt clear of the dessert wreckage and renewed the chase.

The doors opened onto an exposed deck, and Kismet caught a glimpse of the man's back as he ran sternward. However, when he reached the place where the man had been, there was no sign of him. Kismet stopped running, cocked his head to the side, and listened for the telltale sound of footsteps. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Annie exiting the dining hall, still hefting the gun. He scowled at her but said nothing.

Then his ears caught the staccato beat of footsteps nearby. He took a deliberate step forward, trying to isolate the sound. It was coming from above. In a flash of insight, he realized where the intruder had gone. He darted forward at a full run until he reached a metal staircase ascending to the uppermost deck of the ship. He vaulted the banister landing on the third step and raced up the stairs, taking three at a time.

He emerged onto the ship’s highest observation deck. His quarry stood at the far end of the deck, gripping the railing, gazing out at surface of the ocean twelve stories below. The only way off was the way they’d both come. The intruder was trapped.

Kismet approached at a walking pace, stopping when he was close enough to hear the other man's labored breathing. “Let’s try that again. Who the hell are you, and why you were in my stateroom?”

The man's silver tooth flashed as he grinned. Kismet did not comprehend the reason for his sudden attack of humor until, a moment later when the man reached into the depths of his jacket, and drew out a long knife with an ornate, wavy blade. Kismet recognized it as a
kris
, an ancient Indonesian ceremonial dagger. It was probably a replica the man had picked up as a souvenir, but that didn’t make it any less dangerous.

One of his army combatives instructors had once told Kismet: “Always rush a gun, but run away from a knife.” The logic behind this was simple; a gun could reach out and hurt you even if you ran away, so your best chance of survival lay in trying get close enough to deflect the barrel or take the gun away. But the closer you got to a knife, the more likely you were to get cut.

The silver-toothed man laughed, weaving the knife back and forth. “I was hoping I’d get a chance to stick this in you.”

Kismet couldn’t quite place the accent. Something from the Commonwealth; it might have been Aussie or it could have been from Liverpool. That didn’t concern him as much as the fact that his assailant seemed to be making this personal. Kismet raised his hands halfway, more as a placating gesture than a sign of surrender. “If you’ve got some problem with me, let’s talk.”

The movement of the blade stopped abruptly, and the man looked back blankly. “Oh, Kismet. You really have no idea. It's almost a pity that you'll die ignorant.”

“I don't think you’re going to kill me.” Kismet's mind raced to figure out the puzzle of who the man was and what he wanted. “You were looking for something in my room, and you obviously didn't find it. If you kill me, there's a chance you'll never find what you are after.”

“Bah! Killing you is something I've wanted for a long time.”

As he edged closer, Kismet heard the sound of another pair of feet ascending the stairs. He knew without turning to look that it was Annie. A few moments later she was running across the deck, hefting the Glock.

In the moment that the knife-wielding intruder saw Annie, Kismet made his move. The big man recovered quickly from the distraction, thrusting with the blade, but Kismet anticipated the attack, and sidestepped. The
kris
stabbed the air impotently to Kismet's left, and as the man’s momentum carried him forward, Kismet stepped closer, slipping his right arm around the man’s shoulder and hooking a hand behind his neck in a half-nelson. The knife clattered to the deck, but then he wrenched himself free and spun around, lashing out with a foot to sweep Kismet’s legs from under him.

Kismet landed hard on his side. The silver-toothed man dove for his knife, but even as his hand took hold of the ornate haft of the weapon, Annie shouted a warning for him to stop. She didn’t have a clear shot—she was just as likely to hit Kismet as the intruder—but it was enough to give the man pause. He straightened up without recovering the
kris
, and shook his head sadly. “Gonna shoot me, little girl?”

“She doesn’t have to.” Kismet struck as the man turned to face him, landing a roundhouse that sent the intruder crashing into the waist-high rail that ringed the observation deck. The man flipped over the barrier, but succeeded in wrapping one arm around it to arrest his fall.

“Should have let me shoot him,” Annie remarked, shaking her head.

Kismet ignored her, stalking toward the hanging intruder. “One more time. Tell me who you are.”

The man showed no sign of surrender. Even as he struggled against his own failing grip, Kismet saw the defiance building in his eye. “I don't think so,” was the grated reply.

The man abruptly let go with his right hand. Kismet saw a glint of light, the reflection a familiar emblem engraved on a golden ring standing out from the man's fist, for just a fraction of a second before that fist hammered into his face.

Kismet’s head snapped to the side with the force of the blow. It took a moment for his vision to clear, but when it did, he rolled back to the railing and leaned over, looking for some sign of his assailant.

Annie was at his side an instant later. “My God, are you all right?”

“Where did he go?”

“He must have fallen in.”

Kismet shook his head, instantly regretting it as the pain of the man's parting blow flared anew. He gingerly probed his aching cheek and saw blood on his fingertips. The man's ring had sliced through the skin under his left eye. While it had not been as gaudy as Leeds’ ring, the symbol was the same: an Ouroboros.

He pushed away from the rail and retrieved the
kris
, testing its edge with a thumb. Annie stepped in front of him. “Nick. Would you please tell me what’s going on?”

“No,” he replied, thinking about the image of the snake devouring itself. “But I think I know who can.”

* * *

Alex Higgins tore his gaze away from Elisabeth and watched with a perplexed expression as his daughter left the dining hall with Kismet at her side. Something was wrong; some unspoken tension between Dr. Leeds and Kismet had reached and passed a climax. But Leeds gave no indication of what the problem might be. He merely stared at the table, silently waiting. Several seconds passed before he abruptly stood and nodded to Elisabeth.

“Delightful!” She reached out and took hold of Higgins’ hand. When he felt her touch, every vestige of apprehension melted away. The feel of her skin set his heart pounding and the faint scent of her perfume led him like a ring through his nostrils. “It is time for the séance. This will be tremendously exciting.”

Dr. Leeds made a casual gesture toward some of the other guests in the dining hall. Half a dozen people left their meals unfinished and rose to follow him from the room. In the euphoria of his intimate contact with Elisabeth, Higgins scarcely noticed the route he and the rest of Leeds’ entourage took and was hardly aware as he was guided to a seat at a large round table, draped with a voluminous blue tablecloth. The room was dark except for a score of small votive candles that offered little in the way of illumination but certainly contributed to the mood of the occasion. Elisabeth sat beside him, and in short order, the other guests filled in around the circumference until only one seat remained.

Dr. Leeds seemed to glide into the room; his long cassock hid his feet from view. He smoothly took his seat and gestured to the audience. “Please, link hands.”

Higgins’ felt Elisabeth’s hand in his; he barely even noticed another guest take his other hand.

Leeds spoke again, his tone both hushed and commanding. “We wish to know more of our quest. There are many answers that may not be found on this terrestrial plane, but beyond it, in the spirit realm. Hernando Fontaneda was the keeper of the secret, but he has passed beyond this world. Will you reach out with me, to contact him?”

There was a murmur of ascent and Dr. Leeds seemed satisfied. “He may not remember at first. Your concentration and assistance is crucial. Leave off all doubt now. Close your eyes and focus your thoughts.”

Higgins did as he was told, but found he could not concentrate in the way Dr. Leeds wanted him to. His thoughts were swirling, not around the spirit realm, but the heaven of Elisabeth’s touch. He gripped her hand, as if to squeeze his emotions into her, barely cognizant of Dr. Leeds’ mumbled incantations.

“Alex,” Elisabeth whispered urgently. “Open your eyes. Look!”

He obeyed, looking into her eyes, but she nodded toward the center of the table. Higgins nearly fainted when he saw the figure there, hovering in the mist above the table's surface.

Though it was only a few inches in height, Higgins had no trouble making out the apparition; the details of its face and dress were vivid. He was unquestionably looking at the likeness of a Spanish conquistador. The crescent helmet concealed the face of the specter, but he knew that it must be Hernando Fontaneda.

“
¿Quien estoy
?” whispered Dr. Leeds, his voice strangely altered. “
Diga me. Quiero saber
.”

“He is speaking Spanish,” gasped one of the men at the table. “He wants to know who he is?”

No one seemed willing to answer. Realizing that Dr. Leeds was acting as a medium Higgins, in a trembling voice, supplied the name.

“
Si. Recuerdo
.” whispered Leeds. “
A ver, ¿a dónde estoy? Me parece que es bien oscuro
.”

“He remembers,” translated the same man. “He wants to know where he is. He says he it is very dark there.”

“You died,” replied Elisabeth. “Don't you remember?”

“No.” The voice issuing from Leeds’ mouth switched to deeply accented English. “How did I die? Do you know?”

No one could give him an answer, not even Higgins.

“Tell me more. I might remember. There was a man...King was his name. I was with him, but I can't remember...” Leeds’ eyes fluttered open and he stared directly at Higgins. “You know,” he said, still speaking in the Spaniard's voice. “Tell me. Where did I die?”

Wide-eyed and trembling, Higgins stared at the apparition. Elisabeth's gentle touch on his arm prompted him and he opened his mouth to answer.

* * *