The Scent of Death

by Brian K. Lowe

  Finally, with a roar of frustration, Chang bent down and put his arms around Deng Zhongshu, lifting him off his feet. Quanyu screamed--but it was not enough to cover the sounds of bones popping and cracking in that giant's grip. Deng Zhongshu went limp, and Chang dropped him on the floor. The door burst open and Chang was pulled out. Then the door was closed again, leaving them staring at the still body of the ancient Imperial scholar.

  Chapter Thirty-six

  Death in a Small Room

  Ted managed to reach Deng Zhongshu and knelt down beside him, lowering his head to listen for a heartbeat. He stiffened, then pulled his coat up over his head!

  "Everyone! Put something over your heads!" he instructed. "Cover your face and your ears!"

  A low growl of laughter emerged again from the hidden vent behind the screen. "It does not matter what you do now. The Floral Death will find you, and even if it did not, I have five hundred soldiers. Just accept your destiny. It smells so sweet!" He laughed again. "And the best part is, your own antidote will protect us!"

  Even through their coats and scarves, the victims in the little room could already smell the sticky sweet scent that had heralded death to so many. In the sudden tense silence, they could hear the little click of a hidden vent being closed. They hugged their coverings closer to their faces with little hope--and then the screaming started!

  It was horrible, the sound of men facing sudden and certain death, running feet fading in the distance, and bodies falling to the floor--sounds that crept into the little floral-painted chamber even past the door and the hidden vent behind the screen!

  And then all was quiet.

  "I think we are all right now," squeaked an ancient voice. "But we don't have a lot of time." Deng Zhongshu sat up and slowly climbed to his feet, stretching. His voice suddenly became younger. "Oh, that felt good. I've been so sore from walking all bent over."

  Confronting the sea of open-mouthed faces, he waved. "Sorry, Agent Hugh Dent, U.S. Army Intelligence. I was sent here to--never mind. Classified." He shifted his attention to Sums. "Special Agent Dean, I presume?"

  Sum's jaw dropped, then got back into use after a few tried. "Yes. How did you know?"

  "A little bird told me. Besides, you shout FBI from every pore. You should work on that."

  Suddenly the room was a babble of voices so garbled it did not matter if they were in English or Chinese. Agent Dent held up a hand.

  "Stop! Like I said, we don't have much time. We don't know how many of General Xi's men were out there, and we don't know how many there still are. Your majesty, we have to get you back to your people immediately so you can take charge. Once the army knows what's what, they'll fall into line. Dean, you and Sergeant Kane take the lead. I expect there are plenty of weapons outside. But don't linger, and don't touch any of the bodies."

  Outside, the corridor was awash with death. General Xi lay near the closed vent, surrounded by his men, dead with expressions of horror on their faces. Chang had nearly escaped, but not quite. Quickly and carefully, Ted and Sums retrieved and distributed several rifles.

  As Dent had predicted, the soldiers they met outside the garrison either had no idea what had happened, or they were smart enough to know when their side had lost. King Quanyu went through them, hand-picking a score, but was at a loss what to do with the rest, since he could not send them back to the garrison until the priests could be brought in to remove the bodies. At Agent Dent's suggestion, he ordered the bulk of his army to set their weapons aside, to be guarded by his chosen troops. Then he plunged back into the midst of the crowd, celebrating the princess's birthday completely oblivious to the fact that a palace coup had just been staged--and crushed.

  "With any luck," Dent said, "even if they saw anything, by morning they won't remember."

  In order to maintain the illusion of normalcy, the royals had to remain with the party, but the Americans were excused to conduct the Reinholds to hastily-prepared quarters. Kate stayed with them for a few minutes, but in light of their ordeal, they were too exhausted for a longer visit. She returned to her rooms to find Ted, T.J., and Damien awaiting her--along with "Agent Hugh Dent."

  "I'm really starting to hate the way you do that," she cried, and hugged him for a full minute.

  "I'm sorry, I truly am," Eric said. "But I didn't know who to trust, and when I figured out General Xi was behind it, I knew he must have spies in the palace. That's why I left you that notes in Spanish, and Damien's in code."

  T.J. turned on his friend. "What message? You never told us Eric left you a message!"

  Damien pulled a face. "It was in code. Obviously Eric wanted it to be a secret."

  "From us?"

  "What you don't know, you can't be made to tell," Eric said. "I wanted the general to think Damien was working on something to protect you from the Floral Death, so I made sure a few people heard rumors about it. Sure enough, one of them reported back to him, and when I made that fuss in the execution chamber tonight, he honestly thought Damien had pulled it off. In reality, I asked him to make a super-batch of the stuff so if they let it loose, it would backfire on them."

  "But what was the Floral Death?" Kate asked. "Damien said he didn't know."

  Damien shrugged. "I still don't. All I know is that the scent wasn't toxic."

  "That's because the scent isn't what kills people," Eric explained. "I really did find the answer in the library. My reading knowledge of Chinese isn't great, but I knew enough, and the pictures told me everything I couldn't figure out. The Floral Death is actually an insect, a tiny mite that burrows into your brain through your ears. There are thousands in a swarm, each one about the size of a dust mote. You wouldn't even see them unless you were in a brightly-lit room. The floral scent attracts them, and they go into a feeding frenzy, attacking any animal in the area."

  Kate shuddered. "And they almost got me--twice. If I hadn't covered myself so well with those blankets in the hut--brrrrr."

  "Yes, by coincidence, you went to see the man they had already chosen him for their target, probably because this area was included in his portfolio. I assume you told Undersecretary Monet that you were going to Quanyu. They must have panicked, and tried to get you, too."

  "That would be quite the assassination weapon," Ted mused. "All you have to do is deliver a bouquet of flowers."

  "Actually, it's a little more complicated than that if you want to live to report your success. That's why the idea of a formula that would protect them from their own weapon was so appealing."

  Kate laid a hand on Eric's arm. "Eric, we have to tell Mother and Dad."

  Eric nodded. "That's what we came here for in the first place. Unfortunately, Sums has attached himself to you, and I don't think he's going to let Dad and your mother go back to the States unattended, even if Agent Dent says so. We're going to have to find some time to tell them the entire story when he's not around."

  "You want to distract Agent Dean? Oh, I think I can arrange something."

  Chapter Thirty-seven

  A Delayed Departure

  "Are you sure you don't want to come with us, Your Highness?"

  Quanyu embraced the ambassador, and Mrs. Reinhold even longer. "Thank you, but my people need me here. Five hundred years ago, our ancestors fled China. Since then, we have not fled from anyone. I will not break that tradition."

  "I don't suppose there's any other reason?" Kate whispered to Ted. Hano was standing next to the princess, as he had been for most of the past several days, and she seemed not to mind.

  Their departure took a little time, because there were so many good-byes to be made, but the forty-man Quanyuan escort waited patiently. This time, the king had promised, they would guide the Americans right up to the border--although they were not headed back the way they had come. Even with Ambassador Reinhold's diplomatic immunity, no one was sure if their status as "guests of the Emperor" still held without Kuragawa to usher them through. Soviet Russia was no haven, but it was an enemy of Japan, and the
ambassador was confident, with a few judicious bribes, that they could find safe passage to Vladivostock, where they could board a ship.

  True to her word, Kate had managed to distract Sums by rekindling their conversation from the Queen of Spain; only this time, with assassins vanquished and all cards on the table, she found him much more amenable to her charms--and she, for all that it was an act, was not so sure she did not want it to continue for a while. While Sums was busy elsewhere, Eric had the chance to reveal himself to his father and step-mother, describing the events that had led him to his reported death, his subsequent activities, and the decision to continue to hide his identity. The Reinholds had yet to absorb it all, and Mrs. Reinhold had assured Eric that a deeper discussion lay in their future, but in the end for them it was only one more secret in a long career of keeping secrets, even if more personal than most.

  Eric maintained his Agent Dent identity for the duration of the transpacific voyage, only dropping it with a relieved sigh when at last, one hot California spring day, his parents and Sums boarded an airliner for the East Coast.

  When they reached the ranch house in the orange groves, they were surprised to find the entire house furnished. There was no note, but none was needed; they were grateful simply to be able to collapse into chairs around the kitchen table. T.J., unsurprisingly, was the one who opened the icebox and the pantry and found them fully stocked.

  "So I guess that leaves us back where we started," Damien said lazily, sipping a cold iced tea. "Now that we're in the business of saving the world, how do we advertise?"

  T.J. laid a cold glass against his forehead. "Trust me, brother, if our business is saving the world, we are never going to lack for something to do."

  Rarely was a man so sorry to be right. Quite soon, two men who had thought each other dead would discover their mutual mistake, and the outcome of their duel would determine the future of the world.

  Acknowledgements

  I would be remiss if I did not acknowledge the efforts of those who contributed to this book: Tom Gingell, for his command of all things geological and suggestions of what to see in the Smithsonian's Museum of Natural History; Sara Hyman and Steve Edwards for their invaluable beta reading, without which this book would be far less presentable; and last but never least, my wife Marlene, who daily allows me to abandon her for worlds which I can never make as wonderful as the one that I live in with her.

  Enjoyed The Scent of Death? Following is an excerpt from the third book in the series, The Killing Scar, coming out in February 2018. On the trail on a man thought long dead, Eric and his friends travel to Berlin, a city in the midst of violent political upheaval. Before their work is done, everything they are will have changed forever--again.

  Want to know when new books in the series are coming out? Sign up for my mailing list here.

  And if you like reading a good-old-fashioned pulp yarn and want to help them along, please take a moment to go to your favorite bookseller (such as here) or book site and leave a review. You have no idea of much even one review can help.

  Thanks.

  The Killing Scar

  Prologue

  Austria - October, 1920

  He should have died on the spot.

  Someone was holding a pistol to the side of his head.

  In the presence of Death, time seemed to expand. He had an opportunity to reflect that this explained rather well why his orders had been to hide and stay out of sight, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness, rather than stand under a lamp where he could be spotted from a mile away. It was no excuse that the heat from the overhanging lamp gave some feeble comfort in the sharp, cold night air. His disobedience looked likely to cost him his life.

  "Johann, Johann…" a guttural voice chuckled in his ear. "I could have shot you, you know?" The gun was removed. "I probably would have earned myself a bonus. You make a terrible sentry."

  Johann let out his breath, and gave his friend a smile. "Then I owe you a favor, Henry. Or at least a beer." He gave Henry a companionable shove. "Let's get out of the light, then. Now that you're here, I don't need it any more."

  Henry allowed himself to be led a few steps before he stumbled to a halt, his brows furrowing as he turned to question the meaning of that odd remark. But before he could speak, Johann had rammed his fingers into Henry's solar plexus, knocking the air out of him and preventing an alarm. Before he could recover, Johann spun him around and applied a chokehold. In a few seconds, he was dragging Henry's unconscious form into the deep shadows next to the building they had been guarding, where he quickly secured his unfortunate comrade.

  "I'm sorry, my friend, but I have things to do, and the easiest way to get past you was to let you find me."

  Johann liberated Henry's Luger and stuck it in his belt, keeping his own pistol in his hand. Moving through the moonless night like a shadow, he reached the spot under a window he had selected earlier and swiftly made a makeshift ladder with the pieces of junk he had left lying in artful randomness around the area. Scrambling up the mound, he eased open the window and peeked inside.

  At this end, where the windows were located, it looked simply like another abandoned warehouse, with junk piled in the middle almost to the ceiling. Johann allowed himself a tiny smile. He was not the only one who could arrange old boxes and machinery parts to look like nothing but debris. Anyone looking at the warehouse from this angle could see light coming from the far side, and hear intermittent sounds of machinery, but the details of the work going on there were hidden. And why would anyone climb down just to take a look on the other side of that improvised wall?

  But walls work both ways. Johann slipped through the window and crawled along a ceiling beam until he reached a vertical post where he could swing down and shimmy to the floor. He checked his Luger, made sure Henry's was still in place. The word was that "Doktor" Skorzos preferred to work alone, but there was no guarantee…

  A sudden loud whine advertised that whoever was in there was hard at work, so Johann took a chance and grabbed a glimpse. A moment was all he needed. The doktor was alone, bent over a workbench from which sparks were flying. Even better; he would be wearing safety glasses that would hinder his vision. Between that and the noise of his work, Johann could be on him before he had a clue he was not alone.

  With the next shower of sparks and cry of tortured metal, Johann bolted from his hiding place, gun ready, aiming like an arrow at his quarry's unprotected back. Five more yards…

  And he was seized by giant hands that yanked him off his feet and held him spread-eagled in mid-air!

  The work at the bench stopped, the sparks dying away and the machine sounds fading.

  "Really, you must not have any respect for me at all," the doktor said without turning around. "If you think I would put my trust in human guards and a little camouflage…" He came about to face Johann, shaking his head. "After everything it took to find me, I expected better of you."

  He was a tall man, the doktor, standing straight like a soldier, with a square jaw, a large nose, and icy pale blue eyes. He affected a white coat, like a real laboratory scientist.

  Johann might have ridiculed him for that, but he was too busy struggling to loosen himself from the two giant bronze hands that held him fast. It was hard to see, but they seemed to be connected by long tubes to a mechanism on the ceiling. Incredibly, they were not simply pincers, or even claws, but man-like hands, each nearly half the size of Johann himself.

  The doktor calmly walked up to the dangling prisoner and plucked the Luger out of his belt. He held it with familiarity. Johann ceased to fight and stared back at him.

  "I supposed I could ask you who you were, and who sent you--the French, the British? But I doubt you would tell me, and frankly, I don't care. I have work to do." He leveled the gun at Johann--and then he stopped, staring at something just above Johann's head, with the expression of a man who has just realized the solution to a problem that has been bothering him for a long time.

 
; "Interesting," he muttered. "Yes, that would be interesting." Abruptly he lowered the Luger, spun on his heel, and returned to the bench where he had been working.

  "I know I'll probably regret asking," Johann called after him, "but what did you see that was so interesting?"

  The doktor stopped. "Oh! An American! That is also interesting." He looked back over his shoulder. "But I probably should have known. Who else would have had the energy to pursue me for almost two years?" He rounded the bench so he faced Johann as he worked, putting Henry's Luger aside. "A pity. Your German is very good, but your accent gives you away."

  "What accent? Nobody else has noticed it."

  The doctor did not look around. "But I am not anybody else, am I?"

  His work surface seemed to be studded with several dials and a pair of levers. He pushed one forward gently and the arm holding Johann's right hand began to move. Johann screamed as it tugged in a direction it did not want to go.

  "Oh, forgive me! That won't do." The doktor eased the lever back and Johan caught his breath.

  "What are you trying to do? Maybe if you let me down, I can help."

  The doktor chuckled. "Don't worry, you'll help. You might not have noticed, because your arms are going numb, but you are still holding your other Luger." He nodded toward Johann's right hand, and Johann could see, by straining his neck, that this was true. The metal hand had imprisoned both his own hand and the gun. "Now, I could simply shoot you myself, but I am trying to refine my skill with my pneumatic arms, and it struck me that it would be a good test to see if I could manipulate you into shooting yourself. Unfortunately, had I torn your arm off, I would have to consider that a failure. So I will be more careful from now on."