by Gregg Taylor
The intruder was out the door and on the balcony before the Red Panda hit him at full stride, sending him careening into the railing. In the full moonlight, Fenwick could see that the man sent to deal with him was even larger than he had first thought, and was dressed all in black with his face covered by a black scarf in the Arabic manner. The Red Panda reached forward quickly to try and pin his opponent’s arms, but the assassin was having none of it. He twisted his body to the left, pulling Fenwick off balance as the two of them collided, and wrapping his meaty hands around Fenwick’s throat.
His advantage recovered, the intruder slammed the full weight of his body against the Red Panda, throwing his target against the railing himself and knocking the wind out of him. The hands wrapped tighter around the Red Panda’s neck, and Fenwick could feel his field of vision beginning to narrow as if he were disappearing down a long, black tunnel. With a final, desperate twist of his body, the Red Panda wrapped his legs around those of his attacker and forced both of them over the railing and into the blackness of the night. Prepared for the thrust, and accustomed to such aerial maneuvers, Fenwick managed to grip the railing with his right hand as he fell backwards. The intruder, in surprise and terror, released his firm hold on his victim’s throat in favour of a more stable support that he failed to find and plummeted backwards through the blackness, an unintelligible cry upon his lips.
Moments later, when the mysterious man in black hit the sidewalk far below, passers-by looked up at the tall, white walls of the great hotel in an effort to tell from where the unfortunate man had fallen. But of the other party that had moments before been locked in life-and-death struggle, there was not a single sign. Only the silver disc of the desert moon was left behind to bear witness, and from somewhere deep in the night, there seemed to ring a taunting peal of laughter, a call that seemed to come from nowhere and from everywhere.
It was the challenge of the Red Panda!
Eleven
“And once again, sir,” said the manager of the Imperial Hotel, “let me apologize for the dramatics of last night.”
The Cairo police had been through the upper floors of the hotel for hours, searching for the room from which a mysterious man in black had fallen, without a great deal of success. It had been a long night for the manager, but he seemed most anxious to soothe his wealthy young guest who had taken the entire top floor.
The young man, for his part, seemed remarkably undisturbed by the entire affair, and certainly bore no indignation toward the hotel. He dismissed the apology with a wave of his hand. “The police have come to no conclusions, then?” he asked casually.
“None, sir,” the manager said sadly. “They have been through every room and found only one that was suspicious.”
August Fenwick raised an eyebrow and it seemed clear that he wished to hear more. The manager silently wished that he had said nothing, but he obliged. “A room on the floor below yours, sir,” he said, “occupied by a young Italian woman. The room was quite empty, and no one has seen the Signora since she checked in. The police found only an empty suitcase.”
“Oh dear,” Fenwick said with a shake of his head, “that is most unusual.”
The manager shifted uncomfortably and said nothing.
“I do hope nothing has happened to the poor lady,” Fenwick said, “but I don’t suppose it has much to do with our mysterious caller of last night.”
“No, sir,” the manager smiled, relieved. “I imagine, sir, that when all is said and done, police will conclude that the unfortunate man was climbing the building from the outside, attempting to gain entry.”
“Like some sort of human fly?” Fenwick asked, amused. “Why the devil should he do that?”
“Robbery, sir,” the manager said sadly. “The security in the building is far too good for an intruder to gain access to the upper levels from within.” He continued, blissfully unaware of the fact that this was profoundly untrue, “So he tried another route.”
Fenwick nodded and sipped coffee from his cup. “It would seem, sir, that the Hotel Imperial is just as unassailable from without as within,” and he raised his cup slightly in a small gesture of salute at which the manager took exceptional pride.
“I thank you, sir,” he bowed his head, “and for your patience through all of this.”
Fenwick waved his hand again. “A few minutes of wakefulness is a small price to pay for law and order,” he said. “If the police should require anything further for the next several days, my staff will be happy to assist you.”
The manager blinked. “You are travelling, sir?” he asked.
Fenwick nodded. “Just a bit of a jaunt,” he said, “up to Alexandria to visit some old friends. Shan’t be more than a couple of days. Perhaps three.”
The manager bowed his head again. “Then I wish you good journey, sir,” he said, backing toward the door.
“Thank you again,” Fenwick said graciously, allowing the manager to leave before casting aside his smoking jacket and moving back toward his chamber with a burst of energy the manager would never have expected from his laconic guest.
“Weston,” Fenwick called as he moved, “is there any more coffee?”
“There is indeed, sir,” the butler said, emerging from the closet with an armload of shirts. If you will allow me just one moment, I shall-”
“It’s all right,” Fenwick said, pouring it himself from a beautiful silver service, “I’ve got it.”
“Yes, sir,” Weston said, his arms still full of his burdens.
“What are you doing with all of those?” Fenwick asked.
Weston blinked. “I am packing them, sir,” he said.
Fenwick looked bemused. “I’ve already packed my bag, Weston,” he said. “It’s over there.”
The bag that Weston saw when he turned was not exactly small. Indeed, it was larger than Fenwick would have liked to travel with, were it not necessary to bring as much of the Red Panda’s gear as possible. Still, the sight of it seemed to give Weston pain. “Oh, sir-,” he protested.
“I told you, Weston, Colonel McElroy’s household is not a large one,” Fenwick said. “I shan’t be doing anything terribly formal while I’m in Alexandria. The Colonel is very outdoorsy. I expect there will be a good deal of hiking. And I promise I won’t let Miss Baxter come along unless she wears a big hat.”
Weston’s moustache moved, and Fenwick knew the man had smiled, if only for a moment.
“Weston?” he asked. “What is it?”
“Nothing at all, Master Fenwick,” he said.
“You’re troubled about the trip?” Fenwick asked. “About Miss Baxter driving me to Alexandria?”
“No, sir,” Weston lied.
“This is the job, Weston,” he said. “She is my driver. I am going to Alexandria and she is driving me.”
“I have no concerns of my own, sir,” Weston said. “There will be a certain amount of talk, and I shall deal with it. It would be simpler if she were plainer,” Weston said.
“We aren’t going to be alone, Weston,” Fenwick said. “She will be with the McElroy’s staff and I will be with the Colonel and his wife. And there could be no more effective chaperone than Lady McElroy, let me tell you.”
Weston smiled again.
“You’d be perfectly welcome to come along,” Fenwick said. “I’m sure they could find room for you somewhere.”
Weston bowed his head. “I thank you, sir,” Weston said, “but since it is a small household, I should rather not be a burden. And I do much fear the idle hands of the rest of the staff, left behind with nothing to do.”
“Yes, I take your point,” Fenwick smiled. “Well, keep them busy, Weston. Take them to the pyramids and such, this is their chance for a bit of a holiday.”
“Sir?” Weston seemed surprised.
“You’ve got the household money I left you, yes?” Fenwick asked.
“Of course, sir,” the butler replied.
“Well then, run through that in the next few
days keeping that lot out of trouble,” Fenwick said, “while I fulfil obligations to an old friend. I’ll wire you before we leave Alexandria – you’ll have plenty of time to whip everyone back into action stations before I cross the threshold. All right?”
The moustache moved again, more broadly than before. “Yes, sir,” Weston said. “That is most kind, Master Fenwick.”
There was another burst of giggling from the hallway, and several sets of excited footsteps on the run.
Weston closed his eyes in frustration, just for a moment. Fenwick looked quizzical. “Weston?” he asked. “Is it just possible that there is something… going on with certain members of the staff?”
“There are any number of things going on, sir,” Weston said, “about which, I promise you, you do not wish to know.”
“I expect you’re right,” Fenwick said, picking up his bag. “You deal with it, I’ll see you in a couple of days.” He paused as the two men neared the door. “And if there is any chatter, you might remind some of these gigglers that they have no business casting aspersions upon my very well-behaved driver, even if she isn’t plain. I don’t object to a certain amount of… enthusiasms, but I won’t stomach hypocrisy.”
“I quite agree, sir,” Weston said gravely, and stepped out to call the elevator for his master.
Fenwick bounded through the lobby of the hotel and emerged to find Kit standing in front of a large and serious-looking vehicle. She seemed quite pleased with herself.
“Where’s the car?” he asked.
“Traded it in for this baby,” she grinned. “It was good for city driving, but this is for rough terrain. The man called it a lorry.”
“That’s what the British call all trucks,” Fenwick said.
She nodded. “That explains where they put the steering wheel,” she said, opening the front passenger door for him. “I’m on the other side.”
They piled into the truck and he looked around as if he had settled into quite an alien environment, but he seemed to like it well enough. She wondered if being on the left side was enough to keep him from noticing that she had worked him up into the front seat with her.
“Right,” he said, “to Luxor.”
“Roger that,” she said, putting the car in gear. “I wonder if something has occurred to you.”
“What’s that?” he asked.
“If we had thought of just lying about where we were going back in Toronto, we wouldn’t have had to bring all those birds along in the first place,” she beamed at him.
He enjoyed the smile too much to argue with it.
“It’s an interesting point,” he said.
Twelve
The moon seemed enormous in the desert night, and the field of stars above seemed to roll on forever. The night hung close to the low rooftops of Luxor, and put on a more breathtaking display than they ever could over a big city like Cairo. Or Toronto, for that matter. A girl who had spent almost every night of her young life deep within a city could sure get used to stars like that, Kit Baxter reflected, not for the first time. As the night wore on, the Flying Squirrel found her eyes drifting to the heavens on display more often than perhaps they should have, but she was certain that the Boss had things under control.
“Anything yet?” she asked at last.
“Our playmates haven’t so much as shifted in their seats for an hour,” the Red Panda replied gravely.
“You sure they’re not dummies?” she asked helpfully.
“Thanks,” he said wryly. “I have them on infra-red.”
“Not gonna be easy tracking them when they do move,” she offered, still not looking. “Rooftop density ain’t what it could be, and we don’t know the terrain.”
“I think we’ll make out all right,” he said.
“Which you’re basing on…?”
“An abiding faith in the power of dumb luck,” he offered.
She smiled and looked away from the stars toward the shadows where he crouched, watching. She shifted her ground and leaned around him to gain a better view of the street below. The maneuver brought her body closer to his that she usually allowed herself to get, but she resisted the impulse to correct this, in part because she didn’t want to draw attention to this sudden proximity, and in part because she wondered how long she could get away with it. They watched in silence like that for several minutes until she had to admit that she was not focused on the task at hand in the least but simply on the sheer nearness of the Red Panda, and as such she was actually slightly less help to him than during the time she had spent looking at the stars.
She shifted away and gave her head a little shake. From the moment they had arrived in Luxor they had been aware that they were being watched. They had checked into their hotel under a new pair of assumed identities, supposedly as brother and sister, which was visually unlikely and disturbed Kit Baxter on a number of levels but she supposed they didn’t really need to be fooling anyone. Apart from perhaps the desk clerk, and even he had looked suspicious when he had assigned them adjoining rooms on the hotel’s top floor. Night had quickly fallen, and they had put on their work clothes and stepped out into the darkness to watch the watchers. The Flying Squirrel had been delighted at the prospect of a little action at last, except that three hours later they still hadn’t budged.
“Think they’ve got someone on the back door?” she asked.
He nodded. “I imagine they would have to,” he said. “I also don’t imagine there’s much use in splitting up. Wherever they make their move from, these two mugs will know about it.”
Her face broke into a wild, toothy grin. “Say these two mugs again,” she said breathlessly.
“No,” he protested. “Will you cut that out?”
He didn’t sound like he really wanted her to. In fact, if he had really wanted her to stop, he wouldn’t have said anything at all, just allowed a blanket of silent disapproval to settle over their little corner of the rooftop. So obviously, she pushed things a little further. “I can’t help myself,” she said. “It’s like a Cagney movie up here. Did you sneak out to the pictures behind my back?”
He said nothing to that and for a moment Kit thought she might have carried the act too far, but then she noticed the coiled tension creeping into his muscles as he waited, preparing him for action in an instant.
“We’ve got movement,” he said.
She leaned around him, close to him again, but this time neither of them noticed. This was business. A tall, dark man in a fez was running down the steps of their hotel toward the parked car they had been watching all this time.
“Looks like the man in the back was the one that went in,” she said.
“I don’t know what they were waiting for,” he said disparagingly.
“Well,” she offered, “the last one that surprised you in your hotel room got thrown from the top floor.”
“Yes, but this hotel is only four stories high,” he said with mock sincerity.
“Ah,” she said sagely, as if this were a very interesting point.
The two men in the car got out as their confederate approached and there was a hasty discussion in the street.
“You’re right about the rooftops,” he said, never taking his eyes off the men. “Not sure a run is going to work, and we can’t afford to miss this lead.”
“So what do we do?” she asked. “Dive in and pound some truth out of them?”
“We can’t run the risk that they’re just hired muscle,” the Red Panda said, “and I don’t want to tip our hand if we can help it. They were sent here for us, either to watch us, or something more serious. In any event, they’ve lost us. What will they do?”
“Go home and get a good night’s sleep?” she said brightly.
“They’ll go report to their boss,” he said, “the menace in back of this.”
“And that’s our best chance of finding Max, I get it,” she said. Sometimes she was not entirely certain that he knew when she was kidding. “So what do we do?”
He was already on the move, slipping into the shadows along the side of the building. “You take the high road, and I’ll take the low road,” he said. “Keep your Radio Ring open, one of us ought to make it where we’re going.”
“Roger that,” she said, extending her arms and flexing her hands in a very particular manner. As she did so, she triggered the controls that released the remarkable gliding membranes concealed beneath the arms of her costume. They made a very slight flapping noise in the breeze. Kit pulled her arms in tightly against her body to restrain them and yanked down the flying goggles built into her cowl as she watched the men look hastily up and down the street, as though on the off-chance that they might find their missing targets out for an unexpected stroll.
The men ran back to the car. This wasn’t going to be easy. She was only six stories up, which was not a lot of altitude for a long flight, even if you were very good at this sort of thing. Parts of Luxor would lend themselves to a run-and-glide style, but there were other long stretches where she would be in the middle of nowhere, with only the strategic firing of her Static Shoes to keep her aloft. Just like gliding across the Don Valley at night, she supposed, except there she knew the terrain and wasn’t in a de facto foot race with the Red Panda, one which she was quite determined not to lose.
She decided to give the stooges below the benefit of the doubt and suppose that they had their getaway car pointed in the right direction. She stepped off the edge of the building and into the night air. She fired the Static Shoes to repel her upwards away from the rooftop and arched her back to pull up, fighting for all the altitude she could get. A crosswind bucked her backwards like a mule, but she wrestled with it for a moment and mastered it, using it to lift her still higher as she circled around.
She turned her body back toward the now-moving car, and the race was on. The Flying Squirrel could not afford to lose any altitude to slow down, and she was grateful that her quarry seemed to be in a tremendous hurry to get home and report the bad news. The car whipped through what traffic it encountered, and Kit kept pace well through the twists and turns of downtown. Focused entirely upon the task at hand, the Flying Squirrel had no time to wonder what had become of the Red Panda, but with the getaway car travelling at close to top speed, she had good reason to believe that she was winning the race.
