by Sean Ellis
“Where are my friends? If you’ve hurt them...” He didn’t complete the threat; he knew how hollow it sounded.
“Least of your worries, mate.” MacKay nodded to his cohorts, and the man to his left immediately thrust the pole-saw at him.
Kismet hurled himself out of the way, diving into a shoulder roll that took him to the middle of the clearing. As he came back to his feet, he spun around to face the trio of attackers. He now saw that the carriage driver had put his gun away, and now held a small gas-powered chain saw, which he triggered menacingly as he advanced. MacKay just stood with his hands, balled into fists, resting on his hips.
Kismet didn’t know why they hadn’t simply shot him. Maybe they were afraid of leaving telltale forensic evidence or had it in their heads that they could somehow make his death look like an accident. He wasn’t about to ask.
The three men spread out, trying to establish a perimeter and prevent him from escaping. As noisy and intimidating as the chainsaw was, Kismet was more concerned about the man with the pole-saw. If he was going to survive this, he was going to have to take the initiative, and quickly.
He took a step sideways, closer to the rumbling chipper. Then, as his assailants moved to take the ground he had ceded, he lunged toward the man with the pole-saw. It was a feint only; he caught himself before putting his weight on his outstretched foot, but it was enough. The man reacted instinctively, stabbing the saw blade at him again, and this time Kismet was ready. Turning just enough to avoid the thrust, he wrapped an arm around the sturdy aluminum pole and yanked it forward. The saw wielder was pulled forward, off balance and his impromptu weapon twisted out of his grip as he slid face down across the grass.
Kismet spun around and whipped the pole toward the man with the chainsaw. The man parried, triggering the chain reflexively, and the cutting tool met the pole in a shower of sparks. The vibration traveled through the hollow metal rod like an electric shock and Kismet felt it slipping from his grip before he could even think about trying to hang on tighter. His opponent immediately advanced, raising the chainsaw overhead as he did, and slashed down with all his might.
Kismet stumbled backward and the whirring teeth on the chain sliced through the air where he had been. The saw narrowly missed him and plunged into the soft ground, throwing up a spray of dirt and grass. Kismet barely saw any of this though; his foot struck the man from whom he’d taken the saw, still supine on the ground and struggling to rise, and he tripped backward, flattening the man a second time.
It felt like it took an eternity for him to fall, an obscenely bloated moment in which he flailed his arms, unsuccessfully trying to restore his balance. Yet, even as he fell, his mind was turning over possible courses of action. He twisted, trying to land on his side, so as to grapple with the fallen assailant. Doing so would give MacKay and the other man time to advance, but it would reduce the odds that were stacked against him by a third.
Before he could act on his plan something slammed into the back of his head and a curtain of darkness fell. He was still conscious, but for a few seconds could do nothing but lay motionless in a daze. Except he wasn’t on the ground and he wasn’t motionless. Strong hands had reached under his arms and hauled him more or less erect. His heels dragged across the ground for a few yards and then he felt himself being lifted into the air. As his vision cleared, he caught a glimpse of Ian MacKay’s silver toothed grin of delight, and then there was another burst of pain as he was slammed down on the chipper’s feed chute. The roller wheels offered no resistance as MacKay gave him a shove and he began sliding headfirst toward the machine’s gaping maw.
* * *
Annie leaned against the stone battlement, gazing out from the mildly crowded observation deck of Belvedere Castle, across the landscaped expanse of Central Park and the city skyline beyond, but her brain registered none of it. Her thoughts were consumed by the gravity of Leeds’ revelation, and even more so by the fact that her father was evidently contemplating the requested alliance. While it was certainly true that she barely knew Nick Kismet, and had no particular obligation to him, the simple fact of being asked to be disloyal a friend galled her. That her father would consider, even for a second, betraying the man that, by his own admission had once saved his life, was even more disturbing, and she told him as much.
“Annie,” Higgins sighed. “You don’t understand. What he said...”
“About some diabolical secret society? Puppet masters pulling our strings? It’s complete bollocks and you know it.”
“Annie, I was there that night. I know what he’s talking about.”
“Yes, you were there. You know that Nick isn’t part of some conspiracy.”
“For twenty years, I’ve tried to understand what happened. None of it ever made any sense until today. As crazy as it sounds, what Leeds said...it fits. Why we were there, why we got captured, and how we escaped. We were in...” Higgins’ breath seemed to catch in his throat, and when he tried to continue, he had to force the words past clenched teeth. “In the goddamned Republican Guard torture chamber, and Kismet just walked us right out; like Daniel in the lion’s den.”
Annie’s retort died on her lips as she saw the pain of reliving the memory twist her father’s features. When she spoke again, it was in a more subdued tone. “Nick wasn’t responsible, dad. Even if everything Leeds said is true, he’s not a bad man.”
“I know, Annie girl.”
“So, we’re going to tell Leeds to sod off, right?”
Higgins stared at her for several seconds before slowly nodding an affirmative.
* * *
Almost a hundred yards away, Dr. John Leeds listened intently to the exchange. He couldn’t make out all the nuances—the tripod-mounted Detect Ear parabolic microphone wasn’t that discriminating—but the amplified audio feed, in conjunction with his visual observations, courtesy of a pair of Minox 10X44 binoculars, was sufficient to tell the tale. For just a few moments, he thought perhaps he had succeeded in winning the father over, but it seemed the daughter’s passionate defense of Kismet was going to prove insurmountable. Perhaps with more time and persuasion, he might be able to...
He lowered the binoculars as one of his hirelings approached. The man was a mercenary, some acquaintance of MacKay’s; Leeds found the whole arrangement rather distasteful. He didn’t trust people whose loyalties could be bought or traded. Still, hirelings had their uses.
The man proffered a bundle of papers. “Ian told me to bring this to you.”
Leeds took it without comment and began thumbing through the pages. He committed the words of the letters—the first from Henry Fortune himself, and the second from Joseph King—to memory. Then he saw that the remaining papers were phone and address listings for every Joseph King in the greater Charleston area. Leeds breathed an ancient Sumerian curse.
“There’s nothing here we didn’t already know.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t have been so quick to get rid of Kismet,” observed Elisabeth. The actress stood a few steps away, smoking a cigarette.
Leeds cast a baleful glance in her direction, but did not comment. The mercenary stared back at him, expressionless.
Leeds sighed. “I believe we may safely assume that Kismet doesn’t, or I should say didn’t, know anything more than this. Which reminds me...” He unclipped a Motorola Talkabout from his belt and keyed the send button. “Ian, report.”
There was a long silence at the other end, and then finally a burst of squelch, followed by a terse: “It’s done.”
Leeds smiled and keyed the walkie-talkie. “Excellent. I’m sending two more your way.”
* * *
Kismet turned his feet outward and managed to hook his toes on the chute’s angled side-guards. His death-slide stopped mere inches from the spinning feeder wheel; he thought he could feel the molded steel teeth tickling his hair.
MacKay’s grin fell a notch when he saw that Kismet had stopped moving. His puzzlement lasted only a moment, but it was eno
ugh. As the big man grabbed Kismet’s ankles, preparing to shake him loose, Kismet levered his torso forward, sitting up, and thrust his arms out as far as he could reach. His hamstrings screamed as he folded his body almost in half, but he fought through the agony and found something to hang onto: MacKay’s ears.
The silver-toothed killer howled in agony as Kismet’s nails dug into his flesh. As MacKay tried to bat his hands away, Kismet wrenched his body sideways, rolling up and over the side-guard.
As he hit the ground alongside the chipper, he caught a glimpse of movement and instinctively rolled away, under the chute, narrowly avoiding a swipe from the chainsaw. He kept rolling, and for a fleeting moment, was hidden from view. It was an opportunity he dared not waste.
The chipper was mounted on a dual-wheeled trailer rig, and Kismet made good use of the twin tires as a stepladder. He scrambled onto the top of the chipper engine cowling, and hurled himself, feet first, at the man with the chainsaw.
His feet connected squarely with the man, one to the jaw and one squarely in the chest, catching him completely unaware. The idling chainsaw fell from his grasp as the double-kick knocked him senseless. Kismet pushed off from the stricken man, tucking and rolling to soften the blow of his own landing, and was on his feet again, dodging behind the chipper before MacKay and his remaining comrade knew what was happening. He paused there to catch his breath, and then ducked his head around the corner to see where the next attack would come from.
He didn’t see the gun in the hand of the phony driver until the man triggered a shot. He jumped back, startled, and collided with MacKay. Even though the big man had been intent on flanking him, Kismet’s abrupt retreat caught him off guard, and for a moment, both men simply regarded each other without moving. Then MacKay threw a wild punch that missed Kismet and connected instead with the chipper’s housing. Kismet seized the advantage and planted a foot in MacKay’s chest, but his foe stood firm. Instead of sending MacKay reeling backward, it was Kismet himself that rebounded back, landing on his back, out in the open. Reasoning that he stood a better chance against MacKay than against a bullet, he scrambled for cover behind the chipper once more, and right into MacKay’s grasp.
The big man got one hand around Kismet’s throat, and suddenly that was the only thing that mattered. Even as he fought the chokehold, Kismet felt MacKay dragging him again toward the chute.
“Put that damn thing away,” MacKay bellowed. “And give me a hand.”
Darkness was falling over Kismet’s eyes. He tried tearing MacKay’s hand from his throat, tried also kicking at the man who was choking the life out him, but couldn’t tell if he was making contact. His extremities no longer felt connected to his body.
What seemed like only an instant later, he felt the stranglehold loosen just a little, and in that moment felt the hard rollers of the chipper chute beneath him. Frantic, he blindly thrust arms and legs out, hooking them awkwardly over the side-guard, knowing full well that he was mere inches from being ground into sausage.
“Damn it,” MacKay muttered. He still held Kismet by the throat, but the grip was tentative, as if fearful that he might get pulled in along with his victim.
A small engine revved off to his right, obscured by the hovering darkness and he heard the carriage driver shout: “I’ll cut him up.”
Kismet reacted instantly, instinctively. He threw his weight to the left, rolling up and over the side-guard. He felt MacKay’s grip tighten, but the big man was too slow by a fraction of a second. Kismet hung on the edge of the slanted steel guard, his mass pulling him one way and only the hand around his throat held him back from a fall.
Suddenly MacKay’s grip grew impossibly strong and Kismet felt himself being pulled toward the machine. He struggled to find something to stop his plunge but MacKay’s hold was irresistible.
Then he heard a scream. It lasted only a second before being drowned out by an even more terrible sound.
The chipper engine changed pitch as something entered the maw and the blades made contact. The stranglehold abruptly relented, and through the dark haze, Kismet caught a glimpse of the hand that had held him vanishing beneath the chipper’s feeder roller. A spray of red erupted from the outflow chute and sprayed the pile of woodchips. The machine continued grinding a few seconds longer, and then returned to a quiet idle.
The man with chainsaw seemed paralyzed by the horror of what he had just witnessed. Kismet could only surmise that when he had made his desperate bid to escape, his captor had inadvertently been caught by the feeder wheel and pulled inside, but the phony carriage driver had witnessed everything. Kismet seized the opportunity and hurtled himself over the feeder chute, flattening the stunned man with two-footed kick. He pitched the chainsaw out of reach and then relieved the unconscious man of his pistol.
As the adrenaline surge began to recede, it was all he could do to keep from throwing up. He rocked back on his haunches with his head down, and tried to make sense of what had just happened. After a few seconds, he remembered that Higgins and Annie had probably been taken, but before his could even think about his next move, he heard a disembodied voice say: “Ian, report.”
It took him few seconds to find the walkie-talkie; its now-deceased owner had stashed it next to a tree. Despite the fact that he had heard only two slightly distorted words, Kismet had no trouble identifying the speaker. He considered taunting Leeds, but then thought of a better use for the radio. He keyed the talk button and did his best to mimic MacKay’s gravely brogue. “It’s done.”
EIGHT
Annie felt strangely disappointed by Dr. Leeds’ reaction to their decision. He had merely inclined his head, as if in surrender. “That is unfortunate.” He gestured to the carriage. “The driver will convey you to whatever destination you desire.”
And with that, the silver-haired occult expert had turned away. Elisabeth, who had remained just out of earshot, followed in his wake, but glanced over meaningfully over her shoulder. Annie didn’t know what to make of that. She shook her head and turned to her father. “What now? Should we go back to the museum and tell Nick what happened?”
Higgins expression was unreadable. “He’s probably already on his way to the hotel. We should get there as well.”
Annie noted that her father had not answered the second part of her question. She climbed into the carriage with him, but before she could repeat her inquiry, another man got in as well. Judging by his athletic build and short haircut, Annie immediately pegged the man as someone with military experience, but it was the way he held the pistol that really gave it away.
He kept the gun was low so as to be inconspicuous to passersby, but the barrel did not waver in the man’s grip; it was aimed at Annie’s abdomen. The man’s eyes however were locked on her father.
“Let’s not make a fuss,” the man said in a low voice.
The coach lurched into motion and by the time Annie was able to tear her eyes away from the gun, they were on the Transverse Road and heading east. Annie searched the faces of pedestrians walking along the roadside, hoping to spy a police officer, but their captor quickly divined her intent.
“Don’t even think about it. I’d prefer not shoot you, but I will if I have to.”
Annie swung her gaze back the man, matching his stare. “I think you’re planning to kill us anyway. Why should we make it easy for you?”
The man regarded her for a moment, as if sorting through possible replies, but then just snarled, “Shut the hell up.”
Higgins remained silent, but Annie knew her father was anything but paralyzed with fear. The former Gurkha had survived scrapes worse than this and she had no doubt he was just biding his time and waiting for the right opportunity to make his move.
They abruptly left the road and headed out across the manicured lawn at the edge of a large wooded area. There was no one around to witness the evident breach of park rules, no one to report the strange action to the authorities and perhaps summon help. After only about a minute, Annie
saw a second carriage, waiting idle and evidently abandoned, on the edge of the woods. Their driver steered directly for the second coach and pulled up alongside it.
“Here’s how this is going to work.” The gunman gestured meaningfully with the gun, his eyes never leaving Higgins. “She’s going to get out first. You stay put until I tell you to move. We’re all alone out here, so I won’t hesitate to pull the trigger if you try something. You might get the jump on me, but not before she goes down. Got it?”
“I hear you.” Higgins voice was flat, betraying no emotion.
“Good.” The man’s gaze finally moved to Annie. “Now, out.”
It was the moment she had been waiting for, the moment when the man’s attention would have to leave Higgins. She felt certain that her father would act decisively as soon as she became the focus of their captor’s scrutiny. She turned in the bench seat, confident that salvation was only a heartbeat away, and extended her feet onto the step that extended from the underside of the carriage.
Higgins might have been planning something like what she imagined, but when salvation came, it wasn’t at her father’s instigation. There was a blur of motion in front of her as someone—Kismet!—darted out from behind the second carriage and leaped into theirs, pouncing on the gunman.
Despite the man’s stated readiness to kill Annie, his reflexes were too slow. Kismet went for the gun hand first, thrusting it up and out of the way so that, when the man squeezed the trigger, the pistol discharged harmlessly into the canopy. With his free hand, Kismet punched directly at his opponents jaw, instantly rendering him unconscious.
Higgins was jolted into action. He pushed Annie back into her seat with one hand, while the other wrapped around the senseless gunman’s fist to prevent him from pulling the trigger again. Before he could attempt to wrest control of the firearm however, everything went wrong.
