Fortune Favors (16 page)

The dining area was a shambles from Kismet's pursuit of the knife-wielding intruder. Icing from destroyed pastries seemed to be everywhere. Moreover, some of the passengers acting in blind terror had overturned their tables, spilling plates, silverware and food, and were crouched down behind them. The waiters were conferring with the ship's officers about the cause of the mayhem. One of them spotted Kismet and identified him as one of the perpetrators. The officers moved to question him, but stopped short when they saw the prodigious blade of the serpentine knife held in his right fist.

Kismet dismissed them with an exasperated gesture. “Where are the people who were sitting there?” He pointed to the table where he had left Higgins, in the company of Dr. Leeds and Elisabeth Neuell.

“In the conference room,” replied a waiter, before anyone could think to silence him. “For the séance.”

“Sir,” interjected one of the senior officers, trying to be calm and authoritative. “I must ask you to surrender your weapon.”

Shaking his head, more out of frustration than defiance, he pushed through the group and headed for the exit.

The conference room was dark, lit only by a few candles. The perfect place for an ambush, Kismet decided. He spied Higgins at a table, with Elisabeth and Leeds. The latter was mumbling something, while in the center of the table, projected onto a cloud of mist was the likeness of a gaudy conquistador; a product of amateurish make-up and costume, smoke and mirrors. He stalked over to the table, unnoticed by all except of the architect of the charade himself.

Leeds’ icy gaze defied his stare, but Kismet was unmoved by Leeds’ parlor tricks. Higgins opened his mouth to speak, to reveal the location from which the final correspondence with Henry Fortune had originated, but Kismet cleared his throat, breaking the spell.

The gathering looked up in surprise and Elisabeth breathed a vehement curse. Dr. Leeds folded his arms casually across his chest. “You are disturbing the spirits, Kismet”.

“Perhaps the spirits can answer my questions. I'd like to know why the man that ransacked my room and tried to kill me was wearing a ring with an Ouroboros. Kind of like the one you’re wearing, Dr. Leeds.”

Leeds remained impassive. “You’re imagining things, Kismet.”

“I didn’t imagine this.” Kismet thrust the knife out, over the center of the table, and then stabbed downward, into the heart of the apparition. The blade sliced through the vapors, shattering a mirror concealed underneath, and causing the ghost to dissolve. The gathering dispersed, frightened by the display of violence, but Kismet wasn’t finished. Grabbing hold of the table and shoving it out of the way, he advanced on Leeds.

Leeds did not cower, but instead threw something to the floor, a glass vial that shattered and began spewing thick smoke. A screen of dense fog suddenly rose up around Kismet. He waved his hand to fan away the acrid fumes, and pushed forward undaunted, thrusting his hands out to the place where Leeds was sitting.

His hands closed on empty air. Dr. Leeds and Elisabeth Neuell had vanished.

SEVEN

Unfair though it was, Kismet offered no protest when the captain ordered him off the ship. He was eager to be done with
The Star of Muara
, eager to put the whole sordid affair behind him, and most of all, eager to take up the search for Henry Fortune’s wondrous cavern.

In the early hours of the morning following the disastrous séance, Kismet, along with Higgins and his daughter, boarded a helicopter for the mainland. A few hours later, they were on a trans-Pacific flight to Los Angeles, and because of a trick of geography, arrived in the United States on the evening of the calendar day before they left. They spent a night in a hotel near LAX, but early the next day were back in the air.

The long flights gave Kismet time to think, but his mind was not occupied with fantasies of discovering the source of immortality. Rather, he kept replaying what the man with the silver tooth had said:
You really have no idea. It's almost a pity that you'll die ignorant...Killing you is something I've wanted for a long time.

Kismet knew of one very good possible explanation for the man’s hostility: Dr. Leeds and his thug were part of the Prometheus group. And if Prometheus was after the Fountain of Youth...or the Seed from the Tree of Life or whatever else...then Kismet was determined to beat them there.

But as much as he wanted to believe that Dr. Leeds would somehow lead him to the answers he had been seeking for half his life, he knew that the explanation wasn’t a perfect fit. In his only meaningful encounter with Prometheus, he had been led to believe that he was somehow protected, or at least that Prometheus had no interest in taking direct action against him. He had never been able to fathom the why of it, aside from a cryptic intimation that his mother might somehow be a player in the drama, though even that information was suspect. In any case, his prior knowledge of Prometheus’ goals certainly didn’t square with Leeds’ silver-toothed goon’s lethal grudge. So where did that leave him?

After collecting their luggage from the carousel at La Guardia Airport, Kismet hailed a taxi and the three of them crowded into its rear seat. Little was said as the hired car fought traffic through Queens and across the Williamsburg Bridge; the three had virtually exhausted every avenue of discussion during long hours spent in airport lobbies.

Much of the conversation had focused on Elisabeth Neuell. Higgins, who knew her better than any of them, and was clearly smitten in spite of everything that had happened, was loathe to admit that she might be up to no good, but he was at least willing to allow that Dr. Leeds was not to be trusted.

Then they had turned to the issue of how they would proceed in their search for the cavern. The whole adventure hinged on finding Joseph King, or possibly his heirs, and hoping that he, or they, knew something about Henry Fortune’s—or rather Hernando Fontaneda's—explorations. The rest of the time had been wiled away in an endless and mind-numbing succession of card games and similarly pointless distractions.

Though he was not easily given to sentiment, Kismet felt a wave of relief as the taxi turned on to Central Park West. The familiar foliage of the park, brightly verdant in the summer humidity, was a welcome sight after the disastrous cruise. A few minutes later, they pulled up in front of the American Museum of Natural History, where Kismet’s kept an office.

“I booked you rooms at the Carlyle,” Kismet told the others as he got out. “It’s just on the other side of the park.”

Annie gazed breathlessly out the window. “New York. I never dreamed I’d be here.”

“We can probably squeeze in a couple days of sight-seeing if you like.” He was about to give the cab driver their next destination when Higgins abruptly got out.

“Just across the park, you say?” The former Gurkha nodded toward the verdant urban greenspace just across the street. “If it’s all the same, I think I’d like to stretch my legs a bit.”

Kismet shrugged and with the driver’s assistance, retrieved their luggage from trunk. Higgins and Annie traveled light; one small carry-on bag apiece, containing the bare minimum for an overnight stay. Neither of them had anticipated traveling abroad. Kismet hauled his own duffel bag out as well and paid the driver.

“The hotel is on 76
^th
and Madison Avenue,” he explained as they shouldered their bags. “If you go up to 81
^st
—” He pointed to a street intersection a couple blocks north of the museum—“and stay on the Transverse Road that cuts through the park, it will bring you out a couple blocks north of where you want to be. Go east one more block to Madison and head south to 76
^th
.”

“No worries,” Higgins answered.

“And what will you be doing?” Annie asked.

“I’m going to print up everything we’ve got so far, and hopefully get some contact info on Joseph King.”

The young woman glanced at her father and then at Kismet, and he sensed that she was trying to decide which man to accompany. Kismet put her at ease. “I’ll meet you for dinner in an hour or so at the hotel and get you caught up,” he said. “Enjoy your walk.”

* * *

Although they had indeed spent nearly two days sitting in airport lounges and even more uncomfortably, airplane seats, Higgins was not entirely sincere in stating his motives for choosing to walk through Central Park. As the taxi had cruised up Central Park West, he had caught a glimpse of a familiar face near the park entrance opposite the museum, and felt compelled to investigate. He didn’t want to reveal this to Kismet, and was unsure if he even wanted Annie to accompany him.
Probably just a look-alike
, he told himself, unconvincingly.

But as he and Annie crossed the street, the face he had glimpsed appeared again, looking right at him...beckoning him. Annie saw as well.

“What the—?” She glanced sidelong at her father. “That’s her, isn’t it? How the hell did she get here?”

Less than fifty yards away, Elisabeth Neuell was leaning against the stone half wall that lined the border of a footpath into the park, casually smoking a cigarette. Her extravagant formal wear had been replaced by a yellow mid-thigh length tunic dress. Despite the garment’s simplicity, she made it look glamorous. Higgins was a bit surprised that she had not already been recognized by a passerby; maybe her star had dimmed a bit in the years since leaving her career to become Sultana. As they drew closer, Elisabeth dropped her cigarette and stubbed it out with the toe of her sandal.

He sensed Annie starting to outpace him, perhaps intent on some kind of confrontation, and he quickened his step to head her off. “Beth!” he called, jogging ahead of his daughter. “What on earth are you doing here?”

“You must have hired a Concorde jet to get here ahead of us,” Annie supplied, with a hint of scorn. “But how did you know to find us here?”

The former Sultana gave a tight smile. “That’s not important right now.”

“I think it bloody well is,” Annie retorted, advancing with her fists balled.

Higgins blocked Annie’s way with a restraining arm, but kept his attention on Elisabeth. “It’s a fair question, Beth. Especially after what happened back on the ship.”

“I’ll explain everything, but right now you just need to trust me. Can you do that?”

Higgins glanced at his daughter, reading her answer in the set of her jaw, but then he nodded.

Elisabeth reached out and took his hand and led him into the park. Annie scowled, but followed after them. They didn’t go far however; Elisabeth guided them to one of Central Park’s famous horse drawn carriages, one of several that were parked on the street near the intersection with the footpath.

The driver dismounted as they approached and offered his hand to Elisabeth, helping her step up into the covered
Vis-a-Vis
style carriage. As Elisabeth took her seat, Higgins saw that the coach was already occupied.

Annie leaned past him and looked inside. “Dr. Leeds. What a surprise.”

Leeds had foregone his elaborate skullcap and cassock in favor of black slacks and a charcoal gray turtleneck shirt. He looked almost ordinary. “Please,” he said, offering a hand. “Ride with me and I will explain everything.”

Annie’s body language made it clear that she didn’t want to get in, but Higgins’ curiosity impelled him forward. “Come on, Annie girl. Won’t hurt to listen to what the man has to say.”

“Wanna bet?” Annie grumbled as she climbed inside, sitting next to Higgins on the rear facing seat.

Leeds folded his hands in his lap and did not speak until the carriage lurched into motion. When he did start talking, it was in a low but faintly pleading voice. “I don’t know quite how to tell you this. Nick Kismet is not who you think he is.”

Annie rolled her eyes. “What the hell is that supposed to mean? Especially coming from you.”

Leeds offered an inscrutable smile. “Did Kismet tell you about Prometheus?”

* * *

As the printer whirred to life, Kismet accessed a commercial people-finder website and typed in “Joseph King Charleston SC.” The response was prodigious; there were a lot of discrete references to Joseph King floating around the Worldwide Web, and no way to really tell which one was the one he needed. It was going to be a tedious process and he wasn’t in the mood for that right now. He sent the search results to the printer as well. He was about to check his email when his eye caught on one of the advertisements at the top of the webpage.

He almost laughed aloud. “Surely it can’t be that easy.”

He logged off the computer and scooped the sheaf of paper from the printer tray, then headed for the exit, eager to share his discovery with Higgins and Annie.

He only got as far as the front steps of the museum when he was stopped dead in his tracks.

Powerful hands seized him in mid-step. Two men flanked him, pinioning his arms and immobilizing him. A third materialized out of the crowd and stood directly before him. It was the man with the silver tooth. Kismet struggled uselessly against his captors. They had lifted him off the ground, and he was unable to find any leverage that might break their hold.

Silver Tooth just grinned.

Kismet saw the blow coming, but could do nothing to protect himself. The man's fist burrowed into the pit of his stomach, and his body curled around the impact like a worm on a fishhook. A wave of nausea racked his body.

“To answer your earlier question, the name’s Ian MacKay.” A second blow hammered into Kismet’s gut, and then he felt the papers torn from his hand. “And this is what I was looking for. Thanks ever so much.”

A third punch took his breath away and brought him to the brink of unconsciousness. When the darkness receded, he found himself lying supine on the steps, surrounded by a throng of people who were only just beginning to wonder why he was writhing in agony.

* * *