Nine Gates (31 page)

Both Pearl and Albert knew better than to press, and went on with their own preparations, Albert growing increasingly more morose, but Pearl was buoyed past her own uncertainties by Shen’s air of cheerful confidence.

*  *  *

That afternoon
, the security firm Albert had hired called to confirm that Tracy Frye’s plane had landed, and that she had been met by a man who met Jozef Ski’s description.

“Anyone else?” Albert asked. He’d set his phone to speaker mode so Shen and Pearl could listen.

“Just a driver for the car—a big man, Eurasian, looked as much like a thug as a chauffeur.”

“Did you happen to learn whose car it was—or was it just a hire?”

“Yes, we did. Private car. Registered to Franklin Deng in Woodside. Do you want the number?”

Albert punched the air with one fist, but when he spoke his tone remained level and businesslike. “Where did they go?”

“To the Hilton near the airport. I made some inquiries, and Jozef Ski has been staying there on and off for about a week. He has a suite, and sometimes a couple stays with him: a husband and wife, both Hispanic. Their names are Glorieta and Edmundo Sanchez. She’s quite a looker, probably about forty, and at least fifteen years younger than her husband. He’s a big guy, a bit gone to seed, but I’d bet anything he used to be a boxer—he’s got the flattened ears and that nose has been broken more than once.”

“Are Ski and Frye still there?”

“Yes. My partner’s watching them. They went up to the suite, and when they came down Ms. Frye looked as if she’d taken time to shower and change her clothes. She looked pretty beat when she got off that plane. They’re in the hotel café, having something to eat.”

“Anything else?”

“One thing. It may be minor, but since it was out of line, I thought I’d mention it.”

“Go on.”

“When Ms. Frye got off the plane, she had two pieces of luggage, a rolling bag, and a shoulder bag that stretched the limits for a second personal item. The shoulder bag seemed
pretty heavy, but when the man who met her tried to take it, she literally slapped his hand away. She’s got the bag with her now in the restaurant, has it set between her feet, and keeps reaching to touch it.”

“Thank you,” Albert said. “That is very interesting.”

“Shall we just keep watching her?”

“Her in particular,” Albert confirmed, “although if you can manage to keep an eye on her companion—or companions if anyone new joins them—I’d like to know.”

“No problem.”

Pearl rose. “Since we know Tracy Frye is here, I’m going to take a nap.”

“Nap?” Albert echoed, his tone appalled.

“Nap,” Pearl repeated firmly. “I am not as young as you, and tonight promises to be a rather late one. Shen?”

“I think I might as well,” Shen said, “or at least meditate. There are some interesting ramifications in what I’ve been reading.”

Albert still looked appalled, but he couldn’t protest their wisdom. “Do you need me to wake you?”

“No,” Pearl assured him. “I’m sure we’ll both be down with time to spare.”

Shortly before
seven that evening, as they were finishing a light meal, the man from the security firm called back to say that Tracy Frye and her companion had left the hotel and gotten into the limo.

“I think there was someone already in the car,” he said apologetically, “I mean, other than the driver. The man who met Ms. Frye at the airport started to get in the rear seat, kinda pulled back, and then got in front next to the driver.”

“Interesting,” Albert said. “Follow them to their destination. If they get out at the Rosicrucian Museum, you don’t need to follow them. They’re supposed to meet me there.”

“Do you want us to follow them after?”

“You’ve already had a long day. Can you handle that?”

“Sure. No problem.”

“Then I’d like that. If you can arrange for relief, that’s fine, too.”

“No problem,” the man repeated. “We’ve only been on since her plane came in, and hanging around a nice hotel isn’t exactly rough.”

“Thanks,” Albert said. He flipped the phone shut. “They’re on their way. Ready?”

Pearl rose and brushed down her skirts. “I am.”

Shen nodded. “Let’s go.”

Despite
a certain amount of activity near the main entrance, the Rosicrucian Museum exuded absolute tranquillity when Pearl, Albert, and Shen walked over from Pearl’s house and mounted the broad, sphinx-flanked steps that led to the buildings containing the museum and lecture halls.

Pearl’s old friend—and in one sense next-door neighbor—Dr. Broderick Pike, the museum’s director, was waiting for them out on the steps.

Dr. Pike nodded to them as casually as if they were simply a few familiar faces among the trickle of people flowing up the steps. Then he crossed to speak with them. He was a short man somewhere in late middle age, his bearing that of the college philosophy professor he had once been.

“Our regular summer lecture series meets tonight,” Dr. Pike said, “but that shouldn’t interfere with your business. A few people may drift out to the gardens during the break, but Isis’s alcove is reserved for you. The goddess knows to expect you, and will extend her protection.”

The small side garden, a particularly lovely spot where a statue of Isis overlooked the dark waters of a perfectly proportioned reflecting pool, had the specific advantage of being magically shielded from eavesdroppers—the goddess’s protection.

“Thank you,” Albert said. “Hopefully, our meeting will not take long. There may be no need to interfere with the freedom of those attending the lectures to enjoy the roses.”

“The roses are good this year,” Dr. Pike said, “even for this late in the summer.”

His mild, yet still somehow commanding, gaze flickered behind his rimless glasses to where a long midnight-blue limousine was pulling up into the loading zone in front of the museum steps.

“Excuse me while I greet your associates,” he said.

“We’ll go around to Isis’s garden,” Albert said. “Thank you again.”

Pearl followed Albert’s lead, but she couldn’t resist a quick glance back to see who was accompanying Tracy Frye. Only one other person had gotten out of the limousine, a tall, lean man, with thick curly dark hair.

Jozef Ski appeared to be somewhere in his mid-thirties. He was not precisely handsome, but attractive after the square-jawed slim-hipped fashion of the actor who played the hero’s best friend or the competent heavy in the movies of the fifties.

“Downhill Ski,” Shen said softly. “One of those Yeats described as ‘full of passionate intensity,’ if I have the poem right.”

“I believe,” Pearl said, “the line is ‘the worst are full of passionate intensity,’ but I’m not trying to bias you.”

“Downhill Ski,” Albert repeated, “but no one else, yet as the detective reported, he got out of the front seat, Tracy out of the back. Do we place bets that Franklin Deng was there?”

“No takers,” Pearl said.

Tracy Frye and Jozef Ski were not long in joining them. When Pearl had first met Tracy at the Rock Dove Society meeting—had that only been five days ago?—the other woman had been dressed very casually, her slightly faded but wholly presentable jeans, brown and orange madras plaid button-down shirt, and walking shoes appropriate for the setting.

Today, however, Tracy Frye must have decided that her new importance merited a change in style. She wore a beige silk dress that fell in soft folds past her knees, expensive
flats in a coordinated shade of tan, and small emerald studs in her ears. Her long brown hair, worn so aggressively unstyled before, was now swept back and clasped at the nape of her neck.

But she still looks like a fence rail
, Pearl thought,
so much that I wonder how she got that dress on without snagging the fabric.

Clothing might disguise a bit of Tracy Frye’s rough-and-tumble ways, but nothing could conceal the triumph that flashed in her hazel-green eyes.

Jozef Ski looked like the jeans and tee shirt sort, but for this meeting he’d put on khaki trousers and a sports shirt whose thin stripe brought out the dark blue of his eyes. He looked uncomfortable, not shy, but rather as if he were more comfortable haranguing crowds rather than in a small group meeting.

Whereas Tracy Frye was empty-handed, Downhill carried a hard-sided briefcase, wide enough to hold the two mah-jong sets.

So some degree of trust has been established
, Pearl thought.
Or maybe Tracy thought the briefcase didn’t go with her new look.

Unnecessary introductions were made all around, then they seated themselves on the carved stone benches that flanked the reflecting pool.

Pearl couldn’t help but remember the last time a group had met there, less than two weeks ago. That was right after they had finally forced Righteous Drum into a situation where he must talk terms with them.

Why don’t I think this meeting will go as well?

Because then
, she answered herself,
you knew that you wanted to reach some sort of agreement. This time, you don’t.

Tracy Frye, however, clearly thought differently. She arranged the skirts of her dress, then glanced at Downhill Ski. The man inclined his head slightly.

Pearl, a student in the nuances of body language, read this as,
Go on. We’d agreed you’d do the talking.

Tracy Frye might have changed her clothes and done her hair, but her voice held the same splintery note Pearl remembered.

“It seems we’ve all been shopping for the same collectibles,” she said.

Albert refused to play games. “Yes. The mah-jong sets belonging to the original Thirteen Orphans. You have acquired two: the sets belonging to the Ox and the Monkey. I assume this meeting is for one of two purposes: Either you wish to negotiate to buy the other sets, or you wish to sell your own.”

Clearly, this meeting was not going as Tracy had imagined it would. Pearl saw Downhill tighten his lips to hide a grin.

No doubt she has been holding forth, telling how we would grovel. Albert is far too canny a negotiator for that.

“Would you sell the other sets?” Tracy asked.

“I would not,” Albert said. The momentary gleam of triumph that rekindled in Tracy’s eyes faded with his next words. “For one, they are not mine to sell. I only hold title to my own and those my agent acquired for me. The others belong to those who inherited them. I am not looking to make a collection.”

“So you don’t want the sets?” Tracy said. “I was told… that is, I thought you would.”

“I do want them,” Albert said patiently. “I am waiting to find out if you want them as well.”

“I…” Tracy Frye stopped.

You can’t very well say you never did want the nasty things, now, can you?
Pearl thought, amused.
You can’t say you only went after them because you thought they’d give you leverage to get what you really want.

“If,” Tracy said at last, “I were selling the two mah-jong sets I have acquired, what would you pay for them?”

Albert considered. “My agent has established what the going rate is for the sets. He was even able to learn what you
paid for the two you acquired. You have not had to hold on to them long, so I think a twenty-five percent profit would be reasonable. I can even arrange for cash.”

Tracy Frye looked momentarily tempted. After all, she was not wealthy, but the temptation was reflex.

“I wouldn’t be interested,” she said, “not for twenty-five percent, not for a hundred percent. My price doesn’t have dollar signs at all.”

“Then?” Albert’s mild expression didn’t change in the least.

“I want to learn your lore—the lore of the Thirteen Orphans,” Tracy said. “Look. I offered these two…”

She tossed her head in the direction where Shen and Pearl sat, her first acknowledgment of them other than when greetings had been exchanged.

“I told these two that I’d be happy to help you all, happy to lend you a hand with your problems, but they turned me down. From what I’ve heard about the Orphans, you’re like the king. Maybe you can make a deal where they couldn’t.”

Albert allowed himself to look mildly interested.

“Would you clarify what you are offering?”

Pearl saw Tracy blink as if wondering just when she had turned into the supplicant.

“I’m telling you,” Tracy said, stressing the middle word just slightly, “that if you want these two mah-jong sets, then my price is as follows. I want an introduction into your magical lore—and not just some empty theory. I want something with real flash.”

“Flash,” Albert repeated, with a nod. “Go on.”

“And since I have two of your ancestral mah-jong sets here, and those sets have lots and lots of pieces, I don’t think I’m out of line saying that I want to be permitted to bring a friend with me to learn what you have to teach. And I want permission for that friend and me to be permitted to eventually pass a little of your lore on to a couple of chosen allies.”

“An introduction,” Albert said. “That is all you want?”

“A real introduction,” Tracy said, “like you’ve been giving those apprentices of yours—how to make those bracelets, the theory behind them, things like that.”

“Why are you so certain you could learn our lore?” Albert asked. “As you must know, it has been restricted to the Thirteen Orphans and their direct heirs.”

“Because,” Tracy said, “if those heirs can learn it, then I figure I can. Brenda Morris isn’t yet an Orphan, but she can work some of your tricks. I’m good at absorbing other techniques. I figure this is just more of the same.”

“And your friend,” Albert turned his gaze to Downhill, “is he similarly able?”

“I am not,” Ski said, “the one who will be your other student. I’m coming in on the second round. However, the delay does not mean that I would not make myself and my abilities available to you in your fight, your noble fight to keep our world free from invasion.”

Downhill spoke in a measured fashion, his voice rising almost involuntarily as he offered his services. So might a knight of old have spoken, eager for battle, any battle, as long as he could believe it just and himself a hero.