A Wizard of the White Council (16 page)

Wycliffe sighed. “Ah. Vasily. So good to see you again.”

“Senator.” Kurkov grinned, showing nicotine-stained teeth. “Or should I say Vice President? I saw your speech on the television. Very inspiring.” He clapped a few times. “It made me want to stand up and cheer.”

“How I’ve missed your sarcasm,” said Wycliffe. A bit of worry stirred within him “Did you enjoy your trip to Los Angeles?”

Kurkov’s grin widened. “Oh, did I indeed. The weather is far nicer. You ought to have become a senator from California, not from Illinois.”

Wycliffe fiddled with a pen. “And was your trip successful?”

“Yes.” 

Wycliffe let out a long sigh of relief. “Good. Finally.”

Kurkov nodded. “I agree. It has been a most trying few months. My organization has suffered tremendously.” He smirked. “Fortunately, the cash outlay for the bomb will go a long way in repairing the damage.” 

“Details?” said Wycliffe. 

“I have a freighter waiting in Vladivostok.” Kurkov scowled. “To prevent the chance of treachery and incompetence, I have assembled a crew of my own people. The ship will leave port in one week’s time.” He fumbled through his black jacket and produced a pack of Camels and a lighter.

“Please don’t smoke in here,” said Wycliffe. “I’ll never get the smell out.”

Kurkov ignored him and lit up. “So, the ship will leave in a week. My captain thinks it will take three weeks to cross the Pacific safely. Then another week to transport the bomb from Los Angeles to here.”

“Why another week after the ship arrives?” said Wycliffe. “You could get it here in two days.”

Kurkov tapped ash onto the carpeting. “Authorities must be avoided. Customs officials must be bribed. These things take time, as you well know. So we have five weeks to wait. Expect the bomb between December 15th and December 25th.” He grinned. “You may be able to give Lord Marugon a very expensive Christmas present.” 

“I should say so.” 

Kurkov blew out a cloud of smoke. “The price is up to fifty million, by the way.”

“Fifty million dollars?” said Wycliffe, his voice rising to a shout. “Are you out of your addled mind? The agreement was for thirty million.”

“Expenses,” said Kurkov. “Do you have anything to drink?”

“No.”

Kurkov grumbled. “I took heavy losses during the crackdown in Vladivostok. I must make those losses up if I am to turn a profit from this affair.” 

Wycliffe rubbed his forehead. “Fine. Just have the damn thing here by December. If Marugon could have waited until January, I could have given him all the bombs he would ever need. Yet he insists on having the damned nuke as soon as possible. And I still don’t even know what he intends to do with it.” Suppose Marugon intended to use the bomb in the United States? It would not do to start President Jones’s term with a disaster of such magnitude. 

Kurkov shrugged. “Does it matter? Let him take the bomb back to his world and blow a city to radioactive slag. He will have to deal with the consequences, not us.” He snickered and puffed on his cigarette. “And perhaps we can make even more money selling him medical equipment.”

“Perhaps.” Wycliffe stood. “Well, we had best go give Lord Marugon the good news.” Kurkov rose, put out his cigarette, and dropped the butt in the trash. “The entire time you’ve been gone Vasily, that’s all he’s talked about. The bomb, the bomb, when is he getting his precious nuclear bomb? That and the girl.”

“The girl?” said Kurkov. They walked into the hallway, making for warehouse 13A. Goth followed them like a dark shadow. 

“You remember,” said Wycliffe, walking into the complex’s yard. Cold flurries of snow whipped across the cracked concrete. “This mysterious red-headed girl he thinks he saw at the honors dinner.” A few of the dockworkers waved as he passed. Wycliffe grinned his Senator’s smile and waved back. “When he isn’t talking about the nuclear bomb, he talks about her. He seems to think she has the white magic or some such nonsense.”

“So have you found this girl?” said Kurkov. 

Wycliffe snorted. “No. I doubt she exists. I had my researchers do a few searches, but nothing came up. Frankly, I think Marugon’s mind is…starting to go.” Wycliffe shook his head. “Perhaps the strain of conquest overthrew his reason. But whatever it is, he’s become erratic. He rarely sleeps. He spends all his time muttering spells of the black magic to himself, at least when he’s not complaining about the bomb and the girl.” He shrugged. “Perhaps Marugon plans to go out in a blaze of fire with the bomb.”

Kurkov scowled. “Not here, I hope.”

The squat bulk of warehouse 13A loomed before them. Wycliffe fished his keycard out of his pocket as a van came around the corner and stopped before the doors. The van’s doors opened, and Dr. Krastiny, Schzeran, and Bronsky got out, clad in the dark coveralls of exterminators.

“Dr. Krastiny,” said Wycliffe. “Good to see you again.”

“Congratulations on your successful election, Mr. Vice President-Elect,” said Krastiny. “Quite a remarkable victory.”

Wycliffe swiped his keycard through the warehouse’s lock. “And yet you were not here to share it.”

“No,” said Krastiny. He looked grave. “I was not.”

They trooped into the gloomy warehouse. The door to the Tower stood closed, the dark marble gleaming with a faint green glow. Wycliffe glanced over the meat freezers that lined the walls. He had hidden over two hundred of the changelings within the freezers, keeping them starved and maddened in the dark. Marugon had been right. They would make a useful reserve, should events turn sour. “So tell me. Why were you out and about? I thought you would take advantage of Vasily’s absence and enjoy a vacation.”

“Unfortunately not,” said Krastiny. They reached the elevator. “Lord Marugon gave us an assignment instead.”

Wycliffe went rigid. “What? Lord Marugon sent you out?” Krastiny nodded. “To do what?”

“Senator Wycliffe,” said Krastiny. He looked deadly serious, more shaken than Wycliffe had ever seen him. “It is quite imperative I report to Lord Marugon at once.” Goth shifted, light glinting off his mirrored sunglasses. 

Wycliffe scowled. “Very well.” They filed into the elevator. “If it is so urgent, fine. But we have news for Marugon as well.” 

The elevator opened into Wycliffe’s bunker. He strode down the corridor, beneath the humming lights and the metal pipes, and to the library door. Wycliffe pushed it open and stepped inside. Only a few of the lights were on. Shadows lay gathered in the corners, pooled beneath the chairs and the tables. 

Marugon sat alone in one of the overstuffed chairs, wrapped in his black robes, his head bowed. Wycliffe felt the faint chill of black magic. Was Marugon working a spell?

Wycliffe pushed aside his trepidation and stepped forward. “Lord Marugon.”

Marugon’s gaze snapped up, fixing on Wycliffe. “Senator Wycliffe.” Wycliffe tried not to shudder beneath the weight of that black, empty gaze. “Or should I say Vice President Wycliffe?” He chuckled without humor. “Or perhaps President Wycliffe? I fear you shall soon tire of your puppet Jones, yes?”

Wycliffe swallowed. “That’s right. I’ve won the election.”

“Very good,” said Marugon. His eyes narrowed. “So, I presume you now have time to obtain my bomb?” 

“Yes,” said Wycliffe. “And I have some very good news about that. Vasily?”

Kurkov cleared his throat and stepped forward. “Ah…Lord Marugon. A freighter has been found for the bomb. It shall leave in one week’s time. I hope to deliver the bomb to you within five weeks.

“Good,” said Marugon. “I have not crossed the darkness between the worlds, overthrown my enemies, and laid waste to the High Kingdoms only to be delayed by the bumbling of a bandit chief.” He leaned forward a bit, his shadow falling over the room. “Further delay would have forced me to find another supplier.” 

Wycliffe expected Kurkov to take offence at the insult, but he remained silent, his expression tight and nervous. 

“Lord Marugon,” said Wycliffe. “If I might ask, what do you intend to do with the bomb?”

Marugon’s black gaze flicked to him. “We have discussed this.”

“Well, yes,” said Wycliffe, “you wanted to use it against the last stronghold of your enemies. But that was years ago. You have no enemies left. What good would the bomb do you now?”

Marugon did not answer.

“You…don’t intend to use the bomb here on Earth, do you?” said Wycliffe. He felt some sweat break out on his forehead. “That would not be wise. I could not permit it, now that I am vice president of the United States?”

Marugon almost smiled. “You would not permit it?” 

“Then what shall you do with that bomb?” said Wycliffe.

Marugon leaned back in the chair. “I shall take it with me through the Tower of Endless Worlds.”

“To use on your world?” said Wycliffe. Suddenly he wished Marugon would go away. Wycliffe needed nothing more from him. He had millions of dollars, even after the money for Kurkov’s bomb. He was vice president-elect of the United States and in position to become the president. He had the Voice, which could bring him anything he desired. And Marugon had changed over the years. Once he had been ambitious and eager for revenge on his enemies, something Wycliffe could understand. But now, it was as if Marugon had gone mad. 

Wycliffe wanted Marugon and his winged demons gone. 

“So…you will use the bomb on your world?” said Wycliffe.

Marugon laughed. “Senator, Senator.” He stood and began to pace. “How do you worry.” He turned and looked Wycliffe in the eye. “I give you my word that I shall not use the bomb on your world. And something else to put your mind at ease. After I have the bomb, I shall leave this world. Forever. I need nothing more from you.”

“You’re serious?” said Wycliffe. “But…but without Kurkov’s guns, how will you keep a grip on your conquests…”

Marugon gave him a scornful glance. “Conquest? Do you still think this was about conquest? The lands of the High Kingdoms mean nothing to me. Their ruined cities mean nothing.” His face twisted in a mixture of rage and madness. “I destroyed my enemies so they cannot stop me.”

Wycliffe frowned. “Stop you? Stop you from doing what?”

Marugon said nothing. 

Dr. Krastiny cleared his throat. 

Wycliffe looked at him. “What?” 

The little bald man stepped forward. “Lord Marugon…we have news on your commission.” 

Marugon turned so fast that his robes swirled like dark mist. “What have you found?”

Dr. Krastiny pulled a tan envelope from inside his coverall. “It appears that not all your enemies are…quite as destroyed, let us say, as you might think.”

Marugon snatched the envelope, stalked to one of the tables, and dumped it out. Color photographs scattered across the table. Some showed the front steps of a college dormitory, a red-headed young woman stepping through the doors. Wycliffe picked up one of the photographs of the red-headed young woman. Something scratched at the back of his mind. He had seen her somewhere before. 

“You found her,” said Marugon, his voice low and cold. 

Wycliffe glanced at him. “This is the girl you’ve been worried about for all these months? You…hired Krastiny to find her?”

“Most perceptive,” said Marugon, his voice a snarl. “It seems the good physician has succeeded where your researchers and campaign workers have failed.” 

“I didn’t have much to go on!” said Wycliffe. “A pretty young woman with red hair and a blue dress? How many tens of thousands of people match that description, hmm?”

“Yet Krastiny managed to find her, did he not?” Marugon stared at the photos. “And in only a few weeks. Your indifference may cost both of us dearly.” He stabbed a finger at the girl’s image. “I sensed the white magic within her, burning like a candle cloaked beneath a blanket.”

Wycliffe snorted, trying to push aside his fear. “A flame smothered beneath a blanket goes out.”

“Or it blazes all the brighter when it is uncovered,” snarled Marugon. The black magic seemed to roll off him in waves of power. “You know where she is?” Krastiny nodded. “Then I shall go and kill her at once, and all with her. I cannot permit her to live. She is only potential now…but she may grow, become more, given time. I shall not give her that time. I will not have everything I have worked for destroyed by this…this child.”

Wycliffe stared at her picture. Why did she seem so familiar? He glanced at one of the photographs of the house. It showed a man walking to a parked car, a briefcase tucked under his arm …

Wycliffe flinched as shock froze his wits.

“Lord Marugon,” said Krastiny, his voice quiet. “There is one other thing.”

“Oh?” said Marugon, his eyes still on the photos.

Krastiny slipped a picture from the pile. It showed a boy of fourteen or so running up the house’s front walk. “The girl’s name is Ally Wester. Her parents are named Katrina and Simon Wester.”

“Impossible,” whispered Wycliffe. “Absolutely impossible.”

Krastiny ignored him. “Evidently she was adopted. But she is not an only child. She has a younger brother, a boy named Lithon.”

Silence hung over the room for a long moment.

“What did you say?” Marugon’s face was an emotionless mask. He stepped towards Krastiny, towering over the little man. “What did you say?”

Krastiny faced down Marugon’s stare without blinking. “Lithon Wester. Her younger brother is named Lithon Wester.” He pointed at a sheet of paper among the photos. “Here is there address. Both children will be at the house after seven o’clock this evening.” Krastiny swallowed. “If you are to strike, I suggest you do so then.” 

Goth’s angry growl filled the library. “This cannot be. This cannot be, Lord! We saw them perish.”

Marugon’s eyes narrowed. “Did we?”

“Nothing could have survived that explosion,” said Goth. “Nothing!”

“I thought it a trap.” Marugon’s voice grated with rage. “Perhaps it was not. Perhaps it was a trick.” His shaking hands clenched into fists. “I saw them. Lithon and a young girl,” his eyes flicked to the red-headed girl’s picture, “two men, and a woman.”

“A woman?” whispered Wycliffe. The realization hit him with overpowering force. “Simon Wester. That dirty lying bastard. He tricked me.”