Then his ears caught the staccato beat of footsteps nearby. He took a deliberate step forward, trying to isolate the sound. It was coming from above. In a flash of insight, he realized where the intruder had gone. He darted forward at a full run until he reached a metal staircase ascending to the uppermost deck of the ship. He vaulted the banister landing on the third step and raced up the stairs, taking three at a time.
He emerged onto the ship’s highest observation deck. His quarry stood at the far end of the deck, gripping the railing, gazing out at surface of the ocean twelve stories below. The only way off was the way they’d both come. The intruder was trapped.
Kismet approached at a walking pace, stopping when he was close enough to hear the other man's labored breathing. “Let’s try that again. Who the hell are you, and why you were in my stateroom?”
The man's silver tooth flashed as he grinned. Kismet did not comprehend the reason for his sudden attack of humor until, a moment later when the man reached into the depths of his jacket, and drew out a long knife with an ornate, wavy blade. Kismet recognized it as a kris, an ancient Indonesian ceremonial dagger. It was probably a replica the man had picked up as a souvenir, but that didn’t make it any less dangerous.
One of his army combatives instructors had once told Kismet: “Always rush a gun, but run away from a knife.” The logic behind this was simple; a gun could reach out and hurt you even if you ran away, so your best chance of survival lay in trying get close enough to deflect the barrel or take the gun away. But the closer you got to a knife, the more likely you were to get cut.
The silver-toothed man laughed, weaving the knife back and forth. “I was hoping I’d get a chance to stick this in you.”
Kismet couldn’t quite place the accent. Something from the Commonwealth; it might have been Aussie or it could have been from Liverpool. That didn’t concern him as much as the fact that his assailant seemed to be making this personal. Kismet raised his hands halfway, more as a placating gesture than a sign of surrender. “If you’ve got some problem with me, let’s talk.”
The movement of the blade stopped abruptly, and the man looked back blankly. “Oh, Kismet. You really have no idea. It's almost a pity that you'll die ignorant.”
“I don't think you’re going to kill me.” Kismet's mind raced to figure out the puzzle of who the man was and what he wanted. “You were looking for something in my room, and you obviously didn't find it. If you kill me, there's a chance you'll never find what you are after.”
“Bah! Killing you is something I've wanted for a long time.”
As he edged closer, Kismet heard the sound of another pair of feet ascending the stairs. He knew without turning to look that it was Annie. A few moments later she was running across the deck, hefting the Glock.
In the moment that the knife-wielding intruder saw Annie, Kismet made his move. The big man recovered quickly from the distraction, thrusting with the blade, but Kismet anticipated the attack, and sidestepped. The kris stabbed the air impotently to Kismet's left, and as the man’s momentum carried him forward, Kismet stepped closer, slipping his right arm around the man’s shoulder and hooking a hand behind his neck in a half-nelson. The knife clattered to the deck, but then he wrenched himself free and spun around, lashing out with a foot to sweep Kismet’s legs from under him.
Kismet landed hard on his side. The silver-toothed man dove for his knife, but even as his hand took hold of the ornate haft of the weapon, Annie shouted a warning for him to stop. She didn’t have a clear shot — she was just as likely to hit Kismet as the intruder — but it was enough to give the man pause. He straightened up without recovering the kris, and shook his head sadly. “Gonna shoot me, little girl?”
“She doesn’t have to.” Kismet struck as the man turned to face him, landing a roundhouse that sent the intruder crashing into the waist-high rail that ringed the observation deck. The man flipped over the barrier, but succeeded in wrapping one arm around it to arrest his fall.
“Should have let me shoot him,” Annie remarked, shaking her head.
Kismet ignored her, stalking toward the hanging intruder. “One more time. Tell me who you are.”
The man showed no sign of surrender. Even as he struggled against his own failing grip, Kismet saw the defiance building in his eye. “I don't think so,” was the grated reply.
The man abruptly let go with his right hand. Kismet saw a glint of light, the reflection a familiar emblem engraved on a golden ring standing out from the man's fist, for just a fraction of a second before that fist hammered into his face.
Kismet’s head snapped to the side with the force of the blow. It took a moment for his vision to clear, but when it did, he rolled back to the railing and leaned over, looking for some sign of his assailant.
Annie was at his side an instant later. “My God, are you all right?”
“Where did he go?”
“He must have fallen in.”
Kismet shook his head, instantly regretting it as the pain of the man's parting blow flared anew. He gingerly probed his aching cheek and saw blood on his fingertips. The man's ring had sliced through the skin under his left eye. While it had not been as gaudy as Leeds’ ring, the symbol was the same: an Ouroboros.
He pushed away from the rail and retrieved the kris, testing its edge with a thumb. Annie stepped in front of him. “Nick. Would you please tell me what’s going on?”
“No,” he replied, thinking about the image of the snake devouring itself. “But I think I know who can.”
Alex Higgins tore his gaze away from Elisabeth and watched with a perplexed expression as his daughter left the dining hall with Kismet at her side. Something was wrong; some unspoken tension between Dr. Leeds and Kismet had reached and passed a climax. But Leeds gave no indication of what the problem might be. He merely stared at the table, silently waiting. Several seconds passed before he abruptly stood and nodded to Elisabeth.
“Delightful!” She reached out and took hold of Higgins’ hand. When he felt her touch, every vestige of apprehension melted away. The feel of her skin set his heart pounding and the faint scent of her perfume led him like a ring through his nostrils. “It is time for the séance. This will be tremendously exciting.”
Dr. Leeds made a casual gesture toward some of the other guests in the dining hall. Half a dozen people left their meals unfinished and rose to follow him from the room. In the euphoria of his intimate contact with Elisabeth, Higgins scarcely noticed the route he and the rest of Leeds’ entourage took and was hardly aware as he was guided to a seat at a large round table, draped with a voluminous blue tablecloth. The room was dark except for a score of small votive candles that offered little in the way of illumination but certainly contributed to the mood of the occasion. Elisabeth sat beside him, and in short order, the other guests filled in around the circumference until only one seat remained.
Dr. Leeds seemed to glide into the room; his long cassock hid his feet from view. He smoothly took his seat and gestured to the audience. “Please, link hands.”
Higgins’ felt Elisabeth’s hand in his; he barely even noticed another guest take his other hand.
Leeds spoke again, his tone both hushed and commanding. “We wish to know more of our quest. There are many answers that may not be found on this terrestrial plane, but beyond it, in the spirit realm. Hernando Fontaneda was the keeper of the secret, but he has passed beyond this world. Will you reach out with me, to contact him?”