Amalie sat very still in the private booth on the mezzanine level, her hands in her lap. Outwardly she appeared coldly composed. But when Matthias looked up from the main floor of the club he could read the seething fury in her eyes. Jasper Calloway stood next to her. He appeared oblivious to her rage. A briefcase and a gas cylinder sat on the table. Jasper had one hand wrapped securely around the release mechanism of the cylinder. In his other hand he held a gun aimed at Amalie’s head.
The light fixtures in the ceiling and along the walls of the club had been switched on in preparation for the nightly cleaning. Two men in janitorial attire and a couple of the club’s security guards sat stiffly in one of the booths on the main floor.
In an eerie parody of the glamorous scene that had prevailed earlier in the evening, when the club had been crowded and the orchestra had been playing, candles still burned on the tables, and empty cocktail glasses sparkled in the harsh glare cast by the light fixtures.
Jasper grunted with satisfaction when Raina, flanked by Matthias and Luther, stopped below the mezzanine.
“Thank you, Ms. Kirk,” Jasper said. “I see you have done exactly as instructed. Put the guns on the floor and kick them under the nearest table.”
Raina bent down and set the pistols on the floor. She used the toe of one high-heeled shoe to nudge the weapons under a table.
Matthias looked at Amalie. “Are you all right?”
“Not really,” Amalie said. “It’s been a rather stressful evening.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” Jasper said. “The past few days have been very hard on my nerves.”
“Your plan was too damn complicated,” Luther said. “That was a mistake. You were a pro back in the old days. A top secret agent code-named Smith. Looks like you’ve lost your edge.”
Jasper’s expression hardened. “What do you know about Smith?”
“Not a lot,” Luther said. “Just what the Federal agent told me when he asked for my help.”
“The Feds must have been desperate if they asked a couple of mob guys for help in setting a trap.”
“They didn’t just want our help,” Matthias said. “They needed us.”
“They’re a bunch of incompetent fools.” Jasper made a disgusted sound. “I assume they have something on both of you. They probably threatened to put you in prison if you didn’t help them.”
Matthias did not respond to that. Neither did Luther.
“My original plan was actually very neat and very straightforward,” Jasper continued. “If everyone had followed the script, I would already be out of the country with the Ares machine, and the public would have been convinced that the robot murdered Pickwell. The government might have had some suspicions, but for all intents and purposes the trail would have dead-ended at the Palace Theater. Looks like the Broker double-crossed me right at the start of this thing.”
“It just goes to show you can’t trust anyone these days,” Luther said. “It’s almost dawn. Let’s finish this. You came for the cipher machine. It’s in this suitcase along with the rotors. Take the damn thing and let Miss Vaughn go.”
“I’m afraid Miss Vaughn and the gas cylinder will have to come with me,” Jasper said. “I’ll need someone to drive the car, you see. I’ve got a rendezvous with a boat that will be picking me up tonight in L.A. I won’t have any use for a hostage after that. I’ll leave Miss Vaughn behind on the pier. She’s a clever woman. I’m sure she’ll be able to find a phone.”
“You’ve got the gas,” Matthias said. “You don’t need a hostage.”
“I learned long ago that having a hostage is the most effective way to make sure everyone stays focused on the objective. I should warn you that the gas in this cylinder is under pressure. I’ve got my hand on the trigger. If anything happens to me, say someone decided to take a shot and hit me or distracted me, the contents would be released. One breath will destroy the nervous system. I’m told it’s a painful way to go.”
“You’d be killed along with the rest of us,” Luther pointed out.
Jasper looked at Amalie. “Show him the mask, Miss Vaughn.”
Without a word, Amalie picked up the heavy mask that was lying on the table. She held it so that Matthias and Luther could see it.
“A mummy mask?” Matthias said. “You really are a frustrated horror actor, aren’t you? I hear The Revenge of the Robot was a box office disaster.”
A flicker of astonishment flashed in Jasper’s eyes.
“Nice work for a couple of mob guys,” he said. “How the hell did you figure it out?”
“We found the robot costume a short time ago,” Luther said. “It was in Pierce’s closet. It had the studio’s name stamped inside. One thing led to another. There are no secrets in Hollywood. You just have to know who to call.”
Jasper’s jaw twitched. “The idea was to make it look like Lorraine Pierce was the real Smith. She was perfect for the role.”
“Because she was a gossip columnist?” Matthias asked. “Seems like a bit of a stretch.”
“Lorraine Pierce was a professional assassin during the war,” Jasper said. “We never met in the field but I was aware of her work. She was good. Very, very good. When I went into the gunrunning business here in California, I needed a front man. Front woman, in this case. I recruited her. She never realized that she was working for me, of course. I let her believe she was the head of the operation. As far as she was concerned I was her number one client.”
“She murdered Pickwell, Hubbard, and Thorpe for you but she never knew your identity, did she?” Matthias said.
“I was always just a voice on the phone,” Jasper said.
“You gave her the orders for the weapons and then you gave her the strategy for buying and selling them,” Matthias said.
“I was always nearby to keep an eye on her, but she never noticed me. Never recognized me. Sometimes I was a stuntman. Sometimes a chauffeur. Sometimes a gardener.”
“Looks like you were a pretty fair actor, after all,” Luther said.
“It was my talent for assuming new identities that made it possible for me to survive the Great War,” Jasper said. “I was brilliant; a legend. But I didn’t descend from an old, established family. I didn’t graduate from an Ivy League school. Back in Washington, the men who run the spy agencies are convinced they can only trust others from their own class.”
“Obviously your old boss was right about not being able to trust you,” Luther said.
“It annoyed me when he tried to terminate my employment with a bullet,” Jasper said. “But enough about the past. Here is how we’re going to handle our current situation. Miss Vaughn and I will make our way downstairs. You will open the suitcase so that I can inspect the merchandise. Miss Vaughn will then carry the case outside and put it into the trunk of your speedster, Mr. Jones. She will get behind the wheel and drive me to my destination. If anyone tries to stop us along the way, if there is even a hint of a change of plan, if I hear so much as a fire siren, I will kill Miss Vaughn. If we run into a roadblock, I will release the gas. Everyone in the vicinity will die. Do we understand each other?”
“Yes,” Luther said.
Matthias looked at Amalie. “Time to fly.”
She met his eyes. “You’re sure?”
“Trust me.”
She moved her hand a little, allowing the trailing edge of her delicate wrap to dip into the candle flame. The gossamer fabric caught fire in an instant. Amalie screamed and leaped to her feet.
Jasper’s eyes widened in fury. He took a couple of steps back. For a few seconds his attention was riveted by the flaming fabric.
“You stupid bitch—” he roared.
He brought the nose of the gun up.
But Amalie was in motion. Tossing the burning wrap aside, she grasped the balcony railing and vaulted over the edge.
Realizing that he had lost his primary target, Jasper moved to the railing and took aim at Luther.
Matthias had his gun out of his concealed ankle holster. The shot caught Jasper in the chest. He jerked violently and took a step back. He got off a shot but it tore into a wall. Luther dove under the table, retrieved his weapon, and fired.
Jasper grunted and shuddered under the impact. He dropped the gas canister. It landed on the mezzanine floor. Everyone except Matthias froze, waiting for the fatal hissing sound that would spell doom for all of them.
Nothing happened.
“The fire,” Raina shouted. “It’s spreading to the tablecloth.”
“Damned if I’ll let that bastard destroy my club,” Luther said.
He headed for the mezzanine stairs. The two security guards leaped up to follow him.
Amalie dangled in midair, both of her hands wrapped around the railing. It was a long drop to the floor—not a killing fall, Matthias thought, but far enough to break an ankle.
“I could really use a ladder,” Amalie said.
“Hang on,” Matthias said.
He holstered his gun and crossed the space to a point just beneath her dangling feet.
“Let go,” he said. “I’ll catch you.”
She didn’t question him. She released her grip on the railing and fell straight into his arms. He staggered a little under her weight but he didn’t lose his balance.
“I’ve got you,” he said.
“Yes,” she said. “You do.”
He set her lightly on her feet. She turned in his arms. He pulled her close and tightened his grip on her. She wrapped her arms around his neck and leaned into him.
Up on the balcony Luther and the security guards quickly beat out the flames.
Raina looked at Matthias.
“How did you know the canister wasn’t going to explode and release the poison gas?” she asked.
Matthias thought about the harsh dissonance in the thundering frequencies of Jasper Calloway’s threat.
“He lied,” Matthias said.
Luther appeared at the mezzanine railing and looked down. He was grim-faced.
“The FBI won’t be getting any answers out of Calloway,” he announced. “And neither will anyone else.”
Matthias released Amalie. “Dead?”
“Not yet, but he will be soon,” Luther said. “One of my men is calling an ambulance, but I doubt if it will get here in time.”
Matthias took the stairs to the mezzanine level two at a time.
Jasper Calloway was sprawled on his back on the floor. The pool of blood around him was spreading rapidly. The shots had punched through his leather vest. One of the security guards was trying to stanch the flow but it was clear that there was no hope.
Luther crouched beside the dying man.
Jasper coughed. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth. He opened his eyes partway.
“How did you know?” he managed in a grating whisper.
“That there was no poison gas?” Luther said. “Mr. Jones has a talent for detecting lies.”
“I underestimated both of you,” Jasper said hoarsely. “Figured you both for a couple of ambitious mob guys who were trying to expand their business operations. Thought you were in over your heads. But you’re not mob, are you? Who the hell are you?”
“Why did you do it, Calloway?” Luther said, not answering the question. “It wasn’t just about the money, was it?”
Jasper grunted. “You know what they say about revenge.”
“Something about digging two graves before you set out on that path, as I recall,” Luther said.
“It’s a drug,” Jasper said. “At the start it gives you a purpose. A reason to live. Eventually it takes over your life.”
“You don’t have a lot of time left,” Luther said. “You can undo some of the damage. Clear your conscience a little. Who is the real client for the cipher machine?”
Jasper managed a harsh chuckle. “You and Jones are agents, aren’t you? Hell of a cover you’ve created. Got to give you credit for that. I never saw through it.”
“This is your last chance to make things right,” Luther said. “Who did you plan to sell the cipher machine to?”
“Now, why would I make it easy for you?” Jasper tried to laugh and ended up choking on blood. “Here’s where things get interesting. My revenge isn’t finished.”
Matthias got the familiar chill across his senses. The frequencies and the wavelengths were distorted by impending death but there was no mistaking the energy that shivered in Jasper’s words.
“He’s telling the truth,” Matthias said. “At least what he believes to be the truth.”
Luther leaned over Jasper and looked into the dying man’s eyes.
“What did you mean when you said that your revenge wasn’t finished?” Luther said.
“Every good horror movie ends with the promise of a sequel,” Jasper said. “Just wish I was going to be around to see what happens next.”
The last spark of life in his eyes died. Matthias knew he was gone.
Luther’s jaw tightened. He got to his feet.
Sirens sounded in the distance.
“That will be the ambulance and the cops,” Luther said.
Matthias looked at the briefcase. Without a word he crossed to the table and unlatched the case.
There was one object inside—a small leather-bound notebook. Matthias took it out.
“Are we going to give this to the FBI along with the cipher machine?” he asked.
“We’ll make that decision after we examine it,” Luther said.
“Help.” Vincent’s Hyde’s deep, resonant voice boomed through the club. “Somebody call a doctor. I’m bleeding. I may be dying.”
Matthias went to the railing and looked down. Hyde was downstairs, clutching his head with one hand. His elegant jacket and crisp white shirt were rumpled and bloodstained.
“Mr. Hyde,” Amalie exclaimed. She rushed forward to grip Hyde’s arm. “You must sit down. Let me help you.”
Raina looked at him. “There’s an ambulance on the way, Mr. Hyde.”
“That is very good news,” Vincent said. He sank down onto a chair. “I have no idea what happened to me. I must have tripped and struck my head.”
Matthias leaned over the railing. “What’s the last thing you remember, Hyde?”
“What?” Vincent craned his neck to peer up at the mezzanine. “Oh, it’s you, Jones. All I recall is that a waiter brought me an urgent message from my chauffeur. Something about a studio executive waiting to talk to me in private outside in the gardens. I remember walking down a path and . . . that’s it. The next thing I knew I was waking up under an orange tree with this dreadful headache.”
“Got a hunch Jasper Calloway lured you into the gardens and knocked you out,” Matthias said.
“My chauffeur?” Vincent’s eyes widened in shock. “He attacked me?”
“Looks like it,” Matthias said.
“After all I did for him,” Vincent moaned. “I should have known he’d turn on me one day.”