Placing the flat of his palm against its surface, Remo pushed the door steadily open. When the gap was wide enough for him to fit through, he slipped inside.
He pulled the door shut behind him.
Chapter 28
In his air-conditioned basement office in the Great Sultan's Palace in the Eblan capital of Akkadad, Mundhir Fadil Hamza was trying to make sense of what he was seeing.
Nothing seemed to add up properly. And as a fastidious bookkeeper, he was used to things adding up. Hamza was finance minister of the nation of Ebla and was perhaps the only man in the country not concentrating on the war that was raging at the mouth of the Anatolia Corridor. This was because he had a mission. One that was far more important than the war itself.
His mission had been given him in secret by none other than Sultan Omay sin-Khalam himself. As one of the sultan's oldest and most trusted friends, Minister Hamza had been put in sole charge of the Great Plan.
And it was a great plan.
It was a scheme that would ultimately and assuredly upset the political order in this region of the world, more than the war itself. Even if the sultan were to perish in battle-even if the battle were a complete disaster-the Great Plan would assure ultimate victory.
Hamza had learned in their parting conversation that the sultan never even expected to live until the end of the skirmish with Israel. If he was not killed by an enemy of Ebla, his illness would surely take him before his return.
But the war was only the foundation for a far more diabolical plan. Omay had revealed to Minister Hamza a singularly brilliant stratagem that would crush Israel and banish the influence of the West from the Mideast forever.
It could not fail. Not as outlined by Omay.
But something about the outline was not quite right. The Great Plan relied heavily on one element. This was the precise aspect that did not add up correctly for Ebla's finance minister.
Minister Hamza scrupulously checked and rechecked the finances of the Ebla sultanate. As he did so, and the answers kept coming up the same, he felt his stomach turn slowly to water. There were no errors.
It was not just the private area that was the problem. It was public, as well. It had happened quickly. Too quickly for the finance office to even be aware it was happening. The insidious tentacles stretched everywhere through the Eblan economy. And it seemed to come from one place.
Hamza reached a shaking hand out to his intercom. A woman's voice answered, muffled through a traditional chador.
"Please get me Taha al-Sattar," he said, head pounding.
As he waited for the call from Akkadad's premier banker, Hamza felt the first reflexive wave of panic grip his bowels.
Chapter 29
There were several large shapes within the small shed. A few lionesses had moved in around the open gate. Some had chosen to remain in the paddock outside. The rest were sprawled lazily in the cool interior of the shed.
A single lion, presumably the patriarch of this pride, was farther inside the shed than the rest. Remo saw it sprawled on its back near an overturned wooden box.
The scent of blood was strong inside. Remo saw a dark stain on one side of the crate. He spotted a few rotted and bloodied teeth scattered like used jacks on the floor. He recognized them instantly as Assola al Khobar's. No one else in Hollywood had teeth like that.
The lion near the box watched him slip through the door. Lying on its back, the animal had a small square of paper propped between its massive paws. As it followed the new intruder with a single wary eye, it continued to drag its big, rough tongue across the exterior of the paper.
Remo was barely inside the shed when he caught another odor, this one stronger than that given off by either blood or lions. It was the familiar smell of nervous human perspiration.
"Hey! Psst! Up here!"
The voice was soft and anxious.
Remo followed it up to the top of a stack of baled hay. An overweight man was crouched precariously atop the bales. They wobbled beneath his great girth, threatening to topple him into the center of the pack of lionesses. A thick trickle of half-congealed blood stained his forehead.
"Dr. Livingstone, I presume," Remo said dryly.
"No," the frightened man snapped. "Reggio Cagliari. Shit, pal, you gotta get me outta here." With a snap of its back and massive shoulders, the lion rolled over onto its stomach. The speed with which it moved was impressive. It let out a low snarl at Remo; however it made no move toward him. It went back to licking the paper.
Remo noticed that what so interested the lion was an ordinary manila envelope. It was smeared with some kind of thin white powder. Scraps of pink cardboard lay on the floor all around the animal.
"Oh, crap!" Reggio begged. "Don't piss him off!"
The lion began chewing contentedly on the envelope and the papers inside.
"Where's al Khobar?" Remo asked Reggio. Reggio didn't have a chance to answer. At that moment the door Remo had come through burst open.
"Get that away from it!" Bruce Marmelstein screamed desperately. He pointed to the envelope clasped between the lion's mighty paws.
The lion had been content to leave the other men in the shed alone until now, but at the abrupt entrance of the movie executive the head of the pride pushed itself hastily to its huge feet. Its roar was deafening inside the small room.
"Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit!" Reggio screamed. He crawled as far away as he could on his wobbly haystack, pushing himself against the wall.
"Are you crazy!" Remo snapped at Marmelstein. "I thought I told you to stay in the car."
"I peeked in the window," Marmelstein said quickly. He jabbed a thumb toward a small window near Reggio's hay bales. "I need that." He pointed to the half-shredded envelope.
The lionesses rose to their feet. There were four of them, huge creatures with a grace and confidence that almost belied their great fierceness.
The lion tipped its head to one side, seeming to work its jaw into another, even louder roar. It would try to force them toward the females. They would then be responsible for the killing.
He was already partway across the room. While the lion was in midroar, Remo reached quickly over, snatching the crate off the floor. He held it out before him, feeling a bit foolish. With a whip in his other hand he could have applied for a job at the circus.
The lion's eyes had been closed while it roared. When it shut its massive jaws it seemed a bit surprised that its great bellow had not had the proper effect. Instead of fleeing, Remo was even closer than he had been.
The female lions were still near the door. This might be easier than he thought. Remo took another step toward the large creature. The lion was curious, but not fearful. It held its ground as he approached.
"Get that envelope first," Bruce Marmelstein's voice pleaded anxiously, too close to Remo's right ear.
"Get away from me," Remo snapped, elbowing Marmelstein in the gut.
The Taurus executive let out a gust of air, doubling over in pain.
This sudden movement was enough for the lion. Coiling the powerful muscles in its hindquarters, it pushed off into the air. In a split second it was hurtling toward Remo, front paws extended, razor-sharp claws splayed.
The animal cut the distance between them in no time.
The lion was fast. But Remo was faster.
When it was close enough that he could smell the stench of rotted flesh on its breath, Remo dropped low. He tossed the crate from left hand to right, keeping it out of the animal's way. Using his free hand as a fulcrum, he propped his palm up against the breastbone of the great beast as it soared above him.