Dagger Magic

In the control room of U-636, the third of the crates of diamonds had gone aloft and crewmen were lifting the chest of manuscripts into the hatchway that led into the conning tower. Raeburn was standing forward of the periscope with the submarine's commander. After a casual glance at Kurkar, still sitting entranced at the rear of the control room, he drew the captain closer to one of the duty stations.

"Listen to me," he murmured in German. "I can only imagine the kind of agony you and your men are enduring. I must warn you that there is no guarantee that my associates will release you from that agony when your task here is done.

On the contrary, the only way for you to liberate yourself and your men is with this."

With his body blocking his movement, Raeburn drew the Walther from inside his jacket. Thumbing off the safety catch, he pressed its grip into the captain's cold hand.

"The man who summoned you back from the peace of death - and who betrayed you unto death half a century ago - is aft, working his unholy sorcery to keep you bound here," he told the rolag. "His power over you will cease, once and for all, when he himself is likewise dead. Do you understand?''

The captain's head executed a stiff nod of comprehension, and his gun hand fell to his side, shielded behind his thigh as he turned away and started back toward the ladder where his men were preparing to hoist the last crate of diamonds aloft.

Beyond them, Kurkar sat cross-legged on the floor where his predecessor had sat, blind to his surroundings, still rolling his Phurba between his palms, in the throes of deep trance. He stirred as the captain's arm lifted, pointing directly at his forehead at point-blank range, eyes opening wide in mingled fury and alarm, but in that same instant, the captain squeezed the trigger.

The Walther went off with a bang that reverberated throughout the ship. Kurkar gave a convulsive jerk, now possessed of a bloody third eye, then crumpled forward, the Phurba tumbling from his hands and skittering across the metal floor. As it parted company with its master, the reanimated crew of U-636 collapsed in their places and Raeburn's pistol fell from the hand of a German naval officer half a century dead.

The sub's idling engines fell silent, but the lights merely dimmed and then stabilized, powered by the battery reserves. Pale eyes glinting, Raeburn made a dive to recover the Phurba, thought better of it, then scooped up the Walther instead. As he did so, he heard the swift slap of sandalled feet descending the ladder from the top of the conning tower.

Chapter Thirty-Three

RAEBURN faded into the shadows beside the main instrument panel, the Walther pointed in the direction of the ladder while his free hand began tripping switches. In that same instant, Nagpo dropped down off the ladder to the floor of the control room, Phurba in his hand.

Even as Raeburn's finger tightened on the trigger, the Phurba was lifting to point directly at him, tracing a darting symbol in the air. The fusillade that Raeburn loosed went wide, as if deflected by an invisible wall, the ricochets clattering about the confines of the control room and sending Raeburn himself cringing for cover. As the echoes died away, Nagpo turned his dark gaze around the room, the Phurba still held between himself and his adversary, and noted the body of Kurkar lying face-down in a congealing pool of blood. The barely checked anger contorting his face as he turned back to Raeburn made him look almost like the German corpses sprawled about the room.

"This was ill done, Gyatso," he rasped. "Whatever satisfaction it may have given you, I do not think you will find it worth the price."

As he took a step forward, Raeburn again lifted the Walther and pulled the trigger at point-blank range, only to have it click on an empty magazine.

"You fool!" Nagpo said witheringly. "What did you think to accomplish by betraying us?"

"You would have betrayed me!" Raeburn blurted, retreating as far as he could against a bulkhead. "Do you think I ever believed Dorje would let me walk away from this?"

Nagpo's gaze glinted. "It seems that Rlnpoche may have underestimated you after all," he said. "It is true that he always intended to dispense with you, once you had served your purpose. But you are wrong to regard it as a betrayal. On the contrary, justice will be served. Whatever your excuses, your failure in Scotland could not be allowed to go unpunished. Now, kindly drop your weapon."

Instead, Raeburn hurled the empty gun at Nagpo's face. The Walther bounced aside harmlessly, deflected by the magic of the dagger, but its flight bought Raeburn the split-second of distraction he was hoping for. Thrusting his hand into the front of his coat, he pulled out the wand of ashwood and snarled a word of cold command as he levelled it at Nagpo.