The Scent of Death: Nemesis, #2

By Brian K. Lowe

A missing ambassador, a Washington bureaucrat murdered in his own office, and a bizarre kidnapping send five friends to the Far East, through pre-war Japan to a small and ancient kingdom high in the mountains between Mongolia and China, where conflicting loyalties create a web of intrigue and murder.

 

There they find themselves on the trail of a 500-year-old weapon so deadly that it may kill the wielder as well as his victim, and so silent and invisible as to kill before its presence is even known.

 

A Japanese imperial officer, a Chinese scholar, a community of sheltered monks, and the beautiful daughter of the king: Who is the key to the plot to overthrow the crown and deliver to the warring factions of the world the secret to the ultimate assassin?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Brian K. Lowe
• Release date: Jul 29, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223796640

Book preview

Prologue

WASHINGTON, D.C. - January 15, 1932

Mr. President, Ambassador Reinhold is here.

Thank you. Send him in, please.

President Hoover maintained his stance facing the window looking out over the South Lawn as the ambassador walked in. He heard the man’s shoes clicking on the floor, stopping at a respectful distance from the desk, but he did not turn around until he had finished his thought.

Good afternoon, Ambassador.

Good afternoon, Mr. President. Morgan Reinhold was a tall man in his late forties, straight as a rail, with no taint of grey in his dark blond hair. He stood at ease awaiting the president’s pleasure, but Hoover knew that behind that uncreased brow the other man’s mind was barreling forward like a freight engine. How much did he know? How much did he suspect? With any luck, he practically has the whole thing figured out already, Hoover thought. I hope so; that’s why he’s here.

Hoover gestured for Reinhold to be seated, but the ambassador deferred to the president. When they were both comfortable, Hoover leaned forward as if to make a point, but stopped. Damn it! He’d met Reinhold only briefly in the past; most of the ambassador’s career, unsurprisingly, had been spent at overseas postings. He’d been surprised when the man’s name came up in connection with the current situation, but those who knew best—so far as anyone really knew—said he was right for the job. Can do it if anyone can, went the recommendation, and when he asked for more, he was given enough information to be in awe of the gentleman across from him. It was not a feeling he enjoyed, not a feeling that the President of the United States should ever experience.

Well, there are ways to set that right...

Ambassador, why don’t you tell me why you’re here.

Reinhold crossed his legs and sat back in his chair. Given the recent Japanese moves against China, Mr. President, I expect you’re about to send me to the Far East. Since I doubt that the Japanese would listen to me if I told them to ease up, and the Chinese seem intent on self-destruction, I am willing to wager that I’m not on my way to Tokyo or Nanking. He steepled his fingertips and paused for a moment. I can see where it would make sense to reassure our allies in the Southeastern Pacific that the United States stands with them, but we already have ambassadors in those countries who could do that without my having to travel 10,000 miles.

He leaned forward again and fixed the president with a frank gaze. "Besides, sir, with all due respect, I believe you know that that sort of diplomacy is not my forte. Unless you asked me here to tell me that I am being...re-assigned, I would venture that there is something—or more likely someone—you would like me to retrieve from one of our allies in the region and return to the United States without too many people noticing. Something or someone whom we would prefer not to leave for the Japanese to pick up at their leisure."

President Hoover blinked. He let out the breath he had not realized he was holding.

Well, I’ll be. You’re as good as they say you are. He heaved a sigh. Mr. Reinhold, are you familiar with the kingdom of Quanyu?

It’s a small mountain kingdom in Central Asia, Reinhold replied slowly. On the border between Mongolia and Russia. I’ve heard of it, but I’ve never been there. In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone who has. As far I know, it consists of snow, a few temples, and more snow.

As far as most people know, that is correct. I certainly had never heard of it until a few days ago. But now the State Department has received a message: The King of Quanyu has a daughter, also named Quanyu. The overt story is that he would like his daughter to come to the United States to attend the university. He would have sent her himself, but with the Japanese mess going on, he’s afraid to send her off without an escort.

An escort from a neutral country whom Japan would not want to offend, Reinhold guessed.

"Exactly. But that, as I say, is the story that’s gone out. We have reason to believe that the king wants his daughter to come here for another purpose. According to the experts at State, they think the king is in possession of a weapon—and he’d rather we have it than the Japanese. I’m not sure how State came to this conclusion, but they assure me they are highly confident in their conclusions—confident enough to recommend that you act as that escort. They seemed to think that you, at least, would understand. Personally, I think it’s more likely simply to be some national treasure or heirloom that he doesn’t want to see decorating the Emperor’s palace."

You mean besides his daughter.

Hoover reddened. Well, yes, besides his daughter.

The ambassador nodded. "I have some idea of where they might be coming from. I will need to leave immediately, of course. There will need to be special travel arrangements for once we reach Asia, but I can have those made while we’re en route."

Hoover frowned. "We? Do you have an assistant?"

Mrs. Reinhold. She goes with me everywhere.

The president straightened up. "Are you serious? You’re taking your wife? This isn’t a pleasure cruise; this is a war zone."

Trust me, Mr. President, Reinhold said with a small smile. My wife has been all over the world with me. This won’t be her first war zone. And she acts as invaluable camouflage—most men cannot imagine I would take her into a dangerous situation any more than you do. I probably should not tell you our children used to accompany us on many of our trips.

President Hoover shook his head. "When I became president, they told me there were people like you working for the government, men who do things other people can’t, things that most of us can’t even imagine. They said those men stick to the shadows, and that with any luck, I’d never meet any of them. I am beginning to see what they meant.

But I will tell you honestly, Mr. Reinhold, while I don’t believe that the king of Quanyu is holding onto any secret weapons, if I’m wrong, and he is, someday years from now another president may be very glad that you and I had this conversation.

February 22, 1932

He had been told to wait, and he would wait. The room into which he had been ushered was not large, perhaps ten feet across and twenty feet long. It had no windows and was papered with a pattern of large orange flowers and a green background, which must have seemed exotic to whatever long-ago prince had commissioned its creation, but to the man waiting it was merely garish. He had never seen flowers in anything approaching such profusion or size. He supposed it might be intended to represent a royal greenhouse—if anything like that actually existed. He did not know, nor did he ponder the question. His curiosity, such as it was, centered on the meeting he had been told to await. The wallpaper flowers were only a distraction, and not a pleasant one, at that.

The wallpaper was broken only by the door through which he had entered, and a large standing screen near one wall. He had peeked behind the screen when he first sat it, and noticed a latticed airway or alcove set in the wall, but that was all. He wondered idly if he should put an eye to the lattice to see what was on the other side but had not yet made up his mind to do so.

Kwan! intoned a hollow voice from behind the screen. Kwan jumped—he knew there was no one there. Someone must be speaking from the other side of the latticed opening. Kwan felt a shiver of excitement—the master himself was here to take his report! Who else would go to such lengths to hide his identity?

Kwan! The voice demanded once more. Your report!

Yes, master! As you ordered, I obtained a position in the palace. My task was merely to sweep the floors; by this method I was able to go anywhere, and no one paid attention to me!

I know that, you idiot! I procured your position! Tell me what you found!

Yes, master—! I roamed the palace for weeks, listening to all and speaking to none. But no one knew anything of what you asked me to find. People repeat gossip and rumors, but even then they speak only in whispers!

So you took the initiative, didn’t you? When you heard two of the princess’s women talking about her leaving for America, you asked them what they were talking about, didn’t you, Kwan? You inquired as to the princess’s plans—out of politeness?

Yes, master! I thought if the princess were planning to leave the palace, she might be planning to hide the thing you were looking for!

Kwan imagined during the pause that the unseen questioner was nodding thoughtfully, pleased by his servant’s cleverness.

That was very good thinking, Kwan. I am impressed. You exceeded your instructions.

Kwan straightened and beamed.

Remain where you are until you are summoned. I will see that your forwardness is rewarded.

Only the utter silence of the windowless room allowed Kwan to hear that somewhere deep in the latticed alcove there was the faint click of a panel being locked. He breathed in a deep sigh of satisfaction. He could almost smell the fragrant scent of promotion, as if the flowers themselves had given forth of their essence in his honor.

Then he frowned, sniffing. The flowers really were starting to give off an odor, a sweet perfume that would likely give him a headache if he had to stay here much longer. He moved to the door, to open it slightly and allow in fresh air.

The door was locked. Suddenly he whipped around in panic, pounding on walls as if seeking a secret exit, and as the fragrance became more and more pronounced in his nostrils he slapped both hands over his ears and screamed...

In the corridor outside of the windowless room with the ugly flowers, two men waited.

He was an idiot. He failed to follow instructions and drew attention to himself with his stupid questions. Make sure the others know the penalty for failing to follow my orders exactly as I give them. He glanced at the locked door. Find two men and have them bring a large rug. By the time you come back, it will be safe to go in. Make sure to wrap him very tightly just in case. Leave the body in the rug and bury it in the snow. Bury it deep, where it will never be found.

Chapter 1

Homecoming

THE CABBIE HAD BALKED at the idea of trying to fit seven people into his hack, but the magical properties of a promised ten-spot had quelled all of his protestations, even when he barely had room to work the gearshift. It wouldn’t have been so bad if they’d let one of the dames sit up front with him—even the darkness and their wide-brimmed hats didn’t hide the curves that, as much as the sawbuck, convinced him to give this odd bunch a ride—but they insisted that the mountain of rock sit in the front and he practically took up half the cab by himself. Nor was he a talker, no more than any of them.

Yet the cabbie found himself feeling sorry for them more than anything else. These folks weren’t staying mum because they were angry, or anti-sociable; no, it was something else. Something that had happened to them, something they did not want to talk about.

And these people, he realized as he tooled up Wilshire Boulevard toward the Beverly Hills address they’d given him, were tired. It wasn’t surprising, since he’d picked up at an airfield; flying wasn’t easy, and they hadn’t come in on any commercial airplane that he could see. But this was more than just worn around the edges from traveling. Wherever they’d been, they’d been gone a while, and they just wanted to go home.

Had he been able to see the healing bruises, the fading cuts, and the blisters from harsh tropical suns that the darkness hid, he would have sympathized even more, and understood less. Had he been able to peer into their souls, he would have been astonished that they could speak at all.

They piled out of the cab with instructions that he should wait for his payment, then moved down the darkened driveway toward the house and out of earshot.

Are you sure you don’t want to stay here tonight, Leslie? a woman asked in a soft Irish accent. It might be a bit crowded, but after all this, I don’t think anyone will complain.

The man to whom she was speaking took her hand gently. No thanks, I’m going to stay at my club tonight. The staff is very discreet and won’t ask any questions. I’ll come over tomorrow, and we can talk. He swept his gaze over the others assembled in the darkness, and he did not have to be able to see their faces to know they comprehended his meaning. Good night, everyone.

He returned to the cab and the others watched it drive away. As one they turned toward the house.

It’s completely dark, said one of the men. The maid must have gone to bed. We’re gonna frighten her out of her wits.

We’ll be lucky if she doesn’t call the police, the big man commented. I’m not quite ready for that.

Now, boys, said the soft-voiced woman, gliding up to the door and fishing in her purse. No need to frighten anyone. I have a key.

You have a key? squeaked the first man. How the devil did you manage to—?

Quiet, you moron! hissed another man. "The whole idea is not to wake up the neighborhood!"

In another moment, the door was open and they trooped inside. The woman with the key doffed her hat and shook out her red hair.

Oh, I’m glad to get that off. I felt like Mata Hari. Kate, why don’t you take everyone into the kitchen and start brewing some tea. I’m going to wake Audrey so she doesn’t panic when she hears people in the house. Then she can start making up beds.

By the time the redhead joined the rest in the kitchen, tea was already brewed, poured, and in some cases, half-drunk.

Oh, thank you, she said, accepting a cup and settling down into a seat given up by the man-mountain. Silly girl. You’d think she’d never been wakened out of a sound sleep by an employer she thought was dead, before. Couldn’t get her to start fetching the linens for love or money. Kept pinching me. She took a long, grateful sip, and sighed, surveying the group arrayed around her. So. Now what do we do?

As an idle question, this did not qualify. She, one Mary O’Donnell, her father Aloysius O’Donnell, and her friends Kate Reinhold, Ted Kane, Damien Pierrot, and T.J. Gillis, along with Leslie Bryant Overton, who had gone on to his club, had just returned from a weeks-long forced trip to the deepest unexplored Amazon jungles. Kidnapped from this very house by fanatical German spies, they had undergone thirst, heat, wild animals, and imprisonment—all while under the impression that the final member of their expedition, Kate’s brother Eric, was dead, shot down by the men who held them and planned to use them in their slave labor camps manufacturing a horrible weapon that had held Los Angeles in terror for weeks. As it turned out, however, Eric had survived the attack, and using his death as cover, he had smashed the slavers’ plans and rescued his friends.

Ted Kane was a police sergeant whose hulking frame had not only had propelled him through opposing linemen at college, but disguised a brilliant logician and detective. Damien Pierrot’s lengthy frame had made him a threat to run or catch. He was also a genius with the test tubes. T.J. Gillis, known on the field as Professor Death for his uncanny knack of nailing opposing quarterbacks, was a fine a geologist as UCLA had ever graduated, and Eric Reinhold, team captain and quarterback, trained as a lawyer, was their natural leader. Kate, small and blonde and outwardly harmless, had only joined them recently, but her command of a dozen languages, as well as her judo skills, made her an invaluable teammate.

They had been missing for weeks, along with Aloysius O’Donnell, the millionaire railroad owner, and his beautiful daughter. When their return was made known to the world, it was going to make headlines.

In the end, Eric had not joined them in their cab, saying only that he would find his own way to them. He was still thought to be dead. The fewer questions anyone asked about him, the better.

Mary watched Kate stare out the window, even though she was unable to see outside into the dark.

He’s on his way, Mary said. He made it all the way to the Amazon on his own; I think he can get here from the airfield.

Kate’s shoulders slumped and she