Tales of the Red Panda: The Mind Master (5 page)

“Ladies and Gentlemen,” a plumy voice announced to the
assembled group of diners, “it gives me great pleasure to present Mister Ajay
Shah.”

The tall form of Shah stepped forward into the brightly lit
dining hall of Wallace Blake’s home and was greeted as if by one voice by
Blake’s dozen dinner guests. Ajay Shah cut an impressive figure, attired as he
was in the height of fashion, if a trifle somber for some tastes. He glanced
around the handsomely appointed dining room, full of smiles and refined
company. The men around the table represented some of the cream of the city’s
high society, and a good deal of old money to boot. It was a perfect place to
begin.

Shah smiled to himself, amazed at the efficiency of his new
ally, Joshua Cain. Less than a day after Shah forced their acquaintance, he
found himself installed in tasteful surroundings at one of the city’s finest
hotels, complete with wardrobe, backstory and papers.

“You’re the son of a wealthy importer,” Cain had begun. “He
owns a dozen very desirable business concerns, none of which would be very easy
to check up on. Complete fiction, of course, but as long as you don’t try and
pull any phony business deals, I doubt very much that anyone will question it.”
He had thrust official-looking documents into Shah’s hands. “I’m sorry about
the name,” Cain had shrugged. “But if I tried for a hundred years I couldn’t
come up with a more exotic-sounding one than Ajay Shah.”

Shah had raised an eyebrow. “I should have thought the
objective was not to appear exotic, Mister Cain,” Shah had purred. “Or did I
not make myself clear?”

“Listen, Shah,” Cain had insisted, “the worst thing you can
do is try and blend in with your surroundings. You’re far too… distinctive for
that in a place like Toronto, particularly in the circles you want to travel
in.”

“So you would have me make a… curiosity of myself?” Ajay
Shah had said, freezing Cain with his hawk-like stare.

“I would have you be a
cause
célèbre
,” Cain had smiled in spite of the menace of that gaze. “To be
invited into the finest homes. A most extraordinary gentleman. Very reputable.
Very safe. With an ethnicity that is pleasingly non-specific but still
mysterious. Just wait and see,” he had promised.

And so it had proved. His host, Blake, gestured towards an
open seat. The assembled guests were clearly intrigued by the newcomer in their
midst. They smiled over their cocktails as Blake explained.

“I have some dealings with several concerns in the Orient
with which Mister Shah’s family are also involved. Mining, importing… that sort
of thing.” Blake waved his hand dismissively, as if business were not the sort
of thing that he wished to discuss over dinner. “And when I heard that he was
staying in town…” Blake seemed to lose his lines, just for a moment.

Ajay Shah smiled and picked up the lost thread. “Mister
Blake was kind enough to invite me to join you this evening.”

“Whereabouts is your family from, Shah?” a friendly voice
from down the table asked as the servants brought in the soup.

“We have traveled a great deal in the cause of business,
sir.” Shah smiled, casting his eyes downward just for a moment. “All of the
East has been my home at one time.”

Blake burst in a little nervously, “I had always heard your
father was descended from a local
Rajah
,
Shah?”

Ajay Shah smiled. “Long ago, on my grandmother’s side, that
may be true, Blake,” he demurred. “But my father’s father was an Englishman.”

There was a very slight sigh that passed through the
assembly. It was a simple trick Shah had learned when traveling through any of
the former colonies of the British Empire. Any connection with royalty
impressed them, and nothing soothed them like a connection with the “mother
country,” which most of them had never seen.

“What brings you to Canada, Mister Shah?” a leathery face
near the head of the table inquired.

“With the passing of my father last year, I became the head
of our business empire. It seemed prudent to see as many of our holdings around
the world as possible.” Shah smiled gracefully at the table. “And of course, to
travel. To see the far-away and exotic North America.”

A ripple of delighted laughter spread throughout the room.
Shah protested, “But I am quite sincere.” He declared, “The Orient is an exotic
destination to you, and simply home to me. I wish to see the wonders of the
world just as any man might.”

“And now that you have seen some of Canada,” a woman near
him asked, “what do you think of it?”

Ajay Shah looked at her. She was middle-aged. A little
plump, perhaps, as most of their too well-fed faces were. He smiled at her
adoringly and lowered his eyes in his most non-threatening manner. “Madam,” he
said, “I find it beautiful.”

A hum of good-natured laughter burbled forth from Blake’s
guests. Shah smiled to himself. Cain had been right. It was just the part to
play. He would listen to their stories, tell his own when asked and speak no
longer than any man might find entertaining. It was a simple game. It seemed
quite beneath him, but it was a perfect beginning.

There would be further invitations after tonight, more
dinners and parties with more and more flies for his web. He was amongst them
now, and nothing could stop him. He glanced around the table and studied their
faces. If he was disappointed by what he found he had the skill not to show it.

By the time that dessert was brought and cigars were lit,
even his host had begun to relax. Wallace Blake had been charmed enough by his
mysterious guest that he had almost forgotten he had never known Shah’s father,
never had any dealings with anything so profitable as Oriental mining and
importing concerns.

Shah watched his host from the corner of his eye. He
wondered what sort of a man would allow such a pretender into his home. Cain
had obviously bought him, but how? Shah’s first thoughts were of blackmail.
What hold could Cain possibly have on Blake? Would it be enough to keep him in
line when Shah began to play his hand?

The conversation drifted to the far end of the table. The
party was beginning to break up, some guests were moving into the sitting room.
Ajay Shah found stillness within himself, and reached out with the tendrils of
his mind.

Slowly, like creeping darkness, his mind entered that of the
suddenly still Wallace Blake, the supposed millionaire who had welcomed a
stranger into the company of his friends at the behest of a shady character
like Joshua Cain. Blake’s defenses fell away like a rush of leaves. His mind,
his secrets, his very soul were Ajay Shah’s to know.

No one would ever have suspected, from the quiet, peaceful
expression on the face of the charming dinner guest, that he was pulling his
host’s mind apart at the seams. But to Ajay Shah, master of the mind, all was
revealed.

He knew in a moment that Wallace Blake had inherited great
wealth. This home, the place in society, the trappings of his family’s great
success – all had been his at birth. He had inherited a profligate power
to spend, but no talent to earn. And when hard times had hit, his family’s
fortune had been ravaged as so many had before. Wallace Blake had spent almost
five years keeping up appearances, frittering away what little was left while
digging a grave of debts from which he could never hope to escape.

He was a man easily bought. Easily sold. But Shah could feel
deep within the mind of Wallace Blake that he had grave misgivings about the
deal with Cain. About Shah himself. And when the cream of society began to feel
the sting of Ajay Shah, Wallace Blake could not be trusted to keep his peace.

Shah’s mind retreated, leaving Blake’s behind with a cold
caress. There would yet be a reckoning. But for the moment, Blake felt a great
and comforting peace wash over him.

Constable Andy Parker sat bolt upright in bed and froze,
staring into the pitch darkness of his empty apartment. He fumbled by the side
of the bed for the light switch, and with the sudden click of the lamp, some of
the shadows fell away. He felt for the clock and struggled to force his eyes to
comprehend what he saw.

Two-fifteen. He fell back on the bed and stared at the
ceiling for a few moments. His heart was racing. He supposed that even in his
dreams he was unable to stop worrying about his mysterious Chief and the
remarkable young woman who followed him into danger with such joy.

“They’ve never needed you to worry about them before,
Parker,” he told himself yet again, to no avail. He stared at the ceiling for
another minute, becoming more and more awake with each passing moment. He
sighed and pulled himself up. Maybe some milk would help him sleep. He wobbled
to his feet and pulled his robe on as he padded to the door. He felt for the
light in the narrow hallway and, not finding it, carried on as best he could
into the kitchen. He clicked the light switch over the sink as he rubbed his
eyes and peered into the icebox. Puzzled at what he found, or rather what he
didn’t, he stuck his head in further.

“I finished it,” said a voice behind him, rolling quietly in
like a far-off peal of thunder. It was all that Andy Parker could do not to
jump and crack his head on the door of the icebox. He turned and peered over
his shoulder. A tall figure in a long, grey coat clung to the shadows in the
corner, a red mask upon his face and a glass of milk in his hand.

The Red Panda grinned, just a little, from the corner of his
mouth. Andy Parker had served his mysterious Chief long enough to know that he
didn’t let just anyone see that grin, even for a second, and for a moment he
stopped resenting the scare.

“You’re welcome to it,” Parker said, closing the icebox
door. “Excuse me, I wasn’t expecting a social call.”

“I shouldn’t think so,” the Red Panda said, stepping into
the room. “This sort of thing doesn’t work that well when we telephone ahead.”

“Have you ever tried?” Parker frowned, sitting at the small
table.

The Red Panda paused a moment. “It’s an interesting point,”
he said. “But at least somewhat beside the point. I apologize for the lateness
of the hour. I’ve been trying to catch up with reports from around the city,
and Spiro flagged you as ‘urgent’.”

“He did?” Parker still did not quite have his bearings.

The Red Panda frowned. “Was he misinformed?”

Parker shook his head, more to wake himself up than anything
else. “No, no,” he said. “I just… he said you’d been away.”

The Red Panda looked stern. “Did he now?”

“He said… he said he hadn’t heard from you in days.”

“That is true,” the masked man intoned.

“I was worried you… I thought you might have been near that
warehouse when it blew up.” Parker was sure he was overstepping his bounds. He
tried not to raise his eyebrow as he looked at the man in the mask, and he knew
that he was dead right.

“We might have been near there,” the Red Panda said quietly.
“What do you know about it?”

“Just that it was a pretty dramatic piece of overkill. Aside
from the fact that the entire place was wired with enough industrial-grade
explosives to blast a hole halfway to China, there’s not much to tell.” Andy
Parker could contain his question no longer. “Is she all right?”

“Is she…?” The Red Panda seemed more baffled than annoyed.
“She’s all right,” he said at last. “It was a close one. For both of us.”

“What would we have done if you… I mean… what should we
have…” Parker sighed. It was question he had always wanted to ask, and he was
bungling it because he was still half asleep. To his amazement, a
red-gauntleted hand gave him a chuck on the shoulder and the Red Panda sat down
in the chair across the table from him.

“I don’t think I’ve been in here before,” he said, looking
around. “You don’t get much on a Constable’s salary.”

Parker bristled a little, confused. “No,” he said, “I don’t
guess you do.”

“You know, most of my agents get a little… help of some
kind,” he said quietly.

“I don’t want money from you,” Parker snapped in spite of
himself.

“Why not?” the Red Panda challenged.

“If I bring you information… if I act on your behalf, and I
do it because I think it’s the right thing to do, that I’m serving justice…
then whatever Chief O’Mally might say, it’s my choice. If I took anything from
you to do it, I’d just be another dirty cop.”

The Red Panda nodded. “It’s a distinction not many would
see, or understand. But it means something to you, because it is who you are.”

“Right.” Parker felt he was awake now at last.

“Right,” the man in the mask smiled. “I don’t know what
you’d have done if the Flying Squirrel and I had died in that explosion,
Parker. We face death so often, I can’t always make contingency plans. That may
sound cavalier, or reckless, but it’s nothing of the kind. It is who we are. Do
you understand?”

Parker nodded and said nothing.

“Good. Can you get me a complete report on that warehouse
explosion? Today?” The blank eyes of his mask seemed to burn.

Parker nodded again. “I’ll get what there is,” he said, “but
no one’s been very interested. They’re prepared to write it off as arson,
mostly because they can’t think of another motive for setting a blast that
huge.”

“Can you?” the Red Panda smirked.

“I kind of imagined they were trying to kill you,” Parker
laughed and stood up from the chair. He moved to a bureau in the next room.
“And unless I miss my guess, it had something to do with the robbery at the
Empire Bank.”

The Red Panda stood now, the white eyes in his mask focused
with ferocious intensity on his agent as Parker returned to the room, a file
folder in his hand.

“Agent Fifty-One, reporting,” Parker said with a grin.