"Enjoy the Trauma"
"Enjoy the Trauma"
6/27-6/28/2016
I.
Jeremy Bane crashed headlong through the flimsy door, rolled across the bare wooden floor and came up on one knee, swinging his revolver from side to side. Unfortunately, the room was completely empty and he felt like a fool after such a dramatic entrance. Straightening up, still wary, he checked the adjoining bathroom and bedroom, even the shallow closet, before reluctantly stowing the Smith & Wesson 38 back in its holster behind his left hip where the black sport jacket hid it. He scowled. Nothing was going well tonight.
Now nearing sixty, the Dire Wolf finally had enough grey sprinkled through his black hair to make it clear he was no longer thirty. But he remained lean and athletic. His acrobatic entrance had been quick and effortless, and it would have given him an edge over any enemy in that shabby boarding house room. If there had been anyone there.
Surveying the room, he realized that he had not missed the two OKHYU'EL spies by much. There were still wrappers from fast food hamburgers and fries on the couch and two empty bottles of beer on the floor. Crumpled newspapers with that day's date were another sign that his intended quarry had been here. He had not missed them by much. An ashtay on the coffee table was filled with cigarette stubs, most of which had only been smoked halfway down before being crushed out. The room still reeked.
One odd detail caught his eye immediately. Clipped on top of the clunky old TV in the corner was a rectangular black box with a round antennae and two wires leading into the back of the set. It could be an explosive device, he supposed, and it would be prudent to call INTERCEPT for a squad to check it out. After all, it was INTERCEPT who had dragged him into this whole mess. But he went with his instincts. A tiny LED light on the box was lit. Bane picked up the remote from the coffee table, went back out into the hallway beyond the door he had broken down, and turned the TV on. He was cautious enough to do this from that distance but was still relieved when no explosion occured at all.
Instead, the TV lit up with a strange scene. A man was sitting in front of a blinding light so only his dark silhouette could be seen. "Well, what is it NOW?" he barked in English with a strong East European accent. "I swear, you two are the worst operatives that ever plagued me."
The Dire Wolf stepped into the room, figuring that his image was being picked up on a tiny camera and transmitter. "Sorry, they're not available right now."
"You! You lackey of the Wall Street ruling class. I was guaranteed that you had retired!" snapped the figure on the TV screen. "Is nothing reliable any more?"
"It's nice to be recognized," Bane answered wryly. "You're not the first mysterious evil mastermind I've had to chat with. Let me guess, you're the dreaded Intrepid Commander?"
The silhouette on the screen turned slightly, just enough to reveal a bit of a profile with a beaked nose and prominent jaw like those of a stereotype witch. He was apparently wearing a peaked military cap with a bill, as well. "Those fools! Leaving costly equipment behind. I should have them taken out back and SHOT!"
Folding his arms, the Dire Wolf considered finding a way to track where this signal was coming from but he knew he was being watched by the camera. Maybe once the conversation was over? "Listen," he said, "I know this is asking a lot but how about an enigmatic clue? Some riddle I have to solve to learn where you're going to strike next?"
"Swine! Imperialist tool of the international bankers!" was the furious answer.
"Just my luck," Bane went on. "I never get a bad guy that gives me clues."
The man on the screen sounded even more agitated, but oddly, he was not moving around. His silhouette remained still. "Dealing with you Zionist warmongers is so traumatic!"
"Enjoy the trauma. You're going to be getting a lot of it."
Was there a chuckle from the Intrepid Commander at that comment, a smothered laugh that was quickly cut off? Or he did imagine it?
Even as Bane spoke the end of that sentence, the TV screen went white and then dark with a loud puffing noise. Smoke trickled out of the little device on top and there was a smell of burning insulation. The Dire Wolf rushed over and unplugged the TV, half expecting to be burned by the wire but it was cool to the touch. He rose and examined the ruined device clipped to the TV but he was no scientist and had no idea how it would have worked.
"These criminal masterminds never could take insolence," he said to himself. That flippant banter had gone against all his natural personality but maybe it had rattled the Inrepid Commander. He went to the bathroom for a towel to wrap the device in. He spent another half hour searching the drab rooms but found nothing useful. The two spies he had been tracking seemed to be traveling light and had left little behind but garbage. One droll detail was that they had purchased a package of eight rolls of toilet paper but had inadvdertently left it behind. Evidently it was a Western item they enjoyed.
Reluctantly, he went around the rooms again, hoping for a clue. Nothing. These might not be the world's finest secret agents but he had to admit they avoided leaving a convenient trail. Bane headed out into the hall and down the creaky stairwell. Loud thumping rap music came from behind a door he passed, and from another came the voices of two women arguing. He was glad to get through the empty lobby and back out on the street. It was not long before dawn with a warm May morning on the way, and traffic was light. Bane found his Mustang untouched, which in this neighborhood had not been a sure thing. He had been driving the new bright-red Mustang GT coupe for only a few days now.
One of the few ways Bane used his wealth on personal items was his longtime habit of switching cars every month or so. He had always explained this as a security precaution. It made it harder for enemies to keep tabs on him, or so he had claimed. But Bane had to admit that he also just enjoyed the variety and the experience of trying different types of cars. He had kept this habit or hobby even after his retirement from the Midnight War a year earlier.
Some retirement, he thought. Since he had closed the Dire Wolf agency and vacated his old office, he still received requests for his help at least once a week. Most cases that seemed to be beyond what the police could deal with, that were genuine Midnight War affairs, he referred to Sable's team. It was sobering and even a bit depressing to consider that they were the third KDF Team to have been formed. The current members had not even been born yet when Bane had organized the first team so long ago. It didn't help to remember that most of the founding KDF members were dead now, he thought grimly.
Now he only took on missions that touched him for some reason, that involved an old friend or resolved a situation from long ago. Bane pulled into an empty spot on 40th Street almost within reach of the East River and felt a dull pang remembering why he had agreed to take this case. Because of Dandelion.
II.
Crossing First Avenue, he went past the TWICE IS BETTER antique store and turned into a narrow dead-end alley between it and the next building. Ahead was a chest-high wooden fence with a few crates piled up. As he strode toward that fence, a plain wooden door opened from within on the building to his right and he stepped inside without breaking stride. He found himself in a small dingy foyer that smelled musty, with another simple unmarked door on the back wall. Standing in his way was a young man in a neat black business suit complete with crisp white shirt and thin black tie.
The agent was holding a Ruger in both hands, muzzle pointed down at Bane's feet but ready to swing up. "Who did you say you wanted to see?"
"Oh hell, I hate passwords," the Dire Wolf said. Then, seeing that wasn't going to go over well, he added, "I'd like to see the woman who offered a good deal on that used car."
"It's 'offered a good price,' not 'a good deal," said the agent. "But close enough. The Lady is waiting up to hear from you in any case and Heaven help me if I refused you entry."
They passed through the dismal vestibule and abruptly entered the shining chrome and white tile world of INTERCEPT headquarters. The inside of the seemingly rundown building was all new and antiseptic and chilly. Bane was so distracted with his thoughts that he hardly noticed the young brunette at her clear lucite desk checking his ID and offering him a visitor badge which he duly pinned on his lapel. The man put his gun away in a shoulder holster and escorted him down featureless steel corridors with unmarked doors every few feet. The first time he had been here, Bane had wondered how everyone kept from getting lost all the time. Then he had noticed cameras everywhere and realized you were always being watched at INTERCEPT.
At first, the Dire Wolf had also wondered also why he was treated so casually as far as searches went. Metal detectors must have indicated some of the twenty little gadgets he had concealed in his clothing, from the flexible hacksaw blade in his jacket lapel to the tiny smoke pellets and flash-bang grenades in their hidden pouches, not to mention his gun itself. He was carrying an arsenal of miniaturized weapons and gimmicks. Yet INTERCEPT had always seemed to just ignore the obvious and let him pass. All he could figure was that they wanted his help badly enough that they waived security for him. It was surreal.
At the end of one hallway, two doors stood side by side, the only indication they were elevators. As one door opened with a chime, Bane was ushered inside but the agent remained behind. After a descent of what seemed like a dozen floors, which would place them far underground, the door opened directly onto an office that seemed to belong to an Oxford don. Heavy solid furniture, shelves crammed with thick reference books and knick-knacks, prints on the walls of historical events. There was even a four-foot globe standing in one corner.
Sitting behind her desk and not rising as he entered was Evelyn Claire. She had aged badly since Bane had first met her a decade earlier. Not longer straight and imperious, she had become a frail little woman with thin bony hands, wearing a blue print dress with a white collar. It was only in those sharp, piercing dark eyes that her sheer strength of will still gleamed through.
She did not rise but just indicated a chair in front of her desk. "Please, be seated. Jeremy, I have not offered my condolences on the passing of Dandelion."
Pulling the chair forward, the Dire Wolf nodded and lowered his gaze to the thick ornate carpeting. "Thank you," he said at last. "I never know what to reveal about spies. What Dandelion told you about herself, her past... or what she undertook for you as a freelance... I doubt it matches how I knew her."
Mrs Claire watched him with steady unblinking eyes, an unnerving habit that was lost on Bane. "And what makes you think what you knew of her was accurate, if I may risk offending?"
It took Bane a long time to answer. "Because of Tel Shai. I know, you probably think it's just a legend or a cover story or something. Fine. I met Dandelion at Tel Shai, where she had been approved by the Teachers. They're very old and perceptive and, whether you believe it or not, they have abilities normal Humans can't match. It was there that Dandelion developed her supernatural accuracy with weapons. But I guess none of the backstory matters now."
"No, probably not," agreed the old woman quietly. "Dandelion worked on and off for us over the years. But she also worked for STIGMA and Intercrime and the White Web and really anyone who met her price. Dandelion did not have much sense of right and wrong as far as I could see."
Bane interrupted. "I was told she had been killed over a month ago. She went up against someone with the code name Raskolnikova and for once was not quite careful enough. That's why I agreed to help your organization this one final time. To close the story of Dandelion."
He gave Mrs Claire a concise report on what had happened at the flophouse apartment, repeating the conversation and handing over the device he had taken from the TV set. "I don't remember much about this Intrepid Commander. His title sounds less pretentious in the original language."
"I have a suspicion who he is... or was," she answered, turning the device over in front of her. "This looks like a short range receiver to me. About Intrepid Commander, you do realize he was reported liquidated back in the late 80's? Whoever is using the name, what matters now is that he is in charge of a revived OKHYU'EL, the espionage division of STIGMA, particularly dealing with spies in the United States. He answers to the other STIGMA leaders." She tapped a thin finger on the device. "I will send this to the lab. Maybe our clever boys can determine where it was built or who designed it."
"Meanwhile, I will get back on the hunt," Bane said as he rose. "Any more news about the different spies chasing each other out there?"
"Surprisingly, yes. In Flushing, in the Korean neighborhood. Someone was sighted who resembles the woman called Chipmunk buying food in an ethnic produce store. No sign of her partner Elk. I will give you the name of the store if you want to investigate."
"Sure." Standing with arms folded impatiently as he was eager to get going again, Bane scoffed. "Chipmunk! Elk! Who assigns these code name to agents?"
"Says the man called Dire Wolf."
"Ouch. Okay, I get your point. I'll report as soon as anything happens worth reporting, Mrs Claire. And, if I haven't said so, thank you for calling me in on this. Dandelion started out as a fellow Tel Shai student and a friend before she lost her moral compass. I do owe her a few favors."
"Glad to have your help, Jeremy." She didn't press any buttons or make any signals but the door slid open behind him to reveal the empty elevator cage. "Good luck, or shall I say, good hunting?"
III.
What a hard year it had been, Bane thought as he emerged back out on the night streets. During the final twelve months he had been in the Midnight War, his longtime friend Bleak had been killed and desecrated by the Resurrector. Lt Joseph Montez had died a painful and horrifying demise. And Haley Lawson, the blithe impudent Windcatcher, had been so demoralized after a KDF mission that she had dropped out of the Midnight War altogether after only a short career. All of this loss coming close together had hit Bane hard. It had been the final impetus that convinced him to retire once and for all.
And now Dandelion was dead. Still another one gone. He had not approved of her turning so mercenary and so cold-blooded in recent years, but Bane remembered when she had started out as enthusiastic and idealistic as any other student of Tel Shai. Getting back in his car, he realized that logically there was no point to driving out to Flushing so early in the morning. The produce store had to be closed for the night, so he decided to return home for a few hours.
His house over in Forest Hills was almost next door to the Koreatown in Flushing anyway, relatively speaking. Passing 40th Street and First Avenue, he was so close to where his old apartment and office had been for twenty years that it took a conscious effort not to return there. Going up to 42nd Street, he went through the Queens Midtown Tunnel and came out in Sunnyside. Bane drove along in his usual brooding silence. The radio was on so seldom in his cars that they might as well have been taken out. He was turning the case over in his head.
The day before, he had driven out to the cemetery in Red Hook to locate the small plaque on the ground that marked where a bronze urn of ashes was buried. MIKA DZUBENKO, 1975-2016. Someone at INTERCEPT had taken the trouble to order a small dandelion etched into the stone. Bane had stood there for a while, remembering the petite blonde who played so many sides of the game in such a short time. He had such mixed feelings about her. That had been her ironic phrase, "Enjoy the trauma" that he had used earlier. He felt it summed her attitude up pretty well. He had gazed down at the plaque and then gone back about his business. There had been no hint of romance between them, not even a particularly close friendship, but he and Dandy had been colleagues who had first worked with and then against each other. He wanted to find out who had killed her for his own sense of closure.
Now, with the sky just streaking pale light to the east, the Dire Wolf circled the block where his house was. He was hardly aware of doing this, but a lifetime in the Midnight War had given him many precautionary habits. He drove past his house from one street over, glancing around as he went by, then circled his block and then finally pulled up to the curb on the opposite side of the street from where his house stood. Whoever they were, they were not trying to hide. The black Explorer sat right out in the open and the two silhouettes in the front seats were not ducked down out of sight. But Bane had not seen any other suspicious vehicles on that street. By now, he recognized most of the cars on his block.
Again out of long habit, he checked his 38 and adjusted the matched silver daggers in their sheaths under his sleeves before getting out of his car. His attempts to stop carrying these tools of his warlike life had not been successful, and he had quickly returned to always having them on him. Bane emerged and closed the door behind him, striding briskly across the street directly toward the black Explorer. He saw the faces peering at him through the windshield. As he came within reach, a curiously mismatched man and woman both wearing all white came out of the car to meet him.
The woman was well under five feet tall, perhaps not even four feet ten inches, and slender in white sweatpants and T-shirt that made her look like a teenage gymnast taking a break. She had dark brown hair pulled back in a thick ponytail and watched him with a slight smile on her round face. Her overbite was noticeable enough that an unkind descriprion of her being bucktoothed would not be inaccurate. It added to the vulnerable impression she gave.
Looming up over her as he also towered over Bane, the man stood about six feet six and was broad enough for a normal man to hide behind him. He was wrapped in a long white raincoat despite the warm weather. A wide unappealing face was broken horizontally by a thick bushy black mustache. As Bane came near, the huge man placed a protective hand on the woman's shoulder that completely covered it.
"Good morning," the Dire Wolf said. "I assume you two are looking for me?"
"Mr Bane? Yes, of course. You have famous grey eyes I can spot even in this light." The woman flashed what was meant to be an ingratiating grin at him, while the big man next to her continued to scowl. "So glad to meet you."
"All right, we might as well make some progress," Bane said. "Come on, let's walk a bit and get the preliminaries out of the way." He began moving along the sidewalk past his house. After a bare instant of hesitation, the couple went with him.
"My name is Alva Simon and this is Uncle Theodore," the tiny woman began. "We've heard about you, remarkable things you've done and we hoped you would be one man who could help us. Theodore and I in big trouble."
Bane grunted. "Go on."
"Is about this dog. Last surviving Poi Dog," she said.
They had reached the end of the block and the Dire Wolf swung left with the couple going with him. "The what dog?"
"Poi Dog. You know what Poi is?"
"Sure," said Bane. "But I think someone would have mentioned if it had dog in it."
"Does not any more," put in the big man, speaking for the first time. He had a surprisingly mellow, agreeable voice that was not as deep as one might expect. "But in old days, Hawaiians used dog in Poi."
"Poi Dog is thought to be extinct," continued the woman who had called herself Alva. The three of them paused where they stood on the sidewalk. "Actually, some still survive. They were brought to our homeland of Fulkvakia by missionaries returning from what were then called the Sandwich Islands."
"Is considered rare delicacy in Fulkvakia," added Theodore. "Not well known."
Alva Simon leaned closer to stare up at Bane. "For forty years, Fulkvakia was under the Russian tyranny. We are independent now or so they claim."
"Damn Russians..." muttered Theodore, watching a car roll through a stop sign.
"In the mountains, some of the old baron families still raise Poi Dogs and have a feast at New Year Day. Very exclusive." She was watching Bane closely, studying his reaction. "I believe someone is trying to kill us and get the Poi Dog we brought to America."
As the white panel truck turned the next corner in their direction, all of Bane's instincts screamed at him. His left hand jumped automatically to the butt of his revolver behind him, but he noticed the long Parabellum barrel pointed out of the van's passenger window... not at him, but at the tiny woman next to him. That stopped him. Bane was confident he would survive a gunshot from a moving vehicle because the Trom armor under his clothing left only his head and hands vulnerable but he didn't want to be responsible for Alva's death. He meekly raised both open hands to face level and saw both Alva and Theodore doing the same.
The truck read STERLING PLUMBING AND ELECTRICAL REPAIRS, with an illustration of a house that had a big goofy smile on its exterior. Jumping out from the driver and passenger seats, each holding a handgun aimed and ready, were a couple who seemed like a reversed image of Alva Simon and Theodore. The man was short and stocky, not more than five feet five, wrapped in a bulky black trenchcoat with a wide-brimmed black fedora pulled low over his face. Standing next to him, nearly six feet in height, was a curvy mature woman in a black clinging dress that left her shoulders and arms bare. She had wavy black hair that reached nearly to the waist, but her face was partly obscured by oversized round-rimmed sunglasses. Dark red lipstick contrasted with the pale face.
"Raskolnikova!" breathed Theodore sharply. "You and Oleg here...in America?"
"Quiet, dollink," replied the woman, jabbing the barrel of her Luger at his face. "All of you, in the back of the truck. Quickly now." The short man in black had unbarred the rear doors of the vehicle and flung them open without lowering his own gun. He raised his head to reveal a pudgy toadlike face with a wide mouth and a wire-thin mustache. As Bane followed Alva and Theodore when they climbed up into the bare interior of the truck, Oleg slammed the doors tight and locked them with a remarkably unsettling chortle. The motor had been left running. A second later, the truck took off at high speed and spun wildly around a corner, making the three of them struggle not to be tossed around.
Bane did not try to stand, but remained on his knees with one hand on the inside of the rear doors. The interior was as empty as if the truck had just been rented, and there was no access to the drivers, not even a sliding panel for conversation. Up on one wall was a long grill that stretched for three feet, but nothing could be seen inside it. The Dire Wolf disliked the looks of that grill instinctively. Light came from a single tiny bulb inside a glass panel.
"Raskolnikova! Listen to me, pleae!" Alva had a squeaky little-girl voice that matched her appearance and which terror now made even more piercing. "We can make deal. Let us off in public place with lots of people and I swear we will tell you where Poi Dog is!"
The chuckle from the front evidently came through a hidden speaker somewhere, because it was not muffled. "Dollink, how zad for you that we already know where is dog!"
Bane heard a faint hissing coming from the grill up on the wall and he leaped over to it. From the speaker, Oleg's smug voice gloated, "Har har, is rubber hose from exhaust you hear! You go sleep and die now."
IV.
Already taking and holding a breath, Bane grabbed the grill with one hand and dug inside his jacket for a small metal ovoid the size of a cherry tomato. He depressed the stub on its surface and twisted it, then jammed the device between the openings of the grill. Immediately, he swung around with his eyes squeezed shut and his mouth wide open. He clapped his hands over his ears but there was no time to warn Alva and Theodore. It was as if lightning had struck within the truck. The blinding flash of white light and sharp cracking detonation made a shock wave that drove air back and forth in the interior with stunning force.
Almost certainly the rubber hose bringing carbon monoxide into the back of the truck had been blown away, but the more dramatic effect was that the driver lost control completely at the unexpected explosion. The truck must have been going even faster than it had seemed, because when Oleg swung the steering wheel full around, the vehicle flipped over onto its side with a crunching sound and slid for a short distance before slamming into something that brought it to a grinding halt.
"I can't see!" yelled Alva. "I can't hear! Oh beloved God, I've had a stroke!"
Bane knew there was no use in trying to reassure her or Theodore. Hopefully the effects of the flash-bang grenade would wear off relatively soon. Meanwhile, he got a multi-tool from where it hung on the rear of his belt and started to work on the doors. It only took half a minute to get them open. The Dire Wolf seized Alva and Theodore by a wrist apiece and jumped from the rear of the truck. His grip was so strong and his actions so decisive that they went along with him. All three hit the street running, tore past a gathering crowd and raced up the street.
He was capable of much greater speed, but Bane held back as Alva and Theodore repeatedly stumbled. As they were rounding the next corner, he glanced back. The panel truck was on its side with steam rising from the radiator. Its front end was tangled into the crumbled rear of a rusted-out Ford Taurus that had a lit PIZZA DELIVERY sign mounted to its roof. Standing on the sidewalk in complete dismay was a teenage boy still holding the keys to the pizza car in one hand.
Talk about leaving the scene of an accident, Bane thought to himself. Still, he had been charged with worse crimes many times before. He slowed the pace when they were out of sight of the incident, watching as a police cruiser and then an ambulance both rolled by with lights and siren going full blast. After ten minutes of brisk walking, they were back where he had left his car and both Alva and Theodore were beginning to recover their senses.
Unlocking the Mustang, he regretted choosing one with that bright red color. He had usually gone for black or inconspicuous dark green, but then he had fooled himself into thinking he actually could retire permanently. Bane ushered the giant Theodore into the back seat, not that there would be much room for that hulk in there, and then pushed Alva firmly into the passenger seat.
"Mr Bane!" she screamed as loud as she possibly could, "Is that you-?" before he clamped a hand over her mouth. She understood and complied. Bane closed the door on her, went around to get behind the wheel and took off. He drove in the direction away from the crash. His own hearing and sight were normal, partly because he had prepared for the detonation but mostly because of his enhanced healing from decades of the tagra diet. This was a major benefit of being a Tel Shai knight, because the tagra plant could only be found at Tel Shai. By now it was open daylight and traffic was its usual hectic mess.
While Alva and Theodore were still dazed and unresisting, he pulled into a gas station parking lot and searched them both thoroughly. Neither seemed to realize this, they were preoccupied with the ringing in their heads and the blurred eyesight. Bane went through their pockets and patted them down before starting the engine again. Driving around in random circles, he waited for his guests to recover enough to start giving answers. He had lots of questions. Eventually, despite their asking him to speak louder and their constant blinking at the white spots filling their vision, they could carry on a conversation while riding.
"Okay, pay attention," he snapped. "You two owe me your lives. You were about to snuffed out with carbon monoxide by those two agents. Are we clear on that?" he asked.
From the back seat, Theodore rumbled, "Is hard to disagree. Big thanks to you."
"Fine. Now you guys obviously know all about me. What I've found out is that you are both members of a loose confederacy of criminal organizations called STIGMA. No, it's no use denying it. At least your group doesn't wear those yellow vests and masks with the skull emblems any more. I always thought they looked stupid."
Blinking through tears and clearing her throat but focusing on him, Alva sat with her hands folded. "Go on."
Easing up to a curb where a convenient parking spot offered itself, the Dire Wolf looked around. They were in a monstly residential area not far from his house, although there was a deli on the corner opposite. "To be honest," Bane said, "over the years I've found the so-called good guys in espionage are no better than the villains most of the time. The Mandate is particularly devious and double-crossing, but INTERCEPT and Department 21 Black are hardly any better. Now, STIGMA is not a single unified group. It's an association of a dozen gangs, everything from Wu Lung's network to John Grim Enterprises to Cobalt Jack's Land Beyond the Law. So, my first question has to be, which branch of STIGMA do you guys work for?"
"Start driving again," muttered Theodore from the back seat. "Back to Flushing."
As he felt something press up against the back of his head, Bane exhaled sadly. "Now you're failing the test. Theodore, forget it. I unloaded your gun. And yours, Alva. Don't even think about trying to club me with it, either. You know about me, Theodore, I'll take it away and leave you with a broken thumb."
The big man backed down and put the Parabellum away. "You seem have upper hand."
"Don't forget it. Now answer my question. What part of STIGMA are you two representing?"
It was Alva who answered in a voice that sounded like it belonged to a six-year-old. "Very well. Do you know Red Sunrise?"
"I've heard of them," Bane said. "Smugglers, mostly. They supply weapons and munitions to rebel groups in Asia and Africa, right?"
"Fair enough. We help overthrow dictators put in place by big American corporations. This is first time Theodore and I are ordered to transport.. dog."
"That damn dog. Okay, look, maybe I can help you two at least get out of this country and back home alive. Who wants the Poi Dog?"
"Magician from Hawaii," she squeaked. "Grandfather Kahuna, he says he needs Poi Dog for big 'Kill Haole' spell. Mostly government tyrants will die."
"Oh brother. The 'Kill Haole' spell," Bane growled. "Sounds like a bit of mass murder through black magick. So far, I get it. But what does this Eastern Europe spy group want with the stupid dog and why are they sending agents to kill you? I thought OKHYU'EL was disbanded back in the 1980s."
From the back seat, Theodore broke in. "They did. And Intrepid Commander was reported liquidated long time ago. I cannot understand."
Bane studied the two spies. "Chipmunk and Elk. Yeah, I know your code names. Those two who tried to kill us in the truck, you've met them before?"
The woman in white shrugged her narrow shoulders. "Is a small world, espionage. We have fought Oleg and Raskolnikova many times. Spy vs Spy."
The Dire Wolf started up the car again. "What a mess. You're from Red Sunrise working for STIGMA, trying to deliver an extinct breed of dog to an Hawaiian witch doctor named Grandfather Kahuna who wants to kill a bunch of people, and meanwhile another espionage unit of STIGMA called OKHYU'EL has gone off on its own and sent two spies to kill you and take the dog. Have I got that right?"
"Yes. Why is confusing?"
"Why? Never mind," Bane rubbed his face with his hands, took a deep breath and said, "Here's what is going to happen. I am going to take custody of the dog so Grandfather Kahuna doesn't get it. I'll give it to someone like Sulak or Karina to keep in their own realm. Then I am going to track down Oleg and Raskolnikova. I don't like the idea of them roaming around my town assassinating people. Intrepid Commander needs to be taken care of, and so does the Kahuna. Looks like my schedule is full for the immediate future."
"But wait," Theodore objected, "If you take dog, what about our money?"
Hearing that, Bane's temper broke. His voice did not get louder but it had a hard edge to it that was scarier than yelling would have been. "Consider yourselves lucky I am letting you live. You two are conspiring to help commit mass murder with this Kill Haole business. Be glad you don't just mysteriously disappear never to be heard from again. Do you hear me?"
When they didn't answer, he repeated in a deadly calm tone, "Do you hear me?"
"Yes, yes. Thank you, Mr Dire Wolf." Theodore wriggled way back in the rear seat and tried to make himself inconspicuous, which didn't work. He was sitting partly sideways in the first place because he didn't have enough leg room.
Watching Bane, Alva Simon said, "We do not think much about what our work does. Is just job. But we will help you if you want. You rescued us from trap in truck."
Pulling back out into traffic, the Dire Wolf said, "We should get moving now. Maybe you two have forgotten it after all the excitement, but Raskolnikova told us that she knew where the Poi Dog was."
"Oh. She did, yes. We hurry then," said Alva. "You drive to Central Avenue and Oriole, near the Starbucks. Enemy was on foot, their truck was wrecked, maybe we still have time."
Making a left turn, Bane said, "They had to be as shaken up by the flash-bang and by the accident as we were, probably more so. I saw that the windshield was shattered. My bet is that they are just recovering and on their way now."
V.
Within sight of the Long Island Expressway, they reached a row of identical two-story white houses that evidently had all been built at the same time. The Red Sunrise agents directed by Bane to one house in particular, which except for the identifying number over the door, did not differ in any way he could see. He pulled over on the opposite side of Oriole Street as a big SUV vacated a spot.
"Dog is upstairs," Alva said. "He whine too much."
"Like Elvis say, he crying all the time," added Theodore helpfully.
Bane gave the big man in white a sour look. "Both of you, stay here. I don't see any sign of the two OKHYU'EL agents. I'll fetch the dog that everyone wants."
As he started to get out, Alva grabbed his sleeve and said, "Wait. No go in front door. Is boob trap."
"We take precaution," added Theodore.
"Really? I'm glad you mentioned that," Bane said. He strode quickly across the street, went around to the side of the house and took three quick running steps toward it. The Dire Wolf hopped up onto the window sill and leaped straight upward to seize the second floor sill directly above him. He seized the wooden sill with both hands and pulled himself up to hang with his legs dangling. For one second, he rested all his weight with his right forearm on the ledge while he shoved the window up. Luckily it wasn't locked and slid open easily. Then, grabbing the inner sash of the window with both hands, Bane pulled himself through the opening and into the room within.
Scrambling into a bedroom, the Dire Wolf got to his feet and found he was a little out of breath. That manuever used to be so easy, he thought grimly, and now it took so much effort. There was no doubt he was getting old. The fact that most athletic twenty-year-olds couldn't have entered the house that way didn't occur to him. His enhanced healing from the tagra also helped because tears in muscle and pulled tendons passed almost immediately. Bane stood upright and saw what all the running around seemed to be about.
Tied by a leash to the doorknob sat an obese, short-haired brown dog with a flat head and not the most intelligent expression. It wasn't very big, just the size of an exceptionally fat beagle. Its tongue was hanging out and it did not bark as this stranger unexpectedly appeared in the room but only whimpered timidly. The tail flicked back and forth half-heartedly.
"Hey, boy. Easy," Bane said. He gave the room a quick glance but there was nothing remarkable about it. As far as he could see, the bed had not been slept in and there were no personal items in the room, not even a suitcase in the corner or a hairbrush on the dresser. Just the dog, which watched him meekly and continued to make pathetic noises.
"Don't worry, I'll make sure nobody cooks you," he said out loud, hoping his tone of voice was reassuring. He wasn't good with animals. Bane crouched to untie the leash from the doorknob and wrap it around his hand. The Poi Dog accepted this meekly enough but did not get up from where it sat. Bane opened the door to where the top of a staircase showed and tugged on the leash.
"Come on, son, we have to get moving," he said but the dog did not respond. Whether it was incredibly inbred or just an individual specimen with low intelligence, the beast seemed really inattentive. Never patient under the best circumstances, Bane seized the dog by the collar and lifted it bodily, which the animal seemed to accept readily enough. Holding it up in both arms, with its rather blank hazel eyes fixed on him, the Dire Wolf went out into the hall and had just put his foot on the top step of the staircase when he heard a crash and a dull thumping boom from the ground floor. Coughing and choking noises followed. Now what?
Tucking the whining dog under his right arm, Bane drew his long-barreled 38 and held it up as he took a few steps down the stairs. The acrid sting of tear gas reached him and he crouched halfway down the steps to see the man in black and the woman in black on their hands and knees just inside the living room. Oleg and Raskolnikova. He watched as Alva Simon and Theodore rushed in, kicked the two gasping spies down to the floor and wrenched the Lugers out of helpless hands. As Theodore pinned both enemy agents down, with a knee in the small of Oleg's back and a meaty hand pressing Raskolnikova's head to the rug, Alva hurried past him. Both of them were starting to cough from the lingering tear gas.
Alva came back with a big box fan, which she set up in the open doorway facing out and turned on full blast. It seemed to help clear the air, but she was still making a gagging noise as she went through the clothing of the OKHYU'EL agents and disarmed them.
Standing near the bottom of the steps where they had not noticed him yet, Bane looked at the door which apparently had been kicked open just now by Oleg. He saw a cylindrical metal canister with red lettering on it fastened to the top of the jamb, with a cable leading down to the doorknob. The canister had been rigged so that, when the door swung inward, a concentrated burst of tear gas had been fired at whoever entered. He shook his head in disbelief. First, one pair of agents had tried to kill the other with carbon monoxide and now the second pair had subdued the first with tear gas. Spies in white and spies in black setting traps for each other. He remembered why he hated dealing with espionage so much.
The small amount of gas released was cleared away quickly, although everyone's eyes were watering as he joined Alva and Theodore. The tiny woman in white had fetched some thin wire from somewhere and was binding the hands and feet together of the captured OKHYU'EL agents a little more tightly than seemed really necessary. Bane stepped closer and said, "What are you planning on doing with those two?"
Alva gave a start and almost fell over as he spoke. She seemed to have forgotten he was in the house. "We call our Control. Men come and take them away. Most likely they will be traded for two of our people OKHYU'EL is holding. Is game goes on all the time."
"Spy vs spy," added Theodore, who had gotten up and moved back. He was holding the two handguns he had taken from Oleg and Raskolnikova, but he had also seen Bane with a revolver ready and had not taken any action. After a second, the giant Red Sunrise agent had pocketed both weapons inside his white raincoat and had grinned unconvincingly.
"Spy vs Spy," Bane repeated. He wasn't pleased with this development. If Raskolnikova had been responsible for Dandelion's death, he wanted to see her punished and not just used as a bargaining chip. But at the moment, keeping the Poi Dog away from Grandfather Kahuna came first. "Theodore, you go ahead with that. Alva, you're coming with me to make sure your partner doesn't take off. I want him to stay here for when we come back. Let's go."
"If you say so," agreed the small agent in white with no noticeable enthusiasm. She dabbed at her eyes with a wet washcloth and handed it to the huge Theodore. "Uncle, I will be back soon as can."
"Is good," Theodore said. He wiped at his watery eyes and gave a few final coughs.
On the floor, Raskolnikova had recovered enough that she understood the situation. The tall woman in the black dress did not struggle but just resigned herself. "Oleg! We are captured by Elk and Chipmunk. Dollink, are you all right?"
"Shut up you mouth," was the surly answer.
VI.
It was more than an hour before Bane returned with Alva to the house on Oriole Street. He had driven all the way to midtown Manhattan and double parked for a minute on East 38th Street where he was met the front door of the KDF building by Sable. He handed the Poi Dog over to her for the moment for safekeeping, unable to hide his relief at getting the animal off his hands. As it happened, Sable was occupied at the moment finishing up legal details to close a case and didn't immediately demand to join Bane on this intriguing business involving a supposedly extinct breed of dog, a murderous Hawaiian shaman and assorted spies running around Queens.
As she started to close the street door with an elbow, holding the complacent Poi Dog in both arms, Sable said, "I thought you were retired for once and for all, Jeremy. That'll be the day."
Heading back down the front steps to the sidewalk, the Dire Wolf had just given her a sheepish smile. "I'll come back and fill you in. Thanks, Sable."
Back in his car, Alva had been watching. "You leave dog with friends? What if OKHYU'EL agents break in and take?"
Bane eased out into traffic and started the trip back to Queens one more time. Hearing Alva's worried question, he thought about the fortress that the KDF building was and about the Tel Shai knights who lived there. If any spies ever somehow got in when Demrak Jin was there, Heaven help them live to tell about it. "It'll be fine," was all he said.
As they reached the midtown tunnel, Bane asked, "Have you ever worked with Dandelion?"
That made the tiny woman's eyes bug out. "Dandelion?! Is she in area? Oh God."
"No. Calm down. Dandelion died more than a month ago. I wanted to know if you had ever met her." Emerging into the noon daylight, he headed back toward Flushing.
"She is impossibly dangerous. Cannot be trusted. I have seen her draw and fire and hit running man far away, without even looking. Dandelion is devil. You say she is dead?"
"So it seems," the Dire Wolf said.
"I am relief. That woman make me very afraid to be around."
Bane turned the conversation to Fulkvakian history. He knew almost nothing about the litte country, which had been claimed by Poland for years before WW II and then had gone under Soviet control for more than four decades before finally achieving nominal independence. Alva Simon went into great detail about the various royal families in Fulkvakia and their feuds, and then started in on traditional recipes for boiled sheep lungs. Bane wasn't interested at all but the monologue kept the spy occupied.
Eventually, they pulled up in front of the row of identical houses on Oriole Street, with the roar of the LIE close at hand. Bane had circled around from a block away, checking for suspicious activity but saw nothing out of the ordinary. As he parked the red Mustang and Alva hopped out, the solid bulk of Theodore filled the doorway to greet them.
The Dire Wolf warily kept scanning the street as he got out from behind the wheel. He didn't trust these two any more than he would have trusted a copperhead that had just reared its head. "So, Elk. What happened?"
The big spy in the white raincoat raised his hands, palms up. "Everything go good. Men from Red Sunrise take Oleg and Raskolnikova wrapped in blankets into black van. We will get commendations and maybe time off. First we must report back."
"Raise in salary would be better," muttered Alva to herself. "Cannot put commendations in bank."
As he followed the mismatched pair into the house, Bane said, "I'll drop you two off where you left your own Explorer. But before that, I want more information about this Grandfather Kahuna. I think I need to have a few words with him." He stopped abruptly as he noticed something.
"Yes? What is wrong?" asked Alva.
"Elk, listen closely. When the Red Sunrise team came here, did you stay with them the entire time?" Bane demanded.
"No. I use toilet. In there maybe five minutes, I am big eater. Why you ask?"
The Dire Wolf moved toward the TV set sitting in one corner of the living room. "Then they had a few minutes unobserved. Look at this." Sitting on top of the television with cables running into its back was one of the black boxes. He pressed the ON button for the TV and immediately the ominous backlit silhouette of Intrepid Commander appeared.
"So. Elk! Chipmunk! You inferior swine, your hours left are few!" snapped the vicious voice. Bane had swung around behind the TV as soon as the screen had lit up and he thought he was not within sight of the little camera in the black box.
That voice is electronically distorted, he thought. And it was suspicious how the head and shoulders were so motionless, how the jaw did not seem to move. Suddenly Bane remembered what Mrs Claire had said about the black box he had given her seemed to be a short-distance receiver...
Behind him was the door to the basement. Earlier, he had opened it and taken a peek at the wooden steps going down but he had not entered. Now, the door was locked. Bane slammed the palm of one hand just above the knob with torque coming up from his legs and waist. The lock snapped. He slipped through that door and glided silently down the steps into a furnished basement with wood paneling on the walls and some furniture. Sitting in front of a powerful spotlight, facing a TV camera on a wheeled mount, was the head and shoulders of a wax figure wearing a peaked military cap. The hooked nose and prominent chin of the mannequin head were unmistakable... the figure even had a monocle in one eye and a scar running down the left cheek. Intrepid Commander of OKHYU'EL.
Standing beyond that set-up, with a microphone on a stand in front of her, was a slim blonde woman wearing dark slacks and a pearl grey jacket of soft suede. Even at forty, her face retained its insolent gamin appeal under a shock of platinum white hair. Raised in one hand, aimed unwaveringly directly at Bane's face, was a Walther P-22 with a handcrafted silencer.
"Exactly what is wrong with you, Jeremy?" asked Dandelion. "You always ruin everything."
VII.
The Dire Wolf did not dare move. With her Tel Shai training, Dandelion's reflexes were every bit as quick as his own and it would take a major effort for her to miss a target. Her accuracy with firearms was not seemingly supernatural, it actually was supernatural. He knew she could put three bullets in his brain before he could do anything about it. Even his enhanced healing couldn't save him from that.
"I wish I could say I had known about this from the start," he began. "But I can't pretend to be a deductive genius. So many things didn't seem to fit."
Dandelion smirked. "Yeah? Go on. I like seeing you nervous for a change."
"Intrepid Commander was confirmed killed more than thirty years ago. And OKHYU'EL was broken up and its functions taken over by different compartments of Russian intelligence. I just didn't see how either could make a comeback." Bane had not raised his hands in surrender, he just remained as he had been when Dandelion had drawn on him. "And that dummy is not that convincing when you get a minute to think about it."
"Yeah, it needs work. But you should have thought I was dead, Jeremy. I went to a lot of trouble to fake that, manufacturing a burned corpse that resembled me, planting my fingerprints and dental records in the coroner's report." Her smile grew a bit wistful. "Did you go out to visit my grave?"
"Sure. And surprisingly it didn't upset me." Bane almost smiled, despite the situation. "I didn't react. Somehow it didn't feel real. That was a clue in itself. You know what really started me thinking, though?"
Dandelion's hand holding the gun was steady as if she were resting it on top of a brick wall. "No. Tell me."
"When I told the image of the Intrepid Commander to 'enjoy the trauma.' Just before he signed off, I could swear I heard someone start to laugh."
"Yes. Hah, that was my phrase, wasn't it? I used to say that all the time. Well, it's been fun hearing all this, Jeremy, but honestly I can't let you leave knowing I'm working behind the scenes now. Being a mercenary is profitable but a girl can't get away with it forever. From now on, I'll be the mysterious mastermind sitting in the center of the spider web. I'm sorry, old boy."
Bane lowered his head just an inch and said, "Not so long ago, I used to think you could still be redeemed. Even when we fought BASILISK that time. But you really have gone bad, Dandy."
The delicate face lost its smugness just like that. "No one has called me Dandy for years, Jeremy."
He had been ready to drop low and lunge forward without telegraphing his moves. The only slim hope was that the bullets he would inevitably receive would not be instantly fatal and he could get his hands on her before dying. But he did not have the chance. Bane saw the white flash from the Walther muzzle and then there was only darkness.
VIII.
It took ages to regain full consciousness. The pain in his head was sharp pounding agony and he couldn't bear to move for the longest time. Slowly, forcing every movement, Bane became more aware of his situation. He was lying face down on a cold wooden floor, and his face felt sealed over with a sticky layer of something. He lay there as his healing factor worked, getting stronger and more determined as time dragged by. The pain would not go away completely. Even the Tel Shai breathing techniques to distance his conscious mind from his body were only partially successful.
Eventually, though, he got his hands under him and pushed up slightly. Only one eye seemed to be working. The enhanced healing from all the years on a tagra diet let him recover from damage that would mean weeks in the ICU for a normal person, but everything had its limits. He was neither immortal or unkillable. The Dire Wolf managed to raise himself to a seated position and sat there panting as he recovered from the effort.
Looking around as his mind cleared, he saw Dandelion was nowhere in sight. That was no surprise. The television equipment and the Intrepid Commander dummy were gone too, of course. Bane gingerly began exploring his head with his fingers, half dreading to find brains oozing out. His face was covered with dried blood, which was what was gluing his left eye shut. It hurt too much to touch the top of his head at first, and it was only after several failed attempts that he managed to explore the gash across the top of his skull. He could feel exposed bone where the scalp had been torn away. Bane looked down and saw he had been lying in a pool of blood that must have contained a pint or two.
The first few times he tried to stand, he simply fell down. Giving up on that for the moment, he crawled on hands and knees toward the open bathroom door on the other side of the basement. He was getting stronger and did not have to stop on the way. Kneeling in front of the sink, he managed to turn on the hot water and began splashing it on his head and face, not caring how soaked his body got or how much water spilled all over the floor. His right eye opened as the dried blood was washed off, and he got most of his face clean but he left the clotted mat of hair on top of his head alone.
Feeling more and more normal, Bane switched the taps to cold water and began to drink it from his cupped hand. Water intake helped the healing process immeasurably, especially after such blood loss. When he tried standing, he swayed and had to hold onto the sink but he kept to his feet. Taking deep steady breaths, he went back out into the basement and lowered himself to the couch rather than dropping onto it.
Dandelion had spared him. Again. Creasing the top of his skull like that, even knowing about his healing factor, took much more accuracy than simply killing him would have. Why? He did not believe it was sentiment or nostalgia for the good old days when they had worked together. She had been a mercenary for more than a decade, shooting anyone dead if the price was paid. Old men, children, teenage girls... Dandelion had never hesitated to squeeze the trigger because of human feelings getting in the way.
Not that he wasn't glad to find himself alive. He had really thought he had reached the end of the road that time. No, Dandelion must think she would have some use for him at some point. She had plans for him.
Feeling weak but otherwise back almost to normal, Bane got up and slowly headed for the stairs. His sport jacket was stiff from the layer of dried blood but he didn't have the energy to get it off. Right now he needed to get to his car where he would feel a bit safer. Climbing those steps felt like climbing a sheer cliff for him. He found the living room empty as well, which made him glad. Bane had wondered if he would stumble over the dead bodies of Alva Simon and Theodore, but evidently Dandelion had taken them with her. Were they actually working for her, and the Red Sunrise job was just a cover? Or had she taken them at gunpoint for use as hostages or to help her escape the area? Spies used so much deceit and betrayal all the time that you couldn't believe them when they told you what day of the week it was.
Bane found he was moving more smoothly and confidently, although his head still ached worse than any pain he had experienced even under actual torture. He opened the front door and was surprised to see a dark overcast night. Just how long had he been unconscious? Stretching out his wrist to see the luminous numbers on his watch, he found it was almost three in the morning. Well, he thought, at least that meant he could probably make it to his car without being seen.
As he unlocked the front door, he saw a scrap of paper wedged in the driver side window. Bane expected it to be from Dandelion, saying that 'enjoy the trauma' phrase to rub it in but instead the neat, precise handwriting read, "Keep the Poi Dog fat. They're happier that way. Roast it with onions and green peppers." Drawn at the bottom of the note was a vertical line with a circle at its top, Dandelion's symbol.
9/10/2016
6/27-6/28/2016
I.
Jeremy Bane crashed headlong through the flimsy door, rolled across the bare wooden floor and came up on one knee, swinging his revolver from side to side. Unfortunately, the room was completely empty and he felt like a fool after such a dramatic entrance. Straightening up, still wary, he checked the adjoining bathroom and bedroom, even the shallow closet, before reluctantly stowing the Smith & Wesson 38 back in its holster behind his left hip where the black sport jacket hid it. He scowled. Nothing was going well tonight.
Now nearing sixty, the Dire Wolf finally had enough grey sprinkled through his black hair to make it clear he was no longer thirty. But he remained lean and athletic. His acrobatic entrance had been quick and effortless, and it would have given him an edge over any enemy in that shabby boarding house room. If there had been anyone there.
Surveying the room, he realized that he had not missed the two OKHYU'EL spies by much. There were still wrappers from fast food hamburgers and fries on the couch and two empty bottles of beer on the floor. Crumpled newspapers with that day's date were another sign that his intended quarry had been here. He had not missed them by much. An ashtay on the coffee table was filled with cigarette stubs, most of which had only been smoked halfway down before being crushed out. The room still reeked.
One odd detail caught his eye immediately. Clipped on top of the clunky old TV in the corner was a rectangular black box with a round antennae and two wires leading into the back of the set. It could be an explosive device, he supposed, and it would be prudent to call INTERCEPT for a squad to check it out. After all, it was INTERCEPT who had dragged him into this whole mess. But he went with his instincts. A tiny LED light on the box was lit. Bane picked up the remote from the coffee table, went back out into the hallway beyond the door he had broken down, and turned the TV on. He was cautious enough to do this from that distance but was still relieved when no explosion occured at all.
Instead, the TV lit up with a strange scene. A man was sitting in front of a blinding light so only his dark silhouette could be seen. "Well, what is it NOW?" he barked in English with a strong East European accent. "I swear, you two are the worst operatives that ever plagued me."
The Dire Wolf stepped into the room, figuring that his image was being picked up on a tiny camera and transmitter. "Sorry, they're not available right now."
"You! You lackey of the Wall Street ruling class. I was guaranteed that you had retired!" snapped the figure on the TV screen. "Is nothing reliable any more?"
"It's nice to be recognized," Bane answered wryly. "You're not the first mysterious evil mastermind I've had to chat with. Let me guess, you're the dreaded Intrepid Commander?"
The silhouette on the screen turned slightly, just enough to reveal a bit of a profile with a beaked nose and prominent jaw like those of a stereotype witch. He was apparently wearing a peaked military cap with a bill, as well. "Those fools! Leaving costly equipment behind. I should have them taken out back and SHOT!"
Folding his arms, the Dire Wolf considered finding a way to track where this signal was coming from but he knew he was being watched by the camera. Maybe once the conversation was over? "Listen," he said, "I know this is asking a lot but how about an enigmatic clue? Some riddle I have to solve to learn where you're going to strike next?"
"Swine! Imperialist tool of the international bankers!" was the furious answer.
"Just my luck," Bane went on. "I never get a bad guy that gives me clues."
The man on the screen sounded even more agitated, but oddly, he was not moving around. His silhouette remained still. "Dealing with you Zionist warmongers is so traumatic!"
"Enjoy the trauma. You're going to be getting a lot of it."
Was there a chuckle from the Intrepid Commander at that comment, a smothered laugh that was quickly cut off? Or he did imagine it?
Even as Bane spoke the end of that sentence, the TV screen went white and then dark with a loud puffing noise. Smoke trickled out of the little device on top and there was a smell of burning insulation. The Dire Wolf rushed over and unplugged the TV, half expecting to be burned by the wire but it was cool to the touch. He rose and examined the ruined device clipped to the TV but he was no scientist and had no idea how it would have worked.
"These criminal masterminds never could take insolence," he said to himself. That flippant banter had gone against all his natural personality but maybe it had rattled the Inrepid Commander. He went to the bathroom for a towel to wrap the device in. He spent another half hour searching the drab rooms but found nothing useful. The two spies he had been tracking seemed to be traveling light and had left little behind but garbage. One droll detail was that they had purchased a package of eight rolls of toilet paper but had inadvdertently left it behind. Evidently it was a Western item they enjoyed.
Reluctantly, he went around the rooms again, hoping for a clue. Nothing. These might not be the world's finest secret agents but he had to admit they avoided leaving a convenient trail. Bane headed out into the hall and down the creaky stairwell. Loud thumping rap music came from behind a door he passed, and from another came the voices of two women arguing. He was glad to get through the empty lobby and back out on the street. It was not long before dawn with a warm May morning on the way, and traffic was light. Bane found his Mustang untouched, which in this neighborhood had not been a sure thing. He had been driving the new bright-red Mustang GT coupe for only a few days now.
One of the few ways Bane used his wealth on personal items was his longtime habit of switching cars every month or so. He had always explained this as a security precaution. It made it harder for enemies to keep tabs on him, or so he had claimed. But Bane had to admit that he also just enjoyed the variety and the experience of trying different types of cars. He had kept this habit or hobby even after his retirement from the Midnight War a year earlier.
Some retirement, he thought. Since he had closed the Dire Wolf agency and vacated his old office, he still received requests for his help at least once a week. Most cases that seemed to be beyond what the police could deal with, that were genuine Midnight War affairs, he referred to Sable's team. It was sobering and even a bit depressing to consider that they were the third KDF Team to have been formed. The current members had not even been born yet when Bane had organized the first team so long ago. It didn't help to remember that most of the founding KDF members were dead now, he thought grimly.
Now he only took on missions that touched him for some reason, that involved an old friend or resolved a situation from long ago. Bane pulled into an empty spot on 40th Street almost within reach of the East River and felt a dull pang remembering why he had agreed to take this case. Because of Dandelion.
II.
Crossing First Avenue, he went past the TWICE IS BETTER antique store and turned into a narrow dead-end alley between it and the next building. Ahead was a chest-high wooden fence with a few crates piled up. As he strode toward that fence, a plain wooden door opened from within on the building to his right and he stepped inside without breaking stride. He found himself in a small dingy foyer that smelled musty, with another simple unmarked door on the back wall. Standing in his way was a young man in a neat black business suit complete with crisp white shirt and thin black tie.
The agent was holding a Ruger in both hands, muzzle pointed down at Bane's feet but ready to swing up. "Who did you say you wanted to see?"
"Oh hell, I hate passwords," the Dire Wolf said. Then, seeing that wasn't going to go over well, he added, "I'd like to see the woman who offered a good deal on that used car."
"It's 'offered a good price,' not 'a good deal," said the agent. "But close enough. The Lady is waiting up to hear from you in any case and Heaven help me if I refused you entry."
They passed through the dismal vestibule and abruptly entered the shining chrome and white tile world of INTERCEPT headquarters. The inside of the seemingly rundown building was all new and antiseptic and chilly. Bane was so distracted with his thoughts that he hardly noticed the young brunette at her clear lucite desk checking his ID and offering him a visitor badge which he duly pinned on his lapel. The man put his gun away in a shoulder holster and escorted him down featureless steel corridors with unmarked doors every few feet. The first time he had been here, Bane had wondered how everyone kept from getting lost all the time. Then he had noticed cameras everywhere and realized you were always being watched at INTERCEPT.
At first, the Dire Wolf had also wondered also why he was treated so casually as far as searches went. Metal detectors must have indicated some of the twenty little gadgets he had concealed in his clothing, from the flexible hacksaw blade in his jacket lapel to the tiny smoke pellets and flash-bang grenades in their hidden pouches, not to mention his gun itself. He was carrying an arsenal of miniaturized weapons and gimmicks. Yet INTERCEPT had always seemed to just ignore the obvious and let him pass. All he could figure was that they wanted his help badly enough that they waived security for him. It was surreal.
At the end of one hallway, two doors stood side by side, the only indication they were elevators. As one door opened with a chime, Bane was ushered inside but the agent remained behind. After a descent of what seemed like a dozen floors, which would place them far underground, the door opened directly onto an office that seemed to belong to an Oxford don. Heavy solid furniture, shelves crammed with thick reference books and knick-knacks, prints on the walls of historical events. There was even a four-foot globe standing in one corner.
Sitting behind her desk and not rising as he entered was Evelyn Claire. She had aged badly since Bane had first met her a decade earlier. Not longer straight and imperious, she had become a frail little woman with thin bony hands, wearing a blue print dress with a white collar. It was only in those sharp, piercing dark eyes that her sheer strength of will still gleamed through.
She did not rise but just indicated a chair in front of her desk. "Please, be seated. Jeremy, I have not offered my condolences on the passing of Dandelion."
Pulling the chair forward, the Dire Wolf nodded and lowered his gaze to the thick ornate carpeting. "Thank you," he said at last. "I never know what to reveal about spies. What Dandelion told you about herself, her past... or what she undertook for you as a freelance... I doubt it matches how I knew her."
Mrs Claire watched him with steady unblinking eyes, an unnerving habit that was lost on Bane. "And what makes you think what you knew of her was accurate, if I may risk offending?"
It took Bane a long time to answer. "Because of Tel Shai. I know, you probably think it's just a legend or a cover story or something. Fine. I met Dandelion at Tel Shai, where she had been approved by the Teachers. They're very old and perceptive and, whether you believe it or not, they have abilities normal Humans can't match. It was there that Dandelion developed her supernatural accuracy with weapons. But I guess none of the backstory matters now."
"No, probably not," agreed the old woman quietly. "Dandelion worked on and off for us over the years. But she also worked for STIGMA and Intercrime and the White Web and really anyone who met her price. Dandelion did not have much sense of right and wrong as far as I could see."
Bane interrupted. "I was told she had been killed over a month ago. She went up against someone with the code name Raskolnikova and for once was not quite careful enough. That's why I agreed to help your organization this one final time. To close the story of Dandelion."
He gave Mrs Claire a concise report on what had happened at the flophouse apartment, repeating the conversation and handing over the device he had taken from the TV set. "I don't remember much about this Intrepid Commander. His title sounds less pretentious in the original language."
"I have a suspicion who he is... or was," she answered, turning the device over in front of her. "This looks like a short range receiver to me. About Intrepid Commander, you do realize he was reported liquidated back in the late 80's? Whoever is using the name, what matters now is that he is in charge of a revived OKHYU'EL, the espionage division of STIGMA, particularly dealing with spies in the United States. He answers to the other STIGMA leaders." She tapped a thin finger on the device. "I will send this to the lab. Maybe our clever boys can determine where it was built or who designed it."
"Meanwhile, I will get back on the hunt," Bane said as he rose. "Any more news about the different spies chasing each other out there?"
"Surprisingly, yes. In Flushing, in the Korean neighborhood. Someone was sighted who resembles the woman called Chipmunk buying food in an ethnic produce store. No sign of her partner Elk. I will give you the name of the store if you want to investigate."
"Sure." Standing with arms folded impatiently as he was eager to get going again, Bane scoffed. "Chipmunk! Elk! Who assigns these code name to agents?"
"Says the man called Dire Wolf."
"Ouch. Okay, I get your point. I'll report as soon as anything happens worth reporting, Mrs Claire. And, if I haven't said so, thank you for calling me in on this. Dandelion started out as a fellow Tel Shai student and a friend before she lost her moral compass. I do owe her a few favors."
"Glad to have your help, Jeremy." She didn't press any buttons or make any signals but the door slid open behind him to reveal the empty elevator cage. "Good luck, or shall I say, good hunting?"
III.
What a hard year it had been, Bane thought as he emerged back out on the night streets. During the final twelve months he had been in the Midnight War, his longtime friend Bleak had been killed and desecrated by the Resurrector. Lt Joseph Montez had died a painful and horrifying demise. And Haley Lawson, the blithe impudent Windcatcher, had been so demoralized after a KDF mission that she had dropped out of the Midnight War altogether after only a short career. All of this loss coming close together had hit Bane hard. It had been the final impetus that convinced him to retire once and for all.
And now Dandelion was dead. Still another one gone. He had not approved of her turning so mercenary and so cold-blooded in recent years, but Bane remembered when she had started out as enthusiastic and idealistic as any other student of Tel Shai. Getting back in his car, he realized that logically there was no point to driving out to Flushing so early in the morning. The produce store had to be closed for the night, so he decided to return home for a few hours.
His house over in Forest Hills was almost next door to the Koreatown in Flushing anyway, relatively speaking. Passing 40th Street and First Avenue, he was so close to where his old apartment and office had been for twenty years that it took a conscious effort not to return there. Going up to 42nd Street, he went through the Queens Midtown Tunnel and came out in Sunnyside. Bane drove along in his usual brooding silence. The radio was on so seldom in his cars that they might as well have been taken out. He was turning the case over in his head.
The day before, he had driven out to the cemetery in Red Hook to locate the small plaque on the ground that marked where a bronze urn of ashes was buried. MIKA DZUBENKO, 1975-2016. Someone at INTERCEPT had taken the trouble to order a small dandelion etched into the stone. Bane had stood there for a while, remembering the petite blonde who played so many sides of the game in such a short time. He had such mixed feelings about her. That had been her ironic phrase, "Enjoy the trauma" that he had used earlier. He felt it summed her attitude up pretty well. He had gazed down at the plaque and then gone back about his business. There had been no hint of romance between them, not even a particularly close friendship, but he and Dandy had been colleagues who had first worked with and then against each other. He wanted to find out who had killed her for his own sense of closure.
Now, with the sky just streaking pale light to the east, the Dire Wolf circled the block where his house was. He was hardly aware of doing this, but a lifetime in the Midnight War had given him many precautionary habits. He drove past his house from one street over, glancing around as he went by, then circled his block and then finally pulled up to the curb on the opposite side of the street from where his house stood. Whoever they were, they were not trying to hide. The black Explorer sat right out in the open and the two silhouettes in the front seats were not ducked down out of sight. But Bane had not seen any other suspicious vehicles on that street. By now, he recognized most of the cars on his block.
Again out of long habit, he checked his 38 and adjusted the matched silver daggers in their sheaths under his sleeves before getting out of his car. His attempts to stop carrying these tools of his warlike life had not been successful, and he had quickly returned to always having them on him. Bane emerged and closed the door behind him, striding briskly across the street directly toward the black Explorer. He saw the faces peering at him through the windshield. As he came within reach, a curiously mismatched man and woman both wearing all white came out of the car to meet him.
The woman was well under five feet tall, perhaps not even four feet ten inches, and slender in white sweatpants and T-shirt that made her look like a teenage gymnast taking a break. She had dark brown hair pulled back in a thick ponytail and watched him with a slight smile on her round face. Her overbite was noticeable enough that an unkind descriprion of her being bucktoothed would not be inaccurate. It added to the vulnerable impression she gave.
Looming up over her as he also towered over Bane, the man stood about six feet six and was broad enough for a normal man to hide behind him. He was wrapped in a long white raincoat despite the warm weather. A wide unappealing face was broken horizontally by a thick bushy black mustache. As Bane came near, the huge man placed a protective hand on the woman's shoulder that completely covered it.
"Good morning," the Dire Wolf said. "I assume you two are looking for me?"
"Mr Bane? Yes, of course. You have famous grey eyes I can spot even in this light." The woman flashed what was meant to be an ingratiating grin at him, while the big man next to her continued to scowl. "So glad to meet you."
"All right, we might as well make some progress," Bane said. "Come on, let's walk a bit and get the preliminaries out of the way." He began moving along the sidewalk past his house. After a bare instant of hesitation, the couple went with him.
"My name is Alva Simon and this is Uncle Theodore," the tiny woman began. "We've heard about you, remarkable things you've done and we hoped you would be one man who could help us. Theodore and I in big trouble."
Bane grunted. "Go on."
"Is about this dog. Last surviving Poi Dog," she said.
They had reached the end of the block and the Dire Wolf swung left with the couple going with him. "The what dog?"
"Poi Dog. You know what Poi is?"
"Sure," said Bane. "But I think someone would have mentioned if it had dog in it."
"Does not any more," put in the big man, speaking for the first time. He had a surprisingly mellow, agreeable voice that was not as deep as one might expect. "But in old days, Hawaiians used dog in Poi."
"Poi Dog is thought to be extinct," continued the woman who had called herself Alva. The three of them paused where they stood on the sidewalk. "Actually, some still survive. They were brought to our homeland of Fulkvakia by missionaries returning from what were then called the Sandwich Islands."
"Is considered rare delicacy in Fulkvakia," added Theodore. "Not well known."
Alva Simon leaned closer to stare up at Bane. "For forty years, Fulkvakia was under the Russian tyranny. We are independent now or so they claim."
"Damn Russians..." muttered Theodore, watching a car roll through a stop sign.
"In the mountains, some of the old baron families still raise Poi Dogs and have a feast at New Year Day. Very exclusive." She was watching Bane closely, studying his reaction. "I believe someone is trying to kill us and get the Poi Dog we brought to America."
As the white panel truck turned the next corner in their direction, all of Bane's instincts screamed at him. His left hand jumped automatically to the butt of his revolver behind him, but he noticed the long Parabellum barrel pointed out of the van's passenger window... not at him, but at the tiny woman next to him. That stopped him. Bane was confident he would survive a gunshot from a moving vehicle because the Trom armor under his clothing left only his head and hands vulnerable but he didn't want to be responsible for Alva's death. He meekly raised both open hands to face level and saw both Alva and Theodore doing the same.
The truck read STERLING PLUMBING AND ELECTRICAL REPAIRS, with an illustration of a house that had a big goofy smile on its exterior. Jumping out from the driver and passenger seats, each holding a handgun aimed and ready, were a couple who seemed like a reversed image of Alva Simon and Theodore. The man was short and stocky, not more than five feet five, wrapped in a bulky black trenchcoat with a wide-brimmed black fedora pulled low over his face. Standing next to him, nearly six feet in height, was a curvy mature woman in a black clinging dress that left her shoulders and arms bare. She had wavy black hair that reached nearly to the waist, but her face was partly obscured by oversized round-rimmed sunglasses. Dark red lipstick contrasted with the pale face.
"Raskolnikova!" breathed Theodore sharply. "You and Oleg here...in America?"
"Quiet, dollink," replied the woman, jabbing the barrel of her Luger at his face. "All of you, in the back of the truck. Quickly now." The short man in black had unbarred the rear doors of the vehicle and flung them open without lowering his own gun. He raised his head to reveal a pudgy toadlike face with a wide mouth and a wire-thin mustache. As Bane followed Alva and Theodore when they climbed up into the bare interior of the truck, Oleg slammed the doors tight and locked them with a remarkably unsettling chortle. The motor had been left running. A second later, the truck took off at high speed and spun wildly around a corner, making the three of them struggle not to be tossed around.
Bane did not try to stand, but remained on his knees with one hand on the inside of the rear doors. The interior was as empty as if the truck had just been rented, and there was no access to the drivers, not even a sliding panel for conversation. Up on one wall was a long grill that stretched for three feet, but nothing could be seen inside it. The Dire Wolf disliked the looks of that grill instinctively. Light came from a single tiny bulb inside a glass panel.
"Raskolnikova! Listen to me, pleae!" Alva had a squeaky little-girl voice that matched her appearance and which terror now made even more piercing. "We can make deal. Let us off in public place with lots of people and I swear we will tell you where Poi Dog is!"
The chuckle from the front evidently came through a hidden speaker somewhere, because it was not muffled. "Dollink, how zad for you that we already know where is dog!"
Bane heard a faint hissing coming from the grill up on the wall and he leaped over to it. From the speaker, Oleg's smug voice gloated, "Har har, is rubber hose from exhaust you hear! You go sleep and die now."
IV.
Already taking and holding a breath, Bane grabbed the grill with one hand and dug inside his jacket for a small metal ovoid the size of a cherry tomato. He depressed the stub on its surface and twisted it, then jammed the device between the openings of the grill. Immediately, he swung around with his eyes squeezed shut and his mouth wide open. He clapped his hands over his ears but there was no time to warn Alva and Theodore. It was as if lightning had struck within the truck. The blinding flash of white light and sharp cracking detonation made a shock wave that drove air back and forth in the interior with stunning force.
Almost certainly the rubber hose bringing carbon monoxide into the back of the truck had been blown away, but the more dramatic effect was that the driver lost control completely at the unexpected explosion. The truck must have been going even faster than it had seemed, because when Oleg swung the steering wheel full around, the vehicle flipped over onto its side with a crunching sound and slid for a short distance before slamming into something that brought it to a grinding halt.
"I can't see!" yelled Alva. "I can't hear! Oh beloved God, I've had a stroke!"
Bane knew there was no use in trying to reassure her or Theodore. Hopefully the effects of the flash-bang grenade would wear off relatively soon. Meanwhile, he got a multi-tool from where it hung on the rear of his belt and started to work on the doors. It only took half a minute to get them open. The Dire Wolf seized Alva and Theodore by a wrist apiece and jumped from the rear of the truck. His grip was so strong and his actions so decisive that they went along with him. All three hit the street running, tore past a gathering crowd and raced up the street.
He was capable of much greater speed, but Bane held back as Alva and Theodore repeatedly stumbled. As they were rounding the next corner, he glanced back. The panel truck was on its side with steam rising from the radiator. Its front end was tangled into the crumbled rear of a rusted-out Ford Taurus that had a lit PIZZA DELIVERY sign mounted to its roof. Standing on the sidewalk in complete dismay was a teenage boy still holding the keys to the pizza car in one hand.
Talk about leaving the scene of an accident, Bane thought to himself. Still, he had been charged with worse crimes many times before. He slowed the pace when they were out of sight of the incident, watching as a police cruiser and then an ambulance both rolled by with lights and siren going full blast. After ten minutes of brisk walking, they were back where he had left his car and both Alva and Theodore were beginning to recover their senses.
Unlocking the Mustang, he regretted choosing one with that bright red color. He had usually gone for black or inconspicuous dark green, but then he had fooled himself into thinking he actually could retire permanently. Bane ushered the giant Theodore into the back seat, not that there would be much room for that hulk in there, and then pushed Alva firmly into the passenger seat.
"Mr Bane!" she screamed as loud as she possibly could, "Is that you-?" before he clamped a hand over her mouth. She understood and complied. Bane closed the door on her, went around to get behind the wheel and took off. He drove in the direction away from the crash. His own hearing and sight were normal, partly because he had prepared for the detonation but mostly because of his enhanced healing from decades of the tagra diet. This was a major benefit of being a Tel Shai knight, because the tagra plant could only be found at Tel Shai. By now it was open daylight and traffic was its usual hectic mess.
While Alva and Theodore were still dazed and unresisting, he pulled into a gas station parking lot and searched them both thoroughly. Neither seemed to realize this, they were preoccupied with the ringing in their heads and the blurred eyesight. Bane went through their pockets and patted them down before starting the engine again. Driving around in random circles, he waited for his guests to recover enough to start giving answers. He had lots of questions. Eventually, despite their asking him to speak louder and their constant blinking at the white spots filling their vision, they could carry on a conversation while riding.
"Okay, pay attention," he snapped. "You two owe me your lives. You were about to snuffed out with carbon monoxide by those two agents. Are we clear on that?" he asked.
From the back seat, Theodore rumbled, "Is hard to disagree. Big thanks to you."
"Fine. Now you guys obviously know all about me. What I've found out is that you are both members of a loose confederacy of criminal organizations called STIGMA. No, it's no use denying it. At least your group doesn't wear those yellow vests and masks with the skull emblems any more. I always thought they looked stupid."
Blinking through tears and clearing her throat but focusing on him, Alva sat with her hands folded. "Go on."
Easing up to a curb where a convenient parking spot offered itself, the Dire Wolf looked around. They were in a monstly residential area not far from his house, although there was a deli on the corner opposite. "To be honest," Bane said, "over the years I've found the so-called good guys in espionage are no better than the villains most of the time. The Mandate is particularly devious and double-crossing, but INTERCEPT and Department 21 Black are hardly any better. Now, STIGMA is not a single unified group. It's an association of a dozen gangs, everything from Wu Lung's network to John Grim Enterprises to Cobalt Jack's Land Beyond the Law. So, my first question has to be, which branch of STIGMA do you guys work for?"
"Start driving again," muttered Theodore from the back seat. "Back to Flushing."
As he felt something press up against the back of his head, Bane exhaled sadly. "Now you're failing the test. Theodore, forget it. I unloaded your gun. And yours, Alva. Don't even think about trying to club me with it, either. You know about me, Theodore, I'll take it away and leave you with a broken thumb."
The big man backed down and put the Parabellum away. "You seem have upper hand."
"Don't forget it. Now answer my question. What part of STIGMA are you two representing?"
It was Alva who answered in a voice that sounded like it belonged to a six-year-old. "Very well. Do you know Red Sunrise?"
"I've heard of them," Bane said. "Smugglers, mostly. They supply weapons and munitions to rebel groups in Asia and Africa, right?"
"Fair enough. We help overthrow dictators put in place by big American corporations. This is first time Theodore and I are ordered to transport.. dog."
"That damn dog. Okay, look, maybe I can help you two at least get out of this country and back home alive. Who wants the Poi Dog?"
"Magician from Hawaii," she squeaked. "Grandfather Kahuna, he says he needs Poi Dog for big 'Kill Haole' spell. Mostly government tyrants will die."
"Oh brother. The 'Kill Haole' spell," Bane growled. "Sounds like a bit of mass murder through black magick. So far, I get it. But what does this Eastern Europe spy group want with the stupid dog and why are they sending agents to kill you? I thought OKHYU'EL was disbanded back in the 1980s."
From the back seat, Theodore broke in. "They did. And Intrepid Commander was reported liquidated long time ago. I cannot understand."
Bane studied the two spies. "Chipmunk and Elk. Yeah, I know your code names. Those two who tried to kill us in the truck, you've met them before?"
The woman in white shrugged her narrow shoulders. "Is a small world, espionage. We have fought Oleg and Raskolnikova many times. Spy vs Spy."
The Dire Wolf started up the car again. "What a mess. You're from Red Sunrise working for STIGMA, trying to deliver an extinct breed of dog to an Hawaiian witch doctor named Grandfather Kahuna who wants to kill a bunch of people, and meanwhile another espionage unit of STIGMA called OKHYU'EL has gone off on its own and sent two spies to kill you and take the dog. Have I got that right?"
"Yes. Why is confusing?"
"Why? Never mind," Bane rubbed his face with his hands, took a deep breath and said, "Here's what is going to happen. I am going to take custody of the dog so Grandfather Kahuna doesn't get it. I'll give it to someone like Sulak or Karina to keep in their own realm. Then I am going to track down Oleg and Raskolnikova. I don't like the idea of them roaming around my town assassinating people. Intrepid Commander needs to be taken care of, and so does the Kahuna. Looks like my schedule is full for the immediate future."
"But wait," Theodore objected, "If you take dog, what about our money?"
Hearing that, Bane's temper broke. His voice did not get louder but it had a hard edge to it that was scarier than yelling would have been. "Consider yourselves lucky I am letting you live. You two are conspiring to help commit mass murder with this Kill Haole business. Be glad you don't just mysteriously disappear never to be heard from again. Do you hear me?"
When they didn't answer, he repeated in a deadly calm tone, "Do you hear me?"
"Yes, yes. Thank you, Mr Dire Wolf." Theodore wriggled way back in the rear seat and tried to make himself inconspicuous, which didn't work. He was sitting partly sideways in the first place because he didn't have enough leg room.
Watching Bane, Alva Simon said, "We do not think much about what our work does. Is just job. But we will help you if you want. You rescued us from trap in truck."
Pulling back out into traffic, the Dire Wolf said, "We should get moving now. Maybe you two have forgotten it after all the excitement, but Raskolnikova told us that she knew where the Poi Dog was."
"Oh. She did, yes. We hurry then," said Alva. "You drive to Central Avenue and Oriole, near the Starbucks. Enemy was on foot, their truck was wrecked, maybe we still have time."
Making a left turn, Bane said, "They had to be as shaken up by the flash-bang and by the accident as we were, probably more so. I saw that the windshield was shattered. My bet is that they are just recovering and on their way now."
V.
Within sight of the Long Island Expressway, they reached a row of identical two-story white houses that evidently had all been built at the same time. The Red Sunrise agents directed by Bane to one house in particular, which except for the identifying number over the door, did not differ in any way he could see. He pulled over on the opposite side of Oriole Street as a big SUV vacated a spot.
"Dog is upstairs," Alva said. "He whine too much."
"Like Elvis say, he crying all the time," added Theodore helpfully.
Bane gave the big man in white a sour look. "Both of you, stay here. I don't see any sign of the two OKHYU'EL agents. I'll fetch the dog that everyone wants."
As he started to get out, Alva grabbed his sleeve and said, "Wait. No go in front door. Is boob trap."
"We take precaution," added Theodore.
"Really? I'm glad you mentioned that," Bane said. He strode quickly across the street, went around to the side of the house and took three quick running steps toward it. The Dire Wolf hopped up onto the window sill and leaped straight upward to seize the second floor sill directly above him. He seized the wooden sill with both hands and pulled himself up to hang with his legs dangling. For one second, he rested all his weight with his right forearm on the ledge while he shoved the window up. Luckily it wasn't locked and slid open easily. Then, grabbing the inner sash of the window with both hands, Bane pulled himself through the opening and into the room within.
Scrambling into a bedroom, the Dire Wolf got to his feet and found he was a little out of breath. That manuever used to be so easy, he thought grimly, and now it took so much effort. There was no doubt he was getting old. The fact that most athletic twenty-year-olds couldn't have entered the house that way didn't occur to him. His enhanced healing from the tagra also helped because tears in muscle and pulled tendons passed almost immediately. Bane stood upright and saw what all the running around seemed to be about.
Tied by a leash to the doorknob sat an obese, short-haired brown dog with a flat head and not the most intelligent expression. It wasn't very big, just the size of an exceptionally fat beagle. Its tongue was hanging out and it did not bark as this stranger unexpectedly appeared in the room but only whimpered timidly. The tail flicked back and forth half-heartedly.
"Hey, boy. Easy," Bane said. He gave the room a quick glance but there was nothing remarkable about it. As far as he could see, the bed had not been slept in and there were no personal items in the room, not even a suitcase in the corner or a hairbrush on the dresser. Just the dog, which watched him meekly and continued to make pathetic noises.
"Don't worry, I'll make sure nobody cooks you," he said out loud, hoping his tone of voice was reassuring. He wasn't good with animals. Bane crouched to untie the leash from the doorknob and wrap it around his hand. The Poi Dog accepted this meekly enough but did not get up from where it sat. Bane opened the door to where the top of a staircase showed and tugged on the leash.
"Come on, son, we have to get moving," he said but the dog did not respond. Whether it was incredibly inbred or just an individual specimen with low intelligence, the beast seemed really inattentive. Never patient under the best circumstances, Bane seized the dog by the collar and lifted it bodily, which the animal seemed to accept readily enough. Holding it up in both arms, with its rather blank hazel eyes fixed on him, the Dire Wolf went out into the hall and had just put his foot on the top step of the staircase when he heard a crash and a dull thumping boom from the ground floor. Coughing and choking noises followed. Now what?
Tucking the whining dog under his right arm, Bane drew his long-barreled 38 and held it up as he took a few steps down the stairs. The acrid sting of tear gas reached him and he crouched halfway down the steps to see the man in black and the woman in black on their hands and knees just inside the living room. Oleg and Raskolnikova. He watched as Alva Simon and Theodore rushed in, kicked the two gasping spies down to the floor and wrenched the Lugers out of helpless hands. As Theodore pinned both enemy agents down, with a knee in the small of Oleg's back and a meaty hand pressing Raskolnikova's head to the rug, Alva hurried past him. Both of them were starting to cough from the lingering tear gas.
Alva came back with a big box fan, which she set up in the open doorway facing out and turned on full blast. It seemed to help clear the air, but she was still making a gagging noise as she went through the clothing of the OKHYU'EL agents and disarmed them.
Standing near the bottom of the steps where they had not noticed him yet, Bane looked at the door which apparently had been kicked open just now by Oleg. He saw a cylindrical metal canister with red lettering on it fastened to the top of the jamb, with a cable leading down to the doorknob. The canister had been rigged so that, when the door swung inward, a concentrated burst of tear gas had been fired at whoever entered. He shook his head in disbelief. First, one pair of agents had tried to kill the other with carbon monoxide and now the second pair had subdued the first with tear gas. Spies in white and spies in black setting traps for each other. He remembered why he hated dealing with espionage so much.
The small amount of gas released was cleared away quickly, although everyone's eyes were watering as he joined Alva and Theodore. The tiny woman in white had fetched some thin wire from somewhere and was binding the hands and feet together of the captured OKHYU'EL agents a little more tightly than seemed really necessary. Bane stepped closer and said, "What are you planning on doing with those two?"
Alva gave a start and almost fell over as he spoke. She seemed to have forgotten he was in the house. "We call our Control. Men come and take them away. Most likely they will be traded for two of our people OKHYU'EL is holding. Is game goes on all the time."
"Spy vs spy," added Theodore, who had gotten up and moved back. He was holding the two handguns he had taken from Oleg and Raskolnikova, but he had also seen Bane with a revolver ready and had not taken any action. After a second, the giant Red Sunrise agent had pocketed both weapons inside his white raincoat and had grinned unconvincingly.
"Spy vs Spy," Bane repeated. He wasn't pleased with this development. If Raskolnikova had been responsible for Dandelion's death, he wanted to see her punished and not just used as a bargaining chip. But at the moment, keeping the Poi Dog away from Grandfather Kahuna came first. "Theodore, you go ahead with that. Alva, you're coming with me to make sure your partner doesn't take off. I want him to stay here for when we come back. Let's go."
"If you say so," agreed the small agent in white with no noticeable enthusiasm. She dabbed at her eyes with a wet washcloth and handed it to the huge Theodore. "Uncle, I will be back soon as can."
"Is good," Theodore said. He wiped at his watery eyes and gave a few final coughs.
On the floor, Raskolnikova had recovered enough that she understood the situation. The tall woman in the black dress did not struggle but just resigned herself. "Oleg! We are captured by Elk and Chipmunk. Dollink, are you all right?"
"Shut up you mouth," was the surly answer.
VI.
It was more than an hour before Bane returned with Alva to the house on Oriole Street. He had driven all the way to midtown Manhattan and double parked for a minute on East 38th Street where he was met the front door of the KDF building by Sable. He handed the Poi Dog over to her for the moment for safekeeping, unable to hide his relief at getting the animal off his hands. As it happened, Sable was occupied at the moment finishing up legal details to close a case and didn't immediately demand to join Bane on this intriguing business involving a supposedly extinct breed of dog, a murderous Hawaiian shaman and assorted spies running around Queens.
As she started to close the street door with an elbow, holding the complacent Poi Dog in both arms, Sable said, "I thought you were retired for once and for all, Jeremy. That'll be the day."
Heading back down the front steps to the sidewalk, the Dire Wolf had just given her a sheepish smile. "I'll come back and fill you in. Thanks, Sable."
Back in his car, Alva had been watching. "You leave dog with friends? What if OKHYU'EL agents break in and take?"
Bane eased out into traffic and started the trip back to Queens one more time. Hearing Alva's worried question, he thought about the fortress that the KDF building was and about the Tel Shai knights who lived there. If any spies ever somehow got in when Demrak Jin was there, Heaven help them live to tell about it. "It'll be fine," was all he said.
As they reached the midtown tunnel, Bane asked, "Have you ever worked with Dandelion?"
That made the tiny woman's eyes bug out. "Dandelion?! Is she in area? Oh God."
"No. Calm down. Dandelion died more than a month ago. I wanted to know if you had ever met her." Emerging into the noon daylight, he headed back toward Flushing.
"She is impossibly dangerous. Cannot be trusted. I have seen her draw and fire and hit running man far away, without even looking. Dandelion is devil. You say she is dead?"
"So it seems," the Dire Wolf said.
"I am relief. That woman make me very afraid to be around."
Bane turned the conversation to Fulkvakian history. He knew almost nothing about the litte country, which had been claimed by Poland for years before WW II and then had gone under Soviet control for more than four decades before finally achieving nominal independence. Alva Simon went into great detail about the various royal families in Fulkvakia and their feuds, and then started in on traditional recipes for boiled sheep lungs. Bane wasn't interested at all but the monologue kept the spy occupied.
Eventually, they pulled up in front of the row of identical houses on Oriole Street, with the roar of the LIE close at hand. Bane had circled around from a block away, checking for suspicious activity but saw nothing out of the ordinary. As he parked the red Mustang and Alva hopped out, the solid bulk of Theodore filled the doorway to greet them.
The Dire Wolf warily kept scanning the street as he got out from behind the wheel. He didn't trust these two any more than he would have trusted a copperhead that had just reared its head. "So, Elk. What happened?"
The big spy in the white raincoat raised his hands, palms up. "Everything go good. Men from Red Sunrise take Oleg and Raskolnikova wrapped in blankets into black van. We will get commendations and maybe time off. First we must report back."
"Raise in salary would be better," muttered Alva to herself. "Cannot put commendations in bank."
As he followed the mismatched pair into the house, Bane said, "I'll drop you two off where you left your own Explorer. But before that, I want more information about this Grandfather Kahuna. I think I need to have a few words with him." He stopped abruptly as he noticed something.
"Yes? What is wrong?" asked Alva.
"Elk, listen closely. When the Red Sunrise team came here, did you stay with them the entire time?" Bane demanded.
"No. I use toilet. In there maybe five minutes, I am big eater. Why you ask?"
The Dire Wolf moved toward the TV set sitting in one corner of the living room. "Then they had a few minutes unobserved. Look at this." Sitting on top of the television with cables running into its back was one of the black boxes. He pressed the ON button for the TV and immediately the ominous backlit silhouette of Intrepid Commander appeared.
"So. Elk! Chipmunk! You inferior swine, your hours left are few!" snapped the vicious voice. Bane had swung around behind the TV as soon as the screen had lit up and he thought he was not within sight of the little camera in the black box.
That voice is electronically distorted, he thought. And it was suspicious how the head and shoulders were so motionless, how the jaw did not seem to move. Suddenly Bane remembered what Mrs Claire had said about the black box he had given her seemed to be a short-distance receiver...
Behind him was the door to the basement. Earlier, he had opened it and taken a peek at the wooden steps going down but he had not entered. Now, the door was locked. Bane slammed the palm of one hand just above the knob with torque coming up from his legs and waist. The lock snapped. He slipped through that door and glided silently down the steps into a furnished basement with wood paneling on the walls and some furniture. Sitting in front of a powerful spotlight, facing a TV camera on a wheeled mount, was the head and shoulders of a wax figure wearing a peaked military cap. The hooked nose and prominent chin of the mannequin head were unmistakable... the figure even had a monocle in one eye and a scar running down the left cheek. Intrepid Commander of OKHYU'EL.
Standing beyond that set-up, with a microphone on a stand in front of her, was a slim blonde woman wearing dark slacks and a pearl grey jacket of soft suede. Even at forty, her face retained its insolent gamin appeal under a shock of platinum white hair. Raised in one hand, aimed unwaveringly directly at Bane's face, was a Walther P-22 with a handcrafted silencer.
"Exactly what is wrong with you, Jeremy?" asked Dandelion. "You always ruin everything."
VII.
The Dire Wolf did not dare move. With her Tel Shai training, Dandelion's reflexes were every bit as quick as his own and it would take a major effort for her to miss a target. Her accuracy with firearms was not seemingly supernatural, it actually was supernatural. He knew she could put three bullets in his brain before he could do anything about it. Even his enhanced healing couldn't save him from that.
"I wish I could say I had known about this from the start," he began. "But I can't pretend to be a deductive genius. So many things didn't seem to fit."
Dandelion smirked. "Yeah? Go on. I like seeing you nervous for a change."
"Intrepid Commander was confirmed killed more than thirty years ago. And OKHYU'EL was broken up and its functions taken over by different compartments of Russian intelligence. I just didn't see how either could make a comeback." Bane had not raised his hands in surrender, he just remained as he had been when Dandelion had drawn on him. "And that dummy is not that convincing when you get a minute to think about it."
"Yeah, it needs work. But you should have thought I was dead, Jeremy. I went to a lot of trouble to fake that, manufacturing a burned corpse that resembled me, planting my fingerprints and dental records in the coroner's report." Her smile grew a bit wistful. "Did you go out to visit my grave?"
"Sure. And surprisingly it didn't upset me." Bane almost smiled, despite the situation. "I didn't react. Somehow it didn't feel real. That was a clue in itself. You know what really started me thinking, though?"
Dandelion's hand holding the gun was steady as if she were resting it on top of a brick wall. "No. Tell me."
"When I told the image of the Intrepid Commander to 'enjoy the trauma.' Just before he signed off, I could swear I heard someone start to laugh."
"Yes. Hah, that was my phrase, wasn't it? I used to say that all the time. Well, it's been fun hearing all this, Jeremy, but honestly I can't let you leave knowing I'm working behind the scenes now. Being a mercenary is profitable but a girl can't get away with it forever. From now on, I'll be the mysterious mastermind sitting in the center of the spider web. I'm sorry, old boy."
Bane lowered his head just an inch and said, "Not so long ago, I used to think you could still be redeemed. Even when we fought BASILISK that time. But you really have gone bad, Dandy."
The delicate face lost its smugness just like that. "No one has called me Dandy for years, Jeremy."
He had been ready to drop low and lunge forward without telegraphing his moves. The only slim hope was that the bullets he would inevitably receive would not be instantly fatal and he could get his hands on her before dying. But he did not have the chance. Bane saw the white flash from the Walther muzzle and then there was only darkness.
VIII.
It took ages to regain full consciousness. The pain in his head was sharp pounding agony and he couldn't bear to move for the longest time. Slowly, forcing every movement, Bane became more aware of his situation. He was lying face down on a cold wooden floor, and his face felt sealed over with a sticky layer of something. He lay there as his healing factor worked, getting stronger and more determined as time dragged by. The pain would not go away completely. Even the Tel Shai breathing techniques to distance his conscious mind from his body were only partially successful.
Eventually, though, he got his hands under him and pushed up slightly. Only one eye seemed to be working. The enhanced healing from all the years on a tagra diet let him recover from damage that would mean weeks in the ICU for a normal person, but everything had its limits. He was neither immortal or unkillable. The Dire Wolf managed to raise himself to a seated position and sat there panting as he recovered from the effort.
Looking around as his mind cleared, he saw Dandelion was nowhere in sight. That was no surprise. The television equipment and the Intrepid Commander dummy were gone too, of course. Bane gingerly began exploring his head with his fingers, half dreading to find brains oozing out. His face was covered with dried blood, which was what was gluing his left eye shut. It hurt too much to touch the top of his head at first, and it was only after several failed attempts that he managed to explore the gash across the top of his skull. He could feel exposed bone where the scalp had been torn away. Bane looked down and saw he had been lying in a pool of blood that must have contained a pint or two.
The first few times he tried to stand, he simply fell down. Giving up on that for the moment, he crawled on hands and knees toward the open bathroom door on the other side of the basement. He was getting stronger and did not have to stop on the way. Kneeling in front of the sink, he managed to turn on the hot water and began splashing it on his head and face, not caring how soaked his body got or how much water spilled all over the floor. His right eye opened as the dried blood was washed off, and he got most of his face clean but he left the clotted mat of hair on top of his head alone.
Feeling more and more normal, Bane switched the taps to cold water and began to drink it from his cupped hand. Water intake helped the healing process immeasurably, especially after such blood loss. When he tried standing, he swayed and had to hold onto the sink but he kept to his feet. Taking deep steady breaths, he went back out into the basement and lowered himself to the couch rather than dropping onto it.
Dandelion had spared him. Again. Creasing the top of his skull like that, even knowing about his healing factor, took much more accuracy than simply killing him would have. Why? He did not believe it was sentiment or nostalgia for the good old days when they had worked together. She had been a mercenary for more than a decade, shooting anyone dead if the price was paid. Old men, children, teenage girls... Dandelion had never hesitated to squeeze the trigger because of human feelings getting in the way.
Not that he wasn't glad to find himself alive. He had really thought he had reached the end of the road that time. No, Dandelion must think she would have some use for him at some point. She had plans for him.
Feeling weak but otherwise back almost to normal, Bane got up and slowly headed for the stairs. His sport jacket was stiff from the layer of dried blood but he didn't have the energy to get it off. Right now he needed to get to his car where he would feel a bit safer. Climbing those steps felt like climbing a sheer cliff for him. He found the living room empty as well, which made him glad. Bane had wondered if he would stumble over the dead bodies of Alva Simon and Theodore, but evidently Dandelion had taken them with her. Were they actually working for her, and the Red Sunrise job was just a cover? Or had she taken them at gunpoint for use as hostages or to help her escape the area? Spies used so much deceit and betrayal all the time that you couldn't believe them when they told you what day of the week it was.
Bane found he was moving more smoothly and confidently, although his head still ached worse than any pain he had experienced even under actual torture. He opened the front door and was surprised to see a dark overcast night. Just how long had he been unconscious? Stretching out his wrist to see the luminous numbers on his watch, he found it was almost three in the morning. Well, he thought, at least that meant he could probably make it to his car without being seen.
As he unlocked the front door, he saw a scrap of paper wedged in the driver side window. Bane expected it to be from Dandelion, saying that 'enjoy the trauma' phrase to rub it in but instead the neat, precise handwriting read, "Keep the Poi Dog fat. They're happier that way. Roast it with onions and green peppers." Drawn at the bottom of the note was a vertical line with a circle at its top, Dandelion's symbol.
9/10/2016