"Tournament of Psychos" I
"Tournament of Psychos"
4/17-4/19/1993
I.
At best, Jeremy Bane was restless and jumpy. Having to wait for an appointment was getting on his nerves badly. The morning seemed to drag on forever. The Dire Wolf circled his office over and over, hands clasped behind him. He straightened the mess of old newspapers on the coffee table in front of the couch. He dusted the bookshelves with a rag. He checked the condition of the bizarre creatures from Ulgor for the third time. In the five foot high tank, the water bubbled clear and the food flakes had been gobbled up.
The starfish with one red eye in its center, the fanged sea horse, the hermit crabs who seemed to be building a tunnel in the colored gravel using their saliva as glue... all were fine. He smiled back at the baleful stare that the starfish fixed on him.
On the wall behind his desk was a gorgous handpainted map of the world as it had been in 1937. That was the year Kenneth Dred had purchased this building. Now Bane had inherited it all. Along with his lover and partner Cindy Brunner, Bane was carrying on Dred's Midnight War work.
In his early forties, the Dire Wolf was a tall lean figure all in black. The elevated metabolism which gave him his superior reflexes also filled him with excess vitality that made it difficult for him to sit still at all.
The phone on his desk rang. Bane lunged for it as if it was going to explode but managed to keep his voice calm. "Hello."
Ah, Mr Bane," said a refined middle-aged voice. "Cameron Eckhardt here. I'm on my way. I should be at your residence shortly."
"Fine. 28 East 38th Street, remember. I'll be here."
"Excellent." With a click, the connection was broken off.
Bane hung up and then called Cindy up in her rooms on the third floor. "Hey, that guy Eckhardt just phoned. He's coming here now. Did you find out any more about him?"
"No, nothing sinister, I'm afraid," answered her husky voice. "We know he's a civilian profiler who sometimes works with the FBI. He's written three books and a dozen articles on the subject of serial killers. Divorced, no children, taught a class in abnormal psychology at Columbia for six years."
"I don't know why I'm so doubtful about him. Maybe I'm just suspicious of everyone."
"With the life you've led, that's not surprising. I'm glad you turned out as positive as you have."
"Maybe your telepathy would be helpful," Bane said. "Do you want to come down and check his mind out? Without him catching on?"
"No, no," came the voice he knew best in life. "Listen, hon, you want to sharpen your detective skills. The Dire Wolf Agency has been picking up cases lately. Here's your chance. I'm gonna dig into some Jane Austen until he's gone."
"You're right," Bane reluctantly conceded. "If I rely on your gift, I'll never develop observation and deduction."
"Remember all the tips Mike gave you," she said. There was a click as she signed off.
In fact, the Dire Wolf often drew on the lessons his late friend had patiently instilled in him. Michael Hawk had been raised from childhood to be a world-class criminologist and investigator, and he had tried to steer Bane in that direction. To be honest, Bane admitted he did not have the patience nor the thoroughness to fully analyze clues. He was not the genius Hawk had been. Bane's strength was in his combat skills and his tenacity. When it came to confrontation with the creatures of the night, he was in his element.
As always, Bane was wearing his trademark uniform of black slacks and turtleneck, with the sport jacket he now tugged on. Sheathed under his sleeves were the matched silver-bladed daggers that were his most valued weapons. Even as he headed out into the front hall, the doorbell rang.
Standing to the side of the inner door, the Dire Wolf slid a wooden panel aside to reveal a monitor screen and its controls. He pressed the button to unlock the outer door and said into a speaker, "Good morning. I'll be right with you."
In the small foyer beyond, the caller waited for a few seconds while advanced Trom sensors analyzed him more thoroughly than any CAT scan or MRI could. On the monitor screen, Bane read the green figures and numbers which unscrolled. The visitor had no metal on him larger than a set of keys. There was no chemical signature for any of the known explosives or poisons. Height, weight, biological age, hair and eye color, heartbeat and blood pressure, all were revealed.
Cameron Eckhardt was not in the fully detailed KDF data banks, but the statistics all matched. This man was twelve pounds heavier than the weight listed in the files but that meant nothing. People in middle age did put on weight or simply announced their weight as less than the truth out of vanity.
Satisfied for the moment, Bane closed down the sensors and slid the panel shut again. He opened the inner door and gestured for his visitor to enter. "Come right in," he said, shaking the hand that was offered.
Eckhardt removed his heavy coat and Bane politely took it to hang upon a series of hooks. They headed toward the office as the Dire Wolf summed up his impressions. Dr Cameron Eckhardt was a well-toned, healthy man in his late fifties. He moved well, with no limp or uncertainty. Dark hair was brushed back from a high forehead, and the stolid face showed serious eyes and a bulldog trap of a mouth.
He held a slim black leather attache case, but the Trom sensors had shown nothing in it but papers and some pens. When they entered the office, Bane motioned for Eckhardt to take one of the plain wooden chairs in front of the desk while he himself circled around to take his own seat facing the man.
"So. Dr Eckhardt," Bane began without any pleasantries. "I understand you're a profiler. You work as a consultant with the FBI but you are not an agent yourself. Is that right?"
"Exactly," answered a cool, restrained voice. "After the success of my two books, I was approached by the Bureau to lend what assistance and suggestions I can. I have thankfully been some help in locating serial killers. Not only am I paid for my work, I can then use the experiences as material for my books. Mr Bane, do you know there's a file on you?"
"Yeah, I would think so." He did not say it, but through devious means Bane had already read a copy of his file without the FBI being aware of it. Having friends with extrahuman abilities was sometimes immensely helpful.
"I daresay you could request a copy through the Freedom of Information act," Eckhardt said. "But that is not what I have come to discuss with you."
Bane allowed the faintest hint of a smile to touch the corners of his mouth.
"I don't quite know what to make of the ahem, supernatural events you are reported to have been part of. That is not my area. But I am greatly impressed with the level of maniacs you have successfully captured or who disappeared mysteriously after confronting you. Seneca. Golgora. The Slaughterman. Seth Petrov. I sometimes think you must have an untrained knack for profiling yourself."
The Dire Wolf shook his head. "I don't think so. As I understand it, your approach is to try to put yourself in the killer's mind, to see things from his viewpoint. That way, you can predict his next move. That right?"
"In a simplified way," Eckhardt said.
"I certainly do not want to start thinking like the maniacs I'm chasing. To see things the way Quilt does...? No, thanks. Dr Eckhardt, it seems to me there's some risk in your method. I have to wonder if maybe that viewpoint might rub off on you."
"To be honest, that is a hazard of the profession," Eckhardt admitted. "Typically, a professional profiler only works the field for a limited number of years before being rotated to less demanding duties. But there's little choice. These murderers must be apprehended and since profiling works, we use it."
"Let's get to business," Bane abruptly shifted gears. "What exactly brings you to see me, doctor?"
Opening his attache case, Eckhardt took out a map and unfolded it on the desk. It showed the northeast United States with a pattern of tiny red, green and black Xs across New York, Connecticut and Pennsylvania. At even first glance, the Xs were converging in a loose spiral toward New York City.
"You see here something new," the profiler intoned ominously, "Something I have never found in the annals of crime."
Bane leaned forward and scrutinized the map. "Let me start with the idea that each X represents a murder. Is that right? Okay. Each state has mostly marks of the same color, but there are a few exceptions." He swung that startling grey eyes up so fast that Eckhardt winced involuntarily. "There are three killers, is that it?"
"That's my conclusion," the profiler said. "Samhain. Dr Sabbath. Charlie Pantera. All active in what should be each other's exclusive territory. They're have a sort of competition."
"A tournament of pyschos," Bane growled. "Quick, I need a timeline. When did these murders start? How are they spaced?"
"I have that on a separate sheet, as well as details of each crime," Eckhardt said as he pulled out sheafs of documents clipped together. "The first one we can identify took place last December. The most recent was Tuesday... three days ago."
Bane was engrossed in the map. "Samhain. Again! How the hell can that monster still be alive? I saw him take four bullets in the face at pointblank range. Then he fell off the Tappan Zee Bridge into the Hudson in midwinter." The Dire Wolf did not mention that he had been the person firing those shots.
"No one knows," Eckhardt shrugged. "The man called Saimhain has been reported killed at least four times that I know of. Yet he keeps coming back. You see why I feel your experience in the uh, paranormal is called for."
Bane was going through the documents. "This Charlie Pantera is a new one to me."
"Oh yes. He's from west Texas, a Mexican boy not more than twenty. Evidently he is only starting his pattern. He believe his murdered his family in a fire and left a charred body intended to be taken for him. Not a very good job. The corpse was two inches taller than Pantera. And Dr Sabbath, I assume you know about him?"
"By reputation," Bane said. "I haven't tangled with him yet. This is the most outrageous thing I've seen in years. These three pyschos seem to making their way toward a meeting, leaving victims along the way. Are they going to brag and compare body counts with each other?"
"I believe so. Mr Bane, the FBI and the State Police are already on full alert and have called in as much manpower as they can. No one wants the public to go into a panic by finding out about these three. I obtained permission to bring you in on this, if you are interested."
The Dire Wolf snapped those pale eyes up at his visitor. "Is Department 21 Black in on this?"
"Yes. I meet with a liaison from that department regularly," said Eckhardt. "You understand, I am not a man of action. I'm an author and lecturer, I've never even drawn a gun on anyone. But your reputation from fighting the creatures of the night is legendary. I might be able to locate these criminals but you are the one who can face them on equal terms."
Studying the map, Bane did not answer immediately. "Yes. Of course. I need all the facts you can supply, doctor. Dates, places, photos. Any police reports you can clear. I assume you've worked up a timeline?"
"First, there is the matter of your fee," the profiler said. "21 Black has promised to reimburse me for any expenses during the duration of this case."
The Dire Wolf glanced up again and the impact of those grey eyes was so forceful that even Eckhardt gave a start. "All right. I'll charge a flat one thousand dollars. With you as a client, we will have certain confidentiality conditions from the cops." He folded up the map almost reluctantly. "Let's get started. Do you want some coffee? Tea?"
"No thank you."
Bane opened the center drawer of his desk and took out a red leather ledger. "Make the check out to 'Dire Wolf Agency' and I'll write a receipt. Then we can get this hunt started...."
II.
It was past four-thirty before Bane allowed Eckhardt to leave. The profiler meticulously retrieved all the documents, photos, newspaper clippings and handwritten notes to return them to his attache case. Watching the man, Bane was still torn by conflicting signals. Usually, his instincts were sharp and incisive. It troubled the Dire Wolf to be uncertain about someone.
"Where are you staying, doctor?" he asked. "We have guest rooms available here if you have no arrangements made." In fact, Bane did not expect or really want the expert to agree to stay at the KDF building, but he thought in the back of his mind that it might be as well to keep a close eye on this man who knew so much about psycho-killers.
"Thank you but I have taken a suite at the Churchill," answered Eckhardt. "I have given them my business for many years now. Today I still have to meet with the FBI clerk who acts as my liaison and I have other projects on hand as well." He clicked his attache case closed and straightened up. "Should I call you in the morning? Is nine all right?"
"That would be fine," Bane said as he started to usher the man out into the hall. "I need to check with my own sources."
As Eckhardt had stepped out onto East 38th Street and the doors closed automatically, Bane turned back to see Cindy standing on the staircase in the front hall.
Probably the most skilled and potent telepath in the Midnight War of that era, Cynthia Lee Brunner was not intimidating visually. She was a slim attractive woman in her early thirties, only an inch over five feet tall and just over one hundred pounds. Her dark golden hair was tied back in a thick ponytail. In an oversized maroon sweatswirt, faded jeans and plain canvas sneakers, she lookey considerably younger than her years.
For once, the freckled gamin face was not smiling at Bane. "You were with him six hours, hon. I'm a bit surprised at your patience."
"Oh, I was getting restless after the first ten minutes," the Dire Wolf admitted. He strode over to be next to her. "But this seems like a major case. Let me fill you in on what's going on."
Cindy cocked her head to one side. "Not just another mundane detective case for the Agency, then?"
"No. This is Midnight War come back to haunt us. A sort of Tournament of Pyschos seems to be underway."
She stepped up and placed a palm flat against his chest. "About time. But first, we eat. Today was m yturn and I'm surprising you with scallops with crab meat cakes and those little rice balls stuffed with veggies."
A rare smile touched his face. "You're clipping recipes again, aren't you? I hope you saved a few for me to learn."
"Ha HA, I'm giving you the difficult ones," she said. "Let's wash up and dig in. I skipped lunch today to make sure my cooking tastes good."
Bane put one arm around her narrow shoulder and they headed toward the kitchen at the rear of the hall. "Our rule about no discussing cases at the table still holds, though."
"Oh, absolutely," she said. "Did I ever tell you about the time in college when my dorm mate and I stole a goat...?"
III.
When the bedside phone rang at one-thirty that morning, Bane was awake instantly. He snatched up the receiver as promptly as if he had been sitting up waiting for it. "Yeah?"
Beside him, Cindy rolled over and picked up the extension from the nightstand on her side. Their policy for years had been to listen together to any afterhour calls. She raised one finger to indicate she was ready.
"Listen, this is Inspector Klein. Is your head clear?"
"Sure," Bane answered. "What's the situation?"
"Murder, what else? A security guard at the old Churchill Hotel on 61st Street. Not particularly gruesome. He was found outside with a plastic bag tied around his head."
"And?" Bane said. "How is that in my territory?"
"Because of a bird named Dr Cameron Eckhardy. He's got credentials that would get him into the Pentagon. FBI snoop, one of them profilers." The disdain in Klein's voice was not even lightly hidden. "You know him?"
"He had a possible case for me," Bane admitted. "Okay, I'm heading down to meet you. Anything else I should know?"
"Not over the phone. Shake a leg, Mr Dire Wolf." There was a click as the Inspector hung up.
Leaping from the bed and grabbing up his clothes from where he had hung them on the nearby chair, Bane was a startling sight. He had zero body fat and this made his long wiry muscles stand out in high definition as he moved. "Maybe this case will move a good pace after all," he said.
Cindy got fresh panties and a bra from her dresser, then tugged the flexible Trom armor on over them. She was also in excellent condition, fit as an Olympic gymnast with narrow waist and breasts firm as any teenager's.
Like firefighters on duty, they were always ready to suit up in a few seconds. Before turning in, they had checked that all their equipment and gadgets were stowed in the proper pockets. As she was brushing her hair with a few quick strokes, Bane had just pulled his jacket on. They rushed from the room and down the stairs to the ground floor with unconcealed enthusiasm.
By the front door, Bane said, "You check security before we leave. I'll bring the Chevy around."
"Got it." She slid open the wooden panel at face level and ran over all the dials and gauges with a practiced eye. Everything was nominal. When she stepped through the foyer and out onto the steps, both doors clicked shut behind her. Cindy heard the subdued buzzes and clicks of the Trom alarms activating and smiled. So far she had not locked herself out, but sooner or later...
Five seconds later, a Navy blue Chevy Regal slid up to the curb and she galloped down to dive into the passenger seat. All these years and the adrenalin rush still burned in her veins, she thought with appreciation.
At the corner of 61st and Madison, the Churchill was a twelve story spike of white stone that carried a respectable and dignified air even though a bit grimy from the city air. Bane managed to snare a spot on the same block only because it was a quarter to two in the morning. Two police patrol cars and an ambulance indicated to them where to go. As Bane and Cindy approached, a uniformed officer caught sight of them. He abruptly turned his back on the two.
"You don't have to do that," the Dire Wolf told his partner. "After all, Klein DID ask us to come here. We can work openly."
"Ehhh, good practice for the telepathy," said Cindy. "It's always useful to be able to move around with no one seeing us."
Glancing at the officer as they moved past him without being noticed, Bane said, "He's going to wonder why his mind went blank."
"Frankly," Cindy muttered, "I suspect it happens to him all the time anyway."
A short man in a faded white raincoat bustled over to greet them. Harold Klein had a deeply lined face and greying curly hair. "Morning, you guys. This seems to be sorta a weird oddball death, so naturally I called you two in on it." He raised one hand to his temple as a remnant of the days when he had always worn a hat to tip. "Up a little late aren't you, young lady?"
"I'm thirty-five," Cindy replied. "Where's the body?"
Klein had long ago come to appeciate Cindy's abilities and skills. He treated her the same way he did Bane himself. "A patrol car spotted a leg sticking out from the side door of the hotel. Victim's name is Thomas Rooney, sixty-four years old, retired from the NYPD and now a night security agent. He had a clear plastic bag wrapped tightly over his face. Whoever did it must have been damn strong."
Bane gestured at a narrow niche in the side of the building. "Is that it?"
"Yeah, just a service entrance. The forensic boys have already gone over it, taking a million photos and measuring everything. They don't seem confident about coming up with anything useful."
Studying the scene, Bane shook his head. "I don't see much to go on. No scrape marks, no blood. The victim was sixty-four, you say? What kind of shape was he in?"
"Aw, I'd say he was tough enough for the job," Klein answered. "Beer gut but still a good amount of muscle. The average civilian wouldn't want to have Rooney mad at him. He did have a .38 Colt in a belt holster that he never got a chance to use."
The Dire Wolf took a powerful pencil flashlight from his jacket pocket and crouched down, scrutinizing the doorway. He and Cindy asked a few questions but Klein really had little to give them. Finally, Bane said, "What did you think of this guy Eckhardt?"
"Yeah, he's a funny bird," the Inspector said. "He came down in his pajamas and a dressing gown to see what was going on. Claimed the lights from the squad cars got his attention. Introduced himself. He mentioned you."
That made Bane frown more than usual. "Really. Where is he now?"
"Back in his suit, 312 he said. I questioned him of course but there was no reason to suspect him. He was by himself and said he had checked in around eleven. I asked the staff, no one had seen him skulking around. Listen, Bane, you want to go up and we'll grill him? Your lady here can dig around inside his skull."
"Not yet," Bane answered slowly. "This feels wrong to me. I don't want him to know we were here. For some reason, I don't like the fact he name-dropped me.. it's odd."
"You have any dirt on the man? FBI vouches for him."
The Dire Wolf shrugged. "I don't have anything solid. But I've learned to trust my instincts. Earlier today, I met with Cameron Eckhardt and we discussed serial killers. Tonight there's a dead body in the doorway where he's staying. Could the set-up be more suspicious?"
"Feh, I always thought FBI profilers were over-rated. Every police investigator does what they do," Klein snorted. "We just don't get juicy book deals and Hollywood movies."
"Tell you what," Bane said as he gave up on inspecting the doorway. "I'm set to meet with Eckhardt again today. I have some tentative ideas but it's too early in the game to be sure of anything." Bane peered up at the side of the building. "Suit 312, that should be facing the front. Even if he's at the windows, he shouldn't be able to see us here."
Klein scoffed. "Ehhh. I'll take your word for it. You've got my number, Bane, keep me up to date."
"Inspector, I'll stop by the precinct house later this morning," Cindy offered. "I'll tell you anything we turn up and you can unofficially drop hints whatever your forensics find."
"Sounds good. I'll be in my office on the third floor. The boys at the precinct are always cheered up by a having a pretty young lady drop by. Not like when this Dire Wolf guy storms through."
Bane seemed distracted. He turned to go, lightly touching Cindy's arm. "We'll be in touch, Klein. This hunt is just starting to get underway."
IV.
Leaving the Churchill, Bane and Cindy drove back to the building on 38th Street and went back to bed as if nothing unusual had happened. Long years in the Midnight War had affected them that way. They were both asleep again within minutes of climbing into the bed in Bane's quarters.
At seven-thirty, they woke and hurried through their morning routines. Cindy had her own suite next door where she kept her wardrobe a personal items. She showered quickly and got dressed. Today, she thought she should project a more professional image. She chose a pleated black skirt, cream-colored blouse with a simple gold chain necklace and a snug black blazer. Brushing her hair as it dried, she debated applying make-up but ultimately declined even the minimal touches she sometimes wore.
In the kitchen, she found Bane preparing French toast and bacon, and she pitched in eagerly as her stomach rumbled. Neither drank coffee, so she poured a glass of cranberry juice and a glass of ice water each of them. They tore through stacks of the thickly-sliced whole wheat French Toast with honey and jam, finished off the bacon and felt ready to tackle a hundred serial killers if necessary.
As they took care of the dishes in the stainless steel sink with steaming hot water, Cindy said, "So, what's the immediate agenda, hon?"
"I expect Eckhardt to call in a few minutes."
The blonde telepath dried her hands on a washcloth. "I know you have tangled with Samhain already. I was away during the Astronomy Murders last year. Maybe we should dig through our files and see who else might be turning up. It's a good thing that Golgora and Seneca are dead, they'd love to be in this Pyscho Tournament."
"It's good that Golgora and Seneca are dead any way you look at it," Bane snorted. The wall phone rang and he swung over to grab it. "Hello. Yes, Dr Eckhardt. What happened? When? Really. I can meet you right now if you like. Yes. It'll only be a few minutes." He hung up and turned the pale eyes on his partner.
"He told me about the murder at the Churchill last night," Bane said. "I don't know why I thought he might not. I guess I don't fully trust him yet. Are you coming?"
"Of course I'm going with you," she replied. "If nothing else, I want to get my impression of Cameron Eckhardt. A little surface telepathy, very light and unobtrusive, might clear up what kind of person he is."
"I just don't trust people in general," the Dire Wolf said. "Growing up an orphan on the streets shaped me. Look at what you went through to reach me emotionally."
The telepath ruffled his short black hair, an affectionate gesture that would have astounded most of those who knew the Dire Wolf. "I'd do it again in a heartbeat, my dear," she said. "And I know you love me more than life itself."
This was getting difficult for Bane to express in words. He picked up his jacket and checked the anesthetic dart gun in its holster behind his left hip. "Cin."
"Hey, I'll drive today. We'll take the Mustang."
"Sure," he said as he followed her to the walk-in closet by the front door. At its back was a concealed panel that opened to five steep concrete steps leading to the basement.
"And I still insist on Italian food tonight," she called back over one shoulder. "Mushrooms stuffed with Parmesan cheese and fresh garlic bread. Can't wait!"
They passed along the narrow walkway between the locked doors of the Vault on one side and the arsenal on the other, going through the plain wooden door into their underground garage. Cindy snatched up a set of keys from its hook on the wall and hopped behind the wheel of the dark green 1992 Ford Mustang. This car had not been as heavily modified as some of their other vehicles. There were Kevlar body panels, bullet-resistant glass and several secret hiding compartments but nothing else out of the standard.
As she headed up the ramp with its sharp turn at the top that they barely squeaked through, the metal sliding door rose automatically. They emerged from a dead-end alley onto Lexington Avenue. "Say," she asked, "I was thinking about Seth Petrov. Was he a serial killer?"
"Seth? No, I don't think so." Bane watched the traffic thoughtfully as they headed north. "From what I understand, serial killers fit a set of criteria. He didn't. Seth enjoyed killing people for the adrenalin rush but he had no compulsions and he followed no patterns."
"Neither did Seth, then."
"Too bad about Seth," the Dire Wolf said. "But we gave him a fair chance. He had to be true to his nature."
Cindy ran a red light and mumbled, "Oops. Hey, look-- a parking spot on 60th Street. What a bargain. I'm snatching it." She eased in with barely an inch behind the car in front of her and slapped her hands together as if dusting them. "Hah. How often does that happen? So, hon, ready to crack this case?"
"I think it has a ways to run yet," Bane answered in a distracted voice. "We don't even have all the pieces lined up."
They walked briskly through the slanting morning sunlight to the Churchill, where Cameron Eckhardt was waiting for them in the lobby. "Good to see you, Mr Bane. This must be your assistant you mentioned."
"Cindy is my partner. We work together on an equal basis," Bane replied. "Anything you're prepared to tell me, she can hear as well."
"I understand," the famous profiler said. He was well dressed again, this time in a dark blue suit with faint chalk lines. "You know there was a murder here last night. The security guard. He appears to have been strangled about one-thirty in the morning."
Bane glanced suspiciously around the lobby, finding too many people within eavesdropping distance. "Let's step outside, doctor. We can confer as we take a little walk."
The three of them crossed Fifth Avenue and made their way up along the waist-high stone wall that marked the edge of Central Park. Bane noticed Cindy was regarding Eckhardt with a critical expression far from her usual friendliness.
"Maybe it's obvious to you," the Dire Wolf began, "But I like everything laid out clearly. Do you think the guard was killed by one of the three psychos we're tracking?"
"Undoubtedly. In fact, I feel certain it was meant as a warning to me. One of them knows I am in Manhattan. He knows where I'm staying. This death was intended to rattle me."
Cindy spoke up for the first time. "Do you know which one?"
"I'm having trouble sort out the way they are acting," Eckhardt said. "These men are acting under powerful deepseated compulsions. Obsessive behavior forces them into patterns which allow profilers to predict their next action. But not in the present situation, I'm afraid."
"It was sunny but the air was cool. "The guard was murdered as a deliberate act and not as part of the usual compulsion, then?"
"That is correct. You are perceptive, Miss Brunner."
"I've been doing this a while. So. Even at a disadvantage, what's your best guess as to who will strike next?"
Eckhardt paused and stood still on the sidewalk. "It's uncertain. I do not feel instinctively that this murder was committed by Charlie Pantera. He's a coarse uneducated brute who strikes as the opportunity presents itself. I don't see him tricking his way in a locked hotel lobby late at night and cornering an alert security guard."
"What about Dr Sabbath?" asked Bane.
"Hmmm. No, I don't think so. Sabbath is known to plan his murders for weeks ahead of time, using disguises and preparing elaborate traps. This would be so out of character for him. But Samhain... Samhain's remarkable gift of surviving mortal injury gives him a huge advantage. He has been known to think on his feet, strike quickly without a plan and disappear. My instinct says this was Samhain."
"We have one obvious tactic that usually works," Bane said. "In India, they catch tigers by tying a goat to a tree."
"Hah! And I am to be the goat? Not very flattering, sir. Still, I agree it is one of the few ruses available to us. Tonight, I'm scheduled to give a lecture to the criminal justice class at Buchanan University up in Queens. It starts at eight. A police detail might scare him off but I believe you would be more discreet."
Bane nodded grimly. "I'll be watching but I guarantee these psychos won't see me until I tag them." He turned to face his partner. "Cin, is anybody watching us right now?"
She swung in a half-circle, eyes partly closed. "No. Not us specifically. I'm not finding any minds focused on us. Jeremy, you and I should not be seen in public with Dr Eckhardt."
The expert gave her a dubious look. "Are you trained at spotting surveillance, Miss Brunner?"
"I have my skills" she replied mildly. Telepathy was hard to explain to outsiders and she found demonstrating it just upset people. "We separate and meet up tonight, depending on what happens."
"Mr Bane?"
"I trust Cindy's judgement," the Dire Wolf said. "You should head back to your car and the two of us will walk up a few blocks and make a wide circle. I'll be at your lecture tonight. Hopefully, I'll catch someone for you to examine."
As Eckhardt started off across the street, Bane and Cindy headed north. After they had gone a block, he said, "So, what did you get him on him?"
Her exasperated snort was priceless. "Jeremy, that man's mind is locked up like a fortress. I couldn't catch anything beyond bare surface details and I didn't dare dig deeper. He would have felt it. So annoying!"
"Now that's suggestive," the Dire Wolf said. "As a profiler, chasing and confronting these maniacs, he naturally would build up defenses."
"I guess," Cindy conceded. "Just hearing about what serial killers do makes the average citizen feel sick to the stomach. Trying to think the way they do, understanding those twisted viewpoints... it's a dangerous game to play if you ask me."
After they had gone another two blocks, they turned and started to circle back to where they had left their car. Bane remained as wary as if he had been warned of an ambush, watching every car that went past and giving each passerby a suspicious scrutiny. He wasn't even aware of doing this. It was a lifelong habit from growing up a street orphan.
Pausing by the Mustang, Bane said, "Listen. You were going to meet with Klein anyway. You go ahead. I'll walk back to base and start calling my observers. Sound good?"
She frowned slightly. "Promise you're not up to something, Jeremy? I don't want to come back and find you on some roof brawling with three serial killers!"
"Absolutely not. I just figure we can get more done this way. When you come back, we'll compare notes."
Cindy jerked a thumb toward the Mustang. "Might as well ride with me. I'll swing by 38th Street on my way to police headquarters and drop you off."
"All right," Bane said as he opened the passenger door. "Don't let Klein sweet talk you into giving up all our secrets."
"As if!" she laughed. "The most nefarious he ever gets is to check out my butt when I walk by."
V.
At four-thirty, Bane pushed back his chair from the long oak table in the conference room and jumped to his feet. He stretched and swung his arms back and forth irritably. With his hyperactive metabolism, sitting still for hours doing research was torture. The Dire Wolf swung around to take in the shelves of reference books and bank of green metal filing cabinets. Nothing had been changed since the last meeting of the Kenneth Dred Foundation three years earlier.
Now that he wasn't distracted by making phone calls and jotting down information in the notebook, Bane felt a twinge when he looked at that table. There were five chairs lined up on either side and one at each end.
Staring down from the captain's place at the head of the table, he could not help but remember his friends and teammates who had assembled there so often. Khang. Ted Wright. Michael Hawk, Larry Taper.... So many dead now, the rest broken or weary and retired. Only he and Cindy remained actibve in the Midnight War.
Logically, he shouldn't blame himself for the heavy casualties of the Final Halloween. That hellish ritual in Necropolis had to have been stopped at any cost and they had all accepted the risks. They had all been knights of Tel Shai. A few times recently, he and Cindy had tentatively mentioned starting a new team with all new members but he didn't know if he could face the responsibility of risking more lives.
Behind him, Cindy stuck her head through the doorway. "Hey, hon. Back to the real world, okay?"
Bane gave a slight start. He had been more lost in thought than he had realized. "Oh. Sure. What happened with Klein? You were gone a while."
"We enjoyed corned beef on rye, bags of potato chips and lukewarm coffee. Real cop food! Here's the scoop. I wheedled him into calling a guy he knows in the Texas Rangers. They're searching for Charlie Pantera, real name Carlos Velez. Nineteen, youngest son of Mexican immigrants who've been working in San Antonio for thirty years. Charlie has all the classic traits. As a child, he abused animals and started fires. Two vagrants in the area who did odd jobs disappeared suddenly last summer."
The Dire Wolf closed his notebook, put the cap back on his pen and placed both items to one side. He gave Cindy a thoughtful look and said, "What's the rest of it?"
"It gets bad. In August, the family shack burned to the ground. Four bodies were found inside, three were identified as the parents and the older sister. The fourth corpse was roughly the right size for Charlie but it showed extensive dental working including three fillings which Charlie never had done. So he murdered his family AND a stranger to try to go off the grid as supposedly dead. What a bastard."
"Nineteen," Bane repeated. "What do the Rangers think about this kid? How do they rank him as a threat?"
"Honestly, he's not anywhere near the same class as Samhain or Dr Sabbath. He's crazy enough and he'll keep killing until someone stops him, but he's neither calculating nor far-sighted enough. He kills on opportunity. The Rangers say he is a brown belt in TaeKwon-Do and lifts weights at the local Y so he's physically dangerous."
"Good work," Bane said. "How does Klein feel about all this?"
"Oh, he's one inch from starting to hop up and down while steam comes out of his ears. He says there are more than enough homicides in his jurisdiction without maniacs staging a convention."
"Heh. Well, you made more progress than I did, Cin. I called half my network and only got some vague leads. Stolen clothing and food from houses where no one was home. A few sightings of suspicious strangers at night. Nothing useful."
"Did you hear from Eckhardt?" Cindy asked.
"No. I wasn't expecting to. Tonight, I'll be sneaking around the campus watching for these killers. Are you planning on attending the lecture itself?"
"No. I think that would tie me down too much if I showed myself. I'll be in the building reading minds." The little blonde folded her arms and made a tsking noise. "Jeremy, something about this whole situation doesn't ring true for me. How do these maniacs follow each other around. They don't know each other. Do they just follow the murders in the papers and think, oh that sounds like Samhain, he's in the area?"
"I read in Eckhardt's book that serial killers do have an intense interest in each other. They study the other killers as deeply as the police do. But serial killers tend to stay apart. They're like tigers that claim territory and avoid running into someone like themselves."
"Ugh. Ick." Suddenly she came over and put her arms around his middle, pressing her head to his chest. "We need a break. Enough of this for a little while. I have an idea. You go up to the gym and get a good workout. Treadmill, Nautilus, your DohRa. Work up a sweat and clear your mind. You'll burn off some tension."
"Sounds good to me," the Dire Wolf replied, gently holding her. "What about you?"
"I'm gonna get out of this outfit and into jeans and sweatshirt. Clothes like this bring me down. Then I intend to get the kitchen buzzing. Even though it's your turn, I wanna cook. I love filling the air with tempting aromas!"
The next two hours were among the most satisfying the two of them had enjoyed in a long time. Up on the seventh floor, Bane spent forty minutes on the treadmill at a full run, then went through the DohRa form specifically devised for him by Teacher Chael. By the time he came out of a steaming hot shower and roughly toweling himself dry, he had burned off some of the excess metabolic energy that made him so restless and touchy. He had also stretched and loosened up his muscles. He changed into fresh clothes and hurried down the stairs to the ground floor.
The kitchen at the rear of the building smelled incredibly tempting. Cindy had prepared stuffed mushrooms, wild rice with herbs and warm garlic bread.
Sensing his approach, she pulled out a chair at the round table in the corner and placed a plate with a huge serving in front of him. She could not help grinning at the eagerness with which he dug in. With his elevated metabolism, Bane normally ate enough for a man twice his size.
Their longstanding rule against discussing cases at the table had never been more appreciated. At seven, Cindy clinked her iced tea glass against his water tumbler and proposed a toast to 'Long Life and Happiness.'
Reluctantly, Bane gathered up the leftovers and wrapped them with clear film before stowing them away in the refrigerator. Cindy took the dishes and utensils over to the stainless sink which had water almost hot enough to cook with.
"Cin, you know how to clear the air," the Dire Wolf said as he wiped the table with a damp cloth and pushed their chairs back in. "That was exactly what I needed."
Finishing the dishes and pulling off the yellow rubber gauntlets, the blonde sighed happily. "Okay, now we have go back to the ugly and dark world of the Midnight War. I've been feeling more and more uncomfortable about Eckhardt. I have big doubts about him."
Bane came over to stand next to her. "You know, the FBI has had problems with their profilers. They try to get into the psycho's way of thinking and it rubs off on them. Usually they have to be reassigned before they go all murderous themselves."
"My mother used to warn me about my poor choice of friends," Cindy said. "Her motto was, 'When you dance with the devil, the devil doesn't change... but the devil changes you."
"She knew human nature all right." Bane started for the hall door. "I'm going to get into the full field suit for tonight. How about you?"
"No, I need to look like I'm there for the lecture. I do have the Trom armor under my street clothes and of course my coat is fitted with most of our gizmos." She intercepted him and stood up on her toes to give him a soft lingering kiss. "I'm taking the Mustang. We have the Links to keep in touch and in any case I can feel your mind from miles away."
As she left the kitchen, Bane lingered for another moment. He was thinking about the motto Cindy's mother had imparted. Despite having spent most of his life tangling with gruesome monsters and depraved human criminals, Bane did not feel like his mind had been compromised. He never had fantasies about killing innocents or about taking elaborate revenge on enemies. The Dire Wolf smiled to himself as he headed up the stairs. Michael Hawk had said soon after their first meeting that Bane was simply too stubborn and strong-willed to be easily corrupted.
Up in his room, he changed into his field suit. The heavy boots and snug pants, the waist-length jacket with its own inner layer of armor, the visored helmet with its array of sensors. He checked everything one more time even as he put them on. Then he raced down through the back panel in the hall closet. He hurried to the underground garage and of course the green Ford Mustang was gone. Bane started up the dark blue Buick Regal and rolled up the ramp that would let him out on Lexington Avenue. The hunt was on again.
Part of Bane's research that afternoon had involved getting the layout of Buchanan University clear in his head. It was a confusing jumble of low stone buildings that had been erected at different times as the college expanded. Four parking lots were scattered around the lecture halls and offices, with paved walkways and access roads leading to the highway. Bane had studied a map on the facility's publicity pamphlets until he had its details fixed. Early in his violent career, he had learned the hard way the importance of knowing the terrain.
He had left his car under some trees just outside the border of the campus. Under a sky covered with black clouds, Bane was hard to spot in his all-black outfit. The visored helmet reflected no light, making him even closer to being invisible in the murk. With the light enhancers built into that helmet, he could see fine and he moved quickly from one piece of cover to the next with no one seeing him.
While most of the buildings were closed for the night and dimly lit, the Melody Buskirk Hall was ablaze and its parking lot was packed. Drawing near, staying in the shadows, the Dire Wolf watched a few late arrivals rush in the front door. He could almost smell death in the air. If his intel was right, three serial killers were in the area that night.
VI.
In a sparsely used corner of the parking lot, Cindy Brunner got out of the Mustang and zipped up her coat against the chill. The Tagra diet in theory should have made her impervious to weather extremes but for some reason the cold still bothered her. She walked briskly over to the lecture hall with both hands jammed deep in her pockets.
As she reached the front door, Cindy sent out a low-power telepathic order to make anyone in the area look away as she passed. This was one of the first uses of her power that she had discovered. It had certainly made high school a lot easier for her and had gotten her out of trouble many times even before she learned about the Midnight War.
At the end of a hallway decorated with posters announcing events and with a cork bulletin board crowded with scraps of paper, a woman suddenly became interested in her feet as she walked around a corner. Cindy smiled to herself. She had sometimes thought she would have made an excellent burglar or spy using that trick. She walked past an empty lounge that held a few cafeteria-style tables and benches, a snack vending machine and a TV mounted up on one wall. Passing that, she found two wooden swinging doors and sensed the hum of many active minds taking in information.
Peering through the crack between the doors, Cindy saw at least two hundred young men and women sitting in rows, many writing industriously in notebooks. There were a scattering of older folks, people who had gone back to college after retirement or who took classes as a hobby. No one would have spied the one blue eye peeking in on them even if she had not been sending the diversion message. Their attention was on the speaker.
Standing at a raised dais with a microphone, Cameron Eckhardt was expounding his views on possible treatment for serial killers. His professional voice was clear and commanding. Cindy listened to him going on about the infamous Dr Sabbath with what seemed like grudging admiration. His attitude seemed odd. Then she noticed his coat hanging from a wall hook just inside the door. This was too tempting an opportunity to pass up. She positioned herself, figured out the quickest move to make and then drew on her full ability.
Every person in that lecture hall heard a sharp snapping noise from right by the windows. It sounded as if something large had broken. Naturally, everyone glanced over in the direction instantly but there was nothing to see and the lecture resumed. Cindy had broadcast an impulse into their minds that simulated that noise. At the same time, she had lunged inside the doors to snatch Eckhardt's coat and get back out of sight.
Letting out a breath, Cindy leaned against the wall behind her while she examined the coat. She didn't like pulling that fake noise ruse because it was so difficult it usually made her head hurt. She dug through the coat and found a pair of thin wool gloves. A packet of tissues. A wallet and checkbook with a pen attached. And a snub-nosed .32 revolver.
Ninety seconds later, she tucked a tiny multi-tool back into its pouch inside her coat. Holding Eckhardt's heavy topcoat, she peeked through the swinging door again and pulled the same trick that had worked before. A loud thud seemed to come from the far end of the room and naturally all heads turned. There was nothing to see. The crash had just been a suggestion she had broadcast into everyone's minds. Cindy swung the door open just enough to hang Eckhardt's coat back on its hook.
Walking a bit unsteadily, she went back to the lounge and plopped down in a plastic chair next to the vending machine. That trick took a lot out of her. Cindy's telepathy worked best when dealing with one mind at a time, even when struggling with an uncooperative one. Sending a convincing thought into two hundred brains that made them think they heard a noise was an effort. In a few seconds, she felt back to normal. Actually, she was more shaken by what she had learned about Dr Eckhardt.
No one was in the lounge and she couldn't sense anyone approaching. The little blonde sighed and unclipped the Link from its place on her belt. Holding up the flat metal device that resembled a hideously complex remote control, she pressed down on a button and an instant later two beeps sounded from the Link's speaker.
4/17-4/19/1993
I.
At best, Jeremy Bane was restless and jumpy. Having to wait for an appointment was getting on his nerves badly. The morning seemed to drag on forever. The Dire Wolf circled his office over and over, hands clasped behind him. He straightened the mess of old newspapers on the coffee table in front of the couch. He dusted the bookshelves with a rag. He checked the condition of the bizarre creatures from Ulgor for the third time. In the five foot high tank, the water bubbled clear and the food flakes had been gobbled up.
The starfish with one red eye in its center, the fanged sea horse, the hermit crabs who seemed to be building a tunnel in the colored gravel using their saliva as glue... all were fine. He smiled back at the baleful stare that the starfish fixed on him.
On the wall behind his desk was a gorgous handpainted map of the world as it had been in 1937. That was the year Kenneth Dred had purchased this building. Now Bane had inherited it all. Along with his lover and partner Cindy Brunner, Bane was carrying on Dred's Midnight War work.
In his early forties, the Dire Wolf was a tall lean figure all in black. The elevated metabolism which gave him his superior reflexes also filled him with excess vitality that made it difficult for him to sit still at all.
The phone on his desk rang. Bane lunged for it as if it was going to explode but managed to keep his voice calm. "Hello."
Ah, Mr Bane," said a refined middle-aged voice. "Cameron Eckhardt here. I'm on my way. I should be at your residence shortly."
"Fine. 28 East 38th Street, remember. I'll be here."
"Excellent." With a click, the connection was broken off.
Bane hung up and then called Cindy up in her rooms on the third floor. "Hey, that guy Eckhardt just phoned. He's coming here now. Did you find out any more about him?"
"No, nothing sinister, I'm afraid," answered her husky voice. "We know he's a civilian profiler who sometimes works with the FBI. He's written three books and a dozen articles on the subject of serial killers. Divorced, no children, taught a class in abnormal psychology at Columbia for six years."
"I don't know why I'm so doubtful about him. Maybe I'm just suspicious of everyone."
"With the life you've led, that's not surprising. I'm glad you turned out as positive as you have."
"Maybe your telepathy would be helpful," Bane said. "Do you want to come down and check his mind out? Without him catching on?"
"No, no," came the voice he knew best in life. "Listen, hon, you want to sharpen your detective skills. The Dire Wolf Agency has been picking up cases lately. Here's your chance. I'm gonna dig into some Jane Austen until he's gone."
"You're right," Bane reluctantly conceded. "If I rely on your gift, I'll never develop observation and deduction."
"Remember all the tips Mike gave you," she said. There was a click as she signed off.
In fact, the Dire Wolf often drew on the lessons his late friend had patiently instilled in him. Michael Hawk had been raised from childhood to be a world-class criminologist and investigator, and he had tried to steer Bane in that direction. To be honest, Bane admitted he did not have the patience nor the thoroughness to fully analyze clues. He was not the genius Hawk had been. Bane's strength was in his combat skills and his tenacity. When it came to confrontation with the creatures of the night, he was in his element.
As always, Bane was wearing his trademark uniform of black slacks and turtleneck, with the sport jacket he now tugged on. Sheathed under his sleeves were the matched silver-bladed daggers that were his most valued weapons. Even as he headed out into the front hall, the doorbell rang.
Standing to the side of the inner door, the Dire Wolf slid a wooden panel aside to reveal a monitor screen and its controls. He pressed the button to unlock the outer door and said into a speaker, "Good morning. I'll be right with you."
In the small foyer beyond, the caller waited for a few seconds while advanced Trom sensors analyzed him more thoroughly than any CAT scan or MRI could. On the monitor screen, Bane read the green figures and numbers which unscrolled. The visitor had no metal on him larger than a set of keys. There was no chemical signature for any of the known explosives or poisons. Height, weight, biological age, hair and eye color, heartbeat and blood pressure, all were revealed.
Cameron Eckhardt was not in the fully detailed KDF data banks, but the statistics all matched. This man was twelve pounds heavier than the weight listed in the files but that meant nothing. People in middle age did put on weight or simply announced their weight as less than the truth out of vanity.
Satisfied for the moment, Bane closed down the sensors and slid the panel shut again. He opened the inner door and gestured for his visitor to enter. "Come right in," he said, shaking the hand that was offered.
Eckhardt removed his heavy coat and Bane politely took it to hang upon a series of hooks. They headed toward the office as the Dire Wolf summed up his impressions. Dr Cameron Eckhardt was a well-toned, healthy man in his late fifties. He moved well, with no limp or uncertainty. Dark hair was brushed back from a high forehead, and the stolid face showed serious eyes and a bulldog trap of a mouth.
He held a slim black leather attache case, but the Trom sensors had shown nothing in it but papers and some pens. When they entered the office, Bane motioned for Eckhardt to take one of the plain wooden chairs in front of the desk while he himself circled around to take his own seat facing the man.
"So. Dr Eckhardt," Bane began without any pleasantries. "I understand you're a profiler. You work as a consultant with the FBI but you are not an agent yourself. Is that right?"
"Exactly," answered a cool, restrained voice. "After the success of my two books, I was approached by the Bureau to lend what assistance and suggestions I can. I have thankfully been some help in locating serial killers. Not only am I paid for my work, I can then use the experiences as material for my books. Mr Bane, do you know there's a file on you?"
"Yeah, I would think so." He did not say it, but through devious means Bane had already read a copy of his file without the FBI being aware of it. Having friends with extrahuman abilities was sometimes immensely helpful.
"I daresay you could request a copy through the Freedom of Information act," Eckhardt said. "But that is not what I have come to discuss with you."
Bane allowed the faintest hint of a smile to touch the corners of his mouth.
"I don't quite know what to make of the ahem, supernatural events you are reported to have been part of. That is not my area. But I am greatly impressed with the level of maniacs you have successfully captured or who disappeared mysteriously after confronting you. Seneca. Golgora. The Slaughterman. Seth Petrov. I sometimes think you must have an untrained knack for profiling yourself."
The Dire Wolf shook his head. "I don't think so. As I understand it, your approach is to try to put yourself in the killer's mind, to see things from his viewpoint. That way, you can predict his next move. That right?"
"In a simplified way," Eckhardt said.
"I certainly do not want to start thinking like the maniacs I'm chasing. To see things the way Quilt does...? No, thanks. Dr Eckhardt, it seems to me there's some risk in your method. I have to wonder if maybe that viewpoint might rub off on you."
"To be honest, that is a hazard of the profession," Eckhardt admitted. "Typically, a professional profiler only works the field for a limited number of years before being rotated to less demanding duties. But there's little choice. These murderers must be apprehended and since profiling works, we use it."
"Let's get to business," Bane abruptly shifted gears. "What exactly brings you to see me, doctor?"
Opening his attache case, Eckhardt took out a map and unfolded it on the desk. It showed the northeast United States with a pattern of tiny red, green and black Xs across New York, Connecticut and Pennsylvania. At even first glance, the Xs were converging in a loose spiral toward New York City.
"You see here something new," the profiler intoned ominously, "Something I have never found in the annals of crime."
Bane leaned forward and scrutinized the map. "Let me start with the idea that each X represents a murder. Is that right? Okay. Each state has mostly marks of the same color, but there are a few exceptions." He swung that startling grey eyes up so fast that Eckhardt winced involuntarily. "There are three killers, is that it?"
"That's my conclusion," the profiler said. "Samhain. Dr Sabbath. Charlie Pantera. All active in what should be each other's exclusive territory. They're have a sort of competition."
"A tournament of pyschos," Bane growled. "Quick, I need a timeline. When did these murders start? How are they spaced?"
"I have that on a separate sheet, as well as details of each crime," Eckhardt said as he pulled out sheafs of documents clipped together. "The first one we can identify took place last December. The most recent was Tuesday... three days ago."
Bane was engrossed in the map. "Samhain. Again! How the hell can that monster still be alive? I saw him take four bullets in the face at pointblank range. Then he fell off the Tappan Zee Bridge into the Hudson in midwinter." The Dire Wolf did not mention that he had been the person firing those shots.
"No one knows," Eckhardt shrugged. "The man called Saimhain has been reported killed at least four times that I know of. Yet he keeps coming back. You see why I feel your experience in the uh, paranormal is called for."
Bane was going through the documents. "This Charlie Pantera is a new one to me."
"Oh yes. He's from west Texas, a Mexican boy not more than twenty. Evidently he is only starting his pattern. He believe his murdered his family in a fire and left a charred body intended to be taken for him. Not a very good job. The corpse was two inches taller than Pantera. And Dr Sabbath, I assume you know about him?"
"By reputation," Bane said. "I haven't tangled with him yet. This is the most outrageous thing I've seen in years. These three pyschos seem to making their way toward a meeting, leaving victims along the way. Are they going to brag and compare body counts with each other?"
"I believe so. Mr Bane, the FBI and the State Police are already on full alert and have called in as much manpower as they can. No one wants the public to go into a panic by finding out about these three. I obtained permission to bring you in on this, if you are interested."
The Dire Wolf snapped those pale eyes up at his visitor. "Is Department 21 Black in on this?"
"Yes. I meet with a liaison from that department regularly," said Eckhardt. "You understand, I am not a man of action. I'm an author and lecturer, I've never even drawn a gun on anyone. But your reputation from fighting the creatures of the night is legendary. I might be able to locate these criminals but you are the one who can face them on equal terms."
Studying the map, Bane did not answer immediately. "Yes. Of course. I need all the facts you can supply, doctor. Dates, places, photos. Any police reports you can clear. I assume you've worked up a timeline?"
"First, there is the matter of your fee," the profiler said. "21 Black has promised to reimburse me for any expenses during the duration of this case."
The Dire Wolf glanced up again and the impact of those grey eyes was so forceful that even Eckhardt gave a start. "All right. I'll charge a flat one thousand dollars. With you as a client, we will have certain confidentiality conditions from the cops." He folded up the map almost reluctantly. "Let's get started. Do you want some coffee? Tea?"
"No thank you."
Bane opened the center drawer of his desk and took out a red leather ledger. "Make the check out to 'Dire Wolf Agency' and I'll write a receipt. Then we can get this hunt started...."
II.
It was past four-thirty before Bane allowed Eckhardt to leave. The profiler meticulously retrieved all the documents, photos, newspaper clippings and handwritten notes to return them to his attache case. Watching the man, Bane was still torn by conflicting signals. Usually, his instincts were sharp and incisive. It troubled the Dire Wolf to be uncertain about someone.
"Where are you staying, doctor?" he asked. "We have guest rooms available here if you have no arrangements made." In fact, Bane did not expect or really want the expert to agree to stay at the KDF building, but he thought in the back of his mind that it might be as well to keep a close eye on this man who knew so much about psycho-killers.
"Thank you but I have taken a suite at the Churchill," answered Eckhardt. "I have given them my business for many years now. Today I still have to meet with the FBI clerk who acts as my liaison and I have other projects on hand as well." He clicked his attache case closed and straightened up. "Should I call you in the morning? Is nine all right?"
"That would be fine," Bane said as he started to usher the man out into the hall. "I need to check with my own sources."
As Eckhardt had stepped out onto East 38th Street and the doors closed automatically, Bane turned back to see Cindy standing on the staircase in the front hall.
Probably the most skilled and potent telepath in the Midnight War of that era, Cynthia Lee Brunner was not intimidating visually. She was a slim attractive woman in her early thirties, only an inch over five feet tall and just over one hundred pounds. Her dark golden hair was tied back in a thick ponytail. In an oversized maroon sweatswirt, faded jeans and plain canvas sneakers, she lookey considerably younger than her years.
For once, the freckled gamin face was not smiling at Bane. "You were with him six hours, hon. I'm a bit surprised at your patience."
"Oh, I was getting restless after the first ten minutes," the Dire Wolf admitted. He strode over to be next to her. "But this seems like a major case. Let me fill you in on what's going on."
Cindy cocked her head to one side. "Not just another mundane detective case for the Agency, then?"
"No. This is Midnight War come back to haunt us. A sort of Tournament of Pyschos seems to be underway."
She stepped up and placed a palm flat against his chest. "About time. But first, we eat. Today was m yturn and I'm surprising you with scallops with crab meat cakes and those little rice balls stuffed with veggies."
A rare smile touched his face. "You're clipping recipes again, aren't you? I hope you saved a few for me to learn."
"Ha HA, I'm giving you the difficult ones," she said. "Let's wash up and dig in. I skipped lunch today to make sure my cooking tastes good."
Bane put one arm around her narrow shoulder and they headed toward the kitchen at the rear of the hall. "Our rule about no discussing cases at the table still holds, though."
"Oh, absolutely," she said. "Did I ever tell you about the time in college when my dorm mate and I stole a goat...?"
III.
When the bedside phone rang at one-thirty that morning, Bane was awake instantly. He snatched up the receiver as promptly as if he had been sitting up waiting for it. "Yeah?"
Beside him, Cindy rolled over and picked up the extension from the nightstand on her side. Their policy for years had been to listen together to any afterhour calls. She raised one finger to indicate she was ready.
"Listen, this is Inspector Klein. Is your head clear?"
"Sure," Bane answered. "What's the situation?"
"Murder, what else? A security guard at the old Churchill Hotel on 61st Street. Not particularly gruesome. He was found outside with a plastic bag tied around his head."
"And?" Bane said. "How is that in my territory?"
"Because of a bird named Dr Cameron Eckhardy. He's got credentials that would get him into the Pentagon. FBI snoop, one of them profilers." The disdain in Klein's voice was not even lightly hidden. "You know him?"
"He had a possible case for me," Bane admitted. "Okay, I'm heading down to meet you. Anything else I should know?"
"Not over the phone. Shake a leg, Mr Dire Wolf." There was a click as the Inspector hung up.
Leaping from the bed and grabbing up his clothes from where he had hung them on the nearby chair, Bane was a startling sight. He had zero body fat and this made his long wiry muscles stand out in high definition as he moved. "Maybe this case will move a good pace after all," he said.
Cindy got fresh panties and a bra from her dresser, then tugged the flexible Trom armor on over them. She was also in excellent condition, fit as an Olympic gymnast with narrow waist and breasts firm as any teenager's.
Like firefighters on duty, they were always ready to suit up in a few seconds. Before turning in, they had checked that all their equipment and gadgets were stowed in the proper pockets. As she was brushing her hair with a few quick strokes, Bane had just pulled his jacket on. They rushed from the room and down the stairs to the ground floor with unconcealed enthusiasm.
By the front door, Bane said, "You check security before we leave. I'll bring the Chevy around."
"Got it." She slid open the wooden panel at face level and ran over all the dials and gauges with a practiced eye. Everything was nominal. When she stepped through the foyer and out onto the steps, both doors clicked shut behind her. Cindy heard the subdued buzzes and clicks of the Trom alarms activating and smiled. So far she had not locked herself out, but sooner or later...
Five seconds later, a Navy blue Chevy Regal slid up to the curb and she galloped down to dive into the passenger seat. All these years and the adrenalin rush still burned in her veins, she thought with appreciation.
At the corner of 61st and Madison, the Churchill was a twelve story spike of white stone that carried a respectable and dignified air even though a bit grimy from the city air. Bane managed to snare a spot on the same block only because it was a quarter to two in the morning. Two police patrol cars and an ambulance indicated to them where to go. As Bane and Cindy approached, a uniformed officer caught sight of them. He abruptly turned his back on the two.
"You don't have to do that," the Dire Wolf told his partner. "After all, Klein DID ask us to come here. We can work openly."
"Ehhh, good practice for the telepathy," said Cindy. "It's always useful to be able to move around with no one seeing us."
Glancing at the officer as they moved past him without being noticed, Bane said, "He's going to wonder why his mind went blank."
"Frankly," Cindy muttered, "I suspect it happens to him all the time anyway."
A short man in a faded white raincoat bustled over to greet them. Harold Klein had a deeply lined face and greying curly hair. "Morning, you guys. This seems to be sorta a weird oddball death, so naturally I called you two in on it." He raised one hand to his temple as a remnant of the days when he had always worn a hat to tip. "Up a little late aren't you, young lady?"
"I'm thirty-five," Cindy replied. "Where's the body?"
Klein had long ago come to appeciate Cindy's abilities and skills. He treated her the same way he did Bane himself. "A patrol car spotted a leg sticking out from the side door of the hotel. Victim's name is Thomas Rooney, sixty-four years old, retired from the NYPD and now a night security agent. He had a clear plastic bag wrapped tightly over his face. Whoever did it must have been damn strong."
Bane gestured at a narrow niche in the side of the building. "Is that it?"
"Yeah, just a service entrance. The forensic boys have already gone over it, taking a million photos and measuring everything. They don't seem confident about coming up with anything useful."
Studying the scene, Bane shook his head. "I don't see much to go on. No scrape marks, no blood. The victim was sixty-four, you say? What kind of shape was he in?"
"Aw, I'd say he was tough enough for the job," Klein answered. "Beer gut but still a good amount of muscle. The average civilian wouldn't want to have Rooney mad at him. He did have a .38 Colt in a belt holster that he never got a chance to use."
The Dire Wolf took a powerful pencil flashlight from his jacket pocket and crouched down, scrutinizing the doorway. He and Cindy asked a few questions but Klein really had little to give them. Finally, Bane said, "What did you think of this guy Eckhardt?"
"Yeah, he's a funny bird," the Inspector said. "He came down in his pajamas and a dressing gown to see what was going on. Claimed the lights from the squad cars got his attention. Introduced himself. He mentioned you."
That made Bane frown more than usual. "Really. Where is he now?"
"Back in his suit, 312 he said. I questioned him of course but there was no reason to suspect him. He was by himself and said he had checked in around eleven. I asked the staff, no one had seen him skulking around. Listen, Bane, you want to go up and we'll grill him? Your lady here can dig around inside his skull."
"Not yet," Bane answered slowly. "This feels wrong to me. I don't want him to know we were here. For some reason, I don't like the fact he name-dropped me.. it's odd."
"You have any dirt on the man? FBI vouches for him."
The Dire Wolf shrugged. "I don't have anything solid. But I've learned to trust my instincts. Earlier today, I met with Cameron Eckhardt and we discussed serial killers. Tonight there's a dead body in the doorway where he's staying. Could the set-up be more suspicious?"
"Feh, I always thought FBI profilers were over-rated. Every police investigator does what they do," Klein snorted. "We just don't get juicy book deals and Hollywood movies."
"Tell you what," Bane said as he gave up on inspecting the doorway. "I'm set to meet with Eckhardt again today. I have some tentative ideas but it's too early in the game to be sure of anything." Bane peered up at the side of the building. "Suit 312, that should be facing the front. Even if he's at the windows, he shouldn't be able to see us here."
Klein scoffed. "Ehhh. I'll take your word for it. You've got my number, Bane, keep me up to date."
"Inspector, I'll stop by the precinct house later this morning," Cindy offered. "I'll tell you anything we turn up and you can unofficially drop hints whatever your forensics find."
"Sounds good. I'll be in my office on the third floor. The boys at the precinct are always cheered up by a having a pretty young lady drop by. Not like when this Dire Wolf guy storms through."
Bane seemed distracted. He turned to go, lightly touching Cindy's arm. "We'll be in touch, Klein. This hunt is just starting to get underway."
IV.
Leaving the Churchill, Bane and Cindy drove back to the building on 38th Street and went back to bed as if nothing unusual had happened. Long years in the Midnight War had affected them that way. They were both asleep again within minutes of climbing into the bed in Bane's quarters.
At seven-thirty, they woke and hurried through their morning routines. Cindy had her own suite next door where she kept her wardrobe a personal items. She showered quickly and got dressed. Today, she thought she should project a more professional image. She chose a pleated black skirt, cream-colored blouse with a simple gold chain necklace and a snug black blazer. Brushing her hair as it dried, she debated applying make-up but ultimately declined even the minimal touches she sometimes wore.
In the kitchen, she found Bane preparing French toast and bacon, and she pitched in eagerly as her stomach rumbled. Neither drank coffee, so she poured a glass of cranberry juice and a glass of ice water each of them. They tore through stacks of the thickly-sliced whole wheat French Toast with honey and jam, finished off the bacon and felt ready to tackle a hundred serial killers if necessary.
As they took care of the dishes in the stainless steel sink with steaming hot water, Cindy said, "So, what's the immediate agenda, hon?"
"I expect Eckhardt to call in a few minutes."
The blonde telepath dried her hands on a washcloth. "I know you have tangled with Samhain already. I was away during the Astronomy Murders last year. Maybe we should dig through our files and see who else might be turning up. It's a good thing that Golgora and Seneca are dead, they'd love to be in this Pyscho Tournament."
"It's good that Golgora and Seneca are dead any way you look at it," Bane snorted. The wall phone rang and he swung over to grab it. "Hello. Yes, Dr Eckhardt. What happened? When? Really. I can meet you right now if you like. Yes. It'll only be a few minutes." He hung up and turned the pale eyes on his partner.
"He told me about the murder at the Churchill last night," Bane said. "I don't know why I thought he might not. I guess I don't fully trust him yet. Are you coming?"
"Of course I'm going with you," she replied. "If nothing else, I want to get my impression of Cameron Eckhardt. A little surface telepathy, very light and unobtrusive, might clear up what kind of person he is."
"I just don't trust people in general," the Dire Wolf said. "Growing up an orphan on the streets shaped me. Look at what you went through to reach me emotionally."
The telepath ruffled his short black hair, an affectionate gesture that would have astounded most of those who knew the Dire Wolf. "I'd do it again in a heartbeat, my dear," she said. "And I know you love me more than life itself."
This was getting difficult for Bane to express in words. He picked up his jacket and checked the anesthetic dart gun in its holster behind his left hip. "Cin."
"Hey, I'll drive today. We'll take the Mustang."
"Sure," he said as he followed her to the walk-in closet by the front door. At its back was a concealed panel that opened to five steep concrete steps leading to the basement.
"And I still insist on Italian food tonight," she called back over one shoulder. "Mushrooms stuffed with Parmesan cheese and fresh garlic bread. Can't wait!"
They passed along the narrow walkway between the locked doors of the Vault on one side and the arsenal on the other, going through the plain wooden door into their underground garage. Cindy snatched up a set of keys from its hook on the wall and hopped behind the wheel of the dark green 1992 Ford Mustang. This car had not been as heavily modified as some of their other vehicles. There were Kevlar body panels, bullet-resistant glass and several secret hiding compartments but nothing else out of the standard.
As she headed up the ramp with its sharp turn at the top that they barely squeaked through, the metal sliding door rose automatically. They emerged from a dead-end alley onto Lexington Avenue. "Say," she asked, "I was thinking about Seth Petrov. Was he a serial killer?"
"Seth? No, I don't think so." Bane watched the traffic thoughtfully as they headed north. "From what I understand, serial killers fit a set of criteria. He didn't. Seth enjoyed killing people for the adrenalin rush but he had no compulsions and he followed no patterns."
"Neither did Seth, then."
"Too bad about Seth," the Dire Wolf said. "But we gave him a fair chance. He had to be true to his nature."
Cindy ran a red light and mumbled, "Oops. Hey, look-- a parking spot on 60th Street. What a bargain. I'm snatching it." She eased in with barely an inch behind the car in front of her and slapped her hands together as if dusting them. "Hah. How often does that happen? So, hon, ready to crack this case?"
"I think it has a ways to run yet," Bane answered in a distracted voice. "We don't even have all the pieces lined up."
They walked briskly through the slanting morning sunlight to the Churchill, where Cameron Eckhardt was waiting for them in the lobby. "Good to see you, Mr Bane. This must be your assistant you mentioned."
"Cindy is my partner. We work together on an equal basis," Bane replied. "Anything you're prepared to tell me, she can hear as well."
"I understand," the famous profiler said. He was well dressed again, this time in a dark blue suit with faint chalk lines. "You know there was a murder here last night. The security guard. He appears to have been strangled about one-thirty in the morning."
Bane glanced suspiciously around the lobby, finding too many people within eavesdropping distance. "Let's step outside, doctor. We can confer as we take a little walk."
The three of them crossed Fifth Avenue and made their way up along the waist-high stone wall that marked the edge of Central Park. Bane noticed Cindy was regarding Eckhardt with a critical expression far from her usual friendliness.
"Maybe it's obvious to you," the Dire Wolf began, "But I like everything laid out clearly. Do you think the guard was killed by one of the three psychos we're tracking?"
"Undoubtedly. In fact, I feel certain it was meant as a warning to me. One of them knows I am in Manhattan. He knows where I'm staying. This death was intended to rattle me."
Cindy spoke up for the first time. "Do you know which one?"
"I'm having trouble sort out the way they are acting," Eckhardt said. "These men are acting under powerful deepseated compulsions. Obsessive behavior forces them into patterns which allow profilers to predict their next action. But not in the present situation, I'm afraid."
"It was sunny but the air was cool. "The guard was murdered as a deliberate act and not as part of the usual compulsion, then?"
"That is correct. You are perceptive, Miss Brunner."
"I've been doing this a while. So. Even at a disadvantage, what's your best guess as to who will strike next?"
Eckhardt paused and stood still on the sidewalk. "It's uncertain. I do not feel instinctively that this murder was committed by Charlie Pantera. He's a coarse uneducated brute who strikes as the opportunity presents itself. I don't see him tricking his way in a locked hotel lobby late at night and cornering an alert security guard."
"What about Dr Sabbath?" asked Bane.
"Hmmm. No, I don't think so. Sabbath is known to plan his murders for weeks ahead of time, using disguises and preparing elaborate traps. This would be so out of character for him. But Samhain... Samhain's remarkable gift of surviving mortal injury gives him a huge advantage. He has been known to think on his feet, strike quickly without a plan and disappear. My instinct says this was Samhain."
"We have one obvious tactic that usually works," Bane said. "In India, they catch tigers by tying a goat to a tree."
"Hah! And I am to be the goat? Not very flattering, sir. Still, I agree it is one of the few ruses available to us. Tonight, I'm scheduled to give a lecture to the criminal justice class at Buchanan University up in Queens. It starts at eight. A police detail might scare him off but I believe you would be more discreet."
Bane nodded grimly. "I'll be watching but I guarantee these psychos won't see me until I tag them." He turned to face his partner. "Cin, is anybody watching us right now?"
She swung in a half-circle, eyes partly closed. "No. Not us specifically. I'm not finding any minds focused on us. Jeremy, you and I should not be seen in public with Dr Eckhardt."
The expert gave her a dubious look. "Are you trained at spotting surveillance, Miss Brunner?"
"I have my skills" she replied mildly. Telepathy was hard to explain to outsiders and she found demonstrating it just upset people. "We separate and meet up tonight, depending on what happens."
"Mr Bane?"
"I trust Cindy's judgement," the Dire Wolf said. "You should head back to your car and the two of us will walk up a few blocks and make a wide circle. I'll be at your lecture tonight. Hopefully, I'll catch someone for you to examine."
As Eckhardt started off across the street, Bane and Cindy headed north. After they had gone a block, he said, "So, what did you get him on him?"
Her exasperated snort was priceless. "Jeremy, that man's mind is locked up like a fortress. I couldn't catch anything beyond bare surface details and I didn't dare dig deeper. He would have felt it. So annoying!"
"Now that's suggestive," the Dire Wolf said. "As a profiler, chasing and confronting these maniacs, he naturally would build up defenses."
"I guess," Cindy conceded. "Just hearing about what serial killers do makes the average citizen feel sick to the stomach. Trying to think the way they do, understanding those twisted viewpoints... it's a dangerous game to play if you ask me."
After they had gone another two blocks, they turned and started to circle back to where they had left their car. Bane remained as wary as if he had been warned of an ambush, watching every car that went past and giving each passerby a suspicious scrutiny. He wasn't even aware of doing this. It was a lifelong habit from growing up a street orphan.
Pausing by the Mustang, Bane said, "Listen. You were going to meet with Klein anyway. You go ahead. I'll walk back to base and start calling my observers. Sound good?"
She frowned slightly. "Promise you're not up to something, Jeremy? I don't want to come back and find you on some roof brawling with three serial killers!"
"Absolutely not. I just figure we can get more done this way. When you come back, we'll compare notes."
Cindy jerked a thumb toward the Mustang. "Might as well ride with me. I'll swing by 38th Street on my way to police headquarters and drop you off."
"All right," Bane said as he opened the passenger door. "Don't let Klein sweet talk you into giving up all our secrets."
"As if!" she laughed. "The most nefarious he ever gets is to check out my butt when I walk by."
V.
At four-thirty, Bane pushed back his chair from the long oak table in the conference room and jumped to his feet. He stretched and swung his arms back and forth irritably. With his hyperactive metabolism, sitting still for hours doing research was torture. The Dire Wolf swung around to take in the shelves of reference books and bank of green metal filing cabinets. Nothing had been changed since the last meeting of the Kenneth Dred Foundation three years earlier.
Now that he wasn't distracted by making phone calls and jotting down information in the notebook, Bane felt a twinge when he looked at that table. There were five chairs lined up on either side and one at each end.
Staring down from the captain's place at the head of the table, he could not help but remember his friends and teammates who had assembled there so often. Khang. Ted Wright. Michael Hawk, Larry Taper.... So many dead now, the rest broken or weary and retired. Only he and Cindy remained actibve in the Midnight War.
Logically, he shouldn't blame himself for the heavy casualties of the Final Halloween. That hellish ritual in Necropolis had to have been stopped at any cost and they had all accepted the risks. They had all been knights of Tel Shai. A few times recently, he and Cindy had tentatively mentioned starting a new team with all new members but he didn't know if he could face the responsibility of risking more lives.
Behind him, Cindy stuck her head through the doorway. "Hey, hon. Back to the real world, okay?"
Bane gave a slight start. He had been more lost in thought than he had realized. "Oh. Sure. What happened with Klein? You were gone a while."
"We enjoyed corned beef on rye, bags of potato chips and lukewarm coffee. Real cop food! Here's the scoop. I wheedled him into calling a guy he knows in the Texas Rangers. They're searching for Charlie Pantera, real name Carlos Velez. Nineteen, youngest son of Mexican immigrants who've been working in San Antonio for thirty years. Charlie has all the classic traits. As a child, he abused animals and started fires. Two vagrants in the area who did odd jobs disappeared suddenly last summer."
The Dire Wolf closed his notebook, put the cap back on his pen and placed both items to one side. He gave Cindy a thoughtful look and said, "What's the rest of it?"
"It gets bad. In August, the family shack burned to the ground. Four bodies were found inside, three were identified as the parents and the older sister. The fourth corpse was roughly the right size for Charlie but it showed extensive dental working including three fillings which Charlie never had done. So he murdered his family AND a stranger to try to go off the grid as supposedly dead. What a bastard."
"Nineteen," Bane repeated. "What do the Rangers think about this kid? How do they rank him as a threat?"
"Honestly, he's not anywhere near the same class as Samhain or Dr Sabbath. He's crazy enough and he'll keep killing until someone stops him, but he's neither calculating nor far-sighted enough. He kills on opportunity. The Rangers say he is a brown belt in TaeKwon-Do and lifts weights at the local Y so he's physically dangerous."
"Good work," Bane said. "How does Klein feel about all this?"
"Oh, he's one inch from starting to hop up and down while steam comes out of his ears. He says there are more than enough homicides in his jurisdiction without maniacs staging a convention."
"Heh. Well, you made more progress than I did, Cin. I called half my network and only got some vague leads. Stolen clothing and food from houses where no one was home. A few sightings of suspicious strangers at night. Nothing useful."
"Did you hear from Eckhardt?" Cindy asked.
"No. I wasn't expecting to. Tonight, I'll be sneaking around the campus watching for these killers. Are you planning on attending the lecture itself?"
"No. I think that would tie me down too much if I showed myself. I'll be in the building reading minds." The little blonde folded her arms and made a tsking noise. "Jeremy, something about this whole situation doesn't ring true for me. How do these maniacs follow each other around. They don't know each other. Do they just follow the murders in the papers and think, oh that sounds like Samhain, he's in the area?"
"I read in Eckhardt's book that serial killers do have an intense interest in each other. They study the other killers as deeply as the police do. But serial killers tend to stay apart. They're like tigers that claim territory and avoid running into someone like themselves."
"Ugh. Ick." Suddenly she came over and put her arms around his middle, pressing her head to his chest. "We need a break. Enough of this for a little while. I have an idea. You go up to the gym and get a good workout. Treadmill, Nautilus, your DohRa. Work up a sweat and clear your mind. You'll burn off some tension."
"Sounds good to me," the Dire Wolf replied, gently holding her. "What about you?"
"I'm gonna get out of this outfit and into jeans and sweatshirt. Clothes like this bring me down. Then I intend to get the kitchen buzzing. Even though it's your turn, I wanna cook. I love filling the air with tempting aromas!"
The next two hours were among the most satisfying the two of them had enjoyed in a long time. Up on the seventh floor, Bane spent forty minutes on the treadmill at a full run, then went through the DohRa form specifically devised for him by Teacher Chael. By the time he came out of a steaming hot shower and roughly toweling himself dry, he had burned off some of the excess metabolic energy that made him so restless and touchy. He had also stretched and loosened up his muscles. He changed into fresh clothes and hurried down the stairs to the ground floor.
The kitchen at the rear of the building smelled incredibly tempting. Cindy had prepared stuffed mushrooms, wild rice with herbs and warm garlic bread.
Sensing his approach, she pulled out a chair at the round table in the corner and placed a plate with a huge serving in front of him. She could not help grinning at the eagerness with which he dug in. With his elevated metabolism, Bane normally ate enough for a man twice his size.
Their longstanding rule against discussing cases at the table had never been more appreciated. At seven, Cindy clinked her iced tea glass against his water tumbler and proposed a toast to 'Long Life and Happiness.'
Reluctantly, Bane gathered up the leftovers and wrapped them with clear film before stowing them away in the refrigerator. Cindy took the dishes and utensils over to the stainless sink which had water almost hot enough to cook with.
"Cin, you know how to clear the air," the Dire Wolf said as he wiped the table with a damp cloth and pushed their chairs back in. "That was exactly what I needed."
Finishing the dishes and pulling off the yellow rubber gauntlets, the blonde sighed happily. "Okay, now we have go back to the ugly and dark world of the Midnight War. I've been feeling more and more uncomfortable about Eckhardt. I have big doubts about him."
Bane came over to stand next to her. "You know, the FBI has had problems with their profilers. They try to get into the psycho's way of thinking and it rubs off on them. Usually they have to be reassigned before they go all murderous themselves."
"My mother used to warn me about my poor choice of friends," Cindy said. "Her motto was, 'When you dance with the devil, the devil doesn't change... but the devil changes you."
"She knew human nature all right." Bane started for the hall door. "I'm going to get into the full field suit for tonight. How about you?"
"No, I need to look like I'm there for the lecture. I do have the Trom armor under my street clothes and of course my coat is fitted with most of our gizmos." She intercepted him and stood up on her toes to give him a soft lingering kiss. "I'm taking the Mustang. We have the Links to keep in touch and in any case I can feel your mind from miles away."
As she left the kitchen, Bane lingered for another moment. He was thinking about the motto Cindy's mother had imparted. Despite having spent most of his life tangling with gruesome monsters and depraved human criminals, Bane did not feel like his mind had been compromised. He never had fantasies about killing innocents or about taking elaborate revenge on enemies. The Dire Wolf smiled to himself as he headed up the stairs. Michael Hawk had said soon after their first meeting that Bane was simply too stubborn and strong-willed to be easily corrupted.
Up in his room, he changed into his field suit. The heavy boots and snug pants, the waist-length jacket with its own inner layer of armor, the visored helmet with its array of sensors. He checked everything one more time even as he put them on. Then he raced down through the back panel in the hall closet. He hurried to the underground garage and of course the green Ford Mustang was gone. Bane started up the dark blue Buick Regal and rolled up the ramp that would let him out on Lexington Avenue. The hunt was on again.
Part of Bane's research that afternoon had involved getting the layout of Buchanan University clear in his head. It was a confusing jumble of low stone buildings that had been erected at different times as the college expanded. Four parking lots were scattered around the lecture halls and offices, with paved walkways and access roads leading to the highway. Bane had studied a map on the facility's publicity pamphlets until he had its details fixed. Early in his violent career, he had learned the hard way the importance of knowing the terrain.
He had left his car under some trees just outside the border of the campus. Under a sky covered with black clouds, Bane was hard to spot in his all-black outfit. The visored helmet reflected no light, making him even closer to being invisible in the murk. With the light enhancers built into that helmet, he could see fine and he moved quickly from one piece of cover to the next with no one seeing him.
While most of the buildings were closed for the night and dimly lit, the Melody Buskirk Hall was ablaze and its parking lot was packed. Drawing near, staying in the shadows, the Dire Wolf watched a few late arrivals rush in the front door. He could almost smell death in the air. If his intel was right, three serial killers were in the area that night.
VI.
In a sparsely used corner of the parking lot, Cindy Brunner got out of the Mustang and zipped up her coat against the chill. The Tagra diet in theory should have made her impervious to weather extremes but for some reason the cold still bothered her. She walked briskly over to the lecture hall with both hands jammed deep in her pockets.
As she reached the front door, Cindy sent out a low-power telepathic order to make anyone in the area look away as she passed. This was one of the first uses of her power that she had discovered. It had certainly made high school a lot easier for her and had gotten her out of trouble many times even before she learned about the Midnight War.
At the end of a hallway decorated with posters announcing events and with a cork bulletin board crowded with scraps of paper, a woman suddenly became interested in her feet as she walked around a corner. Cindy smiled to herself. She had sometimes thought she would have made an excellent burglar or spy using that trick. She walked past an empty lounge that held a few cafeteria-style tables and benches, a snack vending machine and a TV mounted up on one wall. Passing that, she found two wooden swinging doors and sensed the hum of many active minds taking in information.
Peering through the crack between the doors, Cindy saw at least two hundred young men and women sitting in rows, many writing industriously in notebooks. There were a scattering of older folks, people who had gone back to college after retirement or who took classes as a hobby. No one would have spied the one blue eye peeking in on them even if she had not been sending the diversion message. Their attention was on the speaker.
Standing at a raised dais with a microphone, Cameron Eckhardt was expounding his views on possible treatment for serial killers. His professional voice was clear and commanding. Cindy listened to him going on about the infamous Dr Sabbath with what seemed like grudging admiration. His attitude seemed odd. Then she noticed his coat hanging from a wall hook just inside the door. This was too tempting an opportunity to pass up. She positioned herself, figured out the quickest move to make and then drew on her full ability.
Every person in that lecture hall heard a sharp snapping noise from right by the windows. It sounded as if something large had broken. Naturally, everyone glanced over in the direction instantly but there was nothing to see and the lecture resumed. Cindy had broadcast an impulse into their minds that simulated that noise. At the same time, she had lunged inside the doors to snatch Eckhardt's coat and get back out of sight.
Letting out a breath, Cindy leaned against the wall behind her while she examined the coat. She didn't like pulling that fake noise ruse because it was so difficult it usually made her head hurt. She dug through the coat and found a pair of thin wool gloves. A packet of tissues. A wallet and checkbook with a pen attached. And a snub-nosed .32 revolver.
Ninety seconds later, she tucked a tiny multi-tool back into its pouch inside her coat. Holding Eckhardt's heavy topcoat, she peeked through the swinging door again and pulled the same trick that had worked before. A loud thud seemed to come from the far end of the room and naturally all heads turned. There was nothing to see. The crash had just been a suggestion she had broadcast into everyone's minds. Cindy swung the door open just enough to hang Eckhardt's coat back on its hook.
Walking a bit unsteadily, she went back to the lounge and plopped down in a plastic chair next to the vending machine. That trick took a lot out of her. Cindy's telepathy worked best when dealing with one mind at a time, even when struggling with an uncooperative one. Sending a convincing thought into two hundred brains that made them think they heard a noise was an effort. In a few seconds, she felt back to normal. Actually, she was more shaken by what she had learned about Dr Eckhardt.
No one was in the lounge and she couldn't sense anyone approaching. The little blonde sighed and unclipped the Link from its place on her belt. Holding up the flat metal device that resembled a hideously complex remote control, she pressed down on a button and an instant later two beeps sounded from the Link's speaker.