"The Smoke From Burning Bridges"
May. 12th, 2022 06:59 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dochermes"The Smoke From Burning Bridges"
9/6-/9/9/1978
I.
None of his fear and uncertainty showed on Bane's face as he walked through the dingy Xiao-sing airport just after ten at night. He had not quite turned twenty-one and had only been out of the United States once before, a few months earlier. At six feet even and barely one hundred and seventy pounds, Jeremy Bane looked thin and even almost frail in his customary black outfit of slacks, turtleneck and sport jacket. His TWA shoulder bag held only a change of clothing, socks, underwear, toothbrush and razor and comb. In one jacket pocket was his passport and wallet. In one hand, he clutched the handle of a case holding a battered manual typewriter with a ream of paper.
The airport was almost deserted that night. Only a few bedraggled travelers made their way through customs or used the bank of pay phones along one wall. But adding their presence were uniformed soldiers in doorways, rifles slung over their right shoulders. Because Xiao-sing was a disputed island claimed by both Taiwan and by the People's Republic of China during this particularly touchy phase of relations between the two countries, security was insanely tight. The Chief Executive of the island, who did not dare claim the title of Prime Minister under those conditions, had metal detectors and search squads everywhere. Carrying a gun of any kind was like requesting a death sentence. Chief Executive had survived three attempts on his life that year and was not so much paranoid as prudent.
The young Dire Wolf got through customs after an hour of intensive interrogation during which he acted dumber and more idealistic than he was. His story of being a newly hired reporter for the WASHINGTON POST here to write a glowing piece about how well Xiao-sing was doing in turbulent Asian politics seemed to be grudgingly accepted after much discussion. Finally, he got outside to find the damp streets outside still steaming uncomfortably, but his papers had been stamped and he had been released with final suspicious glares. Bane had begun sweating while still in the airport from stress but now he was soaking wet before walking two blocks.
He missed carrying the matched silver-bladed daggers he had worn ever since starting to work for Kenneth Dred, but he had known they would be confiscated and never seen again. Almost certainly he would be able to pick up some decent fighting knives here quickly enough. The important thing was the vast amount of cash, both American and Taiwanese, that had been deftly sewn into his clothing, along with traveler's checks and a platinum American Express card. That was the best weaponry the Mandate could have provided for him under the circumstances.
Beneath heavy black brows, Bane's remarkably pale grey eyes were startling in his narrow tanned face. Those eyes were watchful and hostile after a lifetime of struggling to survive. Opposite the airport he saw a decent hotel and a used car lot and a Western style restaurant, but beyond that was nothing but slums. Old buildings in poor repair, narrow twisting streets littered with garbage, the stink of ripe fish and urine which hung in doorways of a city which seemed to have never been washed. Sickly stray cats returning after a night of prowling on their sinister missions. Wet laundry hanging from lines strung between buildings. The heat and humidity did not help his initial impression of Xiao-wing.
Not for the first time, he had doubts about his ability to handle this mission. Kenneth Dred had left the choice whether to go ultimately up to him. Youthful overconfidence and ego had swayed his decision. Finding out what Wu Lung's latest masterplan was had seemed so important back in New York.
Bane scowled and immediately started striding down the cracked paving as if he owned the country. He had never doubted himself before. The Mandate would soon see they had met a free-lancer who could match any of their agents. He had memorized an address and, although his Chinese was meager from childhood summers spent on Mott Street and Canal Street, he was sure he would recognize the ideograms for 'Twin Blossoms In Water.' On the plane, he had sketched them over and over on a piece of scrap paper.
As he stepped out onto the wider main street, where some cars and trucks were crawling along despite pedestrians who seemed disinclined to get out of the way, Bane came to a halt at the curb. A gleaming black Lincoln Continental rolled to a halt in front of him. Acting on instinct, the young Dire Wolf lowered his typewriter to the sidewalk and shrugged the TWA bag off his shoulders to give himself freedom of action.
Three East Asian man in neat business suits emerged quickly from the car and formed a group in front of him. Two wore opaque sunglasses, and the third had longish hair and a thick mustache. He seemed to be in charge, because he said in heavily accented English, "Hello to you. Miss Laura Lye is waiting for the interview. We will take you to her cafe."
This reception was news to Bane. "I want to get a look around town," he answered quietly. "Maybe I'll just walk. It's only a few blocks."
One of the three men started to edge around Bane, getting where he could not be kept in sight at the same time as the first two. This triggered such a deep instinct of danger in the Dire Wolf that he instantly took a step back to nullify the move and his hands curled into fists, ready to strike.
The mustached leader dove a hand behind his back, under his suit jacket. "Easy, easy, let us handle this like civilized men, eh?"
And from seemingly nowhere, a voice rang, "Don't go anywhere with these killers!" as a slippered foot exploded against the leader's jaw to swing the man's head almost completely around.
II.
Four whiplash noises sounded and suddenly there were three senseless men lying on the dirty pavement. The newcomer straightened from a crouch and lowered his hands. He was very similar to Bane in height and build, but with the coarse straight black hair and tawny skin tones of an Asian. A few years older, perhaps. The man had a double eyelid fold in a face that was presentable if not movie star handsome. He wore low slippers with white socks, baggy black trousers bound at the waist with a silk sash and a long-sleeved dark brown pullover shirt.
Rare for him, Jeremy Bane was taken aback by what he had just seen. Even with his own high-speed perception, the man's attack had been so quick and precise that Bane knew he would not have been able to intervene before it was over. "Who ARE you?" he managed to say in his limited Cantonese.
The stranger replied in English with just the hint of an accent. "Who I am... is your death if you remain here," he purred menacingly. "Go home. Go be safe in America and keep your nose where it belongs." With that, the stranger spun on one heel and took off at a full run that would have interested Olympic record keepers.
The Dire Wolf glanced around. That entire block had become deserted, and pedestrians across the street hastened to look the other way or make a U-turn. Neither soldier nor police officer was in sight. Bane slung his TWA bag over his shoulder, picked up his typewriter case and started walking briskly away. Glancing back, he saw two old men emerge from a storefront and stand chatting happily over the bodies of the battered men.
Moving quickly along, past hole-in-the-wall stores and sidewalk vendors taking down flimsy wooden stands that sold fried dumplings or hot tea, Bane tried to digest just what had happened. Who had that man been? For years, Bane had been convinced he was both the fastest and the most dangerous fighter alive but he was disconcertingly aware he had just seen a peer in action. It was a jolt.
Pausing in a doorway that had a gang symbol crudely burned into the wood of the jamb, the Dire Wolf tried to put the stranger out of his mind for now. Those three men must have been from the White Web. Back in New York in an undistinguished office building near the United Nations, the old fragile man with a tuft of white goatee had warned him of encountering that group. Major Edwin Wynkoop had called him for a meeting and Kenneth Dred had agreed that Bane should at least listen to what the man had to say. Bane had learned that the Mandate was a division of the Department of Justice, established thirty years earlier to deal with people who displayed unusual or inexplicable abilities... people like Mark Drum or Sulak or the Red Devil, who had flourished during WW II. As he was escorted to the snug walnut-panelled office with its faint aroma of pipe smoke, Bane had realized he himself was one of the paranormal individuals that the Mandate was known to hunt.
Looking back, he realized how Wynkoop had treated him from the start as if Bane was working for him. The old mastermind had seemed to assume that this mere street fighter would be eager to fly to the other side of the world to retrieve a microfilm dot from one of the most dangerous men alive, and Bane had indeed jumped at the bait. Appeals to patriotism fell flat on Bane, but appeals to his vanity and ego worked.
Wynkoop had said that a renegade STIGMA killer named Mitsuru had stolen a Mandate microdot containing the future plans of Wu Lung and that a Mandate agent named Laura Lye was trying to retrieve it... but Mitsuru was growing suspicious of her. Her safety hung by a thread and time was short. Already known for his superhuman speed and fighting ability, the young Dire Wolf might be the only person who could confront Mitsuru and rescue both Laura Lye and the plans. Normal Mandate operatives would be at a disadvantage in a city without firearms.
Back at the old stone building on East 38th Street, Bane had discussed the offer with Kenneth Dred, the only person he fully trusted and respected. In his late seventies, the occultist had warned his young protege that the Mandate was devious and manipulative, as was any espionage organization, but that Wu Lung was such a vast menace to both East and West that learning about the fiend's intentions could be critical. Bane had decided to go to Xiao-sing.
Now, he walked the night streets beneath pale yellow-lit windows shining to reveal men playing card games at tables, past women in skimpy dresses leaning in doorways and leering at him, past groups of three or four young men judging how difficult a target he would be to rob. None of this unnerved him. Bane had grown up a lone orphan on the streets in the bad parts of Manhattan and he had always lived in a jungle of people rather than beasts.
First, he found the hotel where he had arranged lodgings. There was no identifying sign, no notice of rooms available. It looked exactly like the buildings on either side of it. Bane entered the lobby to find a vast open room with dozens of mattresses lined up in rows on the floor, thin blankets and wadded pillows marking where ragged men slept or sat drinking or argued with each other. In one corner, a chipped radio played tinny Asian pop music at a low level.
Finding an old man sitting at a folding card table by the staircase leading upward, the Dire Wolf drew on what little Cantonese he spoke and said, "I have room?"
"Oh, I speak English," replied the old man, folding his newspaper. "Your money order arrived. Room 12 is yours for the week, young sir."
"That's a relief," Bane said, accepting the clunky round-cylinder key that was offered. "Right up these stairs?"
"Yes. I regret your toilet and sink do not work, but there is a bathroom in the hall one door down from your room." The man went back to his newspaper as if the American visitor had simply vanished. Taking his typewriter and TWA bag, Bane ascended the creaking stairs and found his room had a simple cardboard tag that read 12 tacked to its door.
It was as dismal as he had expected. One look at the bed convinced him he would sleep on the floor. After glancing in the bathroom, he closed its door and never opened it again. A grimy rectangular window let in sufficient light and was big enough that he could dive through it for a quick exit if necessary. There were two sturdy chairs, a folding table with some yellowing newspapers still on it and a radiator under the window. No TV, not even a radio. Hanging on the closet door was a cracked full-length mirror.
One of Bane's rare and barely perceptible smiles touched his face. He had once hidden from the police for two days in a crawlspace above an attic and he reflected that he would prefer that crawlspace to this room. Stowing his typewriter and travel bag in the closet, he glanced at his watch and saw it was almost exactly twelve. The Midnight War was not named that without reason. This was the hour when the children of the night began to stir in earnest and what was impossible in daylight became the norm. He locked the door behind him, not having any faith his room would not be searched or looted anyway, and trotted down the stairs.
He found a side exit door next to the bottom of the stairs, propped open with a rock, and slid out into the alley between the hotel and the building next to it. Bane was increasingly certain he had already met the infamous Shiro Mitsuru an hour ago in that confrontation with the three gangsters. Now he needed to find the other player in this game, the dancer Laura Lye.
III.
By the harbor where the rhythmic slapping of waves against piers never ceased entirely, hundreds of small boats were tied to each other to form a loose chain which covered the water. Families lived their lives out on those boats, hopping from one craft to the next and seldom coming onto land itself for long stretches. Even now, the late night was punctuated by the sound of laughter and jesting from one boat, the cry of a baby, the curses of an argument, even the brittle violence of a fight.
Along the docks where the network of boats bobbed ceaselessly, a rickety three story building leaned up against its neighbor. Light spilled out from oilcloth-covered windows onto the damp street. Jeremy Bane approached this building warily, spotting the two guards who squatted on stools in the alleys on either side. Hanging from a beam that projected out over the door was a wooden sign that depicted a painting of two lotus blossoms floating in a pond. The ideograms he had memorized so intently on the plane journey marked this as the cafe he was seeking.
The door itself had been slid into its track in the wall, and only a curtain of hanging beads was in his way as Bane entered the dim interior. He recognized the sweet tang of opium in the air as well as the odor of spilled wine, both masked by heavy cigarette smoke. Along one wall was a bar behind which two attendants stood, and at the end of that bar was a narrow staircase leading upward. The floor space was taken up with small round tables big enough for three or four men to sit around comfortably, each table holding a tall burning candle in a tin stand. What a fire hazard, Bane thought as he walked up to the bar.
No one seemed to take particular notice of him. He was by no means the only patron there not of Asian descent. A few sub-Saharan Africans in colorful robes, two blond Europeans in linen suits, a solitary South American who closely resembled Inca ancestors, all sat conscientiously tending their own business. Bane leaned on the bar, got the attention of the man wiping the surface and ordered a glass of rice wine. It wasn't that he wanted a drink, it was his limited vocabulary that made his choice for him. The Dire Wolf put some American money on the bar and found it was deemed acceptable. He took a single mouthful of the wine and prepared to hold onto the glass the rest of the night if necessary.
After a long boring stasis which the restless Bane found difficult to endure, chimes sounded behind the bar. The men seated at their tables perked up and came back to life as if struck by a gust of fresh cold air. Racing down the stairs and leaping nimbly up onto the nearest table was a tall slim woman in a brilliant crimson dress that almost shone in the candlelight. Behind the bar, the attendant plucked quickly on a sort of mandolin with two necks and to that strange melody the redheaded woman sprang from table to table.
It was a hypnotic performance. Agile and surefooted, the woman went from table to table without her bare feet ever grazing a beer mug or touching a flickering candle in its stand. She was never still an instant. With long free hair the same brilliant hue as her tight dress, the woman moved around the cafe on the tables. Everyone froze in position, almost holding their breath as they stared intently. Perfect pale legs flashed in and out of view as she danced in the long slit skirt, arms swirling in complex patterns.
Finally, pausing on the single table against a wall reserved for her, the redhead began to sing a slow, mournful ballad in a voice clear as crystal and sad as all the longing in the world. The words were Chinese, so Bane couldn't follow it at all but he understood the melancholy in the voice. Then, finishing with a long high note that cut off sharply, the woman bowed from the waist to the crowd and stepped down to skip lightly up the stairs again.
"We have been blessed with Laura Lye!" called out the bartender, clapping to begin the applause. After the cheers and demands for more settled down, men went up to the table where Laura Lye had sung her number and left crumbled bills as tribute. Once that ended, an elderly woman in a cheongsam hobbled over and carefully tucked all the money into a wicker box she took with her.
In the corner of the bar furthest from everyone, Bane reluctantly took the smallest sip of the wine and considered his next move. Music had little effect on him under the best of circumstances, but he certainly had admired the woman's agility and grace hopping from table to table like that without a single misstep. He looked up as the bartender leaned closer and said in barely understandable English, "You go. That door," and indicated a narrow wooden panel behind them that had no handle or keyhole.
IV.
Checking that no one was watching him at the moment, the Dire Wolf stood up and slipped silently through the wooden panel to find himself in a courtyard bordered at the rear with a wooden fence. Two packing crates and a broken chair leaned up against the wall through which he had just passed. Standing before him in the vague light from the cafe windows was a slender figure wrapped in a white wool robe. She had tucked the red hair up under a silk cap, but Laura Lye was still immediately recognizable. She took one long drag on a cigarette and flicked it into a puddle near her now-slippered feet.
"I must say," she began in a husky voice, "that Wynkoop is selecting his agents younger and younger these days. Are you even out of high school?"
Bane stepped in closer without answering immediately. He could not judge her age in the uncertain light but her skin tones and oblique green eyes marked her as a natural redhead. "You've been expecting me."
"Oh yes. We both know the same old man with the ridiculous billy goat whiskers. He is manipulating us on his vast chess board and I gather you are the opening move."
"If you say so," the Dire Wolf said. "Look, I'm blunt by nature. Spare me the fancy phrases. I'm after a tiny piece of paper no bigger than your fingernail. My goal is getting it and then stopping Wu Lung's plans."
Laura Lye smiled in the most wistful way. "You dream large dreams if you think you can oppose the Dragon of War, my friend."
"We'll see. Come on, what you can tell me?"
"I hear nearly everything that happens in the dirty shadows of this island," she answered. "The information dot is in the hands of the most dangerous man you will ever meet in this life. His parents were officers of the White Web but he is their enemy and they have lost many of their assassins by trying to kill him. Toshiro Mitsuru, known as Tiger Fury. If you think you can pry that microdot from the Tiger Fury's hand, you are confident indeed."
"We'll see," Bane repeated. "What's his story? What makes him such a tough guy?"
Laura Lye took another cigarette from within her robe and lit it herself, while Bane watched. "Oh, that is droll. Young man, you have much to learn. Very well. Twenty years ago, a Japanese man and his Chinese bride stole nearly all the treasury of the White Web headquarters in Tokyo. They had planned their treachery and immediately began to race from nation to nation, staying nowhere more than one night. They were wealthier than the capitalist barons of your own country, yet they could not rest and enjoy their riches."
"Yeah? And what about this Mitsuru guy?"
"He was their infant son. Both parents had been masters of their respective martial arts. Using their millions, they had little Toshiro instructed in fighting arts in every land on Earth. He grew up on the run studying nothing else. Every available Asian art. The most obscure Russian wrestling, the spinning kicks of Brazil, the brutal style of Greek pankration... Toshiro mastered them all." She drew on the cigarette and its flare reflected in the green eyes watching Bane thoughtfully.
The Dire Wolf made a scoffing noise, arms folded as he met her gaze. "He sounds like a rough customer. But him and me, we haven't tangled yet."
"It is no joking matter!" she snapped. "If Mitsuru thinks you have come to Xiao-sing to take that microdot away, he will kill you with one blow."
"He can try..." Bane said. "The Mandate wants their report back and Wynkoop asked me to retrieve it. What does this Mitsuru guy plan to do with the dot?"
Casting the cigarette to the ground, she studied him for an instant. "Shiro hates Wu Lung with a rage. I believe he intends to sell the dot to whichever intelligence agency he thinks can use it best. CIA, MI6, INTERCEPT, STIGMA, I doubt if he cares who purchases it as long as the information will be used to deal Wu Lung a heavy blow."
Bane made no comment. Suddenly his posture and expression had tightened. Without explanation, he roughly shoved Laura Lye hard to one side, making her fall to the dirty courtyard. The Dire Wolf swung around, his arm blurring in an arc and there was a faint clatter as something small hit the stone paving. Over the top of the fence, a dark form showed with a long tube held to its mouth. A puff of expelled breath sounded and again Bane swung his hand so quickly that Laura Lye only realized it had moved because he had slapped something out of the air to hit the ground near her.
It was a handcarved wooden dart. The sharpened tip was sticky with dark tar. The Mandate operative gulped aloud despite her training at seeing such a deadly weapon almost tag her. As she cautiously raised her head, she saw the young American returning from where he had rushed over to the fence.
"Got away," Bane admitted. "I don't know these alleys. There's no way I could catch him. You better get inside, lady."
Rising to her feet, brushing mud off her robe, Laura Lye seemed disoriented by the sudden flurry of activity. "Killers of the White Web. Those are poison darts they fire from a blowtube. And you... I can't believe it. You slapped them out of the air just like that?"
"I'm a little quicker than most people," the Dire Wolf said. "Go on, get inside before another assassin tries from a different angle."
"Yes. Yes. I must dance again soon." She came close to Bane and pressed her hands to his lean chest. "You saved my life just now. I will be safe inside the cafe with my friends but I want you to come back here tomorrow at noon. We can talk."
"Suits me," he answered. "I've got a lot to think over right now. Stay safe, lady."
"Please, call me Laura. Of course, it's not my real name, I mean 'Lorelei'... really? but I have come to like it."
"Sure, Laura. I'll see you tomorrow." Without a backward glance, Bane ran toward the fence at the rear of the courtyard, placed one hand at its top and lightly vaulted over it to disappear silently into the night.
V.
Dawn was near when the tavern finally had finally urged its last patron stumbling out into the streets. Laura Lye counted out her tips from the box the elderly woman guarded, split a small portion with her and then started up the stairs to her rooms on the third floor. The redhead was so tired that her head hurt. The third floor of the Two Blossoms In Water was originally an attic and had a steeply slanted ceiling, with only enough space for her one room. She froze on the top step as she saw the man waiting for her.
Shiro Mitsuru was still wearing the black trousers and dark brown shirt he had on earlier that day, but he now carried a small canvas bag slung over one shoulder. The Tiger Fury stood with hands on hips, feet well apart, watching her with a not entirely friendly eye.
"The man with the blowpipe is dead," he announced without preamble. "He was a South Seas Islander, not from this part of this world. I happened to see his attack. Your little American friend has impressive reflexes, Laura."
"Shiro! Oh, I am glad to see you. Please come in."
"Better that I don't," he answered. "Your lovers seem to meet sudden fates. I have heard rumors of this Dire Wolf kid. What is his business with you?"
Shaking out a pack of cigarettes and finding only one left, Laura Lye fired it up anyway. "That's what I want to warn you about, love. I found out that STIGMA has sent him to kill you, Shiro."
"Kill ME?" he answered with obvious amusement. "That's funny. And why does STIGMA's criminal enterprise bear me such ill will?" Shiro had the faintest British accent, only noticeable in certain phrases. As he spoke, he studied Laura Lye intently.
"They want that microdot. I believe they are afraid you will not sell it to them and they worry about what Wu Lung has planned." She gently exhaled two streams of smoke from her nostrils and met his appraising gaze. "Wu Lung is one of the few great masterminds remaining not to align himself with STIGMA."
"The Dragon of War thinks he is meant to be a new Emperor," Shiro said. "STIGMA is a bunch of fools. I don't have that microdot. I've never even seen it."
She came up to him, so close he could see the tiny golden speckles that marked her green eyes. "I wish we were closer, Tiger Fury. You and I could accomplish so much together."
Shiro smiled and backed up a step, then headed back toward the window in the wall behind him. "You're a beautiful woman, Laura. I'm tempted, of course. We have found some pleasure together. But I have my own agenda and my own plans. Being accepted at Tel Shai changes everything. I will have to act much more noble if I want to be a Tel Shai knight."
"I have asked the Dire Wolf to meet me here tomorrow at noon. The owner will be out shopping and old Mai-Li sleeps until late afternoon. Perhaps you might want to observe him."
"Or do more than observe," Shiro said with a sudden edge in his voice. "STIGMA needs to realize it is bad policy to send a Western child to try to murder me." He crouched by the open window, swung his legs around and plunged out into darkness. She did not hear him hit the courtyard three stories below. Left behind, Laura Lye finished her cigarette and went over to fasten the window tightly shut before entering her rooms.
VI.
Bane had prowled the dark city for an hour without spotting anyone who might be a White Web assassin. Unknown to him, he walked past a pile of mildewed rags against one wall which concealed the corpse of the man who had blown the darts at him. Shiro Mitsuru had snapped the man's neck and hidden the body before going to meet with Laura Lye.
As he headed back to the hovel where he had rented a room, the Dire Wolf paused as he found a vendor still on the street. He purchased two bamboo skewers holding pieces of roasted chicken, as well a sticky rice ball. He had devoured it all before reaching his destination. By now, all the men in the lobby were asleep on their mattresses, many snoring drunkenly. Bane went up to the second floor, found the hall bathroom unoccupied and used the toilet, then scrubbed his hands and face as best he could with the tepid water. He unlocked the door to his room stealthily and plunged into the darkness to find no ambush waiting for him. Securing the door and window, the Dire Wolf allowed himself a sigh of weariness. He did not have the feeling that he was solidly on top of the situation yet. There was a nagging sensation in the back of his mind that he was missing many pieces to any puzzle that had to be solved.
Stretching out on the bare floor, using his travel bag as a pillow, Bane dropped off to sleep quickly. He was used to hardship and had gotten along fine under less comfortable conditions. After five hours, he stirred. With his hyperactive metabolism, that was as much sleep as he ordinarily needed. Checking out the bathroom in the hall, he quickly washed again and then returned to his room. From his travel bag, he took fresh socks and underwear and a clean turtleneck. The shirt he had worn the day before he hung from a nail on the closet door to air out a little. It was so humid in Xaio-sin that he was already damp again. Without hot water, shaving was an unappealing prospect and he decided to skip it for the moment.
Outside, he found the streets so crowded and hectic that it seemed like a completely different city from the somber maze he had explored the night before. There were hours before he was supposed to meet Laura Lye. Walking back toward the airport, Bane found the Western style restaurant was open and he gratefully dug into a huge breakfast. One price for his extra speed was a constant hunger. The Dire Wolf ate enough for two men his size and finally felt satisfied. Finding that men's room in the restaurant had hot water, he stripped to the waist and quickly scrubbed himself as thoroughly as he could before heading out again.
Returning to the airport, he headed for the row of pay phones. Of course, considering the country's paranoia, he could be certain that someone in a cubbyhole would be listening to every word. Bane placed a person to person call to New York City and spent twenty minutes talking to Kenneth Dred. The pretense was that Dred was his uncle who had managed to get him a job on the WASHINGTON POST and their conversation was innocuous chatter about the flight, what he thought of the city, had he written any material yet and so forth. Bane closed by promising to be careful and not get in any trouble drinking or chasing girls in a strange country.
After Kenneth Dred wished him well and demanded frequent phone calls until he was safely home again, Bane hung up, struggling with unfamiliar emotions. Working for Dred was making him go soft, he feared. He had only survived as a street child by caring for no one and letting no one get too close. But Kenneth Dred, finding in the Dire Wolf the protege and perhaps son-figure he had always wanted, had broken down much of Bane's shell without even trying to. As he left the airport and headed back toward where the cafe was, the young man wondered if this could be what they called homesickness.
Approaching the Two Blossoms In Water again, he saw a broom leaning up against the outer wall. The door was open again, and he pushed through the curtain of beads to find an empty room. Tables had been pushed back against the walls and stacked two high. It looked as if the floor had been mopped, too. Some of the pungent odor had been lessened with a citrus rub of some sort.
As soon as he stepped through that doorway, all of Bane's instincts of danger flared up. Even though no one was in sight, just the faintest rasp of cloth on wood, the subdued breathing of hidden watchers, was more than enough. He took a few more steps into the cleared space and readied himself for the attack he sensed was imminent.
Suddenly, without a hint of footsteps, Shiro Mitsuru was standing on the other side of the cafe, closing the kitchen door behind him. The Tiger Fury had changed into a tight Navy blue shirt with short sleeves, but the same baggy trousers. "I believe you wanted to meet me, son," he said.
"Oh, cut it out," Bane answered with his usual impatience. "You're, what, four or five years older than me? I'm here to negotiate for the microdot that you stole from the Mandate agents."
"What? You are so wrong on several counts, Dire Wolf. I do not have that microdot. Nor did it belong to the Mandate in the first place. The Mandate has been trying to steal it themselves from STIGMA."
Bane shook his head. "That won't wash, Shiro. If you won't give it up willingly, I'll just have to take it." Even in the tension of the moment, part of his mind wondered why he had addressed this man by his first name. It had felt natural.
The Tiger Fury clasped his fingers and bent them outwards to make a cracking noise. "There you have it. I knew as soon as we met that it would end up this way."
Without circling or preliminary feints, both men hurtled headlong at each other. There was a split-second crackle of sharp impacts and they both backed off just as quickly. Bane shook his head and Shiro touched his shoulder, both with disbelieving expressions. The second time they approached each other, it was with more caution. The young Dire Wolf had intensively studied the Black Mantis style for a year under Sifu Yuan, but he didn't use it much. Most of Bane's training had been at Mahoney's Gym and he moved forward with a boxer's light bouncing step, both fists up in front of him. Shiro leaned back in a cat stance, weight on his rear leg and raised open hands in tiger claw position.
The Dire Wolf came in and struck so fast his arms almost hummed. Right jab and left hook whipped out and were barely slapped aside with soft palm blocks. As the second punch went past him, Shiro pushed Bane's arm further to turn him off-balance. In the same motion, the Tiger Fury threw a perfect straight forefist that nailed Bane on the side of the jaw. The Dire Wolf fell back a step. Shiro expected the Westerner's defenses to be lowered after that impact and he moved in for an elbow strike to the neck but he was surprised to run directly into a sharp jab that exploded exactly on the point of his chin. Bane had good timing and judgement of distance, he realized.
The pattern repeated itself for the next few minutes as the two men clashed briefly over and over and then drew back. Shiro was awed by just how fast Bane was, but long years of experience in a dozen martial arts quickly began to tip the duel. Their forearms began to throb as they blocked one blow after another. As the Dire Wolf hopped in close with a quick one-two sequence, the upper left side of his body was left exposed. Shiro swung up his right leg in a high hooking kick that thumped down on Bane's left shoulder and knocked him to his knees.
Instantly, the Dire Wolf was surging up again to attack, but he made the mistake of leaving his head pointing down. A savage elbow strike down to the back of the neck dropped him almost senseless to his hands and knees. As Bane fell face down, Shiro swung around to plant a knee between his opponent's shoulder blades and to yank the Dire Wolf's arm up straight.
"Hold still! It's over," the Tiger Fury gasped, more out of breath than he had been in years. Five minutes of combat at that elevated level was punishing to any flesh and blood body. "I can break your arm before you can do anything."
From the floor, Bane started to draw one leg up under him but stopped as he felt his captured arm being twisted agonizingly. "Damn. Damn. Okay, I admit it, you're pretty good."
"You're not a normal Human," Shiro said. "If you had Kumundu training, with that speed, you'd be almost impossible to beat. What's your secret?"
"I was born this way," answered the Dire Wolf. "Okay, ease up on the arm, Shiro. I might need it someday. Let's try negotiating again."
Shiro laughed at the brazen change of approach. "Are you still under orders to kill me? Because I can't allow that, son."
"Huh? No, that's crazy. Nobody said anything about killing you. I was asked by Wynkoop to recover the microdot for the Mandate."
"It was never theirs to recover," Shiro said. "That devious old man sent you here to steal what isn't his. And what makes you think I have it anyway?"
"Laura Lye said so." Bane felt his arm being released slightly just before the circulation would have been cut off too long. "She said you wanted to auction it off."
Letting go, the Tiger Fury stood up and his voice had changed. "She was the one who warned me you had been sent here by STIGMA to assassinate me. The best way to deal with two growling dogs is to set them fighting each other."
"Looks like we might need to have a talk with her." Bane sat up, massaging his numb arm with his other hand. "How well do you know her?"
"I liked her well enough. But, how well do you ever know a spy?" asked Shiro. He watched the Dire Wolf get up at arm's length but both were standing in postures that indicated the fight was over for the moment in any case. Neither of them seemed eager to start trading blows again. "You can't believe them when they tell you what day of the week it is..."
From the top of the stairs came a thud and a crash as if furniture had been overturned.
VII.
As they both flashed up to the top floor, one of the White Web assassins was beginning to stick a leg out through the open window near Laura's door, ready to escape. Shiro yanked the man back inside with one hand and flung him brutally to the floor. Even as the White Web killer cried out in surprise, a slippered foot stamped down to crush his windpipe. From his sash, a knife with a short wide blade clattered out. Bane came around behind Shiro to peer out the window and saw a thin cord hanging down the outside of the building to the courtyard.
"They thought they would search here while we fought," the Tiger Fury said. "Probably they hoped one of us would kill the other."
"Or that at least we'd be too occupied to notice them." Bane found the door to Laura Lye's room had been left ajar and he took a long somber look inside before stepping to let Shiro enter. As the Tiger Fury passed by, Bane went back to begin searching the dead assassin.
In the dancer's room, two chairs had been overturned and the slim body of Laura Lye was stretched out on the rug between them, lying on her back. She was wearing a flimsy white nightshirt of silk that now had a brilliant red blot spreading across its front but she was still alive. The Tiger Fury bent over her, touched her wrist and shook his head grimly as Bane entered.
Despite the heavy bleeding, her voice was still clear and strong. "Ah, Shiro. I am so sorry. I have never been a greater fool than when I used you..."
"Don't talk," he said. "Help is coming. Hold on."
"I know better. It's so cold in here. I know what that means. Shiro, we could have gone off together, I know you were beginning to feel something for me."
"I still do," the Tiger Fury told her. He lifted her upper body carefully and saw how wide and deep the wound was. "The first time I saw you dance, you took part of me."
Bane said nothing, staying well back and watching in silence.
"But nobody trusts me," she said as her voice became fainter. "I betrayed the Mandate because STIGMA paid better, and then I crossed STIGMA because I was afraid of the White Web. There are no more bridges left to burn. I can't go forward... or back, dear.."
The actual moment of her death was imperceptible. She did not take in a further breath, and that was all. Shiro lowered her back down to the floor and folded her red dancing dress from its hanger on the wall to cover her face. He rose, saw the blood on his shirt from where he had been holding her and stripped to the waist.
"I'm sorry," Bane told the man. "It sounds stupid but I can't think of anything better to say."
"That's all you need to say, believe me. Do you smell the smoke from burning bridges? It's a reminder to keep faith and hold to honor." Shiro exhaled deeply and uprighted one of the chairs to sit down. "She made all the wrong choices, Dire Wolf."
"So I guess she hoped the White Web and whoever would be after you for the microdot, which she actually had hidden. We were decoys. I'll stick to being straight with you," Bane said. "I found the microdot on the assassin out in the hall." He held up a thumb on which a small clear square of film was stuck. "This is what the violence was all about. It seems so tiny to have caused all this."
"We won't have long before more company," Toshiro Mitsuru said. "Laura Lye had many admirers and even the incompetent Xiaio-sing police will not be able to sleep through this." He slowly got up again and looked around the room. It had not been searched thoroughly but the woman's luggage had been torn apart. He knelt and opened a metal case to reveal a curious electronic device that resembled a folding microscope. "I know how to work this viewer," he said, holding out one hand into which Bane placed the microdot.
After a few minutes, Shiro sighed and handed the viewer over to the Dire Wolf. "Take a look. I think it's important you see this."
Holding the battery-powered viewer, Bane adjusted the field of vision and studied what he saw. Through the lense, the tiny blur resolved itself into a page of dense print. Bane took his time reading before handing the device back.
"Nothing about Wu Lung on there," he said at last. "It's all personal stuff about British politicians. Sex scandal material. Not what I was after at all."
"You see what weasels we deal with," Shiro said. He removed the little square of plastic and dropped it down into the sink in Laura's bathroom, running the lukewarm water until he was sure the microdot was lost beyond retrieving. "It was only sleazy information that could be used for blackmail against the House of Commons."
"And it didn't belong to the Mandate in the first place?" Bane asked. "Wynkoop just told me that so I would cooperate."
The Tiger Fury rolled up his bloodstained shirt and stood gazing down at the covered form on the floor. "Not that it matters who gathered that dirt. Spy groups all use deceit and death the way a carpenter uses his tools. We should go now, Dire Wolf. I will be leaving Xiao-sing. Back to Macau, I think, I want to meet with a Choy Li Fut sifu."
For once, the ferocious grey eyes were introspective and subdued as Bane met Shiro's gaze. "I'll be going back to New York, and not a moment too soon. I will never work with the Mandate after this."
"Let's go," Shiro said, leading the younger man from the room. "But don't say never. There may be times when you will need the Mandates's help. You may agree to act for them against deadly enemies only after you have satisfied yourself what the facts are."
Closing the door behind them, Bane looked over at where the corpse of the White Web assassin still sprawled with its mouth open. "If you say so," he told the Tiger Fury. "Right now, I feel like pulling that old man Wynkoop out of his chair and shaking the smugness out of him. Using me the way he did...!"
"Let's go," Shiro repeated, heading down the stairs. "Jeremy, let me tell you that in the Midnight War you should not burn too many of those bridges. You will need them again. Temporary alliances with the enemy of your enemies can be worked out. I'm afraid you have some hard lessons ahead of you. Just as I did!"
At the bottom of the stairs, the two men emerged into the empty courtyard. No one was in sight, although voices and cars passing could be heard from the other side of the cafe. Shiro made a tighter bundle of his stained shirt and said, "This needs to go in the harbor right away, tied to a rock. Take care, Dire Wolf. Watch and learn and grow wise in the way that only sorrow makes us wise."
Jeremy Bane took a deep breath of the hot humid air and felt relief as his adrenalin levels dropped down to normal. "I suppose we'll meet again, Shiro."
"Yes. Midnight War is a small world all its own," the Tiger Fury answered as he strode away to vault easily over the wooden fence into the maze of alleys beyond, "And both our stories are far from over."
10/13/2016
9/6-/9/9/1978
I.
None of his fear and uncertainty showed on Bane's face as he walked through the dingy Xiao-sing airport just after ten at night. He had not quite turned twenty-one and had only been out of the United States once before, a few months earlier. At six feet even and barely one hundred and seventy pounds, Jeremy Bane looked thin and even almost frail in his customary black outfit of slacks, turtleneck and sport jacket. His TWA shoulder bag held only a change of clothing, socks, underwear, toothbrush and razor and comb. In one jacket pocket was his passport and wallet. In one hand, he clutched the handle of a case holding a battered manual typewriter with a ream of paper.
The airport was almost deserted that night. Only a few bedraggled travelers made their way through customs or used the bank of pay phones along one wall. But adding their presence were uniformed soldiers in doorways, rifles slung over their right shoulders. Because Xiao-sing was a disputed island claimed by both Taiwan and by the People's Republic of China during this particularly touchy phase of relations between the two countries, security was insanely tight. The Chief Executive of the island, who did not dare claim the title of Prime Minister under those conditions, had metal detectors and search squads everywhere. Carrying a gun of any kind was like requesting a death sentence. Chief Executive had survived three attempts on his life that year and was not so much paranoid as prudent.
The young Dire Wolf got through customs after an hour of intensive interrogation during which he acted dumber and more idealistic than he was. His story of being a newly hired reporter for the WASHINGTON POST here to write a glowing piece about how well Xiao-sing was doing in turbulent Asian politics seemed to be grudgingly accepted after much discussion. Finally, he got outside to find the damp streets outside still steaming uncomfortably, but his papers had been stamped and he had been released with final suspicious glares. Bane had begun sweating while still in the airport from stress but now he was soaking wet before walking two blocks.
He missed carrying the matched silver-bladed daggers he had worn ever since starting to work for Kenneth Dred, but he had known they would be confiscated and never seen again. Almost certainly he would be able to pick up some decent fighting knives here quickly enough. The important thing was the vast amount of cash, both American and Taiwanese, that had been deftly sewn into his clothing, along with traveler's checks and a platinum American Express card. That was the best weaponry the Mandate could have provided for him under the circumstances.
Beneath heavy black brows, Bane's remarkably pale grey eyes were startling in his narrow tanned face. Those eyes were watchful and hostile after a lifetime of struggling to survive. Opposite the airport he saw a decent hotel and a used car lot and a Western style restaurant, but beyond that was nothing but slums. Old buildings in poor repair, narrow twisting streets littered with garbage, the stink of ripe fish and urine which hung in doorways of a city which seemed to have never been washed. Sickly stray cats returning after a night of prowling on their sinister missions. Wet laundry hanging from lines strung between buildings. The heat and humidity did not help his initial impression of Xiao-wing.
Not for the first time, he had doubts about his ability to handle this mission. Kenneth Dred had left the choice whether to go ultimately up to him. Youthful overconfidence and ego had swayed his decision. Finding out what Wu Lung's latest masterplan was had seemed so important back in New York.
Bane scowled and immediately started striding down the cracked paving as if he owned the country. He had never doubted himself before. The Mandate would soon see they had met a free-lancer who could match any of their agents. He had memorized an address and, although his Chinese was meager from childhood summers spent on Mott Street and Canal Street, he was sure he would recognize the ideograms for 'Twin Blossoms In Water.' On the plane, he had sketched them over and over on a piece of scrap paper.
As he stepped out onto the wider main street, where some cars and trucks were crawling along despite pedestrians who seemed disinclined to get out of the way, Bane came to a halt at the curb. A gleaming black Lincoln Continental rolled to a halt in front of him. Acting on instinct, the young Dire Wolf lowered his typewriter to the sidewalk and shrugged the TWA bag off his shoulders to give himself freedom of action.
Three East Asian man in neat business suits emerged quickly from the car and formed a group in front of him. Two wore opaque sunglasses, and the third had longish hair and a thick mustache. He seemed to be in charge, because he said in heavily accented English, "Hello to you. Miss Laura Lye is waiting for the interview. We will take you to her cafe."
This reception was news to Bane. "I want to get a look around town," he answered quietly. "Maybe I'll just walk. It's only a few blocks."
One of the three men started to edge around Bane, getting where he could not be kept in sight at the same time as the first two. This triggered such a deep instinct of danger in the Dire Wolf that he instantly took a step back to nullify the move and his hands curled into fists, ready to strike.
The mustached leader dove a hand behind his back, under his suit jacket. "Easy, easy, let us handle this like civilized men, eh?"
And from seemingly nowhere, a voice rang, "Don't go anywhere with these killers!" as a slippered foot exploded against the leader's jaw to swing the man's head almost completely around.
II.
Four whiplash noises sounded and suddenly there were three senseless men lying on the dirty pavement. The newcomer straightened from a crouch and lowered his hands. He was very similar to Bane in height and build, but with the coarse straight black hair and tawny skin tones of an Asian. A few years older, perhaps. The man had a double eyelid fold in a face that was presentable if not movie star handsome. He wore low slippers with white socks, baggy black trousers bound at the waist with a silk sash and a long-sleeved dark brown pullover shirt.
Rare for him, Jeremy Bane was taken aback by what he had just seen. Even with his own high-speed perception, the man's attack had been so quick and precise that Bane knew he would not have been able to intervene before it was over. "Who ARE you?" he managed to say in his limited Cantonese.
The stranger replied in English with just the hint of an accent. "Who I am... is your death if you remain here," he purred menacingly. "Go home. Go be safe in America and keep your nose where it belongs." With that, the stranger spun on one heel and took off at a full run that would have interested Olympic record keepers.
The Dire Wolf glanced around. That entire block had become deserted, and pedestrians across the street hastened to look the other way or make a U-turn. Neither soldier nor police officer was in sight. Bane slung his TWA bag over his shoulder, picked up his typewriter case and started walking briskly away. Glancing back, he saw two old men emerge from a storefront and stand chatting happily over the bodies of the battered men.
Moving quickly along, past hole-in-the-wall stores and sidewalk vendors taking down flimsy wooden stands that sold fried dumplings or hot tea, Bane tried to digest just what had happened. Who had that man been? For years, Bane had been convinced he was both the fastest and the most dangerous fighter alive but he was disconcertingly aware he had just seen a peer in action. It was a jolt.
Pausing in a doorway that had a gang symbol crudely burned into the wood of the jamb, the Dire Wolf tried to put the stranger out of his mind for now. Those three men must have been from the White Web. Back in New York in an undistinguished office building near the United Nations, the old fragile man with a tuft of white goatee had warned him of encountering that group. Major Edwin Wynkoop had called him for a meeting and Kenneth Dred had agreed that Bane should at least listen to what the man had to say. Bane had learned that the Mandate was a division of the Department of Justice, established thirty years earlier to deal with people who displayed unusual or inexplicable abilities... people like Mark Drum or Sulak or the Red Devil, who had flourished during WW II. As he was escorted to the snug walnut-panelled office with its faint aroma of pipe smoke, Bane had realized he himself was one of the paranormal individuals that the Mandate was known to hunt.
Looking back, he realized how Wynkoop had treated him from the start as if Bane was working for him. The old mastermind had seemed to assume that this mere street fighter would be eager to fly to the other side of the world to retrieve a microfilm dot from one of the most dangerous men alive, and Bane had indeed jumped at the bait. Appeals to patriotism fell flat on Bane, but appeals to his vanity and ego worked.
Wynkoop had said that a renegade STIGMA killer named Mitsuru had stolen a Mandate microdot containing the future plans of Wu Lung and that a Mandate agent named Laura Lye was trying to retrieve it... but Mitsuru was growing suspicious of her. Her safety hung by a thread and time was short. Already known for his superhuman speed and fighting ability, the young Dire Wolf might be the only person who could confront Mitsuru and rescue both Laura Lye and the plans. Normal Mandate operatives would be at a disadvantage in a city without firearms.
Back at the old stone building on East 38th Street, Bane had discussed the offer with Kenneth Dred, the only person he fully trusted and respected. In his late seventies, the occultist had warned his young protege that the Mandate was devious and manipulative, as was any espionage organization, but that Wu Lung was such a vast menace to both East and West that learning about the fiend's intentions could be critical. Bane had decided to go to Xiao-sing.
Now, he walked the night streets beneath pale yellow-lit windows shining to reveal men playing card games at tables, past women in skimpy dresses leaning in doorways and leering at him, past groups of three or four young men judging how difficult a target he would be to rob. None of this unnerved him. Bane had grown up a lone orphan on the streets in the bad parts of Manhattan and he had always lived in a jungle of people rather than beasts.
First, he found the hotel where he had arranged lodgings. There was no identifying sign, no notice of rooms available. It looked exactly like the buildings on either side of it. Bane entered the lobby to find a vast open room with dozens of mattresses lined up in rows on the floor, thin blankets and wadded pillows marking where ragged men slept or sat drinking or argued with each other. In one corner, a chipped radio played tinny Asian pop music at a low level.
Finding an old man sitting at a folding card table by the staircase leading upward, the Dire Wolf drew on what little Cantonese he spoke and said, "I have room?"
"Oh, I speak English," replied the old man, folding his newspaper. "Your money order arrived. Room 12 is yours for the week, young sir."
"That's a relief," Bane said, accepting the clunky round-cylinder key that was offered. "Right up these stairs?"
"Yes. I regret your toilet and sink do not work, but there is a bathroom in the hall one door down from your room." The man went back to his newspaper as if the American visitor had simply vanished. Taking his typewriter and TWA bag, Bane ascended the creaking stairs and found his room had a simple cardboard tag that read 12 tacked to its door.
It was as dismal as he had expected. One look at the bed convinced him he would sleep on the floor. After glancing in the bathroom, he closed its door and never opened it again. A grimy rectangular window let in sufficient light and was big enough that he could dive through it for a quick exit if necessary. There were two sturdy chairs, a folding table with some yellowing newspapers still on it and a radiator under the window. No TV, not even a radio. Hanging on the closet door was a cracked full-length mirror.
One of Bane's rare and barely perceptible smiles touched his face. He had once hidden from the police for two days in a crawlspace above an attic and he reflected that he would prefer that crawlspace to this room. Stowing his typewriter and travel bag in the closet, he glanced at his watch and saw it was almost exactly twelve. The Midnight War was not named that without reason. This was the hour when the children of the night began to stir in earnest and what was impossible in daylight became the norm. He locked the door behind him, not having any faith his room would not be searched or looted anyway, and trotted down the stairs.
He found a side exit door next to the bottom of the stairs, propped open with a rock, and slid out into the alley between the hotel and the building next to it. Bane was increasingly certain he had already met the infamous Shiro Mitsuru an hour ago in that confrontation with the three gangsters. Now he needed to find the other player in this game, the dancer Laura Lye.
III.
By the harbor where the rhythmic slapping of waves against piers never ceased entirely, hundreds of small boats were tied to each other to form a loose chain which covered the water. Families lived their lives out on those boats, hopping from one craft to the next and seldom coming onto land itself for long stretches. Even now, the late night was punctuated by the sound of laughter and jesting from one boat, the cry of a baby, the curses of an argument, even the brittle violence of a fight.
Along the docks where the network of boats bobbed ceaselessly, a rickety three story building leaned up against its neighbor. Light spilled out from oilcloth-covered windows onto the damp street. Jeremy Bane approached this building warily, spotting the two guards who squatted on stools in the alleys on either side. Hanging from a beam that projected out over the door was a wooden sign that depicted a painting of two lotus blossoms floating in a pond. The ideograms he had memorized so intently on the plane journey marked this as the cafe he was seeking.
The door itself had been slid into its track in the wall, and only a curtain of hanging beads was in his way as Bane entered the dim interior. He recognized the sweet tang of opium in the air as well as the odor of spilled wine, both masked by heavy cigarette smoke. Along one wall was a bar behind which two attendants stood, and at the end of that bar was a narrow staircase leading upward. The floor space was taken up with small round tables big enough for three or four men to sit around comfortably, each table holding a tall burning candle in a tin stand. What a fire hazard, Bane thought as he walked up to the bar.
No one seemed to take particular notice of him. He was by no means the only patron there not of Asian descent. A few sub-Saharan Africans in colorful robes, two blond Europeans in linen suits, a solitary South American who closely resembled Inca ancestors, all sat conscientiously tending their own business. Bane leaned on the bar, got the attention of the man wiping the surface and ordered a glass of rice wine. It wasn't that he wanted a drink, it was his limited vocabulary that made his choice for him. The Dire Wolf put some American money on the bar and found it was deemed acceptable. He took a single mouthful of the wine and prepared to hold onto the glass the rest of the night if necessary.
After a long boring stasis which the restless Bane found difficult to endure, chimes sounded behind the bar. The men seated at their tables perked up and came back to life as if struck by a gust of fresh cold air. Racing down the stairs and leaping nimbly up onto the nearest table was a tall slim woman in a brilliant crimson dress that almost shone in the candlelight. Behind the bar, the attendant plucked quickly on a sort of mandolin with two necks and to that strange melody the redheaded woman sprang from table to table.
It was a hypnotic performance. Agile and surefooted, the woman went from table to table without her bare feet ever grazing a beer mug or touching a flickering candle in its stand. She was never still an instant. With long free hair the same brilliant hue as her tight dress, the woman moved around the cafe on the tables. Everyone froze in position, almost holding their breath as they stared intently. Perfect pale legs flashed in and out of view as she danced in the long slit skirt, arms swirling in complex patterns.
Finally, pausing on the single table against a wall reserved for her, the redhead began to sing a slow, mournful ballad in a voice clear as crystal and sad as all the longing in the world. The words were Chinese, so Bane couldn't follow it at all but he understood the melancholy in the voice. Then, finishing with a long high note that cut off sharply, the woman bowed from the waist to the crowd and stepped down to skip lightly up the stairs again.
"We have been blessed with Laura Lye!" called out the bartender, clapping to begin the applause. After the cheers and demands for more settled down, men went up to the table where Laura Lye had sung her number and left crumbled bills as tribute. Once that ended, an elderly woman in a cheongsam hobbled over and carefully tucked all the money into a wicker box she took with her.
In the corner of the bar furthest from everyone, Bane reluctantly took the smallest sip of the wine and considered his next move. Music had little effect on him under the best of circumstances, but he certainly had admired the woman's agility and grace hopping from table to table like that without a single misstep. He looked up as the bartender leaned closer and said in barely understandable English, "You go. That door," and indicated a narrow wooden panel behind them that had no handle or keyhole.
IV.
Checking that no one was watching him at the moment, the Dire Wolf stood up and slipped silently through the wooden panel to find himself in a courtyard bordered at the rear with a wooden fence. Two packing crates and a broken chair leaned up against the wall through which he had just passed. Standing before him in the vague light from the cafe windows was a slender figure wrapped in a white wool robe. She had tucked the red hair up under a silk cap, but Laura Lye was still immediately recognizable. She took one long drag on a cigarette and flicked it into a puddle near her now-slippered feet.
"I must say," she began in a husky voice, "that Wynkoop is selecting his agents younger and younger these days. Are you even out of high school?"
Bane stepped in closer without answering immediately. He could not judge her age in the uncertain light but her skin tones and oblique green eyes marked her as a natural redhead. "You've been expecting me."
"Oh yes. We both know the same old man with the ridiculous billy goat whiskers. He is manipulating us on his vast chess board and I gather you are the opening move."
"If you say so," the Dire Wolf said. "Look, I'm blunt by nature. Spare me the fancy phrases. I'm after a tiny piece of paper no bigger than your fingernail. My goal is getting it and then stopping Wu Lung's plans."
Laura Lye smiled in the most wistful way. "You dream large dreams if you think you can oppose the Dragon of War, my friend."
"We'll see. Come on, what you can tell me?"
"I hear nearly everything that happens in the dirty shadows of this island," she answered. "The information dot is in the hands of the most dangerous man you will ever meet in this life. His parents were officers of the White Web but he is their enemy and they have lost many of their assassins by trying to kill him. Toshiro Mitsuru, known as Tiger Fury. If you think you can pry that microdot from the Tiger Fury's hand, you are confident indeed."
"We'll see," Bane repeated. "What's his story? What makes him such a tough guy?"
Laura Lye took another cigarette from within her robe and lit it herself, while Bane watched. "Oh, that is droll. Young man, you have much to learn. Very well. Twenty years ago, a Japanese man and his Chinese bride stole nearly all the treasury of the White Web headquarters in Tokyo. They had planned their treachery and immediately began to race from nation to nation, staying nowhere more than one night. They were wealthier than the capitalist barons of your own country, yet they could not rest and enjoy their riches."
"Yeah? And what about this Mitsuru guy?"
"He was their infant son. Both parents had been masters of their respective martial arts. Using their millions, they had little Toshiro instructed in fighting arts in every land on Earth. He grew up on the run studying nothing else. Every available Asian art. The most obscure Russian wrestling, the spinning kicks of Brazil, the brutal style of Greek pankration... Toshiro mastered them all." She drew on the cigarette and its flare reflected in the green eyes watching Bane thoughtfully.
The Dire Wolf made a scoffing noise, arms folded as he met her gaze. "He sounds like a rough customer. But him and me, we haven't tangled yet."
"It is no joking matter!" she snapped. "If Mitsuru thinks you have come to Xiao-sing to take that microdot away, he will kill you with one blow."
"He can try..." Bane said. "The Mandate wants their report back and Wynkoop asked me to retrieve it. What does this Mitsuru guy plan to do with the dot?"
Casting the cigarette to the ground, she studied him for an instant. "Shiro hates Wu Lung with a rage. I believe he intends to sell the dot to whichever intelligence agency he thinks can use it best. CIA, MI6, INTERCEPT, STIGMA, I doubt if he cares who purchases it as long as the information will be used to deal Wu Lung a heavy blow."
Bane made no comment. Suddenly his posture and expression had tightened. Without explanation, he roughly shoved Laura Lye hard to one side, making her fall to the dirty courtyard. The Dire Wolf swung around, his arm blurring in an arc and there was a faint clatter as something small hit the stone paving. Over the top of the fence, a dark form showed with a long tube held to its mouth. A puff of expelled breath sounded and again Bane swung his hand so quickly that Laura Lye only realized it had moved because he had slapped something out of the air to hit the ground near her.
It was a handcarved wooden dart. The sharpened tip was sticky with dark tar. The Mandate operative gulped aloud despite her training at seeing such a deadly weapon almost tag her. As she cautiously raised her head, she saw the young American returning from where he had rushed over to the fence.
"Got away," Bane admitted. "I don't know these alleys. There's no way I could catch him. You better get inside, lady."
Rising to her feet, brushing mud off her robe, Laura Lye seemed disoriented by the sudden flurry of activity. "Killers of the White Web. Those are poison darts they fire from a blowtube. And you... I can't believe it. You slapped them out of the air just like that?"
"I'm a little quicker than most people," the Dire Wolf said. "Go on, get inside before another assassin tries from a different angle."
"Yes. Yes. I must dance again soon." She came close to Bane and pressed her hands to his lean chest. "You saved my life just now. I will be safe inside the cafe with my friends but I want you to come back here tomorrow at noon. We can talk."
"Suits me," he answered. "I've got a lot to think over right now. Stay safe, lady."
"Please, call me Laura. Of course, it's not my real name, I mean 'Lorelei'... really? but I have come to like it."
"Sure, Laura. I'll see you tomorrow." Without a backward glance, Bane ran toward the fence at the rear of the courtyard, placed one hand at its top and lightly vaulted over it to disappear silently into the night.
V.
Dawn was near when the tavern finally had finally urged its last patron stumbling out into the streets. Laura Lye counted out her tips from the box the elderly woman guarded, split a small portion with her and then started up the stairs to her rooms on the third floor. The redhead was so tired that her head hurt. The third floor of the Two Blossoms In Water was originally an attic and had a steeply slanted ceiling, with only enough space for her one room. She froze on the top step as she saw the man waiting for her.
Shiro Mitsuru was still wearing the black trousers and dark brown shirt he had on earlier that day, but he now carried a small canvas bag slung over one shoulder. The Tiger Fury stood with hands on hips, feet well apart, watching her with a not entirely friendly eye.
"The man with the blowpipe is dead," he announced without preamble. "He was a South Seas Islander, not from this part of this world. I happened to see his attack. Your little American friend has impressive reflexes, Laura."
"Shiro! Oh, I am glad to see you. Please come in."
"Better that I don't," he answered. "Your lovers seem to meet sudden fates. I have heard rumors of this Dire Wolf kid. What is his business with you?"
Shaking out a pack of cigarettes and finding only one left, Laura Lye fired it up anyway. "That's what I want to warn you about, love. I found out that STIGMA has sent him to kill you, Shiro."
"Kill ME?" he answered with obvious amusement. "That's funny. And why does STIGMA's criminal enterprise bear me such ill will?" Shiro had the faintest British accent, only noticeable in certain phrases. As he spoke, he studied Laura Lye intently.
"They want that microdot. I believe they are afraid you will not sell it to them and they worry about what Wu Lung has planned." She gently exhaled two streams of smoke from her nostrils and met his appraising gaze. "Wu Lung is one of the few great masterminds remaining not to align himself with STIGMA."
"The Dragon of War thinks he is meant to be a new Emperor," Shiro said. "STIGMA is a bunch of fools. I don't have that microdot. I've never even seen it."
She came up to him, so close he could see the tiny golden speckles that marked her green eyes. "I wish we were closer, Tiger Fury. You and I could accomplish so much together."
Shiro smiled and backed up a step, then headed back toward the window in the wall behind him. "You're a beautiful woman, Laura. I'm tempted, of course. We have found some pleasure together. But I have my own agenda and my own plans. Being accepted at Tel Shai changes everything. I will have to act much more noble if I want to be a Tel Shai knight."
"I have asked the Dire Wolf to meet me here tomorrow at noon. The owner will be out shopping and old Mai-Li sleeps until late afternoon. Perhaps you might want to observe him."
"Or do more than observe," Shiro said with a sudden edge in his voice. "STIGMA needs to realize it is bad policy to send a Western child to try to murder me." He crouched by the open window, swung his legs around and plunged out into darkness. She did not hear him hit the courtyard three stories below. Left behind, Laura Lye finished her cigarette and went over to fasten the window tightly shut before entering her rooms.
VI.
Bane had prowled the dark city for an hour without spotting anyone who might be a White Web assassin. Unknown to him, he walked past a pile of mildewed rags against one wall which concealed the corpse of the man who had blown the darts at him. Shiro Mitsuru had snapped the man's neck and hidden the body before going to meet with Laura Lye.
As he headed back to the hovel where he had rented a room, the Dire Wolf paused as he found a vendor still on the street. He purchased two bamboo skewers holding pieces of roasted chicken, as well a sticky rice ball. He had devoured it all before reaching his destination. By now, all the men in the lobby were asleep on their mattresses, many snoring drunkenly. Bane went up to the second floor, found the hall bathroom unoccupied and used the toilet, then scrubbed his hands and face as best he could with the tepid water. He unlocked the door to his room stealthily and plunged into the darkness to find no ambush waiting for him. Securing the door and window, the Dire Wolf allowed himself a sigh of weariness. He did not have the feeling that he was solidly on top of the situation yet. There was a nagging sensation in the back of his mind that he was missing many pieces to any puzzle that had to be solved.
Stretching out on the bare floor, using his travel bag as a pillow, Bane dropped off to sleep quickly. He was used to hardship and had gotten along fine under less comfortable conditions. After five hours, he stirred. With his hyperactive metabolism, that was as much sleep as he ordinarily needed. Checking out the bathroom in the hall, he quickly washed again and then returned to his room. From his travel bag, he took fresh socks and underwear and a clean turtleneck. The shirt he had worn the day before he hung from a nail on the closet door to air out a little. It was so humid in Xaio-sin that he was already damp again. Without hot water, shaving was an unappealing prospect and he decided to skip it for the moment.
Outside, he found the streets so crowded and hectic that it seemed like a completely different city from the somber maze he had explored the night before. There were hours before he was supposed to meet Laura Lye. Walking back toward the airport, Bane found the Western style restaurant was open and he gratefully dug into a huge breakfast. One price for his extra speed was a constant hunger. The Dire Wolf ate enough for two men his size and finally felt satisfied. Finding that men's room in the restaurant had hot water, he stripped to the waist and quickly scrubbed himself as thoroughly as he could before heading out again.
Returning to the airport, he headed for the row of pay phones. Of course, considering the country's paranoia, he could be certain that someone in a cubbyhole would be listening to every word. Bane placed a person to person call to New York City and spent twenty minutes talking to Kenneth Dred. The pretense was that Dred was his uncle who had managed to get him a job on the WASHINGTON POST and their conversation was innocuous chatter about the flight, what he thought of the city, had he written any material yet and so forth. Bane closed by promising to be careful and not get in any trouble drinking or chasing girls in a strange country.
After Kenneth Dred wished him well and demanded frequent phone calls until he was safely home again, Bane hung up, struggling with unfamiliar emotions. Working for Dred was making him go soft, he feared. He had only survived as a street child by caring for no one and letting no one get too close. But Kenneth Dred, finding in the Dire Wolf the protege and perhaps son-figure he had always wanted, had broken down much of Bane's shell without even trying to. As he left the airport and headed back toward where the cafe was, the young man wondered if this could be what they called homesickness.
Approaching the Two Blossoms In Water again, he saw a broom leaning up against the outer wall. The door was open again, and he pushed through the curtain of beads to find an empty room. Tables had been pushed back against the walls and stacked two high. It looked as if the floor had been mopped, too. Some of the pungent odor had been lessened with a citrus rub of some sort.
As soon as he stepped through that doorway, all of Bane's instincts of danger flared up. Even though no one was in sight, just the faintest rasp of cloth on wood, the subdued breathing of hidden watchers, was more than enough. He took a few more steps into the cleared space and readied himself for the attack he sensed was imminent.
Suddenly, without a hint of footsteps, Shiro Mitsuru was standing on the other side of the cafe, closing the kitchen door behind him. The Tiger Fury had changed into a tight Navy blue shirt with short sleeves, but the same baggy trousers. "I believe you wanted to meet me, son," he said.
"Oh, cut it out," Bane answered with his usual impatience. "You're, what, four or five years older than me? I'm here to negotiate for the microdot that you stole from the Mandate agents."
"What? You are so wrong on several counts, Dire Wolf. I do not have that microdot. Nor did it belong to the Mandate in the first place. The Mandate has been trying to steal it themselves from STIGMA."
Bane shook his head. "That won't wash, Shiro. If you won't give it up willingly, I'll just have to take it." Even in the tension of the moment, part of his mind wondered why he had addressed this man by his first name. It had felt natural.
The Tiger Fury clasped his fingers and bent them outwards to make a cracking noise. "There you have it. I knew as soon as we met that it would end up this way."
Without circling or preliminary feints, both men hurtled headlong at each other. There was a split-second crackle of sharp impacts and they both backed off just as quickly. Bane shook his head and Shiro touched his shoulder, both with disbelieving expressions. The second time they approached each other, it was with more caution. The young Dire Wolf had intensively studied the Black Mantis style for a year under Sifu Yuan, but he didn't use it much. Most of Bane's training had been at Mahoney's Gym and he moved forward with a boxer's light bouncing step, both fists up in front of him. Shiro leaned back in a cat stance, weight on his rear leg and raised open hands in tiger claw position.
The Dire Wolf came in and struck so fast his arms almost hummed. Right jab and left hook whipped out and were barely slapped aside with soft palm blocks. As the second punch went past him, Shiro pushed Bane's arm further to turn him off-balance. In the same motion, the Tiger Fury threw a perfect straight forefist that nailed Bane on the side of the jaw. The Dire Wolf fell back a step. Shiro expected the Westerner's defenses to be lowered after that impact and he moved in for an elbow strike to the neck but he was surprised to run directly into a sharp jab that exploded exactly on the point of his chin. Bane had good timing and judgement of distance, he realized.
The pattern repeated itself for the next few minutes as the two men clashed briefly over and over and then drew back. Shiro was awed by just how fast Bane was, but long years of experience in a dozen martial arts quickly began to tip the duel. Their forearms began to throb as they blocked one blow after another. As the Dire Wolf hopped in close with a quick one-two sequence, the upper left side of his body was left exposed. Shiro swung up his right leg in a high hooking kick that thumped down on Bane's left shoulder and knocked him to his knees.
Instantly, the Dire Wolf was surging up again to attack, but he made the mistake of leaving his head pointing down. A savage elbow strike down to the back of the neck dropped him almost senseless to his hands and knees. As Bane fell face down, Shiro swung around to plant a knee between his opponent's shoulder blades and to yank the Dire Wolf's arm up straight.
"Hold still! It's over," the Tiger Fury gasped, more out of breath than he had been in years. Five minutes of combat at that elevated level was punishing to any flesh and blood body. "I can break your arm before you can do anything."
From the floor, Bane started to draw one leg up under him but stopped as he felt his captured arm being twisted agonizingly. "Damn. Damn. Okay, I admit it, you're pretty good."
"You're not a normal Human," Shiro said. "If you had Kumundu training, with that speed, you'd be almost impossible to beat. What's your secret?"
"I was born this way," answered the Dire Wolf. "Okay, ease up on the arm, Shiro. I might need it someday. Let's try negotiating again."
Shiro laughed at the brazen change of approach. "Are you still under orders to kill me? Because I can't allow that, son."
"Huh? No, that's crazy. Nobody said anything about killing you. I was asked by Wynkoop to recover the microdot for the Mandate."
"It was never theirs to recover," Shiro said. "That devious old man sent you here to steal what isn't his. And what makes you think I have it anyway?"
"Laura Lye said so." Bane felt his arm being released slightly just before the circulation would have been cut off too long. "She said you wanted to auction it off."
Letting go, the Tiger Fury stood up and his voice had changed. "She was the one who warned me you had been sent here by STIGMA to assassinate me. The best way to deal with two growling dogs is to set them fighting each other."
"Looks like we might need to have a talk with her." Bane sat up, massaging his numb arm with his other hand. "How well do you know her?"
"I liked her well enough. But, how well do you ever know a spy?" asked Shiro. He watched the Dire Wolf get up at arm's length but both were standing in postures that indicated the fight was over for the moment in any case. Neither of them seemed eager to start trading blows again. "You can't believe them when they tell you what day of the week it is..."
From the top of the stairs came a thud and a crash as if furniture had been overturned.
VII.
As they both flashed up to the top floor, one of the White Web assassins was beginning to stick a leg out through the open window near Laura's door, ready to escape. Shiro yanked the man back inside with one hand and flung him brutally to the floor. Even as the White Web killer cried out in surprise, a slippered foot stamped down to crush his windpipe. From his sash, a knife with a short wide blade clattered out. Bane came around behind Shiro to peer out the window and saw a thin cord hanging down the outside of the building to the courtyard.
"They thought they would search here while we fought," the Tiger Fury said. "Probably they hoped one of us would kill the other."
"Or that at least we'd be too occupied to notice them." Bane found the door to Laura Lye's room had been left ajar and he took a long somber look inside before stepping to let Shiro enter. As the Tiger Fury passed by, Bane went back to begin searching the dead assassin.
In the dancer's room, two chairs had been overturned and the slim body of Laura Lye was stretched out on the rug between them, lying on her back. She was wearing a flimsy white nightshirt of silk that now had a brilliant red blot spreading across its front but she was still alive. The Tiger Fury bent over her, touched her wrist and shook his head grimly as Bane entered.
Despite the heavy bleeding, her voice was still clear and strong. "Ah, Shiro. I am so sorry. I have never been a greater fool than when I used you..."
"Don't talk," he said. "Help is coming. Hold on."
"I know better. It's so cold in here. I know what that means. Shiro, we could have gone off together, I know you were beginning to feel something for me."
"I still do," the Tiger Fury told her. He lifted her upper body carefully and saw how wide and deep the wound was. "The first time I saw you dance, you took part of me."
Bane said nothing, staying well back and watching in silence.
"But nobody trusts me," she said as her voice became fainter. "I betrayed the Mandate because STIGMA paid better, and then I crossed STIGMA because I was afraid of the White Web. There are no more bridges left to burn. I can't go forward... or back, dear.."
The actual moment of her death was imperceptible. She did not take in a further breath, and that was all. Shiro lowered her back down to the floor and folded her red dancing dress from its hanger on the wall to cover her face. He rose, saw the blood on his shirt from where he had been holding her and stripped to the waist.
"I'm sorry," Bane told the man. "It sounds stupid but I can't think of anything better to say."
"That's all you need to say, believe me. Do you smell the smoke from burning bridges? It's a reminder to keep faith and hold to honor." Shiro exhaled deeply and uprighted one of the chairs to sit down. "She made all the wrong choices, Dire Wolf."
"So I guess she hoped the White Web and whoever would be after you for the microdot, which she actually had hidden. We were decoys. I'll stick to being straight with you," Bane said. "I found the microdot on the assassin out in the hall." He held up a thumb on which a small clear square of film was stuck. "This is what the violence was all about. It seems so tiny to have caused all this."
"We won't have long before more company," Toshiro Mitsuru said. "Laura Lye had many admirers and even the incompetent Xiaio-sing police will not be able to sleep through this." He slowly got up again and looked around the room. It had not been searched thoroughly but the woman's luggage had been torn apart. He knelt and opened a metal case to reveal a curious electronic device that resembled a folding microscope. "I know how to work this viewer," he said, holding out one hand into which Bane placed the microdot.
After a few minutes, Shiro sighed and handed the viewer over to the Dire Wolf. "Take a look. I think it's important you see this."
Holding the battery-powered viewer, Bane adjusted the field of vision and studied what he saw. Through the lense, the tiny blur resolved itself into a page of dense print. Bane took his time reading before handing the device back.
"Nothing about Wu Lung on there," he said at last. "It's all personal stuff about British politicians. Sex scandal material. Not what I was after at all."
"You see what weasels we deal with," Shiro said. He removed the little square of plastic and dropped it down into the sink in Laura's bathroom, running the lukewarm water until he was sure the microdot was lost beyond retrieving. "It was only sleazy information that could be used for blackmail against the House of Commons."
"And it didn't belong to the Mandate in the first place?" Bane asked. "Wynkoop just told me that so I would cooperate."
The Tiger Fury rolled up his bloodstained shirt and stood gazing down at the covered form on the floor. "Not that it matters who gathered that dirt. Spy groups all use deceit and death the way a carpenter uses his tools. We should go now, Dire Wolf. I will be leaving Xiao-sing. Back to Macau, I think, I want to meet with a Choy Li Fut sifu."
For once, the ferocious grey eyes were introspective and subdued as Bane met Shiro's gaze. "I'll be going back to New York, and not a moment too soon. I will never work with the Mandate after this."
"Let's go," Shiro said, leading the younger man from the room. "But don't say never. There may be times when you will need the Mandates's help. You may agree to act for them against deadly enemies only after you have satisfied yourself what the facts are."
Closing the door behind them, Bane looked over at where the corpse of the White Web assassin still sprawled with its mouth open. "If you say so," he told the Tiger Fury. "Right now, I feel like pulling that old man Wynkoop out of his chair and shaking the smugness out of him. Using me the way he did...!"
"Let's go," Shiro repeated, heading down the stairs. "Jeremy, let me tell you that in the Midnight War you should not burn too many of those bridges. You will need them again. Temporary alliances with the enemy of your enemies can be worked out. I'm afraid you have some hard lessons ahead of you. Just as I did!"
At the bottom of the stairs, the two men emerged into the empty courtyard. No one was in sight, although voices and cars passing could be heard from the other side of the cafe. Shiro made a tighter bundle of his stained shirt and said, "This needs to go in the harbor right away, tied to a rock. Take care, Dire Wolf. Watch and learn and grow wise in the way that only sorrow makes us wise."
Jeremy Bane took a deep breath of the hot humid air and felt relief as his adrenalin levels dropped down to normal. "I suppose we'll meet again, Shiro."
"Yes. Midnight War is a small world all its own," the Tiger Fury answered as he strode away to vault easily over the wooden fence into the maze of alleys beyond, "And both our stories are far from over."
10/13/2016
