"Hunting the Hunters"
May. 27th, 2022 02:36 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dochermes"Hunting the Hunters"
5/23-5/24/1983
I.
The country was in an uproar for several reasons that spring, including the latest in a series of particularly blatant political scandals. The price of gas at the pumps had jumped by thirty per cent without explanation, and a bridge in the Midwest had collapsed with a dozen cars on it because the state budget did not cover upkeep. But along with these outrages, giving them a darker and more ominous undertone, were the activities of the Reaper.
There had been eight deaths by late May. All the victims were middle-aged men of Italian descent, all known by the FBI as mid-level decision makers in the Mafia, part of the Giacomo family. The bodies had been found where the victims should have been completely safe... in their offices and homes, at bowling alleys and restaurants run by their immediately family. In each case, cause of death was a deep gash across the throat down to the bone, giving them a red grin from ear to ear. Folded tightly in the right hand of each victim was a miniature sickle, hand-crafted, about five inches long. It was this trademark that led the FBI and police to call these the Reaper Killings.
No one saw even a glimpse of the mysterious killer. Security cameras blurred at the time of the murders, guards became dazed and could not clearly remember events for twenty minutes at those times. Locked doors were opened somehow, all the precautions taken by wary and suspicious mobsters had failed. Superstition boiled to the surface, as many of the Mafioso believed they were being punished for their sins by some supernatural avenger. Some even whispered in private that maybe they deserved it.
Investigating the crimes, which took place in three states and so fell under federal jurisdiction, the FBI quietly brought in Department 21 Black, six agents who specialized in the inexplicable, the uncanny, the seeming supernatural. They investigated for two weeks, conferred, and phoned a certain old building on East 38th Street in New York City...
At four-thirty on a warm afternoon, Tony Gambella sat by his kidney-shaped swimming pool and debated going in quickly before dinner. In his twenty-acre estate here on the far end of Long Island, he had all the privacy and safety he could ask. At sixty, Gambella had given up on trying to reign his belly down to manageable proportions and he wore a thin white button-front shirt over it. He put down his copy of the DAILY NEWS and scowled unhappily. Two of the boys had been forced to give a beating to a laundromat owner who balked at paying "insurance" and now it looked as if the man wasn't going to survive. That was bad procedure. The clients needed to be hurt and frightened but not killed. Now he had to decide how to discipline his two thugsing
Gambella jerked his head as he caught something from the corner of his eye. There! By the woods, a flash of bright blue light. What could that be? He sat up in the lawn chair and peered myopically as he spotted a man emerging from between the trees and striding determinedly toward him. The two bodyguards who were standing discreetly out of his line of vision had seen the blue flash too, and they moved to stand on either side of him. Both were huge beefy hulks looking uncomfortable in their business suits. Like Gambella, they stared in disbelief at the approaching man How had he gotten past the alarms in the stone wall, past the watchers, past the closed-circuit TV monitors? The same dread name swam up unbidden in their minds.. The Reaper.
As the stranger came closer, Gambella suddenly recognized him. Young, no more than mid-twenties. Six feet tall and skinny, dressed all in black, with dark hair and cold angry grey eyes. It was! It couldn't be anyone else. "Jeeez," he breathed, "Jeremy Bane."
Struggling to his feet, the Mafia boss shouted, "What do you think you're doing here? This is private property...!"
"Save it," said the Dire Wolf in a low quiet voice. "I'm here to protect you. You should be glad to see me."
The two bodyguards started to move to flank Bane, but he seemed not to notice. "The FBI contacted me. They have reason to believe that you are next on the Reaper's hit list."
"The what? Reaper? Come on, kid, no one really believes that crap. Everyone knows it's the cops murdering people in our business and blaming it on some made-up vigilante." Gambella nodded his head at his two enforcers and they simultaneously moved in on the intruder. They came from left and right, big hands open to seize this lunatic who dared trespass on the boss' domain.
There was a sharp cracking noise and the thug on the left back staggered back as his head snapped to one side. Bane was just lowering his leg. No one had been able to follow that high side kick, it had blurred out too fast, and now the Dire Wolf swung around just as the other bodyguard had yanked a .45 automatic from his belt and was bringing it up. Bane lunged in, twisted the gun out of the man's hand and smacked it brutally across his face. The thug staggered and cried out, but it took a second blow with the gun to drop him to the lawn. Bane tossed the automatic to one side and saw Gambella making a run for it.
Lumbering across the grass as fast as he could, the mobster was screaming, "Joey! Vinnie! Get your asses out here!" Gambella glanced back over one shoulder and almost had cardiac arrest as he saw Jeremy Bane closing in like lightning. The mobster faltered and was tackled headlong and brought to the ground. Bane rolled him over on his back and crashed a to the an elbow to the jaw that rattled Gambella's brain and made him see lights.
"You guys always want to do it the hard way," the Dire Wolf sighed as he hauled Gambella to his feet. "Now we're going to have that talk anyway."
___
At one-thirty that morning, a dark shape squatted at the bottom of Gambella's swimming pool. In the overcast gloom, no human eye would have spotted Bane sitting on his hands and knees, trying to be patient. He was wearing the field suit, with its jacket and pants and boots all watertight after the seals were closed. The helmet with its visor down was sealed to the high collar of the jacket, and he was breathing through the built-in oxygen membrane in the helmet's mandible.
The oxygen membrane was only three molecules thick, each layer performing a different function. It did indeed extract breathable oxygen from water, but only to a limited extent. Bane could stay beneath the surface indefinitely but he was not getting enough to breathe for strenuous activity. He had been in this pool since sunset and was getting incredibly restless. Patience was not something he was good at. Near the lawn chair just above him and by the front of the flashy three-story mini-mansion were tiny cameras he had set up that afternoon. Bane tapped the left ear pod of his helmet to switch back and forth between the images projected on the inside of his visor. Nothing suspicious so far.
He restrained a growl. Smashing the mob was not his agenda. His KDF had been established to fight the secret Midnight War, it was what the Order of Tel Shai sponsored him to do and it was what the KDF members had signed up for. But, sometimes when Midnight War was in a lull, he had toyed with the idea of tackling a few rackets and breaking them up. Not that they wouldn't quickly reform as new crooks stepped up to fill the void, but it would give him some satisfaction.
Studying the image on his visor, Bane suddenly sat up. A man was walking slowly across the lawn toward the pool. The light-enhanced image showed a figure of average height and weight but details were slightly blurred and obscure. This was a sign of gralic energy. As the man neared, Bane straightened up and slowly raised his head above the surface of the water for a better look. He spotted the intruder already passing the pool, heading grimly toward the house. His back was to Bane as the Dire Wolf slowly raised himself from the water, getting up on one knee and rising to his feet. With the light enhancing factor in his visor, he was getting a decent view of the stranger and he recorded a few images.
As the Wolf stood up by the pool, he was surprised to see the intruder stiffen and turn around. What could have given him away? He would have sworn his movements had been absolutely silent, not even a drop splashing off his water-repellent field suit, but somehow the man knew. Bane hooked his fingers around the butt of the anesthetic dart gun and whipped it up but in that split-second, a flare of bright blue light crackled from the intruder and blasted into him with impact that lifted him off his feet and onto his back. Everything began to spin and he was dazed by the shock.
Struggling back up on his hands and knees, the Dire Wolf tried to clear his head but it seemed to take forever. Inside the collar of his suit was a protective Eldar talisman that had dispersed some of that gralic blast, which helped. He stood up, swayed and almost fell, then remained there taking deep slow breaths until he could walk. The dart gun remained where it had been dropped and he picked it up to reholster it. Even in his slightly disoriented state, he was puzzling why the gralic force that hit him had been blue rather than red.
The big house was silent. Bane started walking toward it, feeling stronger every second. A bodyguard was slumped in a lawn chair by the back door, but he had a pulse and was breathing. Bane entered the house and went past another stunned thug on the kitchen floor. Figuring the bedrooms were usually on the top floor, he made his way up the stairs and saw light coming from an open room.
There was no sign of the wife, she must have been sent away for the moment. The frills and knicknacks on shelves and a dozen family photos showed there was a Mrs Gambella, though. Sprawled across a big canopied double bed was the corpse of Lou Gambella, his throat gaping open and blood still fresh and wet on the white silk pajamas. Bane stepped closer and pried open the man's cold fingers just enough to reveal the miniature sickle clenched in them.
II.
It was almost noon before Bane drove into the small garage underneath KDF headquarters and wearily got out of his Mustang. Hours of answering the same questions over and over, of carefully reading statements before signing them, of walking the 21 Black agents over the scene, had all worn him out as fighting never did. He went down the narrow corridor and up the steep concrete steps to emerge in the front hall. Cindy jumped up from the couch in the reception room across that hall and came to meet him.
Just over five feet tall and just under one hundred pounds, Cynthia Lee Brunner had dark blonde hair tied in two pigtails on either side of her inquisitive freckled face. She was wearing white sneakers, faded old jeans and a sweatshirt much too large for her. As soon as Bane had neared 38th Street, their telepathic rapport had established itself. She hugged him and steered him toward the stairs which led upward.
"You've been awake for more than thirty hours," she said in her low husky voice. "I think a nap is what you need. Even an hour or two will recharge you. Come on now, we can talk afterwards."
Even Bane had to agree. That gralic blast had shaken him more than he had expected. First, he handed her his helmet and said, "There should be a few snapshots of the Reaper in the sensors. Maybe you can study them. I'll be back down in a little while." He headed up to his room on the third floor.
Taking the helmet into the reception room, Cindy placed it on Bane's desk and dug around to find a Philips-head screwdriver. Where the heck..? Okay, there it was. Carefully, she opened the horizontal ridge over the helmet's visor and removed a flat electronic device no longer than her pinky. This, like so much of the field suits and helmets, was the product of Trom technology way more advanced than Human knowledge could match. She had no idea how these gadgets worked but that didn't bother her, since even the best Human electronic experts would be baffled by them as well.
Quietly as she could, the little blonde went up to the second floor and opened the door to the darkroom. Under a dim red bulb, she laid out four sheets of 8x10 light-sensitive paper on the marble counter and projected an image from the sensor onto two of them at high intensity. Fiddling with the controls of the sensor, Cindy tightened the images to the top third and projected those onto the other two sheets. She clicked off the red light and counted to thirty, letting the images set. That should do it. Cindy glanced up at the ceiling and could tell that Bane was asleep, not even dreaming, in bed directly above her. Good. She went into the conference room next door and tacked the four sheets of paper up on the bulletin board.
Stepping back, folding her arms over her breasts, Cindy studied the pictures. They showed a man in dark clothing, maybe thirty years old. Average height and build, with short curly black hair and an oval face. There was a pistol in a flap holster at his waist. In the second picture, he had turned around and there was a close-up of his face. Heavy eyebrows, dark eyes, a beaklike nose like the ancient Romans, a thin mouth over a round chin. So familiar. She could not quite remember him.
Running down the stairs to fetch Bane's helmet, the telepath brought it up to the conference room and painstakingly replaced the sensors in the crest and tightened everything back together. She lowered the helmet over her own head and checked that all functions were normal. That was a relief. Only their colleague Leonard Slade, a Trom himself, could repair or replace some of their equipment and she dreaded breaking anything because it meant listening to a long boring speech about being careful. As she was shutting the helmet down, Cindy suddenly grinned.
"Cesare," she said under her breath. Of course. Cesare Ferraro. She had only met him once at Tel Shai, back when she herself was a novice just accepted as a student. Now she remembered. Cesare had tried to get to know her, but his mind had revealed he really only wanted sex with the curvy little teenager and he had no interest in her beyond that. At that time, she was singlemindedly determined to get a relationship going with the repressed and inaccessible Jeremy Bane. THAT had been a struggle.
She went over to study the pictures again. Cesare Ferraro. Five years had passed since she had met him. What was his story again? Cesare had been studying Kerwandu at Tel Shai, training to be a Blue Guide. His mother Gina had been a famous Blue Guide back in the 1960s. But for whatever reason, Cesare had been dismissed by the Teachers and sent away from Tel Shai with his training incomplete. She hadn't been there the day he was expelled but she had heard it had been a bitter scene.
Cindy went to the phone and dialed. "Ted? Hi yourself! What's your schedule today? Really? Well, maybe you've got tonight off from the hospital but there's Tel Shai business you need to learn about. Okay. See ya when you get here." She hung up and headed for the kitchen on the first floor. Not only was she herself hungry, but she knew Bane would be starving when he awoke. Some grilled double cheese sandwiches with tomato slices and chicken pot pie soup sounded good to her.
III.
"We will be leaving now, Cat's-Claw," said Mughal. He stood by the door to the hotel room, suitcase by his feet. The elder had a short white beard and a bald spot on the back of his head. His English was heavily accented. "Tambu is down in the lobby already."
Kwali turned away from the window where he had been staring out at the skyline. Even for a Bakwanga, he was big. Five inches over six feet tall, powerfully built, he was an imposing sight without trying to be. Kwali was darker than his fellow Danarakan, his skin a deeper, richer brown and his features more somber. Strangely, his eyes were a pale green that seemed almost lambent in the subdued lighting. Like Mughal, Kwali wore Western clothes, a tan suit and white shirt with a thin black tie he had loosened.
"I wish you two could stay," Kwali rumbled in his bass. "I know no one in this land. Its customs still seem strange to me. You have lived in America before."
"This is your fate. Since you won the Cat's-Claw in the tournament, you have known that you must roam as it bids you." Mughal smiled and came over to put a reassuring hand on the younger man's shoulder. "Ah, it is a great honor to bear Wakimbe's claw."
"I know," Kwali said. "I certainly worked hard to earn it. Perhaps it is just the homesick pain any young man feels in a foreign country. It will pass."
Mughal went back to pick up his suitcase. "For two years now, we have schooled you. Your English and French are excellent. You know your way around an airport and a battlefield. Most of all, the Black Lion is at your summons.. what greater power is there in this world?" He opened the door to the hall.
The young giant repressed a sigh. "Mughal, do you think I am ready?"
"Without a doubt. I knew that you were the one when your eyes turned green. Fare you well, Cat's Claw." As the elder left, Kwali finally let out a long deep breath. He returned to the window and drew the curtain aside to stare down at the place called Times Square. This country still unsettled him, with its swarming people who showed every shade of skin and hair, who hurried wherever they went, who seemed unhappy and yet at home. He would have to get used to it.. and other nations, wherever the Cat's-Claw sent him.
Back in Honjabi, his cousin Kisura waited in their new house which the people had built for them. Their marriage had been arranged by the elders, and their feelings or preferences had not been considered. Kwali was fond of Kisura, they had been playmates as youngsters, but the realization that they were now expected to produce a few children together made him feel even more uneasy. Suddenly, he drew himself up. This was not how the bearer of Wakimbe's Claw should be acting. He had his mission, to slay bandits and tyrants, to protect the helpless and avenge victims of injustice. It was what he had earned.
Reaching under inside his shirt, he pulled on a rawhide cord and drew out an ebony-colored talisman seven inches long, ending in a deadly point. Kwali raised the talisman to dangle before him and held it steady. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, the Claw of Wakimbe began to swing a fraction of an inch. He knew that somewhere in this city, evil men were using gralic magick and the Claw would lead him to them soon. Tonight.
IV.
Ted Wright got off the subway at Grand Central and walked five blocks to 38th Street, then turned toward Lexington Avenue. In his early thirties, there was already a liberal sprinkling of grey in his short hair and neatly trimmed beard. Wright was a black man with a somber, serious face that always seemed lost in thought. He dressed well, in a dark blue suit, with a white shirt that had thin dark blue vertical lines and a powder blue tie. In one hand, he carried a small satchel packed with medical gear. He was seldom without this.
As he approached the ten-story KDF headquarters building, the Blue Guide seemed to walk a little quicker and some of the weight lifted from his shoulders. He had no immediate family, just some cousins on the West Coast he had not seen in years, and there was no serious romance in his life. A few dates now and then never led anywhere because he just had too many commitments already. Next door to the KDF headquarters was a building with three doctors' offices on the ground floor, including his own. His office was closed today, Wednesday, just as he tried to schedule his work at the Mount Sinai Emergency Department to give him Wednesday off.
And, naturally, every Wednesday something came up with the KDF that required his presence. He wasn't annoyed by this, he was glad. Membership in the Kenneth Dred Foundation meant a lot to him. These were people he did not have to hide his gralic ability from, people who were also members of the Order of Tel Shai. As he put his foot on the bottom step of the headquarters building, a buzz sounded and the door unlocked with a click. From a concealed speaker, a young woman's voice sang out, "Hey Ted! Come right in!"
Smiling for the first time that day, Wright passed through the tiny vestibule and into the front hall. Cindy was waiting, and she gave him a fierce hug. "Oh, I'm glad you're here. You ought to move in here, we've got a dozen empty rooms."
"Thanks," he said, "But I've got such a sweet deal on my apartment with the rent control that I'd hate to give it up. What's up? Why'd you call me, Cin?"
The little blonde began tugging him toward the stairs. "Aw, we were tracking down the Reaper, you know, that vigilante who's been killing Mafia godfathers? And we found out something interesting. Come on, hurry." She pulled him up to the second floor eagerly. Wright went with her into the conference room.
As they entered, Jeremy Bane stood up from where he had been sitting at the head of the long oak table and tossed a manila envelope at the Blue Guide. "There you go, Ted, don't let me down."
Snagging the envelope with one hand, Wright glanced at the name typed on the label across the top. "Oh," he said, "Cesare Ferraro."
"Yes," Bane said simply. He sat down again as Wright and Cindy took seats to his right. After sleeping for three hours, the Dire Wolf had showered, changed clothes and devoured the lunch Cindy had prepared. Now his hyper metabolism was recharged and he was ready for anything. "We've IDed him as the Reaper."
Wright glanced quickly through the file. "I knew him just a short while. His mother Gina was a Blue Guide, you know. One of the best in Tel Shai's history. When she died fighting a Dartha, Teacher Kerlaw accepted her son as a possible replacement. Cesare trained for over a year, but then John Robert Chase sponsored me as a student. Cesare resented me and tried to make my life miserable. I became the new Blue Guide not long before I met you, Jeremy."
"And what happened to Cesare?" Cindy asked. "I met him a few times when I first was accepted at Tel Shai, but then he was just... gone."
Wright finished with the file and closed its tab again. "Oh. He attacked me one day. Said all sort of hurtful things as he tried to hit me with gralic bolts. I managed to divert his attack and dropped him by lowering his lifeforce. That was it for him at Tel Shai. Kerlaw expelled him on the spot."
"Now he's on a vendetta against the mob." Bane accepted the envelope from Wright and went to return it to its place in one of the green metal filing cabinets that lined one wall. "Any idea why he'd be doing that?"
"No idea," Wright answered. "I don't know if it matters. The point is, with the gralic art he learned at Tel Shai, ordinary gangsters won't have a chance against him. He'll keep slaughtering them until he dies of old age."
"Maybe we should let him go to it," said Bane. "He's killing mobsters, not innocent people. Maybe he'll wipe the Mafia out eventually."
"Jeremy, that's just WRONG," Cindy said, horrified. "He's just as bad the crooks he's killing. You can't get rid of crime that way."
"No," Ted Wright added sadly. "Every man he kills will just be replaced. The underworld never runs out of recruits. And sooner or later, he'll make a mistake and murder some civilians. He has to be stopped. I'm glad you two called me." Wright folded his hands on the table and lowered his head wearily. "He's using Blue Guide art. Kerwandu. He's misusing the knowledge meant to heal. I must be the one to stop him."
V.
Just after 2 AM hit Edgewater, New Jersey, a black Chevy van pulled up to a side door of a new and exclusive apartment complex. The Woodbury Towers was almost a gated community in its emphasis on security and privacy. Two towers, each nine stories high, stood separated by a twenty foot wide avenue. Nearby was a maintenance building storing lawnmowers and plows, and a gazebo under two elms stood in their shade. Set back from the highway on three acres of land, Woodbury Towers promised peace and safety.
But tonight the Midnight War was encircling the Towers, unseen and unsuspected by all but a few humans. The black SUV opened its side door, and from the building Peter Napalitano hustled his wife and daughter in, and the vehicle eased away and out into traffic.
Standing next to the doorway, Cindy Brunner scanned the area one more time and then drew her telepathic awareness back down into herself. "No sign of anyone watching," she told Bane. The blonde had changed into her field suit, tight black pants and boots, with a snug waist-length jacket that had its own inner layer of the Trom armor and a dozen gadgets concealed in small pockets. She carried the helmet in the crook of one arm, because she felt it interefered with her powers.
The Dire Wolf watched her with the faintest smile just visible on his face. It always amazed him how someone so small and thin could have a mind with that much power. He knew that Cindy was taking in thought processes of every person within sight, from an old man sitting on a bench near the sidewalk to a car full of teenagers rolling past with music blaring, and she searched each mind for anything suspicious. After the van was out of sight, the little blonde sighed and visibly relaxed. "Nada."
"The drivers from Department 21 Black said they were taking Napalitano and his family to Nyack for the night," Bane said. "I don't like dealing with them. Or the rest of the FBI, either. But sometimes they're useful."
Cindy made a scoffing noise. "That's exactly how they feel about us, hon. Their minds show they think of us as loose cannons that can be aimed at targets. If we take care of the Reaper, they'll take the credit. If we fail, well, who will know?"
"That's okay with me." Bane had been studying the layout. "I think we should wait in that gazebo, Cin. We'll be least visible inside there and you can concentrate on spotting Cesare when he shows up."
"Okey dokey," she replied, walking with him. They settled on a bench inside the roofed redwood structure, leaning back and watching the two towers. After a second, the blonde telepath said, "I did some investigating this afternoon and I couldn't find any reason why Cesare would be on this rampage against the Mafia. I even called that reporter that you know, Jimmy Morse, and he had nothing. My guess would be that the mob did something to Cesare, maybe killed a friend or relative, but Jimmy couldn't think of anything."
Bane shrugged. "Morse has been covering organized crime since before you were born," he said. "He has a lot of inside knowledge. Maybe Cesare just has a crusading side to him. Or he could be just demented and next he'll start killing Orthodox Jews or redheads or people who double park. We don't know."
Cindy touched his arm. "Someone's coming. Not Cesare. African, he's thinking in... not Swahili, some language I don't know. Strong disciplined mind. He's wearing a powerful gralic talisman... it's interfering with my perception. He's approaching from behind us."
"Okay. Shhhh." They both kept silent and froze in the shadows of the gazebo as a big man stalked silently by. Kwali was wearing a white topcoat that reached to his knees and rope sandals. The stranger stood gazing up at the nearer of the two towers, then shrugged off his topcoat, folded it and put it against the wall of the building. They saw he was wearing a tight black cotton tunic and tights that left his forearms and shins bare. The African had impressive muscles even in the gloom. Stepping closer to the building, Kwali crouched and leaped effortlessly straight up to seize the ledge of a second story window. As he jumped, Jeremy Bane was already moving on instinct. The Dire Wolf flashed across the lawn and leaped up himself to seize the African's feet and yank them both tumbling to the damp grass.
Both men rolled and were back up on their feet instantly, circling each other. Bane snapped, "Hold it, buddy. How about explaining what you're up to here?"
"Cat's-Claw directs me to slay an evil man," came the deep voice in answer.
"What? Two vigilantes after the same guy?" said the Dire Wolf just as Kwali pounced on him.
VI.
Two blocks away, a yellow VW Bug eased up to the curb and Cesare Ferraro stepped out. He was wearing dark slacks and a black nylon windbreaker that concealed the .45 automatic in a shoulder holster. The former Tel Shai student started walking toward Woodbury Towers with a determined stride. As he approached the low stone pillars that flanked the entrance way, faint blue light shimmered around him and suddenly he was gone from sight. This was the Veil, a Blue Guide technique. It was not literal invisibility, light was not affected. Instead, the Veil clouded the perception of anyone within range so that their minds simply would not register him image. As he walked between two closed-circuit cameras mounted on trees, Cesare's image would be recorded on the monitors but no one would see him in person. He bent and picked up a loose rock from the side of the paved entrance way.
The twin glass doors of the lobby of the nearer tower opened as a stout security guard in a light blue uniform came out, holding a flashlight. Cesare knew that the man would have seen his image on the monitor and was stepping out to check on what this intruder was up to. But he would not be able to see Cesare face to face. The guard peered anxiously in all directions, swinging the flashlight. Cesare lobbed the small rock into the bushes off on one side and the guard turned all his attention there as the dreaded Reaper passed by him and went through the open glass doors with a smirk on his unseen face.
Inside the lobby, Cesare strode toward the pair of elevators and took one to the seventh floor. His sources told him the Mafia underboss had moved here with his family only two months ago, after a dispute with his boss. Cesare got out into a corridor of quiet elegance, with deep burgundy carpeting, wood-paneles walls and small lights set in ornamental cast iron frames. The air was cool and fresh. As he headed down the corridor, the Reaper kept his breathing slow and deep to avoid becoming emotional. His mission was not personal vengeance, but justice. Ahead was a door with a bronze plate that read 703.
As he approached it, Cesare Ferraro opened his perception to read the lifeforce on the other side. His training had been incomplete, a bare minimum of the skills taught to a full Blue Guide but he had worked at honing what he did know. There was only one person in the suite of rooms beyond that door... a man, awake and alert, in good health and calm of spirit. Not what he had been expecting. A faint twinge of doubt stirred in the Reaper, but he dismissed it. This was no time to falter. He let the Veil fade from around him and turned sideways, drawing up his right knee to waist level and throwing a straight side kick with the Kumundu technique behind it. The locked snapped and he seized the door to fling it open. Cesare stepped through, into a plush living room that suddenly was ablaze with swirling blue energy. Standing before him was Ted Wright.
VII.
There was a flurry of explosive motion between two men dressed all in black. Kwali plunged forward but Bane sidestepped neatly, driving his boot to the back of the big African's knee and sending him down to the ground. Even as Kwali fell, he caught himself on the fingertips of one hand and his other fist whipped out to smack the oncoming Bane across the face. The Dire Wolf had rolled with it, so only a glancing impact stung his cheek and his own stiff open hand cracked hard at the back of the Cat's Claw with a sound like an axe hitting wood. Then Kwali was up on, swinging with both open hands and fingers bent to grasp. Bane faded back, slapping those big paws aside with palm blocks and he whirled on one foot to blast the other leg around in a reverse roundhouse that the Cat's Claw managed to take on a brawny shoulder without harm.
A few feet away, Cindy Brunner stared with mounting distress. Everything was taking place in a few seconds. She couldn't get a mental lock on Kwali because of some potent talisman he was wearing around his neck, and she couldn't hit him with an anesthetic dart because both men were moving so quickly she couldn't follow what they were doing. It was frustrating. If only they would separate for an instant...
Twenty seconds into the fight, with neither man having an adavantage. Kwali was much bigger and stronger, but Bane's enhanced speed balanced that out. Each had taken a few hard blows, but with not even damage to lessen their ability. Kwali kept low to the ground, almost crouching and more catlike than ever as he stalked in on his opponent. The Dire Wolf lowered his hands and relaxed into a casual stance, ready to react in any direction. Suddenly he felt he would be in control. For seven years, he had been studying Kumundu under Teacher Chael of Tel Shai, and his greater experience enabled him to see patterns in how a foe moved and thought. As the big Danarakan warrior closed in faster than a real cat, Bane waited until the last possible split-second and brought one knee up to collide with Kwali's chin. It sounded like a tree branch breaking. The Cat's Claw was brought up short and the Dire Wolf took advantage of that instant's opening to blur out a savage left hook that snapped the African avenger's head to one side.
That dropped Kwali to the grass, but even so he was just set back, not even dazed. He rolled and was up again in a flash. For one startling moment, light from a streetpost reflected back off his eyes with the eerie green of a real cat.
"Hold it, pal," Bane said, still not breathing hard. "How about some answers before we start dancing again?"
"You are a worthy enemy," Kwali replied in lightly accented English. "This fight could go either way."
The Dire Wolf held up his open hands in a placating gesture. "Tell me what you want. That's all."
"Wakimbe's Claw sends me to slay a wicked man," Kwali answered. "And I can be delayed no further." He drew on the power of the ancient talisman, claimed by a unimaginably distant ancestor in the Corruption of Ulgor thirty thousand years ago. Kwali's body shivered and expanded in all directions, changing shape like liquid ink, becoming a black-hided lion five feet high at the shoulder. Green eyes shone with their own light, and a low deep growl sounded that Bane could feel from ten feet away. This was no natural animal; its glossy hide shimmered with gralic force and its presence was overwhelming.
The Black Lion crouched and shifted its immense weight. The Dire Wolf whipped out both silver daggers and their blades shimmered in the gloom. He did not expect to survive the next few seconds but he was calmly determined this monster would not outlive him either.
VII.
"Close the door," Wright said softly. "Your intended victim is not here." He let the radiance ebb until the lamps on the table behind him were the only illumination in the apartment.
As he pulled the door shut behind him, Cesare snorted. "I could figure that out for myself. Boy, you've aged."
"Doing useful work is not easy but it is rewarding. Cesare! This Reaper vendetta... it's for the best that your poor mother is not alive to see what road you're taking." Wright stood with arms folded and the expression of a judge.
"You stole my place as a Blue Guide," the Reaper said with sudden rage. "Kerlaw told me I was gifted with gralic aptitude. But John Robert Chase brought you in and he knocked me aside to give you preferential treatment."
Wright made a scoffing noise. "Really. You must know that's not true. You caused your own expulsion by your actions but you just can't accept responsibility for it."
"Whatever. I'm leaving now, there are other Mafia scum to kill. We'd better not meet again, old man."
"No. I am taking you to the Order for judgement. The Teachers will be unhappy that you took their sacred knowledge and used it for mere murder. I don't know the punishment... hopefully, they will be more merciful than you have been." Wright lowered his arms and sighed. "I am so sorry to see a Tel Shai student reduced to this."
Cesare Ferraro did not reply with words. Drawing in a deep breath, he swirled his arms in a figure 8 motion and a pulsing band of the blue light lashed out to curl around Wright's body like a hose, pinning his arms down. The Blue Guide lowered his head, drew on his own discipline and the gralic bond dissipated. The Reaper gestured furiously and two fireballs sizzled through the air to be deflected by two launched by Wright.. a feat more difficult than knocking two thrown stones out of the air by throwing two more at them.
The Blue Guide frowned and held up his own open hand in attack, palm out. A blinding bright shaft of the blue light shone across the apartment to smash into Cesare with audible impact. It was rare for two initiates of Kerwandu to use their powers so openly and so excessively. Normally, they worked with tiny, barely visible effects. But then a duel like this was unheard of. The blast made the Reaper stumble back two steps, gasping as the breath was almost knocked out of him. He hastily put up a round shield of the blue light in front of him, its edges shimmering and changing as he got his balance.
Wright launched a second bolt of gralic force, stronger than the first, making the blue shield waver and splinter. He kept up the pressure. "You do have talent, son," he said. "You might have made a fine Blue Guide. It makes me sad to have to do this." The shaft of blue light flared up, casting new shadows, breaking through the suddenly fractured shield and striking Cesare like lightning. The Reaper convulsed wildly, springing into the air and coming down to the plush carpeting in a limp heap.
"Glad.. that's over," mumbled Ted Wright as he sagged. That had taken more concentration and will power than he had ever focussed on gralic effects before. If Cesare had completed his training, Wright did not think he would have been able to defeat the boy. As it was, he was covered in sweat and his head was pounding. Going over to kneel by the stunned Reaper, the Blue Guide felt no triumph. Carefully, he began to place the son of Gina Gerraro into a deep trance.
VII.
With a snarl like a whip cracking, the gigantic beast rose up on its hind legs and came down with a thump, landing only on empty earth. Quicker than even the Black Lion, Bane had hopped to one side and escaped the first attack. Wheeling about, the god of Danarak batted out a huge paw and connected. The Dire Wolf was thrown violently back against the wall of the apartment building behind him, bouncing off and immediately climbing off onto the animal's muscular back, locking both legs around its ribs and tightening one arm around its thick neck. With his other hand, Bane raised the silver dagger. Before he could strike, the Black Lion shook itself and flung him off, throwing him in a sideways spin to hit the grass a dozen feet away.
Then the great beast froze, made a curious uncertain noise and sank to the ground. The massive head drooped and the Black Lion rolled over on its side. Uncertain, Bane rose and retrieved the dagger he had dropped, stepping closer in cautious alertness.
"Hey," said Cindy. "It was me. I did it." She ejected an empty clip from her airgun and pocketed it, sliding a fresh one in with a click. "I gave him all eight darts."
Slowly sheathing his blades, the Dire Wolf let out a shuddering breath. "Whew. Thanks, Cin. I admit it, I had my hands full. I read about this monster in Mr Dred's notes but never thought I'd meet it. The Black Lion of Danarak!"
Cindy came over to him, still holding her weapon aimed at the slumbering beast. "I know you love a fight but honestly I didn't want to be taking you home in separate bags, hon. Look.. there he goes."
In a single breath, the Lion dwindled and collapsed and was the human form again. The African warrior shifted and sighed, but showed no signs of reviving. "He doesn't look much smaller this way," Cindy said. "He's certainly a big dude."
"Bakwanga Kwali," Bane muttered. "The Danarakans send their best warrior out to fight bandits and tyrants, or so they claim. I guess he was here to intercept the Reaper."
"The Reaper! This cat guy sure distracted us. I bet Cesare could have been right here the past few minutes and we would never have known!" Cindy holstered her dart gun. "We have to go see how Ted is."
"All right," Bane said, seizing Kwali under the arms and dragging him with difficulty toward the gazebo. "Has anyone spotted all this?"
"No... wait. No. It's dark enough and we're in the shadows. I'm not picking up on any minds watching us. Just chance. Someone could easily have been looking out a window just now. Here, let me help." She picked up Kwali's feet and they got the Cat's-Claw into the darkness inside the gazebo. Each of them had a pair of handcuffs at their belts and they secured him to a thick post.
"I'm surprised the darts affected him, to be honest," Cindy said. "Glad but surprised."
"He's still flesh and blood even as a Lion, I suppose. In Human form, with a full clip in him, he should sleep until tomorrow night." Bane straightened up and started toward the nearer of the apartment buildings. "Now to check on Ted." Even as he spoke, their Links vibrated silently in their holders at their side. The Dire Wolf unclipped his device and spoke quietly, "Ted? What's the situation?"
"I'm bringing him down to the street," came Wright's voice. "Dragging him down all these stairs is not gonna be a party, I could use a hand."
"We're on our way." Using a Trom device, Bane overrode both the electronic lock and the alarms on the plain metal door marked EMERGENCY EXIT ONLY. With Cindy behind him, he trotted up the stairs and they met Wright on the third floor landing. "He's just in a trance," the Blue Guide said. "I'll bring him out of it when we have him back at headquarters."
As Bane helped carry the unconscious Reaper, Cindy burst out, "Oh my God, you'll never believe who WE captured! A man who can turn into a giant Black Lion!"
"Bakwanga Kwali?" Wright said bemusedly. "I'd heard of him but never thought our paths would cross. What's he doing here? And tonight in particular?"
"Apparently the same thing we are," replied Bane as they reach the ground floor and Cindy held the door open so they could haul Cesare out into the night. "Hunting this Reaper here. Only difference is, Kwali mentioned he intended to 'slay' him. And we ended up hunting the hunters."
As they emerged, Wright put up a Veil around the four of them so they would be unseen by any passers-by. "Huh. Well, yeah, the Cat's-Claw is not known for restraint." As they stood in the gloom, lowering Cesare to the grass, Wright looked around and drawled, "Where is he?"
"No. Don't tell me this," Bane snapped as he hurried over to the gazebo. Both pairs of handcuffs had been snapped open. No trace remained to show anyone had been restrained in there. "Damn, is he that strong? Or did he start to change and that was enough to break loose?"
"Not to mention, how did he recover from eight darts so quickly?" asked Cindy. "That guy leaves a lot of questions behind him."
The Dire Wolf held down his anger with difficulty as he turned back to his friends. "And one more question. He said he was here to slay a wicked man. Did he mean Cesare or Napolitano?"
"Well, when we meet him again," Cindy said lightly, "and we will! We can ask him."
[5/28/1973 - Rev 5/28/2014]
5/23-5/24/1983
I.
The country was in an uproar for several reasons that spring, including the latest in a series of particularly blatant political scandals. The price of gas at the pumps had jumped by thirty per cent without explanation, and a bridge in the Midwest had collapsed with a dozen cars on it because the state budget did not cover upkeep. But along with these outrages, giving them a darker and more ominous undertone, were the activities of the Reaper.
There had been eight deaths by late May. All the victims were middle-aged men of Italian descent, all known by the FBI as mid-level decision makers in the Mafia, part of the Giacomo family. The bodies had been found where the victims should have been completely safe... in their offices and homes, at bowling alleys and restaurants run by their immediately family. In each case, cause of death was a deep gash across the throat down to the bone, giving them a red grin from ear to ear. Folded tightly in the right hand of each victim was a miniature sickle, hand-crafted, about five inches long. It was this trademark that led the FBI and police to call these the Reaper Killings.
No one saw even a glimpse of the mysterious killer. Security cameras blurred at the time of the murders, guards became dazed and could not clearly remember events for twenty minutes at those times. Locked doors were opened somehow, all the precautions taken by wary and suspicious mobsters had failed. Superstition boiled to the surface, as many of the Mafioso believed they were being punished for their sins by some supernatural avenger. Some even whispered in private that maybe they deserved it.
Investigating the crimes, which took place in three states and so fell under federal jurisdiction, the FBI quietly brought in Department 21 Black, six agents who specialized in the inexplicable, the uncanny, the seeming supernatural. They investigated for two weeks, conferred, and phoned a certain old building on East 38th Street in New York City...
At four-thirty on a warm afternoon, Tony Gambella sat by his kidney-shaped swimming pool and debated going in quickly before dinner. In his twenty-acre estate here on the far end of Long Island, he had all the privacy and safety he could ask. At sixty, Gambella had given up on trying to reign his belly down to manageable proportions and he wore a thin white button-front shirt over it. He put down his copy of the DAILY NEWS and scowled unhappily. Two of the boys had been forced to give a beating to a laundromat owner who balked at paying "insurance" and now it looked as if the man wasn't going to survive. That was bad procedure. The clients needed to be hurt and frightened but not killed. Now he had to decide how to discipline his two thugsing
Gambella jerked his head as he caught something from the corner of his eye. There! By the woods, a flash of bright blue light. What could that be? He sat up in the lawn chair and peered myopically as he spotted a man emerging from between the trees and striding determinedly toward him. The two bodyguards who were standing discreetly out of his line of vision had seen the blue flash too, and they moved to stand on either side of him. Both were huge beefy hulks looking uncomfortable in their business suits. Like Gambella, they stared in disbelief at the approaching man How had he gotten past the alarms in the stone wall, past the watchers, past the closed-circuit TV monitors? The same dread name swam up unbidden in their minds.. The Reaper.
As the stranger came closer, Gambella suddenly recognized him. Young, no more than mid-twenties. Six feet tall and skinny, dressed all in black, with dark hair and cold angry grey eyes. It was! It couldn't be anyone else. "Jeeez," he breathed, "Jeremy Bane."
Struggling to his feet, the Mafia boss shouted, "What do you think you're doing here? This is private property...!"
"Save it," said the Dire Wolf in a low quiet voice. "I'm here to protect you. You should be glad to see me."
The two bodyguards started to move to flank Bane, but he seemed not to notice. "The FBI contacted me. They have reason to believe that you are next on the Reaper's hit list."
"The what? Reaper? Come on, kid, no one really believes that crap. Everyone knows it's the cops murdering people in our business and blaming it on some made-up vigilante." Gambella nodded his head at his two enforcers and they simultaneously moved in on the intruder. They came from left and right, big hands open to seize this lunatic who dared trespass on the boss' domain.
There was a sharp cracking noise and the thug on the left back staggered back as his head snapped to one side. Bane was just lowering his leg. No one had been able to follow that high side kick, it had blurred out too fast, and now the Dire Wolf swung around just as the other bodyguard had yanked a .45 automatic from his belt and was bringing it up. Bane lunged in, twisted the gun out of the man's hand and smacked it brutally across his face. The thug staggered and cried out, but it took a second blow with the gun to drop him to the lawn. Bane tossed the automatic to one side and saw Gambella making a run for it.
Lumbering across the grass as fast as he could, the mobster was screaming, "Joey! Vinnie! Get your asses out here!" Gambella glanced back over one shoulder and almost had cardiac arrest as he saw Jeremy Bane closing in like lightning. The mobster faltered and was tackled headlong and brought to the ground. Bane rolled him over on his back and crashed a to the an elbow to the jaw that rattled Gambella's brain and made him see lights.
"You guys always want to do it the hard way," the Dire Wolf sighed as he hauled Gambella to his feet. "Now we're going to have that talk anyway."
___
At one-thirty that morning, a dark shape squatted at the bottom of Gambella's swimming pool. In the overcast gloom, no human eye would have spotted Bane sitting on his hands and knees, trying to be patient. He was wearing the field suit, with its jacket and pants and boots all watertight after the seals were closed. The helmet with its visor down was sealed to the high collar of the jacket, and he was breathing through the built-in oxygen membrane in the helmet's mandible.
The oxygen membrane was only three molecules thick, each layer performing a different function. It did indeed extract breathable oxygen from water, but only to a limited extent. Bane could stay beneath the surface indefinitely but he was not getting enough to breathe for strenuous activity. He had been in this pool since sunset and was getting incredibly restless. Patience was not something he was good at. Near the lawn chair just above him and by the front of the flashy three-story mini-mansion were tiny cameras he had set up that afternoon. Bane tapped the left ear pod of his helmet to switch back and forth between the images projected on the inside of his visor. Nothing suspicious so far.
He restrained a growl. Smashing the mob was not his agenda. His KDF had been established to fight the secret Midnight War, it was what the Order of Tel Shai sponsored him to do and it was what the KDF members had signed up for. But, sometimes when Midnight War was in a lull, he had toyed with the idea of tackling a few rackets and breaking them up. Not that they wouldn't quickly reform as new crooks stepped up to fill the void, but it would give him some satisfaction.
Studying the image on his visor, Bane suddenly sat up. A man was walking slowly across the lawn toward the pool. The light-enhanced image showed a figure of average height and weight but details were slightly blurred and obscure. This was a sign of gralic energy. As the man neared, Bane straightened up and slowly raised his head above the surface of the water for a better look. He spotted the intruder already passing the pool, heading grimly toward the house. His back was to Bane as the Dire Wolf slowly raised himself from the water, getting up on one knee and rising to his feet. With the light enhancing factor in his visor, he was getting a decent view of the stranger and he recorded a few images.
As the Wolf stood up by the pool, he was surprised to see the intruder stiffen and turn around. What could have given him away? He would have sworn his movements had been absolutely silent, not even a drop splashing off his water-repellent field suit, but somehow the man knew. Bane hooked his fingers around the butt of the anesthetic dart gun and whipped it up but in that split-second, a flare of bright blue light crackled from the intruder and blasted into him with impact that lifted him off his feet and onto his back. Everything began to spin and he was dazed by the shock.
Struggling back up on his hands and knees, the Dire Wolf tried to clear his head but it seemed to take forever. Inside the collar of his suit was a protective Eldar talisman that had dispersed some of that gralic blast, which helped. He stood up, swayed and almost fell, then remained there taking deep slow breaths until he could walk. The dart gun remained where it had been dropped and he picked it up to reholster it. Even in his slightly disoriented state, he was puzzling why the gralic force that hit him had been blue rather than red.
The big house was silent. Bane started walking toward it, feeling stronger every second. A bodyguard was slumped in a lawn chair by the back door, but he had a pulse and was breathing. Bane entered the house and went past another stunned thug on the kitchen floor. Figuring the bedrooms were usually on the top floor, he made his way up the stairs and saw light coming from an open room.
There was no sign of the wife, she must have been sent away for the moment. The frills and knicknacks on shelves and a dozen family photos showed there was a Mrs Gambella, though. Sprawled across a big canopied double bed was the corpse of Lou Gambella, his throat gaping open and blood still fresh and wet on the white silk pajamas. Bane stepped closer and pried open the man's cold fingers just enough to reveal the miniature sickle clenched in them.
II.
It was almost noon before Bane drove into the small garage underneath KDF headquarters and wearily got out of his Mustang. Hours of answering the same questions over and over, of carefully reading statements before signing them, of walking the 21 Black agents over the scene, had all worn him out as fighting never did. He went down the narrow corridor and up the steep concrete steps to emerge in the front hall. Cindy jumped up from the couch in the reception room across that hall and came to meet him.
Just over five feet tall and just under one hundred pounds, Cynthia Lee Brunner had dark blonde hair tied in two pigtails on either side of her inquisitive freckled face. She was wearing white sneakers, faded old jeans and a sweatshirt much too large for her. As soon as Bane had neared 38th Street, their telepathic rapport had established itself. She hugged him and steered him toward the stairs which led upward.
"You've been awake for more than thirty hours," she said in her low husky voice. "I think a nap is what you need. Even an hour or two will recharge you. Come on now, we can talk afterwards."
Even Bane had to agree. That gralic blast had shaken him more than he had expected. First, he handed her his helmet and said, "There should be a few snapshots of the Reaper in the sensors. Maybe you can study them. I'll be back down in a little while." He headed up to his room on the third floor.
Taking the helmet into the reception room, Cindy placed it on Bane's desk and dug around to find a Philips-head screwdriver. Where the heck..? Okay, there it was. Carefully, she opened the horizontal ridge over the helmet's visor and removed a flat electronic device no longer than her pinky. This, like so much of the field suits and helmets, was the product of Trom technology way more advanced than Human knowledge could match. She had no idea how these gadgets worked but that didn't bother her, since even the best Human electronic experts would be baffled by them as well.
Quietly as she could, the little blonde went up to the second floor and opened the door to the darkroom. Under a dim red bulb, she laid out four sheets of 8x10 light-sensitive paper on the marble counter and projected an image from the sensor onto two of them at high intensity. Fiddling with the controls of the sensor, Cindy tightened the images to the top third and projected those onto the other two sheets. She clicked off the red light and counted to thirty, letting the images set. That should do it. Cindy glanced up at the ceiling and could tell that Bane was asleep, not even dreaming, in bed directly above her. Good. She went into the conference room next door and tacked the four sheets of paper up on the bulletin board.
Stepping back, folding her arms over her breasts, Cindy studied the pictures. They showed a man in dark clothing, maybe thirty years old. Average height and build, with short curly black hair and an oval face. There was a pistol in a flap holster at his waist. In the second picture, he had turned around and there was a close-up of his face. Heavy eyebrows, dark eyes, a beaklike nose like the ancient Romans, a thin mouth over a round chin. So familiar. She could not quite remember him.
Running down the stairs to fetch Bane's helmet, the telepath brought it up to the conference room and painstakingly replaced the sensors in the crest and tightened everything back together. She lowered the helmet over her own head and checked that all functions were normal. That was a relief. Only their colleague Leonard Slade, a Trom himself, could repair or replace some of their equipment and she dreaded breaking anything because it meant listening to a long boring speech about being careful. As she was shutting the helmet down, Cindy suddenly grinned.
"Cesare," she said under her breath. Of course. Cesare Ferraro. She had only met him once at Tel Shai, back when she herself was a novice just accepted as a student. Now she remembered. Cesare had tried to get to know her, but his mind had revealed he really only wanted sex with the curvy little teenager and he had no interest in her beyond that. At that time, she was singlemindedly determined to get a relationship going with the repressed and inaccessible Jeremy Bane. THAT had been a struggle.
She went over to study the pictures again. Cesare Ferraro. Five years had passed since she had met him. What was his story again? Cesare had been studying Kerwandu at Tel Shai, training to be a Blue Guide. His mother Gina had been a famous Blue Guide back in the 1960s. But for whatever reason, Cesare had been dismissed by the Teachers and sent away from Tel Shai with his training incomplete. She hadn't been there the day he was expelled but she had heard it had been a bitter scene.
Cindy went to the phone and dialed. "Ted? Hi yourself! What's your schedule today? Really? Well, maybe you've got tonight off from the hospital but there's Tel Shai business you need to learn about. Okay. See ya when you get here." She hung up and headed for the kitchen on the first floor. Not only was she herself hungry, but she knew Bane would be starving when he awoke. Some grilled double cheese sandwiches with tomato slices and chicken pot pie soup sounded good to her.
III.
"We will be leaving now, Cat's-Claw," said Mughal. He stood by the door to the hotel room, suitcase by his feet. The elder had a short white beard and a bald spot on the back of his head. His English was heavily accented. "Tambu is down in the lobby already."
Kwali turned away from the window where he had been staring out at the skyline. Even for a Bakwanga, he was big. Five inches over six feet tall, powerfully built, he was an imposing sight without trying to be. Kwali was darker than his fellow Danarakan, his skin a deeper, richer brown and his features more somber. Strangely, his eyes were a pale green that seemed almost lambent in the subdued lighting. Like Mughal, Kwali wore Western clothes, a tan suit and white shirt with a thin black tie he had loosened.
"I wish you two could stay," Kwali rumbled in his bass. "I know no one in this land. Its customs still seem strange to me. You have lived in America before."
"This is your fate. Since you won the Cat's-Claw in the tournament, you have known that you must roam as it bids you." Mughal smiled and came over to put a reassuring hand on the younger man's shoulder. "Ah, it is a great honor to bear Wakimbe's claw."
"I know," Kwali said. "I certainly worked hard to earn it. Perhaps it is just the homesick pain any young man feels in a foreign country. It will pass."
Mughal went back to pick up his suitcase. "For two years now, we have schooled you. Your English and French are excellent. You know your way around an airport and a battlefield. Most of all, the Black Lion is at your summons.. what greater power is there in this world?" He opened the door to the hall.
The young giant repressed a sigh. "Mughal, do you think I am ready?"
"Without a doubt. I knew that you were the one when your eyes turned green. Fare you well, Cat's Claw." As the elder left, Kwali finally let out a long deep breath. He returned to the window and drew the curtain aside to stare down at the place called Times Square. This country still unsettled him, with its swarming people who showed every shade of skin and hair, who hurried wherever they went, who seemed unhappy and yet at home. He would have to get used to it.. and other nations, wherever the Cat's-Claw sent him.
Back in Honjabi, his cousin Kisura waited in their new house which the people had built for them. Their marriage had been arranged by the elders, and their feelings or preferences had not been considered. Kwali was fond of Kisura, they had been playmates as youngsters, but the realization that they were now expected to produce a few children together made him feel even more uneasy. Suddenly, he drew himself up. This was not how the bearer of Wakimbe's Claw should be acting. He had his mission, to slay bandits and tyrants, to protect the helpless and avenge victims of injustice. It was what he had earned.
Reaching under inside his shirt, he pulled on a rawhide cord and drew out an ebony-colored talisman seven inches long, ending in a deadly point. Kwali raised the talisman to dangle before him and held it steady. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, the Claw of Wakimbe began to swing a fraction of an inch. He knew that somewhere in this city, evil men were using gralic magick and the Claw would lead him to them soon. Tonight.
IV.
Ted Wright got off the subway at Grand Central and walked five blocks to 38th Street, then turned toward Lexington Avenue. In his early thirties, there was already a liberal sprinkling of grey in his short hair and neatly trimmed beard. Wright was a black man with a somber, serious face that always seemed lost in thought. He dressed well, in a dark blue suit, with a white shirt that had thin dark blue vertical lines and a powder blue tie. In one hand, he carried a small satchel packed with medical gear. He was seldom without this.
As he approached the ten-story KDF headquarters building, the Blue Guide seemed to walk a little quicker and some of the weight lifted from his shoulders. He had no immediate family, just some cousins on the West Coast he had not seen in years, and there was no serious romance in his life. A few dates now and then never led anywhere because he just had too many commitments already. Next door to the KDF headquarters was a building with three doctors' offices on the ground floor, including his own. His office was closed today, Wednesday, just as he tried to schedule his work at the Mount Sinai Emergency Department to give him Wednesday off.
And, naturally, every Wednesday something came up with the KDF that required his presence. He wasn't annoyed by this, he was glad. Membership in the Kenneth Dred Foundation meant a lot to him. These were people he did not have to hide his gralic ability from, people who were also members of the Order of Tel Shai. As he put his foot on the bottom step of the headquarters building, a buzz sounded and the door unlocked with a click. From a concealed speaker, a young woman's voice sang out, "Hey Ted! Come right in!"
Smiling for the first time that day, Wright passed through the tiny vestibule and into the front hall. Cindy was waiting, and she gave him a fierce hug. "Oh, I'm glad you're here. You ought to move in here, we've got a dozen empty rooms."
"Thanks," he said, "But I've got such a sweet deal on my apartment with the rent control that I'd hate to give it up. What's up? Why'd you call me, Cin?"
The little blonde began tugging him toward the stairs. "Aw, we were tracking down the Reaper, you know, that vigilante who's been killing Mafia godfathers? And we found out something interesting. Come on, hurry." She pulled him up to the second floor eagerly. Wright went with her into the conference room.
As they entered, Jeremy Bane stood up from where he had been sitting at the head of the long oak table and tossed a manila envelope at the Blue Guide. "There you go, Ted, don't let me down."
Snagging the envelope with one hand, Wright glanced at the name typed on the label across the top. "Oh," he said, "Cesare Ferraro."
"Yes," Bane said simply. He sat down again as Wright and Cindy took seats to his right. After sleeping for three hours, the Dire Wolf had showered, changed clothes and devoured the lunch Cindy had prepared. Now his hyper metabolism was recharged and he was ready for anything. "We've IDed him as the Reaper."
Wright glanced quickly through the file. "I knew him just a short while. His mother Gina was a Blue Guide, you know. One of the best in Tel Shai's history. When she died fighting a Dartha, Teacher Kerlaw accepted her son as a possible replacement. Cesare trained for over a year, but then John Robert Chase sponsored me as a student. Cesare resented me and tried to make my life miserable. I became the new Blue Guide not long before I met you, Jeremy."
"And what happened to Cesare?" Cindy asked. "I met him a few times when I first was accepted at Tel Shai, but then he was just... gone."
Wright finished with the file and closed its tab again. "Oh. He attacked me one day. Said all sort of hurtful things as he tried to hit me with gralic bolts. I managed to divert his attack and dropped him by lowering his lifeforce. That was it for him at Tel Shai. Kerlaw expelled him on the spot."
"Now he's on a vendetta against the mob." Bane accepted the envelope from Wright and went to return it to its place in one of the green metal filing cabinets that lined one wall. "Any idea why he'd be doing that?"
"No idea," Wright answered. "I don't know if it matters. The point is, with the gralic art he learned at Tel Shai, ordinary gangsters won't have a chance against him. He'll keep slaughtering them until he dies of old age."
"Maybe we should let him go to it," said Bane. "He's killing mobsters, not innocent people. Maybe he'll wipe the Mafia out eventually."
"Jeremy, that's just WRONG," Cindy said, horrified. "He's just as bad the crooks he's killing. You can't get rid of crime that way."
"No," Ted Wright added sadly. "Every man he kills will just be replaced. The underworld never runs out of recruits. And sooner or later, he'll make a mistake and murder some civilians. He has to be stopped. I'm glad you two called me." Wright folded his hands on the table and lowered his head wearily. "He's using Blue Guide art. Kerwandu. He's misusing the knowledge meant to heal. I must be the one to stop him."
V.
Just after 2 AM hit Edgewater, New Jersey, a black Chevy van pulled up to a side door of a new and exclusive apartment complex. The Woodbury Towers was almost a gated community in its emphasis on security and privacy. Two towers, each nine stories high, stood separated by a twenty foot wide avenue. Nearby was a maintenance building storing lawnmowers and plows, and a gazebo under two elms stood in their shade. Set back from the highway on three acres of land, Woodbury Towers promised peace and safety.
But tonight the Midnight War was encircling the Towers, unseen and unsuspected by all but a few humans. The black SUV opened its side door, and from the building Peter Napalitano hustled his wife and daughter in, and the vehicle eased away and out into traffic.
Standing next to the doorway, Cindy Brunner scanned the area one more time and then drew her telepathic awareness back down into herself. "No sign of anyone watching," she told Bane. The blonde had changed into her field suit, tight black pants and boots, with a snug waist-length jacket that had its own inner layer of the Trom armor and a dozen gadgets concealed in small pockets. She carried the helmet in the crook of one arm, because she felt it interefered with her powers.
The Dire Wolf watched her with the faintest smile just visible on his face. It always amazed him how someone so small and thin could have a mind with that much power. He knew that Cindy was taking in thought processes of every person within sight, from an old man sitting on a bench near the sidewalk to a car full of teenagers rolling past with music blaring, and she searched each mind for anything suspicious. After the van was out of sight, the little blonde sighed and visibly relaxed. "Nada."
"The drivers from Department 21 Black said they were taking Napalitano and his family to Nyack for the night," Bane said. "I don't like dealing with them. Or the rest of the FBI, either. But sometimes they're useful."
Cindy made a scoffing noise. "That's exactly how they feel about us, hon. Their minds show they think of us as loose cannons that can be aimed at targets. If we take care of the Reaper, they'll take the credit. If we fail, well, who will know?"
"That's okay with me." Bane had been studying the layout. "I think we should wait in that gazebo, Cin. We'll be least visible inside there and you can concentrate on spotting Cesare when he shows up."
"Okey dokey," she replied, walking with him. They settled on a bench inside the roofed redwood structure, leaning back and watching the two towers. After a second, the blonde telepath said, "I did some investigating this afternoon and I couldn't find any reason why Cesare would be on this rampage against the Mafia. I even called that reporter that you know, Jimmy Morse, and he had nothing. My guess would be that the mob did something to Cesare, maybe killed a friend or relative, but Jimmy couldn't think of anything."
Bane shrugged. "Morse has been covering organized crime since before you were born," he said. "He has a lot of inside knowledge. Maybe Cesare just has a crusading side to him. Or he could be just demented and next he'll start killing Orthodox Jews or redheads or people who double park. We don't know."
Cindy touched his arm. "Someone's coming. Not Cesare. African, he's thinking in... not Swahili, some language I don't know. Strong disciplined mind. He's wearing a powerful gralic talisman... it's interfering with my perception. He's approaching from behind us."
"Okay. Shhhh." They both kept silent and froze in the shadows of the gazebo as a big man stalked silently by. Kwali was wearing a white topcoat that reached to his knees and rope sandals. The stranger stood gazing up at the nearer of the two towers, then shrugged off his topcoat, folded it and put it against the wall of the building. They saw he was wearing a tight black cotton tunic and tights that left his forearms and shins bare. The African had impressive muscles even in the gloom. Stepping closer to the building, Kwali crouched and leaped effortlessly straight up to seize the ledge of a second story window. As he jumped, Jeremy Bane was already moving on instinct. The Dire Wolf flashed across the lawn and leaped up himself to seize the African's feet and yank them both tumbling to the damp grass.
Both men rolled and were back up on their feet instantly, circling each other. Bane snapped, "Hold it, buddy. How about explaining what you're up to here?"
"Cat's-Claw directs me to slay an evil man," came the deep voice in answer.
"What? Two vigilantes after the same guy?" said the Dire Wolf just as Kwali pounced on him.
VI.
Two blocks away, a yellow VW Bug eased up to the curb and Cesare Ferraro stepped out. He was wearing dark slacks and a black nylon windbreaker that concealed the .45 automatic in a shoulder holster. The former Tel Shai student started walking toward Woodbury Towers with a determined stride. As he approached the low stone pillars that flanked the entrance way, faint blue light shimmered around him and suddenly he was gone from sight. This was the Veil, a Blue Guide technique. It was not literal invisibility, light was not affected. Instead, the Veil clouded the perception of anyone within range so that their minds simply would not register him image. As he walked between two closed-circuit cameras mounted on trees, Cesare's image would be recorded on the monitors but no one would see him in person. He bent and picked up a loose rock from the side of the paved entrance way.
The twin glass doors of the lobby of the nearer tower opened as a stout security guard in a light blue uniform came out, holding a flashlight. Cesare knew that the man would have seen his image on the monitor and was stepping out to check on what this intruder was up to. But he would not be able to see Cesare face to face. The guard peered anxiously in all directions, swinging the flashlight. Cesare lobbed the small rock into the bushes off on one side and the guard turned all his attention there as the dreaded Reaper passed by him and went through the open glass doors with a smirk on his unseen face.
Inside the lobby, Cesare strode toward the pair of elevators and took one to the seventh floor. His sources told him the Mafia underboss had moved here with his family only two months ago, after a dispute with his boss. Cesare got out into a corridor of quiet elegance, with deep burgundy carpeting, wood-paneles walls and small lights set in ornamental cast iron frames. The air was cool and fresh. As he headed down the corridor, the Reaper kept his breathing slow and deep to avoid becoming emotional. His mission was not personal vengeance, but justice. Ahead was a door with a bronze plate that read 703.
As he approached it, Cesare Ferraro opened his perception to read the lifeforce on the other side. His training had been incomplete, a bare minimum of the skills taught to a full Blue Guide but he had worked at honing what he did know. There was only one person in the suite of rooms beyond that door... a man, awake and alert, in good health and calm of spirit. Not what he had been expecting. A faint twinge of doubt stirred in the Reaper, but he dismissed it. This was no time to falter. He let the Veil fade from around him and turned sideways, drawing up his right knee to waist level and throwing a straight side kick with the Kumundu technique behind it. The locked snapped and he seized the door to fling it open. Cesare stepped through, into a plush living room that suddenly was ablaze with swirling blue energy. Standing before him was Ted Wright.
VII.
There was a flurry of explosive motion between two men dressed all in black. Kwali plunged forward but Bane sidestepped neatly, driving his boot to the back of the big African's knee and sending him down to the ground. Even as Kwali fell, he caught himself on the fingertips of one hand and his other fist whipped out to smack the oncoming Bane across the face. The Dire Wolf had rolled with it, so only a glancing impact stung his cheek and his own stiff open hand cracked hard at the back of the Cat's Claw with a sound like an axe hitting wood. Then Kwali was up on, swinging with both open hands and fingers bent to grasp. Bane faded back, slapping those big paws aside with palm blocks and he whirled on one foot to blast the other leg around in a reverse roundhouse that the Cat's Claw managed to take on a brawny shoulder without harm.
A few feet away, Cindy Brunner stared with mounting distress. Everything was taking place in a few seconds. She couldn't get a mental lock on Kwali because of some potent talisman he was wearing around his neck, and she couldn't hit him with an anesthetic dart because both men were moving so quickly she couldn't follow what they were doing. It was frustrating. If only they would separate for an instant...
Twenty seconds into the fight, with neither man having an adavantage. Kwali was much bigger and stronger, but Bane's enhanced speed balanced that out. Each had taken a few hard blows, but with not even damage to lessen their ability. Kwali kept low to the ground, almost crouching and more catlike than ever as he stalked in on his opponent. The Dire Wolf lowered his hands and relaxed into a casual stance, ready to react in any direction. Suddenly he felt he would be in control. For seven years, he had been studying Kumundu under Teacher Chael of Tel Shai, and his greater experience enabled him to see patterns in how a foe moved and thought. As the big Danarakan warrior closed in faster than a real cat, Bane waited until the last possible split-second and brought one knee up to collide with Kwali's chin. It sounded like a tree branch breaking. The Cat's Claw was brought up short and the Dire Wolf took advantage of that instant's opening to blur out a savage left hook that snapped the African avenger's head to one side.
That dropped Kwali to the grass, but even so he was just set back, not even dazed. He rolled and was up again in a flash. For one startling moment, light from a streetpost reflected back off his eyes with the eerie green of a real cat.
"Hold it, pal," Bane said, still not breathing hard. "How about some answers before we start dancing again?"
"You are a worthy enemy," Kwali replied in lightly accented English. "This fight could go either way."
The Dire Wolf held up his open hands in a placating gesture. "Tell me what you want. That's all."
"Wakimbe's Claw sends me to slay a wicked man," Kwali answered. "And I can be delayed no further." He drew on the power of the ancient talisman, claimed by a unimaginably distant ancestor in the Corruption of Ulgor thirty thousand years ago. Kwali's body shivered and expanded in all directions, changing shape like liquid ink, becoming a black-hided lion five feet high at the shoulder. Green eyes shone with their own light, and a low deep growl sounded that Bane could feel from ten feet away. This was no natural animal; its glossy hide shimmered with gralic force and its presence was overwhelming.
The Black Lion crouched and shifted its immense weight. The Dire Wolf whipped out both silver daggers and their blades shimmered in the gloom. He did not expect to survive the next few seconds but he was calmly determined this monster would not outlive him either.
VII.
"Close the door," Wright said softly. "Your intended victim is not here." He let the radiance ebb until the lamps on the table behind him were the only illumination in the apartment.
As he pulled the door shut behind him, Cesare snorted. "I could figure that out for myself. Boy, you've aged."
"Doing useful work is not easy but it is rewarding. Cesare! This Reaper vendetta... it's for the best that your poor mother is not alive to see what road you're taking." Wright stood with arms folded and the expression of a judge.
"You stole my place as a Blue Guide," the Reaper said with sudden rage. "Kerlaw told me I was gifted with gralic aptitude. But John Robert Chase brought you in and he knocked me aside to give you preferential treatment."
Wright made a scoffing noise. "Really. You must know that's not true. You caused your own expulsion by your actions but you just can't accept responsibility for it."
"Whatever. I'm leaving now, there are other Mafia scum to kill. We'd better not meet again, old man."
"No. I am taking you to the Order for judgement. The Teachers will be unhappy that you took their sacred knowledge and used it for mere murder. I don't know the punishment... hopefully, they will be more merciful than you have been." Wright lowered his arms and sighed. "I am so sorry to see a Tel Shai student reduced to this."
Cesare Ferraro did not reply with words. Drawing in a deep breath, he swirled his arms in a figure 8 motion and a pulsing band of the blue light lashed out to curl around Wright's body like a hose, pinning his arms down. The Blue Guide lowered his head, drew on his own discipline and the gralic bond dissipated. The Reaper gestured furiously and two fireballs sizzled through the air to be deflected by two launched by Wright.. a feat more difficult than knocking two thrown stones out of the air by throwing two more at them.
The Blue Guide frowned and held up his own open hand in attack, palm out. A blinding bright shaft of the blue light shone across the apartment to smash into Cesare with audible impact. It was rare for two initiates of Kerwandu to use their powers so openly and so excessively. Normally, they worked with tiny, barely visible effects. But then a duel like this was unheard of. The blast made the Reaper stumble back two steps, gasping as the breath was almost knocked out of him. He hastily put up a round shield of the blue light in front of him, its edges shimmering and changing as he got his balance.
Wright launched a second bolt of gralic force, stronger than the first, making the blue shield waver and splinter. He kept up the pressure. "You do have talent, son," he said. "You might have made a fine Blue Guide. It makes me sad to have to do this." The shaft of blue light flared up, casting new shadows, breaking through the suddenly fractured shield and striking Cesare like lightning. The Reaper convulsed wildly, springing into the air and coming down to the plush carpeting in a limp heap.
"Glad.. that's over," mumbled Ted Wright as he sagged. That had taken more concentration and will power than he had ever focussed on gralic effects before. If Cesare had completed his training, Wright did not think he would have been able to defeat the boy. As it was, he was covered in sweat and his head was pounding. Going over to kneel by the stunned Reaper, the Blue Guide felt no triumph. Carefully, he began to place the son of Gina Gerraro into a deep trance.
VII.
With a snarl like a whip cracking, the gigantic beast rose up on its hind legs and came down with a thump, landing only on empty earth. Quicker than even the Black Lion, Bane had hopped to one side and escaped the first attack. Wheeling about, the god of Danarak batted out a huge paw and connected. The Dire Wolf was thrown violently back against the wall of the apartment building behind him, bouncing off and immediately climbing off onto the animal's muscular back, locking both legs around its ribs and tightening one arm around its thick neck. With his other hand, Bane raised the silver dagger. Before he could strike, the Black Lion shook itself and flung him off, throwing him in a sideways spin to hit the grass a dozen feet away.
Then the great beast froze, made a curious uncertain noise and sank to the ground. The massive head drooped and the Black Lion rolled over on its side. Uncertain, Bane rose and retrieved the dagger he had dropped, stepping closer in cautious alertness.
"Hey," said Cindy. "It was me. I did it." She ejected an empty clip from her airgun and pocketed it, sliding a fresh one in with a click. "I gave him all eight darts."
Slowly sheathing his blades, the Dire Wolf let out a shuddering breath. "Whew. Thanks, Cin. I admit it, I had my hands full. I read about this monster in Mr Dred's notes but never thought I'd meet it. The Black Lion of Danarak!"
Cindy came over to him, still holding her weapon aimed at the slumbering beast. "I know you love a fight but honestly I didn't want to be taking you home in separate bags, hon. Look.. there he goes."
In a single breath, the Lion dwindled and collapsed and was the human form again. The African warrior shifted and sighed, but showed no signs of reviving. "He doesn't look much smaller this way," Cindy said. "He's certainly a big dude."
"Bakwanga Kwali," Bane muttered. "The Danarakans send their best warrior out to fight bandits and tyrants, or so they claim. I guess he was here to intercept the Reaper."
"The Reaper! This cat guy sure distracted us. I bet Cesare could have been right here the past few minutes and we would never have known!" Cindy holstered her dart gun. "We have to go see how Ted is."
"All right," Bane said, seizing Kwali under the arms and dragging him with difficulty toward the gazebo. "Has anyone spotted all this?"
"No... wait. No. It's dark enough and we're in the shadows. I'm not picking up on any minds watching us. Just chance. Someone could easily have been looking out a window just now. Here, let me help." She picked up Kwali's feet and they got the Cat's-Claw into the darkness inside the gazebo. Each of them had a pair of handcuffs at their belts and they secured him to a thick post.
"I'm surprised the darts affected him, to be honest," Cindy said. "Glad but surprised."
"He's still flesh and blood even as a Lion, I suppose. In Human form, with a full clip in him, he should sleep until tomorrow night." Bane straightened up and started toward the nearer of the apartment buildings. "Now to check on Ted." Even as he spoke, their Links vibrated silently in their holders at their side. The Dire Wolf unclipped his device and spoke quietly, "Ted? What's the situation?"
"I'm bringing him down to the street," came Wright's voice. "Dragging him down all these stairs is not gonna be a party, I could use a hand."
"We're on our way." Using a Trom device, Bane overrode both the electronic lock and the alarms on the plain metal door marked EMERGENCY EXIT ONLY. With Cindy behind him, he trotted up the stairs and they met Wright on the third floor landing. "He's just in a trance," the Blue Guide said. "I'll bring him out of it when we have him back at headquarters."
As Bane helped carry the unconscious Reaper, Cindy burst out, "Oh my God, you'll never believe who WE captured! A man who can turn into a giant Black Lion!"
"Bakwanga Kwali?" Wright said bemusedly. "I'd heard of him but never thought our paths would cross. What's he doing here? And tonight in particular?"
"Apparently the same thing we are," replied Bane as they reach the ground floor and Cindy held the door open so they could haul Cesare out into the night. "Hunting this Reaper here. Only difference is, Kwali mentioned he intended to 'slay' him. And we ended up hunting the hunters."
As they emerged, Wright put up a Veil around the four of them so they would be unseen by any passers-by. "Huh. Well, yeah, the Cat's-Claw is not known for restraint." As they stood in the gloom, lowering Cesare to the grass, Wright looked around and drawled, "Where is he?"
"No. Don't tell me this," Bane snapped as he hurried over to the gazebo. Both pairs of handcuffs had been snapped open. No trace remained to show anyone had been restrained in there. "Damn, is he that strong? Or did he start to change and that was enough to break loose?"
"Not to mention, how did he recover from eight darts so quickly?" asked Cindy. "That guy leaves a lot of questions behind him."
The Dire Wolf held down his anger with difficulty as he turned back to his friends. "And one more question. He said he was here to slay a wicked man. Did he mean Cesare or Napolitano?"
"Well, when we meet him again," Cindy said lightly, "and we will! We can ask him."
[5/28/1973 - Rev 5/28/2014]
