"The Desperate Game"
Jun. 17th, 2022 07:58 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dochermes"The Desperate Game"
7/18/1983
I.
As soon he came into the bar, Jeremy Bane automatically stepped to one side and turned his body sideways. He had been shot at more than once when entering places better than this dive. Two years on the Tagra tea diet had enhanced the Dire Wolf's bodily reactions enough that his eyes adjusted instantly to the dim lights after being out in the summer sun. He spotted no immediate threats. Two men sharing a newspaper in a booth didn't look up at his entry. The bartender's body language indicated no tension, no readiness to go for a weapon. It was Rook who then could claim his full attention.
Regarded as one of the most beautiful women in the Midnight War, Rook was tall, five feet seven, and slim as a dancer. The straight glossy black hair hung down to nearly the small of her back and contrasted with the simple dress of dark red silk. Having a French father and Japanese mother had gifted her with golden peach skin, a fine-featured oval face and huge dark eyes. As she saw Bane, those eyes became mocking. One elegant eyebrow lifted a fraction of an inch.
"Ah, the Dire Wolf himself," she murmured in a low pleasant voice when he neared. "Come to help me watch dismal world events? I've got the twelve o'clock news blues." She inclined her head toward the small black and white television fastened on a frame in one corner.
"Rook. We need to step outside. This situation is serious.."
"You're talking like a damn fool, Jeremy. I'm sitting on this bar stool for the forseeable future. I've got nothing to do and all day to do it in."
"What can I get you, buddy?" interrupted the bartender with a hint of insistence. He seemed suspicious of this tall thin man who dressed all in black and who had pale eyes which seemed innately cold and wary. Or possibly he was as smitten with Rook as most men became and resented Bane's presence.
Glancing down at Rook's half filled glass, the Dire Wolf replied, "I'll have a martini, too. Vodka, dry vermouth, ice, and a twist of lemon, nothing out of the ordinary."
"Jeremy, really? You are such a thorough American, I expected you to order a bottle of cold brew."
Putting money down on the bar, Bane took a sip. The drink was wasted on him. His enhanced healing factor meant that alcohol had absolutely no effect on him. He could have chugged down a bottle of vodka without reacting. "Rook, you're in more trouble than usual."
"That reward that that STIGMA posted on me? Oh, Jeremy. Don't tell me you've sunk to being a bounty hunter." The perfect lips curled up ironically. "I expect better from you."
The Dire Wolf took another tiny sip and placed the glass off to one side. "It's not me you have to worry about. My sources tell me it's badlands gossip that a half dozen different assassins have been reported in the Hudson Valley. A Blind Archer or one of the Night Gorillas? Karel Cherny, maybe Golgora?"
"I have had a high price on my head before," she replied, emptying her own glass with a back toss of her head. "So tiresome, to be retrieved for a bounty by some faceless mercenary. Are you here to offer me protection?"
There was no warmth in his voice, only firm restraint. "You helped me and my team against Cogitus. That weighs in your favor. Stopping your cat burglar career really isn't on my agenda. As far as I know, you've never killed anyone. You swindle and rob millionaires who are on the wrong side of the law themselves."
"Hmm. Are you sure you don't have more carnal motives, dear?" she asked. "I am not unattractive, after all."
"I'm all business, Rook. You know that."
"Somewhat to my regret," she chuckled. "But I understand. After all, your girlfriend is a telepath."
"Let's get going. Stewart Airport is only twenty minutes away."
"Ready for another one, sweetheart? asked the bartender, who had been conspicuously at the other end of the bar and out of earshot.
"In a minute, thank you." Rook turned those slightly oblique eyes on the man she had matched wits with before. "There is a complication. Despite what I said a moment ago, I do have an appointment to receive payment from a rather unappealing entrepeneur named Sebastien. Do you know him?"
"Only by reputation. Sort of a Midnight War fence for mystic talismans. Skip seeing him, Rook, we need to get you on a flight back to Europe."
"And mar my reputation? No, no, that would never do. I used to like to walk the straight and narrow line, Jeremy. I used to think that everything was fine. But the shady side of life calls to me so strongly. I was not born to live within the law, I am a natural outlaw and renegade. My God, I'm hardly alive unless I'm in danger."
Bane's self-control faltered for an instant as anger entered his voice. "I'm not sure why I'm doing this if you're not going to co-operate. But be that way. I'll take you to your payoff and still try to get out of the country alive."
"That's the way you are, dear. We are both of us true to our natures." She slid off the stool and smoothed her dress down. Off to one side was a small brown leather handbag on a gold chain, but she hesitated before picking it up. "But there is no better protection than having you on hand. The Dire Wolf. Faster than any Human. Are you still quick enough to slap a striking cobra? I myself have seen you in action. Am I being too cavalier, my dear friend?"
"I'm used to it," he replied without heat. All during their exchange, his eyes had never been still a second, moving intently for any possible attack. "Come with me to the door but stay over by the side."
Nodding sweetly to the bartender, Rook followed him. "Your manner has changed suddenly, Jeremy. You've got the wolf's air about you."
"A shadow crossed close by that window but no one came in," he replied. "Too obvious. They want me to go circle the building looking for them."
"But...?"
"It's a chance to get one assassin out of the way right at the start." He placed a hand on the doorknob and gave her a wry gaze. "I always walk into traps to get them over with."
II.
Outside, the hot midsummer air pressed down like a blanket. The GARDEN OF EDEN bar was a dingy one-story red brick building at the end of a block, with no parking lot of its own but a courtyard behind it. Traffic was rolling by normally on Van Deusen Street. Newburgh was an infamous seedy city with a high crime rate, more poverty than opportunity and enough drug sales that busts made the newspapers on a regular basis. After dark, even this main street of the city would be deserted except for one or two desperate streetwalkers and a few furtive dealers waiting in shadows.
In the afternoon sunlight, Bane was shown in full detail as thin, almost gaunt in his all black outfit of slacks, turtleneck and sport jacket. In a narrow face topped by short black hair, his most striking feature were those grey eyes which watched the world with deep suspicion. Only twenty-four, his confidence and stern attitude made most people treat him as someone much older.
Without hesitation, he turned toward the rear courtyard and strode back with one shoulder up against the hot brick wall. Immediately after he had left the bar, Rook had come following. As she saw Bane round the back of the building, Europe's most notorious thief slipped a hand into her bag for reassurance. The small flat Beretta M9A3 had never failed her.
Rook peered cautiously around the rear corner just in time to see a furious blur of motion that lasted only a fraction of a second. It was over too quickly for her brain to process what had happened. The Dire Wolf was lowering his left arm from a backhand throw, and his upraised right forearm somehow had three long steel needles protruding from the sleeve. Only then did she notice the dead woman on the ground.
Lying face-up, wearing only sneakers, denim shorts and a red blouse tied across the midriff, she was a tiny Asian. Or had been, Rook thought. The black hair was cropped short at the nape. The unblinking eyes were raised up directly at the blazing sun which could no longer make them water. From the left side of her chest, the flattened handle of a slim throwing dagger stood straight up.
Without looking back at Rook, Bane said quietly, "It's asking too much for you to follow orders, I know. I told you to wait inside."
"So quick. It's surreal. I was watching you and I still could not follow your movements. How do you do it, Jeremy?"
The Dire Wolf took a step toward the dead woman, glaring at her as if daring her to rise. "I was born this way. No one knows why." He crouched to pick up a few fallen leaves, using them to pluck the needles from his sleeve, not allowing contact with his skin. The thin metal rods had a round ring two-thirds up their length for balance and the points were sticky with a dark resin.
"I don't believe I've seen her before," Rook ventured. "What was she? White Web?"
"She's from an LA group of killers, operating behind a common street gang. The Joyous Rain, all Vietnamese. The poison on these needles is a neurotoxin with no antidote or treatment possible in the few seconds before your breathing stops and you die." He seemed to finally feel certain the assassin was dead, because he went over to retrieve his dagger. After cleaning its blade on the woman's clothing, Bane slid the weapon back into its sheath under his right sleeve. He wore two of the silver-bladed knives, one on each forearm with their hilts outward for instant access. Searching the cadaver, he found six more of the darts in a stiff leather case which he confiscated.
"I'll dispose of these at some point," he told the staring Rook. "Some cop or citizen might scratch themselves without knowing how fatal it would be."
"So, the STIGMA assassins are really after me, then. The jig is up, they finally found me." Rook's voice remained steady only through an effort of will.
"We better get out of here right now," Bane said. "My car is one block north."
"How many more killers are looking for me this very second? How many types are there? I'm doomed. The news is out, Jeremy. The hangman is coming down from the gallows and I don't have very long."
If she was hoping for reassurance from Bane, she didn't get it. He snapped, "It's the Desperate Game and you chose to play it, Rook," taking her by one arm to head alongside the building toward the busy street where no one walking past suspected what had happened just beyond their line of sight. Only a tiny fraction of people ever got a glimpse of the Midnight War raging around them.
"Easy for you to feel safe," she grumbled. "I know you are wearing that advanced armor under your clothing. And I have seen wounds heal on you while I watched. You have nothing to fear."
Bane made no reply. He half led and half pushed her toward a dark green Mustang parked beneath a moribund elm tree whose branches sagged in defeat. On the driver's visor, four blue and green lights blinked steadily. "No one's touched it. In you go," he said and closed the passenger door as she got in. A man shouted across the street and his left hand flashed under his jacket by his hip, but it was only someone greeting a friend who had emerged from a mattress outlet. Bane slid behind the wheel and started the finely tuned engine.
"I'm sorry my nerves are a bit taut, dear," Rook admitted, pulling her seat belt together. "An unknown number of top assassins eager to claim money for your head, well, it's not a pleasant experience."
With no trace of humor in his voice, the Dire Wolf replied, "One down."
III.
Ten miles brought them out of the city itself into more open terriory. Two car dealership opposing each other across the highway, an immense granite block of a gym and spa, several small strip malls with their gas stations and video stores and pharmacies. Undeveloped stretches of land began to take over more area. Then Rook tapped on the dashboard with an impeccable fingernail. "There. To our right, that building."
Bane slowed, hit his signal and swung into the opening in a waist high stone wall that surrounded a parking lot. A modernistic three story cube of a building, all glass broken by vertical chrome strips, awaited them. On a standing post, a black sign listed in white letters the names of a dozen companies. On this Sunday afternoon, only a handful of spotless new model cars took up spaces. The rear side of the lot was forest, while a closed and stripped lumberyard took up the adjoining property further along.
Even though there were plenty of open slots next to the building, Bane pulled up along the edge of the lot adjoining the woods. As he turned off the engine, Rook asked what was the idea.
"This time, stay put," was his only answer. The Dire Wolf slid out from behind the wheel. The instant he stood up next to his car, two sharp cracks exploded loud as thunder at close range. Once again, Rook had not been able to follow what had happened. Bane was crouching down with the fingers of his right hand supporting him against the asphalt. In his left hand was a long-barreled Smith & Wesson .38 Special, which he was keeping extended.
Rook was not aware of having leaped from her seat and hurried around to stand behind Bane. The Dire Wolf straightened up and fixed a sour eye at her anxious face. "You're right where a bullet missing me would hit you! How have you survived this long?"
"Stop. Admittedly, I am not at my best right now. My specialties are fast talking, verbal seduction and double crosses. I'm not the soldier you are," she snapped. "I'm in fear for my life and not from the long arm of the law for once."
"It's your safety that's at stake," Bane told her without sympathy. "Look. Eight feet up, that thick horizontal branch to our left. You can see his arm hanging down. I think his rifle fell to the ground."
"Yes. Yes, you're right. He has awful yellow hair, or perhaps I should say he did."
Not holstering his gun, Bane still glared around the area intently. "He looks like a Stormgren to me. Swedish. Their clan has been hiring out as mercenaries and enforcers for three hundred years. But they are known for operating alone and never in teams."
"And you were not hit?"
"I heard the round go past my head," the Dire Wolf said as if discussing a butterfly nearby. "He missed by at least five or six inches. The Stormgrens are overrated, if you ask me. I saw him move as we pulled in, he gave himself away."
"Two stalkers out of the way," Rook said. "My heart is racing so fast. We should go in and get the meeting over with."
"Fine."
"Jeremy, aren't you worried about leaving a trail of corpses behind you like this? Don't you think some unfriendly policemen will find you and have questions about your habits?"
"Not really," he said. "Local cops turn stuff like this over to the Mandate or to Department 21 Black and they like to cover everything up. You won't see anything about the Joyous Rain woman or this Stormgren guy in the papers, anyway. The authorities don't care about much more than keeping things quiet so the public stays docile."
"You see the world through your cynical eyes," Rook responded. "But you are entirely right."
They marched quickly to a side door but before Rook could press the bell, a buzzer sounded that the locks were opening for them. "Cameras everywhere," she scoffed. "A lady can't adjust her bra strap without someone watching."
Bane made no reply. It was only when they were in the foyer with the outer door closed that he finally holstered his gun. Entering a deserted lobby thirty feet across with an unmanned reception desk, the Dire Wolf's full attention was on the figure awaiting them by an elevator door.
The man was the same size and build as Bane himself, six feet tall and wiry at no more than one hundred and seventy-five pounds. He had similar short dark hair but his eyes were jet black rather than grey. Even younger than Bane, he seemed barely past high school age. In a neatly tailored business suit of dark brown with a tan dress shirt, his air of cold control seemed incredibly ominous. Rook tensed up as soon as she saw him.
"I'm expected, Dantine," she said.
"Yes," the youth replied, gesturing toward the elevator door he was keeping open. "Mr Sebastien will see the lady alone."
Turning her head to see Bane's unhappy expression, Rook managed a smile. "This won't take long. It's really just a formality. I'll be quite all right."
"Up to you," the Dire Wolf said but strangely he seemed agreeable to her going unescorted. His attention seemed to be focused entirely on this Dantine. Bane watched as the lovely master thief entered the cage and as the door hissed shut. Then he himself walked over to the center of the empty lobby and assumed a stance.
"This is where we are going to have our fight, then?" he asked.
IV.
When she exited the elevator on the third floor, Rook saw the open door of her client's office directly opposite. She had only been here once before and nothing had changed. The front room held the secretary's desk, with no one there on this Sunday, some comfortable chairs and a low table holding magazines. A wide wooden plaque read THE SEBASTIEN EXPERIENCE with a bas-relief globe of the Earth in front of cumulus clouds. It wasn't quite fair to dismiss the travel agency as a mere cover for Falken's shady operations, as outsiders could in fact come here and arrange well-organized and enjoyable tours of some less well known countries. All the permits and contracts and paperwork would stand up to any law enforcement scrutiny.
But it was not Enrique Sebastien's true business. Rook knew.
Emerging from the frosted glass door to the inner office, Sebastien beamed at her. Visually, he had nothing going for him. In his early sixties, short and dumpy, Sebastien had a soft face with a nose like a badly peeled potato and wiry hair that had given up and allowed male pattern baldness free reign. As well tailored as that three piece suit fit, as quietly expensive the gold pinky ring or individually personalized wristwatch was, they didn't make him appealing.
Rook smiled back with closed lips. Since her early teens, her beauty had been an invaluable tool. Her voice, as well, since she now made it husky and confidential. "I don't think I'm TOO late, am I? It's not quite three."
"It doesn't matter, my dear," he said. "There is no rush. The best of times are when I'm alone with you."
Ushered into an office of dark gleaming wood with gold accents everywhere on furniture and shelves, Rook seated herself into a deep plush chair in front of a desk kept conspicuously bare. She crossed one perfect leg over another and smirked inwardly at the glitter in his eyes as he went over to lower his bulk behind the desk."
"But I know you feel these are the worst of times," he went on. "With what's going on in the world."
"I do believe it's true," Rook agreed. "There is so much darkness in our lives, we live when people lock their doors and hide inside. But we digress, business must come first." She reached up beneath the thick mane of black hair and untied a tiny gem she had hidden there with a black ribbon. In her palm, the jewel sparked a deep unnatural crimson that glinted as if somehow reflecting a searchlight that wasn't there.
"A drumedal stone from Perjena," she announced with pride. "The Nekrosim do not let these pass out of their hands easily, I can tell you from bitter experience."
"And with good reason." Sebastien opened the wide middle drawer of his desk and brought out a letter size envelope taped shut. "Here is the fee we agreed upon, my dear, as well as something extra for your trouble. I understand you had to deal with Golgora."
Exchanging the gem for the envelope, Rook let a genuine chuckle escape her. "Him? That skull-faced hooligan? He was no trouble. Nekrosim may be gruesome looking but they are no more crafty nor difficult to distract than other men."
"Hmmm." Sebastien had examined the drumedal gem and then locked it away before gazing up at her again. "While we have a minute, Rook, I would like to know what your plans are for the immediate future?"
"Really? I am actually looking for my next goal. I am at loose ends. I wonder what tomorrow has in mind for me...Or am I even in its mind at all?"
"It's not like you to sound so uncertain."
Europe's most notorious burglar tilted her head and regarded the awful man across the desk. She hadn't admitted to herself how she had been restless and unhappy lately. "Perhaps I'll get a chance to look ahead and see what's ahead, as soon as I find myself a crystal ball."
"I understand you have met knights of Tel Shai. The Kenneth Dred Foundation members, with their Boy Scout nonsense and chivalry. They're making you lose focus. You came here with Jeremy Bane today."
"True," Rook admitted. "I wish I could believe in the world they seem to see. It's cleaner, simpler, everything is clear-cut. Ah, but we have put aside these childish illusions, don't we? You have my post office drop if you have any new task for me." She prepared to rise but he gestured for her to wait.
"Rook, I own a superyacht that's capable of ocean travel," Sebastien blurted out, speaking rapidly. "It is ready in port at Marseilles at this moment, its crew of five are standing by. I haven't seen the Aegean since I was a young boy. Join me this summer. Come sail away with me, Rook. You don't know what tomorrow will bring, so we'll search for tomorrow on every shore. On board I'm the captain. You can enjoy every luxury in complete safety."
It was by no means the first time some wealthy old lech had made such an offer, Rook half expected it. "I must go my own way, Enrique, you know that. What was that about safety?"
"I know there are assassins tracking you," he said. Sebastian rose to his feet, placing his palms on the desk and leaning forward. "I've got a secret that I've been hiding. I'm not what you see."
"Go on..." she said in a whisper.
"I've come to help you with your problems, so we can be free to go off together. You're sharp, Rook. You're wondering who I am. You know of the third grandmaster of the White Web, Warren Kilroy. Yes, I'm Kilroy. I'm the one who ordered the assassins after you."
V.
Bane watched as Dantine shrugged off his suit jacket and threw it onto a chair, then yanked off his necktie and tossed it aside as well. From the way the man moved, his balance and limber steps, the way he placed his feet, he was obviously an experienced martial artist. This much Bane could tell at once.
Yet, there was something else. Some trait which Bane couldn't identify, yet which made his instincts alert him. The Dire Wolf remained where he was, hands open and down by his sides, ready to move in any directly as needed.
"You should know how long I have wanted to meet you," Dantine said. He began to circle to Bane's left slowly, making his opponent turn to keep facing you. "The great Dire Wolf! We shall see how true the myth is. I know you have had two years of Kumundu training under Teacher Chael but me... I have had a lifetime. I have studied under many masters for decades."
"You're older than you look, then," Bane replied calmly. "You're a troubled young man, I can tell, and you want a target. So this is only for your ego?"
Dantine curled his hands into tight fists, leaned back to place more weight on his rear leg. "That fool Sebastien told me to simply watch you. He will never understand. We both have hammered our bodies into iron weapons with discipline and determination. You're curious. You wonder how much of a challenge I might be."
"I have nothing to prove," said the Dire Wolf. "I'm going up to check on Rook."
"You want to fight! Admit it. You're fooling yourself if you don't believe it."
Surprising himself because he had believed he was above accepting challenges, Jeremy Bane stepped back to one of the overstuffed chairs and tugged off his own jacket to put it aside. Then, unsnapping the holster from his belt, he placed his revolver on the chair as well. "Come on, let's see what you've got."
He did not mention the Trom armor he always wore under his clothes. It was thin and flexible as silk but worked by dispersing any sudden impact over its entire surface. Even high powered rifles bullets felt like dull thumps that barely left a bruise. Between the armor, his innate superhuman speed and his Kumundu training, the Dire Wolf was expecting to hold this silly kid at arm's length and teach him some perspective without hurting him.
Dantine lunged in with a quick low stamping kick toward Bane's forward shin. As Bane dropped one palm intending to deflect that attack, Dantine kept his leg extended and snapped his foot upward instead to crack directly on the side of his opponent's jaw. Those shoes felt like they had steel capped toes. Taking the blow squarely without riding back, the Dire Wolf reeled backward and fell to a seated position on the lobby's floor.
In an instant, he had scuttled back and vaulted back up onto his feet again. But he was utterly surprised and shocked by the situation. Dantine was charging again with a furious barrage of alternating left and right blows from different angles. Nearly all of them were blocked by Bane neatly enough but before he started a counter-offensive, one short hooking punch nailed him right on the same spot where he had taken that kick. The blow had more power behind it than any normal Human could manage, and it might have killed most people rceiving it. As it was, Bane was knocked off his feet again. As he landed on his back, he was an instant too late to avoid a savage stomping kick to his face.
For only a second or two, the Dire Wolf was sprawled on the tiles with his defenses down.
Instead of pressing his advantage, though, Dantine actually stepped back and laughed. "Get up, get back on your feet. Just take your best shot and don't blow it."
In fact, the Dire Wolf had immediately leaped back up again. The bleeding from his broken nose would stop in a few seconds, he knew, and he didn't bother with it. The anger and outrage had shut off in his thoughts entirely. In their place was a cold, calculating calm determination.
"Melgar, maybe?" he asked quietly.
"Hah! You'll wish I was only a Melgar," snorted the young fighter. He darted closer, feinting with a finger jab at the face and then throwing his real attack with his other hand, a flashing backfist. But fully alert and focused now, Bane swayed his head an inch to let that blow go past him and, seizing Dantine's wrist, he pulled his opponent roughly into an elbow strike under the chin that swung the young man's head back so far his neck nearly broke.
Dantine did not try to tug his wrist free but instead whipped his nearer knee up into Bane's stomach. The Trom armor dissipated most of the force of that blow harmlessly. Bane chambered his own leg up and kicked right into the armpit of the arm he was holding, intending to dislocate it. Dantine grunted with pain but got free and backpedaled.
With a few feet between them, Bane studied his opponent. "Not a Melgar. Obviously not a Gelydra. What else could you be?"
Using footwork to move lightly from one side to the other, Dantine was drawing in closer with each step. "I can't see why my Race thinks you're the best," he scoffed. "And you think so, too. They say you're the one they can't beat and you know it. But you're wrong."
With his opponent almost within reach, Bane remained with his open hands barely above waist level, poised and ready. "Of course. You're a Snake man."
"More than that," Dantine retorted. "I am an Amrath!" He sidestepped in close, dropping to one knee to swing his leg around in a sweep. Bane hopped up over it and blasted out a front snap kick but for once he was fighting an enemy as fast and as strong as he was. Dantine grabbed Bane's ankle and swung it over and around, flinging his opponent down on his stomach. The Amrath landed with both knees on the Dire Wolf's lower back, seizing Bane's right arm and yanking it upward. With his left arm down at his side, Bane was in a position where he could not break free at once.
Dantine's jaw gaped wider than it should have been able to do. His canine teeth extended down into deadly sharp fangs that glistened wetly. "Time to bite," he hissed with a sudden sibilance that had not been in his voice. "I'm so glad the security cameras are filming this."
Given another instant, Bane would have been able to free himself and resume the fight. The venom of a Snake man would not kill him as quickly as it would a normal Human, but he would be too weakened to resist as Dantine finished him off at leisure. With only a second to live, the Dire Wolf remembered what he had tucked away in his left pants pocket only an hour earlier that day.
VI.
Rook did not respond immediately. She had settled back down into the chair, with her handbag now in her lap and open so that she could instantly reach inside for the Beretta. The flawless skin on her face had gone pale and for once her lips had compressed into a thin line.
"Of course, the killers are not going to do you any harm, my dear," the man revealed as Kilroy continued. "No, no, of course not. The seeming threat against you is only a way to draw the Dire Wolf into a route where they can each get a chance at him. The other Grandmasters have wanted retaliation against him for some time now."
When she could trust her voice to be calm, Rook said, "Enrique, I believe your assassins have their hands full tackling him."
"Oh, he is formidable no doubt. Never mind that for moment. Rook, I have never felt this way about a woman before. The strength of my love is a revelation. These are feelings that I never knew before."
"Enrique, be serious," she pleaded. "You don't know me at all. What you feel is only infatuation."
"No! I'm not a robot without emotions. My heart is human, my blood is boiling, I am alive for the first time. Join me on my vacht for a week or only a night and I am sure you will see how sincere I am."
Smoothly rising to her feet, Rook held her handbag pressed to her side with her free hand resting over its opening, still prepared to snatch out the gun. This was far from the first time she had been in such a tense situation. The Desperate Game as Bane had called it, where the rules changed as you played. "Perhaps we will work again at some point, but I will be leaving now."
Kilroy was breathing faster, getting visibly agitated. "You were uncomfortable around Dantine without knowing why. He is no callow youth at all, but seventy years old, an Amrath. His kind have been bred by the Snake men for a thousand years to be deadly. The venom in his fangs is instantly lethal and he is a more dangerous fighter than any Human can ever be, even your Jeremy Bane. In a minute or two, he will come up here and report the death of your new friend. I know this for a fact."
"Forget what you know," interrupted a taut voice from the doorway. Both Kilroy and Rook gave violent starts and twisted to see the startling figure standing there with blood still wet over his lower face.
"Dire Wolf! Coming to the rescue when you are needed most," Rook exhaled with relief.
"I'm not a hero. I'm not a savior," Bane said. "But it seems like I might be able to get you out of here safely, Rook."
"This has gone far enough!" yelled Kilroy as his composure broke beyond repair. "Where is Dantine?"
"He's dead, what did you expect?" As he spoke, Bane's left arm blurred up and then down in a final whisk of motion too quick to be clearly followed.
Enrique Sebastien, actually Kilroy, dropped the semi-automatic he had snatched from its velcro fastening under his desk and stared down dumbly at the thin steel needle standing out from his throat. His diaphragm had already been paralyzed and he did not have the ability to draw in a breath before he fell back against his chair. His body slumped to the floor in a sodden heap.
Watching this, Rook seemed to regain her poise. "Ah. The needles you took from that horrid Joyous Rain woman. That seems to have been a fortuitous action, Jeremy."
Bane did not respond. He circling the room, found the gleam of a glass lense from atop a bookcase and ripped a security camera out of its concealment. As he broke the device apart, he said, "Before we go, I'd better find the rest of these. One in the hall, one in the elevator, one in the lobby and one in the door to outside. They have to be destroyed."
"There may still be more assassins out there, I am not safe yet."
"No. But word will get out about Kilroy's death and they'll move on to the next contract. They don't care about you OR me, it's just a job to them."
Rook finally felt secure enough to sling the gold chain of her handbag over one shoulder. "I am so tired, Dire Wolf, tired of all this. I thought I could be comfortably off if I retired now. I thought I could grow fat and happy, reading trashy novels in my garden and dozing in the sun. We'd live happily forever, so the story goes. But somehow we'd miss out on that pot of gold we were promised."
For the first time that day, Bane's attitude toward her softened slightly. There was a tinge of regret in his voice. "I'd give it a week before you're climbing out of someone's window with a diamond necklace or handing over stolen papers in a park at three in the morning, Rook. You're not going to change."
"So, tell me. Tell me where I'm going, Jeremy. My heart is breaking and I don't know where to go," she asked.
"You can start by getting out of here. There's still a few miles to the airport to negotiate. I can call in favors with the Mandate and squeeze you in on a flight to France but after that, everything's up to you. I bet you got your payment from him, right?"
"Oh, yes. I had hardly thought of it. Jeremy, come with me. Even if for only a few days. You can't tell me you don't want to. After we part... well, our dreams of yesterday will last a lifetime. You will always remember me."
The Dire Wolf gestured toward the door. "I'll wave to you as your plane takes off."
6/17/2022
7/18/1983
I.
As soon he came into the bar, Jeremy Bane automatically stepped to one side and turned his body sideways. He had been shot at more than once when entering places better than this dive. Two years on the Tagra tea diet had enhanced the Dire Wolf's bodily reactions enough that his eyes adjusted instantly to the dim lights after being out in the summer sun. He spotted no immediate threats. Two men sharing a newspaper in a booth didn't look up at his entry. The bartender's body language indicated no tension, no readiness to go for a weapon. It was Rook who then could claim his full attention.
Regarded as one of the most beautiful women in the Midnight War, Rook was tall, five feet seven, and slim as a dancer. The straight glossy black hair hung down to nearly the small of her back and contrasted with the simple dress of dark red silk. Having a French father and Japanese mother had gifted her with golden peach skin, a fine-featured oval face and huge dark eyes. As she saw Bane, those eyes became mocking. One elegant eyebrow lifted a fraction of an inch.
"Ah, the Dire Wolf himself," she murmured in a low pleasant voice when he neared. "Come to help me watch dismal world events? I've got the twelve o'clock news blues." She inclined her head toward the small black and white television fastened on a frame in one corner.
"Rook. We need to step outside. This situation is serious.."
"You're talking like a damn fool, Jeremy. I'm sitting on this bar stool for the forseeable future. I've got nothing to do and all day to do it in."
"What can I get you, buddy?" interrupted the bartender with a hint of insistence. He seemed suspicious of this tall thin man who dressed all in black and who had pale eyes which seemed innately cold and wary. Or possibly he was as smitten with Rook as most men became and resented Bane's presence.
Glancing down at Rook's half filled glass, the Dire Wolf replied, "I'll have a martini, too. Vodka, dry vermouth, ice, and a twist of lemon, nothing out of the ordinary."
"Jeremy, really? You are such a thorough American, I expected you to order a bottle of cold brew."
Putting money down on the bar, Bane took a sip. The drink was wasted on him. His enhanced healing factor meant that alcohol had absolutely no effect on him. He could have chugged down a bottle of vodka without reacting. "Rook, you're in more trouble than usual."
"That reward that that STIGMA posted on me? Oh, Jeremy. Don't tell me you've sunk to being a bounty hunter." The perfect lips curled up ironically. "I expect better from you."
The Dire Wolf took another tiny sip and placed the glass off to one side. "It's not me you have to worry about. My sources tell me it's badlands gossip that a half dozen different assassins have been reported in the Hudson Valley. A Blind Archer or one of the Night Gorillas? Karel Cherny, maybe Golgora?"
"I have had a high price on my head before," she replied, emptying her own glass with a back toss of her head. "So tiresome, to be retrieved for a bounty by some faceless mercenary. Are you here to offer me protection?"
There was no warmth in his voice, only firm restraint. "You helped me and my team against Cogitus. That weighs in your favor. Stopping your cat burglar career really isn't on my agenda. As far as I know, you've never killed anyone. You swindle and rob millionaires who are on the wrong side of the law themselves."
"Hmm. Are you sure you don't have more carnal motives, dear?" she asked. "I am not unattractive, after all."
"I'm all business, Rook. You know that."
"Somewhat to my regret," she chuckled. "But I understand. After all, your girlfriend is a telepath."
"Let's get going. Stewart Airport is only twenty minutes away."
"Ready for another one, sweetheart? asked the bartender, who had been conspicuously at the other end of the bar and out of earshot.
"In a minute, thank you." Rook turned those slightly oblique eyes on the man she had matched wits with before. "There is a complication. Despite what I said a moment ago, I do have an appointment to receive payment from a rather unappealing entrepeneur named Sebastien. Do you know him?"
"Only by reputation. Sort of a Midnight War fence for mystic talismans. Skip seeing him, Rook, we need to get you on a flight back to Europe."
"And mar my reputation? No, no, that would never do. I used to like to walk the straight and narrow line, Jeremy. I used to think that everything was fine. But the shady side of life calls to me so strongly. I was not born to live within the law, I am a natural outlaw and renegade. My God, I'm hardly alive unless I'm in danger."
Bane's self-control faltered for an instant as anger entered his voice. "I'm not sure why I'm doing this if you're not going to co-operate. But be that way. I'll take you to your payoff and still try to get out of the country alive."
"That's the way you are, dear. We are both of us true to our natures." She slid off the stool and smoothed her dress down. Off to one side was a small brown leather handbag on a gold chain, but she hesitated before picking it up. "But there is no better protection than having you on hand. The Dire Wolf. Faster than any Human. Are you still quick enough to slap a striking cobra? I myself have seen you in action. Am I being too cavalier, my dear friend?"
"I'm used to it," he replied without heat. All during their exchange, his eyes had never been still a second, moving intently for any possible attack. "Come with me to the door but stay over by the side."
Nodding sweetly to the bartender, Rook followed him. "Your manner has changed suddenly, Jeremy. You've got the wolf's air about you."
"A shadow crossed close by that window but no one came in," he replied. "Too obvious. They want me to go circle the building looking for them."
"But...?"
"It's a chance to get one assassin out of the way right at the start." He placed a hand on the doorknob and gave her a wry gaze. "I always walk into traps to get them over with."
II.
Outside, the hot midsummer air pressed down like a blanket. The GARDEN OF EDEN bar was a dingy one-story red brick building at the end of a block, with no parking lot of its own but a courtyard behind it. Traffic was rolling by normally on Van Deusen Street. Newburgh was an infamous seedy city with a high crime rate, more poverty than opportunity and enough drug sales that busts made the newspapers on a regular basis. After dark, even this main street of the city would be deserted except for one or two desperate streetwalkers and a few furtive dealers waiting in shadows.
In the afternoon sunlight, Bane was shown in full detail as thin, almost gaunt in his all black outfit of slacks, turtleneck and sport jacket. In a narrow face topped by short black hair, his most striking feature were those grey eyes which watched the world with deep suspicion. Only twenty-four, his confidence and stern attitude made most people treat him as someone much older.
Without hesitation, he turned toward the rear courtyard and strode back with one shoulder up against the hot brick wall. Immediately after he had left the bar, Rook had come following. As she saw Bane round the back of the building, Europe's most notorious thief slipped a hand into her bag for reassurance. The small flat Beretta M9A3 had never failed her.
Rook peered cautiously around the rear corner just in time to see a furious blur of motion that lasted only a fraction of a second. It was over too quickly for her brain to process what had happened. The Dire Wolf was lowering his left arm from a backhand throw, and his upraised right forearm somehow had three long steel needles protruding from the sleeve. Only then did she notice the dead woman on the ground.
Lying face-up, wearing only sneakers, denim shorts and a red blouse tied across the midriff, she was a tiny Asian. Or had been, Rook thought. The black hair was cropped short at the nape. The unblinking eyes were raised up directly at the blazing sun which could no longer make them water. From the left side of her chest, the flattened handle of a slim throwing dagger stood straight up.
Without looking back at Rook, Bane said quietly, "It's asking too much for you to follow orders, I know. I told you to wait inside."
"So quick. It's surreal. I was watching you and I still could not follow your movements. How do you do it, Jeremy?"
The Dire Wolf took a step toward the dead woman, glaring at her as if daring her to rise. "I was born this way. No one knows why." He crouched to pick up a few fallen leaves, using them to pluck the needles from his sleeve, not allowing contact with his skin. The thin metal rods had a round ring two-thirds up their length for balance and the points were sticky with a dark resin.
"I don't believe I've seen her before," Rook ventured. "What was she? White Web?"
"She's from an LA group of killers, operating behind a common street gang. The Joyous Rain, all Vietnamese. The poison on these needles is a neurotoxin with no antidote or treatment possible in the few seconds before your breathing stops and you die." He seemed to finally feel certain the assassin was dead, because he went over to retrieve his dagger. After cleaning its blade on the woman's clothing, Bane slid the weapon back into its sheath under his right sleeve. He wore two of the silver-bladed knives, one on each forearm with their hilts outward for instant access. Searching the cadaver, he found six more of the darts in a stiff leather case which he confiscated.
"I'll dispose of these at some point," he told the staring Rook. "Some cop or citizen might scratch themselves without knowing how fatal it would be."
"So, the STIGMA assassins are really after me, then. The jig is up, they finally found me." Rook's voice remained steady only through an effort of will.
"We better get out of here right now," Bane said. "My car is one block north."
"How many more killers are looking for me this very second? How many types are there? I'm doomed. The news is out, Jeremy. The hangman is coming down from the gallows and I don't have very long."
If she was hoping for reassurance from Bane, she didn't get it. He snapped, "It's the Desperate Game and you chose to play it, Rook," taking her by one arm to head alongside the building toward the busy street where no one walking past suspected what had happened just beyond their line of sight. Only a tiny fraction of people ever got a glimpse of the Midnight War raging around them.
"Easy for you to feel safe," she grumbled. "I know you are wearing that advanced armor under your clothing. And I have seen wounds heal on you while I watched. You have nothing to fear."
Bane made no reply. He half led and half pushed her toward a dark green Mustang parked beneath a moribund elm tree whose branches sagged in defeat. On the driver's visor, four blue and green lights blinked steadily. "No one's touched it. In you go," he said and closed the passenger door as she got in. A man shouted across the street and his left hand flashed under his jacket by his hip, but it was only someone greeting a friend who had emerged from a mattress outlet. Bane slid behind the wheel and started the finely tuned engine.
"I'm sorry my nerves are a bit taut, dear," Rook admitted, pulling her seat belt together. "An unknown number of top assassins eager to claim money for your head, well, it's not a pleasant experience."
With no trace of humor in his voice, the Dire Wolf replied, "One down."
III.
Ten miles brought them out of the city itself into more open terriory. Two car dealership opposing each other across the highway, an immense granite block of a gym and spa, several small strip malls with their gas stations and video stores and pharmacies. Undeveloped stretches of land began to take over more area. Then Rook tapped on the dashboard with an impeccable fingernail. "There. To our right, that building."
Bane slowed, hit his signal and swung into the opening in a waist high stone wall that surrounded a parking lot. A modernistic three story cube of a building, all glass broken by vertical chrome strips, awaited them. On a standing post, a black sign listed in white letters the names of a dozen companies. On this Sunday afternoon, only a handful of spotless new model cars took up spaces. The rear side of the lot was forest, while a closed and stripped lumberyard took up the adjoining property further along.
Even though there were plenty of open slots next to the building, Bane pulled up along the edge of the lot adjoining the woods. As he turned off the engine, Rook asked what was the idea.
"This time, stay put," was his only answer. The Dire Wolf slid out from behind the wheel. The instant he stood up next to his car, two sharp cracks exploded loud as thunder at close range. Once again, Rook had not been able to follow what had happened. Bane was crouching down with the fingers of his right hand supporting him against the asphalt. In his left hand was a long-barreled Smith & Wesson .38 Special, which he was keeping extended.
Rook was not aware of having leaped from her seat and hurried around to stand behind Bane. The Dire Wolf straightened up and fixed a sour eye at her anxious face. "You're right where a bullet missing me would hit you! How have you survived this long?"
"Stop. Admittedly, I am not at my best right now. My specialties are fast talking, verbal seduction and double crosses. I'm not the soldier you are," she snapped. "I'm in fear for my life and not from the long arm of the law for once."
"It's your safety that's at stake," Bane told her without sympathy. "Look. Eight feet up, that thick horizontal branch to our left. You can see his arm hanging down. I think his rifle fell to the ground."
"Yes. Yes, you're right. He has awful yellow hair, or perhaps I should say he did."
Not holstering his gun, Bane still glared around the area intently. "He looks like a Stormgren to me. Swedish. Their clan has been hiring out as mercenaries and enforcers for three hundred years. But they are known for operating alone and never in teams."
"And you were not hit?"
"I heard the round go past my head," the Dire Wolf said as if discussing a butterfly nearby. "He missed by at least five or six inches. The Stormgrens are overrated, if you ask me. I saw him move as we pulled in, he gave himself away."
"Two stalkers out of the way," Rook said. "My heart is racing so fast. We should go in and get the meeting over with."
"Fine."
"Jeremy, aren't you worried about leaving a trail of corpses behind you like this? Don't you think some unfriendly policemen will find you and have questions about your habits?"
"Not really," he said. "Local cops turn stuff like this over to the Mandate or to Department 21 Black and they like to cover everything up. You won't see anything about the Joyous Rain woman or this Stormgren guy in the papers, anyway. The authorities don't care about much more than keeping things quiet so the public stays docile."
"You see the world through your cynical eyes," Rook responded. "But you are entirely right."
They marched quickly to a side door but before Rook could press the bell, a buzzer sounded that the locks were opening for them. "Cameras everywhere," she scoffed. "A lady can't adjust her bra strap without someone watching."
Bane made no reply. It was only when they were in the foyer with the outer door closed that he finally holstered his gun. Entering a deserted lobby thirty feet across with an unmanned reception desk, the Dire Wolf's full attention was on the figure awaiting them by an elevator door.
The man was the same size and build as Bane himself, six feet tall and wiry at no more than one hundred and seventy-five pounds. He had similar short dark hair but his eyes were jet black rather than grey. Even younger than Bane, he seemed barely past high school age. In a neatly tailored business suit of dark brown with a tan dress shirt, his air of cold control seemed incredibly ominous. Rook tensed up as soon as she saw him.
"I'm expected, Dantine," she said.
"Yes," the youth replied, gesturing toward the elevator door he was keeping open. "Mr Sebastien will see the lady alone."
Turning her head to see Bane's unhappy expression, Rook managed a smile. "This won't take long. It's really just a formality. I'll be quite all right."
"Up to you," the Dire Wolf said but strangely he seemed agreeable to her going unescorted. His attention seemed to be focused entirely on this Dantine. Bane watched as the lovely master thief entered the cage and as the door hissed shut. Then he himself walked over to the center of the empty lobby and assumed a stance.
"This is where we are going to have our fight, then?" he asked.
IV.
When she exited the elevator on the third floor, Rook saw the open door of her client's office directly opposite. She had only been here once before and nothing had changed. The front room held the secretary's desk, with no one there on this Sunday, some comfortable chairs and a low table holding magazines. A wide wooden plaque read THE SEBASTIEN EXPERIENCE with a bas-relief globe of the Earth in front of cumulus clouds. It wasn't quite fair to dismiss the travel agency as a mere cover for Falken's shady operations, as outsiders could in fact come here and arrange well-organized and enjoyable tours of some less well known countries. All the permits and contracts and paperwork would stand up to any law enforcement scrutiny.
But it was not Enrique Sebastien's true business. Rook knew.
Emerging from the frosted glass door to the inner office, Sebastien beamed at her. Visually, he had nothing going for him. In his early sixties, short and dumpy, Sebastien had a soft face with a nose like a badly peeled potato and wiry hair that had given up and allowed male pattern baldness free reign. As well tailored as that three piece suit fit, as quietly expensive the gold pinky ring or individually personalized wristwatch was, they didn't make him appealing.
Rook smiled back with closed lips. Since her early teens, her beauty had been an invaluable tool. Her voice, as well, since she now made it husky and confidential. "I don't think I'm TOO late, am I? It's not quite three."
"It doesn't matter, my dear," he said. "There is no rush. The best of times are when I'm alone with you."
Ushered into an office of dark gleaming wood with gold accents everywhere on furniture and shelves, Rook seated herself into a deep plush chair in front of a desk kept conspicuously bare. She crossed one perfect leg over another and smirked inwardly at the glitter in his eyes as he went over to lower his bulk behind the desk."
"But I know you feel these are the worst of times," he went on. "With what's going on in the world."
"I do believe it's true," Rook agreed. "There is so much darkness in our lives, we live when people lock their doors and hide inside. But we digress, business must come first." She reached up beneath the thick mane of black hair and untied a tiny gem she had hidden there with a black ribbon. In her palm, the jewel sparked a deep unnatural crimson that glinted as if somehow reflecting a searchlight that wasn't there.
"A drumedal stone from Perjena," she announced with pride. "The Nekrosim do not let these pass out of their hands easily, I can tell you from bitter experience."
"And with good reason." Sebastien opened the wide middle drawer of his desk and brought out a letter size envelope taped shut. "Here is the fee we agreed upon, my dear, as well as something extra for your trouble. I understand you had to deal with Golgora."
Exchanging the gem for the envelope, Rook let a genuine chuckle escape her. "Him? That skull-faced hooligan? He was no trouble. Nekrosim may be gruesome looking but they are no more crafty nor difficult to distract than other men."
"Hmmm." Sebastien had examined the drumedal gem and then locked it away before gazing up at her again. "While we have a minute, Rook, I would like to know what your plans are for the immediate future?"
"Really? I am actually looking for my next goal. I am at loose ends. I wonder what tomorrow has in mind for me...Or am I even in its mind at all?"
"It's not like you to sound so uncertain."
Europe's most notorious burglar tilted her head and regarded the awful man across the desk. She hadn't admitted to herself how she had been restless and unhappy lately. "Perhaps I'll get a chance to look ahead and see what's ahead, as soon as I find myself a crystal ball."
"I understand you have met knights of Tel Shai. The Kenneth Dred Foundation members, with their Boy Scout nonsense and chivalry. They're making you lose focus. You came here with Jeremy Bane today."
"True," Rook admitted. "I wish I could believe in the world they seem to see. It's cleaner, simpler, everything is clear-cut. Ah, but we have put aside these childish illusions, don't we? You have my post office drop if you have any new task for me." She prepared to rise but he gestured for her to wait.
"Rook, I own a superyacht that's capable of ocean travel," Sebastien blurted out, speaking rapidly. "It is ready in port at Marseilles at this moment, its crew of five are standing by. I haven't seen the Aegean since I was a young boy. Join me this summer. Come sail away with me, Rook. You don't know what tomorrow will bring, so we'll search for tomorrow on every shore. On board I'm the captain. You can enjoy every luxury in complete safety."
It was by no means the first time some wealthy old lech had made such an offer, Rook half expected it. "I must go my own way, Enrique, you know that. What was that about safety?"
"I know there are assassins tracking you," he said. Sebastian rose to his feet, placing his palms on the desk and leaning forward. "I've got a secret that I've been hiding. I'm not what you see."
"Go on..." she said in a whisper.
"I've come to help you with your problems, so we can be free to go off together. You're sharp, Rook. You're wondering who I am. You know of the third grandmaster of the White Web, Warren Kilroy. Yes, I'm Kilroy. I'm the one who ordered the assassins after you."
V.
Bane watched as Dantine shrugged off his suit jacket and threw it onto a chair, then yanked off his necktie and tossed it aside as well. From the way the man moved, his balance and limber steps, the way he placed his feet, he was obviously an experienced martial artist. This much Bane could tell at once.
Yet, there was something else. Some trait which Bane couldn't identify, yet which made his instincts alert him. The Dire Wolf remained where he was, hands open and down by his sides, ready to move in any directly as needed.
"You should know how long I have wanted to meet you," Dantine said. He began to circle to Bane's left slowly, making his opponent turn to keep facing you. "The great Dire Wolf! We shall see how true the myth is. I know you have had two years of Kumundu training under Teacher Chael but me... I have had a lifetime. I have studied under many masters for decades."
"You're older than you look, then," Bane replied calmly. "You're a troubled young man, I can tell, and you want a target. So this is only for your ego?"
Dantine curled his hands into tight fists, leaned back to place more weight on his rear leg. "That fool Sebastien told me to simply watch you. He will never understand. We both have hammered our bodies into iron weapons with discipline and determination. You're curious. You wonder how much of a challenge I might be."
"I have nothing to prove," said the Dire Wolf. "I'm going up to check on Rook."
"You want to fight! Admit it. You're fooling yourself if you don't believe it."
Surprising himself because he had believed he was above accepting challenges, Jeremy Bane stepped back to one of the overstuffed chairs and tugged off his own jacket to put it aside. Then, unsnapping the holster from his belt, he placed his revolver on the chair as well. "Come on, let's see what you've got."
He did not mention the Trom armor he always wore under his clothes. It was thin and flexible as silk but worked by dispersing any sudden impact over its entire surface. Even high powered rifles bullets felt like dull thumps that barely left a bruise. Between the armor, his innate superhuman speed and his Kumundu training, the Dire Wolf was expecting to hold this silly kid at arm's length and teach him some perspective without hurting him.
Dantine lunged in with a quick low stamping kick toward Bane's forward shin. As Bane dropped one palm intending to deflect that attack, Dantine kept his leg extended and snapped his foot upward instead to crack directly on the side of his opponent's jaw. Those shoes felt like they had steel capped toes. Taking the blow squarely without riding back, the Dire Wolf reeled backward and fell to a seated position on the lobby's floor.
In an instant, he had scuttled back and vaulted back up onto his feet again. But he was utterly surprised and shocked by the situation. Dantine was charging again with a furious barrage of alternating left and right blows from different angles. Nearly all of them were blocked by Bane neatly enough but before he started a counter-offensive, one short hooking punch nailed him right on the same spot where he had taken that kick. The blow had more power behind it than any normal Human could manage, and it might have killed most people rceiving it. As it was, Bane was knocked off his feet again. As he landed on his back, he was an instant too late to avoid a savage stomping kick to his face.
For only a second or two, the Dire Wolf was sprawled on the tiles with his defenses down.
Instead of pressing his advantage, though, Dantine actually stepped back and laughed. "Get up, get back on your feet. Just take your best shot and don't blow it."
In fact, the Dire Wolf had immediately leaped back up again. The bleeding from his broken nose would stop in a few seconds, he knew, and he didn't bother with it. The anger and outrage had shut off in his thoughts entirely. In their place was a cold, calculating calm determination.
"Melgar, maybe?" he asked quietly.
"Hah! You'll wish I was only a Melgar," snorted the young fighter. He darted closer, feinting with a finger jab at the face and then throwing his real attack with his other hand, a flashing backfist. But fully alert and focused now, Bane swayed his head an inch to let that blow go past him and, seizing Dantine's wrist, he pulled his opponent roughly into an elbow strike under the chin that swung the young man's head back so far his neck nearly broke.
Dantine did not try to tug his wrist free but instead whipped his nearer knee up into Bane's stomach. The Trom armor dissipated most of the force of that blow harmlessly. Bane chambered his own leg up and kicked right into the armpit of the arm he was holding, intending to dislocate it. Dantine grunted with pain but got free and backpedaled.
With a few feet between them, Bane studied his opponent. "Not a Melgar. Obviously not a Gelydra. What else could you be?"
Using footwork to move lightly from one side to the other, Dantine was drawing in closer with each step. "I can't see why my Race thinks you're the best," he scoffed. "And you think so, too. They say you're the one they can't beat and you know it. But you're wrong."
With his opponent almost within reach, Bane remained with his open hands barely above waist level, poised and ready. "Of course. You're a Snake man."
"More than that," Dantine retorted. "I am an Amrath!" He sidestepped in close, dropping to one knee to swing his leg around in a sweep. Bane hopped up over it and blasted out a front snap kick but for once he was fighting an enemy as fast and as strong as he was. Dantine grabbed Bane's ankle and swung it over and around, flinging his opponent down on his stomach. The Amrath landed with both knees on the Dire Wolf's lower back, seizing Bane's right arm and yanking it upward. With his left arm down at his side, Bane was in a position where he could not break free at once.
Dantine's jaw gaped wider than it should have been able to do. His canine teeth extended down into deadly sharp fangs that glistened wetly. "Time to bite," he hissed with a sudden sibilance that had not been in his voice. "I'm so glad the security cameras are filming this."
Given another instant, Bane would have been able to free himself and resume the fight. The venom of a Snake man would not kill him as quickly as it would a normal Human, but he would be too weakened to resist as Dantine finished him off at leisure. With only a second to live, the Dire Wolf remembered what he had tucked away in his left pants pocket only an hour earlier that day.
VI.
Rook did not respond immediately. She had settled back down into the chair, with her handbag now in her lap and open so that she could instantly reach inside for the Beretta. The flawless skin on her face had gone pale and for once her lips had compressed into a thin line.
"Of course, the killers are not going to do you any harm, my dear," the man revealed as Kilroy continued. "No, no, of course not. The seeming threat against you is only a way to draw the Dire Wolf into a route where they can each get a chance at him. The other Grandmasters have wanted retaliation against him for some time now."
When she could trust her voice to be calm, Rook said, "Enrique, I believe your assassins have their hands full tackling him."
"Oh, he is formidable no doubt. Never mind that for moment. Rook, I have never felt this way about a woman before. The strength of my love is a revelation. These are feelings that I never knew before."
"Enrique, be serious," she pleaded. "You don't know me at all. What you feel is only infatuation."
"No! I'm not a robot without emotions. My heart is human, my blood is boiling, I am alive for the first time. Join me on my vacht for a week or only a night and I am sure you will see how sincere I am."
Smoothly rising to her feet, Rook held her handbag pressed to her side with her free hand resting over its opening, still prepared to snatch out the gun. This was far from the first time she had been in such a tense situation. The Desperate Game as Bane had called it, where the rules changed as you played. "Perhaps we will work again at some point, but I will be leaving now."
Kilroy was breathing faster, getting visibly agitated. "You were uncomfortable around Dantine without knowing why. He is no callow youth at all, but seventy years old, an Amrath. His kind have been bred by the Snake men for a thousand years to be deadly. The venom in his fangs is instantly lethal and he is a more dangerous fighter than any Human can ever be, even your Jeremy Bane. In a minute or two, he will come up here and report the death of your new friend. I know this for a fact."
"Forget what you know," interrupted a taut voice from the doorway. Both Kilroy and Rook gave violent starts and twisted to see the startling figure standing there with blood still wet over his lower face.
"Dire Wolf! Coming to the rescue when you are needed most," Rook exhaled with relief.
"I'm not a hero. I'm not a savior," Bane said. "But it seems like I might be able to get you out of here safely, Rook."
"This has gone far enough!" yelled Kilroy as his composure broke beyond repair. "Where is Dantine?"
"He's dead, what did you expect?" As he spoke, Bane's left arm blurred up and then down in a final whisk of motion too quick to be clearly followed.
Enrique Sebastien, actually Kilroy, dropped the semi-automatic he had snatched from its velcro fastening under his desk and stared down dumbly at the thin steel needle standing out from his throat. His diaphragm had already been paralyzed and he did not have the ability to draw in a breath before he fell back against his chair. His body slumped to the floor in a sodden heap.
Watching this, Rook seemed to regain her poise. "Ah. The needles you took from that horrid Joyous Rain woman. That seems to have been a fortuitous action, Jeremy."
Bane did not respond. He circling the room, found the gleam of a glass lense from atop a bookcase and ripped a security camera out of its concealment. As he broke the device apart, he said, "Before we go, I'd better find the rest of these. One in the hall, one in the elevator, one in the lobby and one in the door to outside. They have to be destroyed."
"There may still be more assassins out there, I am not safe yet."
"No. But word will get out about Kilroy's death and they'll move on to the next contract. They don't care about you OR me, it's just a job to them."
Rook finally felt secure enough to sling the gold chain of her handbag over one shoulder. "I am so tired, Dire Wolf, tired of all this. I thought I could be comfortably off if I retired now. I thought I could grow fat and happy, reading trashy novels in my garden and dozing in the sun. We'd live happily forever, so the story goes. But somehow we'd miss out on that pot of gold we were promised."
For the first time that day, Bane's attitude toward her softened slightly. There was a tinge of regret in his voice. "I'd give it a week before you're climbing out of someone's window with a diamond necklace or handing over stolen papers in a park at three in the morning, Rook. You're not going to change."
"So, tell me. Tell me where I'm going, Jeremy. My heart is breaking and I don't know where to go," she asked.
"You can start by getting out of here. There's still a few miles to the airport to negotiate. I can call in favors with the Mandate and squeeze you in on a flight to France but after that, everything's up to you. I bet you got your payment from him, right?"
"Oh, yes. I had hardly thought of it. Jeremy, come with me. Even if for only a few days. You can't tell me you don't want to. After we part... well, our dreams of yesterday will last a lifetime. You will always remember me."
The Dire Wolf gestured toward the door. "I'll wave to you as your plane takes off."
6/17/2022
