"A Wilderness of Mirrors"
May. 14th, 2022 06:48 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dochermes"A Wilderness of Mirrors"
6/29/2010
I.
Bane snapped awake, fully alert and clear-headed. He was lying face up on a comfortable double bed in a room he didn't recognize. In an instant, long decades of Kumundu training reassured him there was no one else in the room. Holding his breath, slowing his heartbeat, the Dire Wolf used a Tel Shai technique to enhance his hearing. He focused and concentrated. Yes, there was no one else within the building.
Taking normal breaths again, Bane gazed down at himself. He was lying on top of the covers, wearing dark green flannel pajamas with yellow trim. His matched silver daggers and the flexible Trom armor were not on him but he had known they wouldn't be. Before he had set himself up to be captured by the Helpers, Bane had been sure to leave behind his invaluable belongings.
Under heavy dark brows, his pale grey eyes glinted with excitement. The game was underway. Bane swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood up. At six feet tall and a gaunt one hundred and seventy pounds, he moved with ease and confidence. Nearing fifty-five, he had lost none of his enhanced speed or agility. He was still the Dire Wolf. Perhaps he always would be.
The room was warm and clean, fragrant with the smell of cedar. The double bed, the comfortable chairs, the couch facing a wide picture window... all were done in an early American style, handcrafted from pine. A standing lamp by the door was off; enough light diffused through the gauzy curtains to see clearly.
Oddly, every wall had a mirror. Some were full-length, some mere rectangles small enough to fit in a pocket. No matter where he glanced, he was greeted by a reflection of himself with a wry expression. Bane raised an eyebrow at his image. How many cameras were behind those mirrors? How many of those mirrors concealed a darkened room or nook where someone sat watching?
Three light raps sounded at the door and the knob turned. Despite his instant wariness, the way he settled into a loose stance that would let him meet an attack, Bane had no feeling he was in immediate danger. His instincts were usually very good.
"Excuse me, sir?" asked a demure female voice.
"Oh, come right in," the Dire Wolf answered.
A young woman in pastel blue scrubs like a nurse poked her head through the doorway. She was pretty in a unobtrusive way, with short curly hair and bright blue eyes. In one hand, she lifted up a garment bag on a hook. "Today's kit, sir," she said.
"Really," Bane replied vaguely. "Thank you."
"I'm sorry your breakfast wasn't quite ready," she went on as she carefully laid the bag out on the couch. "You're up earlier than expected."
Because I shook off the knockout drugs you used on me, Bane thought. Decades on the Tagra diet available only from Tel Shai had elevated his healing factor beyond what medical science could explain. Even deadly neurotoxins only sickened him briefly, and he had immediately recovered from whatever drugs this place had used on him. His captors had probably expected him to be unconscious for hours.
"How did you know I was awake?" Bane asked lightly.
"Oh, I took a chance," the attendant said. "If there's nothing else, sir?"
"I'm sorry, what was your name again?"
"Sunflower, sir."
"After the color of your eyes?"
"Of course." She gave a polite inclination of her head and was gone again.
Left to himself, Bane began an immediate survey of his rooms. Certain that he was surrounded by cameras and microphones, he did not start tearing the furnishings apart but simply ambled about the way someone checking into a motel might. The bathroom was small but immaculate. There was a cupboard that held dishes and plates and utensils, and there was a waist-high refrigerator stocked with bottles of water and soda, sandwich meats, snacks and such.. but there was no provision anywhere for cooking. Not a hot plate, not a microwave.
In the big main room, an old-fashioned wooden radio sat on a sideboard. No television anywhere, no landline phone. There was a short bookcase and he glanced over the nondescript titles. A few mystery novels, a book of essays on the Civil War, a King James Bible and some slim volumes of self-help pop psychology.
The Dire Wolf decided he had better get outside and start taking control of the situation. Opening the garment bag, he found loose slacks and a polo shirt of cotton, as well as a nylon windbreaker. Everything was of the same dark green with yellow trim. A pair of slip-on loafers had been included.
Before stripping off the pajamas, Bane went through the dresser next to the bed. Neatly folded underwear and socks had already been stowed away in there. He took off the pajamas and hung them on the back of a chair, then got dressed. Being naked in front of concealed watchers meant nothing to him. He had never developed much modesty as a street orphan.
Even without his armor and weapons, even without the silver daggers he had carried all his career, Bane felt no sense of disadvantage. He still had his hard-trained body with its innate superior reflexes. He had the enhanced healing factor from decades of the Tagra tgea regimen. And he had his mind. Bane felt sharp and alert and ready for confrontation.
Before going outside, he paused to use the bathroom, washed his hands and face and brushed his short black hair. The strangest sensation of unease was starting to creep up on him. No obvious threat was at hand, and yet...
Going to the front door of his cabin, Jeremy Bane flung the door open and stood taking in his first sight of Placid Falls.
II.
Two rows of cabins like his flanked a wide gravel path that led down to a much larger two-story plank building that had an open porch running its perimeter. In front of that main building was a paved meeting area marked with benches and tables. The settlement in general resembled a campground. No cars or trucks were in sight.
Beyond the buildings, gigantic trees loomed up overhead. Not redwoods, he thought, not exactly but a similar species. He identified some of the bushes and flowering plants as native to the Pacific Northwest. Judging by the angle of the sun and its position, not more than a day had passed while he had been unconscious. Most likely he had only been out for only a few hours.
A dozen people were in sight, leisurely strolling along the gravel path or chatting in front of one of the cabins like longtime neighbors. Nearly all were white Americans or Europeans, with one black man and two Asian women in sight.
Everyone was wearing the same green and yellow clothing that had been given to him. As Bane emerged into the warm sunlight, all the people froze into position. Some stared openly, a few whispered, but at once they all went back to what they had been doing with exaggerated nonchalance.
Just as they had obviously recognized him, the Dire Wolf had spotted five or six old colleagues and rivals. That middle-aged man with the greying brown beard and cane had to be veteran James Welshofer, the Griffin. The two Asian women leaning on each other were the Japanese agents, the Peach Sisters. They had worked for the White Web. Eric Spiegel, from the Mandate. The tall thin American black man could only be Stentor, real name Lewis Corbin, a longtime enforcer for hire. They had all given themselves away just for a split-second before assuming emotionless poker faces again.
As everyone returned to their seemingly aimless milling about, Bane stepped down to the gravel median and strode uphill, away from the main buildings. He wanted to test any limits and determine the perimeter of this bland beartrap. He started noticing small vanity mirrors such as might be found in a purse fastened even to random trees. All his instincts warned him to look away from those mirrors, although he couldn't say why.
Sitting on the front steps of the final cabin, wearing the same green and yellow outfit as everyone else, a tall man with crisp black hair sat up and regarded Bane impassively. There was no mistaking that good-looking face with its long nose and thin-lipped cruel mouth. Even the faint scar on the right side of the forehead still showed white against a decent suntan. Spiegel was getting old for an enforcement agent, though, he had to be in his late forties and that was usually when such agents moved to desk jobs.
The Dire Wolf veered over to approach the man. Eric Spiegel had been a top enforcement agent for the Mandate way back in the day. He had even tried to carry out a hit on Bane with complete lack of success. Their paths had not crossed for years. As he drew near, Bane was surprised to see faint alarm cross the man's face. That was unexpected. When had Spiegel ever been afraid of anything? What was that slump in the normally ramrod posture, why did those sharp bluish eyes seem dull? The man acted like someone who has been beaten down into submission.
"Morning," the Dire Wolf said "Nice day."
"Always a nice day somewhere," Spiegel replied. The Scots burr in his voice hadn't changed. "They call me Highland around here. I expect it's my accent that's responsible for that."
"Well, as you can imagine, I have a few questions..." Bane began but was cut off.
"Word is that your name is going to be Iron," Spiegel interrupted. "The color of your eyes, admittedly they're very striking."
Bane allowed a faint hint of a smile. "Those are not the names we know each other by back in the Desperate Game."
Rising easily enough to his feet, Spiegel tugged down the green jacket. He must be past fifty years old, but he had stayed trim and athletic. "Here in Placid Falls, we focus on the present. Let the past be the past, Iron."
"Fair enough." The Dire Wolf pointed with a thumb at the woods beyond Spiegel's cabin. "What's up that way?"
"Oh, we don't cross the Break. See that strip of cleared earth? That marks the borders of the camp. It's not safe to venture past the Break."
Bane bristled. Despite his intention to play along, something about Spiegel's docile manner irritated him. "Man, you've changed!" he snapped. "You used to be ready to spit a tiger in the eye. I had some clashes with you---"
"Let the past be the past," Spiegel broke in mildly. "I'm tired. I've been through a lot. Placid Falls is the perfect place to recover. Isn't that so?"
The Dire Wolf felt increasingly uneasy. The Eric Spiegel he remembered had been a caustic, self-assured jerk who enjoyed great success both against other spies and with impressionable young secretaries. This man "Highland" had had that spark snuffed out.
"I suppose," Bane commented. His lifelong habit of being aware of his surroundings meant he was constantly glancing in all directions. Even though the other inhabitants of Placid Falls seems occupied with their own chatting or magazines or sunbathing, he could tell by their body language that they were following the interaction between Spiegel and himself closely.
"All right," he said at last. "Guess I'll see you later."
"I'm always around," Spiegel said and lowered himself to lean back against the front door of his cottage.
Bane started moving up the incline away from Spiegel. Fifty yards beyond the last cabin, the ground had been stripped down to bare earth. It had been a dry summer so far and the dirt was hard and crumbly underfoot. Bane crossed that Break without pausing, observing that it seemed to extend completely across any escape route.
Propped up at intervals along the stretch of raw dirt were more mirrors. They were starting to get on his nerves. His theory was that there were cameras and microphones concealed behind each mirror, but the sheer number seemed excessive. It must be a psychological ploy.
What was that faint humming? His peripheral vision caught a glimpse of something at head level behind him. Bane whirled quicker than any gunfighter of the Old West, hands curling into rock-hard fists, ready for an attack. Hovering silently six feet off the ground was a plastic and aluminum drone with four rotors at its corners forming a rectangle. The chassis in the middle pointed a muzzle of .44 caliber directly at his face.
III.
Bane held absolutely still. Even his enhanced healing had its limits. A few of those slugs in his head would be as fatal as they would be to anyone else. He was impressed by how quiet this drone was. At a distance of only ten feet, it made no more noise than a regular household fan would.
From a speaker on the device came a tinny voice, "We don't go past that point, do we? It wouldn't be safe."
Still not moving, the Dire Wolf said, "Maybe this would be a good time to go over all the rules?"
"By all means," replied the good-natured voice behind the gun muzzle. "If you would kindly report to the Civic Center building, I'm sure everything would be made clear." The drone swept up and back, turning its threat away from him. Bane caught sight of two more of the flying devices in the area.
This situation was developing more quickly than he had hoped. Bane started striding quickly down the gravel path, ignoring the increasingly open stares from the people hanging around their cabins. As he passed, he recognized more of them. Former agents of the Mandate, of the FBI's Department 21 Black, of INTERCEPT. They all tried without success not to meet his eyes.
The main building, the Civic Center, had its share of mirrors over each window and doorway. Bane fought down an increasingly strong urge to pick up a rock and start smashing those things. They were getting on his nerves more and more. With an effort, he focused on why he had arranged to be brought here and why his purpose was.
Coming out to greet him was another attractive young woman in pastel nursing scrubs. She had a mane of shining blonde hair that framed a round amiable face. As Bane came within reach, the woman extended a warm hand which he obligingly shook.
"How are you, Iron? I'm known as Mellow," she said in a sultry voice that explained her name.
"It must be awkward when someone turns up with no remarkable features," Bane commented. "What do you call them?"
"Oh, everyone has some distinguished attribute, don't you think? Please come right in. I'm sure Auburn will be able to answer all your questions."
Deciding to play along for as long as he could stand it, the Dire Wolf entered the building. They passed through a pleasant common room with lots of sunlight coming in from wide windows. Two men in the green and yellow outfits were playing chess at a table in the middle, while a third was scratching his head over a crossword puzzle and eventually remaking an entry. In a corner, one of the ancient round-topped radios was playing inoffensive low-key jazz. All three men made a point of not looking up.
Escorted down a short hallway with original oil paintings of landscapes, Bane found himself standing in front of a wooden door with no identifying numbers or words. It did however have one the ubiquitous mirrors he had come to hate. Mellow rapped gently on the door with her knuckles, opened the door and ushered Bane through without following herself.
Behind a desk bare of any clutter, with no telephone or computer evident, a slender woman with a mane of gorgeous dark red hair rose and gestured for Bane to take a seat. "Ah, Iron. High time we met, I should say." The posh Southern England accent had been softened by extensive travel but was still unmistakable.
As soon as he had stepped into that room, all of Bane's decades of Kumundu training had searched for signs of anyone concealed behind a door or in a closet, of any weapons being trained on him, of any scents of unusual chemicals in the air. Nothing. There was just more of those mirrors and the suffocating sensation of being constantly watched.
Meeting Auburn's cool, level gaze, the Dire Wolf judged her age at forty-three. He calculated her height at five feet eight and her body conditioning as excellent. She wore the same light blue scrubs as the other women at Placid Falls but she also had a white lab smock with several pens and markers in a breast pocket. One look at the bone structure of her face, at her deepset caramel-colored eyes and that distinctive hair, identified her to him at once.
"Ah, I remember meeting your mother a long time ago," he said as he pulled out a chair in front of the desk. "She had a natural talent for the Desperate Game. As a gifted amateur rather than a jaded professional, she broke many rules and accomplished so much. I was glad to hear she had been re-united with her husband after those years."
Leaning back in her own chair on the other side of the desl, Auburn placed a finger thoughtfully to the side of her jaw. "Here at Placid Falls, we try to let the past be the past."
"So I've been told," Bane replied. "That was you speaking through the little flying gunship?"
"Oh, our Minders? They're necessary, I'm afraid. Beyond the Break, it's not really safe for our campers to wander."
"I bet." The Dire Wolf frowned at his own reflection in one of the several mirrors arranged around the office. "I'd like to discuss the duration of my stay here."
"Oh, that's up to the therapists," Auburn told him with an insufferably pleased smile. "You agreed to that. Our residents here at Placid Falls are all suffering from severe psychological trauma. They each recover at their own rates. You agreed to remain here as long as necessary."
III.
For some reason, Bane felt himself struggling to repress a growing anger. What was annoying him so much? Why did he feel like flipping that desk over, kicking the office door off its hinges and storming away from Placid Falls? He had dealt with much more irritating enemies and been in much more immediate danger many times but he never reacted like this.
Something was off. Something was affecting him that he wasn't consciously aware of....
"Three times a day, a menu slip will be left at your door," Auburn was saying. "Circle the items you prefer and they will be on your next meal. One of our staff will deliver and pick up your tray."
"I do want to call my office back in New York," Bane interrupted.
"There's no telephone service way out here," she answered blandly. "Sorry. When you signed up, you did agree to complete isolation. It's part of what makes Placid Falls so ideal for rest and recovery."
"Okay," the Dire Wolf said. "If anyone is trying to reach me..?"
"They will just have to be patient. I understand some the details must be vague in your mind. Like all our guests, you have been through a trauma and you need time to digest it all."
For one split-second, Bane almost thought that maybe he had in fact suffered some damaging experience that had brought him here. But that was dismissed immediately. He was not one for self-doubt. "What else do I need to know for now?"
"You passed through the Common Room on the way to my office," Auburn said. "Many of our guests like to gather there for card games or to browse the books and magazines in the adjoining library room. There's no television this far north, I regret to say, the nearby mountains prevent even satellite dishes from working."
"Placid Falls seems isolated enough to suit anyone's requirements," Bane observed. He placed his palms flat on the arms of his chair and rose to his feet. "I suppose I should get out and mingle a bit with my fellow campers. But it's better not to discuss who I am or what I've been doing, right?"
Auburn also stood up and gifted him with a smile. "I'm sure you understand. Staying focused on the present helps healing."
As he headed for the door, Bane paused and turn to look back over one shoulder. "I do want to ask about these mirrors all over the place."
"Oh, those are an essential element of the therapy," Auburn said. "Our designers believe the mirrors help our guests think things over and see their problems in perspective." She gave a throaty chuckle. "I hate to make a pun, but mirrors do lead one to reflect on things."
Bane nodded politely and left the office. He was still unreasonably pugnacious and didn't know why. He felt as if the slightest trigger might set him off on a rampage. It was best to get away from this woman and be by himself for awhile.
IV.
Once outside in fresh air, he started to calm down. The paved area held a half dozen wooden picnic benches and tables, with a brick barbeque pit on one side. No one was in the area at the moment. When Bane noticed the mirrors fastened to the sides of one bench, he nearly lost control and only kept himself from yanking the damned things off with great effort.
In the back of his mind, he realized that he was not thinking as clearly as usual. Being in such a foul mood was clouding his awareness. The Dire Wolf took deep bracing breaths and tried to clear his head. It was basic Tel Shai technique but it did not seem effective at the moment.
Bane knew he had two weeks or so before lack of the Tagra tea would begin to lessen his healing factor. For the moment, his body would recover almost instantly from minor injuries. More serious trauma would only delay him for a short time, and his resistance to poison or drugs was high enough that he usually wouldn't even notice being exposed. Long before the enhanced healing would fade, though, he intended to be away from here.
Striding quickly down the gravel path between the rows of cabins, Bane desperately wanted to break into a run. He restrained himself. The innate superior speed in his body pressing him to cut loose and burn off some energy. Acting docile for the watchers was going to be difficult.
Sitting on the steps of one cabin, sketching on an artist pad with a charcoal stick, a big man about sixty years old with a greying brown beard and weathered face caught his eye. Griffin. That would be James Welshofer, the Canadian masterspy who had served as a liaison between the CIA and MI6 for twenty years. Codenamed Griffin, he had been respected for keeping as much integrity as anyone could retain in the dirty world of espionage.
As their gazes met for that instant, Griffin gave Bane a barely perceptible nod and a change of expression so subtle that an observer would have missed it. But it was enough. It told Bane that Griffin recognized him but didn't want to interact at the moment.
The Dire Wolf kept moving. He approached his own cabin and saw a plastic tray with covered dishes sitting in front of his door. The thought of food made his stomach rumbled loud enough for anyone nearby to have heard. Bane's elevated metabolism meant he was always ravenous. He opened the front door and took the tray inside.
Inside again, surrounded by those mirrors, he felt a surge of anger. Bane struggled to stay sedate. He placed the tray on the coffee table in front of his couch and dug in. There was a generous serving of beef stew with drop biscuits, fruit salad and a Dixie cup of vanilla ice cream. Two plastic tumblers, one of iced tea and one of cranberry juice were also provided. He devoured it all. The food might be packed with tranquilizers or psychoactive drugs, but he trusted his healing factor to process any foreign substance. For decades now, alcohol had not affected him at all and he had survived several attempts to poison him outright.
Feeling slightly better with a full stomach, Bane took a moment to glance over the supper offerings. Using the short pencil stub provided, he circled almost everything on the menu slip and then took the tray back outside. Leaving it on the steps, he started up the gravel again.
He definitely felt better when he was outside. Why? What was irritating him? Bane was approaching the end of the row of cabins. Ahead was the bare earth barrier of the Break, and he knew if he crossed that he would be confronted by one of the gunship drones. The Minders, Auburn had called them.
"Hello," came a meek little voice from beside one of the cabins.
Dandelion? Bane swung around and spotted a slim short woman in her mid-thirties, not much over five feet tall. The platinum-blonde hair was the same and the gamin face hadn't changed. But the expected insolence was gone from those dark blue eyes. Dandelion was wearing the same green and yellow clothing as all the other guests, except for the jacket which she had folded to one side. She was sitting on the ground, leaning back against the exterior wall of her cabin and toying with a blade of grass.
She regarded him with only mild interest. Bane's heart sank. Seeing Dandelion without her usual impudence seemed terribly wrong and unnatural.
The Dire Wolf went over to sit down facing her. He noticed she had taken off her windbreaker and placed it folded up so it blocked the nearest mirror on the outer wall. Seeing his glance, Dandelion's mouth turned up in a sad smile.
She was sitting where she was exposed to as few mirrors as possible. Bane felt he understood the situation better now. Meeting Dandelion's subdued stare, he said, "No, don't tell me whatever stupid nickname they gave you here. I don't care. You'll always be Dandy to me."
The lovely face with its wide jawline and snub nose showed a flicker of response. "Here we let the past be... we... Hi there."
"Hi yourself. You must be meeting a lot of old friends here."
"So it seems. I'm so tired all the time. No matter how much sleep I get, I'm still groggy." She shrugged her narrow shoulders. "I just need more rest and recovery."
"Sleep is not the answer," Bane said, trying not to snap angrily at her. "I think instead it's time to wake up."
Dandelion watched him thoughtfully, as if trying to dredge up some elusive memory. "I suppose. What are you doing later?"
"You'll be the first to know," he promised. "Keep fighting. Don't sink without a trace. You've always been scrappy."
"Yes. I was," she whispered as if speaking of someone else.
Getting to his feet, Bane reached down to squeeze her shoulder. "You still are. Don't give up."
As she smiled vaguely in response, the Dire Wolf started heading for the Break again. Seeing her so beaten down was hard to take. Dandelion's real name had been Mika Dzubinska long ago. She had been a Tel Shai student as he had been, but she had been rejected by the Teachers and turned down for knight status. Dandelion's special gift was an accuracy and speed with firearms that went well past what normal flesh and blood was capable of.
For ten years, Dandelion had been a mercenary both respected and feared in the world of international espionage. Her normal personality was so cocky that it felt horrifying to see her broken like this.
As he came to a halt at the edge of the cleared earth border, Bane realized that his hands hurt. He glanced down to find he had been making fists so tightly that they ached. With deliberate effort, he unclenched his hands and wiggled the fingers. He could not remember ever being so enraged without a clear cause.
To his right, a whirring sound drew near. One of the lightweight drones was hovering just above head level, swiveling to face him. The muzzle of a .44 pointed at his head and Bane finally lost his temper.
IV.
Whirling on one foot, he leaped straight up and seized the drone, flipping it upside down. The rotors lost their lifting ability and the device crashed to the ground. The built-in gun fired once, its slug whistling away into the woods, and then Bane had come down with both feet and crushed the flimsy plastic mechanisms with his full weight. He kicked the shattered drone hard and its parts flew in all directions.
The Dire Wolf spun around, exultant at finally taking action. Five sharp cracks sounded behind him almost within reach. White-hot wires seemed to slam into his back and he passed out.
Having fought his way back up to consciousness was nothing new for Bane but that certainly did not make the struggle easier. His back throbbed with hot sharp pain. Bane snapped his eyes open and saw he was in a basement under bright fluorescent lights. Something was holding him down.
The Dire Wolf raised his head. He was bound to a wooden table with wide cloth straps across his chest and at his wrists. He saw that he had been stripped to the waist and that white bandages crossed his upper body. It was his back that hurt the most. Bane suddenly remembered he had been shot from behind. That second drone.
A door closed behind him. Walking around to stand at the foot of the table was an elderly man in a white lab coat. He had curly blond hair that had gone mostly white and wore steel-rimmed glasses with remarkably thick lenses.
"I must say you are one surprise after another," the man remarked with a faint Northern England accent.. Liverpool, perhaps. "You should have been deep under the anesthetic for at least another hour."
"I'm guessing you dug the bullets out of me?"
"Oh yes. One only grazed your left bicep, but the other three were in the muscles of your upper back. One stopped when it contacted your scapula." The man leaned over to peer myopically at the Dire Wolf. "I'm Dr Fenton Thorndyke. Placid Falls keeps me on retainer but I seldom deal with more than sprained ankles or sunburn. You are something new in my experience."
"Well, thanks for getting the slugs out," Bane said as he unobtrusively tested the strength of the straps holding him down. "Send me your bill."
"What can your secret be?" Thorndyke asked. "Are you genetically engineered or something? You did not go into shock after taking three bullets at point-blank range. Your bleeding was minimal. By the time I extracted the final bullet, the first incision I made was already closing up. I put on fresh dressings a few minutes ago and your wounds are beginning to seal over with clean tissue and no scarring. I wouldn't have thought any of this possible!"
"I'm lucky that way," said the Dire Wolf. In fact, he and other Tel Shai knights avoided going into hospitals no matter how badly injured they were. Their rapid healing would cause a sensation and might lead to being held against their will for study under spurious pretext. "If someone will get my clothing, I'll be checking out now."
Dr Thorndyke did not react to the attempts at banter. He studied his clipboard. "Naturally, I took some blood and skin samples. I'm going to be studying them in my office first, but I will need real lab facilities for real analysis."
Bane experimentally shifted his weight. The table was light enough that it moved under him. The fact they had neglected to tie down his legs gave him further ideas for how to escape. This set-up had all he marks of being improvised, not a serious interrogation cell.
Giving the Dire Wolf a jaundiced gaze, Thorndyke called, "Nikos?" The door behind them opened and closed again. A big muscular brute in the incongruous Placid Falls green and yellow uniform gave into view. One look at that brutal face with the flat lifeless eyes told Bane that this man was a hardened thug. Goons like this would maim or beat or kill without thinking twice. Under the windbreaker, Nikos' leather belt held a hunting knife in a sheath and a holstered Glock 19.
Seeing this obvious hood enter, Bane let his head sag back down and left his eyes nearly closed. He was hoping the goon would move a little bit further down toward the end of the table. Pretending to be still weak by the anesthetic might make this man underestimate him. It was worth a try.
"Watch him closely, Nikos," Thorndyke said. "Auburn is waiting to hear about his tests. Be cautious." The doctor took his clipboard and hustled from the basement.
As Bane watched, Nikos went over to fetch a plain wooden chair from a corner and put it down ten feet away. The big thug plopped down facing the back of the chair, resting his arms across its top as he watched the prisoner.
Bane kept looking away and then glancing back nervously at the end of the table to which he was bound. It took a bit of acting not to overdo it. Bane added a faint moan. As Nikos noticed, the thug stood up again.
"What the hell are you lookin' at?" the brute muttered as he crossed over to stare down at the end of the table. "Doc said you might have some sneaky tricks...."
As the big man leaned over, Bane whipped both legs up and pinned Nikos' neck between his knees. Powerful leg muscles tightened like a clamp. Bane had caught the man just right and Nikos' air was cut off. The Dire Wolf began to twist Mikos' head to one side. In another second, as the man managed to pull his knife from its sheath, his neck broke with a damp crackling noise. The front of his green trousers darkened as his bladder released its contents in death.
Very carefully, not easing up the pressure exerted by his knees, Bane managed to lower the limp body across the lower half of the table. The hunting knife dropped from a lifeless hand on the table just out of reach but the Dire Wolf kicked the body away and nudged the blade up toward him with a foot. All the hours spent stretching and practicing muscle control paid off.
Once he had the hilt of the knife at his fingertips, Bane grunted, stretched his hand down as far as the bonds would allow and got hold of it. He had cut himself free of tougher materials many times. Getting the blade in position meant bending his wrist inward to a painful extent but then he felt the cloth straps start to come loose.
Another few minutes of slicing and he pulled up with all his strength. The remaining material of the bond tore across and his left arm swung free. Bane exhaled deeply, soon got his other arm cut loose and then began working on the strap across his chest.
Three minutes after Dr Thorndyke had left the room, the prisoner was sitting up and hopping off the table. Bane's back ached annoyingly but the real agony from the gunshot wounds had passed. In a few hours, not even discomfort would remain. It was this healing ability that made Tel Shai knights hard to kill and such formidable opponents.
Bane knelt and verified that the man was indeed dead. Always make sure, he thought, as he unbuckled the man's gunbelt to put it on himself. He took a second to examine the Glock, check the safety and loosen it in the stiff holster. He prersonally had never warmed to the idea of plastic guns but this was a solid reliable weapon. The Dire Wolf then hefted the hunting knife, spun it upward and caught it by the hilt. It wasn't balanced for accurate throwing. He would have to use it in hand.
Draped over a chair in the corner was his green polo shirt with its dark bloodstains and holes across the shoulders. Bane regarded it with distaste. Hanging from a hook was a white lab smock and he tugged that on instead. Bane stretched experimentally, bent to touch his toes, windmilled his arms. He was still sore from the wounds but he seemed to have full range of motion.
In the next instant, he leaped across the basement to flatten up alongside the door. He had heard light footsteps. As the knob turned and the door swung inward, he shifted his grip on the knife. The snout of a Glock whipped inward directly at a spot between his eyes and then lowered.
Peeking in through the opening, Dandelion smirked at him.
IV.
"Seems like I didn't need to rush in and rescue you!" she chuckled. Holding the Glock in both hands, the mercenary stepped into the cellar and looked around. "That bruiser over there is too busy being dead to bother us, right?"
Bane felt as if a weight was being lifted. "Dandy. Good to see you back to your normal self."
The blonde assassin evidently was fighting an urge to hug him but she didn't want to relax her vigilance. Many had observed that Dandelion looked like a young Debbie Harry from the group Blondie and the resemblance was strongest when she smiled. Not knowing anything about pop culture, Bane had once looked up a picture of the singer and had agreed.
"I have to give you credit, you mangy old Dire Wolf," she said. "You jump started a chain of memories in my head. What's the date?"
"June 29th."
"2010, right?"
"Yes."
"That's not too bad," Dandelion said. "These bastards have kept me in a stupor for maybe five or six weeks. You know how they're doing it, right?'
"The mirrors?" asked Bane. Glancing around, he didn't see anything that would make a useful weapon. By a stainless steel sink in one corner was a clear bag holding a mass of blood-stained bandages and gauze. That must be from when they had pulled the bullets out of him.
"Yeah, the mirrors," repeated Dandelion. "Come on, we need to move. I figure there's eight more enforcers like the one you killed. And there's those drones with the attached guns."
Bane started for the door to the basement. He gave the blonde assassin a quizzical gaze. "You also picked up a Glock 19 somewhere?"
"The bugger who used to own it wasn't going to need it anymore. I also have one spare magazine. Listen, Jeremy... we have to smash the mirrors as fast as we can. When I broke that one next to my cabin, my head felt clearer. Every mirror that gets smashed, we get freed a little more."
At the doorway, pistol in hand, the Dire Wolf paused. "How do they work, Dandy?"
"How the hell should I know" she snapped. "Lots of electronics behind the glass. I don't know that stuff."
"All right. Here we go. You're facing the doorway."
"Got it." Dandelion placed her feet slightly apart and raised her weapon in both hands. "Go ahead."
Bane twisted the knob and swung the door inward. Revealed in the opening was Dr Thorndyke and another of the brutal thugs. For the barest instant, both men had puzzled expressions as they couldn't understand why the basement door had opened seemingly by itself.
Then the gun in Dandelion's grip cracked sharply four times. In the enclosed space, the detonations were painfully loud. Both the doctor and the hoodlum fell to their knees and then onto each other in a tangle of lifeless arms and legs.
Dandelion shook her head and dug a finger in one ear. "Owwww. I really prefer using my homemade silencers."
Bending over, Bane seized the men and dragged them to tumble down the stairs. In the back of his mind, he wondered vaguely what if anything the doctor had discovered from those blood samples. He found another of the Glocks on the man, identical to the two guns they already had confiscated. Apparently, whoever ran Placid Falls bought weapons for its staff wholesale.
Stepping up to the stairs, Dandelion held out one slim hand. "Come on, hand it over. You're a superman who can catch arrows and bounce back from being run over by a truck. I need a second gun more than you do."
The Dire Wolf tossed the Glock toward her and she snatched it neatly with her free hand. Armed with two handguns and the skill that went past normal Human ability, Dandelion was one of the most dangerous people alive. "Spare magazine?"
"Not on him," Bane said. "The doctor's not armed at all. Let's go talk to Auburn."
They stepped out into the rear of the Common Room with its reading table of old magazines, its chess set and its radio softly playing bland jazz. As they emerged from the unmarked door, they were just in time to see a tall lanky redheaded man punch one of the Helpers right in the nose.
V.
It was an excellent blow, thrown with both feet planted and the full power of the torso behind it. That bony fist smacked squarely into the center of the gunman's face. As the Helper swayed, the redhead did a follow-up hooking punch to the lower abdomen. The Helper doubled up, vomited and dropped to a kneeling position.
Giving the retching man a hard shove to one side, the redhead took the handgun off the floor where it had been dropped. He straightened, swung around with the gun rising into position but froze as he recognized the two people in the doorway. "Jeremy! Dandelion!"
"Hello, Davis," Bane said with a smile. "Seems like you haven't lost your edge."
Davis McNeil returned the smile with his familiar lopsided grin. He was wearing the same green and yellow outfit as everyone else but his shirt had been torn and there was a bruise across his cheek. "Like ridin' a bicycle, you know. I hope you two can explain what the bloody blue hell has been going on here--"
In the corridor leading to Auburn's office, a hulking shape loomed up and rushed forward with one of the inevitable Glocks in its hand.
Dandelion's eyes moved but not her head. Her right hand bent at the wrist and she snapped off a single shot without any perceptible attempt at aiming. The Helper's head swung violently back as a bullet dug a tunnel through his left eye. He fell back and slid down with his back propped against the wall.
"Little lady," McNeil intoned slowly, "You have always scared me."
"Good." Dandelion ejected the magazine from that gun and clicked a fresh one into place. Her gralic ability awakened by Tel Shai instruction involved spatial perception and timing, giving her nearly perfect aim. Even experts who practiced obsessively could not begin to match her. On her own commissions, Dandelion preferred to use the little .22 ACPs with silencers she crafted herself but she was deadly with any firearm.
Prowling the Common Room, watching for any further arrivals, Bane saw that the dozen mirrors had all been shattered. He turned to Dandelion, "You did this?"
"That's right, Mr Dire Wolf," the little blonde said. "Every time I broke one, my head felt a little clearer."
"Then... that's why I snapped out of my daze when I came in here?" McNeil asked. "I was looking for a novel but once I was in this room, suddenly the fog in my head lifted."
"Guess we know who's the most valuable player on this team," laughed Dandelion.
Standing off to one side, Bane understood why he had been so pugnacious all day. The signal from the mirrors had done it. Whatever that signal was, it made all the prisoners at Placid Falls get docile and groggy. But with his healing factor, his body had reacted by resisting the effect and it had made him angry instead.
Davis McNeil inspected the wires and circuits hanging out of a broken mirror. "So, in a few simple words, what IS this place?"
"A holding pen for abandoned spies," Bane answered. "I've heard rumors of it for years and finally found a way to be brought here. Agents end up here who try to resign, who fail on assignments too many times, who are suspected of being double or triples. Here they vanish forever."
Now it was Dandelion who seemed confused. "But.. why bother building this elaborate little village? Why not simply kill unreliable agents?"
"I'd bet that lower level agents ARE simply liquidated," McNeil said. "But those with secrets that might be useful are held onto for gradual interrogation. We're all trained to resist the third degree and the typical beatings under a bright light, but this place would eventually erode all our defenses."
The Dire Wolf pointed toward Auburn's office door. "Lots to do yet. Placid Falls needs to be broken wide open." With that, he strode over to the door and struck just below the knob with the palm of his hand. The lock bar snapped and he yanked the door open to reveal an empty office illuminated by a single nightlight.
Out of habit, the skinny redheaded man started going through the papers that had been left on the desk. Bane turned to Dandelion and said, "The signal for those mirrors and the controls for those drone require some sophicated apparatus. Any idea where that might be?"
"I have a suspicion," the blonde assassin said. "There's an isolated building on the other side of the Break. I caught a glimpse of it once before a drone chased me away. Follow me."
As she hustled from the room, Bane caught McNeil by one arm. "That can wait, Davis," he said. "We're still up against an unknown enemy force."
As they came back out into the Common Room, they saw that the Helper who had been slugged was reviving. The man had gotten back up on his knees, head hanging down, and had one hand gripping the back of a chair.
Without the slightest hesitation, Dandelion fired a single shot that sent a bullet through the man's head. Blood sprayed from the exit wound on the right temple. The Helper sagged back down to the floor with his mouth dropping open.
"Dandy...!" For once, Bane had not reacted quickly enough. His hand went up to grab her arm, but she had already acted.
"Oh, knock it off," the mercenary said. "You are simply too soft for this game, Jeremy. What were you going to do, tie him up? He knew the rules when he signed up."
The Dire Wolf did not respond. Killing in cold blood, executing a prisoner, had always been something he couldn't make himself do. He also couldn't condone it in his allies. But the deed couldn't be undone and there was no point in making a stand now. The last thing he needed under the circumstances was to have an armed Dandelion turn against him.
"I don't go for that," he said finally.
Dandelion scoffed. "We're not playing patty-cake with these animals, Jeremy. Sometimes I wonder how you survived the Midnight War all these years."
Flattening up against the wall by the front door, Davis McNeil had peeked out through the curtains. "Say, you two. It looks like our fellow campers are assembling out there. I don't see any Helpers in the crowd."
"All these gunshots broke through their daze," Bane said. He went to a different window, took a quick glance and then headed out onto the porch. Standing in a loose cluster were a dozen men and women he recognized immediately. Griffin. The Peach Sisters. Holden Crest from INTERCEPT. Esperanza Rivas, the Flower of the Night. They were all shifting their weight from one foot to the other uncertainly.
When the famous Dire Wolf stepped out into view, with Dandelion beside him, the gathered spies and assassins and secret agents muttered and drew closer into a tighter group. Using the butt of his Glock, Bane smashed the lone remaining mirror on the wall that Dandelion had missed.
"Get moving, everyone!" he yelled. "Break these mirrors! Break them all!"
That was all they needed. Every prisoner in Placid Falls had nursed a hatred of the ubiquituous mirrors that had surrounded them. Even if they hadn't consciously figured it out, they sensed that the mirrors had something to do with their foggy mental state. Picking up rocks or using their feet, the crowd set to smashing the mirrors with zeal.
"That should help," Bane said.
"My head feels a lot clearer already," McNeil added. "They're broadcasting some sort of subsonic tone that we can't consciously hear but which acts like a tranq. Devilish gadget."
Dandelion grabbed hard at Bane's sleeve. "This is no time to stand around congratulating yourselves. The masterminds could be getting away." She took off at a full run, with the two men right beside her. The sound of glass breaking and yells of triumph were left behind.
VI.
The strip of bare earth called the Break stretched across their path. "Oh, how I hate this thing," grumbled Dandelion as she stomped across it. "The nerve, telling ME where I can and cannot go...."
In the next few seconds, two of the gunship drones rose up overhead and were promptly blasted into stray bits by a barrage of slugs. Even as the shards of plastic and aluminum went spinning in all directions, Bane and Dandelion turned toward each other and lowered their weapons.
"God-DAMN," breathed McNeil. "I used to think I'd seen fast draws before but you two are unreal. I can't even follow your moves."
"We've had special training," Bane replied, checking his weapon.
"Yeah, those miserable ancient Teachers at Tel Shai," muttered Dandelion. "Especially that bastard Chael. Not that I'm bitter..."
Down the hill ahead of them was a squat white brick building with a second smaller structure no bigger than a shed. Two vehicles were parked next to a dirt road, a black Land Rover and a dark blue Jeep. Lights showed in all the windows of both buildings.
"I don't see fresh tire tracks," Bane told his two partners. "The soil has settled for at least forty-eight hours. We have a good chance of catching Auburn."
"Wait, are you serious?" demanded McNeil. "From way over here, in the dark, you can tell no car has driven away? I mean, come on...!"
"It's that Tel Shai training," Bane said. "Now. How do you two feel about our approaching from three separate directions to minimize all of us being killed at the same time?"
Dandelion chuckled with a wicked undertone. "We're not the ones who need to worry about being killed," she laughed and sprinted toward the main builing with a Glock in each hand.
As McNeil took off to approach from a different angle, Bane raced toward the smaller separate structure. It looked like a storage shed with only one small window high up over the door. The Dire Wolf stepped up and placed his feet. He drew torque up from his legs, through his torso and along his arm into the heel of his hand to break the lock on that door. It was not mere physical strength but technique.
The door rebounded open and he dove through in a somersault that brought him up to his feet in the center of the single room. One of the Helpers had jumped up out of a folding chair and was going for his gun. Bane shot the man twice in the chest, then swung his weapon over to cover the terrified technician.
This man was surprisingly young, not more than twenty-five or so, wearing a white smock over the pastel scrubs. He had horn-rimmed glasses that fell off his face as he jumped back away from the shooting.
"Hands up, higher," Bane ordered. He bent down over the dead Helper and confiscated the man's Glock while still keeping the tech covered. "No, don't say anything. Just hold still."
The Dire Wolf glanced around at banks of electronic equipment that lined the walls. Yellow Post-It notes were stuck everywhere, spare parts and tools lay on available surfaces and the whole operation seemed to be in a state of continual revision. Swivel chairs on casters faced a control panel in the center of the room.
He noticed there was not a single one of those mirrors in sight.
"Down on the floor," he ordered the technician. "Face down. Hold still." Bane picked up some thin cables from the top of a cabinet and quickly tied the man's wrists and ankles together. Taking off the tech's shoes, he made a gag from the socks.
"Just lie still and you'll come out of this all right." In the back of his mind, Bane had to wonder if maybe Dandelion had a point. When this was all over, would he just release the tech to run away? His policy in the KDF had been to let the little fish go while trying to land the sharks who gave the orders. Once, when he was only twenty years old, Bane had killed a gangster in cold blood and had been troubled by the expression in the man's eyes for years.
He couldn't do that again. It just wasn't in him. Let Dandelion handle things her way, he couldn't.
Moving quickly, Bane began shutting down the various apparatus around the room. He turned off every switch he saw and yanked power cables out of walls. Then, using a heavy wrench, he furiously smashed as much of the equipment as he could. He opened panels and tore out handfuls of color-coded wires. He brought the wrench down again and again until the room was decorated with broken glass and tiny bits of metal.
Right outside the door, something made a thump. He swung over and saw one of the gunship drones had crashed. Good. Bane kept it up until he couldn't find any intact electronics in that lab.
From the doorway, Dandelion whistled. "Hey, you. It's over. None of the mirrors are getting a signal and all those flying windmills are grounded. Good work."
The Dire Wolf tossed the wrench into a corner and walked over to the doorway. Behind Dandelion, McNeil was keeping Auburn covered at a proper distance. The woman who had been running Placid Falls seemed stunned by the sudden reversals. Her eyes looked out of focus.
"Someone you might want to talk to," Dandelion said. The blonde mercenary tucked one of the Glocks into her waistband and twirled the other in her hand like an Old West outlaw. "She was getting into her Jeep when Davis and I asked her to stick around."
Approaching Auburn, Bane saw the woman's eyes fix on him with awareness. "First, where are we? Give me our location."
"Northwest Washington State," she answered in a numb voice. "The nearest town in forty miles south of here. Highway 107 runs by a few miles before that."
"Good. Who's running this place?"
When Auburn did not answer immediately, Dandelion stepped closer and tapped her on the chin with the muzzle of her gun. "Better talk," she told the redhead. "You know how I get. You've read my file."
"It's STIGMA. They took over when the Mandate abandoned plans to build this facility."
"STIGMA again," Bane growled. "All right. You're coming with us for now. Davis, keep an eye on her."
"You bet," McNeil said. "I've got a slight grudge against her."
Turning to Dandelion, Bane said, "Area clear of Helpers?"
"None in any state to pose a problem," she laughed. She raised the barrel of the Glock to her lips and pretended to blow gunsmoke away.
"Let's see how the community of Dismal Falls is handling the situation," Bane said and started marching everyone back to the camp.
VII.
Evacuating Dismal Falls proved to be a lengthy procedure. Finding a healthy roll of bills on Auburn, Bane designated Griffin and McNeil to start driving everyone to the nearest town with as many as could fit in one trip, then returning for the rest.
Nearly all of the spies and mercenaries had connections where a phone call would bring them someone an "extraction" car with money, change of clothes and other useful items. A few simply marched off into the woods, saying they had their own plans made.
It was the middle of the night before the exodus was completed. Only Bane, Dandelion and McNeil were left. During the course of the trips back and forth, regular clothes had been purchased for each of them. Bane was now wearing sneakers, jeans and a red flannel shirt. McNeil was dressed the same way, while Dandelion had bought a coat with deep pockets in which she could stow her Glocks and a few box magazines she had collected.
As they stood by the Jeep and Land Rover discussing details of everything that had happened that day, Bane said he had found one of the cabins concealed a laundry with several large load washing machines and dryers, as well as a well stocked kitchen where meals for Placid Falls had been prepared. None of the staff could be found. Apparently, when the shooting and uprising had started, the support crew had immediately made a run for it.
"Dandelion is going to drop me off at a train station in Prescott, that's the nearest big city," McNeil said. "I've been undercover since I left the Mandate a year ago."
"I remember," Bane said, thinking of the deadly ruse he had used to help Davis McNeil get off the grid.
Dandelion was staring up the gravel path that led to the row of cabins. "Too bad we can't burn the whole place down," she told them. "I'd love to see Placid Falls go up in flames. But there's no telling when STIGMA will send a task force here to see what happened. I can't see the three of us tackling fifty heavily-armed STIGMA killers in Hummers."
"You've got a point," McNeil said. "Jeremy, what did you do with Auburn?"
"She's tied up in her office," the Dire Wolf said casually. "I figure I'll take her to the nearest point where INTERCEPT agents can take custody. I guess I trust INTERCEPT to do the right thing as much as any spy group."
Dandelion gave him a dope slap on the back of the head, something which few Humans would ever presume to try. "You are never gonna learn! There's no good guys and bad guys in espionage agencies. They're ALL corrupt and self-serving and full of moles and double agents. Honestly, Jeremy...."
"You know, I've been going over a checklist in my mind," McNeil said. "Has anyone seen Eric Spiegel since the uprising?"
"Not me. That guy hit me on with determination before he got the message," Dandelion said. She jerked a thumb up toward the row of cabins. "Maybe one of the Helpers got him. We might as well check before we leave."
The three of them trudged wearily up the gravel median, past cabins with darkened windows now that the camp's generators were shut off. As they walked, the blonde assassin grudgingly went on, "Ah, the guy's a jerk but he's not too bad. After I told him to knock it off with the seduction attempts, he was a perfect gentleman. We used to play chess a lot and he gave me a good challenge each time."
"Spiegel is a womanizer and a gambler," McNeil admitted. "And he does drink and smoke like his doctor told him it's good for his health. But he's reliable. If you work with him, he's got your back."
"Here we are." Bane stepped up to the final cabin before the bare earth Break and knocked sharply on the door. They heard voices from within. A moment later, a barechested Spiegel opened the door, tugging up a pair of the green Placid Falls trousers.
"Err, hello," he said uncertainly, brushing his unruly black hair back with one hand. "Good to see everyone."
"Oh my GOD," groaned Dandelion, "Don't tell me...!"
From behind Spiegel, the Helper called Sunflower stuck her tousled head out and yawned. She was holding a sheet around herself like a toga. "That's the end of the champagne, darling. Say, is something going on?"
1/8/2018
6/29/2010
I.
Bane snapped awake, fully alert and clear-headed. He was lying face up on a comfortable double bed in a room he didn't recognize. In an instant, long decades of Kumundu training reassured him there was no one else in the room. Holding his breath, slowing his heartbeat, the Dire Wolf used a Tel Shai technique to enhance his hearing. He focused and concentrated. Yes, there was no one else within the building.
Taking normal breaths again, Bane gazed down at himself. He was lying on top of the covers, wearing dark green flannel pajamas with yellow trim. His matched silver daggers and the flexible Trom armor were not on him but he had known they wouldn't be. Before he had set himself up to be captured by the Helpers, Bane had been sure to leave behind his invaluable belongings.
Under heavy dark brows, his pale grey eyes glinted with excitement. The game was underway. Bane swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood up. At six feet tall and a gaunt one hundred and seventy pounds, he moved with ease and confidence. Nearing fifty-five, he had lost none of his enhanced speed or agility. He was still the Dire Wolf. Perhaps he always would be.
The room was warm and clean, fragrant with the smell of cedar. The double bed, the comfortable chairs, the couch facing a wide picture window... all were done in an early American style, handcrafted from pine. A standing lamp by the door was off; enough light diffused through the gauzy curtains to see clearly.
Oddly, every wall had a mirror. Some were full-length, some mere rectangles small enough to fit in a pocket. No matter where he glanced, he was greeted by a reflection of himself with a wry expression. Bane raised an eyebrow at his image. How many cameras were behind those mirrors? How many of those mirrors concealed a darkened room or nook where someone sat watching?
Three light raps sounded at the door and the knob turned. Despite his instant wariness, the way he settled into a loose stance that would let him meet an attack, Bane had no feeling he was in immediate danger. His instincts were usually very good.
"Excuse me, sir?" asked a demure female voice.
"Oh, come right in," the Dire Wolf answered.
A young woman in pastel blue scrubs like a nurse poked her head through the doorway. She was pretty in a unobtrusive way, with short curly hair and bright blue eyes. In one hand, she lifted up a garment bag on a hook. "Today's kit, sir," she said.
"Really," Bane replied vaguely. "Thank you."
"I'm sorry your breakfast wasn't quite ready," she went on as she carefully laid the bag out on the couch. "You're up earlier than expected."
Because I shook off the knockout drugs you used on me, Bane thought. Decades on the Tagra diet available only from Tel Shai had elevated his healing factor beyond what medical science could explain. Even deadly neurotoxins only sickened him briefly, and he had immediately recovered from whatever drugs this place had used on him. His captors had probably expected him to be unconscious for hours.
"How did you know I was awake?" Bane asked lightly.
"Oh, I took a chance," the attendant said. "If there's nothing else, sir?"
"I'm sorry, what was your name again?"
"Sunflower, sir."
"After the color of your eyes?"
"Of course." She gave a polite inclination of her head and was gone again.
Left to himself, Bane began an immediate survey of his rooms. Certain that he was surrounded by cameras and microphones, he did not start tearing the furnishings apart but simply ambled about the way someone checking into a motel might. The bathroom was small but immaculate. There was a cupboard that held dishes and plates and utensils, and there was a waist-high refrigerator stocked with bottles of water and soda, sandwich meats, snacks and such.. but there was no provision anywhere for cooking. Not a hot plate, not a microwave.
In the big main room, an old-fashioned wooden radio sat on a sideboard. No television anywhere, no landline phone. There was a short bookcase and he glanced over the nondescript titles. A few mystery novels, a book of essays on the Civil War, a King James Bible and some slim volumes of self-help pop psychology.
The Dire Wolf decided he had better get outside and start taking control of the situation. Opening the garment bag, he found loose slacks and a polo shirt of cotton, as well as a nylon windbreaker. Everything was of the same dark green with yellow trim. A pair of slip-on loafers had been included.
Before stripping off the pajamas, Bane went through the dresser next to the bed. Neatly folded underwear and socks had already been stowed away in there. He took off the pajamas and hung them on the back of a chair, then got dressed. Being naked in front of concealed watchers meant nothing to him. He had never developed much modesty as a street orphan.
Even without his armor and weapons, even without the silver daggers he had carried all his career, Bane felt no sense of disadvantage. He still had his hard-trained body with its innate superior reflexes. He had the enhanced healing factor from decades of the Tagra tgea regimen. And he had his mind. Bane felt sharp and alert and ready for confrontation.
Before going outside, he paused to use the bathroom, washed his hands and face and brushed his short black hair. The strangest sensation of unease was starting to creep up on him. No obvious threat was at hand, and yet...
Going to the front door of his cabin, Jeremy Bane flung the door open and stood taking in his first sight of Placid Falls.
II.
Two rows of cabins like his flanked a wide gravel path that led down to a much larger two-story plank building that had an open porch running its perimeter. In front of that main building was a paved meeting area marked with benches and tables. The settlement in general resembled a campground. No cars or trucks were in sight.
Beyond the buildings, gigantic trees loomed up overhead. Not redwoods, he thought, not exactly but a similar species. He identified some of the bushes and flowering plants as native to the Pacific Northwest. Judging by the angle of the sun and its position, not more than a day had passed while he had been unconscious. Most likely he had only been out for only a few hours.
A dozen people were in sight, leisurely strolling along the gravel path or chatting in front of one of the cabins like longtime neighbors. Nearly all were white Americans or Europeans, with one black man and two Asian women in sight.
Everyone was wearing the same green and yellow clothing that had been given to him. As Bane emerged into the warm sunlight, all the people froze into position. Some stared openly, a few whispered, but at once they all went back to what they had been doing with exaggerated nonchalance.
Just as they had obviously recognized him, the Dire Wolf had spotted five or six old colleagues and rivals. That middle-aged man with the greying brown beard and cane had to be veteran James Welshofer, the Griffin. The two Asian women leaning on each other were the Japanese agents, the Peach Sisters. They had worked for the White Web. Eric Spiegel, from the Mandate. The tall thin American black man could only be Stentor, real name Lewis Corbin, a longtime enforcer for hire. They had all given themselves away just for a split-second before assuming emotionless poker faces again.
As everyone returned to their seemingly aimless milling about, Bane stepped down to the gravel median and strode uphill, away from the main buildings. He wanted to test any limits and determine the perimeter of this bland beartrap. He started noticing small vanity mirrors such as might be found in a purse fastened even to random trees. All his instincts warned him to look away from those mirrors, although he couldn't say why.
Sitting on the front steps of the final cabin, wearing the same green and yellow outfit as everyone else, a tall man with crisp black hair sat up and regarded Bane impassively. There was no mistaking that good-looking face with its long nose and thin-lipped cruel mouth. Even the faint scar on the right side of the forehead still showed white against a decent suntan. Spiegel was getting old for an enforcement agent, though, he had to be in his late forties and that was usually when such agents moved to desk jobs.
The Dire Wolf veered over to approach the man. Eric Spiegel had been a top enforcement agent for the Mandate way back in the day. He had even tried to carry out a hit on Bane with complete lack of success. Their paths had not crossed for years. As he drew near, Bane was surprised to see faint alarm cross the man's face. That was unexpected. When had Spiegel ever been afraid of anything? What was that slump in the normally ramrod posture, why did those sharp bluish eyes seem dull? The man acted like someone who has been beaten down into submission.
"Morning," the Dire Wolf said "Nice day."
"Always a nice day somewhere," Spiegel replied. The Scots burr in his voice hadn't changed. "They call me Highland around here. I expect it's my accent that's responsible for that."
"Well, as you can imagine, I have a few questions..." Bane began but was cut off.
"Word is that your name is going to be Iron," Spiegel interrupted. "The color of your eyes, admittedly they're very striking."
Bane allowed a faint hint of a smile. "Those are not the names we know each other by back in the Desperate Game."
Rising easily enough to his feet, Spiegel tugged down the green jacket. He must be past fifty years old, but he had stayed trim and athletic. "Here in Placid Falls, we focus on the present. Let the past be the past, Iron."
"Fair enough." The Dire Wolf pointed with a thumb at the woods beyond Spiegel's cabin. "What's up that way?"
"Oh, we don't cross the Break. See that strip of cleared earth? That marks the borders of the camp. It's not safe to venture past the Break."
Bane bristled. Despite his intention to play along, something about Spiegel's docile manner irritated him. "Man, you've changed!" he snapped. "You used to be ready to spit a tiger in the eye. I had some clashes with you---"
"Let the past be the past," Spiegel broke in mildly. "I'm tired. I've been through a lot. Placid Falls is the perfect place to recover. Isn't that so?"
The Dire Wolf felt increasingly uneasy. The Eric Spiegel he remembered had been a caustic, self-assured jerk who enjoyed great success both against other spies and with impressionable young secretaries. This man "Highland" had had that spark snuffed out.
"I suppose," Bane commented. His lifelong habit of being aware of his surroundings meant he was constantly glancing in all directions. Even though the other inhabitants of Placid Falls seems occupied with their own chatting or magazines or sunbathing, he could tell by their body language that they were following the interaction between Spiegel and himself closely.
"All right," he said at last. "Guess I'll see you later."
"I'm always around," Spiegel said and lowered himself to lean back against the front door of his cottage.
Bane started moving up the incline away from Spiegel. Fifty yards beyond the last cabin, the ground had been stripped down to bare earth. It had been a dry summer so far and the dirt was hard and crumbly underfoot. Bane crossed that Break without pausing, observing that it seemed to extend completely across any escape route.
Propped up at intervals along the stretch of raw dirt were more mirrors. They were starting to get on his nerves. His theory was that there were cameras and microphones concealed behind each mirror, but the sheer number seemed excessive. It must be a psychological ploy.
What was that faint humming? His peripheral vision caught a glimpse of something at head level behind him. Bane whirled quicker than any gunfighter of the Old West, hands curling into rock-hard fists, ready for an attack. Hovering silently six feet off the ground was a plastic and aluminum drone with four rotors at its corners forming a rectangle. The chassis in the middle pointed a muzzle of .44 caliber directly at his face.
III.
Bane held absolutely still. Even his enhanced healing had its limits. A few of those slugs in his head would be as fatal as they would be to anyone else. He was impressed by how quiet this drone was. At a distance of only ten feet, it made no more noise than a regular household fan would.
From a speaker on the device came a tinny voice, "We don't go past that point, do we? It wouldn't be safe."
Still not moving, the Dire Wolf said, "Maybe this would be a good time to go over all the rules?"
"By all means," replied the good-natured voice behind the gun muzzle. "If you would kindly report to the Civic Center building, I'm sure everything would be made clear." The drone swept up and back, turning its threat away from him. Bane caught sight of two more of the flying devices in the area.
This situation was developing more quickly than he had hoped. Bane started striding quickly down the gravel path, ignoring the increasingly open stares from the people hanging around their cabins. As he passed, he recognized more of them. Former agents of the Mandate, of the FBI's Department 21 Black, of INTERCEPT. They all tried without success not to meet his eyes.
The main building, the Civic Center, had its share of mirrors over each window and doorway. Bane fought down an increasingly strong urge to pick up a rock and start smashing those things. They were getting on his nerves more and more. With an effort, he focused on why he had arranged to be brought here and why his purpose was.
Coming out to greet him was another attractive young woman in pastel nursing scrubs. She had a mane of shining blonde hair that framed a round amiable face. As Bane came within reach, the woman extended a warm hand which he obligingly shook.
"How are you, Iron? I'm known as Mellow," she said in a sultry voice that explained her name.
"It must be awkward when someone turns up with no remarkable features," Bane commented. "What do you call them?"
"Oh, everyone has some distinguished attribute, don't you think? Please come right in. I'm sure Auburn will be able to answer all your questions."
Deciding to play along for as long as he could stand it, the Dire Wolf entered the building. They passed through a pleasant common room with lots of sunlight coming in from wide windows. Two men in the green and yellow outfits were playing chess at a table in the middle, while a third was scratching his head over a crossword puzzle and eventually remaking an entry. In a corner, one of the ancient round-topped radios was playing inoffensive low-key jazz. All three men made a point of not looking up.
Escorted down a short hallway with original oil paintings of landscapes, Bane found himself standing in front of a wooden door with no identifying numbers or words. It did however have one the ubiquitous mirrors he had come to hate. Mellow rapped gently on the door with her knuckles, opened the door and ushered Bane through without following herself.
Behind a desk bare of any clutter, with no telephone or computer evident, a slender woman with a mane of gorgeous dark red hair rose and gestured for Bane to take a seat. "Ah, Iron. High time we met, I should say." The posh Southern England accent had been softened by extensive travel but was still unmistakable.
As soon as he had stepped into that room, all of Bane's decades of Kumundu training had searched for signs of anyone concealed behind a door or in a closet, of any weapons being trained on him, of any scents of unusual chemicals in the air. Nothing. There was just more of those mirrors and the suffocating sensation of being constantly watched.
Meeting Auburn's cool, level gaze, the Dire Wolf judged her age at forty-three. He calculated her height at five feet eight and her body conditioning as excellent. She wore the same light blue scrubs as the other women at Placid Falls but she also had a white lab smock with several pens and markers in a breast pocket. One look at the bone structure of her face, at her deepset caramel-colored eyes and that distinctive hair, identified her to him at once.
"Ah, I remember meeting your mother a long time ago," he said as he pulled out a chair in front of the desk. "She had a natural talent for the Desperate Game. As a gifted amateur rather than a jaded professional, she broke many rules and accomplished so much. I was glad to hear she had been re-united with her husband after those years."
Leaning back in her own chair on the other side of the desl, Auburn placed a finger thoughtfully to the side of her jaw. "Here at Placid Falls, we try to let the past be the past."
"So I've been told," Bane replied. "That was you speaking through the little flying gunship?"
"Oh, our Minders? They're necessary, I'm afraid. Beyond the Break, it's not really safe for our campers to wander."
"I bet." The Dire Wolf frowned at his own reflection in one of the several mirrors arranged around the office. "I'd like to discuss the duration of my stay here."
"Oh, that's up to the therapists," Auburn told him with an insufferably pleased smile. "You agreed to that. Our residents here at Placid Falls are all suffering from severe psychological trauma. They each recover at their own rates. You agreed to remain here as long as necessary."
III.
For some reason, Bane felt himself struggling to repress a growing anger. What was annoying him so much? Why did he feel like flipping that desk over, kicking the office door off its hinges and storming away from Placid Falls? He had dealt with much more irritating enemies and been in much more immediate danger many times but he never reacted like this.
Something was off. Something was affecting him that he wasn't consciously aware of....
"Three times a day, a menu slip will be left at your door," Auburn was saying. "Circle the items you prefer and they will be on your next meal. One of our staff will deliver and pick up your tray."
"I do want to call my office back in New York," Bane interrupted.
"There's no telephone service way out here," she answered blandly. "Sorry. When you signed up, you did agree to complete isolation. It's part of what makes Placid Falls so ideal for rest and recovery."
"Okay," the Dire Wolf said. "If anyone is trying to reach me..?"
"They will just have to be patient. I understand some the details must be vague in your mind. Like all our guests, you have been through a trauma and you need time to digest it all."
For one split-second, Bane almost thought that maybe he had in fact suffered some damaging experience that had brought him here. But that was dismissed immediately. He was not one for self-doubt. "What else do I need to know for now?"
"You passed through the Common Room on the way to my office," Auburn said. "Many of our guests like to gather there for card games or to browse the books and magazines in the adjoining library room. There's no television this far north, I regret to say, the nearby mountains prevent even satellite dishes from working."
"Placid Falls seems isolated enough to suit anyone's requirements," Bane observed. He placed his palms flat on the arms of his chair and rose to his feet. "I suppose I should get out and mingle a bit with my fellow campers. But it's better not to discuss who I am or what I've been doing, right?"
Auburn also stood up and gifted him with a smile. "I'm sure you understand. Staying focused on the present helps healing."
As he headed for the door, Bane paused and turn to look back over one shoulder. "I do want to ask about these mirrors all over the place."
"Oh, those are an essential element of the therapy," Auburn said. "Our designers believe the mirrors help our guests think things over and see their problems in perspective." She gave a throaty chuckle. "I hate to make a pun, but mirrors do lead one to reflect on things."
Bane nodded politely and left the office. He was still unreasonably pugnacious and didn't know why. He felt as if the slightest trigger might set him off on a rampage. It was best to get away from this woman and be by himself for awhile.
IV.
Once outside in fresh air, he started to calm down. The paved area held a half dozen wooden picnic benches and tables, with a brick barbeque pit on one side. No one was in the area at the moment. When Bane noticed the mirrors fastened to the sides of one bench, he nearly lost control and only kept himself from yanking the damned things off with great effort.
In the back of his mind, he realized that he was not thinking as clearly as usual. Being in such a foul mood was clouding his awareness. The Dire Wolf took deep bracing breaths and tried to clear his head. It was basic Tel Shai technique but it did not seem effective at the moment.
Bane knew he had two weeks or so before lack of the Tagra tea would begin to lessen his healing factor. For the moment, his body would recover almost instantly from minor injuries. More serious trauma would only delay him for a short time, and his resistance to poison or drugs was high enough that he usually wouldn't even notice being exposed. Long before the enhanced healing would fade, though, he intended to be away from here.
Striding quickly down the gravel path between the rows of cabins, Bane desperately wanted to break into a run. He restrained himself. The innate superior speed in his body pressing him to cut loose and burn off some energy. Acting docile for the watchers was going to be difficult.
Sitting on the steps of one cabin, sketching on an artist pad with a charcoal stick, a big man about sixty years old with a greying brown beard and weathered face caught his eye. Griffin. That would be James Welshofer, the Canadian masterspy who had served as a liaison between the CIA and MI6 for twenty years. Codenamed Griffin, he had been respected for keeping as much integrity as anyone could retain in the dirty world of espionage.
As their gazes met for that instant, Griffin gave Bane a barely perceptible nod and a change of expression so subtle that an observer would have missed it. But it was enough. It told Bane that Griffin recognized him but didn't want to interact at the moment.
The Dire Wolf kept moving. He approached his own cabin and saw a plastic tray with covered dishes sitting in front of his door. The thought of food made his stomach rumbled loud enough for anyone nearby to have heard. Bane's elevated metabolism meant he was always ravenous. He opened the front door and took the tray inside.
Inside again, surrounded by those mirrors, he felt a surge of anger. Bane struggled to stay sedate. He placed the tray on the coffee table in front of his couch and dug in. There was a generous serving of beef stew with drop biscuits, fruit salad and a Dixie cup of vanilla ice cream. Two plastic tumblers, one of iced tea and one of cranberry juice were also provided. He devoured it all. The food might be packed with tranquilizers or psychoactive drugs, but he trusted his healing factor to process any foreign substance. For decades now, alcohol had not affected him at all and he had survived several attempts to poison him outright.
Feeling slightly better with a full stomach, Bane took a moment to glance over the supper offerings. Using the short pencil stub provided, he circled almost everything on the menu slip and then took the tray back outside. Leaving it on the steps, he started up the gravel again.
He definitely felt better when he was outside. Why? What was irritating him? Bane was approaching the end of the row of cabins. Ahead was the bare earth barrier of the Break, and he knew if he crossed that he would be confronted by one of the gunship drones. The Minders, Auburn had called them.
"Hello," came a meek little voice from beside one of the cabins.
Dandelion? Bane swung around and spotted a slim short woman in her mid-thirties, not much over five feet tall. The platinum-blonde hair was the same and the gamin face hadn't changed. But the expected insolence was gone from those dark blue eyes. Dandelion was wearing the same green and yellow clothing as all the other guests, except for the jacket which she had folded to one side. She was sitting on the ground, leaning back against the exterior wall of her cabin and toying with a blade of grass.
She regarded him with only mild interest. Bane's heart sank. Seeing Dandelion without her usual impudence seemed terribly wrong and unnatural.
The Dire Wolf went over to sit down facing her. He noticed she had taken off her windbreaker and placed it folded up so it blocked the nearest mirror on the outer wall. Seeing his glance, Dandelion's mouth turned up in a sad smile.
She was sitting where she was exposed to as few mirrors as possible. Bane felt he understood the situation better now. Meeting Dandelion's subdued stare, he said, "No, don't tell me whatever stupid nickname they gave you here. I don't care. You'll always be Dandy to me."
The lovely face with its wide jawline and snub nose showed a flicker of response. "Here we let the past be... we... Hi there."
"Hi yourself. You must be meeting a lot of old friends here."
"So it seems. I'm so tired all the time. No matter how much sleep I get, I'm still groggy." She shrugged her narrow shoulders. "I just need more rest and recovery."
"Sleep is not the answer," Bane said, trying not to snap angrily at her. "I think instead it's time to wake up."
Dandelion watched him thoughtfully, as if trying to dredge up some elusive memory. "I suppose. What are you doing later?"
"You'll be the first to know," he promised. "Keep fighting. Don't sink without a trace. You've always been scrappy."
"Yes. I was," she whispered as if speaking of someone else.
Getting to his feet, Bane reached down to squeeze her shoulder. "You still are. Don't give up."
As she smiled vaguely in response, the Dire Wolf started heading for the Break again. Seeing her so beaten down was hard to take. Dandelion's real name had been Mika Dzubinska long ago. She had been a Tel Shai student as he had been, but she had been rejected by the Teachers and turned down for knight status. Dandelion's special gift was an accuracy and speed with firearms that went well past what normal flesh and blood was capable of.
For ten years, Dandelion had been a mercenary both respected and feared in the world of international espionage. Her normal personality was so cocky that it felt horrifying to see her broken like this.
As he came to a halt at the edge of the cleared earth border, Bane realized that his hands hurt. He glanced down to find he had been making fists so tightly that they ached. With deliberate effort, he unclenched his hands and wiggled the fingers. He could not remember ever being so enraged without a clear cause.
To his right, a whirring sound drew near. One of the lightweight drones was hovering just above head level, swiveling to face him. The muzzle of a .44 pointed at his head and Bane finally lost his temper.
IV.
Whirling on one foot, he leaped straight up and seized the drone, flipping it upside down. The rotors lost their lifting ability and the device crashed to the ground. The built-in gun fired once, its slug whistling away into the woods, and then Bane had come down with both feet and crushed the flimsy plastic mechanisms with his full weight. He kicked the shattered drone hard and its parts flew in all directions.
The Dire Wolf spun around, exultant at finally taking action. Five sharp cracks sounded behind him almost within reach. White-hot wires seemed to slam into his back and he passed out.
Having fought his way back up to consciousness was nothing new for Bane but that certainly did not make the struggle easier. His back throbbed with hot sharp pain. Bane snapped his eyes open and saw he was in a basement under bright fluorescent lights. Something was holding him down.
The Dire Wolf raised his head. He was bound to a wooden table with wide cloth straps across his chest and at his wrists. He saw that he had been stripped to the waist and that white bandages crossed his upper body. It was his back that hurt the most. Bane suddenly remembered he had been shot from behind. That second drone.
A door closed behind him. Walking around to stand at the foot of the table was an elderly man in a white lab coat. He had curly blond hair that had gone mostly white and wore steel-rimmed glasses with remarkably thick lenses.
"I must say you are one surprise after another," the man remarked with a faint Northern England accent.. Liverpool, perhaps. "You should have been deep under the anesthetic for at least another hour."
"I'm guessing you dug the bullets out of me?"
"Oh yes. One only grazed your left bicep, but the other three were in the muscles of your upper back. One stopped when it contacted your scapula." The man leaned over to peer myopically at the Dire Wolf. "I'm Dr Fenton Thorndyke. Placid Falls keeps me on retainer but I seldom deal with more than sprained ankles or sunburn. You are something new in my experience."
"Well, thanks for getting the slugs out," Bane said as he unobtrusively tested the strength of the straps holding him down. "Send me your bill."
"What can your secret be?" Thorndyke asked. "Are you genetically engineered or something? You did not go into shock after taking three bullets at point-blank range. Your bleeding was minimal. By the time I extracted the final bullet, the first incision I made was already closing up. I put on fresh dressings a few minutes ago and your wounds are beginning to seal over with clean tissue and no scarring. I wouldn't have thought any of this possible!"
"I'm lucky that way," said the Dire Wolf. In fact, he and other Tel Shai knights avoided going into hospitals no matter how badly injured they were. Their rapid healing would cause a sensation and might lead to being held against their will for study under spurious pretext. "If someone will get my clothing, I'll be checking out now."
Dr Thorndyke did not react to the attempts at banter. He studied his clipboard. "Naturally, I took some blood and skin samples. I'm going to be studying them in my office first, but I will need real lab facilities for real analysis."
Bane experimentally shifted his weight. The table was light enough that it moved under him. The fact they had neglected to tie down his legs gave him further ideas for how to escape. This set-up had all he marks of being improvised, not a serious interrogation cell.
Giving the Dire Wolf a jaundiced gaze, Thorndyke called, "Nikos?" The door behind them opened and closed again. A big muscular brute in the incongruous Placid Falls green and yellow uniform gave into view. One look at that brutal face with the flat lifeless eyes told Bane that this man was a hardened thug. Goons like this would maim or beat or kill without thinking twice. Under the windbreaker, Nikos' leather belt held a hunting knife in a sheath and a holstered Glock 19.
Seeing this obvious hood enter, Bane let his head sag back down and left his eyes nearly closed. He was hoping the goon would move a little bit further down toward the end of the table. Pretending to be still weak by the anesthetic might make this man underestimate him. It was worth a try.
"Watch him closely, Nikos," Thorndyke said. "Auburn is waiting to hear about his tests. Be cautious." The doctor took his clipboard and hustled from the basement.
As Bane watched, Nikos went over to fetch a plain wooden chair from a corner and put it down ten feet away. The big thug plopped down facing the back of the chair, resting his arms across its top as he watched the prisoner.
Bane kept looking away and then glancing back nervously at the end of the table to which he was bound. It took a bit of acting not to overdo it. Bane added a faint moan. As Nikos noticed, the thug stood up again.
"What the hell are you lookin' at?" the brute muttered as he crossed over to stare down at the end of the table. "Doc said you might have some sneaky tricks...."
As the big man leaned over, Bane whipped both legs up and pinned Nikos' neck between his knees. Powerful leg muscles tightened like a clamp. Bane had caught the man just right and Nikos' air was cut off. The Dire Wolf began to twist Mikos' head to one side. In another second, as the man managed to pull his knife from its sheath, his neck broke with a damp crackling noise. The front of his green trousers darkened as his bladder released its contents in death.
Very carefully, not easing up the pressure exerted by his knees, Bane managed to lower the limp body across the lower half of the table. The hunting knife dropped from a lifeless hand on the table just out of reach but the Dire Wolf kicked the body away and nudged the blade up toward him with a foot. All the hours spent stretching and practicing muscle control paid off.
Once he had the hilt of the knife at his fingertips, Bane grunted, stretched his hand down as far as the bonds would allow and got hold of it. He had cut himself free of tougher materials many times. Getting the blade in position meant bending his wrist inward to a painful extent but then he felt the cloth straps start to come loose.
Another few minutes of slicing and he pulled up with all his strength. The remaining material of the bond tore across and his left arm swung free. Bane exhaled deeply, soon got his other arm cut loose and then began working on the strap across his chest.
Three minutes after Dr Thorndyke had left the room, the prisoner was sitting up and hopping off the table. Bane's back ached annoyingly but the real agony from the gunshot wounds had passed. In a few hours, not even discomfort would remain. It was this healing ability that made Tel Shai knights hard to kill and such formidable opponents.
Bane knelt and verified that the man was indeed dead. Always make sure, he thought, as he unbuckled the man's gunbelt to put it on himself. He took a second to examine the Glock, check the safety and loosen it in the stiff holster. He prersonally had never warmed to the idea of plastic guns but this was a solid reliable weapon. The Dire Wolf then hefted the hunting knife, spun it upward and caught it by the hilt. It wasn't balanced for accurate throwing. He would have to use it in hand.
Draped over a chair in the corner was his green polo shirt with its dark bloodstains and holes across the shoulders. Bane regarded it with distaste. Hanging from a hook was a white lab smock and he tugged that on instead. Bane stretched experimentally, bent to touch his toes, windmilled his arms. He was still sore from the wounds but he seemed to have full range of motion.
In the next instant, he leaped across the basement to flatten up alongside the door. He had heard light footsteps. As the knob turned and the door swung inward, he shifted his grip on the knife. The snout of a Glock whipped inward directly at a spot between his eyes and then lowered.
Peeking in through the opening, Dandelion smirked at him.
IV.
"Seems like I didn't need to rush in and rescue you!" she chuckled. Holding the Glock in both hands, the mercenary stepped into the cellar and looked around. "That bruiser over there is too busy being dead to bother us, right?"
Bane felt as if a weight was being lifted. "Dandy. Good to see you back to your normal self."
The blonde assassin evidently was fighting an urge to hug him but she didn't want to relax her vigilance. Many had observed that Dandelion looked like a young Debbie Harry from the group Blondie and the resemblance was strongest when she smiled. Not knowing anything about pop culture, Bane had once looked up a picture of the singer and had agreed.
"I have to give you credit, you mangy old Dire Wolf," she said. "You jump started a chain of memories in my head. What's the date?"
"June 29th."
"2010, right?"
"Yes."
"That's not too bad," Dandelion said. "These bastards have kept me in a stupor for maybe five or six weeks. You know how they're doing it, right?'
"The mirrors?" asked Bane. Glancing around, he didn't see anything that would make a useful weapon. By a stainless steel sink in one corner was a clear bag holding a mass of blood-stained bandages and gauze. That must be from when they had pulled the bullets out of him.
"Yeah, the mirrors," repeated Dandelion. "Come on, we need to move. I figure there's eight more enforcers like the one you killed. And there's those drones with the attached guns."
Bane started for the door to the basement. He gave the blonde assassin a quizzical gaze. "You also picked up a Glock 19 somewhere?"
"The bugger who used to own it wasn't going to need it anymore. I also have one spare magazine. Listen, Jeremy... we have to smash the mirrors as fast as we can. When I broke that one next to my cabin, my head felt clearer. Every mirror that gets smashed, we get freed a little more."
At the doorway, pistol in hand, the Dire Wolf paused. "How do they work, Dandy?"
"How the hell should I know" she snapped. "Lots of electronics behind the glass. I don't know that stuff."
"All right. Here we go. You're facing the doorway."
"Got it." Dandelion placed her feet slightly apart and raised her weapon in both hands. "Go ahead."
Bane twisted the knob and swung the door inward. Revealed in the opening was Dr Thorndyke and another of the brutal thugs. For the barest instant, both men had puzzled expressions as they couldn't understand why the basement door had opened seemingly by itself.
Then the gun in Dandelion's grip cracked sharply four times. In the enclosed space, the detonations were painfully loud. Both the doctor and the hoodlum fell to their knees and then onto each other in a tangle of lifeless arms and legs.
Dandelion shook her head and dug a finger in one ear. "Owwww. I really prefer using my homemade silencers."
Bending over, Bane seized the men and dragged them to tumble down the stairs. In the back of his mind, he wondered vaguely what if anything the doctor had discovered from those blood samples. He found another of the Glocks on the man, identical to the two guns they already had confiscated. Apparently, whoever ran Placid Falls bought weapons for its staff wholesale.
Stepping up to the stairs, Dandelion held out one slim hand. "Come on, hand it over. You're a superman who can catch arrows and bounce back from being run over by a truck. I need a second gun more than you do."
The Dire Wolf tossed the Glock toward her and she snatched it neatly with her free hand. Armed with two handguns and the skill that went past normal Human ability, Dandelion was one of the most dangerous people alive. "Spare magazine?"
"Not on him," Bane said. "The doctor's not armed at all. Let's go talk to Auburn."
They stepped out into the rear of the Common Room with its reading table of old magazines, its chess set and its radio softly playing bland jazz. As they emerged from the unmarked door, they were just in time to see a tall lanky redheaded man punch one of the Helpers right in the nose.
V.
It was an excellent blow, thrown with both feet planted and the full power of the torso behind it. That bony fist smacked squarely into the center of the gunman's face. As the Helper swayed, the redhead did a follow-up hooking punch to the lower abdomen. The Helper doubled up, vomited and dropped to a kneeling position.
Giving the retching man a hard shove to one side, the redhead took the handgun off the floor where it had been dropped. He straightened, swung around with the gun rising into position but froze as he recognized the two people in the doorway. "Jeremy! Dandelion!"
"Hello, Davis," Bane said with a smile. "Seems like you haven't lost your edge."
Davis McNeil returned the smile with his familiar lopsided grin. He was wearing the same green and yellow outfit as everyone else but his shirt had been torn and there was a bruise across his cheek. "Like ridin' a bicycle, you know. I hope you two can explain what the bloody blue hell has been going on here--"
In the corridor leading to Auburn's office, a hulking shape loomed up and rushed forward with one of the inevitable Glocks in its hand.
Dandelion's eyes moved but not her head. Her right hand bent at the wrist and she snapped off a single shot without any perceptible attempt at aiming. The Helper's head swung violently back as a bullet dug a tunnel through his left eye. He fell back and slid down with his back propped against the wall.
"Little lady," McNeil intoned slowly, "You have always scared me."
"Good." Dandelion ejected the magazine from that gun and clicked a fresh one into place. Her gralic ability awakened by Tel Shai instruction involved spatial perception and timing, giving her nearly perfect aim. Even experts who practiced obsessively could not begin to match her. On her own commissions, Dandelion preferred to use the little .22 ACPs with silencers she crafted herself but she was deadly with any firearm.
Prowling the Common Room, watching for any further arrivals, Bane saw that the dozen mirrors had all been shattered. He turned to Dandelion, "You did this?"
"That's right, Mr Dire Wolf," the little blonde said. "Every time I broke one, my head felt a little clearer."
"Then... that's why I snapped out of my daze when I came in here?" McNeil asked. "I was looking for a novel but once I was in this room, suddenly the fog in my head lifted."
"Guess we know who's the most valuable player on this team," laughed Dandelion.
Standing off to one side, Bane understood why he had been so pugnacious all day. The signal from the mirrors had done it. Whatever that signal was, it made all the prisoners at Placid Falls get docile and groggy. But with his healing factor, his body had reacted by resisting the effect and it had made him angry instead.
Davis McNeil inspected the wires and circuits hanging out of a broken mirror. "So, in a few simple words, what IS this place?"
"A holding pen for abandoned spies," Bane answered. "I've heard rumors of it for years and finally found a way to be brought here. Agents end up here who try to resign, who fail on assignments too many times, who are suspected of being double or triples. Here they vanish forever."
Now it was Dandelion who seemed confused. "But.. why bother building this elaborate little village? Why not simply kill unreliable agents?"
"I'd bet that lower level agents ARE simply liquidated," McNeil said. "But those with secrets that might be useful are held onto for gradual interrogation. We're all trained to resist the third degree and the typical beatings under a bright light, but this place would eventually erode all our defenses."
The Dire Wolf pointed toward Auburn's office door. "Lots to do yet. Placid Falls needs to be broken wide open." With that, he strode over to the door and struck just below the knob with the palm of his hand. The lock bar snapped and he yanked the door open to reveal an empty office illuminated by a single nightlight.
Out of habit, the skinny redheaded man started going through the papers that had been left on the desk. Bane turned to Dandelion and said, "The signal for those mirrors and the controls for those drone require some sophicated apparatus. Any idea where that might be?"
"I have a suspicion," the blonde assassin said. "There's an isolated building on the other side of the Break. I caught a glimpse of it once before a drone chased me away. Follow me."
As she hustled from the room, Bane caught McNeil by one arm. "That can wait, Davis," he said. "We're still up against an unknown enemy force."
As they came back out into the Common Room, they saw that the Helper who had been slugged was reviving. The man had gotten back up on his knees, head hanging down, and had one hand gripping the back of a chair.
Without the slightest hesitation, Dandelion fired a single shot that sent a bullet through the man's head. Blood sprayed from the exit wound on the right temple. The Helper sagged back down to the floor with his mouth dropping open.
"Dandy...!" For once, Bane had not reacted quickly enough. His hand went up to grab her arm, but she had already acted.
"Oh, knock it off," the mercenary said. "You are simply too soft for this game, Jeremy. What were you going to do, tie him up? He knew the rules when he signed up."
The Dire Wolf did not respond. Killing in cold blood, executing a prisoner, had always been something he couldn't make himself do. He also couldn't condone it in his allies. But the deed couldn't be undone and there was no point in making a stand now. The last thing he needed under the circumstances was to have an armed Dandelion turn against him.
"I don't go for that," he said finally.
Dandelion scoffed. "We're not playing patty-cake with these animals, Jeremy. Sometimes I wonder how you survived the Midnight War all these years."
Flattening up against the wall by the front door, Davis McNeil had peeked out through the curtains. "Say, you two. It looks like our fellow campers are assembling out there. I don't see any Helpers in the crowd."
"All these gunshots broke through their daze," Bane said. He went to a different window, took a quick glance and then headed out onto the porch. Standing in a loose cluster were a dozen men and women he recognized immediately. Griffin. The Peach Sisters. Holden Crest from INTERCEPT. Esperanza Rivas, the Flower of the Night. They were all shifting their weight from one foot to the other uncertainly.
When the famous Dire Wolf stepped out into view, with Dandelion beside him, the gathered spies and assassins and secret agents muttered and drew closer into a tighter group. Using the butt of his Glock, Bane smashed the lone remaining mirror on the wall that Dandelion had missed.
"Get moving, everyone!" he yelled. "Break these mirrors! Break them all!"
That was all they needed. Every prisoner in Placid Falls had nursed a hatred of the ubiquituous mirrors that had surrounded them. Even if they hadn't consciously figured it out, they sensed that the mirrors had something to do with their foggy mental state. Picking up rocks or using their feet, the crowd set to smashing the mirrors with zeal.
"That should help," Bane said.
"My head feels a lot clearer already," McNeil added. "They're broadcasting some sort of subsonic tone that we can't consciously hear but which acts like a tranq. Devilish gadget."
Dandelion grabbed hard at Bane's sleeve. "This is no time to stand around congratulating yourselves. The masterminds could be getting away." She took off at a full run, with the two men right beside her. The sound of glass breaking and yells of triumph were left behind.
VI.
The strip of bare earth called the Break stretched across their path. "Oh, how I hate this thing," grumbled Dandelion as she stomped across it. "The nerve, telling ME where I can and cannot go...."
In the next few seconds, two of the gunship drones rose up overhead and were promptly blasted into stray bits by a barrage of slugs. Even as the shards of plastic and aluminum went spinning in all directions, Bane and Dandelion turned toward each other and lowered their weapons.
"God-DAMN," breathed McNeil. "I used to think I'd seen fast draws before but you two are unreal. I can't even follow your moves."
"We've had special training," Bane replied, checking his weapon.
"Yeah, those miserable ancient Teachers at Tel Shai," muttered Dandelion. "Especially that bastard Chael. Not that I'm bitter..."
Down the hill ahead of them was a squat white brick building with a second smaller structure no bigger than a shed. Two vehicles were parked next to a dirt road, a black Land Rover and a dark blue Jeep. Lights showed in all the windows of both buildings.
"I don't see fresh tire tracks," Bane told his two partners. "The soil has settled for at least forty-eight hours. We have a good chance of catching Auburn."
"Wait, are you serious?" demanded McNeil. "From way over here, in the dark, you can tell no car has driven away? I mean, come on...!"
"It's that Tel Shai training," Bane said. "Now. How do you two feel about our approaching from three separate directions to minimize all of us being killed at the same time?"
Dandelion chuckled with a wicked undertone. "We're not the ones who need to worry about being killed," she laughed and sprinted toward the main builing with a Glock in each hand.
As McNeil took off to approach from a different angle, Bane raced toward the smaller separate structure. It looked like a storage shed with only one small window high up over the door. The Dire Wolf stepped up and placed his feet. He drew torque up from his legs, through his torso and along his arm into the heel of his hand to break the lock on that door. It was not mere physical strength but technique.
The door rebounded open and he dove through in a somersault that brought him up to his feet in the center of the single room. One of the Helpers had jumped up out of a folding chair and was going for his gun. Bane shot the man twice in the chest, then swung his weapon over to cover the terrified technician.
This man was surprisingly young, not more than twenty-five or so, wearing a white smock over the pastel scrubs. He had horn-rimmed glasses that fell off his face as he jumped back away from the shooting.
"Hands up, higher," Bane ordered. He bent down over the dead Helper and confiscated the man's Glock while still keeping the tech covered. "No, don't say anything. Just hold still."
The Dire Wolf glanced around at banks of electronic equipment that lined the walls. Yellow Post-It notes were stuck everywhere, spare parts and tools lay on available surfaces and the whole operation seemed to be in a state of continual revision. Swivel chairs on casters faced a control panel in the center of the room.
He noticed there was not a single one of those mirrors in sight.
"Down on the floor," he ordered the technician. "Face down. Hold still." Bane picked up some thin cables from the top of a cabinet and quickly tied the man's wrists and ankles together. Taking off the tech's shoes, he made a gag from the socks.
"Just lie still and you'll come out of this all right." In the back of his mind, Bane had to wonder if maybe Dandelion had a point. When this was all over, would he just release the tech to run away? His policy in the KDF had been to let the little fish go while trying to land the sharks who gave the orders. Once, when he was only twenty years old, Bane had killed a gangster in cold blood and had been troubled by the expression in the man's eyes for years.
He couldn't do that again. It just wasn't in him. Let Dandelion handle things her way, he couldn't.
Moving quickly, Bane began shutting down the various apparatus around the room. He turned off every switch he saw and yanked power cables out of walls. Then, using a heavy wrench, he furiously smashed as much of the equipment as he could. He opened panels and tore out handfuls of color-coded wires. He brought the wrench down again and again until the room was decorated with broken glass and tiny bits of metal.
Right outside the door, something made a thump. He swung over and saw one of the gunship drones had crashed. Good. Bane kept it up until he couldn't find any intact electronics in that lab.
From the doorway, Dandelion whistled. "Hey, you. It's over. None of the mirrors are getting a signal and all those flying windmills are grounded. Good work."
The Dire Wolf tossed the wrench into a corner and walked over to the doorway. Behind Dandelion, McNeil was keeping Auburn covered at a proper distance. The woman who had been running Placid Falls seemed stunned by the sudden reversals. Her eyes looked out of focus.
"Someone you might want to talk to," Dandelion said. The blonde mercenary tucked one of the Glocks into her waistband and twirled the other in her hand like an Old West outlaw. "She was getting into her Jeep when Davis and I asked her to stick around."
Approaching Auburn, Bane saw the woman's eyes fix on him with awareness. "First, where are we? Give me our location."
"Northwest Washington State," she answered in a numb voice. "The nearest town in forty miles south of here. Highway 107 runs by a few miles before that."
"Good. Who's running this place?"
When Auburn did not answer immediately, Dandelion stepped closer and tapped her on the chin with the muzzle of her gun. "Better talk," she told the redhead. "You know how I get. You've read my file."
"It's STIGMA. They took over when the Mandate abandoned plans to build this facility."
"STIGMA again," Bane growled. "All right. You're coming with us for now. Davis, keep an eye on her."
"You bet," McNeil said. "I've got a slight grudge against her."
Turning to Dandelion, Bane said, "Area clear of Helpers?"
"None in any state to pose a problem," she laughed. She raised the barrel of the Glock to her lips and pretended to blow gunsmoke away.
"Let's see how the community of Dismal Falls is handling the situation," Bane said and started marching everyone back to the camp.
VII.
Evacuating Dismal Falls proved to be a lengthy procedure. Finding a healthy roll of bills on Auburn, Bane designated Griffin and McNeil to start driving everyone to the nearest town with as many as could fit in one trip, then returning for the rest.
Nearly all of the spies and mercenaries had connections where a phone call would bring them someone an "extraction" car with money, change of clothes and other useful items. A few simply marched off into the woods, saying they had their own plans made.
It was the middle of the night before the exodus was completed. Only Bane, Dandelion and McNeil were left. During the course of the trips back and forth, regular clothes had been purchased for each of them. Bane was now wearing sneakers, jeans and a red flannel shirt. McNeil was dressed the same way, while Dandelion had bought a coat with deep pockets in which she could stow her Glocks and a few box magazines she had collected.
As they stood by the Jeep and Land Rover discussing details of everything that had happened that day, Bane said he had found one of the cabins concealed a laundry with several large load washing machines and dryers, as well as a well stocked kitchen where meals for Placid Falls had been prepared. None of the staff could be found. Apparently, when the shooting and uprising had started, the support crew had immediately made a run for it.
"Dandelion is going to drop me off at a train station in Prescott, that's the nearest big city," McNeil said. "I've been undercover since I left the Mandate a year ago."
"I remember," Bane said, thinking of the deadly ruse he had used to help Davis McNeil get off the grid.
Dandelion was staring up the gravel path that led to the row of cabins. "Too bad we can't burn the whole place down," she told them. "I'd love to see Placid Falls go up in flames. But there's no telling when STIGMA will send a task force here to see what happened. I can't see the three of us tackling fifty heavily-armed STIGMA killers in Hummers."
"You've got a point," McNeil said. "Jeremy, what did you do with Auburn?"
"She's tied up in her office," the Dire Wolf said casually. "I figure I'll take her to the nearest point where INTERCEPT agents can take custody. I guess I trust INTERCEPT to do the right thing as much as any spy group."
Dandelion gave him a dope slap on the back of the head, something which few Humans would ever presume to try. "You are never gonna learn! There's no good guys and bad guys in espionage agencies. They're ALL corrupt and self-serving and full of moles and double agents. Honestly, Jeremy...."
"You know, I've been going over a checklist in my mind," McNeil said. "Has anyone seen Eric Spiegel since the uprising?"
"Not me. That guy hit me on with determination before he got the message," Dandelion said. She jerked a thumb up toward the row of cabins. "Maybe one of the Helpers got him. We might as well check before we leave."
The three of them trudged wearily up the gravel median, past cabins with darkened windows now that the camp's generators were shut off. As they walked, the blonde assassin grudgingly went on, "Ah, the guy's a jerk but he's not too bad. After I told him to knock it off with the seduction attempts, he was a perfect gentleman. We used to play chess a lot and he gave me a good challenge each time."
"Spiegel is a womanizer and a gambler," McNeil admitted. "And he does drink and smoke like his doctor told him it's good for his health. But he's reliable. If you work with him, he's got your back."
"Here we are." Bane stepped up to the final cabin before the bare earth Break and knocked sharply on the door. They heard voices from within. A moment later, a barechested Spiegel opened the door, tugging up a pair of the green Placid Falls trousers.
"Err, hello," he said uncertainly, brushing his unruly black hair back with one hand. "Good to see everyone."
"Oh my GOD," groaned Dandelion, "Don't tell me...!"
From behind Spiegel, the Helper called Sunflower stuck her tousled head out and yawned. She was holding a sheet around herself like a toga. "That's the end of the champagne, darling. Say, is something going on?"
1/8/2018
