"The Man From INTERCEPT Affair"
May. 10th, 2022 06:31 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dochermes"The Man From INTERCEPT Affair"
8/29-8/31/2006
I.
Everything had that orange haze that promised an unbearable day, and at seven-thirty in the morning, it was almost eighty. Jeremy Bane did not feel uncomfortable, even in his usual outfit of black slacks, turtleneck and sport jacket. Zero body fat and thirty years on a tagra diet had left him with a body that adjusted to extremes easily. He had become so used to it that he was a bit startled when he felt faint sweat on his forehead. Getting old, he thought. Hitting fifty is bound to bring some limitations. He stepped away from his dark green Subaru Outback, paid for the day and left the municipal parking lot. He was down around 40th Street, almost right on the East River. As a huge semi pulled by, he looked across the street and gazed at the row of unremarkable buildings with stores on the lower floor and apartments above. Bane sighed. Yesterday, he had checked his own sources and had decided to look into this affair but he was not enthusiastic.
Crossing the street, he went past the TWICE IS BETTER antique store and turned into the narrow dead-end alley between it and the next building. Ahead was a chest-high wooden fence with a few crates in front of it. As he walked toward that fence, a plain wooden door opened from within and he stepped inside without breaking stride. He found himself in a small dingy foyer that smelled musty, with another simple unmarked door on the back wall. Standing in his way was a slim man of average height, wearing a neat black suit with white shirt and black tie, very plain. The man had straw blond hair and suspicious blue eyes in a narrow face.
"Good morning," he said, and even Bane's training could not spot an accent.
"Hi," the Dire Wolf answered informally. "I believe I had an appointment."
"And with whom would that be, if I might ask?"
Now he had spotted it. Georgian. But this man had traveled widely. "A man who does not light his pipe," he said, feeling silly.
"Exactly." The blond man held out his hand. "Nicholas Pryshepa. Good to meet you, Mr Bane." He turned and raised a hand, and the door behind them opened by itself to reveal a corridor of blindingly bright white tile. Bane fought a smile at the contrast, although he enjoyed this agency's sense of theatrics. Pryshepa led him around a corner to a wide double glass door that slid apart to let them into a reception room. Everything was pristine, gleaming, as if the place had just been built and never used. Behind a stainless steel desk sat a gorgeous young woman with long black hair. She was wearing a white blouse and Royal blue blazer with matching pleated skirt. She stood up, glancing down at the display screen built in the surface of the desk. Reaching behind her, she took two triangular badges from a board behind her and wiped them with a cloth before handing them over. Following Pryshepa's example, Bane pinned the badge to his jacket pocket and glanced to see it read INTERCEPT GUEST 014.
"Thank you, Mia," said the blond man, receiving a stunning smile which he seemed oblivious to. As they turned, the woman pressed a button and a panel in the opposite wall slid open to reveal an elevator cage. Pryshepa led him in, the door slid shut and the cage rose smoothly. Bane thought it strange that everything was done for them, no attempt was made to reduce the obvious fact that they were under constant observation. Must be a nerve-wracking place to work, he thought. As they reached the fifth floor, the door slid open and Pryshepa gestured for him to enter the office.
There was another dramatic contrast. A minute ago, everything had been glaring overhead lights, steel and white tile. They walked into a subdued, cozy office lined with bookshelves and framed portraits and a three-foot globe by a curtained window. A big oak desk buried under folders and loose papers and styrofoam coffee cups took up much of the space, and the man behind it did not seem to have noticed their entrace.
"Good morning, sir," Pryshepa said discreetly.
A man about seventy sat there, with a sad deeply-lined face and spiky eyebrows. His tweed suit looked as if he had been wearing it for a few days, and his tie was badly knotted. He looked up, frowned, and for just a second the pose of absentmindedness slipped and Bane caught a glimpse of a shrewd intelligence probing at him.
"Ah, Mr Bane, good of you to come." He stood partly up and extended a hand which the Dire Wolf shook. "Lionel Davenport. Please, have a seat." There were two red leather chairs in front of the desk and Bane dropped down in one.
"I suppose first we need to establish where we stand. You've never worked for INTERCEPT before, I believe?"
"I've never worked WITH your organization," Bane answered with the different phrasing. "Our areas of interest don't often overlap."
Davenport smiled and leaned back. "I find most people have never heard of our organization, much less know our purpose. We are, how shall I put it, called in by various member nations of the United Nations when they have unusual or delicate problems their own agencies should not handle. Our name itself is a good clue to our function."
"You have a good reputation," Bane said. "More than I can say for many spy agencies."
"Ah, yes, I understand you have had trouble with the Mandate. That crew," Davenport sighed, "are a grave disappointment in every way."
Leaning forward, Nicholas Pryshepa picked up a glossy 8x10 photo from the desk and handed it to Bane. He saw a handsome, dark-haired man about thirty in a tuxedo, smiling smugly. Bane handed the picture back and raised a quizzical eyebrow.
"Ah, that young fellow is our main Interception Agent. Chap named Holden Crest. Sadly, the night before last, he was walking outside his apartment building when someone dropped a cat upon him. Common housecat but its claws had been dipped in poison. He's doing well, but the doctors won't release him for duty for another few days."
Bane did not know how to reply. "Unusual attack strategy."
"Quite. Normally, I would use Mr Crest on the case we are facing now, but with him out of commission, I am at a bit of a loss. Mr Pryshepa here is out second Interceptor and a fine man, but our policy is to always send a team of two and the others I have on my staff are not experienced enough or unavailable. Besides, there is another problem. The menace we face is something quite extraordinary, something more from your line of work than ours. Tell me," and he lowered his voice, "Have you ever heard of STIGMA?"
Bane frowned. He was beginning to get a feeling here that there was something threatening to him under all the melodrama. He had known some very dangerous foes who wore a silly facade. "STIGMA? No, never."
"They are not a particularly old group. Our earliest reports of them go back less than three years. STIGMA is a loose alliance of various independent criminals. Each has his own little empire, whether espionage or gambling or whatnot. We believe they have set this up to eliminate friction when their affairs interset, possibly to pool their resources as needed. Our organization has clashed with STIGMA several times but, I regret to say, with indifferent results. We pull a draw more often than a clear-cut victory. Now, this brings us to why I thought it best to ask if you would lend a hand. one of the services of STIGMA is assassination, particularly in the East Asian area. They use diabolically cruel methods and are held in great fear. The leader of the Asian branch of STIGMA is an elderly man named Chiang Surigata."
"Wait, what? Chinese first name and Japanese last name?"
"Quite. Rather unusual, that."
"Unheard of is more like it. But I suppose it's not impossible. Go on."
Davenport glanced up at the Russian. "Nicholas, if you would?"
Apparently taking over while his chief sipped cold coffee, Pryshepa began, "We were requested to protect an industrial chemist who works for a new fertilizer company from threats on his life. His company has had great success coaxing crops from previously barren land, and STIGMA for whatever reason seeks to block this. We have heard that Chiang Surigata is involved." The Russian came around to stand beside the desk, so that Bane could see him and Davenport at the same time. "I must admit, Surigata is an enemy outside our expertise. In this modern age, the idea of magic and witchcraft seems hopelessly out of date. And yet... Surigata has done things that are difficult, perhaps impossible to explain."
"And that's where I come in," Bane said. "The Midnight War has touched your world." He sat up. "You must know a little about me. My war is not general public knowledge but you have sources..."
Lionel Davenport broke in again. "Quite so. Your record of capturing maniacs like Samhain and fighting warlords like Arem Kamende are well documented. But all the rumors of the occult, of the sorcerors and monsters you've brought down.. Officially, none of that happened. The FBI, the NYPD, the CIA, even the Mandate and Black 21 are in on it. They deny everything but we know they have asked you to help out when there are supernatural threats."
Pryshepa made a scoffing noise and immediately caught himself. "Sorry, sir."
"I'll look into this," Bane said after a second. "I myself don't tackle international crime rings anymore, but there is a new KDF team going and they could handle STIGMA. We broke Wu Lung and John Grim back in the old days." He started to get up.
"Mr Pryshepa will accompany you," Davenport interrupted. "Your first lead is the chemist, of course. Rather colorful chap, Australian named Colin 'Pongo' Harkins. He's been told you will coming to see him. Mr Pryshepa here will brief you on our methods. Good luck, gentlemen."
For a second, the Dire Wolf paused. His first reaction was to insist he work alone using his own approach. But then, he figured, why not go along with these people and see what they were up to? If Pryshepa was being used to keep him under watch, at least he would be visible and not skulking around. "All right," he said. "I'll try it your way."
Davenport smiled and went back to rearranging papers into different stacks. The Russian turned and led Bane out of the office and back into the elevator. As they stepped out into the reception room, they just caught glimpse of a tall black man in a dark suit heading through a door with a thick manila envelope and an air of urgency. It was the first hint of other operatives in the building. The woman named Mia took their badges and wiped them with a cloth before hanging them back on their pegs.
"Security," Pryshepa explained. "A chemical is put on the badges before we get them. Without that chemical, a stolen badge would cause alarms to go off."
Bane made a non-committal noise and followed him through the tiny dingy foyer back out into the dead-end alley. Warm muggy air slapped them and Pryshepa scowled. "We should use an INTERCEPT car," he said as he headed for the street.
"Lead the way. Mr Pryshepa, what do you know about me? That you can share?"
The Russian walked briskly along 40th Street. "The Dire Wolf. An American of uncertain origins, first known as an aide to the late Kenneth Dred. Founded the Kenneth Dred Foundation. Private detective work on his own for decades. You have killed or captured many dangerous criminals, including Samhain, Seneca, Atron Ke, Wu Lung, Arem Kamende, Avathor... quite a list."
Bane said, "Go on."
"Very well," Pryshepa said with barely concealed irritation. "Your reputation is that you handle supernatural threats. Both the police and government agencies have used your services this way, unofficially and off the records."
They were at the municipal parking lot. The Dire Wolf said, "Of course you don't believe in the supernatural, do you?"
"Of course not. I am an educated man. This is not the Middle Ages. To be honest, I am a little disappointed to see people in authority even consider anything other than rational, common sense explanations to mysteries."
The man waited for a comment. Bane said evenly, "I'm not out to prove anything, Mr Pryshepa. I take things as I find them."
"Please call me Nicholas or Nick. We are going to be working together, I think we should be on a professional basis."
"Glad to. Call me Jeremy." He followed the Russian to claim a spotlesss new Nissan that looked as if it had been waxed a few seconds ago. Pryshepa took the wheel and they eased out into traffic as Bane noticed a few unobtrusive gadgets which had been installed.
"Normally you would be working with your friend Holden Crest?"
Pryshepa snorted lightly. "A good agent, good man. But he has a weakness for women, particularly blondes, and it has gotten us both in trouble several times. I trust that will not be a problem with you."
"No," Bane said. "Don't worry about me. Before we meet this chemist, what can you tell me about him?"
II.
Heading north, Pryshepa drove smoothly but rather cautiously. He seemed very serious in general. "Colin Harkins is regarded a genius in his field, he owns several patents and employs a staff of his own. Widower, forty-three, no girlfriend we know of but a young daughter Cricket. I am told he is eccentric and flamboyant."
As they rolled uptown, Pryshepa started to loosen up a little. He had been working for INTERCEPT for four years, formerly he was an insurance investigator in Eastern Europe. He did not volunteer any information about his private life or family but he was glad to discuss INTERCEPT, which he seemed to consider something the world needed desperately.
"There are so many delicate arrangements and deals between the intelligence agencies of various countries. Sometimes it prevents them from getting done what needs to be done in sudden emergencies. INTERCEPT is not for spying or for enforcement. We step in when individuals threaten the security of one nation or many. We can move in quickly and settle things, then let the host nation decide the final outcome."
"You put out fires but don't fight wars," Bane said.
For the first time, a faint smile touched the Russian. "That's quite right, Jeremy. Very perceptive."
"Thank you. I guess our methods are more similar than I thought at first." They pulled into the parking lot next to a gigantic building that was essentially a rectangle of grey stone with hundreds of rectangular windows. A sign on a post read WEISMAN VILLAGE and Bane reflected his idea of a village didn't match this. From within a checkpost, a uniformed old man inspected Pryshepa's ID, seemed satisfied and raised a wooden bar to let them in. As they got out and marched toward the main entrance, Bane felt a sudden extra alertness. There was trouble nearby. He had no psychic abilities at all, just instinct that he had learned to trust. He glanced at Pryshepa but the Russian seemed as dour and withdrawn as ever,
No one stopped them as they entered the wide marble lobby and went up to a bank of two pairs of elevators with a bench between them. Pryshepa punched the button for the 14th floor and, as the door closed, gave the Dire Wolf a curious look. "Something wrong, Jeremy?"
"Just a feeling," Bane answered. "Maybe just my imagination but something feels wrong."
They emerged in an elegant corridor of dark wood paneling with subdued light and rich carpet. The row of doors stretched to either side and they searched for 1414. In front of the door, which had a solid chair sitting in the hall outside it, Bane stopped. He raised a hand for silence and Pryshepa complied with a puzzled look.
"Someone in there breathing," Bane said. "Ragged, uneven breathing. Unconscious." With that, he drew back his elbow two inches and smacked the palm of his hand just above the door handle. There was a snap of metal breaking and the door slammed inward with the Dire Wolf right behind it. Pryshepa blinked for a second. That was a sturdy door with a good lock and he would have had to kick it a few times to get it open like that.
THe Dire Wolf stepped into a lavish set of rooms done in shades of green and tan, with furniture turned over and papers scattered everywhere. From behind an s-shaped short couch protruded a woman's leg with the shoe hanging half off. As he headed toward that leg, something long and serpentine slithered like lightning toward him. There was a flash of silver and a soft thud. As Pryshepa gaped with his heart skipping a few beats, Bane went over to clamp his boot down on a red centipede nine inches long that had a throwing dagger pinning it to the carpet.
III.
As he watched Bane tug the dagger free and wipe it with a folded piece of paper from a jacket pocket, Nicholas Pryshepa finally found his voice. "I- didn't even see you move. Maybe the stories about you are true. The Dire Wolf."
"I was born with enhanced reflexes," Bane said as he tucked the silver-bladed dagger in its sheath under his sleeve. "Just luck. You ever see anything like this before?"
"No. Never. There is no reported species like that." The Russian agent crouched to get a better look. "First, we should see to that woman over there."
"She's breathing," Bane said. They bent over a girl maybe nineteen, slim, dressed in a pale blue long-sleeved shirt and snug black skirt. Her hair was a deep butter-color yellow, all tangled with a visible bump over the top of the skull. Pryshepa took a pulse, examined her head and felt her stir. "Mild concussion at the most," he said. "I don't think she fully lost consciousness."
Scanning the apartment, Bane reconstructed the scene in his mind. The doors to the balcony had been broken from outside. A rope coiled on the balcony showed the intruders had come down from the story above this one. The overturned furniture was in three different directions, so resistance had been put up for a few minutes. Someone was quite strong, judging by the way a crack in the wall plaster showed the impact of a body. The search for papers had been frantic but brief... He turned back as the blonde girl gingerly got herself to a sitting position.
"Take it easy, miss," Pryshepa said. "What day of the week is it?"
"What? Wednesday, of course." She took deep breaths and probed tentatively at her head with thin fingers. "Oh! My father! where is he?"
"No one else is here," answered Bane.
The girl tried to get up, sagged back down and tried again successfully. She had latched onto Pryshepa's arm with both hands. "Those awful men took him. They came in from the balcony. Little brown guys. My father smacked them around but they blew dust in his face and he passed out." She was explaining this all to the Russian agent as if Bane wasn't there. "Then I guess one of them cracked me over the head because I was dreaming some nonsense until I just woke up now."
Pryshepa took out his document wallet and showed her his ID card. "We're here to help. Cricket Harkins, aren't you?"
"INTERCEPT? Oh wow, INTERCEPT is here? That's great." She turned to Bane, who nodded but did not explain he was an outsider called in to help.
"Now we need to find out where they took him," Pryshepa said. "Did they say anything? Demand anything from your father?"
"Nooooo," she muttered. "But. You know, as I was lying there, I did hear one say 'Back to Red and Green,' that could mean something.
How convenient, thought Bane dubiously. The kidnappers had told a witness where they were going. Out loud, he said, "On Mott Street, the Red and Green Pepper. It's a Chinese restaurant."
Pryshepa put a hand on the girl's shoulder. "Can you come with us? I don't think it's safe here."
"I feel safe with you around," Cricket smiled. "I'll go where you go."
Again, keeping it to himself, the Dire Wolf thought, Oh brother, lay it on thick. He headed for the door, stepping around the crimson centipede. When Cricket saw it, she let out a squeak, "What the HELL!"
"That would not harm you as long as you were still knocked out," Bane said. "They respond to movement."
The blonde grabbed a small handbag from a table and slung it over her shoulder, following the two men to the elevator. On the way down, she explained how awful this all was but she was so excited to meet INTERCEPT agents. She had been a fan of the agency for years. Pryshepa smiled politely and Bane was, to his own surprise, getting a little annoyed. Back in the parking lot, Pryshepa ushered her into the back seat and got behind the wheel. As Bane strapped himself into the front passenger seat, he said, "With an obvious trap like this, perhaps we should attack directly."
The Russian man regarded the Wolf steadily. "They know we know it's a trap. So instead of trying to sneak in stealthily or something, we should just charge in?"
"That's my approach," Bane said. "If they're waiting for us to try stealth, we do the opposite. What do you think?"
Pryshepa smiled very faintly. He seemed deadpan until you learned how to read the tiny smiles and frowns. "I like it."
Heading west and then south to Chinatown, the two men listened to Cricket praise her father's genius. He had developed new irrigation and fertilization substances that could end world hunger and make food cheap everywhere. Why these men had broken in and carried him was unknown to her.
"Have you ever heard of STIGMA?" asked Pryshepa.
"Oh sure. That's a religious thing. You develop little wounds in your wrists and ankles, right?"
He let that pass. Several blocks from the restaurant was a tiny parking lot with a few available spaces. They left the car there and marched down the narrow winding street. Despite the heat, tourists were already out, taking pictures of each other and staring in windows and chatting happily on cellphones. At the end of the block was a three story building with a vertical sign hanging down one wall. A large red and a green pepper were depicted with the words RED AND GREEN DELICIOUS AUTHENTIC in mock-Asian calligraphy. The building next to it was one story higher and separated only by a narrow alley. As they approached, Bane said, "What do you think of this approach? You walk in the front and demand to see the manager. Some story about being robbed. Mention the Surigata name. I'll jump on the roof from the adjoining building and we'll work our way in from different directions.
Pryshepa did not answer immediately. His eyes went to the rooftops and he obviously was glad he was not the one to be leaping around. "All right. Cricket, you'll stay out here of course."
"If you say so. But I want to help. That's my father in there."
"This is our job. I suggest you go back to our car and keep an eye on it. Perhaps these men will try to put one of those centipedes in it and you can warn us before we get back in."
"All right, Fine." She flashed a warm teenage smile at the Russian agent and pranced happily back toward the parking lot.
Bane just kept himself from shaking his head. Was it his imagination or was she playing a role for their benefit? Turning back to Pryshepa, he said, "I guess we'll play this by ear, then?"
The Russian agent inclined his head a fraction of an inch, "To be honest, that's how it usually ends up in any case." He started toward the front of the restaurant. Moving in the other direction, Bane trotted to the adjoining building, leaped onto the fire escape just above head level and pulled himself easily onto its bottom landing. In a flash, he was racing up the fire escape to the roof. Suddenly he felt free to move at his own pace. Even at fifty, he was by nature faster than trained athletes and his body was always restless. Reaching the roof, he ran across it and leaped over the alley below to land lightly on the tarred roof of the Red and Green Restaurant, catching himself on his toes with his fingertips just touching the surface.
Now he felt like himself again. The Dire Wolf ran over to a knee-high trap door and knelt beside it. It was locked from inside. Using his legs, gripping the edge of the door, he straightened and snapped the lock. Tricks like this were not done by luck. Over the years, he had trained with experts in many different useful skills. Flinging the trap door, he dropped down the steps into gloom, lowering the door behind him. Bane trotted down narrow creaking stairs to a landing piled with crates and scraps of woods and debris. He expected to be met any second. Ahead was a thick plank door against which a shovel rested. Showtime, he thought and kicked the door inward. He plunged into a dim room where the air was cool and musty and a dozen men slept or rested on pillows scattered around the floor. A pungent cooking aroma came from a crockpot in one corner.
As the men jumped startled to their feet, Bane saw their skin tones and facial bone structure and hair. In Burmese, he said, "You Dacoits will do anything for money, won't you?"
IV.
Waiting to be sure Cricket Harkins had indeed gone back to the parking lot, Nicholas Pryshepa straightened his tie and sighed. This muggy heat was bothering him. Bitter cold was more his element from childhood. He turned and approached the front door of the restaurant, with its window painted with a string of alternating green and red peppers and a menu posted for passersby. He opened the door to the jingle of a tiny bell attached at the top, and stepped into the dim interior.
"We not open yet," said a thin older man at the register. He picked up a Chinese language newspaper and bent over it.
"I want to speak your manager," the Russian agent announced angrily. "It's an outrage what happens here."
"Is there a problem, sir?" the restaurant employee wore a white dress shirt open to reveal a bony throat. He looked to be in his late sixties.
"Last night, I came in here with a wallet as you might expect!"
"Oh, I see." The Chinese man rose and tottered closer. "Perhaps you have searched everywhere?"
"Of course! Who was working last night? I demand to see your manager."
The employee stepped closer and with a sudden jolt, Pryshepa saw that he was not an elderly man at all but someone in his thirties made up to look old. As this held his attention, something dropped over his head from behind and closed violently around his throat. Pryshepa gripped the strangling noose with both hands as he was lifted up on his toes. They had caught him neatly. He had a knife sheathed behind his neck but he could not chance being strangled if he let his weight down so he tried to support himself and kick free.
Coming up close, the fake codger grinned. "We were not open last night." He held up a handful of dark powder and blew it in Pryshepa's face and the Russian passed out. Almost immediately, he became vaguely aware of being dragged along a floor with his hands tied painfully tight behind him. This was not a new experience for him but that did not improve the situation. It was difficult to fight through the fog, he felt nauseous and the best he could was deep slow breathing to try to clear his head. Pryshepa managed to pry his eyes open with some difficulty as he was hauled through a doorway into a chill darkened area. The floor was stone and damp. As he finally sorted things out, the Russian felt himself thrown to a seated position with his hands wired behind him. His feet had been left free but he did not try to get up just yet.
This was a cellar, lit by two overhead bulbs of low wattage. Along the walls were rough wooden benches piled with tools and banks of small wire cages. What got his attention immediately was the grotesque man strapped to a chair with thick rope. For the barest instant, he thought he was looking at some sort of ape. The fellow had been stripped to the waist and his immense muscular body had a thick layer of curly reddish hair. The arms were unusually long. But it was the simian face, with its prominent brow ledge, wide nose and long upper lip, that held his attention. The man was thoroughly ugly in a strangely likeable way, and evidently unconscious.
As Pryshepa moved to get up on his knees, two Asian men entered and stood facing him. They were short but strongly built, wearing simple trousers and white T-shirts. Not Chinese or Japanese, he thought, perhaps Cambodian? Thai? He wasn't sure. As he rose, they watched him but made no move to interfere. They did not seem to be armed. "I did ask to see your manager," he said with a confident a manner as he could manage.
From behind him came a mellow, refined voice with just the slightest British accent. "So you shall, my boy."
Pryshepa spun around to face someone whose appearance was a fascinating as the apelike prisoner. The man was rather over six feet tall, thin, standing very erect in a floor-length robe of dark green silk. He had a high forehead under nearly shaven scalp, with a wicked mocking face and long narrow eyes the same green as the robe. Creased and wrinkled as the ancient face was, there was no weakness or uncertainty in it. He was resting his hands on the hilt of a long ceremonial sword, not a katana, whose point stuck into the floor. "Yes, you have found the manager. Dr Chiang Surigata at your service."
The Russian agent smiled politely. "I'd shake hands but well, you see how it is.."
"Indeed," Surigata said. "You are needed to send a message to your chief. Your rather juvenile organization is getting quite inconvenient lately. STIGMA has serious business underway. We cannot be interrupted by you people getting underfoot."
"Very well," Pryshepa said. "Certainly I'll carry any statement you wish. Why not?"
A sly smile brought up the thin mouth. "Ah but you shall carry our message in the form of a bullet. I am pleased with our new brainwashing methods. So quick, so reliable. It's too bad that they burn out the mind of the subject, but then, everything has a price."
As soon as he spoke those words, Surigata motioned to the two Burmese Dacoits, who jumped upon the prisoner from both sides. Pryshepa put up resistance for ten minutes, and nearly got away twice. He was a tough and experienced fighter, but with his wrists wired together behind him, two opponents were too much and the Dacoits finally pinned him down and smacked his head on the stone floor until he was compliant.
"And that," hissed Surigata, "is why you fools should have tied his feet together as well."
V.
Stepping past the last Dacoit, Bane paused to smack the man hard on the back of the head with a knuckle. The moaning stopped. These guys were tough and mean, he thought, they just didn't train hard enough. If they had been Thai kickboxers, for example, he would still be fighting. Against a Kumundu Master like Bane, they had given some trouble but not enough. Most had a few broken bones and even when they woke up, they would be dazed and sick, and not inclined to get going right away. Striding across the room, he straightened his jacket and ran a palm over his hair. The door was open, putting him on a landing with wide stairs leading down. He headed quickly to the next floor. Any alerts must have been given by now, as the battle had been short but fairly noisy.
The second floor consisted of private rooms in a row and he checked a few. All were locked but by now breaking open doors was getting to be a bad habit with him. The one interesting room contained no furnishings other than various chemical and electrical apparatus, including an old-fashioned shortwave radio on a table. He saw movement in one corner. Half a dozen wooden cages with wire mesh doors stood on a bench and he stepped closer. Large, vile-looking insects with way too many legs scuttled about in those cages. One included the biggest spider he had seen yet. The damn thing had a body the size of a grapefruit and hairy legs. As he stepped closer, the spider sprang up and tried to get at him. Despite all he had seen in a strange life, Bane winced and drew back at the murderous intentions of that creature.
Then something white-hot sliced across the back of his neck and he gasped at the pain. He would have sworn no one could have gotten in that room without his knowing it. The Dire Wolf wheeled about, gun appearing in his hand like a conjuring trick but still saw no one. Bane knew he had been poisoned, his head was swimming and he felt unsteady. His thought was to conceal himself until his tagra diet and Tel Shai training cleared his system but he was already swaying.
Hanging in the air before his eyes were some vague objects the size of mosquitos. He tried to focus. Tiny clear jellyfish...?
When he hit the wooden floor, he was already unconscious. .
It did not last more than a few minutes. One of the reasons Tel Shai membership was so prized was its access to a tagra tea diet, which enhanced the body's healing and defensive capabilities way beyond medical science could explain. Bane was not invulnerable by any means. He aged and could be killed. But he had survive much without lasting harm that would have left normal Humans crippled or dead. Rapidly, his body rejected the toxin he had been injected with. A sweat broke out on his skin as the processed poison left his system, and within three or four minutes, his eyes snapped open where almost anyone else would be delirious and feverish for hours. He was being carried face down, his wrists tied together behind him with what felt like wire. Better play along for the moment, he thought.
Two men dragged him into a cool dim room with a stone floor. Bane was dumped face down, then rolled over in a sitting position propped up a wall. Through one slitted eye he made out the scene of what looked to be a workshop of some kind. He spotted who had to be the missing chemist, deeply sedated to the point where drool was coming out of one corner of the apelike mouth. Cricket evidently took after her mother, she sure didn't resemble this brute. Bane took a deep breath and sat up, deciding to get things rolling.
"Sorry to see you joining me this way," said Pryshepa dryly. "Are you all right?"
"Fine," Bane answered. "Little flying jellyfish got me."
At this, Chiang Surigata came back into view. He had the ceremonial sword over one shoulder, and twirled it as he stared down at the two men. Bane met his gaze evenly.
"The Dire Wolf," hissed Surigata with delight. "Oh, you offer possibilities. Ransom from your Tel Shai knights. Or maybe an auction, there are many who bear you grudges and would pay richly to have you handed over."
Bane smiled tightly. He had been quickly searched during the trip down here. His gun and wallet had been taken, but he could feel the silver-bladed daggers were still strapped to his forearms. Molded rubber padding made them feel like normal human muscle to an unskilled probe. And he had gotten two fingers on the end of the wire wrapped around his wrist. With all the escape lessons he had taken from experts and the hundreds of hours of practice, he knew his fingers were strong enoughto get free in a few minutes. As he started, he answered, "You are missing a few possibilities."
Surigata inclined his head and leered. "Oh, there is also the obvious of getting secrets from you for myself. Your history in the Midnight War is well known, Dire Wolf. How much forbidden knowledge you must have picked up. How many secrets you must hold. It will not be easy getting you to talk, of course, but I have time."
The crimelord leaned forward but prudently did not get any closer. "Torture is a hobby of mine, Mr Bane. Have you heard of the Wire Jacket of the Thousand Cuts? The Six Gates of Joyous Wisdom? The Fire and ice?"
"How about just tickling with a feather?" Bane asked.
"You try to be brave, but I know your heart must be pounding-" Surigata was interrupted as a man in a white dress shirt and black slacks entered quickly.
"Master!" he cried. "All the Dacoit in their room have been beaten senseless."
As Surigata glared venomously at him, Bane shrugged. "They started it."
The Asian representative of STIGMA planted the straight sword with its point resting on the cellar floor and stared at the Dire Wolf. "You two, go attend to your brothers. Lai-Ming, help them and then get back to the restaurant. I will be taking care of these pale-devils." The two Dacoits hurried from the basement, accompanied by the man made up to look elderly.
Chiang Surigata placed both hands on the hilt of the sword and sighed. "I suppose I should not be angry that you defeated my men. You are a knight of Tel Shai after all, and a Kumundu master. Ah, there is yet another source of information you hold. I can see I will be busy torturing and questioning you for years. You- the yellow-haired man-, you will serve as a brainwashed assassin to slay your chief. This ugly hair one behind me has already told long and well under my methods, so his usefulness is nearly at an end but I think I may keep him as a brainwashed assistant. Despite his appearance, he is not stupid--"
"DADDY!" came a scream that echoed through the cellar.
"Now what?" said Surigata, which sounded odd coming from a self-proclaimed international mastermind. He scowled as a pretty young blonde scurried down the steps and hurried across to where the unconscious Colin Harkins sprawled in his chair. Cricket found he was breathing but unresponsive.
"What did you do to my Daddy?!" she shrieked in a tone that made everyone jump. She straightened up and seemed to take in the scene for the first time. "Wait, what's going... on here?"
Chiang Surigata drummed his fingers on the hilt of the sword. "Ah, the chemist's daughter. Of course. How did you get in here, child?"
"The door was open," she said bluntly. "It's just too hot outside to walk around, so I came in for some iced tea. Then I heard Mr Bane's voice and I came down the stairs. Look at this place. I'm calling the police."
"Come over here, miss," Surigata suggested. "Yes. Closer. I have to explain what the situation is. Your father has gotten involved with some unscrupulous criminals."
Cricket was almost within arm's reach. Her expression was more puzzled than anything else. "I don't understand..."
"You have been misled. Those two men are dangerous criminals, wanted by the police. They are behind your father's kidnaping and they intended to lure you along to use as leverage. They intended to threaten you so your father would cooperate."
"No, no, they are from INTERCEPT. You can trust the men from INTERCEPT!"
"I'm afraid not." Surigata rested one fist on a hip. He had only the tips of the fingers of one hand touched the pommel of his sword as he thought what to say next. "They have been fooling you."
Pryshepa broke in. "Nice try, Surigata! She's not going to fall for that claptrap."
As he spoke, Cricket gave him a sweet smile and stepped closer to Surigata. "Let me ask one thing," she said.
And with one motion, the blonde teen yanked the ceremonial sword away, drew it up to her shoulders and chopped it like an axe right into Surigata's neck.
As bright arterial blood sprayed out and the man gagged, she kicked him with one tiny foot so he fell to the floor. Cricket lowered the sword and turned to face the apalled faces goggling at her.
"Well, what are you two looking at me like THAT for? I couldn't let him kill you two? Could I?"
Bane stood up and dropped the wire to the floor. He had gotten free just as Cricket had entered the cellar. Going to help Pryshepa up, he started unwinding the identical length of wire biting into the Russian's wrists.
"Stop giving me that look!" she said. "I was standing on the steps when this monster said he was going to turture and kill you boys. And I saw him lick his lips when he checked me out, he had plans for me too. I knew there was only one way for us to get out of here."
As Pryshepa tentatively took the sword away from her, Bane knelt over Surigata. "He's a stiff," the Dire Wolf said. "Just enough of the neck left to keep the head on."
Cricket pouted. "Don't try to make me feel bad. I saved everyone, you should thank me."
VI.
Hours later, an INTERCEPT clean-up squad had its work well underway. Documents and evidence were being labelled and taken away. The bizarre giant insects and other unlikely creatures were packed into containers by experts in white lab coats and the Dacoits were roughly loaded into NYPD vans. The police officers were sullen and resented taking orders from INTERCEPT but that was the chain of authority. Colin Harkins had been taken in an ambulance to Mount Sinai hospital and Cricket had gone along, with a pair of INTERCEPT agents as bodyguards.
At a few minutes to five, Jeremy Bane and Nicholas Pryshepa walked into that dead-end alley between buildings and the unmarked door swung inward for them. A tall thin black man in a perfect tan suit admitted them. "Hello again, Pryshepa," he said with a French accent. "You look like you've had a busy day."
"Hello, Davies. Oh, you know, just earning a paycheck." The Russian led Bane into the reception area where a redhead gave them their triangular badges. They went to the elevator and through into the cozy office where they had been briefed that morning.
Lionel Davenport was just turning out the lights. He had a briefcase in one hand and a folded newspaper. "Hah! Caught me. I'm afraid I can't take your report right now. Number Two will handle that, but I will be glad to speak with you both tomorrow. I must go, the Secretary is waiting. Tell me, did everything go well?"
"Quite satisfactory, sir," said Pryshepa.
"And finished just by the end of your shift, as well." Davenport winked at the Dire Wolf. "You see, Mr Bane, just a typical work day at INTERCEPT."
6/27/2013
8/29-8/31/2006
I.
Everything had that orange haze that promised an unbearable day, and at seven-thirty in the morning, it was almost eighty. Jeremy Bane did not feel uncomfortable, even in his usual outfit of black slacks, turtleneck and sport jacket. Zero body fat and thirty years on a tagra diet had left him with a body that adjusted to extremes easily. He had become so used to it that he was a bit startled when he felt faint sweat on his forehead. Getting old, he thought. Hitting fifty is bound to bring some limitations. He stepped away from his dark green Subaru Outback, paid for the day and left the municipal parking lot. He was down around 40th Street, almost right on the East River. As a huge semi pulled by, he looked across the street and gazed at the row of unremarkable buildings with stores on the lower floor and apartments above. Bane sighed. Yesterday, he had checked his own sources and had decided to look into this affair but he was not enthusiastic.
Crossing the street, he went past the TWICE IS BETTER antique store and turned into the narrow dead-end alley between it and the next building. Ahead was a chest-high wooden fence with a few crates in front of it. As he walked toward that fence, a plain wooden door opened from within and he stepped inside without breaking stride. He found himself in a small dingy foyer that smelled musty, with another simple unmarked door on the back wall. Standing in his way was a slim man of average height, wearing a neat black suit with white shirt and black tie, very plain. The man had straw blond hair and suspicious blue eyes in a narrow face.
"Good morning," he said, and even Bane's training could not spot an accent.
"Hi," the Dire Wolf answered informally. "I believe I had an appointment."
"And with whom would that be, if I might ask?"
Now he had spotted it. Georgian. But this man had traveled widely. "A man who does not light his pipe," he said, feeling silly.
"Exactly." The blond man held out his hand. "Nicholas Pryshepa. Good to meet you, Mr Bane." He turned and raised a hand, and the door behind them opened by itself to reveal a corridor of blindingly bright white tile. Bane fought a smile at the contrast, although he enjoyed this agency's sense of theatrics. Pryshepa led him around a corner to a wide double glass door that slid apart to let them into a reception room. Everything was pristine, gleaming, as if the place had just been built and never used. Behind a stainless steel desk sat a gorgeous young woman with long black hair. She was wearing a white blouse and Royal blue blazer with matching pleated skirt. She stood up, glancing down at the display screen built in the surface of the desk. Reaching behind her, she took two triangular badges from a board behind her and wiped them with a cloth before handing them over. Following Pryshepa's example, Bane pinned the badge to his jacket pocket and glanced to see it read INTERCEPT GUEST 014.
"Thank you, Mia," said the blond man, receiving a stunning smile which he seemed oblivious to. As they turned, the woman pressed a button and a panel in the opposite wall slid open to reveal an elevator cage. Pryshepa led him in, the door slid shut and the cage rose smoothly. Bane thought it strange that everything was done for them, no attempt was made to reduce the obvious fact that they were under constant observation. Must be a nerve-wracking place to work, he thought. As they reached the fifth floor, the door slid open and Pryshepa gestured for him to enter the office.
There was another dramatic contrast. A minute ago, everything had been glaring overhead lights, steel and white tile. They walked into a subdued, cozy office lined with bookshelves and framed portraits and a three-foot globe by a curtained window. A big oak desk buried under folders and loose papers and styrofoam coffee cups took up much of the space, and the man behind it did not seem to have noticed their entrace.
"Good morning, sir," Pryshepa said discreetly.
A man about seventy sat there, with a sad deeply-lined face and spiky eyebrows. His tweed suit looked as if he had been wearing it for a few days, and his tie was badly knotted. He looked up, frowned, and for just a second the pose of absentmindedness slipped and Bane caught a glimpse of a shrewd intelligence probing at him.
"Ah, Mr Bane, good of you to come." He stood partly up and extended a hand which the Dire Wolf shook. "Lionel Davenport. Please, have a seat." There were two red leather chairs in front of the desk and Bane dropped down in one.
"I suppose first we need to establish where we stand. You've never worked for INTERCEPT before, I believe?"
"I've never worked WITH your organization," Bane answered with the different phrasing. "Our areas of interest don't often overlap."
Davenport smiled and leaned back. "I find most people have never heard of our organization, much less know our purpose. We are, how shall I put it, called in by various member nations of the United Nations when they have unusual or delicate problems their own agencies should not handle. Our name itself is a good clue to our function."
"You have a good reputation," Bane said. "More than I can say for many spy agencies."
"Ah, yes, I understand you have had trouble with the Mandate. That crew," Davenport sighed, "are a grave disappointment in every way."
Leaning forward, Nicholas Pryshepa picked up a glossy 8x10 photo from the desk and handed it to Bane. He saw a handsome, dark-haired man about thirty in a tuxedo, smiling smugly. Bane handed the picture back and raised a quizzical eyebrow.
"Ah, that young fellow is our main Interception Agent. Chap named Holden Crest. Sadly, the night before last, he was walking outside his apartment building when someone dropped a cat upon him. Common housecat but its claws had been dipped in poison. He's doing well, but the doctors won't release him for duty for another few days."
Bane did not know how to reply. "Unusual attack strategy."
"Quite. Normally, I would use Mr Crest on the case we are facing now, but with him out of commission, I am at a bit of a loss. Mr Pryshepa here is out second Interceptor and a fine man, but our policy is to always send a team of two and the others I have on my staff are not experienced enough or unavailable. Besides, there is another problem. The menace we face is something quite extraordinary, something more from your line of work than ours. Tell me," and he lowered his voice, "Have you ever heard of STIGMA?"
Bane frowned. He was beginning to get a feeling here that there was something threatening to him under all the melodrama. He had known some very dangerous foes who wore a silly facade. "STIGMA? No, never."
"They are not a particularly old group. Our earliest reports of them go back less than three years. STIGMA is a loose alliance of various independent criminals. Each has his own little empire, whether espionage or gambling or whatnot. We believe they have set this up to eliminate friction when their affairs interset, possibly to pool their resources as needed. Our organization has clashed with STIGMA several times but, I regret to say, with indifferent results. We pull a draw more often than a clear-cut victory. Now, this brings us to why I thought it best to ask if you would lend a hand. one of the services of STIGMA is assassination, particularly in the East Asian area. They use diabolically cruel methods and are held in great fear. The leader of the Asian branch of STIGMA is an elderly man named Chiang Surigata."
"Wait, what? Chinese first name and Japanese last name?"
"Quite. Rather unusual, that."
"Unheard of is more like it. But I suppose it's not impossible. Go on."
Davenport glanced up at the Russian. "Nicholas, if you would?"
Apparently taking over while his chief sipped cold coffee, Pryshepa began, "We were requested to protect an industrial chemist who works for a new fertilizer company from threats on his life. His company has had great success coaxing crops from previously barren land, and STIGMA for whatever reason seeks to block this. We have heard that Chiang Surigata is involved." The Russian came around to stand beside the desk, so that Bane could see him and Davenport at the same time. "I must admit, Surigata is an enemy outside our expertise. In this modern age, the idea of magic and witchcraft seems hopelessly out of date. And yet... Surigata has done things that are difficult, perhaps impossible to explain."
"And that's where I come in," Bane said. "The Midnight War has touched your world." He sat up. "You must know a little about me. My war is not general public knowledge but you have sources..."
Lionel Davenport broke in again. "Quite so. Your record of capturing maniacs like Samhain and fighting warlords like Arem Kamende are well documented. But all the rumors of the occult, of the sorcerors and monsters you've brought down.. Officially, none of that happened. The FBI, the NYPD, the CIA, even the Mandate and Black 21 are in on it. They deny everything but we know they have asked you to help out when there are supernatural threats."
Pryshepa made a scoffing noise and immediately caught himself. "Sorry, sir."
"I'll look into this," Bane said after a second. "I myself don't tackle international crime rings anymore, but there is a new KDF team going and they could handle STIGMA. We broke Wu Lung and John Grim back in the old days." He started to get up.
"Mr Pryshepa will accompany you," Davenport interrupted. "Your first lead is the chemist, of course. Rather colorful chap, Australian named Colin 'Pongo' Harkins. He's been told you will coming to see him. Mr Pryshepa here will brief you on our methods. Good luck, gentlemen."
For a second, the Dire Wolf paused. His first reaction was to insist he work alone using his own approach. But then, he figured, why not go along with these people and see what they were up to? If Pryshepa was being used to keep him under watch, at least he would be visible and not skulking around. "All right," he said. "I'll try it your way."
Davenport smiled and went back to rearranging papers into different stacks. The Russian turned and led Bane out of the office and back into the elevator. As they stepped out into the reception room, they just caught glimpse of a tall black man in a dark suit heading through a door with a thick manila envelope and an air of urgency. It was the first hint of other operatives in the building. The woman named Mia took their badges and wiped them with a cloth before hanging them back on their pegs.
"Security," Pryshepa explained. "A chemical is put on the badges before we get them. Without that chemical, a stolen badge would cause alarms to go off."
Bane made a non-committal noise and followed him through the tiny dingy foyer back out into the dead-end alley. Warm muggy air slapped them and Pryshepa scowled. "We should use an INTERCEPT car," he said as he headed for the street.
"Lead the way. Mr Pryshepa, what do you know about me? That you can share?"
The Russian walked briskly along 40th Street. "The Dire Wolf. An American of uncertain origins, first known as an aide to the late Kenneth Dred. Founded the Kenneth Dred Foundation. Private detective work on his own for decades. You have killed or captured many dangerous criminals, including Samhain, Seneca, Atron Ke, Wu Lung, Arem Kamende, Avathor... quite a list."
Bane said, "Go on."
"Very well," Pryshepa said with barely concealed irritation. "Your reputation is that you handle supernatural threats. Both the police and government agencies have used your services this way, unofficially and off the records."
They were at the municipal parking lot. The Dire Wolf said, "Of course you don't believe in the supernatural, do you?"
"Of course not. I am an educated man. This is not the Middle Ages. To be honest, I am a little disappointed to see people in authority even consider anything other than rational, common sense explanations to mysteries."
The man waited for a comment. Bane said evenly, "I'm not out to prove anything, Mr Pryshepa. I take things as I find them."
"Please call me Nicholas or Nick. We are going to be working together, I think we should be on a professional basis."
"Glad to. Call me Jeremy." He followed the Russian to claim a spotlesss new Nissan that looked as if it had been waxed a few seconds ago. Pryshepa took the wheel and they eased out into traffic as Bane noticed a few unobtrusive gadgets which had been installed.
"Normally you would be working with your friend Holden Crest?"
Pryshepa snorted lightly. "A good agent, good man. But he has a weakness for women, particularly blondes, and it has gotten us both in trouble several times. I trust that will not be a problem with you."
"No," Bane said. "Don't worry about me. Before we meet this chemist, what can you tell me about him?"
II.
Heading north, Pryshepa drove smoothly but rather cautiously. He seemed very serious in general. "Colin Harkins is regarded a genius in his field, he owns several patents and employs a staff of his own. Widower, forty-three, no girlfriend we know of but a young daughter Cricket. I am told he is eccentric and flamboyant."
As they rolled uptown, Pryshepa started to loosen up a little. He had been working for INTERCEPT for four years, formerly he was an insurance investigator in Eastern Europe. He did not volunteer any information about his private life or family but he was glad to discuss INTERCEPT, which he seemed to consider something the world needed desperately.
"There are so many delicate arrangements and deals between the intelligence agencies of various countries. Sometimes it prevents them from getting done what needs to be done in sudden emergencies. INTERCEPT is not for spying or for enforcement. We step in when individuals threaten the security of one nation or many. We can move in quickly and settle things, then let the host nation decide the final outcome."
"You put out fires but don't fight wars," Bane said.
For the first time, a faint smile touched the Russian. "That's quite right, Jeremy. Very perceptive."
"Thank you. I guess our methods are more similar than I thought at first." They pulled into the parking lot next to a gigantic building that was essentially a rectangle of grey stone with hundreds of rectangular windows. A sign on a post read WEISMAN VILLAGE and Bane reflected his idea of a village didn't match this. From within a checkpost, a uniformed old man inspected Pryshepa's ID, seemed satisfied and raised a wooden bar to let them in. As they got out and marched toward the main entrance, Bane felt a sudden extra alertness. There was trouble nearby. He had no psychic abilities at all, just instinct that he had learned to trust. He glanced at Pryshepa but the Russian seemed as dour and withdrawn as ever,
No one stopped them as they entered the wide marble lobby and went up to a bank of two pairs of elevators with a bench between them. Pryshepa punched the button for the 14th floor and, as the door closed, gave the Dire Wolf a curious look. "Something wrong, Jeremy?"
"Just a feeling," Bane answered. "Maybe just my imagination but something feels wrong."
They emerged in an elegant corridor of dark wood paneling with subdued light and rich carpet. The row of doors stretched to either side and they searched for 1414. In front of the door, which had a solid chair sitting in the hall outside it, Bane stopped. He raised a hand for silence and Pryshepa complied with a puzzled look.
"Someone in there breathing," Bane said. "Ragged, uneven breathing. Unconscious." With that, he drew back his elbow two inches and smacked the palm of his hand just above the door handle. There was a snap of metal breaking and the door slammed inward with the Dire Wolf right behind it. Pryshepa blinked for a second. That was a sturdy door with a good lock and he would have had to kick it a few times to get it open like that.
THe Dire Wolf stepped into a lavish set of rooms done in shades of green and tan, with furniture turned over and papers scattered everywhere. From behind an s-shaped short couch protruded a woman's leg with the shoe hanging half off. As he headed toward that leg, something long and serpentine slithered like lightning toward him. There was a flash of silver and a soft thud. As Pryshepa gaped with his heart skipping a few beats, Bane went over to clamp his boot down on a red centipede nine inches long that had a throwing dagger pinning it to the carpet.
III.
As he watched Bane tug the dagger free and wipe it with a folded piece of paper from a jacket pocket, Nicholas Pryshepa finally found his voice. "I- didn't even see you move. Maybe the stories about you are true. The Dire Wolf."
"I was born with enhanced reflexes," Bane said as he tucked the silver-bladed dagger in its sheath under his sleeve. "Just luck. You ever see anything like this before?"
"No. Never. There is no reported species like that." The Russian agent crouched to get a better look. "First, we should see to that woman over there."
"She's breathing," Bane said. They bent over a girl maybe nineteen, slim, dressed in a pale blue long-sleeved shirt and snug black skirt. Her hair was a deep butter-color yellow, all tangled with a visible bump over the top of the skull. Pryshepa took a pulse, examined her head and felt her stir. "Mild concussion at the most," he said. "I don't think she fully lost consciousness."
Scanning the apartment, Bane reconstructed the scene in his mind. The doors to the balcony had been broken from outside. A rope coiled on the balcony showed the intruders had come down from the story above this one. The overturned furniture was in three different directions, so resistance had been put up for a few minutes. Someone was quite strong, judging by the way a crack in the wall plaster showed the impact of a body. The search for papers had been frantic but brief... He turned back as the blonde girl gingerly got herself to a sitting position.
"Take it easy, miss," Pryshepa said. "What day of the week is it?"
"What? Wednesday, of course." She took deep breaths and probed tentatively at her head with thin fingers. "Oh! My father! where is he?"
"No one else is here," answered Bane.
The girl tried to get up, sagged back down and tried again successfully. She had latched onto Pryshepa's arm with both hands. "Those awful men took him. They came in from the balcony. Little brown guys. My father smacked them around but they blew dust in his face and he passed out." She was explaining this all to the Russian agent as if Bane wasn't there. "Then I guess one of them cracked me over the head because I was dreaming some nonsense until I just woke up now."
Pryshepa took out his document wallet and showed her his ID card. "We're here to help. Cricket Harkins, aren't you?"
"INTERCEPT? Oh wow, INTERCEPT is here? That's great." She turned to Bane, who nodded but did not explain he was an outsider called in to help.
"Now we need to find out where they took him," Pryshepa said. "Did they say anything? Demand anything from your father?"
"Nooooo," she muttered. "But. You know, as I was lying there, I did hear one say 'Back to Red and Green,' that could mean something.
How convenient, thought Bane dubiously. The kidnappers had told a witness where they were going. Out loud, he said, "On Mott Street, the Red and Green Pepper. It's a Chinese restaurant."
Pryshepa put a hand on the girl's shoulder. "Can you come with us? I don't think it's safe here."
"I feel safe with you around," Cricket smiled. "I'll go where you go."
Again, keeping it to himself, the Dire Wolf thought, Oh brother, lay it on thick. He headed for the door, stepping around the crimson centipede. When Cricket saw it, she let out a squeak, "What the HELL!"
"That would not harm you as long as you were still knocked out," Bane said. "They respond to movement."
The blonde grabbed a small handbag from a table and slung it over her shoulder, following the two men to the elevator. On the way down, she explained how awful this all was but she was so excited to meet INTERCEPT agents. She had been a fan of the agency for years. Pryshepa smiled politely and Bane was, to his own surprise, getting a little annoyed. Back in the parking lot, Pryshepa ushered her into the back seat and got behind the wheel. As Bane strapped himself into the front passenger seat, he said, "With an obvious trap like this, perhaps we should attack directly."
The Russian man regarded the Wolf steadily. "They know we know it's a trap. So instead of trying to sneak in stealthily or something, we should just charge in?"
"That's my approach," Bane said. "If they're waiting for us to try stealth, we do the opposite. What do you think?"
Pryshepa smiled very faintly. He seemed deadpan until you learned how to read the tiny smiles and frowns. "I like it."
Heading west and then south to Chinatown, the two men listened to Cricket praise her father's genius. He had developed new irrigation and fertilization substances that could end world hunger and make food cheap everywhere. Why these men had broken in and carried him was unknown to her.
"Have you ever heard of STIGMA?" asked Pryshepa.
"Oh sure. That's a religious thing. You develop little wounds in your wrists and ankles, right?"
He let that pass. Several blocks from the restaurant was a tiny parking lot with a few available spaces. They left the car there and marched down the narrow winding street. Despite the heat, tourists were already out, taking pictures of each other and staring in windows and chatting happily on cellphones. At the end of the block was a three story building with a vertical sign hanging down one wall. A large red and a green pepper were depicted with the words RED AND GREEN DELICIOUS AUTHENTIC in mock-Asian calligraphy. The building next to it was one story higher and separated only by a narrow alley. As they approached, Bane said, "What do you think of this approach? You walk in the front and demand to see the manager. Some story about being robbed. Mention the Surigata name. I'll jump on the roof from the adjoining building and we'll work our way in from different directions.
Pryshepa did not answer immediately. His eyes went to the rooftops and he obviously was glad he was not the one to be leaping around. "All right. Cricket, you'll stay out here of course."
"If you say so. But I want to help. That's my father in there."
"This is our job. I suggest you go back to our car and keep an eye on it. Perhaps these men will try to put one of those centipedes in it and you can warn us before we get back in."
"All right, Fine." She flashed a warm teenage smile at the Russian agent and pranced happily back toward the parking lot.
Bane just kept himself from shaking his head. Was it his imagination or was she playing a role for their benefit? Turning back to Pryshepa, he said, "I guess we'll play this by ear, then?"
The Russian agent inclined his head a fraction of an inch, "To be honest, that's how it usually ends up in any case." He started toward the front of the restaurant. Moving in the other direction, Bane trotted to the adjoining building, leaped onto the fire escape just above head level and pulled himself easily onto its bottom landing. In a flash, he was racing up the fire escape to the roof. Suddenly he felt free to move at his own pace. Even at fifty, he was by nature faster than trained athletes and his body was always restless. Reaching the roof, he ran across it and leaped over the alley below to land lightly on the tarred roof of the Red and Green Restaurant, catching himself on his toes with his fingertips just touching the surface.
Now he felt like himself again. The Dire Wolf ran over to a knee-high trap door and knelt beside it. It was locked from inside. Using his legs, gripping the edge of the door, he straightened and snapped the lock. Tricks like this were not done by luck. Over the years, he had trained with experts in many different useful skills. Flinging the trap door, he dropped down the steps into gloom, lowering the door behind him. Bane trotted down narrow creaking stairs to a landing piled with crates and scraps of woods and debris. He expected to be met any second. Ahead was a thick plank door against which a shovel rested. Showtime, he thought and kicked the door inward. He plunged into a dim room where the air was cool and musty and a dozen men slept or rested on pillows scattered around the floor. A pungent cooking aroma came from a crockpot in one corner.
As the men jumped startled to their feet, Bane saw their skin tones and facial bone structure and hair. In Burmese, he said, "You Dacoits will do anything for money, won't you?"
IV.
Waiting to be sure Cricket Harkins had indeed gone back to the parking lot, Nicholas Pryshepa straightened his tie and sighed. This muggy heat was bothering him. Bitter cold was more his element from childhood. He turned and approached the front door of the restaurant, with its window painted with a string of alternating green and red peppers and a menu posted for passersby. He opened the door to the jingle of a tiny bell attached at the top, and stepped into the dim interior.
"We not open yet," said a thin older man at the register. He picked up a Chinese language newspaper and bent over it.
"I want to speak your manager," the Russian agent announced angrily. "It's an outrage what happens here."
"Is there a problem, sir?" the restaurant employee wore a white dress shirt open to reveal a bony throat. He looked to be in his late sixties.
"Last night, I came in here with a wallet as you might expect!"
"Oh, I see." The Chinese man rose and tottered closer. "Perhaps you have searched everywhere?"
"Of course! Who was working last night? I demand to see your manager."
The employee stepped closer and with a sudden jolt, Pryshepa saw that he was not an elderly man at all but someone in his thirties made up to look old. As this held his attention, something dropped over his head from behind and closed violently around his throat. Pryshepa gripped the strangling noose with both hands as he was lifted up on his toes. They had caught him neatly. He had a knife sheathed behind his neck but he could not chance being strangled if he let his weight down so he tried to support himself and kick free.
Coming up close, the fake codger grinned. "We were not open last night." He held up a handful of dark powder and blew it in Pryshepa's face and the Russian passed out. Almost immediately, he became vaguely aware of being dragged along a floor with his hands tied painfully tight behind him. This was not a new experience for him but that did not improve the situation. It was difficult to fight through the fog, he felt nauseous and the best he could was deep slow breathing to try to clear his head. Pryshepa managed to pry his eyes open with some difficulty as he was hauled through a doorway into a chill darkened area. The floor was stone and damp. As he finally sorted things out, the Russian felt himself thrown to a seated position with his hands wired behind him. His feet had been left free but he did not try to get up just yet.
This was a cellar, lit by two overhead bulbs of low wattage. Along the walls were rough wooden benches piled with tools and banks of small wire cages. What got his attention immediately was the grotesque man strapped to a chair with thick rope. For the barest instant, he thought he was looking at some sort of ape. The fellow had been stripped to the waist and his immense muscular body had a thick layer of curly reddish hair. The arms were unusually long. But it was the simian face, with its prominent brow ledge, wide nose and long upper lip, that held his attention. The man was thoroughly ugly in a strangely likeable way, and evidently unconscious.
As Pryshepa moved to get up on his knees, two Asian men entered and stood facing him. They were short but strongly built, wearing simple trousers and white T-shirts. Not Chinese or Japanese, he thought, perhaps Cambodian? Thai? He wasn't sure. As he rose, they watched him but made no move to interfere. They did not seem to be armed. "I did ask to see your manager," he said with a confident a manner as he could manage.
From behind him came a mellow, refined voice with just the slightest British accent. "So you shall, my boy."
Pryshepa spun around to face someone whose appearance was a fascinating as the apelike prisoner. The man was rather over six feet tall, thin, standing very erect in a floor-length robe of dark green silk. He had a high forehead under nearly shaven scalp, with a wicked mocking face and long narrow eyes the same green as the robe. Creased and wrinkled as the ancient face was, there was no weakness or uncertainty in it. He was resting his hands on the hilt of a long ceremonial sword, not a katana, whose point stuck into the floor. "Yes, you have found the manager. Dr Chiang Surigata at your service."
The Russian agent smiled politely. "I'd shake hands but well, you see how it is.."
"Indeed," Surigata said. "You are needed to send a message to your chief. Your rather juvenile organization is getting quite inconvenient lately. STIGMA has serious business underway. We cannot be interrupted by you people getting underfoot."
"Very well," Pryshepa said. "Certainly I'll carry any statement you wish. Why not?"
A sly smile brought up the thin mouth. "Ah but you shall carry our message in the form of a bullet. I am pleased with our new brainwashing methods. So quick, so reliable. It's too bad that they burn out the mind of the subject, but then, everything has a price."
As soon as he spoke those words, Surigata motioned to the two Burmese Dacoits, who jumped upon the prisoner from both sides. Pryshepa put up resistance for ten minutes, and nearly got away twice. He was a tough and experienced fighter, but with his wrists wired together behind him, two opponents were too much and the Dacoits finally pinned him down and smacked his head on the stone floor until he was compliant.
"And that," hissed Surigata, "is why you fools should have tied his feet together as well."
V.
Stepping past the last Dacoit, Bane paused to smack the man hard on the back of the head with a knuckle. The moaning stopped. These guys were tough and mean, he thought, they just didn't train hard enough. If they had been Thai kickboxers, for example, he would still be fighting. Against a Kumundu Master like Bane, they had given some trouble but not enough. Most had a few broken bones and even when they woke up, they would be dazed and sick, and not inclined to get going right away. Striding across the room, he straightened his jacket and ran a palm over his hair. The door was open, putting him on a landing with wide stairs leading down. He headed quickly to the next floor. Any alerts must have been given by now, as the battle had been short but fairly noisy.
The second floor consisted of private rooms in a row and he checked a few. All were locked but by now breaking open doors was getting to be a bad habit with him. The one interesting room contained no furnishings other than various chemical and electrical apparatus, including an old-fashioned shortwave radio on a table. He saw movement in one corner. Half a dozen wooden cages with wire mesh doors stood on a bench and he stepped closer. Large, vile-looking insects with way too many legs scuttled about in those cages. One included the biggest spider he had seen yet. The damn thing had a body the size of a grapefruit and hairy legs. As he stepped closer, the spider sprang up and tried to get at him. Despite all he had seen in a strange life, Bane winced and drew back at the murderous intentions of that creature.
Then something white-hot sliced across the back of his neck and he gasped at the pain. He would have sworn no one could have gotten in that room without his knowing it. The Dire Wolf wheeled about, gun appearing in his hand like a conjuring trick but still saw no one. Bane knew he had been poisoned, his head was swimming and he felt unsteady. His thought was to conceal himself until his tagra diet and Tel Shai training cleared his system but he was already swaying.
Hanging in the air before his eyes were some vague objects the size of mosquitos. He tried to focus. Tiny clear jellyfish...?
When he hit the wooden floor, he was already unconscious. .
It did not last more than a few minutes. One of the reasons Tel Shai membership was so prized was its access to a tagra tea diet, which enhanced the body's healing and defensive capabilities way beyond medical science could explain. Bane was not invulnerable by any means. He aged and could be killed. But he had survive much without lasting harm that would have left normal Humans crippled or dead. Rapidly, his body rejected the toxin he had been injected with. A sweat broke out on his skin as the processed poison left his system, and within three or four minutes, his eyes snapped open where almost anyone else would be delirious and feverish for hours. He was being carried face down, his wrists tied together behind him with what felt like wire. Better play along for the moment, he thought.
Two men dragged him into a cool dim room with a stone floor. Bane was dumped face down, then rolled over in a sitting position propped up a wall. Through one slitted eye he made out the scene of what looked to be a workshop of some kind. He spotted who had to be the missing chemist, deeply sedated to the point where drool was coming out of one corner of the apelike mouth. Cricket evidently took after her mother, she sure didn't resemble this brute. Bane took a deep breath and sat up, deciding to get things rolling.
"Sorry to see you joining me this way," said Pryshepa dryly. "Are you all right?"
"Fine," Bane answered. "Little flying jellyfish got me."
At this, Chiang Surigata came back into view. He had the ceremonial sword over one shoulder, and twirled it as he stared down at the two men. Bane met his gaze evenly.
"The Dire Wolf," hissed Surigata with delight. "Oh, you offer possibilities. Ransom from your Tel Shai knights. Or maybe an auction, there are many who bear you grudges and would pay richly to have you handed over."
Bane smiled tightly. He had been quickly searched during the trip down here. His gun and wallet had been taken, but he could feel the silver-bladed daggers were still strapped to his forearms. Molded rubber padding made them feel like normal human muscle to an unskilled probe. And he had gotten two fingers on the end of the wire wrapped around his wrist. With all the escape lessons he had taken from experts and the hundreds of hours of practice, he knew his fingers were strong enoughto get free in a few minutes. As he started, he answered, "You are missing a few possibilities."
Surigata inclined his head and leered. "Oh, there is also the obvious of getting secrets from you for myself. Your history in the Midnight War is well known, Dire Wolf. How much forbidden knowledge you must have picked up. How many secrets you must hold. It will not be easy getting you to talk, of course, but I have time."
The crimelord leaned forward but prudently did not get any closer. "Torture is a hobby of mine, Mr Bane. Have you heard of the Wire Jacket of the Thousand Cuts? The Six Gates of Joyous Wisdom? The Fire and ice?"
"How about just tickling with a feather?" Bane asked.
"You try to be brave, but I know your heart must be pounding-" Surigata was interrupted as a man in a white dress shirt and black slacks entered quickly.
"Master!" he cried. "All the Dacoit in their room have been beaten senseless."
As Surigata glared venomously at him, Bane shrugged. "They started it."
The Asian representative of STIGMA planted the straight sword with its point resting on the cellar floor and stared at the Dire Wolf. "You two, go attend to your brothers. Lai-Ming, help them and then get back to the restaurant. I will be taking care of these pale-devils." The two Dacoits hurried from the basement, accompanied by the man made up to look elderly.
Chiang Surigata placed both hands on the hilt of the sword and sighed. "I suppose I should not be angry that you defeated my men. You are a knight of Tel Shai after all, and a Kumundu master. Ah, there is yet another source of information you hold. I can see I will be busy torturing and questioning you for years. You- the yellow-haired man-, you will serve as a brainwashed assassin to slay your chief. This ugly hair one behind me has already told long and well under my methods, so his usefulness is nearly at an end but I think I may keep him as a brainwashed assistant. Despite his appearance, he is not stupid--"
"DADDY!" came a scream that echoed through the cellar.
"Now what?" said Surigata, which sounded odd coming from a self-proclaimed international mastermind. He scowled as a pretty young blonde scurried down the steps and hurried across to where the unconscious Colin Harkins sprawled in his chair. Cricket found he was breathing but unresponsive.
"What did you do to my Daddy?!" she shrieked in a tone that made everyone jump. She straightened up and seemed to take in the scene for the first time. "Wait, what's going... on here?"
Chiang Surigata drummed his fingers on the hilt of the sword. "Ah, the chemist's daughter. Of course. How did you get in here, child?"
"The door was open," she said bluntly. "It's just too hot outside to walk around, so I came in for some iced tea. Then I heard Mr Bane's voice and I came down the stairs. Look at this place. I'm calling the police."
"Come over here, miss," Surigata suggested. "Yes. Closer. I have to explain what the situation is. Your father has gotten involved with some unscrupulous criminals."
Cricket was almost within arm's reach. Her expression was more puzzled than anything else. "I don't understand..."
"You have been misled. Those two men are dangerous criminals, wanted by the police. They are behind your father's kidnaping and they intended to lure you along to use as leverage. They intended to threaten you so your father would cooperate."
"No, no, they are from INTERCEPT. You can trust the men from INTERCEPT!"
"I'm afraid not." Surigata rested one fist on a hip. He had only the tips of the fingers of one hand touched the pommel of his sword as he thought what to say next. "They have been fooling you."
Pryshepa broke in. "Nice try, Surigata! She's not going to fall for that claptrap."
As he spoke, Cricket gave him a sweet smile and stepped closer to Surigata. "Let me ask one thing," she said.
And with one motion, the blonde teen yanked the ceremonial sword away, drew it up to her shoulders and chopped it like an axe right into Surigata's neck.
As bright arterial blood sprayed out and the man gagged, she kicked him with one tiny foot so he fell to the floor. Cricket lowered the sword and turned to face the apalled faces goggling at her.
"Well, what are you two looking at me like THAT for? I couldn't let him kill you two? Could I?"
Bane stood up and dropped the wire to the floor. He had gotten free just as Cricket had entered the cellar. Going to help Pryshepa up, he started unwinding the identical length of wire biting into the Russian's wrists.
"Stop giving me that look!" she said. "I was standing on the steps when this monster said he was going to turture and kill you boys. And I saw him lick his lips when he checked me out, he had plans for me too. I knew there was only one way for us to get out of here."
As Pryshepa tentatively took the sword away from her, Bane knelt over Surigata. "He's a stiff," the Dire Wolf said. "Just enough of the neck left to keep the head on."
Cricket pouted. "Don't try to make me feel bad. I saved everyone, you should thank me."
VI.
Hours later, an INTERCEPT clean-up squad had its work well underway. Documents and evidence were being labelled and taken away. The bizarre giant insects and other unlikely creatures were packed into containers by experts in white lab coats and the Dacoits were roughly loaded into NYPD vans. The police officers were sullen and resented taking orders from INTERCEPT but that was the chain of authority. Colin Harkins had been taken in an ambulance to Mount Sinai hospital and Cricket had gone along, with a pair of INTERCEPT agents as bodyguards.
At a few minutes to five, Jeremy Bane and Nicholas Pryshepa walked into that dead-end alley between buildings and the unmarked door swung inward for them. A tall thin black man in a perfect tan suit admitted them. "Hello again, Pryshepa," he said with a French accent. "You look like you've had a busy day."
"Hello, Davies. Oh, you know, just earning a paycheck." The Russian led Bane into the reception area where a redhead gave them their triangular badges. They went to the elevator and through into the cozy office where they had been briefed that morning.
Lionel Davenport was just turning out the lights. He had a briefcase in one hand and a folded newspaper. "Hah! Caught me. I'm afraid I can't take your report right now. Number Two will handle that, but I will be glad to speak with you both tomorrow. I must go, the Secretary is waiting. Tell me, did everything go well?"
"Quite satisfactory, sir," said Pryshepa.
"And finished just by the end of your shift, as well." Davenport winked at the Dire Wolf. "You see, Mr Bane, just a typical work day at INTERCEPT."
6/27/2013
