"Come Slyly, Death"
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dochermes"Come Slyly, Death"
(10/1/1997)
He decided to take the bullet high on his chest. In the split-second that he would have been dodging, he drew and fired back. Bane was using a long-barreled .38 revolver, not the most powerful available but one he found accurate and reliable. As the assassin's slug punched hard just above his sternum, he knew he had hit the man right in the face by the way the body flung its arms up. He himself was knocked back off his feet and fell hard to the concrete. Every time Bane got hit by a bullet, it felt as if the Trom armor had failed but each time he recovered in a second and found the foil had dispersed all but a small fraction of the impact. He rolled over on his knees and got back up as if he had merely lost his footing. The pain in his chest was just a dull ache.
In the moonlight, the Dire Wolf could see his opponent clearly enough. The Repairman, what a name for an assassin. He supposed it helped when discussing him, you could say, "Time to call the repairman," without worrying about being overheard. Bane walked over and glared down at the body. The famous goggles, the longish blonde hair, the tan jacket with its pouches. Even the rifle with its infra-red scope was accurate. But he knew better.
Without turning around, Bane said, "Who was he, really?"
The familiar drawling voice came from closer than he would have thought. "The Repairman? You want his real name?"
"No," said the Dire Wolf. "Whoever this poor soul was before the surgery." He swung around, the gun still in his left hand. Not far away, the roar of a plane engine passed overhead and he saw the lights go by as the general was on his way to the States. No one else should be near this abandoned airfield for miles but coming out of the shadows of a maintenance building was a stocky little man with curly hair and a soft voice.
"Mr Bane, really." Carmody kept his hands in his coat pockets. "You have got to get your imagination under control."
"Oh, I'm imagining a lot of things right now. I saw the Repairman once, I saw how he moved. His sense of balance. This wasn't him."
Carmody giggled. "I think you are giving yourself credit for more perception than you can have-"
"No. You don't know Tel Shai. My training is not anything you are familiar with." Bane holstered his gun and came closer to the man. "I suppose you think your Mandate has the ultimate expertise but there is secret knowledge in the world that goes back thirty thousand years. Plastic surgery isn't enough to fool a Kumundu master, practice and rehearsal isn't enough. I can tell the inner balance of a man in a way I can't explain to you."
The wind had died down and the night was muggy again. Carmody grinned under the full moon like a Halloween pumpkin. "I suppose you deserve a little information. The Mandate is not concerned with whether or not General Dominguez made it to the plane. He's not important. We really wanted to know if the Repairman was still sticking to his agreements."
"He worked for whoever paid him. Money was all he cared about."
"Of course. But the question is, would he change sides if offered more? We needed to know because we were planning on putting him in a situation where he would be tempted by a higher offer. So we had to tempt him first."
Bane interrupted. "Why have me confront an imposter? Why ask me to come down here to protect the general if he was not the real thing?"
"Because we are worried about you as well. You are a random element, an extra joker in the deck. No one really knows what you want. What is behind your ghostbusting? And your serial killer chasing? Your so-called Midnight War?"
For the first time, a trace of amusement showed in the Dire Wolf's voice. "See, this is where you are too jaded to see the truth. There IS nothing behind my work. I am just what I seem to be. You can't recognize a knight because you don't believe they exist."
Now Carmody moved his hands inside his coat pockets. Bane had detected the man held a small caliber pistol in each hand, and the coat was of such a thin material to avoid interfering with the trajectory that the motions were more obvious. Almost with a sigh, Bane said, "You just saw me take down a man who was already aiming a rifle at me. Don't think you can survive any more than he did."
"Oh, but it is not I who will do -" began Carmody just as a large hole popped open in his forehead. Blood splatted out, black in the moonlight, and he fell to his knees and then onto his face. His hands were still in his coat pockets. The thump of the gunshot was muted but still recognizable.
Bane had not moved. From the angle of the wound, he saw where the bullet had come from and his superior night vision spotted the man even before he moved out of the doorway. Eric Spiegel lowered the Parabellum and untwisted the hot silencer. He looked as Bane had remembered him from years ago, a tall handsome man with thick black hair and a flashy smile. He wore a lightweight tropical suit in white. " 'Come slyly, Death," he quoted, "come like a thief in the night.'"
"Spiegel. Oh brother, another layer of deception," the Dire Wolf said. "Okay, let's have your version."
The Mandate's top field agent raised the barrel and sniffed it delicately. "I don't really like the smell, but I have a theory it's a little different each time. Jeremy Bane, the Dire Wolf. We haven't had to cross paths for a few years now."
Bane nodded toward the dead body lying in front of him. "I'm guessing not much of what he told me was true, eh?"
"Not much. Although he thought it was. Or we think he did. See, the Repairman died suddenly, on the job as it were, and I was the only one present. Oh, why be modest? I removed him from the living. My chief already had someone on the staff who resembled the Repairman closely, chap named McDowell, and some surgery and acting lessons made the impersonation undetectable." Spiegel's voice sharpened. "Or so we thought. How did you spot him, by the way?"
"Just as I said. I have had training not available in the world. When you stepped forward, just now, I saw you didn't get enough sleep and you ate too much last night and you have an old injury in your lower back that is bothering you. Also, you are getting myopic."
Despite himself, Spiegel flinched. "Ah well, parlor tricks. I think you still deserve a little information, son. McDowell as the Repairman was only a lure to get you down here. We thought you would be interested in facing an assassin of his stature. Carmody had orders not to try to kill you but we knew that a third party was going to try to hire him to do just that. Carmody was the real problem. He played three sides against the middle."
"FACADE!" snorted Bane. "Those losers again."
"I did NOT say that name. I don't think the existence of FACADE has ever been established. There are no freelance espionage groups, they don't exist, everyone works for one country or cause."
"If you say so. This man McDowell behind me. The one I killed a few minutes ago, the one you disguised to look like the Repairman. Did he know he was going to his death?"
The Mandate agent shrugged, an expressive gesture for him. "He knew the risks. He was a professional and he was expendable. We know that. You, me, him... we are all expendable."
"That's where we disagree," Bane said quietly. "I am not expendable."
Spiegel came groggily back to his senses. The side of his neck hurt atrociously, and he was lying on the cold hard concrete runway. Confused, he tried to get up and couldn't. His hands were tied behind him, and his ankles were tied together. Despite the pain when he moved his head, he twisted around to see the grey eyes of Jeremy Bane watching him with cool interest.
"What the...? How did you DO that?"
"I hit you with the outer edge of my hand," Bane replied. "Not hard enough to be fatal, it takes some precision."
"But I was looking right at you."
Bane said, "You still don't understand. I am not part of your world of lies and schemes and betrayals. I am something you will never figure out. Ah, but I think I do understand YOU. You have not been working exclusively for your masters in the Mandate, have you?" The Dire Wolf bent and picked up the big man with one hand, as if it was no effort at all. "Come with me. Tell me all about FACADE."
5/77/2013
(10/1/1997)
He decided to take the bullet high on his chest. In the split-second that he would have been dodging, he drew and fired back. Bane was using a long-barreled .38 revolver, not the most powerful available but one he found accurate and reliable. As the assassin's slug punched hard just above his sternum, he knew he had hit the man right in the face by the way the body flung its arms up. He himself was knocked back off his feet and fell hard to the concrete. Every time Bane got hit by a bullet, it felt as if the Trom armor had failed but each time he recovered in a second and found the foil had dispersed all but a small fraction of the impact. He rolled over on his knees and got back up as if he had merely lost his footing. The pain in his chest was just a dull ache.
In the moonlight, the Dire Wolf could see his opponent clearly enough. The Repairman, what a name for an assassin. He supposed it helped when discussing him, you could say, "Time to call the repairman," without worrying about being overheard. Bane walked over and glared down at the body. The famous goggles, the longish blonde hair, the tan jacket with its pouches. Even the rifle with its infra-red scope was accurate. But he knew better.
Without turning around, Bane said, "Who was he, really?"
The familiar drawling voice came from closer than he would have thought. "The Repairman? You want his real name?"
"No," said the Dire Wolf. "Whoever this poor soul was before the surgery." He swung around, the gun still in his left hand. Not far away, the roar of a plane engine passed overhead and he saw the lights go by as the general was on his way to the States. No one else should be near this abandoned airfield for miles but coming out of the shadows of a maintenance building was a stocky little man with curly hair and a soft voice.
"Mr Bane, really." Carmody kept his hands in his coat pockets. "You have got to get your imagination under control."
"Oh, I'm imagining a lot of things right now. I saw the Repairman once, I saw how he moved. His sense of balance. This wasn't him."
Carmody giggled. "I think you are giving yourself credit for more perception than you can have-"
"No. You don't know Tel Shai. My training is not anything you are familiar with." Bane holstered his gun and came closer to the man. "I suppose you think your Mandate has the ultimate expertise but there is secret knowledge in the world that goes back thirty thousand years. Plastic surgery isn't enough to fool a Kumundu master, practice and rehearsal isn't enough. I can tell the inner balance of a man in a way I can't explain to you."
The wind had died down and the night was muggy again. Carmody grinned under the full moon like a Halloween pumpkin. "I suppose you deserve a little information. The Mandate is not concerned with whether or not General Dominguez made it to the plane. He's not important. We really wanted to know if the Repairman was still sticking to his agreements."
"He worked for whoever paid him. Money was all he cared about."
"Of course. But the question is, would he change sides if offered more? We needed to know because we were planning on putting him in a situation where he would be tempted by a higher offer. So we had to tempt him first."
Bane interrupted. "Why have me confront an imposter? Why ask me to come down here to protect the general if he was not the real thing?"
"Because we are worried about you as well. You are a random element, an extra joker in the deck. No one really knows what you want. What is behind your ghostbusting? And your serial killer chasing? Your so-called Midnight War?"
For the first time, a trace of amusement showed in the Dire Wolf's voice. "See, this is where you are too jaded to see the truth. There IS nothing behind my work. I am just what I seem to be. You can't recognize a knight because you don't believe they exist."
Now Carmody moved his hands inside his coat pockets. Bane had detected the man held a small caliber pistol in each hand, and the coat was of such a thin material to avoid interfering with the trajectory that the motions were more obvious. Almost with a sigh, Bane said, "You just saw me take down a man who was already aiming a rifle at me. Don't think you can survive any more than he did."
"Oh, but it is not I who will do -" began Carmody just as a large hole popped open in his forehead. Blood splatted out, black in the moonlight, and he fell to his knees and then onto his face. His hands were still in his coat pockets. The thump of the gunshot was muted but still recognizable.
Bane had not moved. From the angle of the wound, he saw where the bullet had come from and his superior night vision spotted the man even before he moved out of the doorway. Eric Spiegel lowered the Parabellum and untwisted the hot silencer. He looked as Bane had remembered him from years ago, a tall handsome man with thick black hair and a flashy smile. He wore a lightweight tropical suit in white. " 'Come slyly, Death," he quoted, "come like a thief in the night.'"
"Spiegel. Oh brother, another layer of deception," the Dire Wolf said. "Okay, let's have your version."
The Mandate's top field agent raised the barrel and sniffed it delicately. "I don't really like the smell, but I have a theory it's a little different each time. Jeremy Bane, the Dire Wolf. We haven't had to cross paths for a few years now."
Bane nodded toward the dead body lying in front of him. "I'm guessing not much of what he told me was true, eh?"
"Not much. Although he thought it was. Or we think he did. See, the Repairman died suddenly, on the job as it were, and I was the only one present. Oh, why be modest? I removed him from the living. My chief already had someone on the staff who resembled the Repairman closely, chap named McDowell, and some surgery and acting lessons made the impersonation undetectable." Spiegel's voice sharpened. "Or so we thought. How did you spot him, by the way?"
"Just as I said. I have had training not available in the world. When you stepped forward, just now, I saw you didn't get enough sleep and you ate too much last night and you have an old injury in your lower back that is bothering you. Also, you are getting myopic."
Despite himself, Spiegel flinched. "Ah well, parlor tricks. I think you still deserve a little information, son. McDowell as the Repairman was only a lure to get you down here. We thought you would be interested in facing an assassin of his stature. Carmody had orders not to try to kill you but we knew that a third party was going to try to hire him to do just that. Carmody was the real problem. He played three sides against the middle."
"FACADE!" snorted Bane. "Those losers again."
"I did NOT say that name. I don't think the existence of FACADE has ever been established. There are no freelance espionage groups, they don't exist, everyone works for one country or cause."
"If you say so. This man McDowell behind me. The one I killed a few minutes ago, the one you disguised to look like the Repairman. Did he know he was going to his death?"
The Mandate agent shrugged, an expressive gesture for him. "He knew the risks. He was a professional and he was expendable. We know that. You, me, him... we are all expendable."
"That's where we disagree," Bane said quietly. "I am not expendable."
Spiegel came groggily back to his senses. The side of his neck hurt atrociously, and he was lying on the cold hard concrete runway. Confused, he tried to get up and couldn't. His hands were tied behind him, and his ankles were tied together. Despite the pain when he moved his head, he twisted around to see the grey eyes of Jeremy Bane watching him with cool interest.
"What the...? How did you DO that?"
"I hit you with the outer edge of my hand," Bane replied. "Not hard enough to be fatal, it takes some precision."
"But I was looking right at you."
Bane said, "You still don't understand. I am not part of your world of lies and schemes and betrayals. I am something you will never figure out. Ah, but I think I do understand YOU. You have not been working exclusively for your masters in the Mandate, have you?" The Dire Wolf bent and picked up the big man with one hand, as if it was no effort at all. "Come with me. Tell me all about FACADE."
5/77/2013
