![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Entry tags:
"BASILISK II: People Are Targets"
"BASILISK II: People Are Targets"
(4/12/2009)
I.
The walls were simple red brick, as was the floor. Overhead, bright fluorescent lights shone down to reveal everything in merciless detail. Set in one wall was a metal door without a knob or handle, and a few feet in front of that was a simple wooden table with three folding chairs. A camera over the door rotated back and forth ceaselessly, the air was cold and dry. Two men in the standard black suits and white dress shirts of INTERCEPT stood well apart, each holding an AR-15 at the ready. The bigger man was Samoan, and the shorter thin one was from Colombia, and between them they had twenty-six years experience as INTERCEPT enforcers.
They were watching the holding cell built on a raised platform in the center of the room. All four walls were of high-density clear acrylic. Its only door locked from outside with an electronic mechanism, and there was a slot near the floor where meal trays could be slid through. Inside the cell were only three items. A stainless steel toilet, with a roll of paper sitting on the floor next to it. A stainless steel sink that operated automatically by motion detectors. And a hard thin sleeping mat in one corner with a built-in raised end for a pillow. No blankets, no chairs. Standing by the door of the cell, watching the guards as they watched him, was Jeremy Bane.
In his early fifties, the Dire Wolf remained gaunt and wiry at an even six feet tall. The short black hair had a few white strands in it, but otherwise he did not seem to have aged much over the years. In a narrow feral face, pale grey eyes stabbed out with startling intensity. He stood motionless, hands down at his sides. Oddly, his body was covered with a one-piece skin-tight suit of what looked like wet silk. This left only his feet, hands and head exposed.
A deep beeping sounded in the room. One of the guards stepped back toward the door, while the other kept up his scrutiny of the prisoner. As the metal door slid open with a hiss, two people entered the room briskly. A tall middle-aged woman with white hair and thick-lensed glasses went directly to take a seat at the table in front of the holding cell. Behind Mrs Claire came Holden Crest. INTERCEPT's top agent had bleary eyes and five o'clock shadow, and his necktie was loosened with the top button of his shirt opened. He avoided eye contact with Bane.
In the cell, the Dire Wolf stood with fists on hips and said, "You didn't bring my lawyer."
"You know better than that," Mrs Claire answered tartly. "There are no lawyers in our world. I want you to take that armor off and hand it over."
"Forget it," Bane said. "I'd never see it again. Your techs can't figure out how it works, I take it?"
"No. While you were unconscious, our people tried to get it off you and were baffled. It seems to be one solid piece of material. How do you get it on and off?"
"Forget it," repeated the Dire Wolf. "It's beyond Human knowledge. So I guess you've already searched my clothing?"
"Yes. Some interesting gadgets concealed in there. The tiny lockpick set, the thermite flares, a few devices we can't identify. Your phone shut down as soon as it was a certain distance from you and our people can't seem to activate it." She leaned forward on the table and her voice was silky cold. "Where do you get technology like that, Mr Bane?"
"I can't tell you," he said. "What about the two daggers?"
"Another oddity. Silver blades? What's the point of that? Softer and heavier than steel. They are nicely balanced but we don't see anything else extraordinary about them." She frowned and met his cold stare evenly. "Your gun was a standard Smith & Wesson .38 with an extended barrel. I was expecting one of those anesthetic dart guns I've heard about."
"Let's get to the point," Bane snapped impatiently. "Okay, I was under some sort of post-hypnotic orders from BASILISK. Luckily, Crest there smacked me in the head before I did any real harm. But that was more than eight hours ago and I'm back to normal. You need to let me out so I can go after the freak that is behind all this trouble!"
Mrs Claire paused before going on. "How can we be sure you are not still under BASILISK control? We've done some blood work on you. Our doctors say truth serum would only be effective for a few minutes before your body neutralized it. You have a healing factor we can't explain. From our previous work together, we know you have a high tolerance for pain and a lack of fear response. You seem to be almost impossible to interrogate with success, Mr Bane."
The faintest hint of a smile showed on his face. "First time that has been a disadvantage. Okay, then, how about sending me to work with Crest and a few of your enforcers? I can lead the team to BASILISK headquarters and wipe them out. They must be doing your organization some serious harm by now."
"No. You are just too dangerous. Yesterday you took out two competent enforcers in less than a second and had one of their weapons aimed at me. Only the fact that Crest was alert and ready kept you from assassinating me." Mrs Claire stood up abruptly. "You can't be trusted and you can't be defended against. It's going to be a problem deciding what to do with you, Dire Wolf."
Bane snorted. "While you're holding me, BASILISK is making a mess of both your organization and STIGMA. You need my help, lady, face it."
She did not reply, but simply turned away. There was a keypad by the door, she paused to enter six numbers and slide her ID tag, then marched out of the room. Following her, Crest glanced back and for an instant his regretful eyes met Bane's. Then they both were gone and the door clicked shut.
Left with the two guards staring at him, the Dire Wolf had a strangely excited gleam in his eye. Time to escape.
II.
He waited for the next meal before making his move. If he was going to be on the run, he might as well not do it on an empty stomach. An INTERCEPT man entered with a plastic tray holding a dome-covered plate, napkin and soft plastic cutlery. The food was actually not bad. Meat loaf, mashed potatoes, peas and carrots, a banana for dessert. One container of milk, one of juice. Bane devoured it all thoroughly. It didn't matter if some sort of drug had been put in the food, his tagra diet at Tel Shai had given him so much resistance to foreign substances he wouldn't even notice it. When he was done, he slid the tray back out and watched as the server gingerly fetched it.
After the server left the holding room, the Dire Wolf decided he might as well give escape a try. Without preliminaries, he spun on one bare foot and exploded the sole of the other foot directly over the door lock. Cracks appeared in the bulletproof acrylic material. The two guards gave a start and headed for him, and Bane called out clearly, "No one lives who gazes upon the BASILISK."
Instantly, the Samoan swung around and shot the Colombian in the side of the head, then fired another round into the closed-circuit camera. The dead man sprawled on the floor in a gory mess. Bane had dropped into a low stance, drew back his elbow and drove the palm of his hand where the material was already cracked, using the full Kumundu technique. The lock mechanism shattered and popped out, and he was able to force the door open.
"We don't have much time," he told the Samoan, who was watching him as calmly as if nothing unusual had happened. "Once they see that camera is out..."
"INTERCEPT is very short staffed tonight," grunted the big man. "Not even a skeleton crew is on duty. Many agents have been killed. Our attack has them running around in confusion."
"Good to know. I took a chance one of you was BASILISK and would respond to the code phrase by freeing me. But there's something you don't know yet." Bane stepped closer and lowered his voice, "I'm not under the Master Mind's control any more." With the last word, the Dire Wolf slammed a right backfist and left hook combination that flung the Samoan's head back and forth. As the huge man dropped senseless, Bane was already kneeling and yanking the outer clothes off the corpse.
He had done this once or twice before, and didn't enjoy it but it was sometimes necessary. He got the polished dress shoes, black slacks and white shirt and black jacket off the dead man and on himself in less than a minute. Everything fit poorly but that didn't matter. As he hastily tried to knot the necktie, Bane was glad no one had showed up yet. The triangular yellow ID tag said INTERCEPT DEPT 2 113 and had a bar code on the back. In the jacket pocket was a wallet, car keys and a couple of twenties. Nothing else. He checked out the snoring Samoan and found a loaded 9mm automatic, which he took. Now to get out of here.
A square box by the door held a keypad and slit, he slid the ID tag through it and then punched in the code he had seen Mrs Claire use. The door hissed open and he was racing up the stairs two at a time. At the top was another door. He repeated the code and was surprised but pleased that it worked. INTERCEPT really should have a different code for each door, he thought. Bane found himself in one of the many seemingly identical corridors of brightly lit white tile and stainless steel, with no signs to tell him where he was. He started walking quickly at random and bumped into an INTERCEPT agent coming around the corner. Before the man could react, Bane had struck him down with a hand-edge to the neck and kept going without breaking stride. Seeing a red FIRE ALARM box, he opened it and yanked the switch. The immediate flashing red lights and deafening klaxon filled the corridor. Every bit of confusion helped, he thought.
Two men in white jumpsuits ran past him without pausing, and Bane kept going. He saw a metal door set in a recess, with a white lightbox over it that read EMERGENCY EXIT only. Reflecting wryly that this qualified as an emergency if anything did, he pressed the bar and slammed the door open, adding still another alarm to the general din. The Dire Wolf found himself emerging on a side street in the early evening. Park Avenue! He began walking briskly at just under a run, planning his next move.
III.
At 41st Street, Bane swung left onto First Avenue. He hurried past LOU'S PIT STOP, smelling the beer and hearing the country music coming through the open door. As far as he could tell, no one had spotted him so far and he had not been followed. In the narrow alley between buildings, he tried to open the unmarked wooden door and found it locked. Planting his feet well apart, he drew back his elbow and slammed the heel of his hand just above the lock, snapping it cleanly. He was up the creaky steps to the second floor within seconds.
At the landing was a window which looked as if it had not been opened in years. Feeling under the frame of that window, Bane felt a barely noticeable ridge and pried with his fingernails to dislodge a thin strip of metal he had wedged in there a year earlier. Its nondescript outline actually had been carefully machined by him, and now he used it to pick the lock to the door immediately behind him. A footstep sounded on the staircase above him, then another. The Dire Wolf slipped inside and nearly closed the door silently behind him to stand in the dark. He peered out through the narrow opening of the barely ajar door and watched a pudgy old woman make her laborious way down the stairs one step at a time. He heard the door to the alley close. For another minute, Bane waited and watched and listened. She might have been a decoy. But eventually he relaxed enough to close and lock the door completely, and he flipped the light switch on the wall next to him.
Bane examined his hideaway suspiciously. Like his previous refuge down in Chinatown, he rented these rooms under an assumed name and only came here when absolutely necessary. The apartment was shabby and almost bare. There was an ancient couch with blankets and pillows, two windows he kept tightly curtained, and a waist-high refrigerator. The bathroom had a toilet, sink and a flimsy shower. There was a closet stuffed with assorted clothes, and a few suitcases on its floor packed with gear. No TV, just a radio on the floor next to the couch. But he wasn't here to relax.
Stripping off the clothing he had taken from the dead INTERCEPT agent, Bane stood in the flexible Trom armor as he dug through the outfits hanging in the closet. A pair of faded jeans slightly too large for him, a bright red T-shirt and a blue chambray work shirt. White cotton socks and a pair of the boots he ordered crafted specially for him, with their steel-capped toes and heels, with a single-edge razor blade hidden in a slit in the top and lockpick tools concealed under the detachable sole. Once he was dressed, he moved on to the next step. In the bathroom, he took a small case from under the sink and opened it. Bane disliked using disguises. He always felt vaguely silly in them, but he had to admit there were times when they were necessary. Now he set to work.
Dark brown contact lenses concealed the distinctive grey color of his irises. He worked a white gel into his hair that left it a dingy greying color. A dental upper plate that clicked over his own teeth gave him a noticeable overbite and changed the shape of his lower face enough to make him less recognizable. The experts he had hired to train him had repeatedly said that disguises worked best when they were minimal. It was better not to overdo it. Bane studied his reflection in the mirror and decided not to add any more changes.
The Dire Wolf started pacing the apartment, discarding one plan after another. He really wanted to go to his office not far away, to load up his arsenal and specialized equipment, but if INTERCEPT wasn't there, then STIGMA would be. The location of his regular apartment a few blocks north was not as well known as his office, but spy groups would be certain to know about it. He had to play this without his usual gear. Bane opened a locked suitcase and began selecting items. There were two wallets, each containing all the IDs and assorted cards of two different fictious people. He selected the one for Walter Connelly, aged sixty-two, retired machinist with a disability from a bad knee. Connelly had a gun permit, which allowed Bane to strap a small 32 Colt revolver in a detachable holster to the small of his back where the work shirt concealed it. From the lining of the suitcase, he removed neat bundles of money, about two thousand dollars in twenties and tens, and distributed them in different pockets.
A key ring, a battered Swiss army knife, nail clippers, a cigarette lighter.. useful in themselves but also good for establishing himself as Walter Connelly. Bane decided he had everything he needed for the moment. In the back of his mind, the loss of the silver daggers kept nagging at him. Those had been a present from Kenneth Dred when they had first met so long ago, and he had never been separated from them for so long before. Once the battle with BASILISK was settled, Bane swore he would retrieve those daggers if he had to tear down INTERCEPT headquarters with his hands.
Now he had to get moving. He took another five minutes to lock and hide items, moving everything so that he would be able to tell if anyone had been in there in his absence. Turning off the lights again, he stood by the door listening, peeked out and then stepped into the hall. Bane trotted down the stairs and out into the alley, turning to emerge on 1st Avenue just as a police car went by. He started heading west toward midtown.
At the corner of Third Avenue, he stopped and bought a newspaper and a buttered hard roll. Bane had decided to check out the building where his office was from across the street, so at 43rd he paused and opened the paper. While he pretended to be reading it under a streetlamp, he studied the four-story yellow brick building. The lobby was still lit, because the EMERGENCY ONE walk-in clinic stayed open until eleven every night. There were no vehicles parked nearby with anyone sitting in them, but there were two men loitering in front of a check cashing place two doors down and Bane didn't like the looks of them.
The Dire Wolf decided not to confront them. There was not enough to be gained, and he wanted to set himself to go back to Simmons Plaza. He folded the newspaper, tucked it under one arm and raised the hard roll to take a bite...
With a vicious buzzing noise like a hornet, something smacked the hard roll from his hand and sent it flying. Bane's reflexes had never been more in evidence. He leaped backwards into the doorway behind him so quickly it seemed he had vanished by magic, and his hand was coming up with the 32 Colt even as his feet touched down. He saw the hard roll hit the sidewalk and, a split-second later, it spun away again as something blew a chip out of the curb. Strangely, this made Bane untense a little. He lowered his gun and cautiously peered up on the rooftops.
The building next to him was only two stories high, and on its roof stood a slim young woman in a denim jacket and tan pants. She had a shock of thick white hair and was frowning as she stepped back out of sight. Bane relaxed a tiny bit. If Dandelion had wanted to kill him, she could have done so with no problem. Her aim with firearms didn't just border on the supernatural, it WAS supernatural. He holstered his gun and looked around. No one seemed to have noticed the incident, although a passenger on a city bus was giving him a funny look.
He was not surprised no one had heard the shots. Dandelion used Walther P22s with handcrafted silencers she had designed herself. At arm's length, only the faint click of the gun's mechanism could be heard. Her abnormal accuracy enabled her to pull off killing shots despite the low-powered pistols with the silencer reducing muzzle velocity even more. Dandelion was capable of hitting her target under almost any conditions.
Going around behind the building, where a bright canary yellow Maserati was parked, Bane found Dandelion just dropping down off the fire escape. "So much for my brilliant disguise," he muttered.
"Your disguise is fine," she sniffed. "But I have Tel Shai training, same as you. I'd know your proportions and body language anywhere. Aren't you going to ask me how I've been?"
The Dire Wolf could not pretend to be friendly any more. "Oh, I've been following your career. Four assassinations a year, plus your bodyguard assignments. You must be a millionaire by now."
"A girl's got to provide for the future," the blonde said. Dandelion had a striking face with its wide jaw, upturned nose and dark blue eyes. The platinum hair was cut short and left untidy. Now she watched Bane thoughtfully. "You never tried to track me down, Jeremy, even after what I did to you last time."
"What, a bullet in each ankle and a crease across my head?"
"You know that's only a setback for someone with your healing factor," she said. "But I'm glad you didn't come looking for me." She scoffed wickedly. "You should be glad, too. You need me."
Bane glanced at her car. "Should we move while talking?"
"Very prudent. Get in." She moved around to the driver's side door.
The Dire Wolf felt conflicting reactions to seeing Dandelion again. They had a complicated history, having once been close friends and colleagues. Since she had been dropped from Tel Shai studies by the Teachers for unexplained reasons, Dandelion had used her uncanny precision with firearms in criminal ways across Europe and Asia. To avoid crossing paths with Bane, she had always avoided America. Except once. That had ended badly, in a stalemate.
She pulled out into traffic and headed south. After a minute, she said casually, "I was working STIGMA and INTERCEPT against each other. STIGMA hired me to quiet a few INTERCEPT bureaucrats, and I took their money and then went back to INTERCEPT and got a commission to quiet the STIGMA suits who hired me."
Bane shook his head. "I'm surprised you didn't pull off a triple cross."
"Look, Jeremy! These organizations are not good guys and bad guys," she spat. "They're both playing the same game. It doesn't matter which one I choose to stick with. People are targets. That's all, just targets." She turned those dark blue eyes sternly on him for a second. "But you still have illusions. You think there's a difference between these agencies."
"Never mind that now," Bane said. "The real problem is the third player in the game. No one lives who gazes on the BASILISK."
Dandelion smirked. "What, do you expect me to try and shoot you while I'm driving? I'm not under BASILISK control, dummy. No one tells me what to do."
"That's the Dandy I used to know, all right."
"No one has called me that for a long time," she muttered. "Anyway, about BASILISK. What do you know about them?"
"Almost nothing. They have something called the Master Mind, he or it can plant posthypnotic commands in people's minds that they themselves aren't aware of. Hearing that code sentence triggers the commands." Bane hesitated. "BASILISK has infiltrated both INTERCEPT and STIGMA, which I didn't expect. Their end game has to be something big. What's your take on them?"
As she pulled into a parking spot on Mulberry Street, the blonde mercenary frowned more than usual. "Not much. STIGMA suspected their existence, judging by the way they were seriously hunting for moles and double agents. INTERCEPT is clueless as usual. Bunch of losers." She turned off the engine. "Come on, let's walk for a minute before the action starts."
Getting out, Bane watched her lock the car and put coins in the meter. Even checking the way her denim jacket hung, he could not spot the two Walthers he knew she carried. As he remembered, she also had a derringer tucked into her right boot but he couldn't see that either.
Dandelion glanced up. "Any other man, I'd figure he was checking out my ass. But you... you're looking for the guns, right? I pack three now, one holstered across my back with the grip down."
"All right," Bane said. "But first, what are we doing in Little Italy?"
She smiled wickedly, prettier than ever. "I have to get that hit out of the way. Since you've been wiping out STIGMA units for years now, I figured you wouldn't mind helping."
IV.
As Bane kicked the door in, Dandelion dove headlong through the opening to roll and come up on one knee with a silenced Walther in each hand. Nine men died within seconds. The blonde mercenary seemed to be just firing without looking, almost at random, but each bullet punched home at the bridge of a nose. Only one of the STIGMA men had time to raise his own gun but he did not quite get to fire before a .22 slug drilled into his forehead and he fell straight down.
With his enchanced perception, the Dire Wolf could follow Dandelion's motions. She was working at the upper limits of Human speed and co-ordination, he could see her lock her eyes at the next target while firing at the one before it. He had never seen anyone capable of this technique who was also completely accurate. As the last STIGMA agent fell backwards over a chair, Dandelion rose to her feet and lowered her weapons. She glanced back over one slim shoulder and raised a quizzical eyebrow at the disguised Bane.
"Yeah, I'm impressed," he admitted. "You're talented."
She did not reply, but turned her attention to the fat man behind the desk against the far wall. The office was comfortable but not luxurious, with a row of bound reference books, a large screen TV in one corner and a bar with three chrome stools in front of it. The man behind the desk was bent over an untidy stack of loose papers, his mouth open and working as he struggled to force out words which would not come.
"George Breene," she announced as if accusing him. "You may remember me. Three days ago, you wired a decent sum to my account in the Cayman Islands in exchange for my services."
He still could not talk, but he managed to whisper, "Dandelion..."
"I liked our arrangement," she continued. "But this three way war between you spooks is too risky to suit me. Too bad for you." She raised the Walther in her right hand. The silencer on its extended barrel was not much thicker than a marker. How she crafted them to work so well was a secret she had never shared.
"Wait, wait," Breene got out hastily. "Whatever you were paid by INTERCEPT, I'll beat it. I have access to millions. Just don't kill me." Tears ran down his doughy face as he started to lose all control.
"Maybe information will work better than money," Bane said quietly.
"What do you want to know? Anything! Just ask!"
"A defense against the Master Mind, a way to resist his control. That's all."
Breene blinked and started to chuckle, then laughed out loud. "Against the Master Mind? There IS no defense. Nothing can resist him."
"Wrong answer," muttered Dandelion as she fired. A round blue hole popped into existence between Breene's eyes, which rolled up to show the whites as he slid to the floor.
The Dire Wolf had taken a pair of black latex gloves from a pocket and began systematically searching the room, starting by the door and making his way in a clockwise route. He also went through the corpses' clothing. As he got to the desk where Breene was sprawled, Bane riffled through the papers quickly. "Budget meetings. Schedules. Nothing useful to us."
Ejecting a clip from one Walther, Dandelion slid in a fresh one and clicked it into place. "We may not have much time for this, Jeremy."
"I think we need a way to handle the Master Mind before we tackle him," he replied distractedly. "There should be some way to resist." He started going through the drawers of the desk, yanking out folders and binders and thumbing through them. "Otherwise, there is no way to stop the way BASILISK is taking over. But everything has a weakness..."
"Someone is coming," she snapped and leaped across the room as nimble as an acrobat to stand behind the opened door. A second later, a man in the yellow vest with its black skull emblem stuck his head into the room and said, "Mr Greene, did you-" just before a bullet tunneled directly from one side of his head to the other. Grabbing him by one arm, Dandelion yanked the dying man into the room and closed the door.
"Look, Dire Wolf, I'm leaving whether you come with me or not. I don't care who wins, INTERCEPT or STIGMA, they're just targets." The blonde mercenary stared angrily at Bane. "Maybe I'm cutting you too much slack because we helped each other out a few times. That was long ago!"
The Dire Wolf was holding a strange object he had found in the center drawer. A tin whistle with a cord suspended from it. "This is odd," he said as he blew it but no noise was produced. "I wonder..."
"Oh, will you wise up! It's a dog whistle! People can't hear it but dogs can. I'm sure it summons Rottweilers or something. I'm leaving. You stay if you want to." She swung the door open again and peeked out into the hall, then gave him a final glance. Bane joined her and they skipped down the corridor and through a door that said NO EXIT, down three flights of stairs and into a tiny foyer in which a dead man lay where they had left him.
"This is where we came in," she said, holstering her guns and adjusting her jacket carefully. "For a STIGMA outpost, the security here was not professional at all."
Bane regarded her thoughtfully. "This was just a building where STIGMA rented a floor for temporary paperwork. They seem to be as disorganized over BASILISK as INTERCEPT is. Both agencies are running around in blind panic."
"Fine with me," she said, opening the door and stepping out on the night street. Cars honked furiously as a light turned green, tourists wandered by with wide eyes, and the shady denizens of the street prowled. No one noticed Bane and Dandelion emerging from an unmarked door. They started moving toward where her Maserati was parked.
"What's your plan anyway?" she asked as if only slightly interested.
"Going after the Master Mind. He took control of me once, so I need to find a way to prevent that happening again." Bane growled almost inaudibly in his chest and she smiled as she recognized that sound. "I need more information. Is it telepathy? The only telepath I know is at Tel Shai and can't leave yet. Is it some crazy science or new drugs or what? I can't work up a defense unless I know what I'm dealing with."
Dandelion paused with her hand on the door of her car. "I don't owe you anything, Jeremy. Frankly, your Boy Scout ideas are going to get me killed. But BASILISK is screwing up the game. I can't be sure if I'm dealing with INTERCEPT or STIGMA as long as they might turn out to be BASILISK double agents. Hell, maybe the Mandate is next. Or Intercrime."
"It's in your interest to help me," he said quietly. "I think the next step to find a BASILISK agent and interrogate him."
"Maybe. Get in, you damn nuisance. Every time I run into you..." she grumbled as she slid behind the wheel of the yellow Maserati and gunned the motor. Bane dropped into the passenger seat without comment as she swerved out into traffic, missing a taxi by inches and rolling past a stop sign as if it was just a suggestion.
As they headed back uptown, the Dire Wolf said, "I need to pick up some of my special truth serum. You know where my office is."
"What do you think? I was staking it out all day waiting for you to show up." She turned onto Third Avenue and pulled over onto 40th Street. "There you go."
Bane unbuckled his seat belt. "You might want to get out and stay alert. I don't know who's watching this building. INTERCEPT, STIGMA, BASILISK?"
"Probably all three," she grumbled sourly as she climbed out of the sports car and scanned the windows and rooftops with her right hand under the denim jacket. "Don't stop to read the papers."
"Two minutes," he promised. Bane stepped up to the two glass doors which slid open as he approached, past the EMERGENCY ONE clinic and the staircase leading up to the second floor. He spotted no one. INTERCEPT could not be in such a turmoil that they would not have an agent searching for him, surely. At the end of the short hall was a plain wooden door with a bronze plaque that read DIRE WOLF AGENCY. He reached out his hand for the knob, paused and then suddenly slammed the door inward and plunged into the room.
Two big men in black suits were inside the tiny waiting room, and they were taken offguard by the unexpected violence of his entrance. Bane slammed a left cross that snapped the nearer man's jaw to one side and immediately blasted a backhand with the same fist caught the second man in the nose. Both agents staggered, all defenses down, and Bane pounded them with rapid Wing Chun body blows that dropped them to the floor.
He tested the inner door and found it still secure. That had a lock devised by Megan Salenger that would take days to pick, but the door to the hallway could be opened by any skeleton key. Good. Bane knelt over the two INTERCEPT agents and found they were barely conscious. He shook them a little until they groaned and stirred, but were not about to get up anytime soon with those cracked ribs.
Satisfied they could hear him, the Dire Wolf said clearly, "No one lives who gazes on the BASILISK!" Neither one reacted as he had hoped. One mumbled a few curse words. Bane straightened up, disappointed. Neither was under BASILISK control. He went to the monitor screen high up in one corner and opened a panel on its side to reveal a keypad. Six numbers, pause, then the same six numbers in reverse and the inner door buzzed open. The Dire Wolf hurried inside, got more of the veratilin truth serum and a few other gadgets, then went to his desk and slid out a concealed drawer. Inside were two slim throwing knives with black handles. They were as close a match to his silver daggers as he could manage to have made, but only high-quality steel. He yanked up his sleeves and strapped the knives to his forearms, hilts down by the wrists.
As he locked the inner door behind him, Bane saw the two INTERCEPT agents were trying to recover. He took a second to fasten their own handcuffs on them, right wrist to left, and took the keys with him. If he had more time, he would have thrashed them more to drive home the lesson not to enter his territory, but he had to hurry. Striding across the lobby, he spotted no other watchers. Back on the street, moving at a walk faster than most people could run, he turned the corner to where the yellow Maserati was parked.
Dandelion turned an angry face toward him. "That was a little more than two minutes, buddy." She was holding one of the silenced Walthers down by her side.
"Two INTERCEPT agents in my office," he said. "What happened?"
She jerked a thumb up at a darkened third-story window across the street. "Guy had a sniper rifle. With the lights out, he thought I wouldn't spot him. I fed him a quiet pill."
"Okay," Bane said. He opened the passenger door, and waited as Dandelion surveyed the area one last time before getting behind the wheel again. She rushed out onto the street, skipped another stop sign and sped uptown.
"I've got some supplies," the Dire Wolf said. "Where do you think we can find some BASILISK quicker, at INTERCEPT or STIGMA?"
"STIGMA. Definitely. Because you might object if I kill a few INTERCEPT agents." She shook her blonde head testily. "Frankly, I think you're too soft for this game, Jeremy."
"It's just as well you think that."
That puzzled her and she actually slowed down a little. "All right. My contact is a STIGMA safe house on 119th Street. The guy there is mid-level.. I haven't met any STIGMA hierarchy yet, they're still testing me."
Bane watched traffic go by, feeling a strange melancholy at how things were turning out. He hadn't even had time to reflect on the death of old Lionel Davenport. Nor how his most trusted agent, Nicholas Pryshepa, had killed him under orders from the Master Mind. Where was Holden Crest right now? Probably searching for Bane right now...
"Cut your forehead," she said suddenly.
Bane took out the steel dagger and pressed its tip to his hairline. "Camoflauge?"
"Yeah. You're going to play the prisoner I'm bringing to be questioned," she told him. "Just a little blood, don't get crazy."
The Dire Wolf made a slice up by his left temple and felt a trickle of blood run hot down the side of his face. With his healing factor, the injury sealed up almost instantly but the red trail on his face remained visible. He cleaned the blade and sheathed it thoughtfully, wondering how safe the silver daggers were...
They pulled up to the curb in not the best neighborhood. Big black garbage bags leaned up against each on the sidewalks, empty beer bottles and junk food wrappers littered everywhere. Across the street, two older black men sat in a doorway and grinned as they saw a pretty blonde girl get out of a flashy yellow car. Dandelion spotted them and let them get a glimpse of a Walther P22 holstered inside her jacket, and the two men suddenly lost interest.
Getting out, smelling stale urine and greasy cooking, Bane looked the apartment building over. It was old and stained and a few windows were cracked, but he had seen worse. Lights were on in several windows and air conditioners stuck out from a few more. Dandelion was right behind him, jabbing the muzzle of her pistol in the small of his back and steering him toward the door.
For one second, the thought struck Bane that maybe Dandelion WAS working for STIGMA and she was genuinely bringing him here as a prisoner to turn him over. But that didn't really matter. He had to get inside the organization somehow and he had allowed himself to be captured before. He had always fought his way out.
They were obviously being watched because the front door swung open as they approached. Bane went up three well-worn stone steps into a small foyer in which two armed men waited. They were big, muscular guys wearing the yellow vests over street clothes, and the yellow full-face masks with black skull designs over the face, as well as yellow silk gloves. Each held a big .45 automatic pointed at the two who entered the foyer.
"Settle down, you jerks know me," Dandelion snapped. "I'm here to see Prim. We're finally making some progress."
One of the STIGMA killers spoke, his voice muffled by the cloth mask. "And who's this man?"
"This guy... is information," she said. "He's got the answers we're looking for. "The blonde assassin shoved the disguised Bane roughly, making him almost stumble. "Let's get going already, things are getting bad and we need to act fast."
From a hidden speaker, a silky smooth voice spoke. "Enter."
Behind the two masked men, a wall panel smoothly slid aside to reveal a brightly lit hallway of polished dark wood. In front of a massive ebony door stood yet another gunman in the yellow vest, gloves and mask of a STIGMA killer. He was holding a 9mm Parabellum in both hands, barrel down at the floor. When he saw Bane and Dandelion, he said, "Take a few steps closer. Then wait."
"Games," mumbled Dandelion crankily, but she obeyed. As the man with the Parabellum covered them, they both were relieved of their guns. Three Walthers from Dandelion, the .32 from Bane.
"Be careful with those," she growled. "I had those barrels rifled for greater accuracy. They're perfectly balanced."
After a few moments in which they must have been closely observed, the smooth voice spoke again, "Very well. Admit them."
Clicks sounded and the heavy door swung open. Closely followed by all three STIGMA gunmen, Dandelion and Bane were ushered into a huge, high-ceiling room lit as brilliantly as an operating theatre. One big desk sat against the far wall, with two smaller ones facing it, each with a computer and phone and baskets full of papers. Several chairs were pushed up against one wall, and there was a waist-high refrigerator and a counter with a coffeemaker.
Behind the main desk was an immensely fat little man, well over three hundred pounds but not much over five feet tall. Victor Prim was wearing a nicely tailored tan suit, but his chins covered his shirt collar. A crown of white hair, shaved almost completely away, covered his basketball-shaped head, and from within that shapeless face two hard blue eyes glared out at them in dramatic contrast.
The tallest STIGMA agent, who had been guarding the inner door, said, "Agent Dandelion, Mr Prim. With a prisoner."
"So I see," the hulk said with that startling refined voice. "Watch them. Dandelion. I find it surprising that your prisoner still had a firearm on him. Have you become that careless?"
"He's harmless, Prim. Look at him, he couldn't shoot his own foot."
"I am not amused," the obese brute said quietly. "Dandelion, your loyalty has never been certain. Your history shows you change sides according to opportunity, but we thought your skills outweighed that. Now I have decided you are too unreliable."
Bane had been taking in the situation, calculating angles. The three STIGMA agents were spaced well apart, too far away to be taken down with any one maneuver. He himself still was wearing the body armor, and he had a good chance of surviving a crossfire long enough to get a gun away from one of them. But, although Dandelion was good, she was only Human and she was bound to catch a fatal bullet in the first second of the shooting. He saw her shift her weight preparatory to diving for the fat man.
Standing up with obvious effort, Victor Prim heaved an enormous sigh and said, "Kill them."
And the STIGMA agent standing nearest to his boss dropped into a marksman's crouch and shot both of the other men right in the heart. Bright red blood spurted over the yellow vests as the assassins fell where they stood, their own guns dropping from lifeless hands. Even as those bodies hit the carpeting, the STIGMA agent had lunged toward the desk behind him and thrust the hot barrel of his 9mm within inches of Prim's shapeless face.
"Don't press that button on the arm of your chair," he ordered. "Not a word. Be still. Dandelion, Bane.. pick up their weapons."
For once, even the Dire Wolf was slow to react. He bent down and came up with a .45 in his hand, as Dandelion did the same. "I give up," he said wryly. "I've lost track of who's who in this game."
The blonde mercenary chuckled. "You've got talent, Jeremy, but you're too straightforward for this game. Right, agent...?"
"Just 'Agent' is supposed to be enough," said the man. " We're going to be leaving now, Mr Prim. I'm tempted to shoot you as well, but honestly, your second in command is more reckless than you are. I really don't want to move him up into your slot."
Despite the barrel inches from his face, Victor Prim managed a faint smile. "Better the devil you know than the one you don't?"
"Precisely," said the masked man just before he brought the butt of the pistol down brutally hard at the base of Prim's neck. The fat man grunted and sagged back in his chair with his mouth hanging open. "Hope that wasn't TOO hard," the agent said. "All right, you two, time for us to leave."
"I know I might regret this but I have to know," Bane said. At this range, he could close the gap before the masked man could fire. Facing the agent squarely, he repeated, "No one lives who gazes on the BASILISK."
"No time for that now," the man chuckled as he hurried them from the office. "Don't worry, I'm INTERCEPT through and through. John Lewis Ashcroft from the London office, on loan to New York." As they paused by the front door of the building, he tugged off the vest, mask and gloves to reveal a very young, rather handsome black man with short hair and sharp features. "Over there on that bench, are those your weapons?"
"You bet your ass!" Dandelion tossed the .45 automatic behind her as she claimed her three silenced Walthers and holstered them. Bane retrieved his .32 revolver but also kept the STIGMA automatic stuck in his belt. Dandelion was watching him.
"That's a Heckler & Koch MP5, you know," she told him. "Nice little weapon."
"You can have it when this is over," Bane promised.
Ashcroft peered out into the street. "I assume that gaudy golden roadster is yours, Dandy?"
"You assume right," Dandelion answered as she raced down and dove behind the wheel. Bane and Ashcroft had barely seated themselves before she gunned the motor and swung out onto 119th Street. "So. How long have you been working inside STIGMA, Ashcroft?"
"Eight months," answered the black man. A faint English accent could be heard the more he talked. "Slow work. I had to commit some compromising deeds along the way, I admit. But it all paid off tonight." He leaned over from the back seat. "You ARE Jeremy Bane, aren't you? The notorious Dire Wolf?"
"I don't know why I bother with disguises," Bane sighed. "But yeah. I have to ask. What have you learned about the Master Mind?"
"Oh, a bit. I snatched a hard drive from Prim's computer just before you came in. The Master Mind is a new version of something called Brain Blast, from way back in 1967. A Mandate innovation."
Bane nodded grimly. "The Brain Blast. Well, that gives us something to work with, because the Deacon fought him and I have access to his notes."
Driving way too fast, disregarding other cars as if she expected them to docilely swerve aside, Dandelion sounded more disgusted than usual. "Back to INTERCPT headquarters, I suppose."
"Whoa, I just escaped from there a few hours ago," Bane objected. "Let me out at this corner."
"It'll be fine." Ashcroft grinned a perfect white flash of teeth in the gloom. "I will vouch for you. As will our master markswoman. Right, Dandy?"
"I suppose..." she muttered.
"You seem disgruntled, darling. Something rubbing your fur the wrong way?"
The blonde assassin turned her head for a second to give him a venomous glare. "Don't talk to me like I'm one of your little playmates, Ashcroft. I've heard all about you. We stick to business."
"Whatever you say, my sweet. Let's report and regroup. An awful lot has been going on in a short time." Ashcroft tapped Bane on the shoulder. "You see what I have to deal with?"
V.
Back in the Director's office at INTERCEPT headquarters, the tension was unbearable. Evelyn Claire and Jeremy Bane stood five feet from each other, eyes locked and every muscle tense. Behind Dandelion and Ashcroft, three big INTERCEPT enforcement agents stood well apart, each aiming an AR-15 directly at the Dire Wolf's head. Outside in the hall, two more such agents stood ready.
"Well," Claire snapped in her icy tone. "One of us has to say it. No one lives who gazes on the BASILISK!"
After ten eternal seconds ticked by and no one reacted, the people in that room relaxed visibly. Two of the guards exhaled without realizing they had been holding their breath. Dandelion mumbled, "Told you!"
Claire let her shoulders down from where they had been subconsciously raised in defense. "After hearing Ashcroft's report and digging a bit more into your background, I felt inclined to believe you are no threat, Mr Bane. I hope you understand why we had to be cautious?"
"Sure," Bane said. "No hard feelings."
"Satisfactory," she replied as she opened a wooden box on her desk and handed the contents to him. "From all reports, these are valuable to you."
Unable to completely hide his excitement, Bane examined the silver daggers, inspected them under the light and tested their balance. He knew them instantly. They had been a present from Kenneth Dred at the very start of their association, the two items most precious to him in all the world. Flinging off his jacket, he rolled up his turtleneck sleeves and strapped the sheathes onto his forearms. Now he felt more like himself. As he pulled the black jacket back on and straightened it, he caught Claire's eye. "Thank you." The steel replicas which he had been wearing were put aside for the moment.
"The three of you, be seated. Enforcers, stand by outside for now." Claire went over behind her desk and lowered herself down. "I'll be direct. The situation is intolerable. All over the world, our outposts report INTERCEPT agents suddenly turning rogue and trying to assassinate their superiors. So far, that key sentence has worked at triggering the double agents before they are ready to strike. Right now, all our stations are using the sentence to test for moles."
Ashcroft half raised a hand as if in school, "If I may speak, ma'am?"
"Go ahead."
"The same is going on at STIGMA. While I was undercover, I found they are also being plagued by their agents running amok and killing each other. BASILISK seems to have throughly infiltrated both INTERCEPT and STIGMA. What I don't understand is... why? Why both organizations?"
Mrs Claire studied the three of them sternly. "You would think BASILISK would be aligned with one group or the other. Instead, they seem to be playing both agencies against each other, breaking the deadlock we have been in for a decade now. I think they intend for INTERCEPT and STIGMA to declare a hot war on each other."
Bane spoke quietly, "With STIGMA broken, there is room for a new crime network. With INTERCEPT broken, there is no watchdog to forestall them."
"I agree," Evelyn Claire said. "I have ordered all our stations to go to defensive mode. Operations have been suspended, shallow undercover agents recalled, everything pulled in until the crisis is resolved. STIGMA has indeed been attacking our outposts. Six of our agents have been ambushed and killed. But I will not order open retaliation at this time. Not yet."
No one spoke for a long moment, and finally John Ashcroft sighed. "I have information that may be of use. Working undercover for months, you tend to see and hear thousands of details that may not be of any use. But the name 'Master Mind' came up a few times when I was not supposed to be listening. It was referred to in tones of fear and hatred. And there was this." He reached in the pocket of his well-tailored jacket and held up a small tin whistle.
Dandelion's dark blue eyes flickered to Bane, who nodded. "I found one of those," he said. "A silent dog whistle, pitched too high for human ears."
"Perhaps a means of identification among BASILISK infiltrators," Mrs Claire said.
"Maybe not," Bane objected. "I seem to remember something about this Master Mind. My memory was supposed to have been wiped, but I do have Tel Shai training. Fragments are coming back. A guard holding one of these whistles as if his safety depended on it. And an image of a giant head... a head three feet across, with a stunted body under it."
"Oh, come off it," Ashcroft laughed. "Pull the other leg."
Bane gave him a calm stare. "You don't know the Midnight War, son. Look up the Mandate's project 'Brain Blast.' Back in 1967. There are strange things in the world." He turned back to Mrs Claire. "BASILISK has gained access to the Brain Blast records and they have created another monster like him. One that can control human minds instantly, one that normal humans cannot defy. The Master Mind gave me a post-hypnotic command despite all my training."
Claire was scowling as if she blamed all of this on him. "How can we fight such a horror?"
For the first time in weeks, a predatory smile appeared faintly on the Dire Wolf's narrow face. "I have a plan."
BASILISK: "People Are Targets"
10/24/2014
(4/12/2009)
I.
The walls were simple red brick, as was the floor. Overhead, bright fluorescent lights shone down to reveal everything in merciless detail. Set in one wall was a metal door without a knob or handle, and a few feet in front of that was a simple wooden table with three folding chairs. A camera over the door rotated back and forth ceaselessly, the air was cold and dry. Two men in the standard black suits and white dress shirts of INTERCEPT stood well apart, each holding an AR-15 at the ready. The bigger man was Samoan, and the shorter thin one was from Colombia, and between them they had twenty-six years experience as INTERCEPT enforcers.
They were watching the holding cell built on a raised platform in the center of the room. All four walls were of high-density clear acrylic. Its only door locked from outside with an electronic mechanism, and there was a slot near the floor where meal trays could be slid through. Inside the cell were only three items. A stainless steel toilet, with a roll of paper sitting on the floor next to it. A stainless steel sink that operated automatically by motion detectors. And a hard thin sleeping mat in one corner with a built-in raised end for a pillow. No blankets, no chairs. Standing by the door of the cell, watching the guards as they watched him, was Jeremy Bane.
In his early fifties, the Dire Wolf remained gaunt and wiry at an even six feet tall. The short black hair had a few white strands in it, but otherwise he did not seem to have aged much over the years. In a narrow feral face, pale grey eyes stabbed out with startling intensity. He stood motionless, hands down at his sides. Oddly, his body was covered with a one-piece skin-tight suit of what looked like wet silk. This left only his feet, hands and head exposed.
A deep beeping sounded in the room. One of the guards stepped back toward the door, while the other kept up his scrutiny of the prisoner. As the metal door slid open with a hiss, two people entered the room briskly. A tall middle-aged woman with white hair and thick-lensed glasses went directly to take a seat at the table in front of the holding cell. Behind Mrs Claire came Holden Crest. INTERCEPT's top agent had bleary eyes and five o'clock shadow, and his necktie was loosened with the top button of his shirt opened. He avoided eye contact with Bane.
In the cell, the Dire Wolf stood with fists on hips and said, "You didn't bring my lawyer."
"You know better than that," Mrs Claire answered tartly. "There are no lawyers in our world. I want you to take that armor off and hand it over."
"Forget it," Bane said. "I'd never see it again. Your techs can't figure out how it works, I take it?"
"No. While you were unconscious, our people tried to get it off you and were baffled. It seems to be one solid piece of material. How do you get it on and off?"
"Forget it," repeated the Dire Wolf. "It's beyond Human knowledge. So I guess you've already searched my clothing?"
"Yes. Some interesting gadgets concealed in there. The tiny lockpick set, the thermite flares, a few devices we can't identify. Your phone shut down as soon as it was a certain distance from you and our people can't seem to activate it." She leaned forward on the table and her voice was silky cold. "Where do you get technology like that, Mr Bane?"
"I can't tell you," he said. "What about the two daggers?"
"Another oddity. Silver blades? What's the point of that? Softer and heavier than steel. They are nicely balanced but we don't see anything else extraordinary about them." She frowned and met his cold stare evenly. "Your gun was a standard Smith & Wesson .38 with an extended barrel. I was expecting one of those anesthetic dart guns I've heard about."
"Let's get to the point," Bane snapped impatiently. "Okay, I was under some sort of post-hypnotic orders from BASILISK. Luckily, Crest there smacked me in the head before I did any real harm. But that was more than eight hours ago and I'm back to normal. You need to let me out so I can go after the freak that is behind all this trouble!"
Mrs Claire paused before going on. "How can we be sure you are not still under BASILISK control? We've done some blood work on you. Our doctors say truth serum would only be effective for a few minutes before your body neutralized it. You have a healing factor we can't explain. From our previous work together, we know you have a high tolerance for pain and a lack of fear response. You seem to be almost impossible to interrogate with success, Mr Bane."
The faintest hint of a smile showed on his face. "First time that has been a disadvantage. Okay, then, how about sending me to work with Crest and a few of your enforcers? I can lead the team to BASILISK headquarters and wipe them out. They must be doing your organization some serious harm by now."
"No. You are just too dangerous. Yesterday you took out two competent enforcers in less than a second and had one of their weapons aimed at me. Only the fact that Crest was alert and ready kept you from assassinating me." Mrs Claire stood up abruptly. "You can't be trusted and you can't be defended against. It's going to be a problem deciding what to do with you, Dire Wolf."
Bane snorted. "While you're holding me, BASILISK is making a mess of both your organization and STIGMA. You need my help, lady, face it."
She did not reply, but simply turned away. There was a keypad by the door, she paused to enter six numbers and slide her ID tag, then marched out of the room. Following her, Crest glanced back and for an instant his regretful eyes met Bane's. Then they both were gone and the door clicked shut.
Left with the two guards staring at him, the Dire Wolf had a strangely excited gleam in his eye. Time to escape.
II.
He waited for the next meal before making his move. If he was going to be on the run, he might as well not do it on an empty stomach. An INTERCEPT man entered with a plastic tray holding a dome-covered plate, napkin and soft plastic cutlery. The food was actually not bad. Meat loaf, mashed potatoes, peas and carrots, a banana for dessert. One container of milk, one of juice. Bane devoured it all thoroughly. It didn't matter if some sort of drug had been put in the food, his tagra diet at Tel Shai had given him so much resistance to foreign substances he wouldn't even notice it. When he was done, he slid the tray back out and watched as the server gingerly fetched it.
After the server left the holding room, the Dire Wolf decided he might as well give escape a try. Without preliminaries, he spun on one bare foot and exploded the sole of the other foot directly over the door lock. Cracks appeared in the bulletproof acrylic material. The two guards gave a start and headed for him, and Bane called out clearly, "No one lives who gazes upon the BASILISK."
Instantly, the Samoan swung around and shot the Colombian in the side of the head, then fired another round into the closed-circuit camera. The dead man sprawled on the floor in a gory mess. Bane had dropped into a low stance, drew back his elbow and drove the palm of his hand where the material was already cracked, using the full Kumundu technique. The lock mechanism shattered and popped out, and he was able to force the door open.
"We don't have much time," he told the Samoan, who was watching him as calmly as if nothing unusual had happened. "Once they see that camera is out..."
"INTERCEPT is very short staffed tonight," grunted the big man. "Not even a skeleton crew is on duty. Many agents have been killed. Our attack has them running around in confusion."
"Good to know. I took a chance one of you was BASILISK and would respond to the code phrase by freeing me. But there's something you don't know yet." Bane stepped closer and lowered his voice, "I'm not under the Master Mind's control any more." With the last word, the Dire Wolf slammed a right backfist and left hook combination that flung the Samoan's head back and forth. As the huge man dropped senseless, Bane was already kneeling and yanking the outer clothes off the corpse.
He had done this once or twice before, and didn't enjoy it but it was sometimes necessary. He got the polished dress shoes, black slacks and white shirt and black jacket off the dead man and on himself in less than a minute. Everything fit poorly but that didn't matter. As he hastily tried to knot the necktie, Bane was glad no one had showed up yet. The triangular yellow ID tag said INTERCEPT DEPT 2 113 and had a bar code on the back. In the jacket pocket was a wallet, car keys and a couple of twenties. Nothing else. He checked out the snoring Samoan and found a loaded 9mm automatic, which he took. Now to get out of here.
A square box by the door held a keypad and slit, he slid the ID tag through it and then punched in the code he had seen Mrs Claire use. The door hissed open and he was racing up the stairs two at a time. At the top was another door. He repeated the code and was surprised but pleased that it worked. INTERCEPT really should have a different code for each door, he thought. Bane found himself in one of the many seemingly identical corridors of brightly lit white tile and stainless steel, with no signs to tell him where he was. He started walking quickly at random and bumped into an INTERCEPT agent coming around the corner. Before the man could react, Bane had struck him down with a hand-edge to the neck and kept going without breaking stride. Seeing a red FIRE ALARM box, he opened it and yanked the switch. The immediate flashing red lights and deafening klaxon filled the corridor. Every bit of confusion helped, he thought.
Two men in white jumpsuits ran past him without pausing, and Bane kept going. He saw a metal door set in a recess, with a white lightbox over it that read EMERGENCY EXIT only. Reflecting wryly that this qualified as an emergency if anything did, he pressed the bar and slammed the door open, adding still another alarm to the general din. The Dire Wolf found himself emerging on a side street in the early evening. Park Avenue! He began walking briskly at just under a run, planning his next move.
III.
At 41st Street, Bane swung left onto First Avenue. He hurried past LOU'S PIT STOP, smelling the beer and hearing the country music coming through the open door. As far as he could tell, no one had spotted him so far and he had not been followed. In the narrow alley between buildings, he tried to open the unmarked wooden door and found it locked. Planting his feet well apart, he drew back his elbow and slammed the heel of his hand just above the lock, snapping it cleanly. He was up the creaky steps to the second floor within seconds.
At the landing was a window which looked as if it had not been opened in years. Feeling under the frame of that window, Bane felt a barely noticeable ridge and pried with his fingernails to dislodge a thin strip of metal he had wedged in there a year earlier. Its nondescript outline actually had been carefully machined by him, and now he used it to pick the lock to the door immediately behind him. A footstep sounded on the staircase above him, then another. The Dire Wolf slipped inside and nearly closed the door silently behind him to stand in the dark. He peered out through the narrow opening of the barely ajar door and watched a pudgy old woman make her laborious way down the stairs one step at a time. He heard the door to the alley close. For another minute, Bane waited and watched and listened. She might have been a decoy. But eventually he relaxed enough to close and lock the door completely, and he flipped the light switch on the wall next to him.
Bane examined his hideaway suspiciously. Like his previous refuge down in Chinatown, he rented these rooms under an assumed name and only came here when absolutely necessary. The apartment was shabby and almost bare. There was an ancient couch with blankets and pillows, two windows he kept tightly curtained, and a waist-high refrigerator. The bathroom had a toilet, sink and a flimsy shower. There was a closet stuffed with assorted clothes, and a few suitcases on its floor packed with gear. No TV, just a radio on the floor next to the couch. But he wasn't here to relax.
Stripping off the clothing he had taken from the dead INTERCEPT agent, Bane stood in the flexible Trom armor as he dug through the outfits hanging in the closet. A pair of faded jeans slightly too large for him, a bright red T-shirt and a blue chambray work shirt. White cotton socks and a pair of the boots he ordered crafted specially for him, with their steel-capped toes and heels, with a single-edge razor blade hidden in a slit in the top and lockpick tools concealed under the detachable sole. Once he was dressed, he moved on to the next step. In the bathroom, he took a small case from under the sink and opened it. Bane disliked using disguises. He always felt vaguely silly in them, but he had to admit there were times when they were necessary. Now he set to work.
Dark brown contact lenses concealed the distinctive grey color of his irises. He worked a white gel into his hair that left it a dingy greying color. A dental upper plate that clicked over his own teeth gave him a noticeable overbite and changed the shape of his lower face enough to make him less recognizable. The experts he had hired to train him had repeatedly said that disguises worked best when they were minimal. It was better not to overdo it. Bane studied his reflection in the mirror and decided not to add any more changes.
The Dire Wolf started pacing the apartment, discarding one plan after another. He really wanted to go to his office not far away, to load up his arsenal and specialized equipment, but if INTERCEPT wasn't there, then STIGMA would be. The location of his regular apartment a few blocks north was not as well known as his office, but spy groups would be certain to know about it. He had to play this without his usual gear. Bane opened a locked suitcase and began selecting items. There were two wallets, each containing all the IDs and assorted cards of two different fictious people. He selected the one for Walter Connelly, aged sixty-two, retired machinist with a disability from a bad knee. Connelly had a gun permit, which allowed Bane to strap a small 32 Colt revolver in a detachable holster to the small of his back where the work shirt concealed it. From the lining of the suitcase, he removed neat bundles of money, about two thousand dollars in twenties and tens, and distributed them in different pockets.
A key ring, a battered Swiss army knife, nail clippers, a cigarette lighter.. useful in themselves but also good for establishing himself as Walter Connelly. Bane decided he had everything he needed for the moment. In the back of his mind, the loss of the silver daggers kept nagging at him. Those had been a present from Kenneth Dred when they had first met so long ago, and he had never been separated from them for so long before. Once the battle with BASILISK was settled, Bane swore he would retrieve those daggers if he had to tear down INTERCEPT headquarters with his hands.
Now he had to get moving. He took another five minutes to lock and hide items, moving everything so that he would be able to tell if anyone had been in there in his absence. Turning off the lights again, he stood by the door listening, peeked out and then stepped into the hall. Bane trotted down the stairs and out into the alley, turning to emerge on 1st Avenue just as a police car went by. He started heading west toward midtown.
At the corner of Third Avenue, he stopped and bought a newspaper and a buttered hard roll. Bane had decided to check out the building where his office was from across the street, so at 43rd he paused and opened the paper. While he pretended to be reading it under a streetlamp, he studied the four-story yellow brick building. The lobby was still lit, because the EMERGENCY ONE walk-in clinic stayed open until eleven every night. There were no vehicles parked nearby with anyone sitting in them, but there were two men loitering in front of a check cashing place two doors down and Bane didn't like the looks of them.
The Dire Wolf decided not to confront them. There was not enough to be gained, and he wanted to set himself to go back to Simmons Plaza. He folded the newspaper, tucked it under one arm and raised the hard roll to take a bite...
With a vicious buzzing noise like a hornet, something smacked the hard roll from his hand and sent it flying. Bane's reflexes had never been more in evidence. He leaped backwards into the doorway behind him so quickly it seemed he had vanished by magic, and his hand was coming up with the 32 Colt even as his feet touched down. He saw the hard roll hit the sidewalk and, a split-second later, it spun away again as something blew a chip out of the curb. Strangely, this made Bane untense a little. He lowered his gun and cautiously peered up on the rooftops.
The building next to him was only two stories high, and on its roof stood a slim young woman in a denim jacket and tan pants. She had a shock of thick white hair and was frowning as she stepped back out of sight. Bane relaxed a tiny bit. If Dandelion had wanted to kill him, she could have done so with no problem. Her aim with firearms didn't just border on the supernatural, it WAS supernatural. He holstered his gun and looked around. No one seemed to have noticed the incident, although a passenger on a city bus was giving him a funny look.
He was not surprised no one had heard the shots. Dandelion used Walther P22s with handcrafted silencers she had designed herself. At arm's length, only the faint click of the gun's mechanism could be heard. Her abnormal accuracy enabled her to pull off killing shots despite the low-powered pistols with the silencer reducing muzzle velocity even more. Dandelion was capable of hitting her target under almost any conditions.
Going around behind the building, where a bright canary yellow Maserati was parked, Bane found Dandelion just dropping down off the fire escape. "So much for my brilliant disguise," he muttered.
"Your disguise is fine," she sniffed. "But I have Tel Shai training, same as you. I'd know your proportions and body language anywhere. Aren't you going to ask me how I've been?"
The Dire Wolf could not pretend to be friendly any more. "Oh, I've been following your career. Four assassinations a year, plus your bodyguard assignments. You must be a millionaire by now."
"A girl's got to provide for the future," the blonde said. Dandelion had a striking face with its wide jaw, upturned nose and dark blue eyes. The platinum hair was cut short and left untidy. Now she watched Bane thoughtfully. "You never tried to track me down, Jeremy, even after what I did to you last time."
"What, a bullet in each ankle and a crease across my head?"
"You know that's only a setback for someone with your healing factor," she said. "But I'm glad you didn't come looking for me." She scoffed wickedly. "You should be glad, too. You need me."
Bane glanced at her car. "Should we move while talking?"
"Very prudent. Get in." She moved around to the driver's side door.
The Dire Wolf felt conflicting reactions to seeing Dandelion again. They had a complicated history, having once been close friends and colleagues. Since she had been dropped from Tel Shai studies by the Teachers for unexplained reasons, Dandelion had used her uncanny precision with firearms in criminal ways across Europe and Asia. To avoid crossing paths with Bane, she had always avoided America. Except once. That had ended badly, in a stalemate.
She pulled out into traffic and headed south. After a minute, she said casually, "I was working STIGMA and INTERCEPT against each other. STIGMA hired me to quiet a few INTERCEPT bureaucrats, and I took their money and then went back to INTERCEPT and got a commission to quiet the STIGMA suits who hired me."
Bane shook his head. "I'm surprised you didn't pull off a triple cross."
"Look, Jeremy! These organizations are not good guys and bad guys," she spat. "They're both playing the same game. It doesn't matter which one I choose to stick with. People are targets. That's all, just targets." She turned those dark blue eyes sternly on him for a second. "But you still have illusions. You think there's a difference between these agencies."
"Never mind that now," Bane said. "The real problem is the third player in the game. No one lives who gazes on the BASILISK."
Dandelion smirked. "What, do you expect me to try and shoot you while I'm driving? I'm not under BASILISK control, dummy. No one tells me what to do."
"That's the Dandy I used to know, all right."
"No one has called me that for a long time," she muttered. "Anyway, about BASILISK. What do you know about them?"
"Almost nothing. They have something called the Master Mind, he or it can plant posthypnotic commands in people's minds that they themselves aren't aware of. Hearing that code sentence triggers the commands." Bane hesitated. "BASILISK has infiltrated both INTERCEPT and STIGMA, which I didn't expect. Their end game has to be something big. What's your take on them?"
As she pulled into a parking spot on Mulberry Street, the blonde mercenary frowned more than usual. "Not much. STIGMA suspected their existence, judging by the way they were seriously hunting for moles and double agents. INTERCEPT is clueless as usual. Bunch of losers." She turned off the engine. "Come on, let's walk for a minute before the action starts."
Getting out, Bane watched her lock the car and put coins in the meter. Even checking the way her denim jacket hung, he could not spot the two Walthers he knew she carried. As he remembered, she also had a derringer tucked into her right boot but he couldn't see that either.
Dandelion glanced up. "Any other man, I'd figure he was checking out my ass. But you... you're looking for the guns, right? I pack three now, one holstered across my back with the grip down."
"All right," Bane said. "But first, what are we doing in Little Italy?"
She smiled wickedly, prettier than ever. "I have to get that hit out of the way. Since you've been wiping out STIGMA units for years now, I figured you wouldn't mind helping."
IV.
As Bane kicked the door in, Dandelion dove headlong through the opening to roll and come up on one knee with a silenced Walther in each hand. Nine men died within seconds. The blonde mercenary seemed to be just firing without looking, almost at random, but each bullet punched home at the bridge of a nose. Only one of the STIGMA men had time to raise his own gun but he did not quite get to fire before a .22 slug drilled into his forehead and he fell straight down.
With his enchanced perception, the Dire Wolf could follow Dandelion's motions. She was working at the upper limits of Human speed and co-ordination, he could see her lock her eyes at the next target while firing at the one before it. He had never seen anyone capable of this technique who was also completely accurate. As the last STIGMA agent fell backwards over a chair, Dandelion rose to her feet and lowered her weapons. She glanced back over one slim shoulder and raised a quizzical eyebrow at the disguised Bane.
"Yeah, I'm impressed," he admitted. "You're talented."
She did not reply, but turned her attention to the fat man behind the desk against the far wall. The office was comfortable but not luxurious, with a row of bound reference books, a large screen TV in one corner and a bar with three chrome stools in front of it. The man behind the desk was bent over an untidy stack of loose papers, his mouth open and working as he struggled to force out words which would not come.
"George Breene," she announced as if accusing him. "You may remember me. Three days ago, you wired a decent sum to my account in the Cayman Islands in exchange for my services."
He still could not talk, but he managed to whisper, "Dandelion..."
"I liked our arrangement," she continued. "But this three way war between you spooks is too risky to suit me. Too bad for you." She raised the Walther in her right hand. The silencer on its extended barrel was not much thicker than a marker. How she crafted them to work so well was a secret she had never shared.
"Wait, wait," Breene got out hastily. "Whatever you were paid by INTERCEPT, I'll beat it. I have access to millions. Just don't kill me." Tears ran down his doughy face as he started to lose all control.
"Maybe information will work better than money," Bane said quietly.
"What do you want to know? Anything! Just ask!"
"A defense against the Master Mind, a way to resist his control. That's all."
Breene blinked and started to chuckle, then laughed out loud. "Against the Master Mind? There IS no defense. Nothing can resist him."
"Wrong answer," muttered Dandelion as she fired. A round blue hole popped into existence between Breene's eyes, which rolled up to show the whites as he slid to the floor.
The Dire Wolf had taken a pair of black latex gloves from a pocket and began systematically searching the room, starting by the door and making his way in a clockwise route. He also went through the corpses' clothing. As he got to the desk where Breene was sprawled, Bane riffled through the papers quickly. "Budget meetings. Schedules. Nothing useful to us."
Ejecting a clip from one Walther, Dandelion slid in a fresh one and clicked it into place. "We may not have much time for this, Jeremy."
"I think we need a way to handle the Master Mind before we tackle him," he replied distractedly. "There should be some way to resist." He started going through the drawers of the desk, yanking out folders and binders and thumbing through them. "Otherwise, there is no way to stop the way BASILISK is taking over. But everything has a weakness..."
"Someone is coming," she snapped and leaped across the room as nimble as an acrobat to stand behind the opened door. A second later, a man in the yellow vest with its black skull emblem stuck his head into the room and said, "Mr Greene, did you-" just before a bullet tunneled directly from one side of his head to the other. Grabbing him by one arm, Dandelion yanked the dying man into the room and closed the door.
"Look, Dire Wolf, I'm leaving whether you come with me or not. I don't care who wins, INTERCEPT or STIGMA, they're just targets." The blonde mercenary stared angrily at Bane. "Maybe I'm cutting you too much slack because we helped each other out a few times. That was long ago!"
The Dire Wolf was holding a strange object he had found in the center drawer. A tin whistle with a cord suspended from it. "This is odd," he said as he blew it but no noise was produced. "I wonder..."
"Oh, will you wise up! It's a dog whistle! People can't hear it but dogs can. I'm sure it summons Rottweilers or something. I'm leaving. You stay if you want to." She swung the door open again and peeked out into the hall, then gave him a final glance. Bane joined her and they skipped down the corridor and through a door that said NO EXIT, down three flights of stairs and into a tiny foyer in which a dead man lay where they had left him.
"This is where we came in," she said, holstering her guns and adjusting her jacket carefully. "For a STIGMA outpost, the security here was not professional at all."
Bane regarded her thoughtfully. "This was just a building where STIGMA rented a floor for temporary paperwork. They seem to be as disorganized over BASILISK as INTERCEPT is. Both agencies are running around in blind panic."
"Fine with me," she said, opening the door and stepping out on the night street. Cars honked furiously as a light turned green, tourists wandered by with wide eyes, and the shady denizens of the street prowled. No one noticed Bane and Dandelion emerging from an unmarked door. They started moving toward where her Maserati was parked.
"What's your plan anyway?" she asked as if only slightly interested.
"Going after the Master Mind. He took control of me once, so I need to find a way to prevent that happening again." Bane growled almost inaudibly in his chest and she smiled as she recognized that sound. "I need more information. Is it telepathy? The only telepath I know is at Tel Shai and can't leave yet. Is it some crazy science or new drugs or what? I can't work up a defense unless I know what I'm dealing with."
Dandelion paused with her hand on the door of her car. "I don't owe you anything, Jeremy. Frankly, your Boy Scout ideas are going to get me killed. But BASILISK is screwing up the game. I can't be sure if I'm dealing with INTERCEPT or STIGMA as long as they might turn out to be BASILISK double agents. Hell, maybe the Mandate is next. Or Intercrime."
"It's in your interest to help me," he said quietly. "I think the next step to find a BASILISK agent and interrogate him."
"Maybe. Get in, you damn nuisance. Every time I run into you..." she grumbled as she slid behind the wheel of the yellow Maserati and gunned the motor. Bane dropped into the passenger seat without comment as she swerved out into traffic, missing a taxi by inches and rolling past a stop sign as if it was just a suggestion.
As they headed back uptown, the Dire Wolf said, "I need to pick up some of my special truth serum. You know where my office is."
"What do you think? I was staking it out all day waiting for you to show up." She turned onto Third Avenue and pulled over onto 40th Street. "There you go."
Bane unbuckled his seat belt. "You might want to get out and stay alert. I don't know who's watching this building. INTERCEPT, STIGMA, BASILISK?"
"Probably all three," she grumbled sourly as she climbed out of the sports car and scanned the windows and rooftops with her right hand under the denim jacket. "Don't stop to read the papers."
"Two minutes," he promised. Bane stepped up to the two glass doors which slid open as he approached, past the EMERGENCY ONE clinic and the staircase leading up to the second floor. He spotted no one. INTERCEPT could not be in such a turmoil that they would not have an agent searching for him, surely. At the end of the short hall was a plain wooden door with a bronze plaque that read DIRE WOLF AGENCY. He reached out his hand for the knob, paused and then suddenly slammed the door inward and plunged into the room.
Two big men in black suits were inside the tiny waiting room, and they were taken offguard by the unexpected violence of his entrance. Bane slammed a left cross that snapped the nearer man's jaw to one side and immediately blasted a backhand with the same fist caught the second man in the nose. Both agents staggered, all defenses down, and Bane pounded them with rapid Wing Chun body blows that dropped them to the floor.
He tested the inner door and found it still secure. That had a lock devised by Megan Salenger that would take days to pick, but the door to the hallway could be opened by any skeleton key. Good. Bane knelt over the two INTERCEPT agents and found they were barely conscious. He shook them a little until they groaned and stirred, but were not about to get up anytime soon with those cracked ribs.
Satisfied they could hear him, the Dire Wolf said clearly, "No one lives who gazes on the BASILISK!" Neither one reacted as he had hoped. One mumbled a few curse words. Bane straightened up, disappointed. Neither was under BASILISK control. He went to the monitor screen high up in one corner and opened a panel on its side to reveal a keypad. Six numbers, pause, then the same six numbers in reverse and the inner door buzzed open. The Dire Wolf hurried inside, got more of the veratilin truth serum and a few other gadgets, then went to his desk and slid out a concealed drawer. Inside were two slim throwing knives with black handles. They were as close a match to his silver daggers as he could manage to have made, but only high-quality steel. He yanked up his sleeves and strapped the knives to his forearms, hilts down by the wrists.
As he locked the inner door behind him, Bane saw the two INTERCEPT agents were trying to recover. He took a second to fasten their own handcuffs on them, right wrist to left, and took the keys with him. If he had more time, he would have thrashed them more to drive home the lesson not to enter his territory, but he had to hurry. Striding across the lobby, he spotted no other watchers. Back on the street, moving at a walk faster than most people could run, he turned the corner to where the yellow Maserati was parked.
Dandelion turned an angry face toward him. "That was a little more than two minutes, buddy." She was holding one of the silenced Walthers down by her side.
"Two INTERCEPT agents in my office," he said. "What happened?"
She jerked a thumb up at a darkened third-story window across the street. "Guy had a sniper rifle. With the lights out, he thought I wouldn't spot him. I fed him a quiet pill."
"Okay," Bane said. He opened the passenger door, and waited as Dandelion surveyed the area one last time before getting behind the wheel again. She rushed out onto the street, skipped another stop sign and sped uptown.
"I've got some supplies," the Dire Wolf said. "Where do you think we can find some BASILISK quicker, at INTERCEPT or STIGMA?"
"STIGMA. Definitely. Because you might object if I kill a few INTERCEPT agents." She shook her blonde head testily. "Frankly, I think you're too soft for this game, Jeremy."
"It's just as well you think that."
That puzzled her and she actually slowed down a little. "All right. My contact is a STIGMA safe house on 119th Street. The guy there is mid-level.. I haven't met any STIGMA hierarchy yet, they're still testing me."
Bane watched traffic go by, feeling a strange melancholy at how things were turning out. He hadn't even had time to reflect on the death of old Lionel Davenport. Nor how his most trusted agent, Nicholas Pryshepa, had killed him under orders from the Master Mind. Where was Holden Crest right now? Probably searching for Bane right now...
"Cut your forehead," she said suddenly.
Bane took out the steel dagger and pressed its tip to his hairline. "Camoflauge?"
"Yeah. You're going to play the prisoner I'm bringing to be questioned," she told him. "Just a little blood, don't get crazy."
The Dire Wolf made a slice up by his left temple and felt a trickle of blood run hot down the side of his face. With his healing factor, the injury sealed up almost instantly but the red trail on his face remained visible. He cleaned the blade and sheathed it thoughtfully, wondering how safe the silver daggers were...
They pulled up to the curb in not the best neighborhood. Big black garbage bags leaned up against each on the sidewalks, empty beer bottles and junk food wrappers littered everywhere. Across the street, two older black men sat in a doorway and grinned as they saw a pretty blonde girl get out of a flashy yellow car. Dandelion spotted them and let them get a glimpse of a Walther P22 holstered inside her jacket, and the two men suddenly lost interest.
Getting out, smelling stale urine and greasy cooking, Bane looked the apartment building over. It was old and stained and a few windows were cracked, but he had seen worse. Lights were on in several windows and air conditioners stuck out from a few more. Dandelion was right behind him, jabbing the muzzle of her pistol in the small of his back and steering him toward the door.
For one second, the thought struck Bane that maybe Dandelion WAS working for STIGMA and she was genuinely bringing him here as a prisoner to turn him over. But that didn't really matter. He had to get inside the organization somehow and he had allowed himself to be captured before. He had always fought his way out.
They were obviously being watched because the front door swung open as they approached. Bane went up three well-worn stone steps into a small foyer in which two armed men waited. They were big, muscular guys wearing the yellow vests over street clothes, and the yellow full-face masks with black skull designs over the face, as well as yellow silk gloves. Each held a big .45 automatic pointed at the two who entered the foyer.
"Settle down, you jerks know me," Dandelion snapped. "I'm here to see Prim. We're finally making some progress."
One of the STIGMA killers spoke, his voice muffled by the cloth mask. "And who's this man?"
"This guy... is information," she said. "He's got the answers we're looking for. "The blonde assassin shoved the disguised Bane roughly, making him almost stumble. "Let's get going already, things are getting bad and we need to act fast."
From a hidden speaker, a silky smooth voice spoke. "Enter."
Behind the two masked men, a wall panel smoothly slid aside to reveal a brightly lit hallway of polished dark wood. In front of a massive ebony door stood yet another gunman in the yellow vest, gloves and mask of a STIGMA killer. He was holding a 9mm Parabellum in both hands, barrel down at the floor. When he saw Bane and Dandelion, he said, "Take a few steps closer. Then wait."
"Games," mumbled Dandelion crankily, but she obeyed. As the man with the Parabellum covered them, they both were relieved of their guns. Three Walthers from Dandelion, the .32 from Bane.
"Be careful with those," she growled. "I had those barrels rifled for greater accuracy. They're perfectly balanced."
After a few moments in which they must have been closely observed, the smooth voice spoke again, "Very well. Admit them."
Clicks sounded and the heavy door swung open. Closely followed by all three STIGMA gunmen, Dandelion and Bane were ushered into a huge, high-ceiling room lit as brilliantly as an operating theatre. One big desk sat against the far wall, with two smaller ones facing it, each with a computer and phone and baskets full of papers. Several chairs were pushed up against one wall, and there was a waist-high refrigerator and a counter with a coffeemaker.
Behind the main desk was an immensely fat little man, well over three hundred pounds but not much over five feet tall. Victor Prim was wearing a nicely tailored tan suit, but his chins covered his shirt collar. A crown of white hair, shaved almost completely away, covered his basketball-shaped head, and from within that shapeless face two hard blue eyes glared out at them in dramatic contrast.
The tallest STIGMA agent, who had been guarding the inner door, said, "Agent Dandelion, Mr Prim. With a prisoner."
"So I see," the hulk said with that startling refined voice. "Watch them. Dandelion. I find it surprising that your prisoner still had a firearm on him. Have you become that careless?"
"He's harmless, Prim. Look at him, he couldn't shoot his own foot."
"I am not amused," the obese brute said quietly. "Dandelion, your loyalty has never been certain. Your history shows you change sides according to opportunity, but we thought your skills outweighed that. Now I have decided you are too unreliable."
Bane had been taking in the situation, calculating angles. The three STIGMA agents were spaced well apart, too far away to be taken down with any one maneuver. He himself still was wearing the body armor, and he had a good chance of surviving a crossfire long enough to get a gun away from one of them. But, although Dandelion was good, she was only Human and she was bound to catch a fatal bullet in the first second of the shooting. He saw her shift her weight preparatory to diving for the fat man.
Standing up with obvious effort, Victor Prim heaved an enormous sigh and said, "Kill them."
And the STIGMA agent standing nearest to his boss dropped into a marksman's crouch and shot both of the other men right in the heart. Bright red blood spurted over the yellow vests as the assassins fell where they stood, their own guns dropping from lifeless hands. Even as those bodies hit the carpeting, the STIGMA agent had lunged toward the desk behind him and thrust the hot barrel of his 9mm within inches of Prim's shapeless face.
"Don't press that button on the arm of your chair," he ordered. "Not a word. Be still. Dandelion, Bane.. pick up their weapons."
For once, even the Dire Wolf was slow to react. He bent down and came up with a .45 in his hand, as Dandelion did the same. "I give up," he said wryly. "I've lost track of who's who in this game."
The blonde mercenary chuckled. "You've got talent, Jeremy, but you're too straightforward for this game. Right, agent...?"
"Just 'Agent' is supposed to be enough," said the man. " We're going to be leaving now, Mr Prim. I'm tempted to shoot you as well, but honestly, your second in command is more reckless than you are. I really don't want to move him up into your slot."
Despite the barrel inches from his face, Victor Prim managed a faint smile. "Better the devil you know than the one you don't?"
"Precisely," said the masked man just before he brought the butt of the pistol down brutally hard at the base of Prim's neck. The fat man grunted and sagged back in his chair with his mouth hanging open. "Hope that wasn't TOO hard," the agent said. "All right, you two, time for us to leave."
"I know I might regret this but I have to know," Bane said. At this range, he could close the gap before the masked man could fire. Facing the agent squarely, he repeated, "No one lives who gazes on the BASILISK."
"No time for that now," the man chuckled as he hurried them from the office. "Don't worry, I'm INTERCEPT through and through. John Lewis Ashcroft from the London office, on loan to New York." As they paused by the front door of the building, he tugged off the vest, mask and gloves to reveal a very young, rather handsome black man with short hair and sharp features. "Over there on that bench, are those your weapons?"
"You bet your ass!" Dandelion tossed the .45 automatic behind her as she claimed her three silenced Walthers and holstered them. Bane retrieved his .32 revolver but also kept the STIGMA automatic stuck in his belt. Dandelion was watching him.
"That's a Heckler & Koch MP5, you know," she told him. "Nice little weapon."
"You can have it when this is over," Bane promised.
Ashcroft peered out into the street. "I assume that gaudy golden roadster is yours, Dandy?"
"You assume right," Dandelion answered as she raced down and dove behind the wheel. Bane and Ashcroft had barely seated themselves before she gunned the motor and swung out onto 119th Street. "So. How long have you been working inside STIGMA, Ashcroft?"
"Eight months," answered the black man. A faint English accent could be heard the more he talked. "Slow work. I had to commit some compromising deeds along the way, I admit. But it all paid off tonight." He leaned over from the back seat. "You ARE Jeremy Bane, aren't you? The notorious Dire Wolf?"
"I don't know why I bother with disguises," Bane sighed. "But yeah. I have to ask. What have you learned about the Master Mind?"
"Oh, a bit. I snatched a hard drive from Prim's computer just before you came in. The Master Mind is a new version of something called Brain Blast, from way back in 1967. A Mandate innovation."
Bane nodded grimly. "The Brain Blast. Well, that gives us something to work with, because the Deacon fought him and I have access to his notes."
Driving way too fast, disregarding other cars as if she expected them to docilely swerve aside, Dandelion sounded more disgusted than usual. "Back to INTERCPT headquarters, I suppose."
"Whoa, I just escaped from there a few hours ago," Bane objected. "Let me out at this corner."
"It'll be fine." Ashcroft grinned a perfect white flash of teeth in the gloom. "I will vouch for you. As will our master markswoman. Right, Dandy?"
"I suppose..." she muttered.
"You seem disgruntled, darling. Something rubbing your fur the wrong way?"
The blonde assassin turned her head for a second to give him a venomous glare. "Don't talk to me like I'm one of your little playmates, Ashcroft. I've heard all about you. We stick to business."
"Whatever you say, my sweet. Let's report and regroup. An awful lot has been going on in a short time." Ashcroft tapped Bane on the shoulder. "You see what I have to deal with?"
V.
Back in the Director's office at INTERCEPT headquarters, the tension was unbearable. Evelyn Claire and Jeremy Bane stood five feet from each other, eyes locked and every muscle tense. Behind Dandelion and Ashcroft, three big INTERCEPT enforcement agents stood well apart, each aiming an AR-15 directly at the Dire Wolf's head. Outside in the hall, two more such agents stood ready.
"Well," Claire snapped in her icy tone. "One of us has to say it. No one lives who gazes on the BASILISK!"
After ten eternal seconds ticked by and no one reacted, the people in that room relaxed visibly. Two of the guards exhaled without realizing they had been holding their breath. Dandelion mumbled, "Told you!"
Claire let her shoulders down from where they had been subconsciously raised in defense. "After hearing Ashcroft's report and digging a bit more into your background, I felt inclined to believe you are no threat, Mr Bane. I hope you understand why we had to be cautious?"
"Sure," Bane said. "No hard feelings."
"Satisfactory," she replied as she opened a wooden box on her desk and handed the contents to him. "From all reports, these are valuable to you."
Unable to completely hide his excitement, Bane examined the silver daggers, inspected them under the light and tested their balance. He knew them instantly. They had been a present from Kenneth Dred at the very start of their association, the two items most precious to him in all the world. Flinging off his jacket, he rolled up his turtleneck sleeves and strapped the sheathes onto his forearms. Now he felt more like himself. As he pulled the black jacket back on and straightened it, he caught Claire's eye. "Thank you." The steel replicas which he had been wearing were put aside for the moment.
"The three of you, be seated. Enforcers, stand by outside for now." Claire went over behind her desk and lowered herself down. "I'll be direct. The situation is intolerable. All over the world, our outposts report INTERCEPT agents suddenly turning rogue and trying to assassinate their superiors. So far, that key sentence has worked at triggering the double agents before they are ready to strike. Right now, all our stations are using the sentence to test for moles."
Ashcroft half raised a hand as if in school, "If I may speak, ma'am?"
"Go ahead."
"The same is going on at STIGMA. While I was undercover, I found they are also being plagued by their agents running amok and killing each other. BASILISK seems to have throughly infiltrated both INTERCEPT and STIGMA. What I don't understand is... why? Why both organizations?"
Mrs Claire studied the three of them sternly. "You would think BASILISK would be aligned with one group or the other. Instead, they seem to be playing both agencies against each other, breaking the deadlock we have been in for a decade now. I think they intend for INTERCEPT and STIGMA to declare a hot war on each other."
Bane spoke quietly, "With STIGMA broken, there is room for a new crime network. With INTERCEPT broken, there is no watchdog to forestall them."
"I agree," Evelyn Claire said. "I have ordered all our stations to go to defensive mode. Operations have been suspended, shallow undercover agents recalled, everything pulled in until the crisis is resolved. STIGMA has indeed been attacking our outposts. Six of our agents have been ambushed and killed. But I will not order open retaliation at this time. Not yet."
No one spoke for a long moment, and finally John Ashcroft sighed. "I have information that may be of use. Working undercover for months, you tend to see and hear thousands of details that may not be of any use. But the name 'Master Mind' came up a few times when I was not supposed to be listening. It was referred to in tones of fear and hatred. And there was this." He reached in the pocket of his well-tailored jacket and held up a small tin whistle.
Dandelion's dark blue eyes flickered to Bane, who nodded. "I found one of those," he said. "A silent dog whistle, pitched too high for human ears."
"Perhaps a means of identification among BASILISK infiltrators," Mrs Claire said.
"Maybe not," Bane objected. "I seem to remember something about this Master Mind. My memory was supposed to have been wiped, but I do have Tel Shai training. Fragments are coming back. A guard holding one of these whistles as if his safety depended on it. And an image of a giant head... a head three feet across, with a stunted body under it."
"Oh, come off it," Ashcroft laughed. "Pull the other leg."
Bane gave him a calm stare. "You don't know the Midnight War, son. Look up the Mandate's project 'Brain Blast.' Back in 1967. There are strange things in the world." He turned back to Mrs Claire. "BASILISK has gained access to the Brain Blast records and they have created another monster like him. One that can control human minds instantly, one that normal humans cannot defy. The Master Mind gave me a post-hypnotic command despite all my training."
Claire was scowling as if she blamed all of this on him. "How can we fight such a horror?"
For the first time in weeks, a predatory smile appeared faintly on the Dire Wolf's narrow face. "I have a plan."
BASILISK: "People Are Targets"
10/24/2014