"Bullets Have No Heart"
May. 24th, 2022 06:42 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dochermes'"Bullets Have No Heart"
9/15/2006
I.
At four that afternoon, Jeremy Bane crossed Third Avenue and stepped quickly up to the four-story building of yellow brick that had held his office for the past few years. He had come from the newsstand across the street, where he had picked up three different papers, including one in Chinese which he could sometimes puzzle out a little from his limited knowledge. Two men were standing in front of the lobby doors, one holding a briefcase. Both were wearing suits. He watched them suspiciously but he did not reduce his awareness of his surroundings doing so. A lifetime in the Midnight War meant he seldom really relaxed.
At fifty-four, Bane had not changed much in his looks since he was twenty. There were three or four grey strands in the black hair and faint lines around the corners of the mouth. But he was still thin to the point of being gaunt, six feet tall and dressed all in black with the familiar turtleneck, slacks and sport jacket. The grey eyes were clear and cold as ever. The Dire Wolf stepped up to the curb as the waiting men saw him, and one smiled.
Bane approached and said, "Are you waiting for me?"
"If you're the head of the Dire Wolf Agency, we certainly are," said the younger man. He was much the same height and build as Bane himself, but with dark auburn hair and greenish eyes, with a crooked smile. Next to him was a middle-aged stout man with not much hair left and his eyes moved worriedly. Looking at him, Bane saw the man's eyes focus on something behind him with sudden terror.
In the next half-second, Bane plunged forward and grabbed the man in a bear hug, tugging the balding head down against him. He bent his own head forward as the thud of three bullets smacked him across the shoulder blades. With the Trom armor he wore, they did not penetrate and the impact was dissipated so it only felt like hard blows from a stick. As he seized the man, the automatic doors slid open and he shoved the startled fellow inside and kept pushing him into the lobby. Letting go, he pivotted on his heel and leaped through while the doors while they were still open. In his left hand, his .38 revolver appeared quick as a conjuring trick and he was back out on the sidewalk. All this took place in little more than a full second. The other man was still standing out there, just beginning to react to the sudden flurry of motion.
Something punched the gun from his hand, bending his wrist back painfully. Bane dropped into a crouch and raised his other forearm up to protect his head. On the roof of the five story building across the street, he spotted a slim woman all in grey, with long ash-blonde hair. She lowered a pistol and dropped back from sight.
Dandelion?
He bent to retrieve his pistol, saw that the cylinder had been knocked out by that bullet. That sort of accuracy with a handgun at point-blank range would be remarkable but to do a shot like that from across the street... It had to be Dandelion. "Come on," he snapped to the red-headed man, going back inside the lobby. The older man was standing with his mouth open, just now beginning to digest what had happened.
"I think you two need to start talking," Bane barked. "What about it?"
The red-headed man opened a billfold to reveal an ID card. "Special Agent Matheny of the Mandate. I was bringing this gentleman to see you." He leaned over to check the holes in the back of Bane's jacket. "Are you quite all right?"
"Bulletproof vest," Bane answered. People were in the lobby, stepping out from the walk-in clinic Emergency One that took up most of the ground floor. He saw the receptionist stick her head out of the clinic and said, "Everything's fine, Shannon. Nothing to be concerned about." He herded the two men toward the back of the lobby, where the staircase going up left a narrow short hall which ended with a steel NO EXIT sign. Here was the plain wooden door with the brass plate DIRE WOLF AGENCY. He unlocked it and ushered them through the tiny waiting room to the inner office. With the opaque curtains over the picture window, the room was dim and he thumbed on the overhead lamp. To the right was his desk, with two straightback chairs facing it and he motioned for them to sit down.
As Bane settled behind the desk, Agent Metheny began. "You know about the Mandate, of course. Our goals have not always been perfectly aligned, shall we say? But in this case, I think you will agree to work with us. This man is Warren Estes. He is pressing charges in an industrial espionage case, which we need not get into. Where his situation affects us is that he received a warning. Someone involved in the upcoming trial tipped him off that attempts would be made on his life. And you saw the results just now."
The Dire Wolf inspected Estes closely. The man's tic in the left eye and the shaky hands were only perceptible if you looked for them. He was not acting. Warren Estes was within a year or two of sixty, in poor shape as far as cardiovascular issues went. He was impeccably groomed and cologned and trimmed, wearing espensive clothes and tailored Italian shoes. None of that helped when he was terrified for his life. He turned his attention back to the agent. "Go on."
"There's not much else. As you know, the Mandate was established to keep an eye on people with unusual, perhaps even unexplainable talents. We and you have clashed over this. We came in because we are watching a man named Karel Cherny."
Bane leaned forward, placing his hands palm down on the desk. "I've heard of him. We've never met, though. World-class assassin who asks a stiff fee for his services. You think he's on Mr Estes' trail."
"You took three bullets meant for him not five minutes ago."
The Dire Wolf did not mention he had spotted an entirely different killer. Perhaps he should have but he had no love for the Mandate. He turned again to Warren Estes, saying, "So you need protection?"
"Absolutely," Estes answered in a thick, accented voice. "But Agent Metheny here has assured me that his organization will take care of that. I am hoping you will undertake to capture this 'Karel Cherny' person. If he has to be killed, because he is too dangerous to be taken alive, I think that would be morally acceptable." Estes added, "If whistleblowers like myself are too intimidated to speak up, the world is a poorer place."
After a long moment of silence, Bane said, "I have never had to cross paths with Karel Cherny. But I disapprove of nearly everything he has done in a long career. I will undertake to track him down immediately. As you say, capture him if possible but take him either way."
"That is a great relief," Estes breathed. "I have heard a good deal about you, Mr Bane. The Dire Wolf. You are perhaps better known in certain circles than you realize. Here, let me get my checkbook."
"I think I should accept a fee." Bane frowned more than usual. "If I am acting on your behalf, it will give certain legal advantages. Make it to this agency for one thousand dollars flat."
Estes hesitated. "But... expenses? If this drags on for a while?"
"No, the fee is just a formality. With you as my client, I will be able to claim some confidentiality in the investigation. But I'll be carrying it on mostly for my own purposes."
"Well, if you say so." Estes wrote out the check and entered it in his own log, while Bane wrote the details in a ledger he took from his desk, folded in the check and returned it to the drawer.
Agent Matheny took out his cell phone, hit a number and talked in hushed tones for a minute that dragged into three. He put the phone away. "My agency will have a car here within a few minutes with a team. We will escort Mr Estes to a safe house."
"I have work to do myself," Bane said. He put down the pieces of his revolver, ruined by the bullet, on a wall shelf behind him and unlocked one of the deeper side drawers of his desk. From there he lifted up a rather clunky-looking firearm with a needle-thin extended barrel and inspected the mechanism.
Matheny watched with interest. "One of your dart guns I've heard about?"
"Yes," Bane answered without elaboration. Satisfied the weapon was in proper order, he slid in a clip of the potent anesthetic darts he had used in the KDf and clicked everything shut. He rubbed his left wrist thoughtfully, it was still sore from the impact of the bullet that had smashed his gun. The dart gun would not fit in the holster he was wearing, but he would change that when these two were gone.
Standing up, he escorted Agent Metheny and Warren Estes to the lobby. An elderly woman sat on the bench by the elevator, head down in weariness. Bane glanced at her and decided that if anyone had a disguise that good, he might as well retire and go fishing or something. At the curb was a long black sedan with tinted windows. So obvious. What could you do with these people? As Matheny walked Estes to the car and a man in a black suit with sunglasses got out to help, Bane was scanning the area. His grey eyes flickered, looking for anything out of place, any movement that triggered his perception. That window had a curtain move. A figure lounged in a doorway. Nothing.
Bane realized he was standing in the open, with his gun in hand. Agent Matheny nodded before getting in the car. "We'll be in touch, Mr Bane."
II.
Going back through the lobby, the Dire Wolf noticed it was nineteen minutes after four. He returned to his office, removed the detachable holster from his belt and threaded in one for the dart gun. He did not necessarily believe anything the two men had told him. Certainly, enough clients had tried to trap him into taking the fall for another's crimes and the Mandate in particular had never acted honestly. What he did know was that Dandelion had been on that roof. He knew her body, the way she moved and stood, and her shooting the gun out of his hand... from across a city street, no less... proved it had been her. Dandy! He had hoped to never see her again. He knew for a fact that she had intended to kill Estes. His own action in protecting the man could not have been done by anyone who did not have his accelerated reflexes, and even Dandy would not count on him reacting in time to shield the man. No, it had been an assassination attempt.
From its satchel on the side of the desk, Bane pulled up his laptop and logged in. The darn thing was slower than ever since Trom Girl had added all her advanced security and search functions. To be honest, he was not good with computers and missed the days when she gave him all the information neatly and conveniently. Still, he entered restricted data banks without revealing his presence and read about Warren Estes, age 61, industrial chemist doing research for Progress Laboratories. He was set to testify about price-gouging and fraudulent claims, neither of which really interested Bane except to give a reason for the hit. Bane did a search through FBI and CIA records for Karel Cherny. That maniac had been in Europe for over a year and had not been reported in the States recently. To be thorough, he searched for Matheny and found he was Clark J Matheny of Syracuse NY, Mandate agent for six years. Mandate security was up to date enough that he could not get more than that without giving himself away. Bane started a three level scan of his own computer and erased the searches.
Getting up to pace the office, Bane thought about that shot that took the gun from his hand. Dandy always had aim that didn't just border on the supernatural, it WAS supernatural. It was her gift. The Teachers at Tel Shai said it might be slight psychokinetics guiding the bullets or just a case of enhanced perceptions and coordination, but either way she always made shots that broke any odds. She could have killed him right then with no trouble. Was it because she still had some feeling of partnership with him, even friendship? or was it just that she had no orders to take him and she didn't give away death for free?
Going to the bookcase against the wall facing his desk, Bane opened the latches and wheeled the case away to reveal the pit he had dug himself. Lifting up the heavy steamer trunk, he slid it to the center of the room. The Dire Wolf stripped down to cotton trunks and socks, then started dressing for war. He almost always wore the Trom torso armor, but now he put on a full union suit that covered him to wrists and ankles. The black crewneck shirt and tight pants and heavy boots with steel-capped toes and heels were next. He threaded the belt with the dart gun holster on, then put on the waist-length field jacket which had its own inner Trom armor layer. Everything was matte black, almost invisible in dim light. In various pockets and pouches and slits were kept a dozen small useful gimmicks.
Throughout, the two silver-bladed daggers remained in their sheaths on his forearms. He seldom took them off for long. Now he checked that their hilts could be easily reached when needed. He let out a deep breath. This rig brought back so many desperate bloody memories. But if Dandy decided his time had come, this was necessary. He lifted what looked like a motorcycle helmet with a visor that retracted into the crest and with ear pods, putting this on his desk. Bane returned the trunk to the pit and concealed it and put away the clothes he had been wearing in the closet, putting his wallet and ID billfold and keys in his field jacket pocket.
He felt none of the excitement he usually tingled with when he was starting a case. There was none of the adrenalin thrill he loved this time. Why did it have to be Dandelion?
The Dire Wolf took out his Link, a slim communication device that did not work though normal phone signals and called Bleak. "Hi. You busy? Yes, it's the Wolf. I wondered if you've run into a certain guy with a white mustache lately? You haven't. Well, call me if you do." Bane returned the device to his belt and left the office, turning off the lights. He carried the helmet in the crook of one arm.
Standing in the lobby, watching innocent unknowing citizens drift through the doors, he decided to put the helmet on. It would look as if he were heading for a bike ride and until he knew Dandy's motivation, it was good to be prudent. Bane stepped out into a splendid June afternoon, clear and breezy, and his thoughts were again of death and violence. He crossed over to the next block and looked up at the roof where she had stood. A fire escape stretched down one wall, its lowest shelf eight feet off the pavement. No one was looking at him at the moment.
The Dire Wolf crouched and leaped up and caught the shelf, swinging his legs up and onto the escape. Even with all his armor and weaponry, he made it look easy. Going up to the roof, he started searching. Certainly he did not expect to find anything useful but there it was. Scratched with a blade in the tar paper covering a closed-up vent, a stick with a circle on top. The Dandelion trademark all right, and at its bottom was the outline of a lobster, simple but recognizable.
Bane sighed. This was for him, it would not mean anything to anyone else. He scuffed the marks out with his boot and descended the fire escape, dropping down to the sidewalk as two black children watched in fascination. Bane hurried down four blocks to the Imperial Garage and retrieved his maroon Subaru Outback. Pulling out into traffic he headed south with a pensive face. Near where the World Trade Centers had stood, close to the water, he eased into the parking area of a restaurant called the Torches. Giving the place its name were the row of torches on eight-foot poles that blazed at night to give dining some atmosphere.
A woman sat at a table nearly touching the low wall beyond which the Hudson flowed and he felt a twinge at recognizing her. The trim short figure in a pearl grey button-front shirt and slacks, the hair fair enough to be white. She turned her head as she felt his approach and his heart sank to see that face again. Wide jaw, snub nose, dark blue eyes under quizzical brows, she lit just a little as she saw him.
"Jeremy. You found it."
Bane took a chair and unfastened his helmet to place it on the table. He thought it better not to seem too mistrustful. Dandelion was stirring a mixed drink with a swizzle stick in her left hand, but her right hand rested on the edge of the table nearest her hip. Ready to draw.
"Hello, Mika."
"There is no Mika," she smiled sadly. "Not for years now. Just Dandelion."
"Ah, Dandy." Bane let out a sigh he could not hold. "I am not good at the snarky talk and bantering. I saw your trademark. I saw the lobster and here was where we went for the lobster stuffed with crab meat you liked. So I have come to talk."
Dandy took a good sip of her drink. It smelled like gin from where he sat. "You haven't slowed down at all. You jumped in front of the target so fast I thought for a second I might have hit your head by mistake, but you still wear that armor. Jeremy, I want to warn you. If that target thinks he can hire you to protect him, don't take him up on it."
"Target? That's a man with a wife, two daughters and a grandson. You know he has a name."
"People. Are. Targets." She played with the swizzle stick. "Yes, I've changed. If you only knew. I practice my trade and I have done well enough I have a home on the shore of Lake Geneva. My bank account is healthy."
Bane gestured for an approaching waiter to go away. "I'm disappointed, Dandy. I know you were hurt when Tel Shai rejected you-"
"Hurt!" she snorted. "That's rich. I was one of the best students they ever had. Teacher Jathis said so and she was not one to give praise easily. And they took it away. They threw me out. Like an angel cast down unfairly from heaven."
The Dire Wolf looked her in the eye. "I was surprised at the news. And I was upset, you know that. The Teachers do not explain why students are accepted or declined. They're each more than a hundred years old, but still I never liked the way they feel they are above explanations."
"I know you were my friend. I think you still want to be. But what we had was not romance, our dinners and walks were not dates. If you have any feelings left for me, don't expect me to return them."
Bane placed his open hands on the table, as unthreatening as he could get. "I thought you were better than this, Dandy. I saw you as maybe a bodyguard or courier, using your skills in a good way. This killing for money... But I suppose it's too late for redemption for you. I've seen a list of your hits."
"Please. The world is an ugly place." No trace of warmth remained in her voice or eyes. "You still don't understand. This is just a job."
"Decline this assignment. Turn it down. Go to Europe or Asia. if our paths don't cross, we don't have to hurt each other."
Dandelion leaned forward as if speaking to a child. "Jeremy. Will you try to get it! Bullets have no heart. Nothing has meaning."
Bane was looking right at her across the round cast-iron table, tense and wary. Yet, somehow, the long barrel of her .22 pistol was suddenly pointed right between her eyes. He had not thought anyone Human could do that.
"Remember. I am as good as you are. And I have no feelings. No hesitation. If you get in my way, I will kill you." She kicked back her chair and backed away, stepping toward the corner of the restaurant. Her eyes did not leave him for an instant and the hand holding that gun was as steady as that of a statue. She dropped back behind the side of the building and as he rose, a bright yellow Maserati gunned its motor and roared out in the street. The ash blonde hair could be clearly seen.
III.
Leaving his car in the garage, Bane walked more slowly than usual back to his office. He and Dandy had not been in love, not even in the most tentative way. It had been just friendship but that in itself was a strong bond to someone as solitary as himself. It had always bothered him that she had not contacted him at all after she was thrown out of the Order, even a phone call to say where she was. Eleven years had gone by. She would be thirty-one now, he supposed. She had been just twenty when she had shown up at the Order of Tel Shai sponsored by John Robert Chase, a reckless intense girl with a gift for marksmanship. One day she was gone. Teacher Jathis had said she had been rejected and left it at that.
The Dire Wolf entered his office and checked for messages. Nothing of any importance. He dropped down on the long leather couch and leaned back, lost in memory. Could he fight Dandelion? Sure, if he had to. He certainly had his duty to carry out. But would she kill him if he was opposing her? He thought she would. She did not seem like someone pretending to be tough but really soft inside. Bane exhaled again and got to his feet. He needed to make some phone calls. Using his Link because it patched into regular cell phone transmission but could not be identified, he started contacting some of the vast army of information agents he had collected. Over thirty years, he had saved many lives and prevented many crimes and since he did not charge for his services, there were dozens of people in the metropolitan area who would help him whenever asked.
For twenty minutes, he got nowhere. Bane stopped for a bit and read through the newspapers he had bought that morning. Nothing of any interest to his specialized world. He got back to the calls and thought he had something when he talked to Lisa Lawson out on Long Island. She had been one of the Heirs of Buliwyf long ago and now her teen daughter had set herself up as a self-appointed super-hero. Windcatcher, he scoffed. But Lisa had noticed some funny goings-on in her town. Strangers with East European accents, one old man with a drooping white mustache who had scared everyone in the supermarket just with his presence. Bane asked her if she knew anyone who matched a description of Warren Estes and she said, sure. He rented a cottage outside of town and was known for spending an hour every night at the Dew Drop Inn nursing a beer or two. He had introduced himself as Warren but not given a last name. Bane thanked her and asked her not to mention any of this to Haley.
"Don't worry," she had chuckled. "Like I need to steer her toward any more trouble than she gets into herself."
Bane had a stir of excitement he had not felt so far. There was no time to lose. Grabbing his helmet, he hurried out of the office and almost ran down to the garage again. It would be more convenient to get a designated parking spot right there, but he wanted the security and protection from the elements the car received at the garage. Within minutes, he was on his way to Long Island. As soon as he got out there, he knew he had another hour drive to get to Glenville, so he stopped to fill the tank, grab a bottle of water and two roast beef sandwiches. He ate as he drove, still slightly distracted by memory.
Glenville looked exactly the same in the dusk as it had years earlier. He did not stop because he did not want Haley Lawson to possibly spot him and demand to join his "adventure." He saw the Dew Drop Inn but did not stop there either. Maybe later if he needed some more information. Bane rolled past the address Lisa had given him. It was a small one-story house with aluminum siding, with an American flag on a pole and a mailbox with no name. There were no cars in sight. The Dire Wolf drove on another mile and saw a convenience mart. He went in and came out with a bag of cashews and another newspaper. For some reason, he never watched television but he sure devoured newspapers. He read thoroughly, always looking for hints of Midnight War activity. A man had been found by the shore, apparently drowned. It didn't seem mysterious.
By now it was getting dark enough for nefarious doings. He pulled out and went down the road another mile where he spotted the WILTWYK COMMERICAL CENTER, a long building with a sign listing a half dozen firms with offices there. There was no charge for parking, no security. Bane parked near a cluster of other cars and got out. He was not looking forward to any of this. Usually the tension and uncertainty of a mission was what made him alive but this felt sour. Still holding the helmet under one arm, reluctant to put it on as if that would mean crossing a line, he trotted into the woods bordering the parking lot and headed back parallel to the highway. He sped through the gloom as silently as the shadow he cast. Stealth was such a part of him now that he would have to make an effort to be noisy.
Soon, he crept up a hill covered with pines trees and bushes and looked down at the house Warren Estes was likely renting. A car was parking alongside it now and he saw a yellow light from a window at the back of the house. Bane studied the situation, calculating where an attacker might approach, where he could find cover. A second car was parked beside the road and he could spot a man standing by the back door. The Mandate agents, maybe that Matheny guy. He had been lying on his stomach, listening and even sniffing the air.
Now he started to rise and a hot flash of agony exploded in his head. It seemed like only a second or two had passed before he could figure out what had happened but it must have been quite a few minutes. Everything hurt. The top of his head felt like it was coming off, both feet burned with pain and his hands were tied together with fishing line. Now he understood. He was lying on his back and Dandelion crouched near him in the murk.
The glossy blonde hair was up under a wool ski hat, but she was otherwise dressed the same. He saw she wore a holster at her right hip and had a second holster fastened behind her back. The pale lovely face studied him without expression. As he grunted and tried to sit up, she put a sneaker on his chest and forced him back down again.
"You're not going anywhere," she said. "Listen. I knocked you out by creasing the top of your head. It's a useful trick, but a sixteenth of an inch lower and you'd be dead. Sometimes it kills anyway. I tied you up and threw your gun away. Your feet hurt because I pulled off your boots and put a bullet in each ankle. Don't make a big production of it," she added with a scoffing noise. "You've been on tagra for thirty years. Those bullets will pop out in a few days and you'll be completely healed this time next week."
She straightened and turned away, but looked back. "I suppose I should have just killed you. Why not? I don't know. Maybe I want to have no debt between us. You helped me a few times in the old days. I don't want us to meet again, Jeremy."
"Wait!" Bane called out. He tried not to show any pain in his voice. "There's something you should know. Another assassin is in the area. Karel Cherny."
"Why the hell would you warn me!" she snapped with real emotion. "You'll never understand, will you? I'm not a good girl with a tough side. I'm a bad girl with a weak spot that might get me killed. Just lie there and be quiet." She stalked away.
Managing to sit up, Bane took deep slow breaths. He had been shot before and, as Dandy had said, the prolonged tagra diet had given him a healing factor that had let him recover almost overnight. The Dire Wolf sat up and began the breathing cycle of a long breath in and a slower breath out. The pain lessened to a dull ache. He had never been able to make it go away completely but at least he could deal with it. There was blood trickling into one eye, gumming it shut, from the scalp wound. Okay. Focus. Where were his boots. He saw them standing side by side not far away, and he lay back down and rolled over to them. A ridge at the top of each boot was actually the thickened back of a razor blade. He got one out and started slicing away at the fishing line around his wrist. It was clumsy and he got a few nicks, but eventually his hands were free. He had no way of knowing how long this took.
Sitting up, Bane reached inside his field jacket. On the right side was a pouch with some gauze pads, alcohol swabs, Neosporin and adhesive tape. Getting his bloody socks off, he grumbled as he saw the mess his ankles were in. They would heal certainly, and look normal in a week or two because of the tagra. But he still might need surgery to straighten out bones that set wrong. Squirting Neosporin salve on the wounds, he bound them with the gauze. His scalp he could not really deal with in the dark without a mirror, but he gingerly rubbed some salve on it as well. Getting a few alcohol wipes, he dabbed away the blood on his face until he got that eye open. The alchohol in his eye stung more than the bullet wounds but he had no water.
He was making progress. Next, the boots. He managed to tug them on, cursing in a way he seldom did no matter the provocation. After a lengthy search for his dart gun or helmet, he gave it up. An attempt at standing up left him lying on his face in the dirt. The Dire wolf growled in his frustration. On his hands and knees, he started up the hill. It took forever. Finally, he stretched out under a clump of lilacs long past bloom and stared down at the house.
A lot was going on. The back door was open, letting out a long rectangle of yellow light from a kitchen. Lying face down in the yard was one of the Mandate agents. Dandelion had him by the feet, dragging him away from the light. She must have just killed him with her silenced .22. The man was big and she was having trouble.
Behind her, not far behind her, stood a tall old man with a white mustache. He wore a dark jumpsuit and was raising a rifle to one eye. Karel Cherny. She had not heard him over the scraping of the corpse on the gravel. Without thinking what to do, acting instantly, Jeremy Bane got up on his knees. The silver-bladed dagger whistled through the air and caught Cherny in the throat with an audible smack. The assassin fell limp and the rifle clattered from his already-dead hands.
Dropping the corpse's legs, Dandelion swung around in a blur, the pistol swinging up and out at the noise. She froze. Bane saw her head peer forward as she figured out what had happened. The knife hilt stuck up from Cherny's neck, and the silver blade caught the light. Slowly, she holstered her gun and turned around to see Bane kneeling on top of the hill not twenty feet away."
"Oh. My. GOD!" she yelled in exasperation, sounding for all the world like a teenage girl embarrassed by her father. Dandelion raced off into the darkness at a full gallop, and Warren Estes appeared in the open doorway just in time to see her vanish. He saw the body of Karel Cherny and then the body of the Mandate agent and almost fell down, catching himself just in time on the door jamb.
"Hey!" Bane called down. "Never mind them. I need a hand up here." Estes took a few minutes to get his bearings. He was grabbing his chest and the Wolf thought he might have a heart attack but the man soon started up to meet him. Bane recognized he was going to need some assistance tonight. From around the front of the house, he saw as Agent Matheny took in the situation and caught sight of Estes trying to carry Bane down the hill. He came to help, saying, "There's a mess. Looks like your famous silver daggers came in handy, eh?"
Being half-carried down to the house, Bane decided he would not mention Dandelion. Investigation would immediately show the Mandate agent had been killed by a .22 and not the rifle Cherny carried. Not to mention Estes had heard a woman cry out. No matter. He just would not volunteer information. Twice, Dandy had spared him when he had been the easiest target. He just hoped they would not meet again.
4/14/2013
9/15/2006
I.
At four that afternoon, Jeremy Bane crossed Third Avenue and stepped quickly up to the four-story building of yellow brick that had held his office for the past few years. He had come from the newsstand across the street, where he had picked up three different papers, including one in Chinese which he could sometimes puzzle out a little from his limited knowledge. Two men were standing in front of the lobby doors, one holding a briefcase. Both were wearing suits. He watched them suspiciously but he did not reduce his awareness of his surroundings doing so. A lifetime in the Midnight War meant he seldom really relaxed.
At fifty-four, Bane had not changed much in his looks since he was twenty. There were three or four grey strands in the black hair and faint lines around the corners of the mouth. But he was still thin to the point of being gaunt, six feet tall and dressed all in black with the familiar turtleneck, slacks and sport jacket. The grey eyes were clear and cold as ever. The Dire Wolf stepped up to the curb as the waiting men saw him, and one smiled.
Bane approached and said, "Are you waiting for me?"
"If you're the head of the Dire Wolf Agency, we certainly are," said the younger man. He was much the same height and build as Bane himself, but with dark auburn hair and greenish eyes, with a crooked smile. Next to him was a middle-aged stout man with not much hair left and his eyes moved worriedly. Looking at him, Bane saw the man's eyes focus on something behind him with sudden terror.
In the next half-second, Bane plunged forward and grabbed the man in a bear hug, tugging the balding head down against him. He bent his own head forward as the thud of three bullets smacked him across the shoulder blades. With the Trom armor he wore, they did not penetrate and the impact was dissipated so it only felt like hard blows from a stick. As he seized the man, the automatic doors slid open and he shoved the startled fellow inside and kept pushing him into the lobby. Letting go, he pivotted on his heel and leaped through while the doors while they were still open. In his left hand, his .38 revolver appeared quick as a conjuring trick and he was back out on the sidewalk. All this took place in little more than a full second. The other man was still standing out there, just beginning to react to the sudden flurry of motion.
Something punched the gun from his hand, bending his wrist back painfully. Bane dropped into a crouch and raised his other forearm up to protect his head. On the roof of the five story building across the street, he spotted a slim woman all in grey, with long ash-blonde hair. She lowered a pistol and dropped back from sight.
Dandelion?
He bent to retrieve his pistol, saw that the cylinder had been knocked out by that bullet. That sort of accuracy with a handgun at point-blank range would be remarkable but to do a shot like that from across the street... It had to be Dandelion. "Come on," he snapped to the red-headed man, going back inside the lobby. The older man was standing with his mouth open, just now beginning to digest what had happened.
"I think you two need to start talking," Bane barked. "What about it?"
The red-headed man opened a billfold to reveal an ID card. "Special Agent Matheny of the Mandate. I was bringing this gentleman to see you." He leaned over to check the holes in the back of Bane's jacket. "Are you quite all right?"
"Bulletproof vest," Bane answered. People were in the lobby, stepping out from the walk-in clinic Emergency One that took up most of the ground floor. He saw the receptionist stick her head out of the clinic and said, "Everything's fine, Shannon. Nothing to be concerned about." He herded the two men toward the back of the lobby, where the staircase going up left a narrow short hall which ended with a steel NO EXIT sign. Here was the plain wooden door with the brass plate DIRE WOLF AGENCY. He unlocked it and ushered them through the tiny waiting room to the inner office. With the opaque curtains over the picture window, the room was dim and he thumbed on the overhead lamp. To the right was his desk, with two straightback chairs facing it and he motioned for them to sit down.
As Bane settled behind the desk, Agent Metheny began. "You know about the Mandate, of course. Our goals have not always been perfectly aligned, shall we say? But in this case, I think you will agree to work with us. This man is Warren Estes. He is pressing charges in an industrial espionage case, which we need not get into. Where his situation affects us is that he received a warning. Someone involved in the upcoming trial tipped him off that attempts would be made on his life. And you saw the results just now."
The Dire Wolf inspected Estes closely. The man's tic in the left eye and the shaky hands were only perceptible if you looked for them. He was not acting. Warren Estes was within a year or two of sixty, in poor shape as far as cardiovascular issues went. He was impeccably groomed and cologned and trimmed, wearing espensive clothes and tailored Italian shoes. None of that helped when he was terrified for his life. He turned his attention back to the agent. "Go on."
"There's not much else. As you know, the Mandate was established to keep an eye on people with unusual, perhaps even unexplainable talents. We and you have clashed over this. We came in because we are watching a man named Karel Cherny."
Bane leaned forward, placing his hands palm down on the desk. "I've heard of him. We've never met, though. World-class assassin who asks a stiff fee for his services. You think he's on Mr Estes' trail."
"You took three bullets meant for him not five minutes ago."
The Dire Wolf did not mention he had spotted an entirely different killer. Perhaps he should have but he had no love for the Mandate. He turned again to Warren Estes, saying, "So you need protection?"
"Absolutely," Estes answered in a thick, accented voice. "But Agent Metheny here has assured me that his organization will take care of that. I am hoping you will undertake to capture this 'Karel Cherny' person. If he has to be killed, because he is too dangerous to be taken alive, I think that would be morally acceptable." Estes added, "If whistleblowers like myself are too intimidated to speak up, the world is a poorer place."
After a long moment of silence, Bane said, "I have never had to cross paths with Karel Cherny. But I disapprove of nearly everything he has done in a long career. I will undertake to track him down immediately. As you say, capture him if possible but take him either way."
"That is a great relief," Estes breathed. "I have heard a good deal about you, Mr Bane. The Dire Wolf. You are perhaps better known in certain circles than you realize. Here, let me get my checkbook."
"I think I should accept a fee." Bane frowned more than usual. "If I am acting on your behalf, it will give certain legal advantages. Make it to this agency for one thousand dollars flat."
Estes hesitated. "But... expenses? If this drags on for a while?"
"No, the fee is just a formality. With you as my client, I will be able to claim some confidentiality in the investigation. But I'll be carrying it on mostly for my own purposes."
"Well, if you say so." Estes wrote out the check and entered it in his own log, while Bane wrote the details in a ledger he took from his desk, folded in the check and returned it to the drawer.
Agent Matheny took out his cell phone, hit a number and talked in hushed tones for a minute that dragged into three. He put the phone away. "My agency will have a car here within a few minutes with a team. We will escort Mr Estes to a safe house."
"I have work to do myself," Bane said. He put down the pieces of his revolver, ruined by the bullet, on a wall shelf behind him and unlocked one of the deeper side drawers of his desk. From there he lifted up a rather clunky-looking firearm with a needle-thin extended barrel and inspected the mechanism.
Matheny watched with interest. "One of your dart guns I've heard about?"
"Yes," Bane answered without elaboration. Satisfied the weapon was in proper order, he slid in a clip of the potent anesthetic darts he had used in the KDf and clicked everything shut. He rubbed his left wrist thoughtfully, it was still sore from the impact of the bullet that had smashed his gun. The dart gun would not fit in the holster he was wearing, but he would change that when these two were gone.
Standing up, he escorted Agent Metheny and Warren Estes to the lobby. An elderly woman sat on the bench by the elevator, head down in weariness. Bane glanced at her and decided that if anyone had a disguise that good, he might as well retire and go fishing or something. At the curb was a long black sedan with tinted windows. So obvious. What could you do with these people? As Matheny walked Estes to the car and a man in a black suit with sunglasses got out to help, Bane was scanning the area. His grey eyes flickered, looking for anything out of place, any movement that triggered his perception. That window had a curtain move. A figure lounged in a doorway. Nothing.
Bane realized he was standing in the open, with his gun in hand. Agent Matheny nodded before getting in the car. "We'll be in touch, Mr Bane."
II.
Going back through the lobby, the Dire Wolf noticed it was nineteen minutes after four. He returned to his office, removed the detachable holster from his belt and threaded in one for the dart gun. He did not necessarily believe anything the two men had told him. Certainly, enough clients had tried to trap him into taking the fall for another's crimes and the Mandate in particular had never acted honestly. What he did know was that Dandelion had been on that roof. He knew her body, the way she moved and stood, and her shooting the gun out of his hand... from across a city street, no less... proved it had been her. Dandy! He had hoped to never see her again. He knew for a fact that she had intended to kill Estes. His own action in protecting the man could not have been done by anyone who did not have his accelerated reflexes, and even Dandy would not count on him reacting in time to shield the man. No, it had been an assassination attempt.
From its satchel on the side of the desk, Bane pulled up his laptop and logged in. The darn thing was slower than ever since Trom Girl had added all her advanced security and search functions. To be honest, he was not good with computers and missed the days when she gave him all the information neatly and conveniently. Still, he entered restricted data banks without revealing his presence and read about Warren Estes, age 61, industrial chemist doing research for Progress Laboratories. He was set to testify about price-gouging and fraudulent claims, neither of which really interested Bane except to give a reason for the hit. Bane did a search through FBI and CIA records for Karel Cherny. That maniac had been in Europe for over a year and had not been reported in the States recently. To be thorough, he searched for Matheny and found he was Clark J Matheny of Syracuse NY, Mandate agent for six years. Mandate security was up to date enough that he could not get more than that without giving himself away. Bane started a three level scan of his own computer and erased the searches.
Getting up to pace the office, Bane thought about that shot that took the gun from his hand. Dandy always had aim that didn't just border on the supernatural, it WAS supernatural. It was her gift. The Teachers at Tel Shai said it might be slight psychokinetics guiding the bullets or just a case of enhanced perceptions and coordination, but either way she always made shots that broke any odds. She could have killed him right then with no trouble. Was it because she still had some feeling of partnership with him, even friendship? or was it just that she had no orders to take him and she didn't give away death for free?
Going to the bookcase against the wall facing his desk, Bane opened the latches and wheeled the case away to reveal the pit he had dug himself. Lifting up the heavy steamer trunk, he slid it to the center of the room. The Dire Wolf stripped down to cotton trunks and socks, then started dressing for war. He almost always wore the Trom torso armor, but now he put on a full union suit that covered him to wrists and ankles. The black crewneck shirt and tight pants and heavy boots with steel-capped toes and heels were next. He threaded the belt with the dart gun holster on, then put on the waist-length field jacket which had its own inner Trom armor layer. Everything was matte black, almost invisible in dim light. In various pockets and pouches and slits were kept a dozen small useful gimmicks.
Throughout, the two silver-bladed daggers remained in their sheaths on his forearms. He seldom took them off for long. Now he checked that their hilts could be easily reached when needed. He let out a deep breath. This rig brought back so many desperate bloody memories. But if Dandy decided his time had come, this was necessary. He lifted what looked like a motorcycle helmet with a visor that retracted into the crest and with ear pods, putting this on his desk. Bane returned the trunk to the pit and concealed it and put away the clothes he had been wearing in the closet, putting his wallet and ID billfold and keys in his field jacket pocket.
He felt none of the excitement he usually tingled with when he was starting a case. There was none of the adrenalin thrill he loved this time. Why did it have to be Dandelion?
The Dire Wolf took out his Link, a slim communication device that did not work though normal phone signals and called Bleak. "Hi. You busy? Yes, it's the Wolf. I wondered if you've run into a certain guy with a white mustache lately? You haven't. Well, call me if you do." Bane returned the device to his belt and left the office, turning off the lights. He carried the helmet in the crook of one arm.
Standing in the lobby, watching innocent unknowing citizens drift through the doors, he decided to put the helmet on. It would look as if he were heading for a bike ride and until he knew Dandy's motivation, it was good to be prudent. Bane stepped out into a splendid June afternoon, clear and breezy, and his thoughts were again of death and violence. He crossed over to the next block and looked up at the roof where she had stood. A fire escape stretched down one wall, its lowest shelf eight feet off the pavement. No one was looking at him at the moment.
The Dire Wolf crouched and leaped up and caught the shelf, swinging his legs up and onto the escape. Even with all his armor and weaponry, he made it look easy. Going up to the roof, he started searching. Certainly he did not expect to find anything useful but there it was. Scratched with a blade in the tar paper covering a closed-up vent, a stick with a circle on top. The Dandelion trademark all right, and at its bottom was the outline of a lobster, simple but recognizable.
Bane sighed. This was for him, it would not mean anything to anyone else. He scuffed the marks out with his boot and descended the fire escape, dropping down to the sidewalk as two black children watched in fascination. Bane hurried down four blocks to the Imperial Garage and retrieved his maroon Subaru Outback. Pulling out into traffic he headed south with a pensive face. Near where the World Trade Centers had stood, close to the water, he eased into the parking area of a restaurant called the Torches. Giving the place its name were the row of torches on eight-foot poles that blazed at night to give dining some atmosphere.
A woman sat at a table nearly touching the low wall beyond which the Hudson flowed and he felt a twinge at recognizing her. The trim short figure in a pearl grey button-front shirt and slacks, the hair fair enough to be white. She turned her head as she felt his approach and his heart sank to see that face again. Wide jaw, snub nose, dark blue eyes under quizzical brows, she lit just a little as she saw him.
"Jeremy. You found it."
Bane took a chair and unfastened his helmet to place it on the table. He thought it better not to seem too mistrustful. Dandelion was stirring a mixed drink with a swizzle stick in her left hand, but her right hand rested on the edge of the table nearest her hip. Ready to draw.
"Hello, Mika."
"There is no Mika," she smiled sadly. "Not for years now. Just Dandelion."
"Ah, Dandy." Bane let out a sigh he could not hold. "I am not good at the snarky talk and bantering. I saw your trademark. I saw the lobster and here was where we went for the lobster stuffed with crab meat you liked. So I have come to talk."
Dandy took a good sip of her drink. It smelled like gin from where he sat. "You haven't slowed down at all. You jumped in front of the target so fast I thought for a second I might have hit your head by mistake, but you still wear that armor. Jeremy, I want to warn you. If that target thinks he can hire you to protect him, don't take him up on it."
"Target? That's a man with a wife, two daughters and a grandson. You know he has a name."
"People. Are. Targets." She played with the swizzle stick. "Yes, I've changed. If you only knew. I practice my trade and I have done well enough I have a home on the shore of Lake Geneva. My bank account is healthy."
Bane gestured for an approaching waiter to go away. "I'm disappointed, Dandy. I know you were hurt when Tel Shai rejected you-"
"Hurt!" she snorted. "That's rich. I was one of the best students they ever had. Teacher Jathis said so and she was not one to give praise easily. And they took it away. They threw me out. Like an angel cast down unfairly from heaven."
The Dire Wolf looked her in the eye. "I was surprised at the news. And I was upset, you know that. The Teachers do not explain why students are accepted or declined. They're each more than a hundred years old, but still I never liked the way they feel they are above explanations."
"I know you were my friend. I think you still want to be. But what we had was not romance, our dinners and walks were not dates. If you have any feelings left for me, don't expect me to return them."
Bane placed his open hands on the table, as unthreatening as he could get. "I thought you were better than this, Dandy. I saw you as maybe a bodyguard or courier, using your skills in a good way. This killing for money... But I suppose it's too late for redemption for you. I've seen a list of your hits."
"Please. The world is an ugly place." No trace of warmth remained in her voice or eyes. "You still don't understand. This is just a job."
"Decline this assignment. Turn it down. Go to Europe or Asia. if our paths don't cross, we don't have to hurt each other."
Dandelion leaned forward as if speaking to a child. "Jeremy. Will you try to get it! Bullets have no heart. Nothing has meaning."
Bane was looking right at her across the round cast-iron table, tense and wary. Yet, somehow, the long barrel of her .22 pistol was suddenly pointed right between her eyes. He had not thought anyone Human could do that.
"Remember. I am as good as you are. And I have no feelings. No hesitation. If you get in my way, I will kill you." She kicked back her chair and backed away, stepping toward the corner of the restaurant. Her eyes did not leave him for an instant and the hand holding that gun was as steady as that of a statue. She dropped back behind the side of the building and as he rose, a bright yellow Maserati gunned its motor and roared out in the street. The ash blonde hair could be clearly seen.
III.
Leaving his car in the garage, Bane walked more slowly than usual back to his office. He and Dandy had not been in love, not even in the most tentative way. It had been just friendship but that in itself was a strong bond to someone as solitary as himself. It had always bothered him that she had not contacted him at all after she was thrown out of the Order, even a phone call to say where she was. Eleven years had gone by. She would be thirty-one now, he supposed. She had been just twenty when she had shown up at the Order of Tel Shai sponsored by John Robert Chase, a reckless intense girl with a gift for marksmanship. One day she was gone. Teacher Jathis had said she had been rejected and left it at that.
The Dire Wolf entered his office and checked for messages. Nothing of any importance. He dropped down on the long leather couch and leaned back, lost in memory. Could he fight Dandelion? Sure, if he had to. He certainly had his duty to carry out. But would she kill him if he was opposing her? He thought she would. She did not seem like someone pretending to be tough but really soft inside. Bane exhaled again and got to his feet. He needed to make some phone calls. Using his Link because it patched into regular cell phone transmission but could not be identified, he started contacting some of the vast army of information agents he had collected. Over thirty years, he had saved many lives and prevented many crimes and since he did not charge for his services, there were dozens of people in the metropolitan area who would help him whenever asked.
For twenty minutes, he got nowhere. Bane stopped for a bit and read through the newspapers he had bought that morning. Nothing of any interest to his specialized world. He got back to the calls and thought he had something when he talked to Lisa Lawson out on Long Island. She had been one of the Heirs of Buliwyf long ago and now her teen daughter had set herself up as a self-appointed super-hero. Windcatcher, he scoffed. But Lisa had noticed some funny goings-on in her town. Strangers with East European accents, one old man with a drooping white mustache who had scared everyone in the supermarket just with his presence. Bane asked her if she knew anyone who matched a description of Warren Estes and she said, sure. He rented a cottage outside of town and was known for spending an hour every night at the Dew Drop Inn nursing a beer or two. He had introduced himself as Warren but not given a last name. Bane thanked her and asked her not to mention any of this to Haley.
"Don't worry," she had chuckled. "Like I need to steer her toward any more trouble than she gets into herself."
Bane had a stir of excitement he had not felt so far. There was no time to lose. Grabbing his helmet, he hurried out of the office and almost ran down to the garage again. It would be more convenient to get a designated parking spot right there, but he wanted the security and protection from the elements the car received at the garage. Within minutes, he was on his way to Long Island. As soon as he got out there, he knew he had another hour drive to get to Glenville, so he stopped to fill the tank, grab a bottle of water and two roast beef sandwiches. He ate as he drove, still slightly distracted by memory.
Glenville looked exactly the same in the dusk as it had years earlier. He did not stop because he did not want Haley Lawson to possibly spot him and demand to join his "adventure." He saw the Dew Drop Inn but did not stop there either. Maybe later if he needed some more information. Bane rolled past the address Lisa had given him. It was a small one-story house with aluminum siding, with an American flag on a pole and a mailbox with no name. There were no cars in sight. The Dire Wolf drove on another mile and saw a convenience mart. He went in and came out with a bag of cashews and another newspaper. For some reason, he never watched television but he sure devoured newspapers. He read thoroughly, always looking for hints of Midnight War activity. A man had been found by the shore, apparently drowned. It didn't seem mysterious.
By now it was getting dark enough for nefarious doings. He pulled out and went down the road another mile where he spotted the WILTWYK COMMERICAL CENTER, a long building with a sign listing a half dozen firms with offices there. There was no charge for parking, no security. Bane parked near a cluster of other cars and got out. He was not looking forward to any of this. Usually the tension and uncertainty of a mission was what made him alive but this felt sour. Still holding the helmet under one arm, reluctant to put it on as if that would mean crossing a line, he trotted into the woods bordering the parking lot and headed back parallel to the highway. He sped through the gloom as silently as the shadow he cast. Stealth was such a part of him now that he would have to make an effort to be noisy.
Soon, he crept up a hill covered with pines trees and bushes and looked down at the house Warren Estes was likely renting. A car was parking alongside it now and he saw a yellow light from a window at the back of the house. Bane studied the situation, calculating where an attacker might approach, where he could find cover. A second car was parked beside the road and he could spot a man standing by the back door. The Mandate agents, maybe that Matheny guy. He had been lying on his stomach, listening and even sniffing the air.
Now he started to rise and a hot flash of agony exploded in his head. It seemed like only a second or two had passed before he could figure out what had happened but it must have been quite a few minutes. Everything hurt. The top of his head felt like it was coming off, both feet burned with pain and his hands were tied together with fishing line. Now he understood. He was lying on his back and Dandelion crouched near him in the murk.
The glossy blonde hair was up under a wool ski hat, but she was otherwise dressed the same. He saw she wore a holster at her right hip and had a second holster fastened behind her back. The pale lovely face studied him without expression. As he grunted and tried to sit up, she put a sneaker on his chest and forced him back down again.
"You're not going anywhere," she said. "Listen. I knocked you out by creasing the top of your head. It's a useful trick, but a sixteenth of an inch lower and you'd be dead. Sometimes it kills anyway. I tied you up and threw your gun away. Your feet hurt because I pulled off your boots and put a bullet in each ankle. Don't make a big production of it," she added with a scoffing noise. "You've been on tagra for thirty years. Those bullets will pop out in a few days and you'll be completely healed this time next week."
She straightened and turned away, but looked back. "I suppose I should have just killed you. Why not? I don't know. Maybe I want to have no debt between us. You helped me a few times in the old days. I don't want us to meet again, Jeremy."
"Wait!" Bane called out. He tried not to show any pain in his voice. "There's something you should know. Another assassin is in the area. Karel Cherny."
"Why the hell would you warn me!" she snapped with real emotion. "You'll never understand, will you? I'm not a good girl with a tough side. I'm a bad girl with a weak spot that might get me killed. Just lie there and be quiet." She stalked away.
Managing to sit up, Bane took deep slow breaths. He had been shot before and, as Dandy had said, the prolonged tagra diet had given him a healing factor that had let him recover almost overnight. The Dire Wolf sat up and began the breathing cycle of a long breath in and a slower breath out. The pain lessened to a dull ache. He had never been able to make it go away completely but at least he could deal with it. There was blood trickling into one eye, gumming it shut, from the scalp wound. Okay. Focus. Where were his boots. He saw them standing side by side not far away, and he lay back down and rolled over to them. A ridge at the top of each boot was actually the thickened back of a razor blade. He got one out and started slicing away at the fishing line around his wrist. It was clumsy and he got a few nicks, but eventually his hands were free. He had no way of knowing how long this took.
Sitting up, Bane reached inside his field jacket. On the right side was a pouch with some gauze pads, alcohol swabs, Neosporin and adhesive tape. Getting his bloody socks off, he grumbled as he saw the mess his ankles were in. They would heal certainly, and look normal in a week or two because of the tagra. But he still might need surgery to straighten out bones that set wrong. Squirting Neosporin salve on the wounds, he bound them with the gauze. His scalp he could not really deal with in the dark without a mirror, but he gingerly rubbed some salve on it as well. Getting a few alcohol wipes, he dabbed away the blood on his face until he got that eye open. The alchohol in his eye stung more than the bullet wounds but he had no water.
He was making progress. Next, the boots. He managed to tug them on, cursing in a way he seldom did no matter the provocation. After a lengthy search for his dart gun or helmet, he gave it up. An attempt at standing up left him lying on his face in the dirt. The Dire wolf growled in his frustration. On his hands and knees, he started up the hill. It took forever. Finally, he stretched out under a clump of lilacs long past bloom and stared down at the house.
A lot was going on. The back door was open, letting out a long rectangle of yellow light from a kitchen. Lying face down in the yard was one of the Mandate agents. Dandelion had him by the feet, dragging him away from the light. She must have just killed him with her silenced .22. The man was big and she was having trouble.
Behind her, not far behind her, stood a tall old man with a white mustache. He wore a dark jumpsuit and was raising a rifle to one eye. Karel Cherny. She had not heard him over the scraping of the corpse on the gravel. Without thinking what to do, acting instantly, Jeremy Bane got up on his knees. The silver-bladed dagger whistled through the air and caught Cherny in the throat with an audible smack. The assassin fell limp and the rifle clattered from his already-dead hands.
Dropping the corpse's legs, Dandelion swung around in a blur, the pistol swinging up and out at the noise. She froze. Bane saw her head peer forward as she figured out what had happened. The knife hilt stuck up from Cherny's neck, and the silver blade caught the light. Slowly, she holstered her gun and turned around to see Bane kneeling on top of the hill not twenty feet away."
"Oh. My. GOD!" she yelled in exasperation, sounding for all the world like a teenage girl embarrassed by her father. Dandelion raced off into the darkness at a full gallop, and Warren Estes appeared in the open doorway just in time to see her vanish. He saw the body of Karel Cherny and then the body of the Mandate agent and almost fell down, catching himself just in time on the door jamb.
"Hey!" Bane called down. "Never mind them. I need a hand up here." Estes took a few minutes to get his bearings. He was grabbing his chest and the Wolf thought he might have a heart attack but the man soon started up to meet him. Bane recognized he was going to need some assistance tonight. From around the front of the house, he saw as Agent Matheny took in the situation and caught sight of Estes trying to carry Bane down the hill. He came to help, saying, "There's a mess. Looks like your famous silver daggers came in handy, eh?"
Being half-carried down to the house, Bane decided he would not mention Dandelion. Investigation would immediately show the Mandate agent had been killed by a .22 and not the rifle Cherny carried. Not to mention Estes had heard a woman cry out. No matter. He just would not volunteer information. Twice, Dandy had spared him when he had been the easiest target. He just hoped they would not meet again.
4/14/2013
