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"Dandelion Don't Tell No Lies"
"Dandelion Don't Tell No Lies"
8/3/2007
I.
Finding Cornell Street deep in one of the seedier neighborhoods of Queens, Dandelion parked her inconspicuous dark green Hyundai and studied Silverberg's Swap Shop. Despite how oppressive this sullen humid August evening was, she still wore a short denim jacket over her lilac blue shirt. She needed it to conceal her two small Walther P22s in holsters built into the inner lining, grips outward for access. For a few seconds, she studied the variety of items in the windows. Machetes and swords, bongo drums and guitars, stacks of CDs and DVDs, a nice olive-green tool box. An accordion and a camcorder. All had hand-lettered signs promising the items could not be found cheaper anywhere.
Even more vital than looking at the shop, though, she was scanning the street. She scrutinized the cars at their meters, the curtained windows in the buildings across the street, the young couple sauntering by and munching on hot dogs wrapped in paper napkins. All her instincts reassured her the area was safe, but she was still innately wary. Living outside the law meant trusting nobody and nothing.
Just as she had regretfully left her canary yellow Maserati garaged for this mission, Dandelion had concealed the famous shock of platinum blonde hair under a mousy brown wig. Lightly tinted sunglasses with oversized frame helped change her appearance a bit more, but she seldom wore more elaborate disguises. The wide jawline, the full delicate lips and snub nose would be recognizable to anyone who knew her.
Still glaring suspiciously in all directions, she went inside, making the bell at the top of the door tinkle as she went through. In the gloomy interior, Stan Silverberg sat on a stool behind a counter with a cash register. His round belly was bisected horizontally by a belt pulled high, and he wore a black vest over a white dress shirt. The moonface was open and friendly, with a smile that invariably won people over. Silverberg had never been good-looking but he was likeable.
To Dandelion's reassurance, Silverberg did not recognize her immediately. He raised a hand in half a wave and said, "Afternoon, miss. Anything in particular?"
"Jewelry," she replied in a huskier voice than her own. "Rings, maybe."
"Oh, rings we got and plenty of 'em. Over here." He rose with a grunt of effort and steered her toward a long glass display case toward the back of the store. "Mebbe You'd like to browse by yourself for a minute, eh?"
"I'm after a gold signet ring with an oval onyx on its top. There's a gold letter X on the gem."
That further exposure to her voice was enough. He blinked and peered more closely. "Say, this is a new look for you, isn't it?"
"A girl has to be careful these days," the most dangerous assassin of her era replied.
Silverberg let out a deep heavy sigh that was not feigned at all. "Ah, Dandy, a pretty girl like yourself playing such a dirty game..."
"I'll get my sermons in church, Stan."
"There is no such ring in my shop, I reget to say."
Dandelion allowed herself a wicked grin. "Right now, you mean. So, Stan, where's a nice view of the town where I can think things over?"
"Hmm. Well, behind Rowe's Bistro up on Prince Street. I used to park there when me and my missus went there for late meals. They don't close until eleven. From there, you can look down on the highway and count the headlights."
"Hmm, interesting. But if you don't have the sort of ring I'm looking for, I will move on."
"Best of luck to you, miss." Silverberg watched the slender form exit his shop and vault lightly behind the steering wheel of the Hyundai, waiting until she had rounded the corner and was out of sight. Then he slowly turned to face a gaunt figure appearing from behind a partition at the rear of the store.
In his fifties now, Jeremy Bane had not changed much. Only a few flecks of white showed in the short black hair and the cold grey eyes were still alert. In his trademark uniform of black slacks, turtleneck and sport jacket, he remained as ominous a figure as a hooded hangman. "Lucky I saw her pull up outside, Sam. Having that fan on in your back room helped conceal my breathing."
"What a pity. A face an angel would admire but such a cold cold heart."
Bane placed a hand on the older man's shoulder. "Don't have any illusions about Dandelion. Her looks are just another weapon."
II.
If Dandelion intended to show up behind that restaurant at eleven, four hours remained. Bane left the pawn shop, swung left and strode quickly up Cornell Street. The enhanced metabolism which gave him his extrahuman speed and reflexes also left him constantly burning with nervous energy he had to burn off. This neighborhood was on the brink of sliding downhill, he decided. Too many liquor stores, a check cashing place, a dollar store with shoddy merchandise out on the sidewalk. As he rounded the corner to start a big loop back to where he had parked his Mustang, Bane smoothly swerved in mid-step to fade into a doorway.
Ahead was a small municipal parking lot with a dozen cars at their meters. Nearest to him, parked facing out toward the street, was a silver Nissan gleaming as if the wax was still wet, and seated behind the wheel, arm hanging out the open window, was a man he had met too many times before. Eric Spiegel.
In that instant, every encounter with the Mandate's top enforcement agent flashed through Bane's memory. Spiegel would be in his late thirties now. Formerly with a private security company, he had joined the Mandate ten years earlier and had developed a reputation not only for steady nerve under fire but for often pulling off assignments that had been considered hopeless. Despite being four of the worst security risks - a heavy smoker, a frequent gambler, a steady drinker and a constant womanizer, Spiegel was one of the most reliable in his field. Not exactly an assassin who could execute someone in cold blood, Spiegel was more an investigator who had killed quite a few enemy agents during clashes.
Waiting to assay the situation, Bane was pleased to see a fire-red convertible slow and start to turn into the parking lot. In the front seat were two laughing young women of college age, both with glossy black hair tied up into ponytails. Perfect. A better distraction could never be asked for. The two swung into the lot, heading for an opening and inevitably Spiegel's head swiveled to follow them... away from where Bane swiftly stalked up to the car.
When Spiegel's attention turned back to his surroundings, he gave a start at seeing the muzzle of a Smith & Wesson 38 revolver within inches of his face. Holding that gun was a grim man in black with chilly pale eyes.
"Bloody Hell," Spiegel said. "The Dire Wolf himself. Serves me right."
"Look," Bane told him quietly, returning the gun to its holster behind his left hip. "That was only to make sure you didn't do anything rash. We have no quarrel at the moment."
"Fair enough." Eric Spiegel was about the same height and weight as Bane, but more handsome, with bright blue eyes over a straight nose and a strong chin. His thick black hair was brushed back rather casually. As always, the agent was well dressed. Today he wore a Navy blue suit of conservative cut, a spotlessly crisp white shirt and a tightly knitted black silk tie. Spiegel spent considerable time on personal grooming, it was a trademark of his.
"I'm going to get in and we need to talk for a few minutes," Bane said, doing so and sliding into the passenger seat. "This is an unlikely neighborhood for world-class agents to start gathering."
"You saw her too, then?"
"Yes. I'm certain she didn't see me though."
"Blast," Spiegel growled. "That little psycho. She's the only player in this game who makes me wet meself with fear. I've seen her do shots against multiple opponents so quickly five blasts overlap and sound like one."
Jeremy Bane nodded. "Dandy's skills go beyond normal Human limits. You know she had some Tel Shai training, as I have? The Teachers rejected her for not being righteous enough. But she learned enough to be an incredibly accurate marksman."
"I'm starting to believe the stories about Tel Shai," Spiegel admitted. "After all, I saw you catch a dagger thrown at you by the handle and hurl it right back. And I remember seeing you dropping off the roof of a speeding truck at 80 mph, rolling once and running. You're not a natural person."
The Dire Wolf gave a barely perceptible shrug. "I know better than to expect an honest answer from spies. The Midnight War has gotten me too used to straightforward conflict for dealing with you. But let me at least try. I assume you're trying to find the same item that Dandelion is?"
"I can give you a firm maybe," Spiegel said, with that sly smile that had broken more than a few hearts.
"That figures. It's no secret that Appleby is dead. His body was lying in plain sight and a crowd gathered before the ambulance took him away. He was a STIGMA man, of course."
"Mmmm. Jeremy, you know you're not going to get anything useful from me. Even in court, I'd have to say that I can neither confirm or deny any information." The veteran spy had kept his hands carefull on the steering wheel the whole time but now he pointed toward his own chest. "If I reach for a cigarette, are you going to karate chop across the throat?"
"I'm moving on anyway," Bane said, beginning to open his door. "But of course, if you're here and Dandelion's here, both in this boring part of Queens, isn't it likely that other shadowy people are nearby as well?"
"Such as yourself?" Spiegel took a cigarette from a gunmetal case, placed it in his mouth and clicked the case shut. "I'll volunteer something, Bane. My superiors honestly don't know what to think about you. You're more than a loose cannon, you're an entire warship sailing where it pleases."
That pried a rare smile from the Dire Wolf as he got out. "The Mandate and I have been useful to each other. Our missions overlap. Goodbye, Spiegel."
"See you around," came the reply as a Ronson lighter flared by the steering wheel.
Walking briskly away, Bane turned right at the corner and stopped in front of a bar with RIZZI's in orange neon tubing across one window. He took his Link from its clip on his belt and lit up its screen. These Trom devices were still more advanced than any smartphone available to Humans. A grid of the streets appeared, and a blip blinked on and off to show where Spiegel's car sat. Bane nodded with satisfaction and returned the device to his belt. It was too bad he hadn't been able to plant another of the tracking signallers on Dandelion's car but there had been no opportunity in that brief encounter.
III.
The only light behind the Bistro came from a single yellow bulb over the rear door, revealing a brick wall with a horizontal propane tank and a green metal dumpster. This was not a real parking lot, merely a paved area large enough for delivery trucks to back in. Since the establishment was atop a slight elevation, this rear area could not be seen at all from the highway.
A man and a woman stared each other down at twenty paces distance. They seemed to be standing casually, hands down by their sides, but those who knew such things would spot the way their feet were angled, how their bodies were slightly turned to one side and other clues that violence was imminent.
"We're not going to make any progress this way, love," said Eric Spiegel. "You won't let me frisk you and I certainly am not going to allow you to pat me down."
"Hah! You'd enjoy it either way. I know all about you, Agent M77. What number is larger, the men you've killed or the women you seduced?"
"All in the line of duty," he responded amiably enough. "Dandelion, if I had the item which is so much sought after, don't you think I would driving back to my command headquarters right now?"
"Maybe not." She had discarded the wig and her thick untidy mop of hair shone silver in the gloom. "There are whispers you're playing a double game against the Mandate and collecting a second paycheck from STIGMA."
"That bunch? Please. They don't even offer medical benefits. And I dare say your reputation for loyalty is not above reproach, darling. Why INTERCEPT still trusts you is beyond me."
Now Dandelion slid her right foot forward an inch, shifting her center of gravity. "I have an honest little face. I bring out avuncular impulses in elderly spymasters. Last chance, Spiegel. Hand over that ring or they'll be scrubbing bloodstains out of the asphalt."
Spiegel did not answer with words, nor did he move perceptibly. His suit jacket was unbuttoned and hanging open. Holster up under his left armpit was his favorite sidearm, the Beretta Belle. Under the heavy black brows, the dark blue eyes narrowed.
In the next one-sixth of a second, three shots cracked from the Walther P22 which had appeared in Dandelion's right hand but a tall dark form had dropped seemingly out of the sky to take the impact. Bane's body twitched and holes tore open in his turtleneck front but he was obviously not hurt. In his own hand was a long-barreled Smith & Wesson .38 revolver, swinging up to cover the blonde assassin.
"YOU! Again!" yelled Dandelion. "What, were you up on the roof, you crazy bastard?"
Bane had extended his arm to point his weapon at the woman, but her own arm stayed as rigid and unwavering as the arm of an iron statue. They faced each other as Spiegel reacted to the sudden flurry of events and realize he had not been hit.
"Greatly obliged, old man," he said. "Can you get me a suit of a flexible armor?"
"Not now," the Dire Wolf replied. "Dandy, we may be evenly matched. A shootout between us would likely leave us both dead, but you'd certainly plug Spiegel as well. You might live long enough to search both of us and report to STIGMA."
"You mean INTERCEPT," she corrected him. "I'm working for them now."
"I bet you don't even know yourself at this point."
That forced a sharp sardonic laugh from her. "Mangy old Dire Wolf. The way you heal, I might as well put a few presents in your face now, you'd be back to normal in a week anyway."
Bane had been holding his hands up at chest level, his revolver still in his grip but pointed upward. Pointing with his free hand at his left jacket lapel, he said, "I've got what you two are after. If you think the ring opens, you're wrong. I've been struggling with it all afternoon. I can see any clues on the surface and as far as I can tell, it's an ordinary piece of jewelry not worth much money."
"Really? Tell you what. Put it on the ground slowly and kick it toward me just hard enough. None of that Kumundu trickery, Jeremy. Remember I studied under Teacher Chael too."
With infinite care, the Dire Wolf reached into his inside jacket pocket for the ring with the onyx stone, placed it in front of him and nudged it with his toe so it slid across the ground to stop within reach of the blonde assassin.
"Oh, very good. Now be patient a moment, both of you." Dandelion scooped up the ring with her free hand, never taking her eyes off Bane or Spiegel. Still without looking away from them, she squeezed the ring and popped open the onyx up on an inner hinge. "There's a trick to it, you see. Lucky I have such strong little fingers."
For the barest split-second, her eyes flickered down to the opening in the top of the ring, then snapped back up toward the two men. Her gun hand had not wavered in the slightest. "Good news for once. Eight tiny seeds, just like my sources said."
"Our business here is done then?" Spiegel ventured to ask, still standing mostly behind Bane.
"I suppose," said Dandelion. "Jeremy, I'm counting on that godawful enhanced healing you Tel Shai knights have. I think I need you in no mood to tackle me." Even as the last word was spoken, she blasted four shots in a tight sequence. Fast as he was, Bane only dodged the first one. The following three caught him in the pit of his stomach to double him up and drop him to his knees.
Backing quickly away toward the shadows near the restaurant, Dandelion wagged the gun at Spiegel. "No funny business from you, either. You don't have his Trom armor or his healing factor." A second later, she was in the shadows and a car door slammed. Headlights flared up and the car peeled out to hit the highway at the bottom of the hill and swing away into the night.
Bane was back on his feet, rubbing his abdomen resentfully. The silk-thin Trom armor dispersed any impact over its entire surface but it didn't make him indestructible. Those shots had hurt. "Damn her, she never leaves without shooting me."
"I'd say it's a sign of affection," Spiegel said. "What the blazes was that all about? Five seeds?! How could that be important enough to kill people over?"
"Wish I could help." Although he was forbidden to speak of it to outsiders, Bane knew those had in fact been seeds of the Tagra plant. Only grown at Tel Shai, Tagra leaves were those source of the accelerated healing and clarity which Tel Shai knights enjoyed. It was strictly forbidden to share this secret to anyone not in the Order. Bane had been trying for a month to track down who had dared smuggle those seeds into the real world to auction them off.
Being able to cultivate Tagra would be a prize worth many millions. The health benefits were beyond what modern medical science could explain. As a student who had been expelled from Tel Shai, Dandelion had always been bitter about losing out on access to the leaves.
Seeing Spiegel staring disbelievingly at him, Bane said, "I didn't think I could keep you or myself alive if she really wanted to plug us. You saw how quick she is."
"Or rather, I didn't see. I was looking right at her and couldn't follow her draw." Spiegel buttoned his suit jacket and tugged up the knot on his tie. "Hate to report to the old man that Dandelion won this time. There's no telling where she'll sell those mysterious seeds, either."
Bane holstered his revolver, fingered his sore stomach again and said, "You never know who she's really working for. She triple crosses the Mandate, INTERCEPT, Department 21 Black and STIGMA on the same day."
"Remember that old song by the Stones, 'Dandelion?'"
"No."
"The Rolling Stones, mate, it's classic. 'Dandelion don't tell no lies.' Only our Dandelion tells nothing but lies."
"Sorry. I'm leaving, Spiegel. We're likely to meet again."
"Wouldn't be surprised. It's a funny old world, innit?"
Without further comment, the Dire Wolf turned and walked down the hill to where he had left his Mustang parked under some trees by the side of the road. The stinging from the bullets had already eased off. He got in, started the car up but then paused as he saw the core of the apple he had eaten an hour ago, wrapped in a paper napkin. It was just as well he would be nowhere near Dandy when she got a good look at the eight apple seeds he had substituted inside the ring.
5/9/2021
8/3/2007
I.
Finding Cornell Street deep in one of the seedier neighborhoods of Queens, Dandelion parked her inconspicuous dark green Hyundai and studied Silverberg's Swap Shop. Despite how oppressive this sullen humid August evening was, she still wore a short denim jacket over her lilac blue shirt. She needed it to conceal her two small Walther P22s in holsters built into the inner lining, grips outward for access. For a few seconds, she studied the variety of items in the windows. Machetes and swords, bongo drums and guitars, stacks of CDs and DVDs, a nice olive-green tool box. An accordion and a camcorder. All had hand-lettered signs promising the items could not be found cheaper anywhere.
Even more vital than looking at the shop, though, she was scanning the street. She scrutinized the cars at their meters, the curtained windows in the buildings across the street, the young couple sauntering by and munching on hot dogs wrapped in paper napkins. All her instincts reassured her the area was safe, but she was still innately wary. Living outside the law meant trusting nobody and nothing.
Just as she had regretfully left her canary yellow Maserati garaged for this mission, Dandelion had concealed the famous shock of platinum blonde hair under a mousy brown wig. Lightly tinted sunglasses with oversized frame helped change her appearance a bit more, but she seldom wore more elaborate disguises. The wide jawline, the full delicate lips and snub nose would be recognizable to anyone who knew her.
Still glaring suspiciously in all directions, she went inside, making the bell at the top of the door tinkle as she went through. In the gloomy interior, Stan Silverberg sat on a stool behind a counter with a cash register. His round belly was bisected horizontally by a belt pulled high, and he wore a black vest over a white dress shirt. The moonface was open and friendly, with a smile that invariably won people over. Silverberg had never been good-looking but he was likeable.
To Dandelion's reassurance, Silverberg did not recognize her immediately. He raised a hand in half a wave and said, "Afternoon, miss. Anything in particular?"
"Jewelry," she replied in a huskier voice than her own. "Rings, maybe."
"Oh, rings we got and plenty of 'em. Over here." He rose with a grunt of effort and steered her toward a long glass display case toward the back of the store. "Mebbe You'd like to browse by yourself for a minute, eh?"
"I'm after a gold signet ring with an oval onyx on its top. There's a gold letter X on the gem."
That further exposure to her voice was enough. He blinked and peered more closely. "Say, this is a new look for you, isn't it?"
"A girl has to be careful these days," the most dangerous assassin of her era replied.
Silverberg let out a deep heavy sigh that was not feigned at all. "Ah, Dandy, a pretty girl like yourself playing such a dirty game..."
"I'll get my sermons in church, Stan."
"There is no such ring in my shop, I reget to say."
Dandelion allowed herself a wicked grin. "Right now, you mean. So, Stan, where's a nice view of the town where I can think things over?"
"Hmm. Well, behind Rowe's Bistro up on Prince Street. I used to park there when me and my missus went there for late meals. They don't close until eleven. From there, you can look down on the highway and count the headlights."
"Hmm, interesting. But if you don't have the sort of ring I'm looking for, I will move on."
"Best of luck to you, miss." Silverberg watched the slender form exit his shop and vault lightly behind the steering wheel of the Hyundai, waiting until she had rounded the corner and was out of sight. Then he slowly turned to face a gaunt figure appearing from behind a partition at the rear of the store.
In his fifties now, Jeremy Bane had not changed much. Only a few flecks of white showed in the short black hair and the cold grey eyes were still alert. In his trademark uniform of black slacks, turtleneck and sport jacket, he remained as ominous a figure as a hooded hangman. "Lucky I saw her pull up outside, Sam. Having that fan on in your back room helped conceal my breathing."
"What a pity. A face an angel would admire but such a cold cold heart."
Bane placed a hand on the older man's shoulder. "Don't have any illusions about Dandelion. Her looks are just another weapon."
II.
If Dandelion intended to show up behind that restaurant at eleven, four hours remained. Bane left the pawn shop, swung left and strode quickly up Cornell Street. The enhanced metabolism which gave him his extrahuman speed and reflexes also left him constantly burning with nervous energy he had to burn off. This neighborhood was on the brink of sliding downhill, he decided. Too many liquor stores, a check cashing place, a dollar store with shoddy merchandise out on the sidewalk. As he rounded the corner to start a big loop back to where he had parked his Mustang, Bane smoothly swerved in mid-step to fade into a doorway.
Ahead was a small municipal parking lot with a dozen cars at their meters. Nearest to him, parked facing out toward the street, was a silver Nissan gleaming as if the wax was still wet, and seated behind the wheel, arm hanging out the open window, was a man he had met too many times before. Eric Spiegel.
In that instant, every encounter with the Mandate's top enforcement agent flashed through Bane's memory. Spiegel would be in his late thirties now. Formerly with a private security company, he had joined the Mandate ten years earlier and had developed a reputation not only for steady nerve under fire but for often pulling off assignments that had been considered hopeless. Despite being four of the worst security risks - a heavy smoker, a frequent gambler, a steady drinker and a constant womanizer, Spiegel was one of the most reliable in his field. Not exactly an assassin who could execute someone in cold blood, Spiegel was more an investigator who had killed quite a few enemy agents during clashes.
Waiting to assay the situation, Bane was pleased to see a fire-red convertible slow and start to turn into the parking lot. In the front seat were two laughing young women of college age, both with glossy black hair tied up into ponytails. Perfect. A better distraction could never be asked for. The two swung into the lot, heading for an opening and inevitably Spiegel's head swiveled to follow them... away from where Bane swiftly stalked up to the car.
When Spiegel's attention turned back to his surroundings, he gave a start at seeing the muzzle of a Smith & Wesson 38 revolver within inches of his face. Holding that gun was a grim man in black with chilly pale eyes.
"Bloody Hell," Spiegel said. "The Dire Wolf himself. Serves me right."
"Look," Bane told him quietly, returning the gun to its holster behind his left hip. "That was only to make sure you didn't do anything rash. We have no quarrel at the moment."
"Fair enough." Eric Spiegel was about the same height and weight as Bane, but more handsome, with bright blue eyes over a straight nose and a strong chin. His thick black hair was brushed back rather casually. As always, the agent was well dressed. Today he wore a Navy blue suit of conservative cut, a spotlessly crisp white shirt and a tightly knitted black silk tie. Spiegel spent considerable time on personal grooming, it was a trademark of his.
"I'm going to get in and we need to talk for a few minutes," Bane said, doing so and sliding into the passenger seat. "This is an unlikely neighborhood for world-class agents to start gathering."
"You saw her too, then?"
"Yes. I'm certain she didn't see me though."
"Blast," Spiegel growled. "That little psycho. She's the only player in this game who makes me wet meself with fear. I've seen her do shots against multiple opponents so quickly five blasts overlap and sound like one."
Jeremy Bane nodded. "Dandy's skills go beyond normal Human limits. You know she had some Tel Shai training, as I have? The Teachers rejected her for not being righteous enough. But she learned enough to be an incredibly accurate marksman."
"I'm starting to believe the stories about Tel Shai," Spiegel admitted. "After all, I saw you catch a dagger thrown at you by the handle and hurl it right back. And I remember seeing you dropping off the roof of a speeding truck at 80 mph, rolling once and running. You're not a natural person."
The Dire Wolf gave a barely perceptible shrug. "I know better than to expect an honest answer from spies. The Midnight War has gotten me too used to straightforward conflict for dealing with you. But let me at least try. I assume you're trying to find the same item that Dandelion is?"
"I can give you a firm maybe," Spiegel said, with that sly smile that had broken more than a few hearts.
"That figures. It's no secret that Appleby is dead. His body was lying in plain sight and a crowd gathered before the ambulance took him away. He was a STIGMA man, of course."
"Mmmm. Jeremy, you know you're not going to get anything useful from me. Even in court, I'd have to say that I can neither confirm or deny any information." The veteran spy had kept his hands carefull on the steering wheel the whole time but now he pointed toward his own chest. "If I reach for a cigarette, are you going to karate chop across the throat?"
"I'm moving on anyway," Bane said, beginning to open his door. "But of course, if you're here and Dandelion's here, both in this boring part of Queens, isn't it likely that other shadowy people are nearby as well?"
"Such as yourself?" Spiegel took a cigarette from a gunmetal case, placed it in his mouth and clicked the case shut. "I'll volunteer something, Bane. My superiors honestly don't know what to think about you. You're more than a loose cannon, you're an entire warship sailing where it pleases."
That pried a rare smile from the Dire Wolf as he got out. "The Mandate and I have been useful to each other. Our missions overlap. Goodbye, Spiegel."
"See you around," came the reply as a Ronson lighter flared by the steering wheel.
Walking briskly away, Bane turned right at the corner and stopped in front of a bar with RIZZI's in orange neon tubing across one window. He took his Link from its clip on his belt and lit up its screen. These Trom devices were still more advanced than any smartphone available to Humans. A grid of the streets appeared, and a blip blinked on and off to show where Spiegel's car sat. Bane nodded with satisfaction and returned the device to his belt. It was too bad he hadn't been able to plant another of the tracking signallers on Dandelion's car but there had been no opportunity in that brief encounter.
III.
The only light behind the Bistro came from a single yellow bulb over the rear door, revealing a brick wall with a horizontal propane tank and a green metal dumpster. This was not a real parking lot, merely a paved area large enough for delivery trucks to back in. Since the establishment was atop a slight elevation, this rear area could not be seen at all from the highway.
A man and a woman stared each other down at twenty paces distance. They seemed to be standing casually, hands down by their sides, but those who knew such things would spot the way their feet were angled, how their bodies were slightly turned to one side and other clues that violence was imminent.
"We're not going to make any progress this way, love," said Eric Spiegel. "You won't let me frisk you and I certainly am not going to allow you to pat me down."
"Hah! You'd enjoy it either way. I know all about you, Agent M77. What number is larger, the men you've killed or the women you seduced?"
"All in the line of duty," he responded amiably enough. "Dandelion, if I had the item which is so much sought after, don't you think I would driving back to my command headquarters right now?"
"Maybe not." She had discarded the wig and her thick untidy mop of hair shone silver in the gloom. "There are whispers you're playing a double game against the Mandate and collecting a second paycheck from STIGMA."
"That bunch? Please. They don't even offer medical benefits. And I dare say your reputation for loyalty is not above reproach, darling. Why INTERCEPT still trusts you is beyond me."
Now Dandelion slid her right foot forward an inch, shifting her center of gravity. "I have an honest little face. I bring out avuncular impulses in elderly spymasters. Last chance, Spiegel. Hand over that ring or they'll be scrubbing bloodstains out of the asphalt."
Spiegel did not answer with words, nor did he move perceptibly. His suit jacket was unbuttoned and hanging open. Holster up under his left armpit was his favorite sidearm, the Beretta Belle. Under the heavy black brows, the dark blue eyes narrowed.
In the next one-sixth of a second, three shots cracked from the Walther P22 which had appeared in Dandelion's right hand but a tall dark form had dropped seemingly out of the sky to take the impact. Bane's body twitched and holes tore open in his turtleneck front but he was obviously not hurt. In his own hand was a long-barreled Smith & Wesson .38 revolver, swinging up to cover the blonde assassin.
"YOU! Again!" yelled Dandelion. "What, were you up on the roof, you crazy bastard?"
Bane had extended his arm to point his weapon at the woman, but her own arm stayed as rigid and unwavering as the arm of an iron statue. They faced each other as Spiegel reacted to the sudden flurry of events and realize he had not been hit.
"Greatly obliged, old man," he said. "Can you get me a suit of a flexible armor?"
"Not now," the Dire Wolf replied. "Dandy, we may be evenly matched. A shootout between us would likely leave us both dead, but you'd certainly plug Spiegel as well. You might live long enough to search both of us and report to STIGMA."
"You mean INTERCEPT," she corrected him. "I'm working for them now."
"I bet you don't even know yourself at this point."
That forced a sharp sardonic laugh from her. "Mangy old Dire Wolf. The way you heal, I might as well put a few presents in your face now, you'd be back to normal in a week anyway."
Bane had been holding his hands up at chest level, his revolver still in his grip but pointed upward. Pointing with his free hand at his left jacket lapel, he said, "I've got what you two are after. If you think the ring opens, you're wrong. I've been struggling with it all afternoon. I can see any clues on the surface and as far as I can tell, it's an ordinary piece of jewelry not worth much money."
"Really? Tell you what. Put it on the ground slowly and kick it toward me just hard enough. None of that Kumundu trickery, Jeremy. Remember I studied under Teacher Chael too."
With infinite care, the Dire Wolf reached into his inside jacket pocket for the ring with the onyx stone, placed it in front of him and nudged it with his toe so it slid across the ground to stop within reach of the blonde assassin.
"Oh, very good. Now be patient a moment, both of you." Dandelion scooped up the ring with her free hand, never taking her eyes off Bane or Spiegel. Still without looking away from them, she squeezed the ring and popped open the onyx up on an inner hinge. "There's a trick to it, you see. Lucky I have such strong little fingers."
For the barest split-second, her eyes flickered down to the opening in the top of the ring, then snapped back up toward the two men. Her gun hand had not wavered in the slightest. "Good news for once. Eight tiny seeds, just like my sources said."
"Our business here is done then?" Spiegel ventured to ask, still standing mostly behind Bane.
"I suppose," said Dandelion. "Jeremy, I'm counting on that godawful enhanced healing you Tel Shai knights have. I think I need you in no mood to tackle me." Even as the last word was spoken, she blasted four shots in a tight sequence. Fast as he was, Bane only dodged the first one. The following three caught him in the pit of his stomach to double him up and drop him to his knees.
Backing quickly away toward the shadows near the restaurant, Dandelion wagged the gun at Spiegel. "No funny business from you, either. You don't have his Trom armor or his healing factor." A second later, she was in the shadows and a car door slammed. Headlights flared up and the car peeled out to hit the highway at the bottom of the hill and swing away into the night.
Bane was back on his feet, rubbing his abdomen resentfully. The silk-thin Trom armor dispersed any impact over its entire surface but it didn't make him indestructible. Those shots had hurt. "Damn her, she never leaves without shooting me."
"I'd say it's a sign of affection," Spiegel said. "What the blazes was that all about? Five seeds?! How could that be important enough to kill people over?"
"Wish I could help." Although he was forbidden to speak of it to outsiders, Bane knew those had in fact been seeds of the Tagra plant. Only grown at Tel Shai, Tagra leaves were those source of the accelerated healing and clarity which Tel Shai knights enjoyed. It was strictly forbidden to share this secret to anyone not in the Order. Bane had been trying for a month to track down who had dared smuggle those seeds into the real world to auction them off.
Being able to cultivate Tagra would be a prize worth many millions. The health benefits were beyond what modern medical science could explain. As a student who had been expelled from Tel Shai, Dandelion had always been bitter about losing out on access to the leaves.
Seeing Spiegel staring disbelievingly at him, Bane said, "I didn't think I could keep you or myself alive if she really wanted to plug us. You saw how quick she is."
"Or rather, I didn't see. I was looking right at her and couldn't follow her draw." Spiegel buttoned his suit jacket and tugged up the knot on his tie. "Hate to report to the old man that Dandelion won this time. There's no telling where she'll sell those mysterious seeds, either."
Bane holstered his revolver, fingered his sore stomach again and said, "You never know who she's really working for. She triple crosses the Mandate, INTERCEPT, Department 21 Black and STIGMA on the same day."
"Remember that old song by the Stones, 'Dandelion?'"
"No."
"The Rolling Stones, mate, it's classic. 'Dandelion don't tell no lies.' Only our Dandelion tells nothing but lies."
"Sorry. I'm leaving, Spiegel. We're likely to meet again."
"Wouldn't be surprised. It's a funny old world, innit?"
Without further comment, the Dire Wolf turned and walked down the hill to where he had left his Mustang parked under some trees by the side of the road. The stinging from the bullets had already eased off. He got in, started the car up but then paused as he saw the core of the apple he had eaten an hour ago, wrapped in a paper napkin. It was just as well he would be nowhere near Dandy when she got a good look at the eight apple seeds he had substituted inside the ring.
5/9/2021