dochermes

"Indigo the Illusionist"

11/21/1994

The doorbell rang. Jeremy Bane turned with one foot on the stairs and raised an eyebrow. He had been planning on a workout in the gym on the seventh floor and he had no appointments. This might be much more interesting.

Bane was a gaunt, dangerous-looking man with short black hair and intimidating pale grey eyes. He was wearing his usual uniform of black slacks and long-sleeved turtleneck, but the sport jacket had been left in his office for the moment. As the bell rang again, he strode quickly to the door and thumbed the intercom button. "I'll be there in a second," he said, and heard a familiar gruff voice reply, "Fine."

Swinging open a wooden panel set at eye level, he activated the monitor screen and saw what the street camera was sending. He studied the two people standing on the steps outside. One was a frequent visitor, a short, dark man with grizzled curly hair and a thick unlit cigar clamped in a bulldog mouth. Inspector Harold Klein. He did not recognize the other man. The Dire Wolf hit a button on the control panel that opened the outer door and said, "Come in."

The two visitors stepped into a vestibule that was just big enough to hold them and maybe one other person. There was a bench, a shelf with a ceramic lamp and some magazines, and an oil painting on the wall of Kenneth Dred himself. For twenty seconds, there was faint buzzing and humming noises as advanced Trom sensors scanned the men more thoroughly than any CAT scan or MRI. Bane saw that Klein was carrying his usual Smith & Wesson Detective Special, handcuffs, folding jackknife. The other man did not have anything resembling a weapon, analysis showed no unusual chemical signature and the yellow letters flashed ID UNCONFIRMED. So he wasn't listed in any files that the KDF had tapped into.

Bane closed the panel with a click and opened the inner door. "Morning, Inspector."

"Hiya Bane," came the reply in a real New York City accent. He kept his beige raincoat on, as he did even on the hottest days and as he had done since it had been new and white, but his companion shrugged out his heavy topcoat. Bane took the coat and hung it on the rack to the left as one faced the door.

"Got any cases on the fire?" Klein asked.

"It's been slow lately. Back in the old days, there'd be bodies all over this place."

( the rest of the story )

"Too Many Skeletons For One Closet"

3/24-3/30/1994

I.


The blonde teen walked into CASEY'S at eleven, shrugged off her windbreaker and sat down at the bar. Casey himself was on duty that night, the regular bartender had called out sick. There was nothing charming about Casey, he was fat and bald and grumpy, but he served decent-sized drinks and saw to it that the hamburgers and hot sandwiches from the kitchen were done right. A big screen TV high up on one wall was showing a hocket game and two guys were debating which team was worst. Casey examined the blonde's ID as if life itself depended on it, but finally handed it back to her and asked what she wanted. The blonde asked for a Coke, explaining she was just waiting for two girlfriends to show up to drive her back to college.

Seated a few stools down was a man in all black... slacks, turtleneck and sportjacket. He was finishing off a hot roast beef sandwich and a glass of iced tea. As the blonde sat down, she glanced over at him but the look in his pale grey eyes was not friendly and she sipped her Coke as if he didn't exist. The girl looked great. She was wearing tight blue pants with flared bottoms on the legs and a snug polyester blouse opened a button or two too many. Her hair was the color of butter, hanging straight down her slim back and she had a tanned, freckled face that seemed to belong in a magazine ad.Within a few minutes, Ted Haines casually came over. "Mind if I join you for a minute?"

She smiled at him. Ted was wearing a business suit with the tie loosened and the top button on the shirt opened. She glanced at his shoes, his watch, the pale circle where a wedding ring usually sat, and in an instant she had made her decision. "It's a free country, my friend. My name is Holly."

( the rest of the story )

"The Four Heirs of Emilio Cantero"

4/28-4/29/1994

I.

Feeling incredibly out of place for once, Jeremy Bane entered the lawyer's office. It seemed carefully designed to present an image of respectability and order. Bookshelves lined with legal volumes and reference books, framed diplomas and a family portrait, a sidetable with a carafe of ice water and tumblers laid out, a bronze statue of a rearing stallion... all very neat and calculated. Behind a massive oak desk, a small thin man in an immaculate suit sat and watched the Dire Wolf enter, as did four men and one woman seated in comfortable chairs before that desk. Michel Jourdan was well known as an estate attorney.

For once, Bane had abandoned his usual outfit of black slacks, turtleneck and sport jacket. He had pulled a nicely tailored dark blue suit from his closet, along with a powder blue dress shirt and solid black tie which had given him some trouble before he managed it looking correct. He had also shaved for the second time that day, breaking a lifelong habit, and blow-dried his hair. Although he felt uncomfortable, in fact he looked imposing. The slim fit body in the expensive suit, the narrow face with watchful grey eyes under dark brows, made a striking impression.

Half rising from her seat, Christine Cantero smiled at him in relief. "Oh, I'm glad to see you made it, Mr Bane. We're ready to read the will and I wanted you present." She was a handsome woman in her mid-thirties, self-possesed and confident in a plain black dress. Christine resembled her late father Emilio Cantero, with a firm jaw, level dark eyes and a mane of thick black hair that was now pulled back into a bun.

At her side, a stout man who must be hitting sixty shifted his considerable weight. Van Aken's round face was drawn down in severe disapproval. "Why you feel you need a bodyguard at a reading of a will is beyond me, Christine..."

Bane spoke in his usual quiet but unyielding voice as he pulled a chair over for himself. "Miss Cantero is my client and I'm here at her request." He lowered himself to sit just behind and to one side of her as if he expected an assassination attempt, but this was his normal attitude. He regarded the men in the room warily but he did that in supermarkets.

"With all respect, the conditions of the will and the circumstances ARE out of the ordinary," said the lawyer Jourdan. He adjusted his glasses and folded his thin hands on the desk before him. "Perhaps for Mr Bane's sake, I should review the circumstances. Emilio Cantero was a self-made millionaire with a mail-order business selling survival gear. He built his home himself on the outskirts of the Adirondack State Park and taught classes on how to live in the wilderness. In the spring of 1985, Mr Cantero went on an extended hike along the Ashoga Trail. He was not heard from again to this day."

Jourdan paused to open the manila folder in front of him and study the first page. "After seven years had passed and no sign of him could be found, in accordance with the law Mr Cantero was declared legally dead. His only child, Christine Cantero, had been helping to manage his business since his disappearance along with Mr Cantero's business partner, Fredrick Van Aken. Also named in the will are two others. Arnold Walton, Mr Cantero's attorney and Sean Rooney, longtime friend of the family."

Walton and Rooney could have been related, they resembled each other closely. Both were presentable,well-groomed and well-dressed. Walton had a thick reddish mustache under a prominent nose, while Rooney had a fuller head of that untidy auburn hair. Aside from those distinctions, they looked quite similar and both had the same inscrutable expressions on their faces.

The lawyer read several pages of dense text, then summarized the gist for everyone. "So, the subtance is that Miss Cantero will inherit the estate and the considerable liquid assets held by her father at the Valley Credit Union. Ownership of the Cantero Survival Company will be divided equally between Mr Van Aken and Mr Walton. A sum of one million dollars even will be awarded to Mr Rooney in memory of their comaraderie during lean years. But the conditions of the will further stipulate that all four heirs must spent twenty-four hours together in the Cantero mansion before the vault is opened to present the documents which will make this final."

Sitting behind everyone, Bane's grey eyes flashed with sudden interest. He smelled murder in the air at a set-up like that. But he remained silent.

"In addition, a further item of great value in the vault will be rewarded at that time as well. The will does not stipulate exactly what this item is," Jourdan continued. He closed the folder and glanced up blandly. "It all seems quite clear. Does anyone have objections or questions?"

"It's a strange set-up," Rooney said at last. "But then, Emilio always did things his own way. What happens if one of us doesn't stay the full twenty-four hours?"

"It's quite clear. His or her inheritance will be donated to the World Wildlife Fund."

Everyone stirred, watching each other but making no objections at the moment. Finally, Christine Cantero rose to her feet. "I believe that will be all, then. I propose we get this over with. Can everyone manage to be at the mansion tonight, so we can begin the ordeal?"

"I can," Sean Rooney said. "It's Friday, I'm free until Monday."

"Same here," put in the attorney Walton. "Let me call my wife, she's used to me getting called away at short notice."

"Well, I guess I can go as well," Van Aken grudgingly added. "I had plans but obviously this is more important. The twenty-four hours will begin exactly when?"

Christine glanced up at the old fashioned clock over the mantel in the office. "Seven on the dot. I'd say it takes two hours to reach the mansion. Suppose the proscribed interval starts at midnight tonight and ends midnight Sunday. Is that okay with everyone?"

They all muttered agreement, getting up and tugging on their coats and mumbling thank-you phrases to the lawyer. Pausing in the doorway, Sean Rooney turned to Cantero's daughter. "Can I give you a ride up there, Christine?"

"Thank you, no. Mr Bane will drive me. I want to discuss the matter with him."

Rooney raised an eyebrow in faint disapproval. "It's almost as if you're expecting trouble, honey. Honestly, let's not be melodramatic."

Standing beside Christine, Bane met Rooney's gaze evenly. "Millions of dollars at stake? There's always a chance of some unpleasantness."

With an unconvinced grunt, Rooney left the office. After Christine exchanged a few final words with Jourdan, she turned at last to the Dire Wolf. "Ready to leave, Mr Bane?"

"Oh yes," Bane said. "I think I have some questions to ask during the drive."

II.

The dark green Subaru Outback sped north on the New York State Thruway well over the posted speed limit, but that did not make it stand out. Most of the vehicles were going fifteen to twenty mph over the limit. Behind the wheel, Jeremy Bane was verbally taking in every detail of the four heirs of Emilio Cantero.

"This is all in confidence, you promise?" Christine repeated.

"Yes. As my client, what you tell me does not have to be divulged unless it comes to a trial." Bane added, "Even then, I am not required to volunteer information, only to answer direct questions. Go on, you were about to fill me in on this Rooney guy."

In the gloom of the car's interior, lit by the faint dashboard lights and the backwash of the headlights, her face was hard to read. "I was surprised to see him there, to be honest. You don't know the story of course, my father and Sean were close as brothers from their teen years. But. Ah, it's uncomfortable to bring it up but my mother left my father to be with Sean. They had always been competitive. Mom felt neglected, my father spent every waking moment building up his business and well, Sean was there to fill the gap."

"Where's your mother now?"

"She passed away two years ago. Double pneumonia, she was too stubborn to go to the hospital until it was too late. Our whole family is stubborn. My father and Sean were both at the funeral but didn't speak. They wouldn't even look at each other." She sighed. "That's why I was surprised to see him there tonight. And my father left him a million...!"

Bane turned to regard her profile for a second. "Maybe your father got over it. It's been at least ten years."

"Hah. You never met my father. He held a grudge like a beartrap. If someone wronged him, he never forgot and he never forgave." Christine took a deep breath and continued, "And I have to say I wasn't expecting to see Arnold either."

"Arnold Walton?" asked Bane. "The guy with the mustache?"

"Yes. Father's attorney. He was suspected of making a deal with a company that was suing my father. Some complicated trademark infringement business. They settled out of court, but it cost my father a sizeable chunk. There were whispers that Arnold got a big bribe to not put up the best defense and that was the last he worked for the Cantero Survival Company. Van Aken got a bad reputation and he hasn't been doing well since then." She studied Bane's face as he drove. "Starting to see a pattern?"

"Absolutely. My guess is that Van Aken- the business partner, right?- also did something to get your father made at him, too. Cooking the books, no doubt."

Christine chuckled unexpectedly. Since she had met Bane at his office the day before, she had been so reserved and so unemotional that this was surprising. "Oh I see you've handled these things before. Yes. There was a discrepancy between what Van Aken claimed the company was making and what my father calculated it should have been making. And Van Aken seemed to be living well past his means. Another blow-up. They almost came to a fistfight but my father agreed to let it slide. Van Aken has been scraping by ever since, but not doing well either. My father was the real idea man of the partnership."

Turning off at Exit 19, Bane paid at the toll both and headed further north on Rt 28. "Another hour at least," he said. "Let me know if you want a bathroom break or anything."

"I'm good. So. All of this happened the final year before my father disappeared. My mother left him for his best friend, his attorney and his business partner both got caught screwing him over. Dad hid out in his mansion in the woods for a month, then announced he was going on an extended hike up the Shogan Trail and just fell off the earth. Seven years ago. Now, according to the courts he's dead and his estate has to be settled."

Bane was silent for a few moments. "Is it possible he's still alive, Christine?"

"What, my father? Not a chance. He could never keep out of his company's business for a month, much less seven years." She shrugged at the thought. "No, I'm sure he's lying somewhere out there in the mountains. He loved the wilderness so much, it's fitting."

"I'm pulling in here for a moment," the Dire Wolf said as he signalled. At the convenient mart, he filled the tank, checked the oil and tires in his compulsive way and went in while she did indeed use the bathroom. Bane returned to his car with a ham and cheese sub and a 16 ounce bottle of water, while she was content with a cup of coffee. They headed north again.

"There's one more thing to bring up," the Dire Wolf said. "Your relationship with your father?"

"I might as well admit it. We were never close and I went through a wild phase in my teens. I did get in trouble in more ways than one and he had to get me out and cover things up." Christine exhaled deeply. "And then my marriage fell apart, and Dad seemed to think it was my fault. I guess I wasn't the saintly little daughter he expected...."

Turning onto a steep road that led up the side of the mountain, Bane downshifted and continued thoughtfully, "So your father left everything to four people he was angry with?"

"If you put it that way," she admitted. "There. That gravel drive."

Going for another mile along a narrow drive through the woods, they emerged to an impressive three-story house build of redwood, with a shingled roof and an adjoining garage. It was brilliantly lit, particularly by a spotlight on the roof that would not have been out of place on a lighthouse. Three cars were already parked in front of that house.

"Well, they certainly made good time to beat us here," Christine said. As he slid out from behind the wheel, Bane snatched up from the back seat a knapsack he always had ready with spare clothing and personal gear. He wondered just how fast the others had been driving or if they had only arrived a few minutes earlier.

Standing in the open front doorway, the lawyer Jourdan waved to greet them. "Please come in," he called. "We're about to pass the keys out."

III.

The interior of the mansion was dignified and austere, all hand-made in dark wood and glass with rough-hewn beams in the ceilings. The walls had hunting trophies and framed photographs of Emilio Cantero with celebrities. A glass-fronted rack in the front hall held a dozen rifles locked up securely, and the general effect was of the world's most elegant hunting lodge. Jourdan escorted them down the hall to a dining room where the other three men were seated around a beautifully carved mahogany table.

As Bane and Christine seated themselves, the lawyer took a square wooden box off a shelf and unlocked it with a huge old-fashioned key he wore on a chain attached to his belt. "Starting at midnight, then, your twenty-four hours residence will begin. At twelve o'clock tomorrow night, we will all enter the vault and unlock it. It is so constructed that all four keys must be used at the same time."

"Emilio had some funny ideas," Sean Rooney said uneasily. "I mean, what's the point of all that? Why the twenty-hour wait?"

"Mr Cantero didn't explain," the lawyer replied. He opened the box and handed each of them an ornate brass key. Their initials had been engraved on the handles. "Now, Miss Cantero, you have been living here for some time, I believe?"

"Oh yes. My father said it was all right since my marriage went sour. Gentlemen, there are guest rooms on the second floor, each with its own bathroom. I'll show you where the kitchen is. It's fully stocked, but the servants have been let go years ago. You will have to forage by yourselves. My own rooms are in the attic and I need not stress that area is off limits. Well. There is a television in the den just down the hall from here, that door with the brass handles, and there are many books on history and hunting, feel free to take one to your rooms." She stood up and smoothed down her dress. "I believe that's all. I'm going to retire now. Good night, gentlemen, and keep hold of those keys!"

"One more thing," Jourdan interrupted. He held out a stiff manila envelope. "I am instructed to hold everyone's car keys until the vault is opened. I must insist." With varying degrees of reluctance, everyone complied. Even Bane dropped his keys into the envelope, not mentioning that with his usual over-preparation he always had a spare set on him.

"I guess the party's breaking up," Sean Rooney said as he stretched. "If no one minds, I'll see if there's anything good on the tube."

"Then I suppose I'll find something good to read," the attorney Walton decided. "I know Emilio was interested in the Civil War."

"Might as well make the best of things," the third heir said. Van Aken yawned behind a hand. "I've been up since before dawn, a pillow is all I need."

In the doorway to the dining room, his knapsack in hand, Jeremy Bane studied the assembly. "You guys know I'm a licensed Private Investigator. If there's any trouble, I'll be right there." He turned and headed down the hall and up a flight of stairs. The first guest room by the stairwell was comfortable enough, with a double bed, dresser, writing desk and a short couch. There was a radio by the bedside nightstand. Bane inspected the room, took a peek in the adjoining bathrom and seemed satisfied.

Dropping his knapsack on the bed, the Dire Wolf stripped off the business suit and hung it neatly in the closet. Under his clothes he was wearing the flexible Trom armor that looked like wet silk but which gave better protection than Kevlar. Only his head and neck, hands and feet were exposed. Sheathed to his forearms were the matching silver daggers he never allowed to be to far away from him. Opening his knapsack, Bane took out the heavy black slacks and long-sleeved black turtleneck, the boots and the sport jacket, all with their tiny gadgets and weapons hidden in concealed pockets. In his customary outfit with its built-in arsenal, he felt immense relief. A holster clipped to his belt held his long-barrelled .38 Smith and Wesson revolver.

Sometimes he realized he was a little too dependent on this outfit. He wore it for practical purposes, of course, as well as the psychological effect it had on those who had heard of him. But there were times when he wondered if he should start varying his wardrobe frequently. Bane glanced at his watch and saw it was ten minutes after ten. From experience, he expected any carnage to start up in the middle of the night. Leaving his door ajar slightly, turning off all the lights in the room, he stretched out fully dressed on the bed and began the Tel Shai breathing patterns. In a minute or two, he drifted in a light restful sleep from which he could awaken instantly.

IV.

The scream echoed through the house at three-twenty in the morning. Bane was already awake. With his enhanced metabolism he seldom slept more than four hours at a time. He had been lying in the dark, rearranging what he knew about the people in this case in his mind to see how they related to each other. As soon as that cry of fear rang out, the Dire Wolf was off the bed and through the door so fast it looked as if he had been catapulted. In the hallway outside, a shaded lamp on a stand by a bench gave subdued light. Bane was rushing toward the other end of the hall in a blur and he was in front of the final door just as Van Aken's face appeared blinking in a darkened doorway behind him.

The Dire Wolf did not knock, long experience told him the scream had come from this door and he did not know what he would find. With his left hand on the butt of his revolver, he entered the darkness and flicked on the wall switch by the door that lit a ceiling lamp. There was Walton on the floor, blood all over his face. The man had changed into a pastel blue flannel pajamas and was barefoot. No one else was in the room. Bane knelt over the attorney and found a pulse, steady and strong. He examined the scalp wound and judged it had been from a glancing blow by a blunt object. The Dire Wolf stood up just as everyone started congregating into the open doorway, all speaking at once.

"He's alive," Bane announced loudly to quiet them. "Not quite unconscious. Looks like he was struck over the head with something heavy. The blood is from a superficial gash. I'm going to clean it." Heading into the adjoining bathroom, he returned with a wet washcloth and a dry towel and went to work. "This guy is lucky, I'm judging he turned as the blow was struck or it could easily have been fatal."

The lawyer Jourdan separated from the others and crouched over Bane. "Did you see anyone?"

"No. And I was in the hall less than three seconds after the scream. No one was in the hall." Bane raised Walton's head as the man started reviving. "Here he comes. Listen closely, pal. Your name is Arnold Walton. Do you know where you are?"

"What? Of course. I'm at Emilio Cantero's place. You're the detective Christine hired. What happened to my head, it feels like it's going to come apart." The man was never good-looking, with that long nose and bristly mustache, but now the paleness and pain made him pitiful.

"You took a good crack over the right temple," Bane said. "Look at my finger. Good look. Is it blurry? Do you see more than one finger?"

"No. No, it seems okay." Walton was trying to sit up. As easily as if lifting a child, Bane picked the man up with a hand under each armpit and placed him gently into an armchair in the corner. "Better sit still for a while. You might vomit if you move around too fast."

By now, Rooney and Christine had entered the room and were standing around anxiously. Sean Rooney was still dressed, with just his shoes off and his top shirt buttons undone but Christine had changed into a sleek white bathrobe that shashed around the waist. They watched in silence, seeming as much in shock as was the man who had been struck over the head. Van Aken had appeared last, just now coming into the room.

Jeremy Bane scrutinized all of them suspiciously. He would have sworn there hadn't been enough time for anyone to have gotten out of this room and into another one in the few seconds before he himself had been out in the hallway. Yet everyone was present. He started circling the room, tapping the walls, examining the back of the closet.

"Emilio Cantero built this house himself?" Bane asked as he slid the dresser away from the wall.

"Not by himself, of course," answered Christine. "He had contractors. But it was his design and he did a lot of the carpentry himself. Why?"

A wooden panel in the wall opposite the door slid open as Bane found the hidden latch. "There are only so many ways to hide a secret doorway," he said. Taking a pencil flashlight from his jacket, he peered behind the panel. "All of you need to take a look at this." One by one, they stuck their heads in the opening and saw a narrow passage running the length of the wall. It was barely wide enough to allow a normal man to walk through, a featureless passageway behind the guest rooms.

"This is interesting," the Dire Wolf said blandly. "I'm betting every guest room on this floor has a hidden doorway to that passage. That's how someone popped in, smacked Walton over the head and disappeared."

"I never knew this was here," Christine Cantero announced. "It's so bizarre. Why would my father build such a thing?"

"And what other odd features are in this house?" Bane said. "Maybe you all should stick together until midnight tomorrow. Sleep in the den on the chairs. Keep an eye on each other."

The lawyer Jourdan seemed more angry than worried. "Mr Bane, there is something I should bring up. You were in here first while the rest of us were just waking up to that scream. How do we know it wasn't you who struck poor Mr Walton here?"

"Because I'm not in the will," Bane answered. "I have nothing to gain. If one or two of you people get knocked off tonight, the others might have a claim to that part of the inheritance. I'm just here for the fee Miss Cantero is paying me."

"Are you? Are you really?" Sean Rooney sneered. "Maybe not. Maybe she has also hired you to get rid of some of us so she can claim more. Maybe you're here to kill us one by one."

The faintest hint of a smile barely touched Bane's thin lips. "You don't know me. If I had wanted to kill Walton there, he would NOT be sitting up with just a headache. But tell you what, from now on I'm sticking in plain sight with the rest of you."

V.

No one slept the rest of that night. When Walton felt strong enough to walk unassisted, they all went into the den to leave cable news on in the background. Conversations started and fizzled out. Then Arnold Walton sat up and started going through his pockets with increasing concern.

Seeing this, Bane immediately jumped up. "It's your key, isn't it?"

"I'm sure it was in my left pants pocket," Walton said. "Absolutely."

The Dire Wolf put his hand on the doorknob behind him. "Look. I'm going to search Walton's room and one of you needs to come with me to report to the rest of you. Who's it going to be?"

"I'll go," Sean Rooney volunteered. "I'm the youngest and in the best shape, let's face it."

"Fine." Bane turned his grey eyes over the assemblage. "Each of you has stayed here before, right? You have? So it's not impossible that any one of you could have tiptoed down the hidden passage to come in Walton's room and club him over the head."

"My rooms are on the third floor," Christine put in. "So that leaves me out."

"Sorry, no. Everyone was behind a closed door. You could have come down to the second floor into the empty guest room and gone ahead with the attack."

"You're supposed to be on MY side!" she snapped. "I'm paying you."

Bane disregarded that. "Someone else would point it out. Rooney, let's start searching." He led the redheaded man into Walton's room, and for the next hour they both diligently took it apart. After a few minutes, Rooney realized Bane had been trained and was searching systematically and thoroughly, so he stepped back and kept out of the way. Eventually, everything was back in its proper place and someone walking in would have no reason to suspect a search had even been made.

Back in the den, Bane closed the door as everyone stared. "No sign of the key. Has anyone left this room?"

No one had. Learning this, Bane cleared off the top of a reading desk which sat under a bright lamp. "Okay, here's the next step. One by one, you are going to empty your pockets onto this table, turning the pockets inside out. If the key doesn't turn up, it'll be time for a personal search. Walton, you first... just so we know the key really isn't on you?"

"I object to this," the attorney muttered but subsided. "But I guess I see why it's necesary." Under everyone's careful watch, he turned each pocket inside out and placed the contents on the desk. Wallet, comb, breath mints, a wad of money in a steel clip, but his car keys were being held by the lawyer Jourdan. Walton even voluntarily removed his shoes and socks for inspection.

"All right so far. Thanks, Walton. Van Aken, you're next."

One by one, they submitted to the process without results. Eventually, it was Bane's turn. The pile of tiny gadgets and bizarre weapons he placed on the desk astounded everyone. From the matched silver daggers to the flexible hacksaw blade to the lockpick kit to the egg-sized smoke grenades, all were brought out and carefully replaced.

"My God," said Christine. "Do ALL private eyes carry an arsenal like this?"

"Sure," Bane answered blandly. "Next step is to search this den. I want everyone to stand against that wall while I start over here." Again, the Dire Wolf set to work. Quickly, thoroughly, he made his way through every conceivable hiding place. In less than ten minutes, he took down a small bronze statue of a bull moose and held up the key that had been hidden under it. "Voila," he said. "Who was over here?"

"We all were," Jourdan admitted. "We were wandering around at random the past few hours. It could have been anyone."

"So we still have gotten nowhere," Rooney put in. "Back to square one."

"But," said Bane as he handed the key back to Walton, "whoever our mystery assailant is, he hasn't gotten anywhere either."

VI.

Dawn came, and Christine led everyone to the main kitchen. Despite being exhausted and anxious, they all managed to eat a huge breakfast of French toast, scrambled eggs and bacon, as the coffee pot was refilled more than once.

As Bane cleaned his plate a second time, the lawyer Jourdan asked, "So, you've had some experience with this sort of thing. Why would anyone try to steal a key? All four are needed to open the vault."

"I've been thinking about that," the Dire Wolf said. "It doesn't make sense. The only reason would be if someone planned on killing everyone else and claiming whatever is in the vault for himself alone. But there are two witnesses here, you and myself. It's too ridiculous to expect to get away with five murders within twenty-four hours. No, there's something devious behind the attack on Walton there. I don't know what."

The day crept by. Back in the den, Van Aken claimed the couch and Walton pulled two chairs facing each other so he could stretch out enough. They both dropped off in uneasy slumber.

"Not a bad idea," Jourdan whispered. "We'll stand guard for a while and then get our turn at a nap."

"I'm okay with that," Sean Rooney agreed, "as long as two of us are awake at the same time."

"Well, I need a shower and a change of clothing," Christine Cantero declared. "I'm going to my rooms and I do not need a chaperone."

Jeremy Bane had no humor in his voice. "I'll be standing outside your door, Miss Cantero. As your bodyguard, it's my duty."

"Well.. I suppose." She headed for the door with the Dire Wolf escorting her.

Left behind, Michel Jourdan asked Rooney, "Doesn't it seem strange you are remembered in Mr Cantero's will?"

"What, because Patricia left him for me? Yeah, I guess. But that was a long time ago and I guess our good old days balanced that out in the long run." Rooney shrugged carelessly. "In any case, I am not about to pass on a cool million in my bank account."

Jourdan was frowning at the sleeping men. "I shouldn't say anything but those two have wronged Mr Cantero as well..."

"Oh, I know all about that," Rooney chuckled. "We're all bastards in this situation. It seems like even so we are the best friends that despicable old survivalist had."

"I suppose...." Jourdan said.

Christine returned, hair still damp and pulled up atop her head, wearing a neat pantsuit outfit in lilac. As she entered the den, Bane remained in the doorway.

"You're all in one place. As long as some of you remain on guard, nothing can happen. I'm going to prowl this place a little. The whole bit with someone slugging Walton and stealing his key doesn't make any sense no matter how I look at it."

Jourdan seemed concerned. "But what if the assailant was not one of us? What if you run into some mystery man?"

Bane raised one eyebrow as he left. "I'll try to bring him back alive."


VII.

At five minutes to midnight, the four heirs of Emilio Cantero stood somberly before the vault door in the finished cellar. A pool table, dart board, even a handcarved ivory chess set on its own stand showed how Cantero had spent some of his leisurely evenings. The vault door itself was stainless steel, set in a steel frame in the brick wall. Four keyholes stood in a vertical row, with a pullbar.

"We should wait for Bane to return," Christine urged nervously. "He left to search the grounds again an hour ago and we haven't heard from her."

"Aw, the hell with him," Rooney said. "He's a big bad private eye, he can look out for himself. I want to get this over with!"

Standing behind the four, Jourdan consulted his wristwatch. "It's time. You may open the vault and claim whatever final inheritance Mr Cantero left for you."

No one seemed eager to begin, but finally Sean Rooney said, "Aw hell," and inserted his key into the top hole. The others followed suit, and then, by some mechanism all four keys rotated with a click and the door swung outward toward them. They could see the door itself was six inches thick. A naked light bulb clicked on inside the vault, showing a tiled floor and a low table with an old-fashioned wooden chest sitting on it.

Rooney again took the initiative, staring back over his shoulder at the others. "Well, what's the matter with you guys? Have you all lost your nerve? I'm claiming first dibs."

"DON'T MOVE!" shouted a voice from behind them. Everyone jumped almost off the floor, swinging around to see Bane struggling with a man at the bottom of the steps. "Get out of the way!" the Dire Wolf yelled at the top of his lungs as he wrestled the big stranger past them and violently flung the man through the open door into the vault. The four heirs had moved out of the way, completely confused at the sudden flurry of action.

For a few seconds, they all saw the man getting up off the tiled floor of the vault. He was a muscular man in his fifties, very burly and imposing in khaki trousers and a red flannel checked shirt. His full head of thick black hair had no grey in it, and his sullen face was red with killing rage.

"Dad?" cried Christine.

"Emilio?" echoed Rooney in equal disbelief.

As Cantero tried to get to his feet, he stepped on a specific tile directly in front of the wooden chest. Horror swept over his face like a wave, as the massive steel door slammed shut with a clang that had a deadly finality to it.

"That was my father!" screamed Christine. "He's alive-- how can he be alive?"

Jeremy Bane stood in front of the vault door with folded arms. "It was a scheme eight years in the making," he said quietly. "Your father was a survivalist. He spent most of his time in the woods nearby. I bet we'll find a permanent camp not far from here. And he snuck in here when you were away to get provisions and medical supplies and the like. I found his hidden storeroom on the other end of the building. Tons of canned food, bottled water, tools and blankets. He sure planned this out."

"He's going to run out of air," Christine said. "Let's open the door."

"You can try," the Dire Wolf told her quietly. She soon discovered that the vault door was sealed shut beyond any attempts to open it again. Frantic, they removed the four keys and re-inserted them but nothing happened. Nor could they hear anything from within.

"Oh, my God, do something," begged Christine. "Call the police. Get some dynamite or something."

"It would take hours to get that door open, even after they got someone way up here. I'd say there was enough air in there for only another ten minutes at best." He turned and pushed Christine gently back away from the vault.

"It's horrible," she said as tears began to pour. The men in that cellar were staring at Bane as they began to understand.

"Emilio Cantero planned for this moment the past eight years," Bane told her. "He got together the four people he hated most in the world, and yes I'm afraid that includes you, Christine. And he tried to lure them into that vault with a door that could not be opened once it slammed shut. Do you see it yet? He's going through what he planned for you four. 'And the schemer falls into the pit he digs for another.'"

2/17/2015

"The Conquering Rats"

8/21-8/22/1994


I.

At ten minutes to two in the morning, the phone on the nightstand rang. Jeremy Bane was a light sleeper at best, and he sat up instantly awake as his hand jumped to the receiver. Beside him in the double bed under the light linen sheet, Cindy mumbled darkly and rolled over away from the noise.

"Yeah. Hey, Ace. What's the matter?" The Dire Wolf sat up on the edge of the bed and wiped his face with one hand. "Slow down, you're not making sense. Why can't you talk right now? Sure, come right over. You're what, an hour north of here? Okay. We'll be waiting."

Cindy Brunner had crawled out of bed and padded naked across the floor to the bathroom. The door closed behind her with a bit more emphasis than was strictly necessary. Hanging up the phone, Bane stood up as he clicked on the bedside lamp. In his late thirties, the Dire Wolf was at a physical peak. Years of Kumundu training had stripped his naturally lean body to a hard mass of muscle and bone with zero fat. Glancing over at the light from under the bathroom door, Bane smiled faintly. He seldom needed more than four or five hours sleep out of twenty-four because of his enhanced metabolism but Cindy wanted a solid eight hours in a row and didn't enjoy having it interrupted.

Crossing over to the dresser with its huge mirror across the top, the Dire Wolf got fresh white cotton socks and underwear on, then took down a suit of what looked like wet silk. The flexible Trom armor covered his body, arms and legs to leave only hands, feet and head exposed. As he tugged the armor on, it tightened a bit by itself to fit him snugly.

Emerging from the bathroom, drying her hands on a washcloth, Cindy Brunner watched him with pride. Only an inch over five feet tall and just over one hundred pounds, she had the same wiry definition he had and from the same cause. They had been Tel Shai knights for more than fifteen years and were in better condition than most Olympic athletes. Cindy was a natural blonde, with hair the color of goldenrod in a thick ponytail, lightly freckled skin and dark blue eyes in a usually impudent face. Right now, that face was completely serious. She got her white flannel bathrobe off its hook on the bathroom door and wrapped it around her.

"You know what's going on?" he asked as he went over to the walk-in closet.

"No. You're thinking too fast," the little telepath said. "All I'm getting is worry and urgency."

Bane paused and turned to face her. In the subdued lighting of the bedroom, his grey eyes seemed almost colorless. "That was Ace Elmendorf. I don't think you've met him. He was one of Mike's friends, I don't know him that well. Ace is a sort of shady adventurer in the Midnight War, always getting in and out of trouble. Sometimes he retrieves stolen artifacts, sometimes he steals them himself."

"Huh." She sat down on the edge of the bed and searched for her slippers. They were fuzzy and light blue, and she found one but the other eluded her. "Does he have any gralic powers or anything?"

"No. He does own an Eldar travel crystal. It's small but it gets him into most of the adjacent realms. He told Mike once he was going to donate the crystal to the KDF in his will." Bane had gotten one of his standard outfits from the closet and started climbing into the black slacks, long-sleeved turtleneck and sports jacket as he talked.

Before he pulled on the turtleneck, though, Bane took two leather harnesses from where they had been hanging by the bed and strapped one to each forearm. The sheaths held a matching pair of short throwing daggers without crossguards... daggers with blades of silver blessed by the immortal Eldarin ages ago. These had been given to him by Kenneth Dred at their first meeting, and they were the most prized possessions Bane had ever owned. With the shirt and jacket on, he adjusted the hilts facing out toward his wrists to be sure he could reach them quickly.

Automatically, Bane patted the dozen concealed pouches and pockets built into his clothing. All the tiny Trom-devised gadgets were in place. The oxygen membrane, the flares no bigger than pencil stubs, the tear gas/smoke bombs the size of grapes, the flexible hacksaw blade and the hooked lockpick tools.. everything was where it should be.

"Now your thoughts are getting organized," Cindy said. She normally kept a very light surface contact between their minds when they were near each other. "This guy Ace is on his way here?"

"So he said. He sounded almost hysterical, Cin, and that bothers me. Ace has been in Khebir, Perjena, Signarm, even Chyl, and he always got back safely. He said he once even snuck into Ulgor wearing an aqualung. It's disturbing to hear him so frightened by something "

The blonde came over to touch him on the arm as she went toward the hallway door. "Whatever it is, hon, the two of us can handle it. This is the best place on Earth for him to head when there's trouble." She went out into the hall and swung right into her own adjoining room. Most nights she spent next to her lover and partner, but Cindy's own room held her wardrobe, books and albums, hanging plants and framed photos and assorted knick-knacks. His room was so bare and Spartan it hardly seemed anyone lived there.

Waiting for her, pacing restlessly, Jeremy Bane fretted about Ace. He had only met the man twice, but Elmendorf had seemed so experienced, so confident, that it was hard to imagine anything could rattle the man. Bane had no way of knowing that, right at that moment, Ace Elmendorf's car had smashed head-on into a telephone pole by the side of a back road at over ninety miles an hour.

( the rest of the story )