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"Colder Than Ice"
May. 17th, 2022 05:35 am"Colder Than Ice"
(5/27/1979) [original "Cold As Ice"]
12/16/1984
The Castaways was an appealing restaurant, with decent food and a warm atmosphere. The wine list was pathetic, Griffin thought sourly, but that could be overlooked. American servings were always too large, of course, and the tea was much too sweet. Still, he thought, I rather like this place. I'm glad I won't have to kill anyone here. Across the table from him sat Inca, who was helping him devour the plate of stuffed mushrooms with parmesan cheese. She was an attractive blonde woman around thirty, with huge dark blue eyes. Inca was a bit thin, even delicate in appearance but this was deceptive. Griffin knew from experience she could be as deadly when the moment came as any operative in Her Majesty's Service and she had so many skills in languages and observation that she was invaluable.
Taking a sip of the chilled rose wine and putting the glass down with a barely audible sigh, she watched Griffin with anxiety in her expression. "Are you certain this is the right move?"
"Nothing is certain in this game," Griffin replied. He was a quiet man of average size, with a sprinkling of grey in his brown beard. His face was deeply lined. Griffin was in his forties, but years of stress and deceit had aged him quickly. He toyed with his food idly. "Inca, do you know anything more about this man?"
"Very little," she said frankly. "No one seems to have a handle on this Dire Wolf, Jeremy Bane. He is definitely an American, but with no backtrail of documentation. Seven years ago, he hired on as a field agent for Kenneth Dred. The late Kenneth Dred. Bane has collected an assortment of similar wild cards to act as his own team. There are many reports of their activities but they can't possibly be accurate. The KDF seems to investigate the paranormal, the supernatural if you like."
Griffin broke in. "I've heard that. And where they concern us is their clashes with international crime lords. Wu Lung. John Grim. Karl Eldritch. These are impressive opponents even for a national security agency, let alone a handful of amateur ghostbusters. Last summer, Bane's KDF managed to pit Wu and Grim against each other, leading to both empires being ruined. John Grim is now in a vegetative state in a Virginia hospital, and the doctors say his chances of healing are slim. Some terrible shock was given to his brain, a trauma like a lightning bolt. As for Wu Lung, he was crippled but managed to escape and go into hiding. Without his iron hand, his network of smugglers and slavers fell apart at once. How the KDF managed this, no one knows."
"I don't understand," Inca said softly. "Why is this Bane trusted with classified information? He is a loose cannon in the worst sense. I can't see why he is allowed to operate this way. Our employers do not give anything away with getting something in return."
"As best I can figure, our superiors see Bane as a useful weapon against threats they dare not challenge. I believe the American CIA has also given him information to send him against a menace, as has Department 21 Black. And we have many reports of the New York City Police Department calling in Bane and the KDF when unexplainable killings occur. All off the record, of course."
"Of course," came a third voice right at their elbows.
Both Griffin and Inca gave a start and looked up in surprise. Despite all their experience, a young man in black had entered the restaurant so silently that they had not heard him approach. The agents felt personally affronted by this.
Jeremy Bane was in his late twenties, dressed in a black turtleneck and sport jacket. His body matched his face- long, hard, uncompromising. His shaggy hair was black. From under heavy brows glittered the two coldest grey eyes either of the agents had ever seen. His war name was no accident, there was indeed a wolfish air about him. Griffin realized with a sinking feeling that he was impressed against his will, even a little intimidated. "Ah, the Dire Wolf, I guess?"
"That's right. You left me a message to come here."
"Please, join us," said Inca, gesturing to an empty chair. Bane sat down at the table. A traveller, she thought. He is originally from Manhattan but he has traveled since then. A slight Asian tinge to his vowels, she concluded.
A waitress came up but Bane dismissed her. "Nothing for me, thanks." After she left, he turned his full attention to the two agents. "Well, I'm here."
Griffin said, "My name is Stan Connelly and this is my wife Susan. We are here-"
"Hold it," Bane interrupted with an upraised hand. "Aliases are so awkward. I know who you two are. You're James Welshofer, code named Griffin and this is Adrienne Maurer, Inca. You're agents of the Mandate. My team has had problems with the Mandate before and I took the trouble to learn a little bit about the organization."
"Very well," the blonde said briskly, diverting Bane's focus toward her. "We ARE Inca and Griffin, as you say. I imagine Bane is not your real name, either?"
"Real enough. I was an orphan from the streets, I named myself." He leaned forward and said, "Let's get down to business."
"In one sentence, then. We want you to help us rescue a woman from being held and tortured," Inca whispered.
Bane said nothing, but his eyes suddenly flared with new interest. Before he had been distant, even distracted.
"There is a renegade KGB unit here in New York, Mr Bane, and they have kidnapped a young woman we were observing. The leader of the unit is a man named Rodchenko, a student of the Red Blade."
"I see," Bane said. "The Red Blade was Stalin's only terrorist who used gralic sorcery. That's why you wanted me. There is some magick involved."
"Very true," Inca put in. "As much as we hate to admit it, there does seem to be the so-called supernatural in this. Rodchenko reportedly has the ability to kill people just by touching their skin. He is referred to even by his own employers as 'the warlock.' Even worse, the unit has a freelance working for them, a man named Seth."
Bane scowled. "The Weapons Master. Seth Petrov. He's quite a joker."
"Perhaps too formidable for just Inca and myself to tackle," Griffin admitted. "We could request a back-up squad from our agency but they would not get here for hours. Perhaps not until morning. Our orders are not to involve the local police, as the fewer who know of this, the better. You are said to be reliable and discreet."
The Dire Wolf gave what they would come to recognize as a smile, just the faintest upturn of the corners of his mouth. "I've been useful to your agency. Let's not have any illusions about it, the Mandate has no respect or concern for me, but I have my uses."
"Fair enough," Griffin said, taking a last forkful of the stuffed mushrooms. "The Mandate was established to, shall we say, patrol the edges of the known and unknown. International espionage seems to cross over into your Midnight War with some frequency. But let's concern ourselves tonight with the fate of Jessica Segal."
Inca took over, "She is a student at Columbia, married to an insurance office manager, Henry Segal. They lived in Flushing. Two days ago, she did not attend her class and he did not show up for work. Her sister was concerned and called the police, but they have gotten nowhere. No leads. Our agency is aware of this because we have been observing Mrs Segal for some time now. You see, Mr Bane, she has a wild talent, some form of ESP if you like. This is what the Mandate follows. In experimental tests, she has been observed making fires go out and bringing room tempature water to near freezing. She can apparently lower the air around her by as much as fifteen degrees. No one can explain how this is done, but naturally our agency is interested. You can imagine how valuable this talent could be."
"I've seen how the Mandate can exploit people with special talents," Bane snorted angrily. "But go on."
"Pavel Rodchenko learned of Mrs segal's gift. How we don't know," said Inca. "We had one man watching the Segal house and he was taken off duty by a faked message. Another of our agents was brutally murdered in Manhattan, a showy crime which drew our attention there. Seth did this. While our people were distracted, the Segals were abducted."
"I guess you have no idea where they are now?"
"None," Inca admitted with a rueful shrug of her shoulders. "We believe they are in the metropolitan area but we can't pinpoint it further. We do not have the staff for a dragnet and policy is not to call in outside authority for security reasons."
Griffin took over, shoving the plate away from him on the table. "To be honest, there is the usual rivalry and between agencies. But you! You, Mr Bane, are an outsider. You can be called upon without stirring up jealousy from the CIA or Black 21."
"Fair enough," Bane said. He pushed back his chair, getting ready to stand up. "And I think I can add something. I know where Seth will be, and the others will likely be with him. Seth has had a house rented for the past year that he thinks is a secret."
"Really? And how do you know this?"
Bane rose. "I don't think I should tell you. It's enough that I do know." Although he was not willing to reveal it to the Mandate, the Dire Wolf had worked on several occasions with Seth's younger brother, Ethan. The two sibilings had long been bitter rivals, a situation which had degraded to outright hatred in recent years. Ethan would not challenge Seth openly, but he admitted he would not mind seeing the Dire Wolf tackle him and wondered who would survive. It was Ethan who had revealed some of Seth's hideouts to Bane. "We should get going. We'll take my car, you two can call for agents to pick you up after it's all over."
The Mandate agents also got up, Griffin leaving money on the table and a generous tip. He was unhappy with the way this loose cannon was just taking over, but he was detached enough to realize it might be for the best. If things went badly, this Dire Wolf could easily be set up to take the blame. But then, Griffin realized as he watched the intense young man, Bane had been doing this work for years and had not been made the patsy yet.
They left the Castaways, with Griffin helping Inca get into her down-filled coat. Cold night air hit them with a vengeance. it was threatening to snow, and fine ice crystals stung their eyes. Greenwich Village was almost deserted. Bane walked them to a dark blue Chevy Malibu parked at the end of the block, and unlocked the doors for them. With Inca in the passenger seat and Griffin in the back, Bane took the wheel and pulled away from the curb. The two agents gave each other brief worried glances.
( the rest of the story )
(5/27/1979) [original "Cold As Ice"]
12/16/1984
The Castaways was an appealing restaurant, with decent food and a warm atmosphere. The wine list was pathetic, Griffin thought sourly, but that could be overlooked. American servings were always too large, of course, and the tea was much too sweet. Still, he thought, I rather like this place. I'm glad I won't have to kill anyone here. Across the table from him sat Inca, who was helping him devour the plate of stuffed mushrooms with parmesan cheese. She was an attractive blonde woman around thirty, with huge dark blue eyes. Inca was a bit thin, even delicate in appearance but this was deceptive. Griffin knew from experience she could be as deadly when the moment came as any operative in Her Majesty's Service and she had so many skills in languages and observation that she was invaluable.
Taking a sip of the chilled rose wine and putting the glass down with a barely audible sigh, she watched Griffin with anxiety in her expression. "Are you certain this is the right move?"
"Nothing is certain in this game," Griffin replied. He was a quiet man of average size, with a sprinkling of grey in his brown beard. His face was deeply lined. Griffin was in his forties, but years of stress and deceit had aged him quickly. He toyed with his food idly. "Inca, do you know anything more about this man?"
"Very little," she said frankly. "No one seems to have a handle on this Dire Wolf, Jeremy Bane. He is definitely an American, but with no backtrail of documentation. Seven years ago, he hired on as a field agent for Kenneth Dred. The late Kenneth Dred. Bane has collected an assortment of similar wild cards to act as his own team. There are many reports of their activities but they can't possibly be accurate. The KDF seems to investigate the paranormal, the supernatural if you like."
Griffin broke in. "I've heard that. And where they concern us is their clashes with international crime lords. Wu Lung. John Grim. Karl Eldritch. These are impressive opponents even for a national security agency, let alone a handful of amateur ghostbusters. Last summer, Bane's KDF managed to pit Wu and Grim against each other, leading to both empires being ruined. John Grim is now in a vegetative state in a Virginia hospital, and the doctors say his chances of healing are slim. Some terrible shock was given to his brain, a trauma like a lightning bolt. As for Wu Lung, he was crippled but managed to escape and go into hiding. Without his iron hand, his network of smugglers and slavers fell apart at once. How the KDF managed this, no one knows."
"I don't understand," Inca said softly. "Why is this Bane trusted with classified information? He is a loose cannon in the worst sense. I can't see why he is allowed to operate this way. Our employers do not give anything away with getting something in return."
"As best I can figure, our superiors see Bane as a useful weapon against threats they dare not challenge. I believe the American CIA has also given him information to send him against a menace, as has Department 21 Black. And we have many reports of the New York City Police Department calling in Bane and the KDF when unexplainable killings occur. All off the record, of course."
"Of course," came a third voice right at their elbows.
Both Griffin and Inca gave a start and looked up in surprise. Despite all their experience, a young man in black had entered the restaurant so silently that they had not heard him approach. The agents felt personally affronted by this.
Jeremy Bane was in his late twenties, dressed in a black turtleneck and sport jacket. His body matched his face- long, hard, uncompromising. His shaggy hair was black. From under heavy brows glittered the two coldest grey eyes either of the agents had ever seen. His war name was no accident, there was indeed a wolfish air about him. Griffin realized with a sinking feeling that he was impressed against his will, even a little intimidated. "Ah, the Dire Wolf, I guess?"
"That's right. You left me a message to come here."
"Please, join us," said Inca, gesturing to an empty chair. Bane sat down at the table. A traveller, she thought. He is originally from Manhattan but he has traveled since then. A slight Asian tinge to his vowels, she concluded.
A waitress came up but Bane dismissed her. "Nothing for me, thanks." After she left, he turned his full attention to the two agents. "Well, I'm here."
Griffin said, "My name is Stan Connelly and this is my wife Susan. We are here-"
"Hold it," Bane interrupted with an upraised hand. "Aliases are so awkward. I know who you two are. You're James Welshofer, code named Griffin and this is Adrienne Maurer, Inca. You're agents of the Mandate. My team has had problems with the Mandate before and I took the trouble to learn a little bit about the organization."
"Very well," the blonde said briskly, diverting Bane's focus toward her. "We ARE Inca and Griffin, as you say. I imagine Bane is not your real name, either?"
"Real enough. I was an orphan from the streets, I named myself." He leaned forward and said, "Let's get down to business."
"In one sentence, then. We want you to help us rescue a woman from being held and tortured," Inca whispered.
Bane said nothing, but his eyes suddenly flared with new interest. Before he had been distant, even distracted.
"There is a renegade KGB unit here in New York, Mr Bane, and they have kidnapped a young woman we were observing. The leader of the unit is a man named Rodchenko, a student of the Red Blade."
"I see," Bane said. "The Red Blade was Stalin's only terrorist who used gralic sorcery. That's why you wanted me. There is some magick involved."
"Very true," Inca put in. "As much as we hate to admit it, there does seem to be the so-called supernatural in this. Rodchenko reportedly has the ability to kill people just by touching their skin. He is referred to even by his own employers as 'the warlock.' Even worse, the unit has a freelance working for them, a man named Seth."
Bane scowled. "The Weapons Master. Seth Petrov. He's quite a joker."
"Perhaps too formidable for just Inca and myself to tackle," Griffin admitted. "We could request a back-up squad from our agency but they would not get here for hours. Perhaps not until morning. Our orders are not to involve the local police, as the fewer who know of this, the better. You are said to be reliable and discreet."
The Dire Wolf gave what they would come to recognize as a smile, just the faintest upturn of the corners of his mouth. "I've been useful to your agency. Let's not have any illusions about it, the Mandate has no respect or concern for me, but I have my uses."
"Fair enough," Griffin said, taking a last forkful of the stuffed mushrooms. "The Mandate was established to, shall we say, patrol the edges of the known and unknown. International espionage seems to cross over into your Midnight War with some frequency. But let's concern ourselves tonight with the fate of Jessica Segal."
Inca took over, "She is a student at Columbia, married to an insurance office manager, Henry Segal. They lived in Flushing. Two days ago, she did not attend her class and he did not show up for work. Her sister was concerned and called the police, but they have gotten nowhere. No leads. Our agency is aware of this because we have been observing Mrs Segal for some time now. You see, Mr Bane, she has a wild talent, some form of ESP if you like. This is what the Mandate follows. In experimental tests, she has been observed making fires go out and bringing room tempature water to near freezing. She can apparently lower the air around her by as much as fifteen degrees. No one can explain how this is done, but naturally our agency is interested. You can imagine how valuable this talent could be."
"I've seen how the Mandate can exploit people with special talents," Bane snorted angrily. "But go on."
"Pavel Rodchenko learned of Mrs segal's gift. How we don't know," said Inca. "We had one man watching the Segal house and he was taken off duty by a faked message. Another of our agents was brutally murdered in Manhattan, a showy crime which drew our attention there. Seth did this. While our people were distracted, the Segals were abducted."
"I guess you have no idea where they are now?"
"None," Inca admitted with a rueful shrug of her shoulders. "We believe they are in the metropolitan area but we can't pinpoint it further. We do not have the staff for a dragnet and policy is not to call in outside authority for security reasons."
Griffin took over, shoving the plate away from him on the table. "To be honest, there is the usual rivalry and between agencies. But you! You, Mr Bane, are an outsider. You can be called upon without stirring up jealousy from the CIA or Black 21."
"Fair enough," Bane said. He pushed back his chair, getting ready to stand up. "And I think I can add something. I know where Seth will be, and the others will likely be with him. Seth has had a house rented for the past year that he thinks is a secret."
"Really? And how do you know this?"
Bane rose. "I don't think I should tell you. It's enough that I do know." Although he was not willing to reveal it to the Mandate, the Dire Wolf had worked on several occasions with Seth's younger brother, Ethan. The two sibilings had long been bitter rivals, a situation which had degraded to outright hatred in recent years. Ethan would not challenge Seth openly, but he admitted he would not mind seeing the Dire Wolf tackle him and wondered who would survive. It was Ethan who had revealed some of Seth's hideouts to Bane. "We should get going. We'll take my car, you two can call for agents to pick you up after it's all over."
The Mandate agents also got up, Griffin leaving money on the table and a generous tip. He was unhappy with the way this loose cannon was just taking over, but he was detached enough to realize it might be for the best. If things went badly, this Dire Wolf could easily be set up to take the blame. But then, Griffin realized as he watched the intense young man, Bane had been doing this work for years and had not been made the patsy yet.
They left the Castaways, with Griffin helping Inca get into her down-filled coat. Cold night air hit them with a vengeance. it was threatening to snow, and fine ice crystals stung their eyes. Greenwich Village was almost deserted. Bane walked them to a dark blue Chevy Malibu parked at the end of the block, and unlocked the doors for them. With Inca in the passenger seat and Griffin in the back, Bane took the wheel and pulled away from the curb. The two agents gave each other brief worried glances.
( the rest of the story )
