Covert Ops

by T. R. Cameron

  The man smiled at Wysse, who cowered behind her magical barrier. It was difficult to tell what her plan was, but it seemed clear it wasn’t working. Her words came into resolution as she tried to negotiate with him. “I’ll go away. You’ll never see me again. There’s no need for any more killing.” She sobbed. “Haven’t you done enough?”

  He walked in a predatory circle around her, which forced the witch to turn to keep her defenses raised toward him. He laughed at her fear. “No, dear Wysse. You thought you were my equal, and worse, thanks to Sarah’s whispers in your ear, you thought you were better than me because I’m supposedly only human and you magicals are so much more.”

  She shook her head. “No, that’s not it. I only did what I was told. It was all her. Blame her.”

  Marcus grinned. “Oh, sweetheart, believe me, I do. And she will get what is coming to her, have no fear. But first, you need to give her a message.”

  “I’ll tell her anything you want me to.”

  His grin grew wider. “I know you would. Sadly for you, it’s not that kind of message.” He raised his arm again. Sloan expected to see the slot on the top rise to deploy the lightning-stun cannon and was surprised when a different one opened on the bottom. The man raised his wrist so the barrel that extended would be unobstructed, and the weapon discharged with a loud pop. The witch’s eyes widened as the single bullet drilled into the center of her chest. Her mouth formed an “O” as she looked at it and her shield fell with the distraction.

  Sloan consoled himself with the idea that she was already unconscious as the lightning savaged her while she fell. Her killer ran it back and forth across her body and laughed in a not entirely sane way before suddenly, it cut off. He frowned at the arm and muttered, “Damn battery.” The agent slid into darkness after that and only roused when Marcus slapped his face and lifted him.

  His knees buckled immediately, and the man moved in to support him and put his metal arm around his shoulders to hold him up. He gazed at the lobby and saw that their leader had done a good job of making it look like ARES had executed the attack by spreading a few shell casings, a baton dipped in the witch’s blood, and most telling, a pair of discharged grenades identical to the ones the team used. Mur’s truck pulled up outside with a man he didn’t know at the wheel. Marcus set him in the bed reasonably gently. A moment later, Murray joined him, still bleeding and frighteningly pale. Sirens howled in the distance, and the vehicle accelerated sharply as it headed to the road and the highway beyond it.

  The thought crossed his mind that what they’d done would be the start of some significant trouble, but he spiraled into unconsciousness when the truck hit a particularly hard bump and his head bounced off the metal. Ah, dreamland, how relaxing…

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Emanuel’s shop was on the path to Rath’s training appointment, so he and Max made their way down the streets toward it and enjoyed the summer sun. The dog noticed a rabbit across the grassy lawn and whined, and the tiny troll laughed and gripped his collar ring tightly. “Go, Maxie!” With a joyful bark, the Borzoi dashed through the intervening space, headed for the startled animal.

  It ran, and the dog followed, zigging and zagging to match its movements. There was no way he would actually catch the bunny and he really didn’t try hard enough. It wasn’t about the catching, it was about the chase. Rath grinned. Kind of a metaphor for some of the stuff we do. Although I would like to catch that Amadeo and put him on a train to a different city. The rabbit raced toward a small pond and ran near the ducks. Max was immediately distracted and began to play with them instead, bending over his front paws and hopping around like a goofball.

  Rath spent the whole time laughing more freely than he had in weeks. Finally, after the ducks had been replaced by squirrels who chattered from their branches above, the tired dog and gleeful troll made their way toward the shop. They’d left early enough for distractions, and he still had a half hour before he had to be at Lian Chan’s. He tried not to let his mind wander into imagining what the place or the training might be like as he didn’t want to ruin the reality of it with false expectations.

  They bounded inside to find the owner sitting in his usual chair, sipping tea and reading a tome that looked very old. Rath ran onto Max’s nose and said, “Launch,” and was flung upward. He did a flip and landed cleanly on the table beside Manny.

  “Well done, my friend.” The elderly man laughed, slid a bookmark into place, and closed the book. “How nice of you to stop by. Get this—I had a customer earlier.” He looked proud.

  The troll clapped with the right amount of enthusiasm. “Excellent. What sell?”

  Manny shrugged. “I didn’t say he was a buying customer.” They laughed together. “But he’ll be back, I’m sure. It takes a first visit to get used to the place.”

  He nodded, then sobered. “Have information. Need to share.”

  The man shifted his position so he could look at his visitor more comfortably. “Go ahead, then.”

  “Vigilante in town. Amadeo.”

  “Like a Batman kind of vigilante?” He frowned.

  Rath shook his head. “Assassin of bad guys.”

  Manny put a hand over his mouth. “That’s not good at all. Are you in danger?”

  Warmth surged through him at his companion’s first concern. “Not if I stay out of his way.”

  He chuckled nervously. “Well, you should definitely do that.”

  The troll nodded and looked at the clock on the wall. “Max, Ready.” The dog stood from where he’d been resting and Rath clambered down the table leg to jump onto his back. He waved at Manny as they headed to the door.

  He called, “I’ll let the others know about the vigilante.” As they left, Manny muttered loudly enough that Rath could make it out. “Amadeo…Amadeo. Why do I recognize that name?”

  They arrived at the location on the card two minutes before the appointed time. Their travel had taken them along a street they’d not been down before, filled with shops under signs he couldn’t read and scents and items he couldn’t identify. It looked ethnic, but not Chinese or Japanese. He didn’t know anything about it at all, other than it seemed pleasant.

  The address was a narrow door to the right of a tea shop of some kind, where the patrons sat at the narrow tables in the window and used cups that would have been small for his three-foot form, much less their full-sized bodies. He rang the doorbell and the door buzzed, so Max pushed it wide with his nose and they entered a long corridor. It appeared to run the full length of the shop and then open into a space behind it. The Borzoi padded cautiously down it, kept his head low, and made inquisitive snuffles.

  At the end of the passage, the room opened up to the left into a large box with minimal furnishings. Two garage doors made up the back wall. There were targets on the wall nearest him, and Chan sat on a folding chair in the far corner. The man was looking away as they entered but turned immediately. Rath wondered how since he couldn’t hear, and the question must have shown on his face. “Vibrations, young troll. I felt you probably about halfway along the hallway.”

  He grinned. “Hard to sneak up on you.”

  The man returned the smile and his dark almond-shaped eyes crinkled into laugh lines at the edges. “Very difficult indeed, unless you can fly. But, from what I’ve heard, you know a little about that, hey?”

  Rath laughed. “A little.”

  Chan gestured toward a case on a table at the center of the wall opposite the targets. “Take a look and choose where you’d like to begin.”

  He hopped off the dog and grew to his three-foot size, then snagged a chair and pulled it over to stand on top of it and peer into the open container. It was all wood, about two feet wide and one long. Nestled in a rich scarlet fabric were an assortment of weapons, each made of silver metal and featuring at least one sharp edge, usually more. On the far right were darts, ranging in size from tiny to long. Beside them rested throwing stars with various numbers of pointy ends. Nex
t, throwing knives, light, thin, and about hand-sized. The final section held the truly unique items. There was a bolo, several spheres of different sizes, things that looked like jacks from the child’s game but with wicked edges, and a couple of others he couldn’t even hazard a guess at.

  He turned to the man who would be his teacher. “Any best to start with?”

  Chan shook his head. “Whatever calls to you is best. The teachings are adaptable as all good lessons should be.”

  Rath regarded the choices before him and decided that the throwing knives were the most logical first choice. He selected a pair and carried them to his instructor. The man straightened and tilted his short-bearded chin at the weapons. “Examine them. What do they tell you?”

  He angled them to the light and saw nicks on the blades, along with scratches and smudges. When he examined the other edge, he found a slight bend in one of them. “They have been used before and not cared for properly.”

  The man broke into a smile. “That, my friend, is the perfect answer. You are correct on both counts. All these weapons are for my students, and all my students are instructed to leave them unrepaired when they finish. Can you guess why?”

  The troll thought about it but could only come up with one response. “Training?”

  He laughed, and it was soft and gentle and inoffensive. “Close, but not quite all the way. Yes, for training, but specifically to teach you that you must care for your things if you wish for them to care for you. Those weapons are now your responsibility, my friend. We shall practice with them today, and you will take them with you. When you return for your next lesson, if they are not in perfect condition, I will refuse to teach you.”

  Rath nodded. “I understand. I agree.”

  Chan tilted his head at the targets. “Throw.”

  He positioned himself and tossed one of the blades. It was remarkably light and well-balanced and felt good in his hand and as it left. It missed both the target and the cork board around it and struck the wall a foot to the side. Worse—or maybe better given the terrible throw—the handle impacted first. He looked at his teacher with a regretful expression.

  The man smiled and chuckled. “That is nothing to be ashamed of. Everyone starts somewhere. What’s important is where you finish and what you do along the journey.” He stood and walked over to stand behind him. “Okay, get into position to throw again.”

  During the next half-hour, the man adjusted many little things about Rath’s throwing. His stance had been slightly off balance, the way he brought his arm down had been too rigid, and other corrections big and small made all the difference. By the end of the session, he hit the cork board every time and the target itself once in a while. He’d lost any feeling of self-doubt or anxiety and merely enjoyed hurling the metal.

  Finally, his teacher clapped once. “Collect your blades, and I will see you here in two days at the same hour.”

  Rath did as he was told but paused before he left. “May have time conflicts. Helping friends.”

  Chan nodded. “There is no greater purpose. If you must reschedule for such a thing, then reschedule we shall.”

  The troll grinned. “Thank you, Chan.”

  “You are welcome, Rath.”

  As he walked beside Max out to the street, his mind already thought about how to integrate the knives into his equipment kit. He turned to the Borzoi. “Let’s go see Kayleigh.” The dog’s enthusiastic bark was all the confirmation he needed.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Since her visit to the Kemana, Diana had half-anticipated and half-dreaded her next training session with Nylotte. The knowledge that the Remembrance had gained strength in Stonesreach was something she would have expected the Dark Elf to share with her, and yet she had not. Combining that with the reminder that the woman had known Nehlan, the bastard who’d kidnapped Lisa as leverage, left her feeling strangely awkward toward her.

  Not angry, exactly, nor upset. But it felt as if a foundation she’d thought was solid was suddenly sand, ready to shift at the touch of a wave she couldn’t see coming. Maybe disappointed is the better term, but that would be stupid, right?

  So, when the word came that the Drow needed to see her immediately, it carried with it a bag full of worry. Still, she didn’t delay. At this point, the need for responsiveness had been reinforced many times over with sharp words and longer than strictly required lessons. She stepped through into the training space, expecting to find her teacher there, but the cellar was empty.

  Scraping sounds came from above, and Diana climbed the staircase slowly. As she reached the door at the top, it swung open, accompanied by the Dark Elf’s impatient voice. “About time, Diana. I have someone for you to meet.”

  She pushed through and found herself in the presence of another Drow. Huh. I wonder what you call a group of Drow? A dirge? A dram? How about a despair of Drow? She nodded at her teacher’s guest, and the woman nodded in return. Nylotte said, “Kienka, this is Diana. Diana, meet Kienka. She knows your boyfriend quite well.”

  The agent rolled her eyes. She never misses a chance, does she? “Is this about Bryant?”

  The two Dark Elf women laughed, which drew a frown from her. Her teacher shook her head. “She has assisted in the search for Rhazdon’s Vengeance, as her contacts on Oriceran are different than mine.”

  She was interested despite herself. “How so?”

  Kienka’s voice was dark and matched her skin and her hair perfectly. It held a subtler sarcasm than Nylotte’s. Bryant had told her once that his magical supplier had been one of the first to cross over, so perhaps she’d learned to hide her arrogance better than her counterpart. Or maybe my teacher simply doesn’t care what we think of her. It’s probably that. “Mine tend to be less accomplished than hers—closer to the ground, one might say.”

  Her teacher chuckled. “Or, to put it less gently, mine inhabit higher social circles.”

  The other woman nodded. “True. But mine found the clue you needed. There’s a lesson there.”

  Nylotte gave her a sour look. “As if I need teaching from you, crone.”

  The other woman’s laugh was overly loud and fully mocking. “You need a great deal that you do not wish to acknowledge.”

  Diana feared that the conversation was about to go to unproductive places, at best, and dangerous places, at worst. “What clue?” she interjected.

  Her teacher sighed, clearly exasperated. “We know where Angel and Demon are located.” Kienka raised an elegant black eyebrow, and Nylotte growled softly in irritation. “Are probably located.”

  The agent’s excitement level went from zero to sixty in an instant. “Where? How?”

  Kienka replied, “To the latter question, one of my contacts who specializes in finding powerful antiques—”

  Nylotte interrupted. “Stealing powerful antiques.”

  The other woman frowned. “Let’s say acquiring powerful antiques. In any case, that person knew the right being to bribe for information. At great cost, she was willing to share the suspected location of the daggers in return for a present reward and a promise of future consideration.”

  Diana didn’t much like the sound of that deal. “What kind of consideration?” Both women waved their hands in an almost identical fashion that she’d come to interpret as, “Trouble down the road, don’t worry about it now.” She shook her head. “Okay, fine. Where are they?”

  Kienka gestured at Nylotte, and her teacher said, “Oriceran. In a tomb.”

  She sighed. “Of course they are. Why wouldn’t they be?”

  Kienka had departed after several rounds of tea and discussion. It appeared to be an expectation or a ritual, as neither she nor Nylotte truly seemed to enjoy it and spent the time taking verbal shots at one another.

  When the other woman was finally gone, Diana had considered the ramifications of the Dark Elves’ contacts in her mind for too long to remain silent. “Can you explain the social circles thing?”

  Nylotte shrugged as she
collected the cups and placed them on the serving tray. “Like here, there is a criminal element—or an underworld if you wish—on Oriceran. It consists of big fish and little fish, friendly otters and vicious sharks, and all the variations in between. I swim most often with the bigger sharks. Kienka makes all the sea her own but tends to spend more time bottom-feeding than I do.”

  The woman loves her metaphors. “Should that worry us?”

  Her teacher sighed and paused her cleaning to look her in the eye. “You seem to bring a wealth of preconceived ideas to this subject. There is no absolute path of purity, only an ongoing question of how much of your precious idealism you might sacrifice in the face of necessity. Kienka and I are long past concerning ourselves with others’ moral expectations. I am entirely comfortable with who I am and what I do, and if it is practical for me to know those whose objective morals are, shall we say, disappointing to most, I will do so.”

  She brushed her hair out of her face and tossed her head to flick it back. “And before you become all self-righteous, remember that you seek to steal items which do not belong to you and use them against others who, like you, believe they are doing the right thing. I fully believe that you are an objectively better choice to possess them, which is why you have my assistance.” She lifted the tray and left the room, headed for the small kitchen in the back corner of the main floor.

  Diana considered the woman’s words. Her teacher had definitely captured the line of her thoughts and body-slammed it to the ground. But she was right. There was a continuum in place, and on one side were those who sought to hurt others, and on the other, those who sought to help others. Between these two extremes, the path intersected with legal and moral concerns of every kind. She asked herself, as she had many times before, if her purpose was just. And, as she had many times before, concluded it was. Mental Diana materialized in her vision and stood with her arms folded as she shook her head. “Well, then, perhaps you should climb off your bloody high horse and get some work done, rather than worrying endlessly about who knows who?”