DIRE:SINS (The Dire Saga Book 5)

by Andrew Seiple

  “Cute.” I shucked the neural harness from my head, unstrapping the electrodes and depositing it on the couch. Then I stood, stretched, and surveyed my domain.

  As villainous lairs went, it was... unassuming. A large three-bedroom apartment, decorated simply. A spacious central living room, with one wall full of windows looking north, towards the River Thames. A kitchen chock-full of cooking implements. Enough tchotchkes to make an intruder think that the people who lived here were expecting to stay here long-term. And enough hidden security devices to ensure that any intruder wouldn’t be intruding for more than a few seconds before he departed consciousness.

  All nonlethal, of course. My roommate, and partner for this journey, (in more ways than one) had talked me out of utilizing deadly force to secure our living space.

  It was strange, working with a hero, even if he was more pragmatic than most of his breed.

  Speaking of which, he’d be due home soon. I pulled out my phone, checked my cover identity’s account, and winced. We’d already exceeded the budget for take-out food this week. I’d have to cook something.

  I moved to the kitchen, put on the apron, and started gathering ingredients and utensils. Mouth still tasted like vomit, so I pulled juice from the fridge, rinsed, and spat until I didn’t taste foulness anymore. Then I dug out the recipe book and got to work.

  “You know, I could do that too,” Alpha said. He wadded up paper towels and threw the gunk into the trash-can with a perfect three-point shot.

  “You could. But... well, it wouldn’t be the same. You know how he is.”

  “We could tell him you did it.”

  I shook my head. “No lies. That’s the agreement. Not even the small ones. Besides, he likes it when women cook for him. It’s a cultural thing. Like feeling guilty about birth control.” I’d had to put my foot down on that one. I didn’t have time to get my tubes tied, and I wasn’t about to risk babies. Not now, maybe not ever.

  Briefly, I remembered a toddler’s face; golden-haired, laughing. I closed my eyes, took deep breaths until the pain faded. For now, anyway.

  “Here we go,” Alpha said. “The first few cameras are on-site.” He waved, and the television flickered to life. The wave had been strictly for my benefit, he really didn’t need to do that. Alpha was hooked into the apartment itself, and the building too, for that matter. I’d made sure of that when we prepared this lair.

  We watched, as reporters pushed cameras towards very annoyed policemen. Blue lights flashed in the background, while more officers spooled out yellow tape and kept back gawkers.

  Then the door opened, and a bedraggled and annoyed Lady Thrush stepped out. The look on her face turned to horror as the reporters surged forward, shouting questions so fast that she hadn’t a prayer of answering them.

  Gods, that kid was young. Sixteen? Seventeen? Behind her, four people dressed in loud Hawaiian shirts stepped out. The woman had a baggy skirt, but the three men wore khaki shorts.

  “And there’s the basement idiots,” I grinned, as I picked up my knife and laid into the vegetables.

  “So the last shipment was there.”

  “Last one from Mariposa, yes. We still don’t know the extent of his operation. Of their operation.”

  “Bigger than we thought,” a deep, male voice said from behind me.

  I jumped, almost threw the pan of vegetables all over the tiled floor—

  —and a nimble arm snaked around me, disarmed me of the pan’s handle, and compensated for the momentum, catching the few escaping carrots with a flick of a skilled wrist.

  “Okay,” I said when my heartbeat had stabilized. “First, don’t sneak up like that again. Second, that was just showing off.”

  “Sorry,” Manuel said, smiling at me as he leaned in for a kiss. His lips tasted smoky, and he was nice and warm as I hugged him. He embraced me with one arm, slipped the pan back to the counter top with the other.

  “You’re not sorry, but that’s fine.” I put on my best housewife grin. “So how was the office?”

  He shuddered. We’d taken care to ease ourselves into society, infiltrating bit by bit with cover identities, falsified records, and jobs. It let us fade into the background, because London was a very big place, and no matter how big the Maestro might be, he couldn’t watch everywhere. It also gave Manuel time to learn the lay of the land, and me the time to build up our resources, and arrange remote shipment of all the various drone bodies. We had so very many of them stashed around the city, now. The one on the ship had been a necessary sacrifice, but one I paid for gladly.

  The downside of it was that Manuel had to put on a show, and blend in with a white-collar sales job. Which was fine, because it helped him lose his accent, and learn the local customs while giving him the perfect excuse to travel and get used to the city.

  And after night fell, he could lose his alias, take up his mask and costume, and become Señor Acertijo, the relentless inquisitor and skilled vigilante who had kept the peace on Mariposa City’s streets.

  One week ago he’d started his runs, gathering information with intimidation and fisticuffs and observation. He was the first wave. I was the second. I wasn’t as good at subtle detective work. So I posed as a housewife while I engineered up a storm. The domestic bits were both a mask and a bit of an experiment; I wasn’t sure if I enjoyed this lifestyle.

  Still, for now, it sufficed. I would have gone mad without human company, and he seemed to enjoy the ruse too.

  We covered each other’s weaknesses, and it had been an unusual but good arrangement.

  That arrangement had borne fruit a few minutes ago.

  I nodded towards the television. “Your information was right. We found the blanks. Got to confront Maestro directly on a closed-circuit television. Oh, he’s peeved.”

  “Is he?” Manuel headed over to the television, watched as the police hustled the tourist-dressed basement captives into a waiting van. “That’s good, at least.”

  I’d learned to read his tone over the months we’d been working together. “There’s a but in there somewhere.”

  “You’re right. That’s good, but—” he sighed, as he took his coat off, hung it on the wall. “—in the grand scheme of things, it probably won’t lead us anywhere.”

  I paused, with a pan full of stir-fry and a somber feeling. “You’ve got bad news, don’t you?”

  “You’ll want to be sitting down for this...”

  CHAPTER 3: LEGWORK

  “He hit us like a hurricane. A hurricane with fists. Just purple and black, swooped out of the shadows when we were strippin' the lorry. Emmet draws a knife, he draws a feckin' sword, and you can't blame me for runnin'. I could still hear him behind me, shouting questions as he beat Emmet, and Emmet screamin'...”

  --'Chops' Harker, a minor crook overheard at the Hanged Virgin's pub

  We’d chased a man across the ocean. The Murder Maestro, a mentalist of a particularly vile bent, had caused me no end of grief when I was dealing with some hairy business in a banana republic off the coast of Colombia. He’d invaded my mind, and I neither forget nor forgive such transgressions.

  This had given me common cause to work with an old enemy of his. We’d decided to team up; me for vengeance, and him for justice.

  We’d found common ground in the bedroom, as well, which made the slow infiltration into Britain somewhat more agreeable. Dude was hot. Physically toned, experienced, smart, and a hell of an investigator. All things that I found attractive.

  Unfortunately, at the minute, he was also clueless.

  “Nothing?” I said, giving the stir-fry pan a good shake. Various savory bits sizzled and hopped, but I kept my eyes on Manuel.

  “As far as every criminal in London knows, there is no Maestro. There is no Murder Maestro. There is no Maestro M, or anyone with any resemblance to that name whatsoever. He simply does not exist.” Manuel stared morosely at the television.

  I gnawed my lip. “Would more time help?”

  He
just looked at me.

  “Right, stupid question,” I admitted, lowering my gaze to the stir fry. Señor Acertijo had serious skills. If he said the Maestro wasn’t traceable, then he knew what he was talking about.

  I gave the pan another shake, judged it done, and flipped it onto the serving platter. A few last garnishes, a couple of opened bottles... beer for him, soft drink for me, and dinner was served.

  Manuel ate ravenously. I’d have been surprised if I didn’t know him pretty well by now. He burned through calories like a race car through diesel. The guy had no superpowers, so he substituted an insane exercise and dietary regimen, on top of constant training and practice. The third bedroom of the apartment was rigged up to be his gym. It sufficed, barely. I had a notion that he’d spent more effort than was necessary on his nightly excursions, just to make sure he didn’t lose tone.

  Not that I minded that tone, not a bit. He was my first proper boyfriend, and, well... rawr.

  “Right,” I said, tucking into my share of the food. “So there’s nothing to find.”

  “I didn’t say that,” Manuel smiled.

  “Another riddle?” He was fond of those. That was what his name translated to, in English: Mister Riddle.

  “No. While the master is still hidden, his puppets are not necessarily so well protected.”

  “Ah, right, his group. Something solid there?”

  “Perhaps. I will need a few hours to run it down. Check my information with your imp’s help.”

  “Hey! I’m a daemon at least,” Alpha sulked.

  Manuel flicked through his forehead with one finger, making Alpha’s hologram swirl for a second. “Demons don’t glitch.”

  “Flick a finger through your own head, see how well you do then,” Alpha grumbled.

  “Boys, boys,” I smiled. “Shush. Getting to the good part.”

  On screen, a tired-looking detective in a trenchcoat stepped up to the reporters, and gave the official police statement. Yes, an unknown assailant of unknown origin had charged into the city and stormed the building. Yes, unknown criminals within the building had fired gunshots. Yes, there had been a hero on-scene. Yes, some very confused people had been found within the building. They were in good hands and in protective custody at this very minute. And yes, by all accounts, at least three men were dead, four more in critical condition.

  That caused a hubbub among the reporters.

  It also made Manuel turn around and give me one hell of a stink-eye.

  “What?” I asked.

  “We had this talk already.”

  “Self-defense.” I shrugged.

  “You were controlling a drone body. You were in no real danger. You did not need to kill.”

  “Human traffickers, who knew full well what they were doing?” I scowled. “You know how many women, how many children have been through that place? How many were killed by abuse, or trying to escape? You know it as well as she does, we tracked that down together.”

  He said nothing, merely kept looking at me. I searched for anger in his eyes, found disappointment instead.

  “It was only three,” I muttered, looking away. “They were in the wrong spot for the shaped charge, that was all.”

  “If you want to tackle the Maestro on your own, if you can do it on your own, I’ll walk away now.”

  Pain in my gut. I flinched, glanced around, looked away before I could catch his eyes. I didn’t want to see what they held, this time. “No. No, fine. No more dead men. Not without a damned good reason.”

  He’d come to mean a lot to me. But working with a hero, meant honoring a hero’s values... even if I didn’t necessarily share them. And heroes didn’t kill, not without a lot of fuss.

  Though, I had to wonder, what would happen to this relationship after we’d taken out Maestro M. It had been more of a spur-of-the-moment thing at the beginning, a ‘holy crap we survived that and won’ deal. Neither of us had expected it to last. But now here we were, months later, and it felt comfy. It felt right.

  The problem arose, though, that Maestro M’s defeat was our only common goal. I was preparing sinister long-term plans to change the paradigms of human society and technology, and Acertijo was trying to bring justice to his country and, to a smaller extent, the world in general.

  The smart thing to do would be to get the hell away from him the second our goal was achieved.

  That would be the smart thing.

  Instead, I snuck a peek at him from under narrowed lids, and found him watching me as intently. He smiled, put his plate to the side and crooked his arm up on the top of the sofa, and I smiled back, and sat next to him, easing up to his side and snuggling.

  For now we were together, and it was nice. Despite the occasional painful compromise. He needed me just as much, if not more, than I needed him.

  “Hey, you made the news, big guy,” Alpha flopped next to Manuel.

  What? I looked back at the television in time to see a reporter in a different part of the city pointing at an alley full of crime scene tape and gold spray-painted question marks.

  “Oh Manuel.” I sighed and rubbed my eyes.

  “I cannot help what I am.”

  “How many alleys full of graffiti?”

  He looked away, lips pressed together so tightly they were white.

  “Three, according to the news,” Alpha said. “Looks like you really had a productive night.”

  I started to scold Manuel, stopped. The costume business had a way of taking its price out of minds and bodies. For me, it was a serious issue when it came to using certain pronouns. For Señor Acertijo, Manuel’s alter-ego, it was a compulsion to leave his calling card wherever he’d distributed his own brand of back-alley justice.

  “What’s done is done,” I murmured. Though he still looked away, I saw his shoulders sag just a bit. Relief, there, in his body language. “Let’s look to the future. You said something about Maestro’s puppets?”

  “Yes.” He looked back and smiled. “It is the classic criminal conundrum.”

  “Right, right,” I knew it well. If you have a criminal service and want to profit from it, you need to let other criminals know about it. But some of those criminals would rat you out, or were actually undercover cops. It was a fine balancing act, between profitability and paranoia. You could never quite secure everything.

  “I will borrow your little fiend here—“

  “Daemon! And not exactly that, either.”

  “—and see about confirming my suspicions without hitting any tripwires.”

  I nodded. “Going to leave you to it, then. Got a few things to do in the workshop.” I suppressed a twinge of regret and peeled away from the warmth of his side. He mussed my hair as I went and I growled, low in my throat. “You’ll pay for that later.”

  “I certainly hope so.” Manuel’s smile made promises that I knew his hands would keep, and I felt my face flush with warmth. I cleared my throat, and headed back to the bedrooms before I got busy on something that, while enjoyable, wouldn’t further our goals.

  The first bedroom was ours. The third bedroom was his, full of exercise equipment. The third bedroom, to any outsider, would appear only to hold boxes. Converted storage, most likely.

  Looks were deceiving. I flipped the light switch, stood perfectly still, and the floor descended beneath me as the trapdoor opened and the mini-elevator lowered me into the real lair.

  The one up above was all well and good. I’d installed sound baffles along with the other security measures, when we’d claimed the place.

  But this one was where the magic happened. Well, the science, anyway.

  Three whole apartments, interior walls removed, floor, walls, and ceiling reinforced with structural force fields. Appropriate electronic camouflage and countermeasures designed to prevent detection from the most sophisticated sensors I could imagine, plus its own defenses, many of which were decidedly lethal. And a suite of the most advanced industrial tools and machines, all built onsite to my own
exacting specs. If this place were somehow captured without triggering any of the various self-destruct sequences, humanity would advance its technological base about twenty years, I figured.

  All this drew power from its own small fusion reactor, chugging away in the corner, plasma held suspended in a flickering globe. A tiny star, and oh hadn’t it been a pain ensuring that it was quite invisible from all outside detection.

  I’d taken the precaution of hacking the apartment building’s renter’s network. Nobody would attempt to rent this block out, and it would never show up on the maintenance manifests. Eventually someone would notice something was off, but by then we’d be long gone; our business concluded, and the entire workshop stripped down. Hell, I’d even rebuild the interior walls and take the basic furnishings out of storage. The unmaking had been recorded, and what had been unmade could be remade with little fuss.

  Manuel wasn’t allowed in my lair. Not because I was worried about him, but well... he had a hero’s instincts and reactions. Last thing I needed was him tripping security accidentally, and making the place melt down before I could get down there and defuse it.

  But those were worries for another day. Right now I had other priorities.

  With a flick of one wrist and a gesture, I brought up the augmented reality interface and light flared to life around my hands, resolving into red bands of numbers and scrolling command prompts. Another flourish unsealed the floor-to-ceiling cylinder in the center of the room, revealing my pride and joy.

  My armor.

  Eight feet tall from reinforced, wide foot to heavily-armored head, it loomed over me like a slumbering giant. Dull gray steel with black carbon fiber patches, the color scheme was broken only by the crimson cowled cape flowing down its back, and the white, ceramic alloy mask that hid its face. The only concession to the feminine form, the mask resembled an ancient muse, black, hollow eyesockets staring at something unseen and lips quirked in the slightest of smiles.

  My armor was a miracle of engineering, and like all my suits, I’d added in the lessons learned and innovations developed from the previous iterations. This one wasn’t as light as my first suit, or as heavy as my last one, but comfortably in-between. The weaponry lacked the sheer destructive power that I’d had for my last major job, but I’d put in a system-compatible forcefield generator, and called it a good trade-off. Steel on the surface only, the lower layers were made of more esoteric material and protected me from anything that breached the forcefield.