Jane stepped forward and poked me in the chest with a corner of her clipboard. “Watch it, mister. You are addressing the chairman of the Sectarian Defense League, Faisal Bane, and you two are trespassing. This is a government office registered with the City of New York. Whatever misapprehension you may be operating under, I’m informing you that we’re a legitimate organization in this town.” She stared at me in silence for several seconds, then said, “You can put the bat away.”
“Jane…” Faisal said sternly. “Never mind that. Bring me up to speed.”
She turned to face him, and I saw a hint of fear in the woman’s eyes. “Err, I’m not sure who these gentlemen are, Mr. Bane. The unarmed gentleman was arguing some claim for…” She scanned the clipboard with her index finger. “Item one-six-eight.”
Faisal Bane snatched the clipboard from her without taking his eyes off us and she flinched. His eyes danced for a moment as he read the listing. “I see. So would either of you two gentlemen care to explain why you feel the need to act in such a barbaric manner in our office?”
Connor nodded and pulled out his ID.
“We’re with the Department of Extraordinary Affairs, Bane. Property belonging to one of our clients was removed from her apartment earlier today by someone we tracked back to this office. The wooden fish.”
Faisal Bane glanced at the clipboard again. “Ms. Blatt? She’s with you, is she? Interesting. I thought she was…” He stopped himself and grinned. “Well, let’s just say I thought she was elsewhere.”
Faisal Bane and his minions knew something about Irene’s death, and I had trouble holding back my anger.
“What do you know about her disappearance?” I asked.
Faisal smiled at me with false politeness and handed the clipboard back to Jane. “Nothing whatsoever.”
“If you’re responsible for what’s happened to her-” I started, but Connor put his hand on my shoulder and interrupted.
“What is this place?” he demanded.
“Perhaps I can answer that,” a familiar voice offered from somewhere by the main entrance. A man stood at the doors. Just yesterday, I had watched him talking on the television in the front corner of the Lovecraft. It was none other than the D.E.A.’s strongest protector and the Mayor’s Office’s talking head, David Davidson. In person, the gray at his temples was more pronounced, and although he wore the smiling face of a politician in his midforties, his eyes looked much older.
“Davidson!” Connor said. “Thank God! What the hell’s going on here? Who are these people?”
“Easy now,” Davidson replied in that even way of his. Like magic weaving its spell, I could hear the soothing quality of his voice-it was no wonder he was a natural political liaison. The Mayor had relied on him for years to smooth over problem after problem that came through City Hall. I didn’t know if his abilities came from any sort of special power, but the fact remained that Davidson had a natural calming effect. “First, I think we need everybody here to take one giant step back from everyone else.”
As if on cue, everyone but me, Connor, and Faisal Bane moved back in unison. Davidson’s words had worked on the crowd and I was suitably impressed. I had never actually watched him work up close, outside of a TV screen. Although I hadn’t stepped back when he instructed us to, I did find myself lowering the bat until it once again hung harmlessly at my side.
“Good,” Davidson continued. “Look, Connor, I know the D.E.A.’s not really up to speed on what’s been going on here. There’s been a lot of red tape over this whole project back at City Hall, and the Mayor’s Office felt it was better to keep you folks in the dark until certain goals and initiatives had been fully set up.”
“Why don’tyou bring us up to speed?” I demanded. What the hell was the Mayor’s Office playing at?
Davidson sighed. For a second I thought he looked almost as worn down as his eyes did. Then he was back to his regular self in a flicker. “We’re talking about the cultists’ rights movement. The city has pushed through legislation legalizing and acknowledging the status of cults as part of the equal rights movement’s regulated standards and fair practices.”
I stared at Davidson in disbelief. “You’re kidding, right?” I said. “Please tell me that you’re kidding!”
“Unbelievable,” Connor added. “We’re talking about people who perform ritualistic sacrifices on the living, for heaven’s sake! They’re bloody cultists!”
“Actually,” Faisal said, raising a finger to interject, “we don’t go by that term. It’s archaic. The politically acknowledged term is ‘Sectarian.’ Didn’t you notice the sign on your way in?”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Connor said with as much bite to his words as he could muster. “Did I offend you?”
Faisal’s eyed flared with contempt. “It’s just this kind of blanket mentality-this stereotyping-that the Sectarian Defense League has been put in place to prevent!”
He turned his dark gaze fully on us and pointed accusingly.
“The world is changing,” he continued, “whether your high-and-mighty Enchancellors choose to deal with it or not, and weare the future of the new world order, gentlemen. Not you and your kind. You are dinosaurs, and like those pea-brained giants, you are headed down the same road.”
Connor pushed through the crowd toward Davidson, and I followed. I blocked the doors to stop Davidson in case he tried to leave, but he made no move. Connor drilled into him. “Is this how the Office of Plausible Deniability is handling things nowadays? For God’s sake, David, fighting people like these is part of the reason the D.E.A. was founded!”
“Listen,” Davidson said, throwing an arm over Connor’s shoulder. “These are complex times, Connor. You and Babe Ruth there can’t simply run around threatening everyone you meet with a Louisville Slugger.”
Davidson was trying to smooth things over, but it was too late. Whatever calming spell his voice had woven over us was now gone.
“I can’t believe you’re standing up for these guys!” I said. I reached for Davidson’s lapels to shake some sense into him, but my hands found no purchase. Dave Davidson moved with a speed I hadn’t thought possible, almost inhuman, and he was now standing a foot farther away.
“You don’t want to do that,” Davidson said with a cold stare. He adjusted his tie, all the while splitting his gaze between the two of us.
“You thinkthese are complex times, eh?” Connor started. “Wait until Inspectre Quimbley tells the Enchancellors. Then you’ll see complex.”
Faisal Bane cleared his throat and the three of us turned.
“Gentlemen,” he said. He waved at his employees dismissively and they returned to their desks. “I trust that your business is with each other and it need not concern me or my staff. We’re terribly busy around here at the moment, much to do…”
“A shipment of sacrificial lambs coming in?” I scoffed.
Faisal ignored me and continued. “Mr. Davidson, I suggest that you and your two-man A-Team take your issues outside. Unless you’d like me to put in a call to the Mayor…?”
“Hey,” Davidson said, looking a little worried. He held up his hands in surrender. “Easy, easy.”
A second later his composure was back.
“No need to bother His Honor,” he said with a carefully balanced political chuckle. “I’m sure the D.E.A. and I can handle this back at their headquarters.”
“And just where would that be?” Faisal asked a little too quickly. Greed sparked to life in his eyes, like a lawyer’s at the scene of a fresh accident.
Davidson went to speak, but I beat him to it.
“That information isnot part of the public record, Mr. Bane. Sorry to disappoint you.”
“You’re a government agency,” Faisal said, “much like ours and far more secretive than us, it seems. You’re required to be listed publicly. Just as we were.”
“You’re working under the assumption that we’re set up like you,” Connor replied. “Do you have any idea how long we’ve been around? Longer than the fat cats downtown and certainly much longer than any of these newly formed charters governing your institution. Don’t try to tell me how things run. We work under special charter, designated on a ‘need to know’ basis by the borough of Manhattan. I find it highly doubtful that anyone, including Mr. Davidson here, considers you and your group as a member of those ‘need to know’ types. Isn’t that true, Mr. D?”