Masks 24: Part Two

"What is with this city, anyway?" said Michelle, as, together, she and Vic moved into their den and the couch in front of the TV.

"Part of it is that it's a crossroads," said Vic, shrugging as they sat and unconsciously snuggled closer. "Part of it is that all the empty - in many cases abandoned - properties and even entire neighborhoods here make hiding illegal activities relatively easy.

"Of course, a lot of illegal business takes place in what look like respectable establishments," Vic continued, as she put an arm around Michelle. "Caviar - which it really isn't, but that's what everyone calls it - gets traded to Russians and Belorussians over the counter in some food shops. Fresh from American streams and lakes. All illegally."

"Caviar?!"

"Yeah," said Vic, with a slow nod. "That trade is a lot bigger in Chicago, but there's still some here. Eastern Europeans are so mad about caviar they've just about wiped out their native fish. They come here and either fish for it themselves or buy it on the black market. Most of them don't even understand they're breaking the law, 'cause they're getting it for themselves and their families and friends and not for resale and, besides, everyone knows the US is a lawless place. When they're arrested they'll compound the offense by trying to bribe local or federal agents. 'Cause that's SOP where they're from."

"Crazy."

"Especially since the species which produce the best American caviar are already endangered and protected," said Vic. She gave a tired, humorless laugh. "You should hear the federal and state Fish and Wildlife agents talk about this. They're almost religious in their fervor to stop the trade."

"There's a lot more than caviar going on, though," said Michelle.

"A whole lot," said Vic, nodding tiredly. "That's just on my mind because we - the folks at the local office of the Bureau of Special Resources - were part of an inter-agency briefing on the topic yesterday morning."

"Ah..." said Michelle, with nod and a knowing smile. "Well, we have today off - I hope - so let's relax a bit before we start on the day's chores. No more talk about fish or fish eggs."

"Sounds like a plan."

* * *

The crime scene in Detroit was quiet the next workday morning. In fact, the whole city seemed subdued this Monday. As if the shock of the two spectacular robberies and the failed attempt at a third the previous Friday had spread, even to the law abiding, and was somehow causing a downturn in crime. Including casual traffic violations; even vehicular accidents were down. Local radio and TV news had covered the crimes, starting with the late editions that night, with weekend papers subsequently picking up the story of the events. By the start of work Monday morning a major portion of the population was keeping their heads down, often literally.

Vic was, as usual for early on a Monday morning, in a briefing. This particular time it was a group affair, intended for all the local federal law enforcement officers in Detroit. Vic glanced around and quickly found her boss, who nodded to her. Bruno Drake was a grizzled man in his late fifties, with short, grey hair and a conservative manner. As usual he wore a bowtie. However, he was not the person the assembled federal employees were here to hear. They had a visitor who had come to Detroit specifically to give a warning about a strong potential for theft.

As a result, the handful of field agents and the Special Agents in Charge for the local FBI, Marshals' Service and BSR offices were gathered in federal building's conference room, which had been reserved just for this purpose. The guest was introduced around the gathering by the local FBI office's Special Agent in Charge Dianne Colby. Vic had never met their special guest before but she knew who he was: Malcolm (Double Dutch) Vandemeer. He shook hands with everyone.

"I've heard a lot about you," Vic said, managing not to gush. "Some of it from Fen."

He laughed.

"Try not to let that color your view of me," he said, still grinning. Then he sobered, and looked around the room at the handful of people. "What I'm going to tell you today needs to be taken seriously."

The small, not very formal meeting was called to order, and Dutch proceeded.

"There is an exhibit of Asian - mostly Japanese - art coming to town. One of the main exhibits is a special display of a pair of samurai swords - or katana - called the Balance Blades. They are both shown with their associated wakizashi - which were actually acquired separately and later - but it's the big blades which are the problem. Every time they have gone on public display - and a large number of times besides - those swords have been targets for thieves."

"They're that valuable?" said one of the other special agents.

"In more ways than one," said Dutch, seriously. "Doesn't matter whether you believe in magic; other people do. Some of them would do anything, anything, to get those blades."

"The exhibit has agreed to post three times the usual security," said Colby. "However, a number of authorities have urged further precautions, especially since all this material is on loan from other countries. Some have even tried to get the exhibit cancelled, or at least have the swords removed from it. Both the exhibit's owners and the city are determined to continue as planned."

"They're fools for doing so," said Dutch, flatly.

"Why are you so, well, passionate about this?" said Vic, puzzled.

"Because," said Dutch, his young-old eyes narrowing, "every time - Every time! - those blades are exhibited, there's trouble."

Vic remembered that he was nearing a century of age, despite looking much younger. She wondered just how many times he had seen this same scenario play out.

* * *

Whatever the risk of crimes involving the swords, they were only one concern in Detroit at that time. Something more immediate soon required Vic's attention, due to an apparent use of powers in the case. A vehicle described as a black SUV had driven by a crowd waiting to get into a theater, and an energy blast had shot out the open rear passenger window of the vehicle. Fortunately, the single shot had missed the people, but there was substantial damage to the building. In spite of the miss, several of those outside had been injured by the resulting spray of debris.

As Vic drove up at the scene, several officers seemed to recognize her Corolla wagon. They waved her into a parking place which was out of the way of traffic but near the location of the incident.

"Thanks," said Vic, as she got out.

"Your car is getting to be as recognizable as the one in that old TV detective show," said one of the officers, grinning.

Vic had no idea what he was talking about, but there were more important things on her mind than having that reference explained. She soon found the senior officer on site.

"Witnesses say it was obviously a power in use," said the uniform, when Vic asked him for the details. "The black SUV had the rear passenger window down, and someone shot an energy blast of some type from inside as it drove by."

"That could be a direct power use," said Vic, frowning. As usual when in the field but not expecting a fight, she was in her armor but carrying her helmet. "It could be a gadgeteer device, which would be an indirect power use. It could be some sort of black market energy projecting device, perhaps even a captured Shilmek weapon. It could be a legal energy emitter, like a laser drill, which someone hacked to increase the output and range."

"So how do we tell which this was?" said the cop, looking confused.

"Find good video, or the people who did this," said Vic. She sighed and shook her head. "I'll take photos and samples and send them off to our experts. I seriously doubt they'll be able to tell anything beyond what type of energy caused the damage."

"Well, whichever it was, it wasn't a normal crime," said the officer, firmly. "We'll need your Bureau's help to figure out what happened, and maybe to catch whoever was responsible."

"That's what we're here for."

* * *

"Wow, he wasn't kidding," said Vic, working on the computer in their apartment that evening. "Dutch, I mean."

"About the swords?" said Michelle, from where she sat on the couch, reading articles to keep up on her job.

"Yeah. Every time someone exhibits those - and people who own them seem compelled to show off that they own them - someone steals or tries to steal them. Seems there's this long tradition, going back centuries, that those swords - made by different master sword smiths in different eras of ancient Japan - were paired by a warlord a few years after the second was made, and that they somehow balance each other, mystically. The folklore is that one of the blades was made by a man who made a deal with a demon and the other - older one - by a man who was actually a priest."

"Pretty heavy stuff," said Michelle, shivering just a bit.

"Well, the blades are priceless separately, each touted as the last made by their respective master. Together, they're priceless squared.

"There's also whole books of folklore about those blades. Supposedly, if you put the newer blade point-down in moving water, the edge facing upstream, leaves will be attracted to the edge and sliced in two. If you do the same with the other sword - the one made by the priest - leaves will go around it."

"Y'know, that could be caused just by the different finishes on the blades affecting the surface tension differently," said Michelle, thoughtfully. "Has anyone actually tried that? The water thing, I mean."

"Not in modern times. The swords are just too valuable." Vic jabbed a finger in the air from her seat at the computer. "However! According to legend, it was tried in the past and that's what happened. Also according to legend, the blades must be kept together. The good of one counters the evil of the other. That's supposed to be why the original owner of the second blade acquired the other one, to keep the evil one under control. Supposedly, even now, if they are separated, the evil blade will, well, commit evil. Or, rather, cause others to commit evil, or aid their evil acts or something. The legends are vague and the actual facts few."

"So it's 'legend' this and 'folklore' that and 'myth' the other," said Michelle. She shrugged. "That could be all these stories are."

"People have committed mass murder over myths and legends," said Vic, quietly. She sighed, and stretched a bit. "Think I'll practice my guitar some."

"Just as long as it's something I can sing along with," said Michelle, grinning.

* * *

The atmosphere for this meeting of partners in crime was far different from the earlier ones.

"Ah don't like this, boss," said Aurness. "Robbin' banks - especially after hours - is one thing, but these swords are in a public exhibit. Lots of guards, lots of security cameras and alarms..."

"I don't like it, either," said Parker, scowling. "Those are the orders."

He sighed, and shook his head.

"I think the bank robberies were tests, to make sure we could handle things. Maybe to fund this new operation, too."

"Ah hate when someone gets clever like that," muttered Aurness.

"We're professionals," said Parker, flatly. "Let's act like it."

* * *

"I don't like this, boss," said one of the more technical henchmen hired for the job, as Aurness and his people brainstormed the next day. "It's possible, but barely. Timing has to be exactly right. There's no margin. Maybe we should skip this one."

"Ah don't give a rodent's rectum whether you like it," said Aurness, hotly. "We were hired for a job, and you agreed to be part of it. If you want out, just say so."

"Yessir," said the man, almost but not quite coming to attention.

"Ah mean it!" said Aurness, standing and looking around the cheap hotel suite where the gang met to plan. "Any of you want out, now's the time. Won't be held against you. Ah know this is a tough one."

No-one said anything. No-one moved.

"Good enough. Now, get back to work. Like Ah said, this won't be easy. If anybody can think of a way to make it easier, sing out."

* * *

That group was not the only one preparing for illegal behavior. In a large, heavily modified garage, four young men carefully examined the new equipment they had just installed in an SUV with a dark paint job.

"You ready for this?" said one, as he finished and closed the hood.

"Revved up like a deuce," said another, with a grin and two thumbs up. The third echoed the second's gesture and grin.

* * *

Vic wasn't surprised to be called to her boss' office the next morning. She was only mildly surprised to see a visitor there. A man a bit below average height, in early middle age and with male pattern baldness and thick, black-rimmed glasses. Not unlike her boss, except that Drake was a bit taller and in much better physical condition.

"Vic Peltior, this is Ivan Travers," said Special Agent in Charge Drake, as the two shook hands. "He's from the Office of Scientific Investigation and has some equipment he would like you to evaluate."

"It's not just 'some equipment," said Travers, with the zeal of the true believer, as he lifted - with a bit of difficulty - the case from the floor beside him and used both hands to present it to Vic. "It's state of the art armor. Far better than that collage you're currently wearing! Just try it out and let us know how well you like it!"

"Uhm, okay," said Vic, accepting the case... with one hand. "I'll let you know."

"Excellent! The manual is in the case. If you have any questions, so is the contact information!"

Vic expected him to leave after that, but instead he spent over twenty minutes expounding on the virtues of this state-of-the-art armor. The more she heard the more Vic's stomach sank. The man was touting as new developments by his office things which Vic's existing armor had included for months or - in a few cases - years. As well as some features which had been rejected. The only desirable feature this new armor had which her old lacked seemed to be an independent air supply, and according to Travers that in the new armor would only last for five minutes. It also lacked several things which Vic had found valuable on her armor. For example, there was no specific provision for stowing her accustomed weapons. The few questions she asked got positive but vague responses about the new armor's capabilities. Finally, Travers actually did leave. Vic - still holding the case - turned to her boss, feeling a bit confused.

"I don't have to wear this on the job, do I?"

"Not unless you want to," said Drake, flatly. "I have a feeling this is a pet project of Travers' and that he has an unrealistic idea of just how good it is."

"Yeah. Well, he may simply not know the technical details well enough to accurately describe them. I'll try this stuff on tonight when I get home."

"Thank you. OSI has been pressuring various federal agencies to evaluate this equipment for months, and we got the short straw. Don't be afraid to be critical, but try to be diplomatic."

"Yes, sir."