The Stranger Returns

Morning. I quickly checked out of my hotel, my eyes constantly scanning the lobby as I handed the desk clerk my key. In the underground garage I paused just long enough to give the rental car a thorough once-over, then got the hell out of town.

Just the other side of the tunnel there's a large Best Western hotel that caters to the tourist and trucking crowd, but was comfortable and clean nonetheless. I parked the rental out of sight of the road and hustled my stuff inside.

Twenty minutes later I shot the bolt on my door, tossed my bags into the corner, and with a loud groan flopped onto the bed. Had I eluded them? Perhaps. But it was safest to assume not. At least here I would have more room to maneuver. A major interstate passed close by, the hotel was backed by a maze of suburban neighborhoods, and my 10th-floor window was high enough to bar intruders, yet also wide enough to provide emergency egress for someone such as myself. The view wasn't half-bad, either.

As I gazed at the Baltimore skyline, I wondered what my witness was up to right now. Had he filed a report with his superiors, or had he let the matter drop? I let a small grim smile crease my features as I thought of my adversary trying to get his boss to swallow such a fantastic tale without being nominated for some serious psychiatric care, and of the second thoughts he'd be having over the entire thing right about now.

Could it be that I was safe? Then perhaps it was for the better that my shadow had eluded me last night. Dragons might be laughed off, but the murder of an agent was something else entirely. A day would have not passed before the streets would have been flooded with the organization's people, all of them with payback on their minds.

I sighed, then looked at my watch. As for myself, the smartest thing to have done would have been to guess on the side of paranoia and leave the area; the entire country, if possible. The second-smartest would have been to lay low here until I could slink quietly away. Unfortunately I had a job to do up here, and not only was I stuck, I was late.

I drove to that little municipal airport again, and after more than a few deliberate false turns and double-backs finally arrived at the hangar owned by our rehab contractor. Inside its heated interior our aircraft was already in pieces scattered across the floor, and workmen swarmed over its partially-dismantled fuselage.

"Hey sarge, I was beginnin' to think you weren't comin' in today."

I looked, and there was Austin my chief mechanic, seated at a picnic table dwarfed by his shaggy bulk and poring over a well-thumbed Grainger catalog. I smiled. "Sorry, but I wanted to change hotels."

"Don't blame you." Austin shook his head as he bent to pencil something into the margin of the catalog. "That place you had there is too rich for my blood, and I ain't poor, neither. Why'd them damn pilots want to stay there?"

I shrugged. "I never got around to asking them. They're gone now, though, so I don't have to nursemaid them anymore."

Austin chuckled, then looked up. "How're you set on money?"

I smiled. "I'm fine. Thanks for asking, though."

He shrugged embarrassedly and went back to his research. I wandered over to the plane and went aboard. Inside, the operator stations had already been stripped, and now several techs were working to remove the equipment racks. Soon they would be tearing up the deck and opening the bulkheads, and then the work would really begin.

I threaded my way through the mess, finally reaching a steel foot locker that was bolted to the floor just aft of the copilot's bulkhead. I pulled out a key and opened its massive lock, fishing out a laptop computer and, after much thought, several other items that I stuffed into my coat.

I climbed out of the plane and grabbed a spot at Austin's picnic bench, where I quickly cleared space amidst the paperwork and set up my laptop.

"What's up, sarge?"

"Hm? Oh. You remember those reports I used to do out in Mojave? Well, the Powers That Be liked them so much, they asked me to start doing them again here." I pecked away at the little keyboard. "Seems some people are a lot more comfortable, and ask a lot fewer questions, when they have a wad of paper to show the big boys."

Austin snorted. "Ain't that the truth. Hey, what're you doing for lunch?"

"Unpacking. Again. What do you have in mind?"

Austin made a face, then grinned. "Well, I know this place up the road that makes a pretty mean lunch. Cheap, too."

"Hm." I typed a few more lines in, then paused. "My stuff isn't going anywhere, so maybe I'll take you up on that, Austin."

"Good. Noon sound good to you?"

"No problem."

"It's a deal, then."

Twenty minutes later I was finished with my report. I hooked the laptop up to a phone line, and a few minutes later the report was on my boss's desk in the Republic of Panama. I then stowed the computer and headed for the latrine.

Once there, I pulled that other bundle out of my coat and untangled the straps. A few minutes later I checked the load, then slid the M9 into the concealed shoulder rig and readjusted my coat.

That day passed uneventfully, as did the next one. The sullen weight of the weapon pressing against my side began to feel increasingly unnecessary as I began to hope that I'd somehow managed to elude my hunters, or that they weren't hunting me at all.

Fool.

Late on the evening of the third day there came a soft knock at the door. My hands froze for a moment on the keys of my laptop, then I lunged for the bed and the 9mm that lay upon it.

This wasn't good. There was no reason any of my techs would visit at this time of night, and I'd told no one else the name of my new hotel. A DO NOT DISTURB sign hung on the outside of the door to ward off the staff. I let my hands slide over the weapon, checking the load as my eyes made sure the drapes were closed.

The gentle tapping came again. I took a deep breath and moved to the door, snapping lights off as I went, plunging the room into an ever-deepening gloom. In darkness I peered through the peephole, then stepped to the side of the door, trying with little success to slow my pounding heart as a wave of fear and despair threatened to overwhelm me.

It was him.

Something seemed to shift in the blackness. My head snapped towards that movement, to watch as from within the deathly-deep shadows of the room, golden eyes seemed to regard me soberly for a moment; golden eyes set in opalescent green. I blinked, and they were gone.

Impending madness, or something else? I found myself beyond caring as I stared off into the darkness, the fear being replaced by a certain black joy as I felt a carnivore's grin spread across my face.

Be seeing you soon, baby. . . .

I switched the automatic to my other hand and waited until the knock began once more. When it came, I reached over and released the latch, letting the door pop open perhaps an inch. There was a long pause, then the door was slowly pushed open from the other side.

The door swung open a foot, two, then I was seizing the man's wrist, yanking him forward and off-balance while my knee swept up to bury itself in his gut. He jackknifed with a grunt, still stumbling forward as I continued to twist his arm, then falling as his feet tangled with mine. He hit the floor hard and I piled atop of him, frantically kicking the door closed behind us to delay any backup. Then I had the muzzle of the automatic jammed against the back of his head, and I felt his muscles stiffen as we both heard the click of the hammer going back.

"Don't even breathe."

I ground my knee into his back, pinning his arm as I used my freed hand to search him. Nothing. No weapons, no wires. Puzzled, I eased up a bit on the pressure. "How many in your backup?"

There was a muffled grunt from beneath me as my captive fought for breath. "None. I am alone."

I felt my lips curl back, and rapped the automatic's barrel smartly against his skull. "You take me for an idiot? I want numbers and locations. You stop talking, you stop living."

His breath hissed quietly between his teeth at the pain. "I am alone. I swear it. Brother, I am not your enemy. Please; I have only come to talk."

Brother? My bafflement increased. This definitely wasn't SOP. My curiosity piqued, I pondered for a moment, then abruptly stepped clear of him. "Get up. Slowly." He did so, wisely keeping his hands away from his sides. We eyed each other in the darkness for a moment, then I pointed to a chair in the corner that was well-away from me. "Sit. Turn on the lamp."

He started to reach cross-body for the lamp, concealing his other hand, and immediately my trigger finger began to tighten. He caught himself, though, and used his off hand instead. He gave a small, self-mocking smile at his near-fatal mistake, then he settled back into the chair while I cautiously seated myself on the edge of my desk chair, the muzzle of my weapon centered on his chest.

"So. Talk."

Still smiling, he inclined his head and spoke again with that deep voice, tinged with a Germanic accent that teased at my memories. "Good evening, brother. You may call me Stefan, and I have something I must show you. It is in my left shirt pocket. May I get it?"

I considered for a moment, then jerked my weapon's muzzle. "Left hand. Two fingers. Very slowly."

Gingerly, the stranger withdrew a dark, vaguely semicircular object that glinted dully in the light. I stared at it, a faint roaring like a distant wind beginning in my ears. "Toss it on the floor in front of my feet. Underhand."

The object hit the thick carpet with little sound. Keeping my eyes on my target, I felt about with my free hand, then brought the item up into my line of sight.

It was a scale. Dark green in color and mottled with flecks of black in a pattern that I distantly noted would make it damned difficult to see at night. But what had seized my attention was its size. Over three inches across.

Dragon scale.