Please send all comments to: Mary N. Wilkerson.
"First Kelly walks out on me last night because I missed another dinner date, then the car wouldn't start this morning so I'm half an hour later than I should be. Strenlich chews me out for the way I handled a suspect and now I can't find the autopsy report on that jeweler that was murdered in Chinatown." He shoved the piles of reports to one side of his desk and began to search through the drawers. Skalany, who had been his amused audience, wandered off, leaving Peter on his quest for the missing paperwork.
"Is this what you're looking for, kid?" a voice from across the room called out. Peter turned, prepared to give whoever had the nerve to call him "kid" a piece of his mind, and stopped dead in his tracks.
The man holding the file was tall and slender, with dark hair just going gray at the temples. It fell just over the collar of his leather jacket, held back by a piece of cord. His eyes were emerald green, and cold as ice. But for Peter, the man's face held more of an attraction.
He was the image of Kwai Chang Caine.
pt. 2
Peter stared in stunned disbelief at the apparition in front of him. Then, the differences between the man staring at him from the opposite side of his desk and his father set in. This man appeared to be older than Peter but not so old as Caine, perhaps late thirties or early forties. Their style of dress was different as well. His father would never wear a black leather jacket over a black silk shirt or an earring in one ear. Neither would he wear a gun on his hip.
"Name's Andre, Andre McMaster. I came by to see Paul Blaisdell but they tell me he's left the force." Andre looked around the squad room, bored with Peter's lack of response. His eyes lit on Kermit. "Well, what do you know. This little town just got more interesting. Hey Griffin, long time no see!"
Kermit turned and eyed Andre the way a bug collector would look at a new and disturbing specimen. "Not long enough. What are you doing here, Dragon?" He approached Peter's desk, careful to keep space between himself and the strange visitor.
"He said he was here to see Paul." Peter answered quickly, trying to stay in the conversation. He eyed the two men warily. Both were watching each other with noncommittal expressions on their faces, but he could swear that the temperature in the room had just dropped ten degrees.
"Don't let him kid you he knew Paul wasn't here. His employers would have found that out before they sent him here." Kermit positioned himself with his back to Simm's office, trying to find a comfortable defensive stance.
"My, we've become quite the cynic in our old age, haven't we, Griffin?" Andre perched on the edge of the desk, keeping Peter within arms reach at all times. "What makes you think I still work for the same organization?"
"Mercs like you never change. You have a taste for the life."
Andre shook his head, a grim smile on his lips. "There was a time I could have said the same about you, Griffin. But then, you never really knew me, did you?"
Peter decided it was time to get this conversation back to the point, before the two old "friends" decided to end their relationship all over the walls of the squad room. Peter picked up the autopsy file that Andre had handed him and propped it open on another pile of files. "So what can I do for you Mr. McMaster?"
"Just Andre, for now. I'm interested in the murder of that jewel merchant in Chinatown. He was handling a transaction for some very important persons, whose names I am not at liberty to mention. His death has come at a very inconvenient time. I've been asked to look in to the matter."
"Asked by whom?" Peter responded.
"Peter?" All three men turned to the source of the interruption. Peter's father approached the group with some hesitation, sensing the tension in the air. It was with a start of recognition that he found himself staring into a younger version of his own face. "Andre?...Why are you here?"
"Hello, Cousin. Been a long time."
pt. 3
The squad room went silent, as though all in the room were suddenly struck dumb. All eyes were on the group gathered around Peter's desk. But neither Andre nor Caine seemed to notice.
"It has been many years since last we met, Andre," Caine addressed him, watching for the currents of emotions that floated just under the surface of the younger man's face, .
Andre shrugged. Peter noted this small movement with amazement and a little frustration. *God, not only do they have the same face, they even have the same mannerisms.! What else do they have in common?*
"I didn't feel like having my life's path commented on by someone who had not walked in my shoes. For all your wisdom, "Cousin" ,you haven't walked to hell and back the way I have." No emotion showed itself on Andre's face, yet both Peter and Kermit could sense the anger and pain in that statement.
"I would not comment on anther's path. It is yours to choose. I hoped that you would eventually find your way back to the teachings of your youth." Caine sighed, knowing that this was an old argument, one he and Andre had years before, with no result.
Andre placed a business card on Peter's desk and turned to leave. "If I hear anything about this murder you're working on, kid, I'll let you know. I expect you'll do the same for me?"
Anger finally got the better of Peter as he rose to face this stranger from his father's past. "Don't call me kid!"
"You should teach him to keep a rein on that temper of his." Amusement shone in Andre's eyes as he started to walk past Caine. "It could be the death of him."
In a movement so fluid and quick no one could quite see it, Caine placed himself in Andre's path. "Have you learned to control your anger? Or your demons?"
"My demons are my business, old man. Not yours. Not the temple's, not the priests', not anyone's but mine. You couldn't let it alone ten years ago and you still can't now." Both men moved instinctively in to defensive stances, prepared for an attack from the other. Andre was first to back down, stepping around Caine without turning his back on him. "Don't get in my way. I've less patience with you and your teachings now then I did the first time me met."
All eyes followed the dark figure as it strode out of the precinct, cutting a path through obstacles in his way like a knife through butter. Caine leaned against his son's desk, tired from the encounter. It seemed he was always tired when he was with Andre. The younger man's anger and pain drained him. He turned to the questions in his son's eyes. "Andre was once at peace with the world, when he was younger. Before he knew the horror of war. I wished him to find that peace again. Yet his demons will not allow him to reach out for help from any, especially not me. I fear they will destroy him and all that he could be one day."
"Who is he, Pop?"
"A trained killer." Kermit inserted his presence again, knowing that what he had to say would not be pleasant to hear. "I used to know this guy, Blaisdell use to call him Dragon because he had dragon green eyes, and a dragon tattoo on his arm. His specialty was impossible cases, killings that had to be done quietly with no publicity. He was good at his job."
Caine stared down at the floor, composing himself as the memories flooded over him. "He was raised to be a Shaolin priest, and was, for a time my companion. We met some years after the destruction of the temple and traveled together for almost a year. He told me of the story which had been passed down to him of his great-grandmothers love for a Shaolin priest her family had helped to escape China. She bore him a child he was never to see. Her name was Mei Ling, a name I found in my grandfather's diary, a woman he remembered with great love and regret. I believe he is the great-grandson of the first Kwai Chang Caine, my grandfather, just as you are, my son." Caine leaned wearily on the desk behind him. "Andre walks a dark and twisted path now. A path he will not be led from. Be careful, Peter, that he does not lead you on to it as well." He turned and left, leaving Peter determined to find out more about this strange new "cousin". The reunion would occur sooner than he had imagined.
pt. 4
Later that same night Peter found himself with the mysterious Andre again. Capt. Simms had received a call from someone she couldn't or wouldn't identify, requesting her departments cooperation in the search for the jeweler Hu's murder. She hadn't been pleased to be forced to agree. She had been even less pleased to learn that the person she would be cooperating with was a man with a past so secret not even Kermit could tell her about him.
"Caine, this is a murder investigation, not some game of Dungeons and Dragons. I want you to find a suspect in this murder, not take on a job for the CIA." Simms looked down at the sparse report Peter had given her.
"The CIA is a bunch of amateurs compared to the agency Andre works for." Kermit said, looking back towards the entrance to the squad room, as if he expected his old "friend" to make another unexpected visit.
"Whatever they are, their agenda doesn't concern me or this department. Just find me that murderer." She closed the files and picked up her phone, dismissing the two men with a nod. Peter slid out of his seat quickly, his mind a whirl. This case had seemed so simple at first. A middle-aged jeweler, Tom Hu, had been found shot to death in his store. No sign of forced entry, not much taken. At least, not that anyone would admit to. Now it had taken on tones of espionage and danger which were at once frightening and fascinating at the same time. And one of the new players in the game was connected to his father. Peter wondered if he would get the whole story out of his father this time, or if it would just be another episode in the mystery of Caine's past.
It didn't take long to locate Andre from the phone number on his card. He was staying at a very secluded estate in the mountains, one that Kermit informed him had been used as a safe house by the Feds on other occasions.
"I should come along ,Peter. You don't know this merc like I know him. He can smile that shark's smile of his while he's putting a knife in your back and you wouldn't even know it until they are pulling the sheet over your head."
"Sounds like the two of you had quite a history," Peter replied, reading the description of the murder scene one last time.
"You could say that. Blaisdell said that if anyone could get into that maze Dragon calls a mind, you'd find an honorable soldier. But I wasn't so sure. He can be pretty single minded when it comes to a job, and heaven help anyone on his team that gets in his way. Look, I can meet you outside in ten minutes. Just let me power down my computer."
But Peter was equally determined to face this man alone. It was mostly curiosity and partially pride that made him want this meeting with no witnesses. Beside, he had the distinct feeling that Kermit and Andre would not play nice, even if there was a third party there to referee. Kermit had to agree, remembering other times he and Andre had debriefed missions together. But he insisted on one condition, that Peter call in after he had spoken to the mercenary.
It took about a half hour for Peter to reach the address that Kermit had given him. The main house, a structure designed to emulate a rustic cabin but with all the modern conveniences, was dark when he arrived. There was no sign of the extensive electronic surveillance equipment which Kermit had informed Peter would be in place. In the distance, he could hear music coming from the garden. The night clothed the structure in shadows which danced to the sound of the lonesome flute.
*Figures he plays the flute,* Peter thought. He tried the front door and found it unlocked. *He probably knows I'm here anyway, or the door wouldn't be unlocked. Either that or he has one hell of a death wish.* The front hallway was plainly furnished with braided carpets and paintings in a southwestern motif. A black leather jacket hung on a coat tree just inside the door, along with a shoulder holster. Peter spotted the remains of the day's newspaper scattered on a sofa in the sitting room just to the left of the hall. Just then the music stopped.
The mercenary had heard the detective's car as it came up the drive, but had not chosen to put down his flute until Peter came through the front door. Lawn furniture was strewn around the small patio, out of the way of the man in its center. He was work working on a kata to ease the tension from his muscles, one that Peter recognized. It was one he had seen his father perform, usually when he was tired and in need of a good workout. Andre's moves were quick yet graceful, more like a dancer's than a warriors. But the whipcord muscles in his chest and arms belied the peaceful impression. "You're father and I used to do this together. " He didn't bother to turn to see if the younger man was watching. "I was always trying to compete, look better, move faster, strike harder. It never really concerned him to win against me. That use to annoy me. Now..."Andre stretched, standing on his toes to reach the sky. "You're different from what I expected."
"When did you know him? And why would he talk to you about me?" Peter asked, annoyed that the mercenary knew more about him than he had expected.
"A long time ago, kid. He would talk about you every now and again, whenever I'd let him get a word in edgewise. I got the impression, though, that you were a painful subject. Instead, he tried to get me to talk about my nightmares. It didn't make for very peaceful conversations. Sometimes, though, I miss those talks." For a moment Andre's face wore the same quiet pain that Peter had seen on his father's face. He wished there was something he could say, to either of them, but with Caine it always turned out wrong. There was no reason to think the same wouldn't be true of this man.
"Why are you so interested in the murder of a jewel merchant?" Peter moved the lawn chair which had been pushed aside so that he could watch Andre's every move.
The mercenary drew on his sweat shirt, thinking about how much he could tell this young detective. It was plain to see that Peter Caine was no fool, that he would eventually figure out he was being lied to. But the truth was too dangerous, even for a professional cop to know, at least right now. Maybe later. *Damn, I wish Caine and I could talk. But the last thing I need is to involve someone who won't fight fire with fire.*
"Well, what's the story?' Peter was not a patient man under normal circumstances, and this was the most abnormal circumstance he could think of.
"He had something he was to deliver to me two days ago. When he didn't show up, I came looking for my merchandise. What he had was very valuable and I want it back."
Peter watched Andre pace the length of the small garden, searching the shadows for things which did not belong. He had seen Paul pace like that sometimes, on nights when his foster father couldn't sleep. It had never occurred to him to ask Blaisdell about it, but now he wished he had. Perhaps it would give him a clue how to deal with a man who was doing a good imitation of a caged tiger.
"Why did Paul call you Dragon? Just because of your eyes?"
The pacing stopped for a moment as Andre formulated an answer. "I'm sure Kermit told you why. It was mostly because of the tattoo of a dragon I carry from when I was in the Shaolin temple in Taiwan. I was raised there and it was expected that I would become a priest. I even have the scars on my arms, like your father, a dragon and a tiger. But fate had another road planned for me. Ask your father about this. He knows the story." The pacing started again, as though to distance the man from the memories of his past.
"From what you've said, you spent some time with my father. Why did you leave him?"
Andre turned, his eyes cold as the emeralds they resembled. "Because they would have killed him if I had refused the job I was assigned. And besides, didn't Griffin tell you? I have a taste for the life. Now go do your job, detective. Find the men who killed the merchant Hu, before they kill someone else." He walked off down the garden path, taking the darkness with him.
Peter watched him walk away, not knowing anymore about the game that was being played out than when he came. It was a frustrating feeling, talking to this man of mystery, almost as frustrating as talking to his father. He looked down at his watch briefly, noting the late hour, then strode back to his car. *Well, Pop's always up late. Maybe I'll just drop by and see if he can tell me anything more about this relation of ours that I can use to help clear up this mystery.* he thought, gunning the engine. It was at the least make for the end to a perfect evening. But first, he had a phone call to make to a certain over protective fellow officer back at the precinct.
Later that night, in a darkened bedroom of a house more wired for security than the Pentagon, the dreams began again. It always started the same way, always the same scene. A rice paddy near the village where he had found his father and where his dark path had begun. He could feel the heat on his back and the roughness of the plants on his hands as he helped an old man harvest his crop. It had been so peaceful...until the gunfire began. The screams filled his head, making it hard for him to concentrate. The bombs exploding around him turned the scene from serene to hellish in seconds. The sounds of the wails of the women and the old people as they were shot down, screaming his name, screaming for their priest to save them....
Andre shot out of his bed, still fighting the shadows which had invaded his dreams. His breath came in quick puffs as he scanned the room, looking for what he knew was not there, men with guns who had destroyed his innocence.
He wiped the sweat from his face with the bed sheet and padded softly to the bathroom. Splashing cold water on his face, he wondered briefly what had triggered the nightmares this time, whether it was being without the calming influence of his partner Jade or seeing Caine again. And remembering how those nightmares had almost cost him the life of the only man he truly respected.
"Well, I'm up for the night. Might as well go visiting." Andre looked at himself in the dark mirror, his cat's eyes not needing even the little light the moon provided him. He could never see the resemblance everyone else saw between himself and Caine. It was even less evident now, with his hair hanging limp with sweat and his eyes shadowed by pain. "He'll be expecting me to show up. Wonder if he's as knowing of his sons movements as he was of mine? Guess that's one lesson they forgot to teach me at the temple. Among other things." He turned on the shower and prepared for his nocturnal run.
Midnight, the darkest hour of the night, the time when all good men should be in bed. The hour when Hecate's children came out to play. Andre loved this time of the night. It was cool and quiet and in its depths he could hide from the memories that threatened to overwhelm him. Caine had tried to tell him once that there was no hiding from the pain in one's past, but he had always been stubborn, determined to learn for himself. Peter Caine had been a surprise to him. He was not at all like the child Caine had described to him, but then again, it had been fifteen years. Andre smiled to himself, thinking how insulted Peter would be if he realized how much of himself Andre saw in him, both passionate, stubborn and very much not at peace. Standing balanced on his toes, Andre looked up at the brownstone where his older cousin lived , looking for shadows that should not be there before making his final approach. Something in the back of his mind warned him that all was not as peaceful as it seemed, yet he had come this far. To turn back now would be pointless. He shook off his trepidation's and padded noiselessly up the fire escape. Down the alleyway a shadow moved then disappeared quietly, leaving no sense of its presence behind it.
pt. 5
Caine put down his flute, listening to the darkness outside his home. Somewhere he could just make out the sound of careful footsteps coming up the fire escape. It was too late for it to be Peter. It could only be Andre, the one person who personified the darker side of his own nature. He had missed the younger man, missed him more than he had thought possible, considering their at times stormy relationship, though he knew it would do no good to admit it to him. It had been comforting to have someone around who knew the old teachings and rituals, even if sometimes he didn't agree with them. And he worried about his young "cousin", for that was what each had agreed to call the other, not sure what level of blood relationship they might have despite what the old journals said. The man's nightmares often left him too agitated to comfort. Caine remembered all too well the last night he had seen Andre. He had tried to calm him when Andre had begun to suffer with one of his all to frequent dreams and had found himself fighting the younger man for his life. Andre had struck out in rage and grief, but had remained asleep until almost the final blow. Caine would never know what had awakened him but the shock and guilt in his cousins eyes had remained with him through the years. The next day, Andre had left without a word.
Caine turned to face the mercenary as he entered his rooms. "I often wondered where you had gone and why you felt you must leave without speaking of what had passed between us that night."
"I received my orders the next morning -- another job to do for my masters. It seemed the best to just leave. The next time, I might have killed you before I could wake up." Andre wandered around the room, running his hands over the bottles of herbs and medicines that Caine kept so neatly shelved. "He's a good kid, you know. Peter, I mean. I'm glad you found one another."
"I would wish such joy for you as well."
Silence descended upon the two men like a veil, shielding each from the others thoughts. Caine sat on the floor, watching his cousin circle the room yet again, as though he could find no place to settle, no place to rest.
Andre stopped pacing finally, standing in front of the older man. "So Cousin, how's the young emperor these days? Has he absolved our family honor?" He noticed Caine's surprise, wondering again at how naive his old teacher could be. "Come on, did you and those old men in Chinatown really think you could hide that little fact from me forever? Personally, I always did think you worried about our honor too much. I didn't see anyone demanding retribution from the Emperors family for his brat nephew's killing of an unarmed, blind old priest. Or don't Shaolin priests lives count for anything?"
"This old argument is not the reason for your anger. Tell me, what is it that is so important about a murder in Chinatown that would bring you from your world of death.?" Caine reached out to his cousin, trying to sense his feelings and finding only a field of ice between them.
"The murder isn't important. Peter will find the punks who committed it soon enough. The jeweler had information, important to the new game I'm playing. It's a new age in my old world. There are those of us who are tired of sacrificing our lives and the lives of our friends for petty political agendas. Some of us have begun a new game, a game where the weak aren't sacrificed to the strong and good doesn't always lose out to evil. Hu was brining me documentation for use in this new game, but now it's gone and other lives are at risk. Including my own. Damn, I'm not sure why I'm here. I'm flying solo this time and it's unsettling. You'd think after all that time of being a lone wolf I wouldn't have a hard time on an assignment without my partner. But it's good to have someone to talk to, you know? Someone who will just listen and not make judgments." Andre stared off into the darkness, struggling to regain his icy demeanor. "Why did I come here anyway? You can't help me. Maybe I just needed to tell someone, to tell YOU, what I tried to do. To tell you I'm not Dragon, but Andre and that I'm tired of being everyone's monster. Maybe I just wanted to talk."
Andre jerked away from Caine suddenly, sensing movement behind him. Caine saw a shadow move where there should be no shadow. Neither man heard the bullet as it whizzed past them, but both saw its explosive power.
pt. 6
Both men hit the floor and instinctively headed for cover. Andre moved toward the sound of the gunshot, reasoning that whoever had just tried to frighten them would not expect a frontal assault. The thought that someone might have been making a serious attempt on their lives never occurred to him. In his line of work, there were no second chances at a shot. If whoever had pulled the trigger had really wanted them dead, they would already be at heaven's gate.
"Pop! Are you all right!" Peter burst in to Caine's rooms, thankful that he had followed through on his decision to talk to the older man. "What happened?"
"What do you think happened, kid, someone took a shot at your old man and me. Call it in. I'm out of here." Andre started for the fire escape but Caine blocked his path.
"You will be in danger if you leave this place."
"Don't bet the temple on it, cousin. These Dragon's eyes see even the darkest corners of the night. Now that they've tipped their hand, I'll be waiting for them." Andre shrugged away from Caine, putting back the barriers that had, for a moment, melted away. "Now let me pass, old man. I have work to do."
"I talked to Kermit before I arrived here. He was checking on the inventories Mr. Hu kept on his computer and he says that there are some precious stones missing from the shop. One set in particular, called the Dragon's Eyes, was suppose to have gone to an unknown buyer in San Francisco. That wouldn't be the "merchandise" you're looking for, would I?." Watching for a reaction from the mercenary, Peter missed the look that his father shot at the younger man.
"Those stones are the property of my employer. Pretty damn expensive property, too. And they want them back. Ask the family if they know what may have happened to them. Chances are he hid them away when he returned to the States, and the family knows where they are and are too scared to tell. Not bad sleuthing detective, not bad at all." Andre turned away before the young detective could see the gleam of satisfaction in his eyes. *Good.* he thought. *That sounds like a plausible reason for someone's interest in this case. Better than the truth and not so dangerous. Now, if only his father will keep quiet, I can get through this case without burying someone.*
"Peter, Andre and I must talk. Please leave us." Caine took his son by the arm and gently led him, to the door. "I will speak with you in the morning." He turned to Andre, shutting out the frustrated look on Peter's face.
Andre watched the younger man walk away, sensing his anger and hurt. "Good move, cousin. Now you've hurt the kids feelings. Did it ever occur to you he might be worried about you being alone with me? Or that he might just be worried?"
"I wish to know why you lied to Peter about the emeralds. They are not the prize you seek."
"Don't be so sure cousin. Maybe I lied to you about the information I was waiting for. Maybe this has all been an elaborate charade. Maybe nothing is real. Or maybe I'm just too tired to argue the point with you." Andre started out the fire escape, then turned for a moment to look at his cousin. "Maybe you should forget about me and talk to your son before he pulls some stupid stunt to prove himself to the both of us. He's worth saving, you know." He turned and left without another word.
"I believe you are worth saving as well, Andre, even if you no longer believe so yourself." Caine closed his eyes and considered how much of the truth he would tell Peter in the morning.
pt. 7
Peter cornered Kermit in his office the next morning. "Tell me all you know about this Andre character. I'm not buying his story about all of this mayhem being over a pair of lousy emeralds. And he's involved my father in this, whatever it is. Someone tried to kill them last night"
Kermit looked coldly back at his friend. "Andre is a master of disaster when he takes on a case. He has a way of leaving fire behind in his wake, the better to cover his tracks with. Rumor has it that the Agency assigned him a partner after he single-handedly took out an ammo dump in the Middle East during an assassination. Unfortunately he took out part of his team as well as the target. I guess they didn't move fast enough for him. The Agency decided to do something about trying to rein in the beast. Fat chance of that! If he's involved your father in one of his little escapades, then you can bet he's using him as a decoy to lure someone into making a mistake. If I were you, I'd see if your old man might not agree to a little trip back to the old temple right about now." Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his computer screen go suddenly blank, except for a single message line. "I've got work to do. Capt. Simms is after my report on that little incident last week with the hackers who broke into the city's mainframe." Kermit eased Peter out of the office carefully closing the door behind him. The message line was still there, but he knew if he didn't respond soon, it would disappear without a trace.
MEET ME, DRAGON
"Meet you where, you treacherous son of a bitch?" Kermit typed the expected coded reply and received no response. He cursed himself for answering the call, knowing that he couldn't have ignored it. For all their arguments, he owed Dragon. And Dragon was not above reminding him of it.
Another message suddenly flashed on the screen.
YOU KNOW WHERE
"Yeah, right, sure I know where. It's been how many years since we worked together? How the hell would I know -- wait a minute!" An image of that last time that Kermit had worked with Dragon suddenly flashed through his mind. " That's where you are!" Turning off his computer, Kermit checked his holster and exited the precinct. Peter watched his departure then nonchalantly followed.
Peter followed Kermit about as far as Chinatown before the former mercenary had decided that it was time to lose him. It didn't take long. Peter was good, better than most, but Kermit had done this too many times, in too many more dangerous situations, not to be better at the game. And he knew that Dragon wouldn't be pleased to see the young detective before he was ready for him. Peter was left to wonder what had attracted the other man's attention so suddenly. Since he was in the area, he decided to look in on his father. Caine had seemed more upset than Peter would have expected after last nights incident. It wasn't the first time he had been in a dangerous situation, but this time, something hadn't felt right. It had felt more like a rehearsal for a bad play than a real attempt at murder. Perhaps he father could tell him why. Peter turned sharply at the intersection and set his sights on his father's brownstone.
In the brownstone, Caine and the Ancient were discussing the tissue of lies Andre was weaving around all concerned. "He is trying to prevent Peter from learning the truth of his search. Now, I fear, because he regrets speaking to me, he will not ask for help when he needs it." Caine paced his workshop, mixing a soothing draught for the child of one of the street people he had befriended.
The Ancient watched him work with concern. "Perhaps, he is not speaking the whole truth to you as well. You do not know that what he has told you is real."
"I can tell when he lies. To others he can be a convincing storyteller but not to me. He was lying to Peter but it is why he has chosen to lie that confuses me." Caine mixed the contents of two bottles together then tasted them, grimacing at the sour flavor of the mixture. "He has not gone back to the dark world he once inhabited. But I do not know what he is involved in now."
"There is nothing you can do unless he comes to you again for aid, Kwai Chang Caine. He must find his own path."
"Perhaps."
Both men were so wrapped up in their conversation that neither noticed the shadowy figure that who away from the door and disappeared into the sunlight. In the alleyway, a motorcycle roared to life, passing Peter as he swung into a parking space just outside it's entrance. Peter watched it roar away curiously, trying to remember if any of his father's students rode such a powerful machine. *Pop's got stranger friends than I do.* he thought as he made his way into the building.
"Pop? Lo Si? Anyone home?" Peter called as he bounded up to the door. The murmur of voices led him to his father's workshop. "Pop?"
Caine sighed. He knew that it was a term of affection but it never ceased to grate on his nerves when Peter called him "Pop". "We are here, my son."
"Just thought I'd check up on you after last night. Any other mysterious visitors I should know about?"
Lo Si moved in front of the young detective, watching the interaction between father and son with affection and concern. He knew that the sudden appearance of Caine's long lost cousin had disturbed his old friend and troubled his son. "No new visitor, young Peter. Only those who always come to seek our assistance."
"Master, I must speak with my son for a moment. Can you take this syrup to Han's sick child? You know the dosage you must use." Caine gently guided his old friend to the door then turned and faced his troubled offspring. "If you come in search of Andre, he has not chosen to return. I fear he will not seek my aid for fear of drawing us both deeper into this "game" he plays."
"I was worried about you. That's why I came. Not to check up on some merc from your past. Just to check up on you." Peter felt himself becoming tense, taking offense where none was meant. He took a deep breath and grinned at his father. "Can't take you anywhere and can't leave you alone without you getting into trouble, can I? So when do I get to hear the story of Andre and Caine wandering in the wilderness?"
"It is not only my story, but Andre's. I can not tell my part unless he tells his. Someday, I hope, we will all share the stories of this time. But today, I fear this investigation will not allow us the time." Caine smiled at his son then ruffled his hair affectionately. "Go, find the men responsible for this trouble. When you are through we can dine together and talk."
"Sounds good to me." Peter leaned over and kissed his father's cheek, then sprinted for the door. Seated in his car again, he mulled over what little he knew about the stones that had appeared in the manifest Kermit had found in the dead man's computer. Two emeralds shipped by way of Bangkok to a small time merchant in Chinatown. There had been a shipping invoice and some customs paperwork in the man's desk which had related to those stones, but no evidence as to who their eventual buyer would be. According to his family it had all seemed very out of character for a man who had left mainland China to start his own small business. Hu had always been so conservative in his choice of stones.
A radio call broke into his reverie. A police unit had spotted two men breaking into Hu's home and were in the process of giving chase. They were headed his way. Peter made a very illegal U-turn and headed in the direction of the pursuit. The officers in pursuit reported gunfire and were calling for backup. Peter called in, reporting his location and requesting information. In short order, so did two other units. The chase was from that point short and deadly. The two would-be burglars never stood a chance. Their car sideswiped an ice-cream truck and landed on someone's front lawn.
"You have the right to remain silent..." Peter began, as he hauled one man out of the disabled car. He never got to repeat the rest. The man came out swinging. Whoever he was, he had some training in martial arts and was desperate enough to try to use it. Peter spun around, kicking high to disable the man and send him falling on to his back. The shooter scrambled desperately to his knees, lashing out at the detective as he tried to subdue him. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted the thief's partner piling out of the other door, blasting away with a handgun. As Peter moved towards the first man, the other was shot by the uniformed officers who had also arrived on the scene. The first man, seeing that his associate was gone, fell back away from the young officer, seeming to surrender. Peter backed up a step and took a breath. It was the wrong move to make. The man had no intention of going quietly and retrieved the gun from the holster behind his back. Seeing he was surrounded, he pointed it under his own chin and fired.
*Why would he kill himself? What were they after?* Peter looked down at the dead man in horror. He carefully skirted around the dead body and looked inside the car. There was a package between the seats which he gingerly lifted out and unwrapped on the hood of the car. Inside the plain brown wrapping were two perfectly matched emeralds. There was writing on the paper itself in characters Peter vaguely recognized, but it was the stones themselves that held his attention. They seemed to glow with living presence. With a start, Peter realized that the stones reminded him of Andre's own cold eyes. *The Dragon's Eyes! So that's what they were looking for. But this still doesn't make any sense.*
"So, you found my stones yet?" The deep voice behind Peter startled him so that he nearly dropped the two gems. The dark mercenary seemed to appear out of nowhere, walking past the assembled uniformed officers as though they weren't even there. He reached around Peter and took the package out of his hands. "Silly little things to be fighting over, don't you think? Well, I guess this means my search is complete." He crossed his arms and waited for the inevitable response.
"Why would two crooks commit suicide for those stones? Any ideas?"
"Maybe they didn't want to admit failure to their employer any more than I do. In the circles I travel, failure is not an option -- at least not one you want to live to tell about." He turned, reaching to put the stones in his jacket pocket when Peter caught his arm.
The cold glare and tensed muscles warned Peter that touching was not an option unless invited. At least, not an option for him. "Those stones are evidence. They'll be impounded until their rightful owners claim them." Peter held out his hand for the gems. Andre returned them with a slight smile.
"Whatever you say, kid. You'll be hearing from ...LOOK OUT!" Andre dove at Peter, yanking him down as a car careened past them, spraying the area with bullets. Peter jumped back up in time to see the car disappear around the corner. He quickly noted that the license plate was too covered with mud to read completely but a few characters were still visible. Then he noticed the blood on his hands.
Andre was limping towards his motorcycle, one hand pressed to his leg. A trail of blood drops followed him down the lane.
"You're hit!"
"What gave me away, the blood or the fact I'm about to fall down on this filthy concrete again?" Andre clutched at his bloody pants, trying to stay the spread of blood staining his leg. He mounted his motorcycle with difficulty, wincing at the pain. "I really hate hospitals." Peter positioned himself in front of the motorcycle, hoping to stop the wounded man from injuring himself any. He noticed a stain of blood on Andre's shirt over his rib cage which was growing with his every movement. His cousin's hair had escaped its ponytail and concealed his expression from the assembled officers. But Peter could see the growing stain of blood and the beginning of a tremor in his cousin's hands. The man was in no shape to leave on his own, yet seemed determined to do just that.
"An ambulance has been called for the guys in the car. Let them take a look at you."
"Thanks but no thanks, kid. Like I said, failure is not an option in my line of work. And if I don't report in soon, you'll be picking me out of the nearest waterway. I'll be fine. Been hurt worse than this before and still walked out. Kind of a macho thing with me. Just ask your dad. It use to make him crazy, the things I'd do to myself, then just walk away." Andre tried to kick-start his motorcycle but failed, almost falling in the attempt. Peter reached out to steady the cycle and received a glare from the mercenary for his troubles. "Kid, anyone ever tell you it's not polite to handle someone's hog unless you're invited?"
They were both spared the necessity of a response by the arrival of an ambulance. Andre glanced over at the approaching paramedics and then at the young detective still grimly holding on the cycle.
"Not going to give me a choice are you, kid? Was a time I'd have just shot you and left. Still might, except..." He numbly let the paramedics help him from his motorcycle and onto a stretcher. "Listen, Peter, tell your old man...never mind. He probably knows already." The medics bundled the still-protesting figure into the ambulance and sped off, the sirens wailing like banshees over the dead, leaving Peter to wonder if he would ever learn the answers to the many questions he had for the enigmatic man his father seemed to care for.
He had meant to follow the ambulance to the hospital, but as the ranking officer on the scene, Peter was assigned the responsibility to remain until he was relieved. The car and its occupants had to be secured until the crime lab boys could arrive and start their investigation. Taking the witness statements occupied almost an hour, much of it trying to calm the jittery inhabitants of the house whose front lawn now sported a dead car. It was only after he had made his report on the shoot-out to Captain Simms that Peter Caine was to learn that the ambulance which was suppose to take Andre to the hospital had never made it that far. A uniformed officer from another precinct had found it abandoned at a construction site, along with the discarded paramedics uniforms and Andre's bloody jacket. No sign of the mercenary or his companions had been found.
Later that night, Kermit returned to the abandoned amusement park where he had spent his afternoon. He turned his collar up to the cold, silently cursing cold blooded mercenaries with a taste for macabre meetings. "Well, are you going to tell me how it went, or do I have to figure it out for myself?"
A shadowy figure moved out from behind the ferris wheel. "Not bad. Not great. The other side lost two men but frankly, they weren't much of a loss. Those special effects guys I know really do a great job making a drive-by shooting look believable. But man, I hate the taste of movie blood." Andre had cut his long hair down to a burr and had covered his brilliant eyes with brown contact lenses. The earring was still there, but the silk shirt was replaced with a T-shirt that read "Born to be wild". He looked like a refugee from the Bandidos motorcycle gang.
"Peter's going to find out soon enough that the ambulance and the shooting was a phony. Hell, he's already found out that you didn't make it to the hospital. Won't take him long to figure the rest out. What do I do then?"
"He'll be told it's none of his business by the chain of command, the bodies of those two idiots hired by the other side will be claimed and disposed of quietly, and the case will simply vanish. Someone will make a claim on the gems. He'll never know I palmed the wrapping while I was inspecting the stones. What he got back wasn't what he gave me."
Kermit eyed him curiously. "What was in that wrapping?'
"Information. Locations of prisons containing political prisoners. Names of death-squad leaders. That sort of thing. You don't need to know anything more. Unless you plan to get back into the life? My people and I are doing some pretty wild things out there. The revolution in the intelligence community has just begun."
"Let me guess, "the government will disavow any knowledge of your actions."
"Minus the exploding tape recorders. You know, I always liked that show. Never thought I'd live to be a part of an intelligence cell like it. Anyway, keep an eye on Peter and the old man for me. Peter's a good kid and a better cop. Maybe I'll be back this way again, someday."
Andre started to fade back into the shadows, but Kermit was not ready for him to just disappear. "What do I tell Caine?"
"Tell him the dragon's gone to ground, returned to his lair, but he'll be back. Oh, and tell him...Thank you. He'll understand."
Epilogue: A Tale of two letters
Caine slowly entered his workshop, searching for what had disturbed his meditation. All seemed in place, just as it had been before he retired, except... an envelope, pinned to his worktable by the ceremonial knife Peter had returned to him after they had been reunited.
The envelope was cream colored, rather like the one that had housed the wedding invitation he had received when Capt. Blaisdell's daughter had been married. His name was printed on the front in large Chinese characters. The writing was familiar, yet not familiar, like an old song that had been re-recorded. The note inside was written on plain, white paper.
"Sorry to skip out on you like I did, but my "Masters" were calling Anyway, I never did learn how to just say goodbye. Never learned to just talk to you, either. Seems Peter and I have that same problem. Nice kid, by the way. He makes me think of what I might have been, if the war hadn't gotten in the way. The nightmares are better these days, by the way. But sometimes, I still flinch when I hear that language being spoken behind me. And yes, I still have a lot of anger inside of me over what I was asked to do and am still being asked to do. But that's the nature of the job. Maybe one day, I'll stop running from the man I see in my mirror, maybe I'll just quit like Paul did. Maybe not. Maybe you should consider not walking alone anymore. Sometime the hardest journey we face is the one that starts just inside our own door. Takes more guts to stay when people care then it does to move on. I ought to know. Anyway, this is my first step. Reaching out to tell you, cousin, that you did help me, all those years ago, that I did hear your words even if I couldn't tell you then. I still run with the night, probably always will. But now, it doesn't run me. Maybe one day, I'll even be able to say what I feel about you to your face, not just in a letter. One step, one day at a time. Meanwhile, keep reaching out to those who come to you for help. Just remember to save some of your time for those of us who claim to need you the least. We probably need more than we'll admit.
DRAGON
Caine folded the note carefully and reached for his flute. The night was filled with a melancholy song.
Below his rooms, a pair of emerald eyes listened to the music, smoke from a thin, black cigarillos wafting into the night. One more stop to make.
Peter Caine bolted out of bed, reaching instinctively for the gun he kept in its holster beside him. The shadows seemed to sway, reaching towards him one moment, shrinking away from him the next. He searched the darkness for whatever had awakened him, seeing nothing with his eyes, but knowing that something was there. Slowly, he made his way to his living room, cautiously moving through the darkened apartment. A curtain swayed gently in the breeze over a window he knew he had closed before retiring. Nothing else moved.
The young detective decided to chance turning on his lights, the better to see his surroundings. As the lights clicked on, he spotted the small, cream colored envelope on his bar. His name was written on the envelope in an elegant hand. Peter opened it cautiously, and sat back to read the enclosed note.
"Surprise! and hello from the abode of the not so dead. You didn't really think those amateurs could do ME in did you, kid? Well, maybe you did. After all, you don't know me that well. Anyway, just a note to say I'm sorry I scared you (I did scare you, right?) and you have every right to be pissed off at me. But in my line of work, you do what you can to survive. By the way, the shooting at your dad's was not part of the deal, and I've made sure the persons responsible are paying for their error in judgment. Don't ask how, you don't want to know. Listen, Peter, one more thing. About your dad. He tried to be there for me a long time ago, when my past threatened to overwhelm my present. I was living more with my ghosts than with the living, breathing people in front of me. Guilt and pain can do that to you. You and I, we're a lot alike in that respect. We're the walking wounded, still hurting from incidents in our past (your loss of family and home with the destruction of the temple) and my experience in Special Forces (ask Kermit one day, if you're in the mood to lose your lunch). He tried to make me see that I did the best I could in a situation that was totally out of control but I wasn't ready then to hear him. I guess the words stayed with me until I was ready. He's a good man, not real easy to talk to sometimes, but still a good man. He doesn't always give us the crutch we need to stand on, but he'll always be there to help you if you fall. Maybe I'll see you around one day, when this mission is over. Paul retired, so can I. A little boredom is good for the soul, and I'm getting too damn old for this rat race. We'll see. Take care, little brother, and watch out for the old man for me. "
DRAGON
Peter folded the note and returned it to its envelope. He holstered his gun and returned to his bed, quietly contemplating the talk he planned to have with his father the next morning.
In the darkness, a pair of emerald eyes watched the lights flicker off in the apartment above him. It was time to begin again. ....