Blackened Heart V: Fear of the Hydra

CONTENT:
Rating: Teen
Flavor: Drama
Language: some
Violence: some
Nudity: none
Sex: referenced (child prostitution)
Other: none

Author's Note:

I don't know the details of how real world police forces work. But Malcolm lives in TV-Land, and I've seen the things he talks about going on in more than one fictional drama.

Blackened Heart V: Fear of the Hydra

==#==

The next night, the compound was abuzz like a hive of bees, with vehicles and personnel pouring in from the Department of Juvenile Observation and Protection.

"Justin!" Diane called through the crowded cantina. "Is the bus all gassed up?"

"Aye-aye, mon capitan! All ready to go!"

Prem handed her a list of counts they'd made at each brothel. She transferred the numbers to a card and handed it to Lynne. "You're in charge of the bus."

"Got it!" She took the card and returned to drilling Amy, Kristin, and Mackenzie how to say 'Don't be afraid' in Thai.

And that was it for the preparations her little band had to make. That, and a prayer. Diane glanced at the numbers on the paper in her hand. Her thoughts turned inevitably towards what they would look like at the end of the night. Some of the children always fell through the cracks.

Justin came up beside her and jostled her elbow. "Positive thoughts, boss."

"I know." She took a breath and looked around. The Forces of Good were going on a mission tonight.

Malcolm threaded his way through the crowd of DJOP agents, his face alight with that same pre-battle excitement. "What can I do?" he asked her.

Diane caught her lip in her teeth and glanced at Justin. He lifted his eyebrows in an embarrassed shrug. When she looked back to Malcolm, she could see he hadn't missed the brief byplay, and his expression waned. "I'm sorry, Malcolm."

"I'm not invited." Disappointment clouded his features. In bitter humor, he said, "I guess I'm too 'rich white American' for this part of the job."

"I'm so sorry," she said again. "The children, they've seen you."

Justin added, "They saw you trying to buy them, mate. It just... They'd think..."

"I understand." Malcolm took a breath, recovered his equilibrium. "Do you need me to do anything here?"

"Everything should be set. Maybe you can do one final check on the bus with Justin?"

"I've done that a dozen times, luv." He turned to Malcolm. "Just keep the home fires burning."

The businessman nodded.

"And..." Justin looked to her, but she turned away, unwilling to shoulder this burden. "When we get back, if you could-?"

"Yes, I'll make myself scarce."

"I really am sorry, Malcolm," she found herself saying yet again.

"It's all right. I understand." He reached over and took her hand, so she was forced to meet his eyes. "Good luck."

She nodded her thanks. Then she watched him leave, her heart going out to him. In the short time she had known him, she had learned so much about him. He was a good man. Only circumstance had cast him as a villain.

This was the one thing they hadn't discussed when he'd volunteered for the undercover work. The American agents never participated in this part of the mission. The one true bright moment, this emotional payoff, was never something they could share in.

But that wouldn't have deterred Malcolm. He was right, the plight of the children was of utmost importance.

Her mind turned to them, now. The hour was at hand.

==#==

The evening swept by in a whirlwind. It was a magical transformation to see the children's eyes empty of fear and mistrust and fill with hope. Diane, Mackenzie, Kristin, and Amy, with help from Justin, collected the children and brought them to the bus. Lynne gave each child a piece of fruit. They settled into their seats with eerie quiet, as if holding their breaths lest they break the spell.

There were many children at the final target, the largest brothel in the city, ruled by a weasel of a man. He pulled out of the line on the way to the paddy wagon to yell imprecations at Diane and her crew. The children with them cowered, some even shrieked in fear of this devil.

Before anyone else could do anything, Diane stalked forward, spine straight, head held high. "You're only brave when it's helpless children you're threatening. You want some of this? Bring it!"

His eyes flashed in rage, and for a moment, it looked as if he'd attack her, hands cuffed behind his back or not. If he did, Diane's fist had an appointment with his face. But the DJOP agents seized him and hauled him back. Luckily for him.

Diane turned back to her charges. Mackenzie and Justin gaped at her with open mouths. The children's eyes were wide, glittering with hero worship. Diane cracked a smile. "I promise, he will never be able to hurt you again. Ever!"

She herded them to the bus, the first step on their journey to freedom. Justin called her back, and her elation deflated when she saw the look on his and Prem's faces. "What's wrong?"

"We checked three times, luv. We're missing eight children according to the headcount."

Prem added, "We think some of the men got away. We're heading in to do another sweep upstairs."

"Dammit," she swore softly. So many victories tonight, soured by the few failures. Little lives lost. She made up her mind. "Justin, help the others with these kids. I'm going back in."

"But that could be dangerous," he sputtered. "Wait for-"

"It's more dangerous for the children," she snapped. "I'm not waiting around!" She would head into the lion's den, and danger be damned.

==#==

The Ministry agents didn't want her going in either, but they agreed that she could follow them at a supposedly safe distance, since they weren't going to get anywhere in changing her mind. She broke off from them in the maze of upstairs corridors, following some deeper instinct. "Hello?" she called in Thai. "It's all right. Where are you?" The rooms were small, appointed with a cheap opulence that hid its grimy veneer under low lighting.

She didn't want to enter these rooms, but as she turned away from the third, a noise caught her attention. "Hello?" she called again softly. She came around the bed and found a handful of children huddled behind a screen. The oldest was a girl of six, and the youngest barely two years old. She stifled her whimpers by sucking her thumb. They all shrank back from Diane. Lord knows what their captors told them would happen if the police ever came.

"It's okay," she said, keeping her voice level and calm. "I'm here to take you away, to someplace safe."

One of the young boys started forward, but the eldest grabbed his arm. "American," she hissed, deep mistrust in her eyes.

Diane lowered herself to perch on one corner of the bed, to be less tall and threatening. "Yes, I'm American," she said, really wishing Justin or Amy were here. The Great White Curse. "Look, I don't know what these people have told you, but I do know they lie. They are bad people; you can't trust them."

The children were shaking their heads, shrinking back even further. Another youngster started to cry, quietly.

Diane swallowed her anger. The bastards had really done a number on these kids. "I can't prove to you I'm not lying right now. But you know those men are evil. You know what they're doing to you is wrong." She met the dark eyes of the eldest girl, the leader, the protector of the little ones - at least as best she could in her powerless circumstances. "You have to believe that not everyone out there is like that. Yes, there are bad people, there always are, but there are good people, too. People like you. You are not bad because of what other people make you do."

The girl's eyes wavered. She looked away, tears welling up.

"I'm asking you to go outside with me, to see for yourselves. I'm asking you to trust me, at least that far."

It was a big leap, she knew. What trust had they to give? Their parents had sold them, their handlers kept them like prisoners. If she couldn't convince them, she'd have to keep them here until the agents came through on the last sweep. They would have to forcibly relocate the children if there was no other way.

Then the girl's dark eyes met hers. She could see the whirl of thoughts going on in those depths. The girl looked to the others, so scared, so lost. She bent and picked up the youngest. "We will go."

Relief flooded Diane, buoying her spirit. She tamped it down, allowing herself only the faintest encouraging smile. It was the damnable truth that the only happiness these children had seen from adults was at the expense of their degradation. "Come on."

She began to lead them back the way she had come, when they heard shots ring out. The children whimpered at the noise. Diane swallowed her heart down. "It's okay; let's go this way." She herded them in the other direction, praying for a back door.

They found a fire escape and descended. Diane picked the direction she thought would be the shortest path to the waiting bus and turned down the alley.

She had chosen wrong.

There were two men in the alley. One had a small boy and a knife. He didn't hesitate to grab the child in one arm and put the blade to his throat. "Give us those children," he snarled. His partner edged towards them, an evil sneer on his face.

A shock of fear ran through the children. Some huddled closer to her, to each other; some cried piteously, like wounded animals. "Get behind me," Diane said, spreading her arms like protective wings. "It will be okay."

She had no idea what she was saying or what she would do, only her instinct to defend the weaker. Her mind was frozen in panic. She couldn't give the children to these men - they'd trusted her. It would crush their spirits even if it did save their lives. Yet she knew those bastards would kill the boy without any hesitation or remorse.

"I will kill him, gut him like a pig," the man threatened, confirming her worst fears.

Diane locked her knees to keep from backing away as the other man advanced on her. "You drop that knife, and stop right there!"

They only laughed at her.

She met the boy's eyes. They showed no fear, only no hope for him, no life. She couldn't let him die! But what-?

The man holding him suddenly twitched. The knife wavered and fell away. The boy was nearly jerked off his feet as the man collapsed.

The second man was inches away from grabbing Diane. He turned at the noise. "Sri-?" And he, too, pitched to the ground. Diane and the children jumped back, away from him.

Diane didn't know what had happened. Her mind told her that they'd been shot, but she hadn't heard any gunfire. Had she? Had her heart been pounding too loudly to hear it? This wasn't like the movies.

Her eyes scanned the alley, the rooftops, for a sign of whoever had shot these men. She thought she saw a shape, black against the dark sky, of a hooded figure, but... it didn't move. It must be her eyes playing tricks on her.

In the next instant, she forgot about that, her duty to the children more pressing and more important. "Come on; come with me." She edged her flock around the... dead bodies. "Come on," she said to the shaken little boy. She extended a hand. "Let's get you out of here. You're free."

==#==

Diane had a job to do, one that kept her focused on the here and now. After they had made sure no one was left behind, after they had gotten the children to the compound and settled in their beds, after Diane had left Amy and Lynne to keep watch over them so she could grab a quick shower: that's when it hit her. She could have been killed. Worse, she could have seen a child die, killed before her very eyes. Her body went cold under the hot spray; her limbs shook. She huffed a ghost of a laugh. There was no sense getting worked up about it now - it was over. She'd survived. There were still a lot of questions about how, but certainly they would get cleared up in the next few days, in the Ministry of Justice reports.

Her quick shower turned into a bit of a longer one as she let the adrenaline flush out of her system. It was well past midnight when she finally headed to her trailer. Still, she didn't think she could get to sleep very soon.

==#==

After things had settled down, Malcolm crossed the compound to Diane's trailer. He knocked at her door. After a moment, it opened and she stood silhouetted by the lamp light. She had her cut-off shorts on, and a loose blouse. Her hair hung lank and damp from a recent shower. He was in a similar state, though she hadn't quite convinced him to go for the cut-offs; he stuck with a light pair of slacks. Nevertheless, he was more comfortable in short sleeves these days.

"Malcolm." She tipped her head and the light caught the edge of her smile.

"I hope it's not too late, but I saw your light was still on."

"Not at all. After all the excitement and adrenaline, I don't think I'll sleep at all." She stepped back. "Come in."

"Thank you. I thought a celebratory toast was in order." Malcolm presented the beribboned bottle of white wine. "If you drink, that is."

"If you're springing for the good stuff, I definitely do." A smile crinkled her eyes. "Make yourself at home while I dig out the crystal wine goblets."

Malcolm moved to the small two-cushion couch in the cramped space. He felt awkward just comandeering half the furniture, so he waited until she joined him.

"Really, don't be so formal," she chided. "You'll make me feel like trailer trash in comparison."

"Sorry."

They sat companionably side by side on the couch. Malcolm opened the wine, and Diane held out the two slightly chipped coffee mugs she had dug out of her cupboard.

"No crystal?" he asked.

"In Ukhatang, these are the good crystal."

"Well, when in Ukhatang..." He poured the wine into the mugs. They clinked, careful not to cause even more chips. "To a valiant and worthwhile endeavor."

"And the people who make our work possible."

They enjoyed the wine a moment. Then Malcolm tipped his head. "So how did it go?"

"Amazing! I think we managed a 100% recovery."

"Excellent!"

"And it was weird... the cops were saying something about ninjas helping them."

Malcolm snorted. "Ninjas? In Thailand?" Both his brows arched up. "They know ninjas are Japanese, right?"

"I know, right?" Diane nearly choked on a mouthful of wine. She swallowed. "But I... I think I saw something."

"You saw a ninja?" he teased her lightly.

She frowned down into her mug. "I was in an alley. I found some kids; I was trying to get them to safety. There was gunfire."

"Are you all right?" he asked, his concern immediate. "Was anyone hurt?"

She shook her head. "There were... a couple of guys in the alley. They had a knife; they were going to kill a little boy if I didn't hand over the children and let them get away."

Malcolm put a hand to her shoulder. "Diane... you could have been killed."

"I'm fine!" she insisted. "Someone... I guess the police shot them, and I rescued the boy - all of the children." She looked down into her cup. "But I never saw who saved us. Or heard any shots, unless I totally panicked and blanked them out?"

"You had a harrowing experience." He squeezed her shoulder gently. "I'm glad you're all right, and the children, too."

She gulped her wine. "Maybe I need something stronger to calm me down," she said with a shaky laugh.

Malcolm poured her some more. "The only strength you need is inside you."

Her eyes flicked up, shyly, under her lashes, and he met her look with silent sincerity. Her cheeks coloured. She ducked her head and sipped her wine. "I'm worried about that boy."

"You saved him," he reassured her. Then, with concern, "He wasn't hurt?"

"No. Not physically. But when that man was threatening him with the knife... I saw his eyes. They looked so dead."

"Diane, a very wise person once told me... children are very resilient."

A smile curled her lips.

"With his new freedom, with his new life, the spark will return to him."

"You're right."

"Well, not me; my wise mentor," he deflected with a smile. He relaxed a bit, leaning back on the sofa cushions, sipping his wine. "What will you do now?"

"Now, it's a whirlwind trip to the UK, where we've arranged placement for the children. I'll help them make the transition, start learning English..." She swirled her mug a little, eyes going unfocused. "It seems a shame to rob them of their cultural heritage."

"Their cultural heritage didn't do much for them," he told her darkly.

"I know, just... in a perfect world..." She trailed off.

"Maybe more people will come to their senses. It's a new millennium, a new era."

"I don't see how. Things never seem to change. In six months, a year, we'll be back, doing this all over again."

Malcolm pursed his lips. This was a truth he was still coming to grips with. "But maybe, now that the slate is wiped clean, the police can prevent the brothels from becoming re-established."

"The police don't want to stop it. Or they just don't care. Or they're too corrupted." Diane frowned. "How can people see this evil that is going on and just... let it be?"

"I have a theory," he said, setting down his mug and turning towards her.

"Oh?"

"In every big city, there are key criminals - mob bosses, drug lords, gang leaders - that the police won't take down. They know who the kingpins are, but cite lack of enough evidence for the DA to get a conviction. I think what is really stopping them... I call it 'fear of the hydra.'"

Diane tipped her head in curiosity. She turned towards him, one leg tucked up under her, so she could concentrate on his words.

"Since they know these criminals, they can keep tabs on them. They know their operations, they have informants they can use. If they were to take, say, one mob boss out of play, they would lose the structure they have."

"Better the devil you know?" she asked.

"Exactly." He nodded. "Plus, removing the head of a criminal organization leaves a power vacuum. Two of his lieutenants could split the operation between them, or worse, start a street war. They fear that stopping one major criminal would do more damage to their city than leaving him alone. They opt for a program of containment, rather than eradication.

"But imagine for a moment," he said, leaning forward and gesturing with his hands, "if the police had unlimited resources, unlimited manpower. They could remove one head from the hydra, and the two that sprang up in its place, and the next two, and so on and so on, down to the last street punk."

"They'd need unlimited prison space, too."

Malcolm grinned wryly. "Of course. But if every criminal were removed from an entire city?" He shrugged. "Well, in the real world, criminals from other cities would just move in."

"Maybe not," said Diane with a smirk, "if the police are that hard on crime."

He chuckled. "But if it were possible... No more criminals means no more crime. It's not like the average salesman would suddenly think, 'Gee, there's not enough crime in this town, I should change my career to one with less competition.'"

Diane finished her wine and set her cup aside. "Is that what you think the Vigilante would do in Starling City? Take out all the criminals that the police can't or won't?"

He shook his head. "One man can't make a difference. It would take an act of God." His eyes drifted towards the window, and the darkness beyond. "Do you ever get frustrated?" he asked her after a moment. "Working so hard to save humanity, just to see it returning right back to its state of corruption and evil?" He turned his gaze to her. "Do you ever want to give up?"

"It is frustrating," she admitted. "I've been doing this nigh twenty years. And I'll probably be doing it twenty more." She sighed, then she shook her head. "But I can't give up. Not while there are children who need help. 'The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing.'"

Malcolm closed his eyes a moment, thinking back over his life, over his fight against crime and corruption. It was so easy for a well-to-do man to turn a blind eye, to shelter himself from evil, and do nothing to aid his fellow man. He might have been like that, once. He might have been on that path, until one fateful night when an evil ignored impacted his life and tore it to shreds. "You're right," he said, and so was Justin, attacking the ocean with his teacup. "Perhaps one person standing up to be the hero is the act of God we need." He met her eyes. "Perhaps one hero can make a difference." His spirit ignited with renewed purpose.

She nodded slowly. "There are good people in all walks of life. From the poorest to the richest." She reached out and clasped his hand. "Malcolm, we couldn't have done this without you."

"Really," he said with a modest smile, "my part in all of this was quite small."

"No, I know how hard it was for you. I know how disappointed you were that you couldn't be there in our hour of triumph, that you couldn't see the children's first steps towards freedom." Her bright eyes sought his. "I understand the sacrifice you made to help them."

He was about to demur, but Diane tugged his hand, leaned in, and kissed him.

For one blinding moment, he closed his eyes and lost himself in the sensation of soft, warm lips against his own, drowned himself in the tangible presence of this woman, so smart, so fiery, so strong.

In the next moment, he jerked back. He caught sight of Diane's eyes flying wide before he looked away.

"I'm sorry," she said in confusion. "Did I do something wrong?"

He didn't know what to say, how to explain. "I'm married," was the first thing that came out of his mouth.

"I... oh. I'm sorry!" She pulled away, quickly removing her hand from his. "I didn't kn- you're not wearing a ring."

He looked down at his hand. He hadn't worn his ring since that man had stolen its mate. The police had recovered it from some pawn shop, and it was now sealed in a box with other paltry evidence, like the bullet that had killed Rebecca. He never had the heart to ask for its return, after it had been sullied, pawed over by dirty hands. He couldn't wear his; it was too painful a reminder of a love broken.

All he said was, "I don't wear it abroad, in case it gets lost."

"I'm so sorry. I didn't mean-"

"No, it's all right," he tried to reassure her.

Embarrassed and ashamed, she just kept babbling. "Really, I had no idea. She must really hate publicity. There's never mention of her in the articles I read about you, or photos..."

"Diane," he cut her off. "She's dead."

"Oh." That one small syllable hung in the air between them. Diane's face first froze in shock, then began to soften, to melt with compassion and understanding. "Oh God, Malcolm. I am so, so sorry." She put a hand to her mouth. "Can you ever forgive me?"

"You haven't done anything wrong," he insisted, rising. "You couldn't have known."

"I feel so terrible."

"Don't." He wanted to touch her again, reassure her with a simple hand on her arm, but the distance was too great, too awkward for him to reach. "You...," he started, struggling for words. "You've done amazing things, here. You are an amazing woman. You're smart, you're strong..." Don't I deserve a woman like this? "It's... my fault. I-" He retreated. "I have to go."

==#==

He escaped into the night air. It wasn't any cooler outside, but the darkness enveloped him reassuringly. Unseen, alone, he walked back to his tent.

He paused outside, a scathing hatred twisting his lips. Deserve? You don't deserve any woman! You failed your wife, ignoring her pleas when she was begging you to save her, while she died, alone, hurt, bleeding out in the gutter! And the only other woman he had ever dared to love had told him he was a monster.

A monster!

He darted into his tent, where no one would see him in this state.

He did not have any liquor there, so pacing and controlling his breath would have to do to calm him down.

I am not a monster.

No, he fought monsters. The true monsters, who preyed upon the weak and the innocent. The many-headed hydra that could not be killed like any normal creature. Remove the head? No, it would only spawn more.

He crossed to his cot, knelt, and drew out his bow case. He opened it. The bow sat ready in its contoured recess, and the top half of the clamshell had a compartment behind the foam for his leathers. His fingers sought out the hood, slid the material between them. The tactile sensation helped ground him further.

He had killed so many. The criminals in his home, and now the criminals he had found abroad. He'd gone to destroy them. Would Oliver ever understand that things went beyond just the glittering lights of Starling City? He was once like that. Concerned only with his own back yard. There was still room to grow. He hoped Oliver would come to see that.

Then he reached into a side pocket for his sat-phone. He had associates in this part of the world, old friends, like Hercules with Iolas to help him defeat the hydra.

Malcolm glanced up, out through the screen of his tent, over the corrugated wall. Over the tops of the city buildings, he could see the dark shape of the mountain, Haw Khxang Pisac.

His lips twitched. How fitting.

==X==

End Notes:

Over the tops of the city buildings, he could see the dark shape of the mountain, Haw Khxang Pisac. His lips twitched. How fitting.

... And world's most obscure in-joke/reference. I was sure I spelled it right, but Google Translate won't spit the reverse translation out. :/