35: Drive-In, Check Out

It was a different motel at which Brooklyn and Sophie regrouped with Xanatos and Owen. A necessary change, to ensure that none of their enemies knew where to find them, at least not easily. This time, it was another cheap offering in the northern section of the city. A small, single-storey motel nestled amongst some drab shopfronts, in a neighbourhood that was fairly dismal in appearance, especially when compared to the glittering skyline of downtown Miami, its gleaming towers visible against the dark of the night.

Xanatos was in one of the rooms, with Owen by his side as always. Upon entering, Sophie had made her displeasure at the situation very clear. Brooklyn followed in after her, practically glowering as Sophie's voice became aggravated, then outright angry.

"I didn't agree to kill cops!" She exclaimed, pacing about the room in front of Xanatos. "And Dingo, he just gunned down two of them right in front of us! What the hell kind of people are you hiring, Xanatos?"

"Dingo is an old acquaintance and former employee," Xanatos replied, his demeanour calm as ever. He steepled his hands under his chin, mulling over what he had learned. He had monitored the situation from his little mobile command centre, and despite how utterly wrong things had gone he seemed, as was often the case, completely unfazed. "Maybe the years have changed him, although he was always a mercenary. I do not condone the brazen murder of innocents, or police officers for that matter."

"Yeah, well, it happened on your watch, Xanatos," Sophie barked, spinning about to set her gaze upon him. "Now we've got the entire Miami police force looking for us. Sooner or later, they'll get an idea on just who was involved in the whole fiasco."

"Not likely," Xanatos said, confident. He noticed Sophie's bemused expression and continued: "I've been running interference from my end; I haven't simply been monitoring your movements and Brooklyn's. I have planted certain pieces of misinformation online, carefully manipulated pieces of footage and seemingly legitimate documents that the media has picked up eagerly. That will muddy the waters considerably and practically make it impossible to determine who was really behind this. The Illuminati certainly wants to keep it quiet, so it's likely even they will attempt to bury what happened out there. When one fights the Illuminati, it often pays to adapt the same disinformation tactics they themselves have employed since newspapers were first devised."

Brooklyn stood back, quiet, listening carefully. He had been in the thick of it before, yet all those other times had seen him on the right side of the law. Since the situation with the arms dealers, and now with this latest incident, he was beginning to feel like more of a criminal. They had good motivations for what they did, but as the human saying what, the road to hell was often paid with good intentions.

"Do we know where Dingo is?" Brooklyn asked. "Or Jane, since she hasn't showed up either?"

"It appears Dingo and Jane were in it together," Xanatos said, and he wheeled himself over to a table by the wall. Thereupon it was his laptop computer, and he lifted up the lid to review some piece of traffic camera footage he had dug up. "Dingo was picked up by Jane shortly after he fled the hotel. They travelled some way in the car I had provided them, before they dumped it near the airport. After that, I lost track of their movements."

"That doesn't help," Brooklyn said.

"Not to fear, Brooklyn, but I believe I have a means of locating them," Xanatos said. "The Illuminati will stop at nothing to get it back. Dingo isn't working for them; in fact, I believe he has gone independent. There are other entities who would pay handsomely to receive that case. It is likely Dingo is going to meet one of them soon, if he hasn't already."

"Do we know where he is?"

"Not at the moment, but I may be able to find us a lead as to where. All we have to do is follow the Illuminati. We find their agents, we will find the package. I am sure of it. Not to mention, I have already contacted people I can trust who work within certain intelligence agencies. They may have leads for us, given enough time."

"You're 'sure'? Just like you were sure about Dingo?" Sophie asked him. Judging from the way Xanatos' eyes narrowed, he did not appreciate this remark. It was one of the few occasions where Xanatos' pride may have been hurt, even if it was only in some small way.

"We all make mistakes, Detective," Xanatos said carefully. "We're all human; well, you and me anyway. And from mistakes, we learn lessons. And those lessons help us become better people."

"Don't patronise me," Sophie snapped. Xanatos gave a light shrug, before he settled his gaze upon the pair in general.

"I know you two would probably like to rest, but we have a special package in the wind, or more specifically, in the hands of two unpredictable people who could do all kinds of mischief with it. I suggest that Brooklyn here starts patrolling the city, looking for any sign of it, while the Detective here does some detecting. We're simply going to have to scour the city until something comes up. In the meantime, I will work my own angle. I believe that there are multiple Illuminati operatives in this city, all because of the case in play. We find one of them, we can find the case. It would not surprise me if they have a means of locating it themselves."

"Is there a tracker in the thing?" Sophie asked him. "I mean, that's what I would have done. Put a tracker in it."

"A tracker? Nothing you might use as a Detective, but as I said, the case is unique. Something less conventional may be required." He spun about to face Owen, who had been standing by his side, stoic yet attentive. "Now, Owen, we may need you to work some magic of your own."

Sophie appeared a little confused by this request, as to her Owen was little more than a glorified butler. As for Brooklyn, he knew better, and he met Owen's stern gaze with a knowing look of his own. At least he could be sure that the package, or whatever was in it, had a more supernatural disposition to it. Then again, they were in the so-called 'Magic City', so Brooklyn supposed it all made a strange sort of sense.

There was little magical about Dingo's current circumstances. He sat alone in a car, specifically one he had stolen a few hours before, his eyes set upon the open, vacant lot ahead. He had open ground on all sides, footed by cracked concrete from which weeds grew freely from the gaps. The old drive-in theatre screen was little more than a rusty metal frame at this point, as such cinemas had gone out of fashion a good forty years previously. Only a few remained open these days, if only for their novelty factor. This particular former establishment was located on the far western edge of the city, positioned at the end of a lonely dead-end road that was home to a scrapyard and a few non-descript industrial warehouses.

It was roughly eight o'clock in the evening. Arranging the meeting on short notice had been easier than Dingo had been expecting. Those who intended to buy the case from him were eager to get their hands upon it, and they had flown in their representative from New York City as soon as Dingo had made the call. Now all he had to do was wait, sitting alone in a stolen car in the middle of a deserted drive-in cinema, with no lights to speak of save for the muted glow of the moon and the stars above. Off to the far right of the drive-in was the small, rectangular box that had served as the ticket sales office and candy bar. It was all boarded-up now, covered in graffiti, barely recognizable compared to its glory days. Long grass and weeds had sprung up around it, having broken through the ever-growing cracks in the concrete underneath.

Dingo looked to the left-hand entrance then, noticing a pair of headlight beams appear. The car wielding them halted just inside the open gate, flashing the lights twice. Dingo responded in kind with his car's own lights, and after a brief pause the visiting car trundled on inside. It was a large silver SUV, and it moved in steadily, keeping its lights on as it came to a halt several metres ahead of Dingo's own vehicle.

The headlights remained on as the doors at either side opened. One man emerged, bearing with him an appearance of visibly Asian descent. He looked to be at least in his forties, his head mostly bald, a set of narrow spectacles across his eyes. Slowly, Dingo climbed out of his car, taking a few steps forwards whilst the Chinese visitor did the same. They stopped several metres apart, eyeing each other carefully, both cast in the brilliance of the headlight beams emanating from their respective vehicles.

Dingo sized him up, as he often did when faced with potential threats. The obvious bulge under the jacket of this man made it clear that he was armed. Dingo, on the other hand, did not have his gun with him (it was still inside the car). He did have a metal alloy boomerang tucked under his waistband at his back, and in his hands it would be as lethal as any gun or knife.

"Chung, is it?" Dingo asked, breaking the silence. He offered the stern man a friendly smile. "Where's Wang?"

A laugh escaped his mouth, all while Chung watched him with a distinct lack of amusement.

"What, you don't get it?" Dingo frowned slightly. "You know, the 80s pop group? Wang Chung? Dance Hall Days? You don't get it?" He chuckled again once he saw how utterly unimpressed this man was with the remark. "Well, you know what they say about explaining a joke and all. It's also true, I see, about Communists having a serious lack of humour."

"The case, Mister Dingo." The man may have been from China, but his voice carried a steady North American accent. Evidently, he spent much of his time in the United States. "Where is it?"

"It's in the car," Dingo answered. "First things first, I need to see the money before the case comes out."

Chung narrowed his eyes, his expression firm. Nonetheless, he walked back over to his car, opening the passenger side door. From the seat inside, he pulled a black suitcase, and he walked back over to his previous position. Case in his arms, he popped open the lid and showed Dingo the very substantial amount of cash stored within.

"Five million, as agreed," Chung replied. "In here, and the other three cases in my car. The additional forty-five will be transferred once the exchange takes place."

"Show me the proof." He should have figured that it would not be possible to cram that much money in one suitcase. It happened all the time in the movies, but here in the real-world things worked a little differently. "I want to see it all, all right? Bring out your computer, show me the transfer. I want to see it happen."

Xanatos liked to pretend otherwise, but the man's resources were slim these days. Once, forty-five million dollars would have been nothing to him. Now, Dingo knew full well that he could barely muster a quarter of that.

"I want to see the package," Chung countered, closing the suitcase. He placed it upon the ground beside him, before he fixed his eyes firmly upon Dingo.

"I'll show you mine if you show me yours," Dingo said.

"This isn't how it works." Chung's voice became ingrained with annoyance, and it rose a little in pitch. "I came here, as requested: alone with the money. This is not normally how I would conduct business."

"And I know my Russian contact would be happy to show me all the money before I get the case for him." Dingo found some satisfaction in the visible manner in which the foreign businessman squirmed at mention of a chief rival. "Now, the money. And don't dawdle, I haven't got all night."

Chung appeared irritated, not that Dingo cared.

"You know, I hope you guys know what you're getting into," Dingo continued. "This case, it's something special. The lock on it is enchanted, did you know that? You're going to need to do some magical mumbo-jumbo to get it working, and here I was thinking your government was vehemently against such superstitious 'nonsense'."

"That is our problem to deal with, Mister Dingo," Chung said. "I did see your handiwork on the news this evening. You and your friends made a mess of the Miami Beach area."

"You gotta break a few eggs to make an omelette, and all that." Dingo shrugged. "Now, are you going to show me the money or should I take my package elsewhere?"

The earpiece he wore crackled then, and he heard Jane's voice break on through.

"Dingo, back of your car." A simple warning, but it was all Dingo needed.

Lying prone upon the rundown ticket office, Jane had before her a hefty G3A3 rifle, complete with telescopic sight and bipod. It was an old and reliable weapon, hard-hitting with its 7.62mm round. Such a thing could tear right through a brick wall and then some, and this particular rifle she now wielded was provided courtesy of the Albanian arms dealers who had met their end the night before.

Her eyes were currently covered over by a pair of night-vision goggles, which in turn cast everything she saw with a vibrant, if somewhat static-filled, green glow. The darkness of the empty drive-in gave way to brilliant illumination. By her side was a small switch, connected to a wire that ran down the side of the building. Before the meeting, she and Dingo had taken the time to rig the still-working perimeter lights to the switch. Sure, some of them were burnt out or simply smashed, but those that worked could very well prove useful.

She watched the exchange through the goggles and, in turn, the scope upon the rifle. Surprisingly, the Chinese businessman had arrived alone. She had all but expected him to bring backup. A few words were exchanged between him and Dingo, all of which she heard through the headset she wore. It was shortly after the conversation started that she observed the movement at the rear of Dingo's car, little more than a shadow in the dark. At least until she cast her night-vision goggles upon the figure, who presumably sneaked around such that he had come over the far fence and kept low, placing Dingo's car between him and her vantage point. All to keep himself from being spotted by the currently preoccupied Dingo, who was getting into an increasing uncomfortable argument with the businessman.

"Dingo, back of your car." Jane pulled off the night-vision goggles then, hand going to the switch. With a flick, the lights spaced along the perimeter of the drive-in switched on, throwing sudden searing illumination across the mostly empty lot. And then, eyes set down the scope, she opened fire.

Dingo spun about as the lights switched on, keeping his eyes downcast so as to avoid being momentarily blinded by their sudden activation. There was someone by the rear of his car, a very obvious compatriot to the Chinese businessman. This man was younger and carried a submachine gun, and he found himself squinting under the sudden blazing light that fell upon them. It was all the opportunity that Dingo needed, as in one fluid, lightning motion he had pulled the boomerang from his waistband and thrown it.

His accuracy was unerring, and the metal alloy implement embedded itself in the gunman's chest. He fell backwards, letting out a startled yelp in the seconds before his heart completely stopped. Before he hit the ground, Jane fired twice, the G3 rifle sounding like thunder each time. The noise echoed across the empty lot and reverberated across the surrounding neighbourhood, with both bullets tearing through the gunman's torso with bloody, almost chunky sprays.

Dingo spun about to face Chung, who had turned and run back for his car. The backdoor of the businessman's car flung open, depositing another armed man. So much for coming alone, it seemed that Chung had broken that agreed-upon rule much like Dingo had with Jane.

Dingo darted for his car, throwing himself into the driver's seat as the gunman opened fire. His submachine gun rattled and the windshield above Dingo shattered, showering him with glass. Jane let fly with a rapid volley, planting shots into the side of Chung's car, breaking windows there. Chung started the engine on the vehicle, caring little for the bodyguard as he floored the accelerator and sent the car racing for the exit. The gunman was now completely exposed, standing out in the open.

Jane did not hesitate to fire, rising to a crouch with the rifle in her grasp, sending two of the high-calibre rounds ripping into the lone shooter. He crumpled into a heap on the overgrown grass, before Jane turned the rifle towards the fleeing car. She worked the trigger rapidly, thunderous shot piling upon thunderous shot, bullets pounding through the side of the car. A back tire blew out, with another of the rounds striking Chung in the arm. His right hand blew apart into a bloody mess, before another round hit him in the side of the head and splattered his brains across the upholstery. The car trundled along out of the front gate nonetheless, spurred on by the pressure still being applied upon the accelerator from the now deceased driver.

Jane surveyed the drive-in lot further, ensuring that there were no other surprise visitors lying in wait. None appeared, and after a pause she climbed down from the roof, flicking on the rifle's safety with one finger. Dingo was in the driver's seat of the car, waving to her, the engine already running. They would have to dump that car now, seeing as how it had some very visible blood splattered across part of it, not to mention the now missing windshield.

Jane threw the rifle on the backseat before she sat down next to it. She slammed the door shut, heart still thumping from the sudden excitement. Dingo appeared more annoyed than anything else, as if this latest incident was nothing more than an inconvenience.

"Now what?" Jane asked him. Dingo put the car into drive, swinging them around towards the exit.

"Now we find someone else to sell it to." The case in question was secured in the trunk of the car. Some small worry of it catching a stray bullet had crossed his mind in these past couple of minutes but knowing the enchanted nature of the item had nullified that concern. A magical lock would suggest the contents were very well protected from outside harm.

"You want to sell it to the Russians next?"

"It's an idea. It'll take a little time to set things up, because as eager as they are, they're very careful. Our dearly departed friend Chung was sent by people whose eagerness was not as tempered in comparison." Dingo shrugged, again the whole situation seemed more of a disappointment to him than something dangerous and life-threatening. "Don't worry, girl, by the end of all this we'll be rich, and I can finally retire."

"Yeah, whatever you say, pops."

Another plane touched down at a private airport on the far edge of Miami. This one was a little smaller than the one Xanatos had hired, with a much 'cheaper' look to it. The pilot had been hired for much the same reason as Xanatos' own: his ability to keep a secret, especially if paid enough. The plane landed at nine o'clock in the evening, depositing its two unusual passengers into a darkened airport. They did not even bother to pass through customs, for the airport belonged to their Illuminati benefactors. They were free to come and go as they pleased, and that meant they could bring whatever they wanted with them.

In the dark, they were little more than two large figures clad in black, heads shrouded underneath tinted goggles and neck warmers. Even then, the small amount of skin that was exposed was of a deep blue-black in colour, a shade that blended well into the dark of the night around them. Crossing the open concrete landing zone, they skipped the lone terminal altogether, heading for a private gate somewhat further along the airport's perimeter. This was a normally quiet neighbourhood save for the odd plane coming and going from here; with these two in town, the whole neighbourhood was likely to get a little louder. In fact, the whole city may very well find itself in a veritable shake-up.

Serkes and Strelets were very pleased to finally be out of New York City. As much as they enjoyed the place and the delights it offered, the overall Manhattan skyline was positively drab in appearance. Here in Miami, there were grandiose beaches, crystal waters and plenty of beautiful women. Of course, these were all secondary to the mission. Serkes had to remind himself of this as both he and his more subdued brother strolled out onto the street.

It was a mostly industrial neighbourhood, with warehouses and factories across the road and to either side of the airport grounds. No significant traffic at this hour, which made getting around unnoticed a little easier.

Between them, they each carried two hefty duffel bags. Equipment for the assignment, as well as various odds and ends that may or may not prove useful. Serkes had managed to pack in all his favourite knives in one, whilst Strelets had his personally customised 50. calibre rifle stowed in another. Korily had sent them south on the first plane he could organize, and it had been during the flight that the call had come through pertaining to what had become of their reason for being here.

The package had been mishandled and lost. They would have to find it and secure it by any means necessary. Serkes had found the order to be an utter thrill to hear and knowing Strelets he would have felt much the same way. In his case, he was not likely to show it. The only time Serkes saw Strelets change his usually stern expression was when he was with a pretty girl, and even then he seemed to do his best to keep his true feelings hidden.

A car was parked out here just for them. Pulling the keys from his jacket, Serkes unlocked the doors and popped open the trunk. In the glow of a nearby streetlight, the imps bundled their gear into the rear compartment before bundling themselves into the vehicle. Serkes saw his brother go for the driver's seat, but he put out an arm and blocked his way.

"Nah-uh," Serkes said, meeting his brother's gaze and shaking his head. "You drive like a maniac. We actually need to be a bit more subtle here."

Strelets grunted in annoyance, but otherwise relented. Serkes climbed into the driver's seat, with Strelets settling down beside him. Headlights on, the engine started and they went on their way.

Their assignment was somewhat of an unofficial one, if only because Korily was not acting on behalf of their Illuminati associates. Rather, the order had come from a higher power, one that not even they could refuse. The Illuminati would not even really know they were here, not unless they actively sought the flight logs for the plane they had just used to get here. They had no reason to, so their presence here was, for now, a secret even from the most powerful secret society. And if they found out, it could prove to be a little awkward for them all.

To Serkes, his understanding of their relationship with the Illuminati was a basic one. Somewhere along the line, a good hundred or so years ago, their motives had intersected. And now here they were, working together, even if it was clear to just about everyone involved that they each had their own agendas at play. They knew the Illuminati knew they had their own plans; and the Illuminati knew they knew the Illuminati had their own plans. It was a confusing game to play, which was why he was more than happy to leave the real planning to the eldest, in this case Korily.

The problem they were faced with now was a deceptively simple one: find the case. Easier said than done, and Serkes glanced over to Strelets with his mind sifting through the various possibilities.

"You have any ideas?" He asked him. Strelets turned to him, eyes gleaming in the dark, catching the glow of the nearby streetlights that darted on by. The other imp slowly shook his head.

"Of course you don't. Why do I even bother?" Serkes had a few ideas, especially since it seemed likely that whoever had the package now would presumably try to sell it. A delve into the Miami criminal underworld was in order, which to Serkes was well within his comfort zone.

The two imps raced off into the night, ready to make their mark on this town.