"Take...The Sword of the Spirit..."--Ephesians 6:16
The spymaster and assassin known as Elijah the prophet lay on Holy Ground, battered and bewildered. Above him stood a man with cold fire in his eyes and a Smith and Wesson model 29 .44 magnum revolver in his hand. All things considered, Elijah did not feel particularly lucky at the moment.
"Okay, slimeball," Dirty Harry adressed his prisoner through clenched teeth. "Here's the deal. I ask you questions, you answer them. If I don't like the answer, or if I have to wait too long to hear it, I put a bullet into you." He pulled the hammer back. "Now let's get started. Who are you working for?"
Elijah couldn't believe this. A crazed infant, not yet out of his mortal lifespan, was holding a gun to him ion Holy Ground?/i "You can't be serious, Callaghan. This is Holy Gr-" KER--BLAM!!! Elijah was interupted by the report of a high-powered handgun. He let out a scream as the massive slug blasted its way through his kneecap, leaving a blood mess in its wake.
"That was wrong answer number one. Number two gets your right knee. Holy Ground may keep your head on your shoulders, and it may keep my sword in its sheath, but there's no rule says I can't non-fatally wound you with a gun."
Connor walked over to them. "Harry, what do you think you're-"
"Shut up, Scotty. I don't tell you what to wear under a kilt, you don't tell me how to conduct an interrogation." Harry turned back to his moaning subject. "Try it again, Shmuck-face. Who's your boss?"
Elijah groaned. "His name is Chang. He is the most powerful drug dealer on the west coast, and he is Immortal."
"This Chang the same guy that tried to whack me in the warehouse a couple of months back?"
"How should I know that?" No sooner were the words out of Elijah's mouth than Harry had put a bullet through his right knee.
"Hey, Connor. If you blow an Immortal's balls off, will they grow back?"
Connor, seeing no way to halt his student's irregular methods, decided he might as well play along. "Never tried it. This guy looks like a good test case, though."
Elijah whimpered and tried to curl up into a fetal position, but was inhibited by the trauma to his legs. "Yes, he's the one. He wanted to kill you before you got dangerous."
"Well he screwed that up. Where is he now?"
"Now? Well I'm really not-" Harry, death in his eyes, cocked the gun again and pointed it directly at the spy's genitals. "Think carefully, bozo," he snarled.
"Ten-story building about a block from Golden Gate Park. Its called the Donovan Building. Chang runs his organization out of it. There's an office setup on the first floor to serve as a cover. Second floor is a gym and training area. Next three floors are drug processing facilities. Six through eight are storage, nine is where his top lieutenants have offices, and on top is his office and apartment. That all I know, honestly!"
"Okay. Now listen up. You're going to be tied up, and I'm going to hold a gun to your head. You will lead us to this place, and we are all going upstairs to have a chat with your boss. Got it?" Elijah's frightened nod was answer enough.
Connor suddenly applied a throat hold to the prisoner's neck, causing him to pass out. He then bound the man with strips of his clothing. "Harry, don't you think we need to talk about this?"
"What's to talk about? This asshole's been trying to kill me, he got my partner killed, and he's running the drug business in this city. I'm going to go and kill him. If you want, you can come along, if not, sit here on your ass and play the bagpipes, or whatever it is you do."
"You have no plan, no backup, and damn little intelligence, and you're going to charge single-handedly into the fortress of a drug kingpin and assassinate him? You're crazy!"
"What planning do I need? This guy is going to keep after me until one of us buys it. Might as well force a confrontation now as later. Unless you think I'm not up to it?"
"Harry, you are my best pupil. In a very brief span of time, you've absorbed an incredible amount. Your combat skills are superb. But this Chang is clearly dangerous, and he has many allies."
"Does that mean you'll be coming after all?"
Connor laughed in spite of himself. "You, Dirty Harry, are without a doubt the craziest bastard I have ever met. But God save me, I think you might have a chance. Yes, Harry, I'll come with you. First, however, there's something you need."
"What's that?"
"A sword, idiot."
"Shit! I forgot all about that!"
"Luckily, Callaghan, I happen to have one handy. Come with me." The Highlander led the inspector over to his supply hut, and opened a locked door on the side. Within were three or four long oilskin-wrapped bundles. Connor studied them for a moment, then picked one up. He let slip the protective wrapping, revealing a brass-hilted saber not unlike the one that Harry had recently lost. This sword, however, lacked the markings on the blade, which was also more curved than David Mann's weapon had been.
"This, Harry, is an enlisted man's cavalry saber of the Confederate States of America. It once belonged to a student of mine, a very dear friend."
"Who was he?"
"His name was Jacob Freeman. I recruited him into my cavalry unit during the war, and taught how the Game. When he took his first head in 1864, I spent three weeks making this blade for him."
"Three weeks?"
"This, my student, is no ordinary sword. I forged it in the ancient Japanese style, although the blade is of a european shape. The steel is folded one hundred and fifty times, the edge differentially heat-tempered to make it as strong as possible. It will take a razor-sharp edge, and hold it. It will bend without breaking, and cut without catching. If well cared for, this blade will last a thousand years with almost no sign of wear."
"If it was a gift to a student, why do you have it now?"
Connor's gaze became overcast. "He...died. During Prohibition. I was on hand to recover the weapon. The owner...He was beyond any help."
Harry took the sword-hilt reverently, and held it to the light. Along the edge, he saw the same wavy cloud-like patterns that decorated Connor's katana. "I'll do my best to take care of it."
"There is one thing, Harry. One thing you must swear upon this steel before you can be master to this blade."
"What's that?"
"You must swear to never...never take the life of an innocent mortal."
"I swear it." Said Harry.
Now Connor turned back to the small armory, and produced a much smaller bundle. "That is a one-handed weapon, and with a one-handed sword it is best to carry a secondary blade. This," He unwrapped the bundle as he spoke, revealing a long Scottish dirk, wonderfully crafted. "This was also a gift. Heather's father presented it to me on our wedding day. He had forged it with his own hands. The steel is true, and it carries great virtue. Use it well."
Harry accepted the long dagger with his left hand. "Is there an oath for this weapon, too?"
Connor pondered for a moment, then answered, "You must swear never to show mercy to an evil Immortal."
"I swear it."
"Good. Now, if we're going to be storming the gates of hell, we'd best get to it. Ah, our trusty guide seems eager to show us the way to his master's lair."
Faced by two armed and grinning madmen, there was nothing the bound Elijah could do but whimper to himself.
The spymaster and assassin known as Elijah the prophet lay on Holy Ground, battered and bewildered. Above him stood a man with cold fire in his eyes and a Smith and Wesson model 29 .44 magnum revolver in his hand. All things considered, Elijah did not feel particularly lucky at the moment.
"Okay, slimeball," Dirty Harry adressed his prisoner through clenched teeth. "Here's the deal. I ask you questions, you answer them. If I don't like the answer, or if I have to wait too long to hear it, I put a bullet into you." He pulled the hammer back. "Now let's get started. Who are you working for?"
Elijah couldn't believe this. A crazed infant, not yet out of his mortal lifespan, was holding a gun to him ion Holy Ground?/i "You can't be serious, Callaghan. This is Holy Gr-" KER--BLAM!!! Elijah was interupted by the report of a high-powered handgun. He let out a scream as the massive slug blasted its way through his kneecap, leaving a blood mess in its wake.
"That was wrong answer number one. Number two gets your right knee. Holy Ground may keep your head on your shoulders, and it may keep my sword in its sheath, but there's no rule says I can't non-fatally wound you with a gun."
Connor walked over to them. "Harry, what do you think you're-"
"Shut up, Scotty. I don't tell you what to wear under a kilt, you don't tell me how to conduct an interrogation." Harry turned back to his moaning subject. "Try it again, Shmuck-face. Who's your boss?"
Elijah groaned. "His name is Chang. He is the most powerful drug dealer on the west coast, and he is Immortal."
"This Chang the same guy that tried to whack me in the warehouse a couple of months back?"
"How should I know that?" No sooner were the words out of Elijah's mouth than Harry had put a bullet through his right knee.
"Hey, Connor. If you blow an Immortal's balls off, will they grow back?"
Connor, seeing no way to halt his student's irregular methods, decided he might as well play along. "Never tried it. This guy looks like a good test case, though."
Elijah whimpered and tried to curl up into a fetal position, but was inhibited by the trauma to his legs. "Yes, he's the one. He wanted to kill you before you got dangerous."
"Well he screwed that up. Where is he now?"
"Now? Well I'm really not-" Harry, death in his eyes, cocked the gun again and pointed it directly at the spy's genitals. "Think carefully, bozo," he snarled.
"Ten-story building about a block from Golden Gate Park. Its called the Donovan Building. Chang runs his organization out of it. There's an office setup on the first floor to serve as a cover. Second floor is a gym and training area. Next three floors are drug processing facilities. Six through eight are storage, nine is where his top lieutenants have offices, and on top is his office and apartment. That all I know, honestly!"
"Okay. Now listen up. You're going to be tied up, and I'm going to hold a gun to your head. You will lead us to this place, and we are all going upstairs to have a chat with your boss. Got it?" Elijah's frightened nod was answer enough.
Connor suddenly applied a throat hold to the prisoner's neck, causing him to pass out. He then bound the man with strips of his clothing. "Harry, don't you think we need to talk about this?"
"What's to talk about? This asshole's been trying to kill me, he got my partner killed, and he's running the drug business in this city. I'm going to go and kill him. If you want, you can come along, if not, sit here on your ass and play the bagpipes, or whatever it is you do."
"You have no plan, no backup, and damn little intelligence, and you're going to charge single-handedly into the fortress of a drug kingpin and assassinate him? You're crazy!"
"What planning do I need? This guy is going to keep after me until one of us buys it. Might as well force a confrontation now as later. Unless you think I'm not up to it?"
"Harry, you are my best pupil. In a very brief span of time, you've absorbed an incredible amount. Your combat skills are superb. But this Chang is clearly dangerous, and he has many allies."
"Does that mean you'll be coming after all?"
Connor laughed in spite of himself. "You, Dirty Harry, are without a doubt the craziest bastard I have ever met. But God save me, I think you might have a chance. Yes, Harry, I'll come with you. First, however, there's something you need."
"What's that?"
"A sword, idiot."
"Shit! I forgot all about that!"
"Luckily, Callaghan, I happen to have one handy. Come with me." The Highlander led the inspector over to his supply hut, and opened a locked door on the side. Within were three or four long oilskin-wrapped bundles. Connor studied them for a moment, then picked one up. He let slip the protective wrapping, revealing a brass-hilted saber not unlike the one that Harry had recently lost. This sword, however, lacked the markings on the blade, which was also more curved than David Mann's weapon had been.
"This, Harry, is an enlisted man's cavalry saber of the Confederate States of America. It once belonged to a student of mine, a very dear friend."
"Who was he?"
"His name was Jacob Freeman. I recruited him into my cavalry unit during the war, and taught how the Game. When he took his first head in 1864, I spent three weeks making this blade for him."
"Three weeks?"
"This, my student, is no ordinary sword. I forged it in the ancient Japanese style, although the blade is of a european shape. The steel is folded one hundred and fifty times, the edge differentially heat-tempered to make it as strong as possible. It will take a razor-sharp edge, and hold it. It will bend without breaking, and cut without catching. If well cared for, this blade will last a thousand years with almost no sign of wear."
"If it was a gift to a student, why do you have it now?"
Connor's gaze became overcast. "He...died. During Prohibition. I was on hand to recover the weapon. The owner...He was beyond any help."
Harry took the sword-hilt reverently, and held it to the light. Along the edge, he saw the same wavy cloud-like patterns that decorated Connor's katana. "I'll do my best to take care of it."
"There is one thing, Harry. One thing you must swear upon this steel before you can be master to this blade."
"What's that?"
"You must swear to never...never take the life of an innocent mortal."
"I swear it." Said Harry.
Now Connor turned back to the small armory, and produced a much smaller bundle. "That is a one-handed weapon, and with a one-handed sword it is best to carry a secondary blade. This," He unwrapped the bundle as he spoke, revealing a long Scottish dirk, wonderfully crafted. "This was also a gift. Heather's father presented it to me on our wedding day. He had forged it with his own hands. The steel is true, and it carries great virtue. Use it well."
Harry accepted the long dagger with his left hand. "Is there an oath for this weapon, too?"
Connor pondered for a moment, then answered, "You must swear never to show mercy to an evil Immortal."
"I swear it."
"Good. Now, if we're going to be storming the gates of hell, we'd best get to it. Ah, our trusty guide seems eager to show us the way to his master's lair."
Faced by two armed and grinning madmen, there was nothing the bound Elijah could do but whimper to himself.