Henry's phone chirps with voicemail. When he has the time, he hears a surprising voice.
"Hi? It's Clarice... Clancy's wife. I got your number from his phone. Can we talk? I'm worried about Clancy, and all of his other friends are 'in the business'. Ummmm, just, ummmm, call the house or something and leave a message where we can meet? Isn't that how you guys do it? Or that steakhouse? Oh, god, what am I doing... *click*"
I takes a little over an hour for Henry to return home, and to take the time to check his messages. To say the call from Clarice surprises him would be the understatement of the year. He could count on the fingers of one hand the number of times he'd spoken to her without Eightball present. Even with a few fingers missing.
It didn't matter that most of his relationship with Clancy was a lie. Didn't matter that the man didn't know him half as well as he thought. He was still a friend, and a damn good one. A good man, ready to sacrifice himself for what he thought was right. Henry had seen it in him more than once, and that was something he respected above all.
Standing on the roof to his building, Henry dialled Clancy's house number, and left a message. It was a tough edge to walk : Keeping the appearance of paranoia, while still giving the woman what she needed to help her husband.
Clarice? It's double-A. It's 4:25 right now, I'll be in front of the steakhouse in 2 hours. Grey car, real beat-up. Get in, and we'll see what we can do from there.
he tried to keep the tone matter-of-fact, to keep the woman from panicking more. A quick change of clothes later, he was on his way to meet her.
Henry sees Clarice waiting, or what he can only assume is her. A tan trench coat is tightly cinched around her mature waistline, ridiculous 'Jackie O' sunglasses cover half her face, and an open newspaper the other half. A fedora is perched on her head, attempting to keep the unruly hair contained. She is probably the most conspicuous person standing on the curb, a stark contrast to the casually well dressed patrons entering and exiting the steak house.
She leans over the window, tapping it, and screeching loudly, "Is that you?"
As soon as he sees her, Henry sighs inwardly, and has to resist the urge to turn around right then and there. Dammit, was I ever that much of an amateur? I certainly hope not, or someone would have shot me.
"Yes. Get in!" he snaps back, probably too rudely. Dammit, why did wannabes have to play in his things? Once Clarice has taken a seat, Henry pulls out into traffic, and starts to drive at random, with no idea where he was headed for now. Best way to hide from mind readers is to not even think, after all. "You can take off the glasses," he says, calmer now, nicer even. "and tell me what happened." Henry realized her wasn't even sure what Clancy had told her about him. Does she know I'm supposed to be insane?
The hat comes off, and blue-veined hands fluff the stringy hair.
"My God, I'm sorry, I'm not thinking straight," she sighed. "This crossword I was working on has been killing me... a nine letter word for a maze?"
Those words surprise Henry. Quite a bit. The woman went from panicky to non-nonsensical in a few seconds? This rang of about 9 different kinds of wrong.
Keeping his hands on the wheel, looking straight ahead, he asks, "Why would you bring me all the way out here for that, Clarice?" His tone on her name is significantly different. It's not like there aren't any other impersonators out there, and Henry figures the real Clarice wouldn't recognize the tone, the inflection, he put on her name. "Labyrinth," he adds, seriously. He mentally prepares himself to, maybe, crash the car, end his life and the intruder's. If whoever this was hurt Eightball... Wait... Crossword. It can't be. She wouldn't.
A hand produces a pack of Gauloises, and one is slid out and deposited between lips that have bit too much lipstick.
"Let's face it, you've been fun to manage, but I'm ready to retire. Clancy's getting more needy since they've had him riding a desk. Besides, we actually needed to talk," Clarice breathes out, like she's letting go of something. A lighter is produced, and she lights the cigarette.
"We've got treachery in our ranks."
For all the drama of the words, they're spoken coolly; just another day.
Damn. Either someone's using her as a mouthpiece, or the old bat's been hiding her game well. Very well.
Henry takes his eyes off the road a moment, to look at the woman next to him. Stopping at a red light, clicking on the turn signal, the driving is absent-minded. But it gave him a fraction of a second to think. A single word escapes his lips, spoken deadpan. "Who?" he realized the question could have more than one interpretation. He wanted it that way. No matter which meaning the woman took, the end result was acceptable.
"We already handled Vex, which means it has to be Zilker and that Boy Scout act of his that's just a front for that perverted path he follows," she sighs. "Mostly sexual deviants, those Whipping Boys, that's probably how they got to him."
She rolls the window down and flicks the half-smoked cigarette through it.
"How long do you need to neutralize the threat?"
Time to stop using names, and be professional. Killing is business.
Henry's eyes dart to the woman, then to the rear-view mirror. He considers, but only a moment. "Two days," he answers, "plus however long it takes to make sure you're telling the truth." Did he have doubts about Zilker? Of course. He had doubts about everyone. Himself included, though he assuaged those daily. But, his 'boy scout' attitude aside, Zilker had demonstrated nothing particularly un-Guardian. Which is exactly what makes him a potential traitor.
"Start with why now," he adds, seriously, in a tone that could almost be an order. 'Fun to manage', he thinks bitterly. We'll see who's fun to manage.
"Because something big's about to happen, and it's making him more bold. In all the confusion of that day... Kruegan's, the Museum... where as Zilker? And why hasn't anyone asked that question?" She let that sink in. The obvious answer was because he was mucking with peoples minds.
"He has to be stopped... and someone has to do it. Just like you always have."
There's a long pause, and hands play with the cigarette box.
"And because I'm old, and tired, and need to make sure this gets done right before I retire. Who else is there?" she asks, with a sardonic cackle. "Tvivel? Ariadne? Valkyrie? Bunch of damn candy stripers."
"No question. If it has to be done, it will be me. But I wouldn't be here if I hadn't learned to think for myself." The Black Veil. Question orders. See for yourself. Seers are everywhere, even where you don't think anyone could possibly hide. Think. Those were the lessons he had learned. Plus, it had been a long time since anyone had outright asked him to kill. That was suspicious in its own right. "If you know half what you're letting on, you know that." How much does she know? Ryan North? Earlier? As far back as Miss Demeanor?
"I'll do what needs to be done, but I'll need more than that. He's served well, hidden more than one breach of the Veil. You wouldn't be the first to try to manipulate me into doing dirty work." He hid his own doubts about Zilker, playing devil's advocate to the woman's casual discussion of murder.
Clarice sighs and looks over at Henry. "I've been manipulating you for years. Now I'm telling you. Follow your damn orders."
There's a soft thunk and rush of air in the car as she opens the door and... rolls out. It's like watching someone disappear from an airplane during an airborne drop; one moment she's there... then she isn't.
Henry turns his head to look more closely at the woman. Just in time to see her roll out, apparently into traffic. Dammit, that's like something the Free Council would do. With a whispered swear, he reaches over and closes the door as well as he can while holding onto the wheel. Not seeing her in the rear-view mirror, he can (at least partly) guess where she's gone to.
Dammit. Now I have a choice to make, and too little information to make it with, he thought as he turned around. He mulled his options over, turning the situation over and over in his head, all the way back to Sacramento. The choice did little to improve his usual curmudgeony disposition. But as he reached home, he had his answer.
After a brief check of his messages, he headed for the Circle.
Parking his car a few blocks away from the Circle, Henry circles the big building once before going inside. He couldn't be entirely sure 'Clarice' wasn't watching, but that had never stopped him before. It sure as hell wouldn't stop him now. He walks, determined, through the structure he hates so, trying to find the Epopt. The exercise yard gets the first look, then the target range, and so on...
Though a window, Henry can see Zilker in the practice yard, riding a stationary bike. A bit away, Valkyrie is practicing some form of kata. It's interesting to note that at the final strike, resonance surrounds her hand each time.
Henry's eyes saw the telltale strings going off from his fingers. They reminded him of Clarice, what she had said about 'managing him'. Dammit, I'm tired of everything trying to pull my strings. Note to self : Get rid of puppeteers. The thought almost went further, to the methods. But for now, he had a job to take care of. He goes to the practice yard door closest to Zilker, and observes the higher-ranking Guardian from there for a few minutes. Forgive me what I'm about to do. He didn't usually ask for forgiveness, but today was a day when nothing seemed certain. Valkyrie goes largely unobserved. Although the spell-strikes seemed interesting, she wasn't why he was here.
Having seen that the man wasn't in the middle of something 'important', Henry walks closer to him, standing on the periphery of the man's (natural) field of vision, hands in his pockets. And waits for the Epopt to notice him.
Zilker looks over, legs still pumping the pedals. Sunglasses hide his eyes until he takes them off and there's a half-smile. "You've been running? Because I'm having a hard time picturing you doing Tae-Bo or Jazzercise.
Henry replies with a mirror of the Epopt's smile and replies, matter-of-factly, "Breakdancing." Let noone ever say he doesn't have a sense of humor. Or maybe he isn't kidding? That option might actually be scarier. The smile almost fading away, he adds, "We need to talk." Then, with an almost imperceptible nod towards Valkyrie, "In private." Not that he didn't trust the youg woman, but... no wait, that's exactly what it is.
Zilker looks at Henry for a few moments, then turns to Valkyrie and claps twice. She stops and gives her another hand signal: class dismissed. The diminutive girl studies Henry, then grabs a towel and leaves. It's neither friendly nor unfriendly, but it's also not the mutual respect of a peer... if anything, it's suspicion. Maybe she'll make a decent Guardian, after all.
The wheel on the bike whirrs to a stop as Zilker stops pedaling.
"About the stuff at the Museum?" he asks, referring to the recent events that have left the city without a leader.
Henry watches the young woman go, keeping his eyes on her, with roughly the same look she's giving him. Mirroring people, always a useful way to deal. Apparently she was taking well to Zilker's lessons.
"For starters. What's your take on it?" Henry knew what his own take on it was, but it wasn't a flattering one, for anyone.
"It is what it is," Zilker replies. There's a slight quirk of his mouth, the beginnings of a smile. Apparently he doesn't feel like playing 'you first'.
Henry chuckles in return, a single short sound. He hasn't left the business mindset, though. Heck, if Zilker wanted to be the second to talk, Henry didn't mind indulging him. Not on this particular subject. "Vector's getting bolder. And he wasn't exactly shy to begin with." About as blanket a statement as could be made on the Banisher. "A manhunt has too little chances of success. We know what he wants. We know part of what he needs. Deny him one of those things, and he's stopped." He stops a moment, before continuing in a tone as neutral as ever. "He waited until that day to strike. He knew what the Arrows were up to. He knew about Andrade's sibling. I could kill for that kind of intel." He tries to weigh Zilker's reaction to those thoughts. A few pieces snapped themselves into place in his head, tentatively forming an image.
"I'm surprised no one else has compared times on the assaults," Zilker nodded. Obviously the question would be who knew the date.
"Let me pose this riddle," Zilker continued. "If Jordan needed the books at the Kruegan's to decipher the journals, why didn't Vector simply destroy those books, since he was already in possession of them? Why chance a risky attack?"
Briefly, Henry pondered starting some sort of sport with Zilker. Get him in his environment, get him comfortable. The problem was that he knew his own chances of keeping up with the Epopt were slim. So he had to do it this way.
After a short 'Hmmm', he answers, "He wouldn't. So one of those assumptions is faulty. Either one, Jordan doesn't need the books. You know how those academics get. Or two, Vector didn't have access to them. Those Banishers looked surprised, and I doubt Vector wouldn't have told his associates. Maybe he was setting us up to eliminate his competition. One problem taking care of another." He shrugs. "Or three, he's an idiot. Unlikely at best." There was probably a number four, but it didn't quite fit at the moment.
"Something else is bothering me about the timing, though." He puts in hands in his pockets, and asks, in a voice as innocently curious as he can, "You and her," he says with a nod towards Valyrie's last position, "were working an angle that day. Which one?" He manages the curious bit. Innocent, not so much. Which is probably just as good, considering who he's talking to.
Zilker looks surprised, or even disappointed as Henry enumerates the options he sees. He doesn't speak, though, and lets Henry continue. As the other man finally asks his question, he looks him squarely in the eyes and simply states, "That's above your pay grade."
Henry waves a hand, sweeping the question away. "Of course. Forget I asked." The tone isn't even offended, or much of anything for that matter. There is a singular thought behind it however. Above my pay grade, but under the kid's? The matter isn't entirely forgotten, but is put on the back burner. Zilker left a lot unsaid. Too much. "You have your own theory about Vector's reasons for leaving the books behind." It's said as a statement, not a question, while the older man's brain goes through the facts once more, trying to see what he was missing here. Emitting theories now would sound like a child trying to get a parent's approval, so instead Henry focused on seeing as Zilker did. Understand the man, understand the treachery. Wait...Leave the books behind. The books are a decoy. Or a trap.
"Let's say the books don't matter... at all. So what did Vector accomplish, if we take away stealing the journals?" Zilker asks.
He's got that zen master fu thing going, and he speaks calmly, inviting Henry to follow the path of thoughts.
Henry looks to the side, as though the answers were around him. "Take away the books. All that's left is an attack on the Museum. Flashy, noisy. Everything Vector does." A heartbeat of hesitation. "But this attack was senseless. His others aimed to take down the Consilium by cutting away its head." His head snaps back to Zilker. "Andrade. This wasn't him making a play for some obscure piece of knowledge. This was him playing his ace in the hole." Or one of his aces in the hole, at least. How much more does he know? "Exposing the Hierarch's deception by omission to us, to get her out of his way." The man's tone rises slightly as he goes through the thought. In his head, the attack was being fitted into a pattern. Vector's pattern, the world's pattern. "If he knew that much, maybe he knew Dee would leave with her, too." Had he gotten the Consilium rid of a Hierarch, or rid of a festering cancer?
Zilker waves his hand dismissively as Henry brings up the Provost. "Stay on track. No Hierarch, means... what? Run with it."
Henry frowns, working through the thoughts. "Power vacuum. Consilium to select a new one. Every Pentacle in the city gathered. Do you think he's bold enough to strike there?" 1 man (plus potential associates), against an entire gathered Consilium? It would be bloody, no doubt, but to think he could take them all?
Zilker moves his head from side to side and makes weighing motions with his hands as he considers the merits of Henry's hypothesis.
"I was thinking something less ambitious... Confusion, polling, acclamation, blah, blah, blah... it's all incredibly distracting and time consuming."
Zilker cocks his head and looks at Henry, seeing what he thinks.
A twitch of the mouth, a sound halfway between a 'hmm' and a grunt. "I don't know, seems like an awfully big ace in the hole to play just to create a short time of chaos and a few hours of annoyance." Plus, with the amount of grumbling about an absent Hierarch, would her absence really be noticed in the time until the announced Consilium? "It lets us know he has an inside man, and uses up a piece of information noone knew he had. Was it really worth it? I figure there has to be more to this." Then again, what else could he have used that information for?
Zilker nods and shrugs in concession; Henry's a big boy, and can work whatever angle he wants.
"OK, so what was it you wanted to talk about?"
There weren't 20 ways to go about this. Well, there were. It's just that none would yield results. Not quick enough, not well enough. And besides, Henry knew the other man didn't exactly appreciate spy talk. For a moment, his eyes wander, trying to look anywhere but at Zilker's eyes. Then he looks again at the other man. and tells it like it is. "Someone thinks you've gone traitor." Still no inflection, no tone. His head tilts ever so slightly to one side, watching the man's reaction. He doesn't offer a clue to who 'someone' might be. This is a dangerous game, and he knows it.
Eyebrows arched in surprise and there was a few moments of silence.
"Well...," he began, "Obviously I disagree. Is this something you 'overheard', or were you approached?" Zilker asked the question with a quiet confidence that Henry wouldn't entertain such an accusation seriously.
Henry shrugs. "Does it matter? That 'information' is out there." The derisive quotation marks around 'information' could only be more palpable if Henry had made air-quotes. Which seemed wholly inappropriate. This almost felt like some sort of game of chess, except maybe both of them might be the same color pieces... or not. And I'm the knight trying to face down the queen. "We need to figure out a way to snuff that out before it makes the rounds." Which isn't exactly what he means, but it is at once both close enough and far enough that he hopes it'll get him where it should.
"Well, it's only proper I recuse myself from any process that involves the accusation," Zilker said, after a moment of thought. "Have you called the Sentinels?"
The suggestion gives Henry a moment of pause. Willingness to be investigated. Usually not a bad sign. Except... "No, not yet. This is a Guardian matter; Involving the Consilium would serve nothing." He takes a moment to compose a lie in his head, for later use, just in case. "Their involvement would muddy things, and I'm not letting them look at everything." 'Everything' being, of course, spy talk for 'everything the Epopt has'. Henry wasn't about to let other Orders get their greasy little paws on the Epopt's secrets, AND let the investigation be run by one of the Epopt's friends, all in one swift phone call. Too much to lose.
Zilker nods. There's a host of questions and statement -- chiefly, what's to keep him from killing Henry, but he doesn't say anything.
For now, he's the featured guest on the Henry Pym Show.
Too many question, too little information, too little time. Henry resolves to find a way to make the old hag pay when he gets out of this. For now, though, he had to go with what he had. 'Clarice' had mentioned two things : Zilker's sex life, and his absence at the museum. Sex... or the museum. Oh, now there was a hard choice. He continues in a tone that could best be described as conciliatory. "I hope you understand I can't let this lie, Zilker. The Consilium can't help, which leaves me. I need answers. Either here, now, from you, or I'll get them myself, the hard way." He doesn't mention, of course, that even if Zilker does give him answers, he'll get them himself anyway. "You, the kid, day of the Museum. Screw the pay grades." There isn't even a hint of aggression as he says it.
Zilker regards Henry for a few moments, then stands up.
"Do you think you can take something from me 'the hard way', Henry? You've already gambled everything that either I'm not a traitor, or that this is Black Veil."
"That was stupid."
Long, wicked claws distend from Zilker's fingers.
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