32
I went to change back into my street clothes, and after I finished shaking hands and pushing my way through the crowd to the office, Faisal had been unceremoniously dislodged from his carpety burrito. Seeing his face as they secured him to a sturdy metal chair further diminished my good vibe.
The feeling had faded pretty darn fast ever since Connor had turned Jane away at the door. Oddly, all the well-wishing didn’t seem nearly as important without her present. A gold star on my permanent record here at the Department was still a gold star, so I tried to keep my spirits up.
Seeing Faisal sitting stoically in the chair made it hard, though. The urge to smack him around like a piсata on Cinco de Mayo was overwhelming, and I stayed to the back of the room to keep myself in check. Besides, I was pretty sure that if I took a swipe at Faisal with my bat, he wouldn’t be filled with candies or little plastic toys. What would be the fun in that?
We had taken over one of the lesser used conference rooms even though it was already doing double duty as a storage area. Space was at a premium at the D.E.A. and the mounting clutter of paranormal research-spell components, cursed items, and boxes containing the unknown-piled up faster than the crates of antiques in my living room.
Luckily, this meant that due to our space confines, most of the departmental looky-loos had to be shooed out. Only a handful of divisional leaders (excluding Wesker, of course) were present along with Connor and me.
“Hroom!” the Inspectre sounded. Everyone settled quietly into their seats. “What’s say we get this unpleasantness out of the way, shall we? Why don’t you start, Mr. Bane, by telling us why you stole that wooden fish from Irene Blatt and what is it used for?”
I was surprised by the impressive figure Inspectre Quimbley cut. I admired the old man, but there had been many times when he appeared almost comically grandfatherly. Seeing this side of him when it came down to hardcore occultism reminded me that the Inspectre could really pull out all the badass stops.
This, however, did not mean that Bane would actually give up any information under Argyle Quimbley’s interrogation. In fact, Bane looked more composed than ever. He was devilishly handsome, and not a single strand of hair looked out of place, even though he had been wrapped in a carpet for the past half hour. Most people would have looked a little rough around the edges, but Faisal looked ready to pose for the cover ofOccultist’s Quarterly. The only thing that looked out of place was the thick coil of rope lashing him to the chair. It held him tightly in place, not that he was making any effort to strain against it. This surprised me.
I’d expected him, as the villainous head of fanatical cultists, to be full of wrath and rage in the face of his capture. Instead, he sat calmly, passively, and worst of all, unansweringly.
The Inspectre looked exasperated by Faisal’s silence as well. He paced back and forth, stroking his mustache. Every so often he would drop down in front of Faisal as if he had heard the cultist say something, but if he had, I couldn’t hear it. This slow process dragged on for another twenty minutes, each moment of silence seeming longer that the last.
Again the Inspectre got in Faisal’s face.
“What’s that?” he asked. “Eh?”
Silence.
“I’ve got all night,” the Inspectre said. “Or would you rather I start asking you more aboutthis?”
Like an old vaudevillian stage magician, the Inspectre rolled up his tweed sleeve and waved his hand through the air with a flourish. The manifest that Jane and I had taken from Faisal earlier appeared at the Inspectre’s fingertips. Faisal’s eyes moved to it and flickered with interest for the first time since we had brought him in.
“Ah yes,” Faisal said with a grin. His eyes left the manifest and turned toward me at the far side of the room. “The item retrieved from Ms. Blatt…I do wonder, though, is she still around?”
I didn’t like hearing her name on his lips, but I honestly didn’t have a clue as to where Irene had disappeared to since last night. I kept quiet.
With faux innocence in his tone, Faisal asked, “I wonder, Simon, does our precious little Janey know about her?”
His eyes actually twinkled and a wicked grin sprang upon his face, a grin that ran clear down to his dark soul. I felt the hair on the back of my neck bristle, but I held my ground. I could give silence as good as we had been getting it from him.
“Now, now,” the Inspectre said as he stepped directly between us. “You leave the boy alone. I’m asking the questions here.”
“Yes,” hissed Faisal. “And I see how well that’s working out for you…”
“Well, at least we’ve got you talking now, haven’t we?” the Inspectre fired back caustically.
Faisal fell silent again, then cast his eyes toward the door. “Not for long apparently.”
I turned to see mayoral liaison David Davidson standing in the doorway. As usual, he was impeccably dressed. Even the knot of his tie was perfect, and he looked every bit as composed and unruffled as Faisal had when we captured him. Davidson’s eyes scanned the room briefly before coming to rest on Faisal and the Inspectre.
“Sorry to do this, gentlemen,” he said with that friendlyI’m-about-to-screw-you-so-bend-over tone of his. “I’m afraid I can’t allow you to continue with this line of questioning.”
“Coming to the rescue of cultists again?” I snorted.
“Sectarians,” Davidson reminded me with a waggle of his finger. “They’re officially referred to as ‘Sectarians.’”
“Your timing is impeccable as usual,” I said. “Do the Sectarians have you on their payroll as well?”
Davidson shook his head and resumed his politician’s smile. “The Mayor istrying to look afterall his constituents and their needs, Simon. He doesn’t play sides.”
Perhaps the Department had a mole or a leak that had alerted Davidson. Perhaps it was Wesker who was really playing both sides and he had called Davidson in. That mystery would have to wait, though. Right now I was too busy having trouble just moving.
Davidson’s words had an immobilizing and calming effect, the same one that I had experienced during our initial encounter at the Sectarian Defense League. Davidson made his way to Faisal and started undoing the rope, and although I wanted to stop him, I could barely move. The best I could muster was a leisurely stroll down the aisle toward them.
The Inspectre seemed to be the only one unaffected. “Seems to me that no matter how you dress it up, Mr. Davidson, evil is still evil.”
I think his understanding of the politics of it all was the only thing that kept the Inspectre from laying a hand on Davidson as he released our prisoner.
“Everything okay, Mr. Bane?” Davidson asked as the last coil of the rope fell to the floor. “Are you hurt?”
Faisal stood, brushing the creases out of his suit. “Only my pride, Mr. Davidson. Only my pride. Somehow this young man here got the drop on me in my offices and gave me a bit of a wallop. Not sure how he pulled it off really, but perhaps I’ll press charges.”
Although I didn’t like the idea of having charges pressed against me, I was somewhat relieved that we hadn’t blown Wesker’s cover.
“You’ll have to take that up with the police,” Davidson said. This seemed to disappoint Faisal, and he frowned.
“Took your time getting here, didn’t you?” Faisal said with a sneer.
Davidson’s smile faltered for a second. “The wheels of justice are ever turning, Mr. Bane, if not always briskly.”
By the time the effects of whatever Davidson had done wore off, I found myself standing next to Inspectre Quimbley. His eyes were fixed on Connor. Something unspoken was happening, but I didn’t know what. The Inspectre put his hand lightly on my shoulder.