Vortex

Epilogue

Bane met the President on a frigid April afternoon two days later. It was cold enough for snow to be in the forecast even in Washington, which made Bane’s wounds throb all the more.

“The doctors tell me you can expect a full recovery, Mr. Bane,” the President said, facing him from behind his desk in the Oval Office.

Bane shifted his right arm in its sling. His left side, damaged more than he had originally suspected, was tied tight with tape to restrict movement. He grimaced as he crossed his legs.

“And the boy, did they tell you about him as well?”

The President hesitated. “A flesh wound. Nothing that time and patience won’t heal.”

“And the rest?”

The President’s mouth dropped. He said nothing.

“Come now, sir, you didn’t really expect they’d keep it from me, did you? I can be a most persuasive man when the spirit moves me.” Bane grimaced again. “He’s dying, Mr. President. Part of his brain’s ruined. Oh, his life will be normal all right for a week, a month, at most a year. But then one day a few blood vessels will go and the boy will simply collapse. So you see Davey Phelps hasn’t got much time and I haven’t got much patience.”

“If you’ll let me, Mr. Bane, I’d like to make amends for all that’s happened.”

Bane slowly uncrossed his legs.

The President’s eyes moved to the empty chair next to his. “That belonged to Arthur Jorgenson. It’s yours if you want it.”

“You’re offering me the directorship of DCO?”

The President rose and held Bane’s stare while he moved toward the window. “Mr. Bane, I don’t have to tell you about the trying times we live in. COBRA is finished. It will be rebuilt, both structurally and personnelwise, but without Chilgers the level of its contributions promises to be substantially reduced. For all his faults, the colonel was primarily responsible for maintaining our technological edge against the Soviets. I fear we’ve lost that edge now, Mr. Bane, and I don’t want to lose any others.” The President pointed at the empty chair. “I’m offering you that chair or whatever else you want because you represent one of those other edges and I don’t want to lose you. You’re the best, Mr. Bane.”

“I wouldn’t be very helpful from a chair.”

“You could do with the job whatever you saw fit.”

Bane shook his head. “I don’t think so, Mr. President.”

“Name your terms. Anything.” A pause. “We need you.”

Bane considered the offer. “I want a name.”

“A name?”

“I want to know who put the kill order out on me five years ago.”

“Kill order? I don’t know what you’re talking about. I wasn’t even in office then.”

“The information’s available to you, sir, probably closer than you think.”

“What do you mean?”

“You didn’t put that unsalvageable order out on me on your own. Someone else, maybe more than one person, convinced you to. I’ve thought the whole thing out. Someone knew I was getting close and had to save his ass. Someone blew it five years ago, blew it because I didn’t die. It’s someone close to you, Mr. President, that’s the way I’ve got it figured.”

Brandenberg, thought the President. Brandenberg had been top intelligence man in the Pentagon five years back.

“A name, Mr. President.”

“I haven’t got one for you.”

“But you’ll look.”

“I’ll … look. Am I to understand then, Mr. Bane, that if I furnish you with this name, you will come back to work for us?”

Bane held his stare coldly. “What you are to understand, Mr. President, is that if you don’t come up with a name I might come after you instead.”

“You’re threatening me, Mr. Bane.”

“Just a warning, sir. I plan to do a lot of thinking in the next few months. I’ll have nothing but time, because I plan to take Davey Phelps to see some of the world, a lot of it in fact. He deserves that much.”

The President returned to his seat. “I might have a name for you by the time you return.”

“I believe you will have, sir, but I’m not sure right now I’ll be coming back, because every time I see Davey I realize how out of control our world has become. We almost destroyed ourselves two days ago and we’re certain to try it again before too much longer. I’m not sure I want to be a part of that scenario.”

“Having you on our side might help prevent it.”

Bane shook his head. “The words sound good, but that’s all they are. You can’t control technology with such words any more than you can control the Soviets with them. Davey Phelps is an example of how far we can go to get nowhere. Vortex is finished and Chilgers is dead, but there’ll be others, probably are already. I think maybe the best thing to do is to see it out on a deserted island somewhere.”

Bane struggled up from his chair. The President rose to join him.

“I’ll be in touch when you return, Mr. Bane.”

Bane nodded and left the room.

“Car’s over there, Josh,” Harry Bannister said when Bane returned to the freezing air in the White House parking lot. The Bat had insisted on making the trip to Washington with him, if for no other reason than to act as his driver. He even found an agency which provided special vehicles for the handicapped. Now he wheeled himself alongside Bane toward the station wagon he had rented. “We heading back to New York?”

“Yeah.”

“Worried about the kid?”

“Not at all. The King moved into his hospital room. He’s not about to lose him twice.”

“For sure.” The Bat cocked his head back toward the White House. “How’d it go inside?”

“Well, I don’t think they’re about to let me quit again.”

“Can’t say I blame them. The President make you an offer?”

Bane nodded. “Which I promptly turned down. I told him I was finished.”

They had reached the car. Harry eased himself into the specially designed driver’s seat while Bane stowed the wheelchair in the wagon’s tailgate section and then slid gingerly into the passenger side.

“And are you finished?” the Bat wondered.

Bane just looked at him.

And suddenly Harry knew. “You’re playing hard to get, you bastard. That’s what this meeting was all about, for you to set the ground rules so you can have things on your own terms. And when you get back from taking the kid on vacation, what then, Winter Man? A return to the Game maybe?”

“Why, Harry,” Bane said with a wink, “you know me better than that.”

“Yeah? Well if you go back in just remember to take the Bat with you, you son of a bitch.”

Thick, wet snow flakes had begun to fall from the sky when Harry started the engine.

“Shit, will you look at that,” he moaned, as the windshield wipers swiped at them, squeaking against the glass. The Bat gunned the heater and blew into his hands.

Winter had returned.