Arbogast slapped Butler on the shoulder. “Use your noodle, Doc. We’ve given him the makings of a family. He’s got Jean, the virtuous bombshell. And he’s got Tim, a surrogate son. Those things give him something to fight for. When he’s up against the wall, he’s gonna remember those two are waiting for him at home and he’s not gonna give up.”
Butler nodded, trying to make it seem like he was in agreement. In the end, it wasn’t his decision to make anyway. Project: Black Terror was going ahead with or without him. He’d heard some of the plans they had for “Bob Benton” and it made his head spin. It wasn’t enough to send him out into the field to take out whomever they deemed unacceptable… they planned to turn The Black Terror into a bonafide star, a hero that the public could embrace because he was sanctioned, unlike The Black Bat, The Crimson Mask or The Darkling. Those were dangerous types, who might incite the good people of America to take up their own arms in the name of justice.
And that couldn’t be allowed to happen.
Eventually, there would be Black Terror brand cigarettes, Black Terror magazines and maybe even a Black Terror radio program.
“God help the guilty,” Butler whispered, remembering one of the catch phrases that had been implanted into Bob Benton’s psyche. “God help the guilty.”
Chapter I
The Playpen
Jakob Sporrenberg adjusted his tie and then lit another cigarette. The nightclub was busy this evening and the sordid dive was living up to its reputation as one of Sovereign’s sleaziest. Gus Murray, a former Prohibition gangster who had gone somewhat legit, owned The Playpen. He still peddled in sin but it was all legal, if more than a bit immoral. On three different stages, women of various ages and hair color were grinding in time to jazz music. Cigarette girls with too much skin exposed moved through the almost all male crowd. Several of them sported bottoms that were probably black-and-blue after all the pinching that had gone on.
Sporrenberg watched all of this with a calculating eye. He’d abandoned his position in the German military four months prior and he was still having difficulty getting used to not only being a civilian but also a resident of the United States. In some ways, things were the same no matter where you were in the world. But there were other parts of life that were quite different.
“Jakob, do you see her?”
The feminine voice that filled Sporrenberg’s left ear was inaudible to everyone else in the club. It came through a miniaturized radio that was virtually invisible to the naked eye. The voice belonged to Samantha Grace, the lovely blonde who was a key figure within Assistance Unlimited, the same group to which Sporrenberg now belonged.
From where Sporrenberg was sitting, he had a good view of one of the few women in the club who weren’t paid employees: Diana Crumb, a lovely woman with dark hair and cruel eyes. She wore an emerald dress that left her shoulders bare and hugged every one of her ample curves. She was seated with a number of men that Sporrenberg recognized: mob bosses and killers, all. She held their attention like she was a flame and they were the moths. Every now and then she’d laugh flirtatiously and allow one of her hands to linger just a little too long on a shoulder here or a leg there.
“I see her. She’s quite the Queen Bee tonight.”
“Don’t be fooled,” Samantha warned. “She’s killed at least six men and probably more.”
Sporrenberg glanced towards the entrance. He spotted Morgan Watts, hovering near the back. Ordinarily, this was the sort of job that Morgan would have taken point on but he was getting too well known these days. All the old members of Assistance Unlimited were familiar faces to those in the underworld, meaning that Morgan could get by with being a face in the crowd but he couldn’t be called upon for what Sporrenberg was about to do.
During the Die Glocke affair, both Sporrenberg and Abby Cross had joined the team. Since they were relative unknowns in Sovereign, few people currently connected them to Assistance Unlimited.
Sporrenberg stood up and adjusted his tie. Moving through the dense crowd, he finally made it to Diana Crumb’s table, where he elicited a curious look from her and angry stares from the men who accompanied her.
“Do I know you?” Crumb asked, a smile touching her red lips. A hulking brute seated to her left began clenching and unclenching a fist.
“You don’t. But I’d certainly like to know you. I was wondering if you’d like to dance?”
Crumb raised an eyebrow, looking out at the crowded club. There were tables and booths everywhere but nothing that passed for a dance floor. “I don’t see anyone else dancing.”
“We’ll be setting a new trend.” Sporrenberg offered her a hand and his very best smile. “My name’s Jakob.”
After a moment’s hesitation, Crumb took Jakob’s hand and rose from the booth, forcing one of the men with her to stand up so she could exit. The man favored Sporrenberg with a deadly glare.
“My name’s Diana. And your boldness intrigues me.”
“You haven’t seen anything yet,” Sporrenberg replied. “My boldness has few limits.”
“Do tell.”
The duo winded their way through the crowd, closing in on the band stage. The song that was currently being played was obviously aimed at the dancing girls, allowing them to swing their hips in time to the music. Sporrenberg, however, flashed a ten-dollar bill at the bandleader and leaned over to make his request. Seconds later, a significantly slower tune was being played, allowing Sporrenberg to pull his dark-haired companion close.
Diana was still watching him with interest and she leaned in, lettering her cheek brush his as she whispered in his ear. “So what is it you want, Jakob?”
“I wanted to get you alone. I have something to tell you.”
Diana pulled back just enough so that she could look into his eyes. “And what is that?”
“A week ago you met with a man named David McIness. He’s known as the Titan. He wanted you to introduce him to some of your friends to see if they might have need of him. I’ve heard that McIness killed over forty people in the past three years. I want to find him.”
Now suspicion was writ large over Diana’s face. She began to yank herself free of his grasp but he held her tightly, casting a glance over at the table, where her suitors were watching. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you. In about sixty seconds, every thug at that table of yours is going to get busted.”
“What are you talking about?”
“My full name’s Jakob Sporrenberg. I work with Assistance Unlimited. Because you’re so popular, you’re out tonight with a who’s who of the criminal underworld. Lazarus Gray’s going to round them up all at once. But you’re going to be safe and sound — as long as you promise to help us find McIness.”
Diana’s answer to the proposal was to drive a knee hard into Sporrenberg’s groin. Before the German could respond, she delivered a roundhouse punch that would have made most men groan with envy. The blow knocked Sporrenberg back into someone’s table, spilling all their drinks onto the floor.
Crumb bolted towards the door, even as Morgan and Samantha converged on the table full of gangsters. Eun Jiwon, the deadly young Korean who was still recovering from a severe back injury, was pushing his way towards the crooks when he saw Crumb’s movements. He reached up and touched the communicator in his own ear and warned, “Chief, she’s headed outside! Do you have her?”