Modern/Delta Green - The Beginning of the End (Updated Daily: Sep. 8)

[talien]

An unmarked black helicopter picked them up. The STREETSWEEPER team would be along soon after to remove any evidence.

“How do we explain this to Sprague?” asked Hammer.

Jim-Bean shrugged. “We don’t. We were driving along when a pack of ghouls tried to eat us. I’d say that’s pretty straightforward. There were no witnesses.”

“Except for Robert,” said Hammer.

“We got what we came for,” said Jim-Bean. “He told us the names of the cultists that placed him with that family of psychopaths. David Flaherty, Bernadette Springer, and Katarina Smith. And they all live in a little town known as Runville, Massachusetts.”

Hammer’s cistron beeped. Jim-Bean’s cistron quoted Invader Zim.

“Looks like it’ll have to wait. Al-Hazzan is at it again.”

Hammer leaned his head back and closed his eyes. “Plain old vanilla terrorists. What a relief.”

“What do you think will happen to the ghoul?” asked Jim-Bean. “Will STREETSWEEPER torch him?”

Hammer shook his head. “Worse. They’ll probably make him an agent.”

[talien]

This scenario, “Getting Results,” is a Spycraft mission from Combat Missions by Yours Truly. You can read more about Delta Green at http://www.delta-green.com. Please note: This story hour contains spoilers!

Our cast of characters includes:

• Game Master: Michael Tresca
• Jim “Jim-Bean” Baxter (Charismatic Hero/Telepath) played by Jeremy Ortiz
• Kurtis "Hammer" Grange (Fast Hero) played by George Webster

I’m consistently surprised by all the effort that I put into scenarios like The Gates of Delirium, and then I barely even flesh out Getting Results and the agents have way more fun. In a lot of ways, I suppose it depends on the right ingredients.

In this case, the agents were given an opportunity to infiltrate a terrorist organization with the goal of capturing one of the terrorists. This is further complicated by the rival Majestic-12 team—the Warner/Sprague rivalry, which is turning out to be quite a lot of fun. It also helps make Sprague less of a wanker, which at one point the agents wanted to kill. Instead, they’re unified against a rival department, and caught in a cat-and-mouse game of making the other team’s boss look bad.

Another surprise moment was the emergence of Tucker as a complete badass. Tucker is ruthless and efficient, and what he did to Jim-Beam cemented him as a mortal enemy for a future conflict.

So we get an opportunity for both Jim-Bean and Hammer to shine, a breakout villain, and an explosive conclusion. Something for everybody!


Defining Moment: Tucker, unaware of Jim-Bean’s ability to heal himself, leaves him for dead in a warehouse full of explosives. And an intense, bitter rivalry is born!

Relevant Media

• Combat Missions: for Spycraft ,the source of Getting Results.
• Land of Confusion: by Disturbed.

[talien]

I won’t be coming home tonight
My generation will put it right
Were not just making promises
That we know, we’ll never keep.

--Land of Confusion by Genesis

DETROIT, MI – Hammer strode over to the SWAT team chief, flashing his CIFA badge. “What have we got?“

“A transit bus in downtown Detroit completed its normal route to and from the local shopping center,” reported the chief, Masters. “Three men got on the bus that looked just like any other passenger. Except that they were wearing C4 and armed with machine pistols.”

“How many people are on it?” asked Jim-Bean, looking surprisingly fresh despite their recent ordeal.

“Twenty,” said Masters. “We’ve got four snipers on ‘em. Take a look.” He handed Jim-Bean binoculars.

The bus was at the center of a swarm of police cars. The sides of the bus were filled with hostages: the terrorists forced them to put their hands against the windows so they acted as human shields.

Before Hammer could respond, a handsome dark-skinned man in a black trench coat interrupted the conversation. "We'll take it from here."

“Who are you?” asked Masters skeptically.

"Special Agent Tucker," said the man, flashing his CIFA badge. "My men have been called in on this case.”

Hammer and Jim-Bean looked at each other.

“Who is this guy now?” asked Jim-Bean.

“Let me see that badge,” said Hammer.

Tucker dutifully handed it over. A scan of Hammer’s cistron confirmed he was legit.

He nodded towards Hammer and Jim-Bean, as if they were his men. “You said you have snipers stationed?"

Masters nodded.

"Good. Take 'em out. These guys aren't interested in negotiating."

“I’m not so sure that’s a good idea,” began Masters. “My men are good, but if they miss even one of the terrorists, everyone’s dead.”

“Agent Jim-Bean here can help.” Hammer snatched the megaphone away from the chief before Tucker could grab it. He handed it to Jim-Bean.

Jim-Bean looked agog. “What the hell am I supposed to do with this?”

“You’re a negotiator, right?” asked Hammer. “Negotiate. Buy us some time.”

“I’m a smooth negotiator with the LADIES,” muttered Jim-Bean. “This is a little out of my…”

“Is there a problem?” asked Tucker. “If you boys can’t handle this I can have my men—“

Jim-Bean turned back to the bus. “We’re sending out a line to negotiate!”

He took a folding chair, climbed past the barriers, and set it out in plain view. A phone connected to a line was zipped out to the bus.

Jim-Bean sat patiently by the phone. A light flashed on the phone, indicating someone had picked up, but only silence was on the other end.

“Hello? I’m the negotiator in charge here. What do you want?”

“You know what we want. We want Saladin released.”

Jim-Bean grunted. “Saladin, huh?” He looked over at Hammer on the other side of the barrier. “Who’s Saladin?”

“A terrorist leader,” said Hammer.

“Great, you know him!” said Jim-Bean. “Now we just have to work out an arrangement…”

“There’s just one problem,” said Tucker, indicating Hammer with a nod of his head. “He killed Saladin.”

[talien]

“You killed him?”

Hammer’s expression went cold. “The official word is that Saladin died in an explosion.”

Jim-Bean arched an eyebrow. “But you didn’t kill him?”

“The official word is that he’s dead,” said Hammer.

“So unofficially he’s not dead?”

“Why don’t you ask for a few hostages to be released,” interjected Tucker.

“Oh, right.” Jim-Bean picked turned back to the phone. “There are some kids on that bus. It’d go a long way towards showing you’re serious about this negotiation if you released the children.”

The phone went dead.

“Well?” asked Tucker.

“They hung up.”

“That’s can’t be good,” said Hammer.

After many tense moments, the bus door opened with a hiss and six of the hostages, all children, filtered out. They marched towards the barriers with their hands in the air.

Jim-Bean jogged over to one of the kids. “You okay?”

One of the kids handed Jim-Bean a crumpled up note. It was in Arabic. He handed it to Hammer. “What’s it say?”

“Let him go,” said Hammer. The telltale thumping of helicopters interrupted him.

Global News Network choppers swarmed like flies to the scene. Tucker's eyes bulged.

"No, no, NO! You have to get them out of here,” he shouted.

“Chief,” snapped Jim-Bean. “Shoot those choppers down.”

“What? I’m not going to have my men--“

Jim-Bean grabbed the walkie-talkie from Masters. “I am a federal agent and I am giving you a direct order: SHOOT THOSE CHOPPERS DOWN.”

There were replies of, “What?” and “Are you f*&king joking?” and “I’m not firing on civilians!”

“They were just stalling for time!” shouted Tucker. “They were just waiting for the cam--"

The bus exploded with a roar, flattening everyone from the shockwave.

[talien]

Hammer’s cistron beeped.

“Yes? Okay. Yes. Thank you for contacting me first. You did the right thing.”

“Who was that?” asked Jim-Bean.

“Masters. I’m surprised he called us at all given what you said to him.”

“They didn’t listen to me,” said Jim-Bean with a shrug. “They could have saved more lives by downing those choppers. Would be doing the world a service if you ask me; a few less GNN news crew would make the world a better place.”

Hammer just stared at him. “You’re a cold hearted bastard, you know that?”

“Hey,” said Jim-Bean. “I worked in the SAS, remember? You don’t get there by hugging teddy bears.” He rolled his eyes. “What did the chief tell you?”

“The Centex used to create the C-4 was the same Centex used in the bombing of a U.S. military base. I ran fingerprints from one of the fingers found in the wreckage, and it turns out it’s a match for an illegal who recently entered the country.
The police followed up with their own contacts and discovered that the man's other compatriots are still living in a run-down apartment complex.”

“Great,” Jim-Bean strode toward the Honda Civic. “Let’s go.”

"There's just one problem," said Hammer. "Tucker was in Masters’ office when he found out and took off out of like a bat out of hell."

“I’ll drive fast,” said Jim-Bean with a smirk.

[talien]

"There's eight of them, on the fourth floor," said the landlord at the stakeout across the street from his building. "The guys in there, they don't do nothing. All they eat is pizza and watch TV."

Hammer took a look at the hideout through binoculars. Men in trench coats carefully made their way across the roof of a nearby building. One of them cleared the gap between the two buildings

Masters’ walkie-talkie crackled to life. "Tucker's men are here."

“Damn it!” muttered Jim-Bean. “Hammer, let’s go.”

They sprinted to the entrance, hoping Tucker’s men and the terrorists wouldn’t see them, and then jogged up four flights of stairs.

“Now what?” asked Hammer. “We can’t just knock on the door—“

Jim-Bean knocked on the door. He took the note in Arabic and put it up to the peep hole.

With his teeth, Jim-Bean uncorked a canister of knockout gas.

The door opened slightly. Jim-Bean kicked it hard, snapping the chain, and tossed the canister in. He grabbed hold of the handle and slammed the door shut again.

Tucker and his men, all in black trench coats, arrived moments later.

“We’ll take it from here boys.”

Jim-Bean smirked. “We’ve got it covered. They’re all incapacitated.” To demonstrate his handiwork, he pushed open the door. Unconscious bodies lay everywhere. Some moaned. Others struggled to move.

Tucker nodded. “We’ll secure the area.”

His men filed in, pistols out. The last one in turned and closed the door as Hammer got a glimpse of one of them putting a pistol to an unconscious terrorist’s head.

“Son of a—“

The muffled crack of a silence pistol punctuated his oath. Seven more thumps followed.

“What the hell is going on?” asked Jim-Bean.

The door opened and Tucker’s men filed back out.

“Did you just murder everyone in there?” asked Hammer.

“They resisted,” said Tucker grimly. “When you shoot an enemy combatant, it’s not murder.”

Tucker gave the all-clear signal to Masters’ team. SWAT warily made their way up the stairwell.

“I don’t believe they just killed everyone in cold blood,” said Hammer. But he knew there was no way to prove what had happened. They were terrorists, after all. Killing them was what they were supposed to do.

Wasn’t it?

Jim-Bean bent down to pick up a card that was clutched in the hand of one of the terrorists. “We may have a leg up on that bastard yet.”

He snapped the card up to show its face to Hammer. It was a business card with an address. On the back was written “Mamoud.”

[talien]

“A body shop, huh?” asked Hammer. “What’s our cover?”

“It’s a body shop.” Jim-Bean looked at Hammer as if he were stupid. “Our car needs repairs.”

“But where are we going to get a car that’s in bad enough shape to need repairs? We don’t have enough time to—“

Jim-Bean hit the accelerator and the Honda Civic slammed into the car in front of them. Before Hammer could respond, Jim-Bean threw it in reverse and smashed the Civic into the car behind them. Then throwing it into drive again, he pulled hard on the wheel, drove up on the sidewalk, and sped away.

“You were saying?” asked Jim-Bean.

“Never mind,” said Hammer.

They had rehearsed their routine by the time they pulled up to Mamoud’s body shop.

“Are you sure this is going to work?” asked Hammer.

Jim-Bean grinned. “You just worry about the wetwork. I can be very convincing when I want to be.”

“These aren’t women,” Hammer said gruffly, screwing the silencers onto his Glocks.

“I’ve been practicing.” Jim-Bean tapped his forehead.

Hammer shrugged and stepped out of the car, skulking around the back of the body shop.

“Hey!” Jim-Bean banged on the closed garage door. “Hey!” he started shouting. “What’s a bloke go to do to get some help around here?”

There was furtive movement inside the body shop but no one came to the door. Jim-Bean began banging hard on the glass door to the customer service area. “Hello? Anyone?”

A rough-looking Middle Eastern man answered the door. According to Blacknet, this was Mamoud. “Go away! We’re closed!”

“I’ve been in a terrible accident,” said Jim-Bean, touching Mamoud lightly and briefly on the forearm. “Look at what they did to my beautiful car!”

Mamoud didn’t even look at the car. “Go away! We’re closed.”

“Closed?” Jim-Bean looked around. “In the middle of the day? What the bloody hell for?” He checked his watch. “It’s well past lunch—“

“I said we’re closed!” Mamoud turned to slam the door in Jim-Bean’s face.

“I’m just going to have to call the cops then and see if I can get the insurance out of this…”

Jim-Bean didn’t have to finish the sentence. Mamoud froze in mid-slam. Signs of an internal struggle flicked across his face.

Jim-Bean touched Mamoud on the arm again. “Look, I understand you’re very busy. If you could just let me use your phone I’d be really appreciative.”

Then Mamoud did something completely unexpected. He let Jim-Bean in.

[talien]

The other terrorists were agog as Mamoud let the British stranger into their hideout. Although it was for all intents and purposes an auto body shop, the shop was also littered with automatic rifles. Hammer noted that the technology of their weapons was considerable. These were no home grown terrorists, they were supported by an organization: Al-Hazzan.

Hammer used Jim-Bean’s distraction to jimmy open the bathroom window that faced the alleyway. He perched on the toilet seat and waited.

One of the men, shouting orders in Arabic to clear the room of guns, was simultaneously cursing Mamoud for letting a stranger into their hideout. He was so distracted that he didn’t see Hammer crouched like a gargoyle to his left.

The other terrorists were scrambling to hide their weapons. Hammer took a calculated risk and grabbed the man by the head, yanking him into the room. He pumped his Glock into the terrorist’s heart. The terrorist died instantly.

Hammer shoved the body out the window into the alley. It would be discovered soon, but he didn’t plan on waiting much longer.

Jim-Bean was shouting about his car and asking for help, and it was answered by shouts of the terrorists at Mamoud for letting a foreigner in. Then he heard the click of a rifle and the room went silent. That was his cue…

Hammer slipped out from behind Mamoud. The terrorist leader was fidgeting, unsure what to do about his new friend. The other terrorists’ had their rifles trained on Jim-Bean, who had his hands up.

Hammer pistol whipped Mamoud across the back of the head. It was a perfect blow; he crumpled instantly, out of sight of the other terrorists in the customer service area.

Seeing the move out of the corner of his eye, Jim-Bean dove to the ground and came up with his SIG. Machinegun fire raked the counter near his head.

“Took you long enough!”

“We need a witness,” said Hammer. “I want to find out what Tucker’s trying to…”

The machinegun fire stopped. The terrorists were looking up at the ceiling in fear. Hammer and Jim-Bean heard it too. It was a helicopter.

A big helicopter.

Jim-Bean peered over the counter out the glass window of the customer service desk to see the chopper hovering just a few feet above the ground. Tucker was strapped into an unmarked black helicopter. He caught sight of Jim-Bean and smiled.

Then he tapped the agent who sat in the minigun seat on the helmet twice, giving him the okay to fire.

“DOWN!” shouted Jim-Bean.

The chaingun screamed its way through the body shop, perforating glass, metal, brick, and flesh as it tore a bloody path. The slower terrorists were bisected in half.

“Go!” shouted Jim-Bean to Hammer, flattening himself on the floor. “Go! I’ll keep them busy!”

Hammer grabbed Mamoud’s unconscious body and tossed it headlong through the bathroom window, shattering the glass. Fortunately there was a dead terrorist already outside to break his fall.

The chaingun kept firing. Hammer slipped out the window and hoisted Mamoud over his shoulder. Then he took off at a run down the alley.

[talien]

When the ringing in his ears finally stopped, Jim-Bean looked up. Tucker and his agents had their pistols trained on his head.

“Hello gov!” he chirped. Jim-Bean started to rise to his feet, attempting to dust himself off.

“I read your profile, GOV,” said Tucker with a sneer. “Don’t try any of your mind control s#!t with me.” He nodded to his men. “Take him. And don’t listen to a damn thing he says.”

Two agents grabbed Jim-Bean by the shoulder.

“STREETSWEEP it,” said Tucker. “I want this place powder clean.”

Jim-Bean was dragged out in front of the still rotating helicopter. It occurred to Jim-Bean that Tucker didn’t plan to stick around for long if the chopper was still running. The pesky GNN helicopters would show up soon.

Jim-Bean shrugged off the agents, who stood with pistols at the ready.

Tucker came stalking out of the body shop. “Where’s your partner?”

“Partner?” asked Jim-Bean innocently. “What partner?”

“Don’t f*&k with me, Jimmy, or so help me I will cap you in the knees right now.”

Another agent jogged out. “Mamoud’s missing.”

Tucker’s eyes blazed and he bit his lip. “Damn it.” He turned back to Jim-Bean. “Where’s Mamoud?”

“Mamoud?” began Jim-Bean. “I don’t—“

Tucker pointed his pistol at Jim-Bean’s forehead. “Last chance: where is Mamoud? He’s with your partner, isn’t he?”

“Seriously, chap, I don’t—“

Tucker fired two perfectly aimed shots at Jim-Bean’s knees. He screamed in pain as his legs gave out beneath him.

“That’s for X-Team,” said Tucker. “Courtesy of Lieutenant Warner.” He looked up at the other agents. “Toss him in with the rest of the trash. Then torch it.” Holstering his pistol, Tucker turned and walked towards the black chopper.

Jim-Bean was still screaming and clutching at his knees when the two agents swept him up and dragged him through the shattered garage door to the inside of the body shop.

He moaned and wailed, thrashing in pain as they deposited at the center of the room. One agent shouted into his cistron. “Countdown is go. Clear out!”

The other agents backed out of the room, pistol aimed at Jim-Bean. They were watching him even as they boarded the chopper and it took off.

Jim-Bean stopped screaming and hopped to his feet, his knees completely healed. There was something else amongst the staccato of the fading chopper. A beeping…

In the shadows of the body shop, Jim-Bean could make out the winking lights of dozens of green timers set to blocks of C-4.

Jim-Bean sprinted out of the building just as the explosion engulfed the last of Mamoud’s body shop.

[Sandain]

Hi,

I read your story hour every day and look forward to your posts. Any chance of seeing some character sheets?

[talien]

Hi Sandain,

I was about to point you to the second link on the front page, which used to link to the character sheets, but with the transition to ENWorld's new format that thread disappeared. So I've reposted the characters I have. I couldn't get Jim-Bean's to load for some reason (now the forum is claiming anything I post, including a .PDF titled "test," is already uploaded) so he will have to wait until we can get it sorted out.

Thanks for reading!

[talien]

“Did he talk?” asked Jim-Bean.

“Oh yes,” said Hammer. “Without much prompting.” He looked disappointed. “Mamoud knows all about Saladin.”

“They guy who is officially dead but unofficially may not be?”

“Yeah, him. Looks like Warner was arming terrorists in Iraq to be his own private army. They were training them as counterinsurgents to fight the Karotechia.”

“Sounds exotic,” said Jim-Bean. “An Italian terrorist group?”

“I don’t know. But that’s the second time this name came up. Seems Mamoud was actually a double agent working for Saladin. He took Warner’s guns and money, then when Saladin disappeared, Al-Hazzan activated his cell.”

“That explains why Tucker was so keen on covering everything up,” said Jim-Bean. “So what happens to Mamoud?”

“What about him?” asked Hammer innocently.

“You know, terrorist leader who can bring evidence against Warner?”

Hammer shrugged. “Don’t know.” He looked down at his cistron. “According to Sprague, Mamoud died in the explosion.”

“Officially?” asked Jim-Bean with a sigh.

“Officially.”

“I almost became official myself,” muttered Jim-Bean.

“What happened back there anyway? I’m still not certain how you got out of that mess without Tucker putting a bullet in you.”

“Two, actually,” said Jim-Bean, and this time a steely glint was in his eyes. “I plan to return the favor some day.”

[talien]

This scenario, “The Gates of Delirium,” is a Cthulhu Now scenario from The Stars Are Right by Gary Sumpter. You can read more about Delta Green at Delta Green. Please note: This story hour contains spoilers!

Our cast of characters includes:

• Game Master: Michael Tresca
• Jim “Jim-Bean” Baxter (Charismatic Hero/Telepath) played by Jeremy Ortiz
• Kurtis "Hammer" Grange (Fast/Dedicated Hero/Sharpshooter) played by George Webster

This scenario was originally planned for my brother’s character, Guppy; if you recall from a previous scenario, he stumbled across the whereabouts of his ex-girlfriend, who had been committed to an insane asylum. Guppy was to investigate, discover what happened to her, and then try to survive her “treatment” by yet another insane psychologist.

It didn’t work out that way. Instead, I made it so that Guppy was the victim and needed to be rescued. It helped explain why Guppy had been missing for awhile, so this was an opportunity to bring him back into the fold. What ensues is a rip-off of the movie “The Cube,” in which the agents are placed in a hellish extradimensional series of traps (actually Daoloth). They would have to survive not just Daoloth but each other. It sounded good in theory.

There were two problems. For one, the scenario requires a certain level of basic distrust; freaking out about the circumstances surrounding the mind-bending nature of Daoloth would go a long way in making the scenario a lot more interesting. For that distrust to be sowed, it requires more dissension amongst a larger group. But with just two agents, the PCs weren’t about to role-play that level of distrust; they needed each other too much.

For another, this scenario disarms the PCs. Hammer is good with guns, of which there were none. Jim-Bean is good with working the system, of which he had little system to work with. So for this scenario to work, we needed someone prone to hysteria (like Guppy) and more PCs.

Still, there was a brilliant psychological moment where Jim-Bean brought up the insanity of it all, and that helped make the scenario memorable, if not as enjoyable as the previous two scenarios.

Defining Moment: Jim-Bean, facing down Ngo Dinh Hao, realizes that in a hostage situation in a parallel dimension, nobody wins.

Relevant Media

• The Stars Are Right: Source of "The Gates of Delirium."
• Doll-Dagga Buzz-Buzz Ziggety-Zag : by Marilyn Manson.

[talien]

All the thug rock kids are playin'
All the punk god angels sayin'
"The toys are us, and we don't even know"
GO GO GO-doppelgangers
(You're one of us, you're one of us)
GO GO GO--throw your shapes doppelgangers
You're one of us.

--Doll-Dagga Buzz-Buzz Ziggety-Zag by Marilyn Manson

ARKHAM, MA--They traced Guppy to a private room at Arkham Asylum. Hospital staff at first refused any requests to visit. But eventually, the cantankerous duty nurse approved Jim-Bean, and only Jim-Bean’s, entrance.

“What happened to him?”

“Mr. Gupta apparently threw himself off a platform in Brooklyn’s Grand Army Plaza subway station last week,” she said. “He was rescued by a heroic bystander.”

“Weird. That doesn’t sound like Guppy.”

“Who?”

“…Hank, I mean.”

The staff escorted Jim-Bean to Guppy’s room. Inside, was clear Guppy’s injuries were serious, but not life-threatening, consisting mainly of severe abrasions and contusions. His eyes were covered with a bandage.

“Guppy,” whispered Jim-Bean.

Guppy’s head turned to face Jim-Bean, but it was clear he was unable to communicate coherently. He didn’t even seem to recognize him.

“Can you hear me?”

Suddenly Guppy began to sob hysterically. The duty nurse tapped a wicked-looking needle. “Here we go again.”

“You regularly inject him?” asked Jim-Bean, eyeing the needle.

“Mr. Gupta’s had spells like this before,” she explained. “Sometimes he wakes up shrieking. Most of the time it’s just nonsense, but once in awhile you can make out some of what he says. Last night for instance, he was screaming as though someone were in the room with him, trying to kill him. Of course, he was alone; it was very disturbing for the other patients to hear. But then, Mr. Gupta’s not the first addict we’ve had in here.”

“Whoa, whoa. Addict?”

The duty nurse shrugged. “The hallucinations and delusions are probably the result of addiction to Blink, not of any concussion. He has a high tolerance to morphine.”

Jim-Bean kept silent that it was likely Guppy’s history was more responsible for his resistance to morphine than any drug use.

“Could I get a look at his things?”

The duty nurse frowned. “That’s not standard procedure.”

Jim-Bean shot her a dazzling smile. “Please, Darlene. For me? It’d mean oh so much to me if you could help me out.”

Darlene the duty nurse shook her head, but she was blushing. “I just can’t say no to that charming accent!” She unlocked a drawer and handed Jim-Bean a plastic bag filled with Guppy’s personal effects. “Just don’t steal anything.”

Guppy possessions consisted of a driver’s license, several credit cards, about twenty dollars in small bills and coins, a set of keys, and Mapquest directions to Rachel Hayward’s address. There was also an eyedropper bottle prescribed for Rachel by a Doctor Tarrou from Asharoken, Long Island.

“That bottle was hidden in one of Mr. Gupta’s pockets,” said Darlene. “But I’m very thorough at my job; when patients come in here I’ve learned to look through every seam, because sometimes they smuggle drugs in.”

Jim-Bean held it up to the light to get a better look.

Darlene peered at the bottle along with Jim-Bean. “Funny, the prescription is labeled the same day as Mr. Gupta’s suicide attempt.”

“Suicide attempt?” asked Jim-Bean. “What happened?”

“He tried to throw himself in front of a subway train. Fortunately a good Samaritan saved him.”

“When do you think Gup—I mean Mr. Gupta will be released?”

Darlene gave Guppy a worried look. “He’s stable,” she said with a sigh, “but it will be several days before any real improvement can be expected, and at least a week before he can be released.”

“Great, Darlene, thank you so much.” He touched her arm and her expression lit up. “You’ve saved a man’s life today.”

Darlene blushed. “Oh, just glad I can help a modern day James Bond!” The woman, well into her fifties, giggled like a schoolgirl.

Jim-Bean rushed out of Arkham. He hated the place.

Hammer was waiting in the car. “Well?”

“Guppy was snooping around Rachel Hayward’s place. He had a prescription bottle on him for his ex-girlfriend.”

Hammer nodded grimly. “Got any leads?”

“A Doctor Tarrou. I think Guppy got too close, figured out what was going on with Rachel, and Tarrou shot him full of drugs and dumped him in front of a subway train.”

Hammer’s gloved fists gripped the steering wheel tightly. “So this is a wetwork mission.”

Before Jim-Bean could response, Hammer slammed the accelerator and the van lurched southwards towards I-95.

[talien]

SUFFOLK COUNTY, NY--Dr. Tarrou’s home was located on Easton Neck Point in Long Island’s Suffolk County, an hour’s drive east of Brooklyn. The nearby village of Asharoken was a small, unremarkable resort community.

Dr. Tarrou’s two story house was an unadorned, rectangular, early Georgian building overlooking Long Island Sound. A gable roof and large chimneys enhanced the symmetry. The ornately carved entrance with its pilasters, paneled double doors, and semicircular fanlight formed a gracious entryway to the home. An inscribed brass plate beside the door bore the legend, “Dr. R. Tarrou, Psychiatrist.” Beneath the plate was a doorbell.

Hammer rang the doorbell.

There was no answer. He waited.

“Do you hear that?” asked Jim-Bean.

“Hear what?”

“Chanting. Listen.”

They strained to listen. Sure enough, there was some faintly audible chanting.

“That can’t be good,” said Hammer. He kicked open the door.

The front door opened onto a bright, clean entrance hall. A carved oak staircase climbed to the second floor. Throughout the house there hung a number of fine paintings, an obvious show of taste and money.

Jim-Bean and Hammer spread out, pistols at the ready.

The kitchen was unremarkable, but the dining room contained a long oak table of great age, surrounded by velvet-upholstered chairs. Fine china was displayed in a hutch against the wall. There were several comfortable chairs in the parlor, gathered around the cozy fireplace. An upright piano stood against one wall.

Something heavy slammed downstairs, followed by “Utghos Yuggoth, Uthgos qond, Daoloth Uthgos fhtagn!”

Exchanging glances, Hammer and Jim-Bean made their way down into the basement.