ToC for Five Steps Down Just a few notes:
- In regards to concerns about stalker-like tendencies from Clark - I'm playing off the Superman aspect plus the Daily Planet connection to help initially offset Lois' concerns. The third part should also help explain why Lois isn't running for the hills yet. However, if readers still aren't convinced, let me know so I can tweak it.
- The hope is for posts twice a week.
Cheers,
Elle
From Part 1:
Though Clark had never avoided sharing possible scopes with fellow reporters, he also never went around advertising his current projects. However, if he had any chance of winning her respect, he needed to do everything in his power to at least begin to trust him. "I'm looking into a story about possible illegal activities within the CostMart company."
Lois's eyes widened. "That's ... that's my story!"
Clark's expression mirrored Lois's astonished look. "You've spent the past four years researching this story?!"
"Yes, it's ... " Whatever Lois had been about to say apparently would not work. "It's my story. Stay away from it."
"We could compare notes."
"Absolutely not! And besides, what would you have that I wouldn't?"
Clark's brain was working in overdrive. "This whole thing with CostMart ... it ties into your gun-running story."
Lois gave Clark an incredulous look. "I have no idea what you're talking about."
Clark shook his head in disbelief. "You got to the Congo and you realized things went a lot deeper than you had ever imagined. But if that's why you disappeared, why did people think you were dead?"
~
Part 2:
Lois Lane missed air conditioning. Right at the top of her list of things she would never take for granted in Metropolis ever again was air conditioning. She had never expected the Congo to be quite this extreme. The heat was intense, the type that left a person sticky with sweat five minutes after getting out of the shower. When she decided to come to the Congo in hopes of finding that last bit of information for her story, she researched the weather in hopes of packing clothing to help her blend in rather than scream tourist. She had not, however, planned on temperatures even higher than the 70 to 90 degree average and even more rain than normal, giving the air a clammy, damp feel to it at all hours of the day.
She would suffer through another month of these conditions if it meant she could nail this story. She could feel it in her veins, even: this was going to be the story that put her on the map. Everything before this, even the two Kerths awards, had been a precursor to what she was about to discover.
Perry had, of course, been dead set against sending her, alone, to Africa. He had paired her with a freelance photographer who had extensive experience with war-torn countries and the ins-and-outs of maneuvering through dangerous areas with nothing more than a press pass. Despite her respect for the man - and even Lois was not so blind as to ignore the man's talent - she had been furious at the idea of having a partner. Lois Lane worked solo. End of story.
It had been ironic, then, that the one thing Lois hated most about the Daily Planet - the bureaucracy that occasionally intervened with plans that could possibly, if looked at in a certain light, be considered treading the line of legality - had been her saving grace. Due to a need to tighten the financial belt, only one ticket to the Congo had been given: Lois'.
And now, here she was, intrepid reporter about to get the biggest scope of her life. If only she could find the necessary information to collaborate the information gleaned through sources and guesses.
Walking through the back streets of Brazzaville, Lois couldn't quite forget her promise to Perry to be careful and not put herself in too much danger. It wasn't as if he believed her promise to him, she reminded herself. He knew her well enough to know any promise she made was made only to get what she wanted. Still, she could not quite forget the expression in his eyes when he had dropped her off at the airport. Of course he would be worried, but she could take care of herself.
Lois glanced to a side street positive she had just heard two men speaking English. Doing her best to appear casual, she followed them until she could catch snippets of a conversation.
"... shipments to Metropolis and Los Angeles have gone as expected ... "
"... a reporter in the area ... "
"... heard that too. If we find anyone, we arrange ... "
" ... sounds good ... "
Lois stopped. They were talking about her. That had to mean they were connected with the gun running. Ignoring the small voice in the back of her head telling her to cease and desist, she pushed onward. She was so close to finally pulling ahead in her investigation.
" ... the Churches ... expanding to a new market ... "
Lois's brow furrowed. The Churches? What about religion? What did that have to do with gun running?
" ... Costmart is ... "
Costmart. Lois's mouth opened. The Churches, the family who owned the Costmart chain, were behind this. That meant it wasn't limited to a small circle but rather a multinational corporation. Everything was different then. This wasn't just a big story that would put her on the top of Metropolis journalism - she would be one of the premiere world reporters. She needed to go back to her hotel and go back through her notes, see what no longer made sense and what fit together now. Disappearing back into an alley that took her back to a main thoroughfare, she hailed a taxi and set about restructuring her investigation.
She returned to a hotel room much different than the one she had left earlier that morning. The changes were nearly imperceptible or would have been if the current occupant were not an extremely paranoid reporter. Everything was in its place, yes, but slightly off from where she had strategically placed it that morning. And if she was right, they probably took the bait. Digging carefully through her suitcase, she pulled out a notebook. Opening the front cover, she found the stapled documents she had put there this morning. Sure enough, someone had leafed through them - there was a tiny crease around the staple that had not been there previously. Lois grinned. When she got back to Metropolis, she'd have to thank Cat for that little trick.
This did complicate things, however. If they were onto her and had searched her hotel room, she had surprisingly little time to act. Her room was no doubt being watched and perhaps the phone in the room was also bugged. The fact anyone thought her so important made pride rise up in Lois's chest - finally, a story that would attract some attention. Never before had anyone been so keen on throwing her off the trail. She pushed back the panicked voice telling her that this was bad, horrible and scary. She refused to be afraid. Award-winning journalists didn't get scared. If she wanted this story badly enough, she just had to stick up her chin and push through this.
She had to figure out a way to buy time - just a day or two, at most. What Lois Lane needed was a way to throw them off their own game - to flip the tables in some manner and put herself into the position of power. Which, admittedly, was difficult when she knew almost nothing about them.
Lois paused. Maybe she knew more than they thought. Sitting down, she began to make a list: not for the story, but solely about the individuals or group currently tailing her. She jotted down a few notes quickly, but slowed and five minutes later, looked at the list and realized that she was more or less in the dark as far as they were concerned.
She did, however, have a fairly good idea of what they wanted in regards to her. And that was her answer: she needed to disappear for a few days and make them think she had either given up or gotten a false lead.
Of course, they could feasibly know quite a bit about her, and if that were the case, they would know Lois Lane did not give up stories. How could she credibly create a false lead and tip them off to it?
~
A week later, Lois Lane admitted that maybe even award-winning journalists were allowed to admit to fear. In the time since hatching her plan, an ill-advised move when granted hindsight, Lois had lost all her belongings with the exception of the clothes on her back, the equivalent of a hundred U.S. dollars and her notebook and two pens.
Having finally escaped the tail, which had been a constant over the past week, though the faces had changed at about eight-hour intervals, Lois nervously boarded the bus and slid into a seat in the middle. She rubbed a hand over her newly shorn head, having ducked into a bathroom before buying her ticket to cut her hair into a close crop. Closing her eyes, she prayed she would have time at some point to secretly inform Perry that she was fine.
Two weeks later, she saw a small item in an English-language paper mentioning the continued search for Lois Lane, a missing reporter authorities were starting to believe was dead. And that, Lois realized, was the perfect cover to finish the investigation that was turning out to be much more complex than she could have ever imagined.
Who would ever watch for a dead reporter?
TBC
