Part Two
Just outside the auditorium, a tall man, wearing a classic tan trench coat, his close cropped black hair shot with hints of grey took in the tense scene before him. A brief, sharp stabbing pain had lanced through his body when the bullet cracked through the window. Feeling that pain and knowing its source was *one* of the reasons he did not enter the atrium. The other reason? After so long a time, he lacked the raw courage to do so. The stranger’s silvery blue eyes were riveted to the sight of the wounded young man laid out on the carpeted floor.
The vision rent his heart and fueled a stab of anguish, but he brutally thrust the thought away. He shifted his gaze through the high windows, one of which had a small hole in the center of a spider’s web of cracks where the bullet had drilled through. Noting the position of where Clark Kent’s chair was when the shooting began in relation to the hole in the window, he followed the bullet’s trajectory back to a building across the street and located the exact floor of its origin. His sensitive nose picked up and held the lingering reek of chemical fire, a vaguely different smell, yet one he was all too familiar with; it was the reek of battle, the repugnant stench of death.
Instinctively his head cocked like a falcon scrutinizing its prey, shutting out all the sounds careening about him, listening for a particular set of footfalls and accelerated heartbeat, calculating the human’s weight, height and physical condition. The assassin would be apprehended, it was impossible for him to escape. Again his eyes turned into the auditorium, now almost empty, the only people remaining surrounded the victim. He swallowed hard as Clark’s beautiful mate wiped her husband’s brow with trembling hands.
The stranger in the trench coat briefly split his attention from the assassin and listened while the one called Dr. Klein worked to remove the projectile. With such expert care his patient’s chance of survival increased; this was not an active battlefield. Barring any further mishap … but it would be a near thing.
His eyes which only moments ago were stark, questing and haunted by terror, now were shaded by the deep regret of disappointed expectation. The heart demanded he remain with this small knot of friends and family offering what aid and comfort he could. Yet the brain insisted the person responsible for this tragedy must be dealt with first. It required every erg of self-control in his possession not to sacrifice himself to rage. Control was the key in conquering this opponent, as in all things he who is patient shall gain much. Drawing in a cleansing breath, the tall man turned and in an instant, vanished.
***
Bernie had the Kryptonite slug out and inside the medic kit before the paramedics arrived so Lois knew that they wouldn’t have to face questions about *that* at least.
Almost as if they materialized from her thoughts; the security guards Matthews and Fusco noisily entered the atrium, leading the emergency response team. Behind them were a couple of grim-faced uniforms from MPD and a middle-aged detective she did not recognize. The newcomers went about their duties briskly, the uniforms were on their radios communicating with dispatch and asking for additional back-up. The detective who identified himself as simply Trent gently asked Abrihet and Bernard questions.
Eventually he came to her, his voice properly solicitous, “I am sorry to ask you these questions Mrs. Kent, but is there anyone who might want to cause your husband harm?”
If it were not for the direness of the situation, she might have found his question to be downright humorous. “Detective Trent, my husband and I are *investigative* reporters … someone is *always* threatening …” Without warning, her voice broke, she watched as the paramedics checked Clark’s vitals. His color was slightly better, but his breathing was still shallow. Did Bernie miss a piece of the green rock? She attempted to speak again but the words refused to come.
Bernie came over and placed his arm gently around her shoulder,
“Please, Detective Trent, can’t your questioning wait? The paramedics will be taking Clark to the hospital and Lois needs to be by his side.”
The other man looked at them as if weighing their words, than at the man lying on the floor. “Okay. Later ….” He was about to say more when his radio signaled him. He nodded to them and walked towards one of the officers examining the window.
“Thanks Bernie for stepping in just now,” Lois said with a watery smile, “I never thought I’d say this, but where is Bill Henderson when we need him?”
“True. At least our favorite peace officer is familiar with your misadventures. Obliviously, this fellow is not.”
At that moment the paramedics carefully picked up Clark and moved him to a stretcher. It was a good thing the two men were on the muscular side, otherwise they would definitely notice their patient’s additional mass. Once he was on it they elevated it to table height. As the paramedics moved the stretcher with Clark from the building to the ambulance.
“Please … I want to ride with him!” Lois pleaded.
“Of course Mrs. Kent, that’s standard protocol, the paramedic said gently. “Your husband has sustained major injuries. From what Dr. Klein says he was able to get the bullet out. But this kind of ‘battle field’ surgery requires us to take another look. Once we get him to the ER we can stabilize him and take X-Rays.”
Expecting her request to be denied, the paramedic’s easy acquiescence was a pleasant surprise. Nodding her thanks, Lois took a place beside the stretcher, gently holding Clark’s cool hand as they moved outside to the ambulance. Once there the paramedics moved to the two sides and releasing a lock lowered the stretcher back to its lower level and then they coordinated the lift to put the stretcher into the back and locked the wheels in their bracket. Then the lead paramedic turned to Lois and offered his hand, “Please, let me help you up.”
As she was climbing in back, the steady voice of Dr. Klein filled her ears. “Lois, Abrihet and I can drive to Metropolis General. I’ll contact Dr. Pete Ross and inform him you are on the way. His ER team will make certain to take excellent care of him. We can wait to hear the outcome of the X-rays there. I am certain the results will be normal for a man in his condition.”
Hearing the name Pete Ross, Lois understood completely what he was saying; Pete would make sure of Clark’s privacy. She nodded her agreement and then said, “Thank you again for helping Bernie, this means a lot.”
Reaching into the ambulance, Abrihet handed Lois her briefcase and then took her hand and gave it an encouraging squeeze; her beautiful, melodic accented voice was gentle and soothing,
“Lois, cheri, take courage, your husband is a *special* man with great strength. He shall survive. How can he not with a woman as extraordinary as yourself to stand by his side? Obviously my former *élève* has made an astute choice of wife, a woman who keeps her head under ominous, unforeseen circumstances. Go, Bernard and I shall see you soon.”
The paramedic had already gotten into the ambulance and went about prepping Clark for the ride to Metropolis General. Lois gave her friends a wan smile and then took her place by Clark’s side. The driver firmly closed the doors and ran to his place in the cab. Within seconds, with lights flashing and sirens screaming into a once tranquil day, the ambulance moved swiftly down the street.
Bernie watched and the sound of the sirens faded into the distance, this was definitely a day very much outside of his normal orderly existence. Come to think of it, since the beautiful Lois Lane and then her daring partner entered his life *nothing* had been ordinary. Working with them was always gratifying but sometimes a tad on the nerve-racking side. Feeling suddenly very tired, he turned around and walked back into the building. Abrihet, puzzled, followed him and asked,
“Where are we going? Should we not meet Lois at the hospital?”
“Soon but first, I … I mean *we* have to deposit this kryptonite fragment in my office for safekeeping. ‘Superman’ will want to destroy it as soon as he is able.” He said patting the medic kit.” Perhaps the reason Clark hadn’t regained consciousness is because this wasn’t surrounded by lead.” He grew reflective and said, “Abrihet, I pray to God circumstances like this never come up again. Performing surgery on a person – even a superhuman one is …taxing. Especially when I have to do a MacGyver and improvise my instruments. ”
They walked on towards his office together in companionable silence; the only sound in the now deserted corridors was the dull, hollow cadence of their footsteps.
“You are a kind friend, Bernard and a gifted scientist. I watched your hands tremble as they worked. The muscle memory remains, but the aspiration to perform surgery has vanished. It took a great deal of courage to remove that scrap of metal.”
He smiled sadly, “More than you know. But Lois and Clark are my friends … I …I had to help. They have together and separately assisted so many others ….’ He stopped, turned to her and said, “By the way, it’s a bit of a drive to Metro Gen in afternoon traffic. It might be some time before you return to the Lexor.”
Trying to lighten the moment, Abrihet smiled in return and answered. “So? I make a bargain with you Cheri, something to pass the time while we drive through the streets. Let us trade stories as to how we ‘found out’ about our mutual friend.”
“That’s sounds like an excellent way to pass the time. Not with dinner at La Chic as I had originally planned but an acceptable exchange my dear … friend.” Bernie, no longer felt tired, but gallant, bowed low and offered her his arm. She moved her head up and down prettily and accepted his arm gladly. Together the two scientists walked down the long corridor which now did not seem quite so deserted.
***
The visitor had left STAR Labs and moved to the building from which the gunshot originated. He rapidly ascended the stairwell. Apparently his quarry was prepared for interference and as he passed a doorway on a landing, through the door, which was partly open, a gun materialized and poked into the side of his neck. His reaction was instinctive apropos of his military training, his right arm swiftly swung up and around, brushing away the weapon. As his arm came over the top it turned so that his assailant’s arm would be caught in the crook of his elbow and between that and his body. When he lifted his arm suddenly there was a piercing scream of pain from his assailant real-time with the loud crack of bones breaking. The gun which his attacker had been gripping in his now useless left hand fell to the landing and the visitor pulled him through the door, fully onto the landing. The reason he had been using his left hand was explained by the case he carried in his right which fell to the floor with a dull clatter of metal wrapped in heavy fabric.
The visitor propped him against the wall and held him there with one hand on his throat. The would-be assassin quailed under the glare of those silvery blue eyes. When the stranger spoke, it was in a deep rich voice, surprisingly soft which held a decidedly unfamiliar accent. “Who sent you?”
His opponent, a balding, middle-aged man with a lifetime of hard living stamped on his face, firmly held his lips together, preferring painful silence to betrayal.
When he refused to speak, his captor closed his hand slightly, cutting off the assassin’s air supply. “I know that it was you who shot that reporter. I could tighten my fingers ever so slightly and you will simply cease to be.” He loosened his hand somewhat and the assassin took a gasping breath, yet still refused to answer. The stranger spoke for a second time, “I ask again, who sent you?”
“N …” As soon as the first tone was past his lips, the powerful fist on his throat closed again.
“I am quite capable of ending your miserable existence. The only thing that will keep you alive is telling me what I want to know.”
After several strangled breaths the killer looked at his captor with a curious mixture of anger, pain and fear in his eyes, finally the assassin said, “I can’t tell you! He’ll kill me!”
His captor gave him a shake like a terrier dog rattling a squirrel and said in a deadly calm, threatening tone, “I will kill you if you do not.”
Finally, more fearful of this individual than anything his employer could do to him, he said, “It won’t do you any good. My boss is … Lex Luthor. He said that the reporter was going to write an expose and he wanted him dead. He gave me this special ammo. He said it would prevent his friend Superman from helping him.”
The other man shook his head, searching his memory, “The name *sounds* familiar …” he muttered.
Despite his pain the other man gasped out, “You’ve …never *heard* of Lex …Luthor? Your accent is strange, but most people on the planet know who he is.”
The man answered in a quiet voice, “I am a foreigner … new to the ways of your … country. Tell me where may I locate this … Lex Luthor?”
“He lives on the top floor of the tallest building in Metropolis! He owns the building!”
“Ah, his fortress, the base of his power … that I understand. Thank you. Rest well.”
The visitor changed his chokehold on his victim’s throat, directly constraining blood flow to the brain, causing him to pass out.
He rifled the man’s pockets and found a cell phone and a wallet with identification. The driver’s license said Eli Snow. Next he knelt down and examined the case that he had dropped. In the case were the disassembled parts of a sniper rifle.
Fortunately, the magazine had been wrapped in lead foil. Having taken the precaution of keeping the foil between him and the magazine the stranger had opened it a bit and between the green glow and the now familiar sharp stabbing pain, he was aware of the contents. Swiftly he wrapped it up again and placed it with utmost caution into his pocket. The authorities would simply have to do without that additional evidence. There were others who might find the mineral a worthy – if not utterly necessary - study.
He propped the assassin, into a sitting position against the wall, his left arm hung at an unnatural angle.
Standing up, the man in the trench coat flipped open the unwieldy grey cell phone he had removed from Snow’s pocket and after a few moments learning to operate the piece of equipment he dialed 911. “Awkward communication device”, he murmured under his breath.
A crisp professional voice answered, “This is MPD 911 operator, please state your emergency.”
“The man who shot Daily Planet reporter Clark Kent is unconscious and has a broken left arm. The police can find him on the landing of the fifteenth floor stairwell of the Graybar building directly across from S.T.A.R. Labs complex.”
Perplexed, the veteran 911 operator asked, “Sir, this person is highly dangerous. Did you find the suspect that way?”
“No. When I found him, he was uninjured and awake.”
Stepping outside of his scripted behavior the operator queried.
“How did you subdue the suspect?”
“He was not as fast as I am,” the man responded, his soft raspy voice as flat as slate.
The operator said with puzzlement in his voice, “Sir, I don’t recognize your accent. Are you from outside the United States?”
Irritated with this conversation, the man replied, “I am a concerned citizen trying to help my … a good man. Please send someone to collect this … individual.” He kept the phone open to allow the operator to locate him and then tossed it into the assassin’s lap.
Speaking to the prone form the man said, “Thank you Mr. Snow for providing the name and location of your employer. I apologize for the injury; here I do not know my own strength. Be grateful my interests lay with the ‘mind’ behind this operation and not the ‘hands’.”
The stranger turned away and moved with fluid grace down the stairwell. His early military training had come into play while dealing with the killer. Such talents – necessary as they were – after all these years still frightened him, he was a man of peace on a mission of peace. Yet now his deadlier abilities – abilities he wanted to forget - were called into play. Before reaching his true objective he had one more extremely necessary task to complete before fulfilling that mission. He had traveled too great a distance and overcome numerous obstacles to allow a would-be assassin to prevent him from his goal
