>>> from the journal of H. G. Wells
I have attempted to move within this time to warn Clark of the danger to this universe’s timeline posed by Lois Lane, but I cannot. Once again, my time machine has ceased to perform its primary functions. My current location – an icy gully somewhere in northern Canada, near the Arctic Circle – is made tenable only by my machine’s ability to maintain a ‘bubble’ of meteorological conditions which were snatched from Metropolis when I departed the city some eleven hours ago. Were it not for the heating elements within my machine and the automatic renewal of the oxygen I breathe, I might have perished already.
According to my initial briefings when joining the Time Patrol, there was an incident where a machine and its operator disappeared under circumstances similar to mine. That loss was followed by the entire planet’s demise within four hours of the machine being trapped in a time-particle/wave bubble similar to the one now restraining me. It was never determined whether the operator had somehow caused this catastrophe or was simply in the wrong time and place.
I am glad for only one thing at this point, and that is that I succumbed to peer pressure and allowed the Patrol to retrofit my machine with crude personal facilities and a store of emergency rations and water. I have availed myself of all of these advantages since the interrupted transport which deposited me in this location. And I shall never again jeer at the cautious preparations made by my comrades before setting out on their respective assignments.
That, of course, presupposes that it is not my final adventure with the Patrol. And, of course, that I shall survive this assignment.
>>>
At five minutes after eight o’clock local time – two o’clock in the morning Metropolis time – Clark hovered over the Hamburg office of the Bundeskriminalamt, or BKA for short, at twelve thousand feet, trying to decide on his best approach. If he arrived in the flashy suit he’d probably receive a celebrity’s welcome, and that wasn’t his goal. If he knocked on the door wearing civilian clothes, it might take longer for him to see his friend Horst or someone else who could help him, but he’d make less of a splash.
And that thought decided him. He’d go in wearing civvies. No splashing today.
He spun into a business suit with the collar undone and no tie, then zipped down to earth two blocks away in an alley between two office buildings. Despite the full trash bins on either side of the alley, it was far cleaner than any he’d seen in Metropolis. And no one gave him a second look as he strode onto the sidewalk and turned toward the BKA building.
The middle-aged woman just inside the front door smiled at him as he approached her desk. <Guten Morgen,> she said. <Wie kann ich Ihnen helfen?>
In English, Clark replied, “Good morning, madam. I hope your English is better than my German.”
“I will attempt to speak it well enough, sir,” she said. “Good morning. May I help you?”
“I don’t have an appointment, but if Horst Müller is available, I’d like to see him, please.”
“May I say who is calling, please?”
“Clark Kent.”
Her eyes flickered for a moment and her hands paused for the slightest instant as she seemed to recognize his name, then she lifted the phone and tapped in a number. <Herr Müller, Clark Kent möchte Sie sehen. Ja. Ich werde ihm sagen.> She hung up the receiver and said, “Hauptkomissar Müller will see you within five minutes, Mr. Kent.”
He gave her his best smile and said, “Danke. I’ll just wait here if that’s all right.”
“That will be fine, sir. Thank you.”
He had barely settled into a comfortable chair when Horst Müller came through the double doors to the right of the receptionist’s desk. “Clark, my good friend! I am glad to see you. I hope this is a personal visit and not a professional one.”
Clark took Horst’s hand in his. “I’m sorry, but it’s professional. Could I have about fifteen minutes of your time?”
“My time is yours, Clark, you know this. Were it not for your efforts on my behalf, I would not be alive today. You know that you may ask me whatever you wish, whenever you wish it.” He turned to the receptionist and said in English, “Frau Blaschke, would you hold my calls for fifteen minutes?”
“Of course, sir. Have a good visit.”
Horst led his visitor down the hall to his office, chattering the whole time about the latest antics of his five-year-old son. “Fritzi has achieved top scores in his class. He can recite both the German and English alphabets, and he knows his numbers and can count to a thousand by several different factors in either language. His teacher tells me that Fritzi knows more about the law than she does, although on this point I think she tries to flatter me.”
Clark smiled. “I think there’s some truth in there too, Horst. I’ve met the little guy, remember? He’s really quite bright.”
“Now you flatter me, my friend. But I do not mind. I will tell my wife Steffi that the famous American, the Super-Man, made a special trip today to tell me how favorably he thinks of our son. And she will boast of it, quite modestly of course, to her friends and especially to her parents, who still believe she could have wed a better man.”
“That’s true,” replied Clark. “She could have married me.”
“Ah, but even policemen have more consistent schedules than Superman.”
“So Steffi likes consistency?”
“More than I would have suspected, my friend.”
They shared a chuckle as Horst opened the door to his office. Clark was once again struck by the difference between Bill Henderson’s floating chaos and Horst’s calm organization. It was, Clark believed, a cultural difference and not an indicator of their relative effectiveness.
Horst waved at the chairs in front of his desk. “As I am certain you are not in Hamburg to lure my beautiful Steffi away from me and our son, how may I help you, my friend?”
Clark pulled the drawing of Rodolfo out of his jacket pocket. “I’ve been asked to investigate this man with the intent of removing two pre-school children from his control.” He flattened the drawing on the desk. “Because the mother is connected to this man by some less-than-legal ties, I can’t go through the courts or any of my diplomatic contacts. I don’t want to spook this guy.”
Horst leaned over for a better look. “Please remind me of the use of the word ‘spook’ in this context.”
“Sorry. I don’t want him to know what I’m doing or why. He might vanish or even harm the children.”
“I see. Hmm. What is his name?”
“The mother knows him as Rodolfo.”
“Hmm. Rodolfo, Rodolfo… The name is slightly familiar to me. Where is he known to operate?”
“Sicily, North Africa, the Middle East. Maybe southern Europe.”
“Ah. North Africa…” Horst tapped his forefinger on his desk several times, then abruptly stopped. “May I ask one of my colleagues for assistance in this matter?”
Clark smiled and lifted his hands, palms up. “Any help you can give me will be more than I had before coming in today.”
“Thank you.” Horst picked up his phone and tapped the keys. “Frau Blaschke? Please see if Komissarin Schultz is in her office. If so, please ask her to come and see me. I need her expertise. Yes, now, if she is available for a few moments.”
He hung up. “Mika Schultz is the local agent most familiar with North Africa. I assume that this man is not a – how is it called in English – a ‘white hat’ fellow?”
“If you mean that he’s a criminal, you assume correctly. At least, that’s what I’ve been told.”
“Ah. Then you are here to gather more information about this man as well as to seek out two missing children, yes?”
Clark shifted in his chair. “I’m not sure how much I should share with you, Horst. I don’t want to spread rumors about a man who might really be innocent.”
“I see. Perhaps—” A double knock on the door interrupted them. “Bitte, come in,” Horst called out.
The door opened and a slender blonde pixie stuck her head in. “Hiya, Boss Man. This the perp you want me to pop?”
Clark stared at her for a moment, then laughed as he stood. “I see you’ve been watching American police shows on TV. Hi, I’m Clark Kent.”
She took his hand and tried to squeeze it. “Mickey Schultz, at your service.” She looked at their handshake. “Huh. Your hand feels hard as a rock. Do you work out a lot?”
Horst exhaled deeply. “Before you attempt to wrestle Herr Kent to the floor, Frau Schultz, I would like for you to examine this pencil sketch and tell us if you recognize this man. My friend Clark tells me he uses the name Rodolfo.”
Mika glanced up at Clark as she sat down in the remaining chair. “Any other aliases, Mr. Kent?”
“Not that I know of.”
“Let me see. Yes, I think I know – Alter Schwede!”
The woman’s eyes bugged out and her shoulder muscles tightened. “You recognize this man, don’t you?” Clark asked.
“Yes! I think I do! If it’s the same man – Herr Müller, I must show this to my partner!”
“Is your partner here?”
She leaped to her feet. “Yes, Victor is in our office! He will want to see this!”
Horst lifted his hand. “Wait.” He picked up the phone again, Teutonic calm personified, and tapped the keys. “Frau Blaschke? Please have Kommisar Paulsen join me in my office. Yes, it will be crowded with him in here with us, but we will manage. Danke.”
Mika bounced on her toes like a game show contestant called out of the crowd. “Herr Müller, I am sure this is the man for whom Victor and I have been searching! I am certain of it!”
“To which case do you refer, Mika?”
“The international terrorist! The one who pimps out killers for hire!”
“Mika, please, use standard English or speak German. I cannot easily—”
Three firm knocks on the door interrupted him. <Herein,> Horst called out. To Clark, he said, “Victor is learning English but is not yet fluent in it. We will translate for you both if it becomes necessary.”
A very muscular man, quite large in both height and girth, opened the door. Clark immediately got the impression of controlled power and serious determination from him. <Sie wollen mich sehen, chef?> he rumbled.
<Ja.> Horst lifted the sketch. < Erkennen Sie diesen Mann?>
Paulsen squinted at it for a moment, then nodded. <Ja, Herr Müller. Er ist ein gesuchter Verbrecher, ein Mörder und Erpresser.>
Horst nodded. <Danke. Bitte bleiben Sie einen Moment.>
Clark took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “If I understand Officer Paulsen correctly, he knows this guy Rodolfo as a murderer and blackmailer, right?”
Mika broke in. “He’s a smuggler, too, Mr. Kent, and a gun-runner.” She squinted as if trying to focus on something. “That is the correct English term, yes? Gun-runner, one who smuggles weapons and other munitions?”
“That’s the word,” Clark agreed. “So how come you folks haven’t arrested him?”
“We lack sufficient evidence which can be presented to our courts, Clark,” replied Horst. “I cannot arrest this man without it, and when he comes to Germany he does not advertise his presence.”
“He is cuddled with La Cosa Nostra, also,” added Mika.
After a moment, Clark realized she meant ‘close to’ and decided not to correct her. “How close is he with the Sicilian Mafia? If he lives and works there, he must have some arrangement with them.”
“We are sure that he does, Herr Kent, but we do not know if they are operating under an armed truce or if he pays a percentage to them. We do know that they have assisted in suppressing evidence against him and his operatives a number of times in the past. And Rodolfo has sheltered members of the ruling criminal families when the police attention became too warm for them.”
Victor grappled with his meager English and offered, “Also he trains – those who fight for pay.”
Mika snapped her fingers. “That’s right! You know that a number of smaller governments hire mercenaries to fight their border wars, Herr Kent? This Rodolfo trains people who have little combat experience and is paid very well for his labors. We estimate that fifty to seventy prospective mercenaries go through his booty camp every four or five months.”
Clark blinked and tried not to smile. “His what camp?”
“Booty camp – oh, that is not the correct English word, is it?”
“Well, I’ve always heard it called ‘boot camp’ when I talk to military people. I think the other term has an entirely different meaning.”
“Ah,” she smiled. “Thank you for teaching me.”
Horst lifted one hand and said, “Clark, what are your intentions toward this Rodolfo?”
Mika bubbled, “Are you going to bust him and let him lawyer up or just pop a cap in his—”
“Mika!” Horst growled. “Mr. Kent’s other identity is that of Superman. He will not harm or even arrest someone without legal authority, which he does not have in Germany. That is why he is here, to proceed through legal means.”
“I don’t have authority in Sicily, either,” said Clark, “and I think that’s where I’m going to find him. But if you folks have better information on his whereabouts, feel free to share with me, assuming you’re allowed to do so. I don’t want anyone to get in trouble for talking to me.”
“That will not happen,” said Horst, “unless someone becomes overly enthusiastic and speaks too freely about your purpose here.” He looked at the other two officers in turn. “And that will not occur, will it?”
Mika snapped her mouth shut and nodded sharply. Seeing Victor’s puzzled expression, she put her index finger to her lips and tapped them twice. His face cleared and he nodded in comprehension.
“Good,” Horst said. “Now, what other assistance might we offer Mr. Kent in retrieving these two young kinder?”
Victor blinked in apparent surprise. <Welche Kinder?>
Mika’s voice flattened. “Yes, Herr Kent, what children?”
“The ones I’m looking for.”
“So you are not seeking this Rodolfo for law enforcement reasons?”
“No, Ms. Schultz, I’m not. Their mother claims that Rodolfo is holding them to force her to spy for him.”
“So you are working this case as a child kidnapping?”
Clark shrugged. “That’s as good a description as anyone might come up with, I suppose.”
“Do you have a likeness of the mother, sir?”
“Mika,” growled Horst, “that is enough.”
Clark waved his hand and picked up a pencil, then turned over the drawing of Rodolfo. “I don’t mind sharing this information. It may help.”
He sensed, rather than saw, Mika look at Horst for some kind of permission. When Horst leaned back, Mika asked, “How well do you know this woman, sir?”
He kept sketching. “I met her for the first time about a week ago. Before that, I thought she’d died in central Africa seven years ago.”
He paused and looked at his drawing, then added more detail around her eyes. “This is the best I can do. I’m pretty good, but I’m not quite the artist she seems to be.”
“What color is her hair?”
“Very dark brown. I understand she used to wear it shoulder-length instead of this short style.”
He sat back and let Mika pick up his drawing. She glared at it for a long moment, then turned to her immense partner. <Ist das die Frau?>
Paulsen sighed deeply and nodded. <Ja.>
She turned to face him directly. <Sie sind sicher?>
He nodded again, then turned to his boss. <Das ist die Frau, die wir gesucht haben.>
<Wie ist ihr Name?> asked Horst.
<Wir wissen von drei Aliasnamen, Sir. Sie hat die Namen Lola Däne, Wanda Detroit, und Sparky verwendet, den letzteren ohne Nachnamen.>
Clark looked at Horst. “I’m sorry, I’m not getting everything Officer Paulsen said.”
Horst looked at Clark and pressed his lips together, then said, “Mika, please tell Herr Kent who this woman is.”
Mika put the sketch down on the desk so that Clark could see it clearly. “If Victor is correct – and I have never known him to be wrong when he says he is certain, as he has just done – this is the woman for whom we have been searching over the last two years. She has used several other names as aliases in other countries.”
“You’ve been looking for her?”
“Yes.”
“Her name is Lois Lane. What were those other names Victor mentioned?”
“We think she uses the various aliases when she travels,” replied Mika. “Two of them are Lola Dane and Wanda Detroit. Another is Sparky, no family name. In fact, we have an open request from the Libyan government to watch for Lola Dane. I do not recall hearing the name Lois Lane in connection with her activities.”
Clark frowned. “Why have you been looking for her? And why does Libya want her?”
Mika looked at Horst again. He nodded, and she sighed. “Because, Herr Kent, we believe she is one of the operatives Rodolfo hires out to whoever can pay his price. She is wanted in Libya in connection with the recent disappearance of three Libyan citizens of questionable character but powerful political influence.”
“Disappearance? Do they think she kidnapped them?”
Horst sighed. “No, my friend. I am sorry to tell you this, but the Libyan authorities believe that she killed those three.”
“What!” Clark lurched to his feet. “You – you can’t be serious! This is a mistake – it has to be a mistake! Her name is Lois Lane and she was a reporter for the Daily Planet in Metropolis and she disappeared in the Congo chasing a story about some gun-runners—”
He felt the light flicker and catch in his mind.
Rodolfo’s probable criminal activities. Lois’ injuries. Her refusal to share her recent history. Her hair-trigger responses and her fighting ability. Her effect on Dr. Frazier. The vague warnings from Herb. Her hard-minded attitude toward minorities. Her knowledge of and skill with weapons. Lucy’s suspicions.
Everything came together as if a nuclear reaction were reaching critical mass and bursting upon his mind.
Lois Lane was indeed a hired killer. And he had pledged himself to help her.
*****
As Lucy put away the lunch dishes, Lois chewed on her fingernails and paced around the living room. The nail-chewing was yet another mannerism she’d picked up since Lucy had last seen her.
“Did you have time to finish that thing you were going to write for Clark?”
“Under my pillow on the bed. Hush, okay?”
“Do you want to catch an early movie or—”
She flipped her free hand at her younger sister without making eye contact. “Shh! Thinking.”
Lucy almost grinned. That was a familiar mannerism, one that Lois had used against her whenever she needed to think hard about something without Lucy’s incessant questions. It meant that Lois was focused on a problem she believed required a solution immediately.
She tried again. “It’s too early to expect results.”
“I know.”
“He’s only been in Germany for a few hours. He hasn’t had time—”
“Germany!” Lois burst out.
“Yes. He’s going to check with a friend of his in Hamburg to see if they have any leads on this Rodolfo character before he goes to Sicily.”
“Blast it, he should have just gone to Sicily and grabbed them!”
“He’s not going to kidnap them back, Lois. If he does this all legal and tucks it in with hospital corners, Rodolfo won’t be able to put legal pressure on him to get the kids back.”
“I know, I know! I just don’t like it, that’s all.”
Lois clenched her fists, then crossed her arms and resumed her pacing. Apparently the news about Clark’s visit to the German branch of Interpol was not what she’d hoped to hear.
Lucy waited until Lois stopped on the opposite side of the room, then she stood and walked to her “Maybe I could help if you told me what you’re thinking so hard about.”
Lois stopped and glared at her sister, then sighed. “Yeah, maybe.” She turned and sat down on the arm of the couch. “I’ve been thinking. I’m supposed to get some information from someone here in Metropolis. I know Clark is going to do his super-best to get my kids away from Rodolfo, but if something goes wrong I need a backup plan.”
Lucy frowned. “What kind of backup plan?”
“Something I can use for leverage. Rodolfo wants this job done and I want my kids. It may be enough to force him into a trade.”
Lucy frowned again. “I don’t know anything about that part of your life. I’ll help you as long as no one gets hurt, but I can’t decide whether or not it’s a good idea.”
Lois went stiff again. “This isn’t some Saturday morning serial or after-school special, Punky. Sometimes people get hurt in my line of work. There are no guarantees. None.”
“I’m not going to help you kill anyone.”
Lois had been reaching for a cigarette, but at Lucy’s words she froze in place. Even the sound of her breathing disappeared.
Lucy went as silent as Lois. Neither of them spoke for an excruciatingly long moment.
Then Lois spoke in a quiet, flat voice. “Why did you say that?”
Lucy knew she was in trouble, but she didn’t know how much, so she tried not to make it worse. “I didn’t mean to say it. The words came out wrong.”
“What did you mean to say?”
“That – that I wouldn’t do anything that might hurt someone.”
Lois eased in Lucy’s direction like a serpent uncoiling. “You already said that and you don’t repeat yourself like you used to. You’re direct and firm. You say what you mean and mean what you say. Now I want you to tell me why that sentence came out of your mouth when it did.”
Lucy stared. This was a Lois who was wildly different from the Lois in Lucy’s memories, different from the woman Lucy had been reacquainting herself with over the past week. This Lois was a coiled steel spring, taut as a lion about to crush its prey’s throat. And she was just as dangerous and deadly.
She was finally showing her true colors.
Lucy had to regain control somehow. “I don’t know what you’ve up to for the last few years, Lois, but I know you haven’t been just doing corporate espionage. You’ve had violence done to you and you’ve done violence to others. I don’t know if you’ve actually killed anybody—”
“Seventeen.”
Lucy’s mouth fell open. “Wh-what?”
“Who else have you told?”
“Wh – wait, Lois, I—”
“Who else have you told about me?”
“N-no one!”
“Not even SuperDuper Clark?”
“No! Not even Clark! I don’t even know for a fact that it’s true!”
The voice, totally devoid of feeling, might as well have come from a wooden carving. Or a computer. “It’s true. I’ve deliberately targeted and killed seventeen people since Rodolfo took me, and that doesn’t count the ones I killed because they got in my way. I’m a stone cold killer. I’m the woman that terrorists tell their kids about when they want to scare them and make them behave. If a European billionaire even thinks I’m on his trail, he wets his pants and passes out. Two years ago, one guy saved me the trouble of tracking him down by poisoning himself when he heard I was after him.”
“No, please—”
“I’ve shot them, knifed them, dropped them from high places, and I even strangled one with his own tie last year. And I’m not just some hack killer. Remember that Mediterranean cruise ship that got robbed two years ago? I was in on that. It was a slick operation, in and out in under four hours and we left no clues. Didn’t have to kill anyone that day, either.”
Lucy felt herself pale. “Lois, you—”
“They know me in Libya. I took out three of their best just two months ago, buried them in the desert. That’s where I picked up that pneumonia and the bullet wound in my arm. And it was why I got worried when you said that Mom and Dad were in North Africa.”
Lucy’s knees threatened to give way. “Please don’t—”
“I’m here to get some information from a man and then kill him. I don’t want to hurt him and I don’t want to keep on with this life. But if I don’t get something from this guy, Rodolfo will kill my children. I won’t allow that. If Clark gets them away from him, great, they’ll be safe. But I can’t walk away unless I know they’re okay. After that, we’ll have to go on the run and hide somewhere. I’ll testify against him and tell the police and Interpol everything I know. I’ll turn State’s evidence, get full immunity, and go into the witness protection program. But I have to have my kids with me first. And no one is going to get in my way.”
Lucy forced herself to breathe. “Not – not even me?”
“Not even you.” Lois’ eyes turned obsidian. She reached behind her and brought out her pistol. “Turn around, Lucy.”
“What – no!”
“They’re my kids. Turn around.”
“Lois, please! I’m your sister!”
“You’ll just call the police or try to call off Superman. This is the best chance I’ve ever had to get away with Jean and Collette, the best one I’ll ever have, and I won’t let you screw it up.”
“No, Lois! I want them back too! Please don’t—”
“Turn around now.”
“No, please! I have so much to live for – please don’t take it all away!”
Lois raised the pistol to Lucy’s face. “You can turn around or take it between the eyes. It makes a bigger mess and the morticians usually can’t fix it for the viewing.”
“For God’s sake, Lois!”
Lois’ teeth ground together. “Your funeral. Literally.”
“Okay!” Tears ran down Lucy’s face as she slowly turned. “You don’t have to do this, Sis! You don’t!”
“Actually, I do. And believe it or not, I’m really sorry.” Lucy heard Lois’ shoes slide across the carpet. “Goodbye, Lucy.”
Lucy closed her eyes and sniffed and thought about Clark and how much she loved him and she hoped he’d miss her terribly but not forever and she hoped it wouldn’t hurt too much and she hoped Mom and Da—
*****
Homicide Detective Mayson Drake sat on the park bench across from Lucy Lane’s apartment building surrounded by the remnants of a cold deli sandwich, pretending to read today’s Daily Planet. From time to time, she’d pick up a pad of paper and a pencil, then scribble as if she were taking notes from the classified section. Dressed in jeans, denim shirt, low-heeled sneakers, reversible vest, wearing plastic-framed glasses with her hair pulled into a casual ponytail, she looked like a college student hoping for an interview with almost anybody who’d hire her.
She was really waiting for something to happen.
And maybe that something was stepping out onto the street now.
Lois Lane strode out of the building, tension radiating off her like microwaves off a cell phone tower. She paused as if deciding on a direction, then yanked a cigarette out of her pocket and lit it. That was when Mayson stood and stepped off down the street. It was the opposite of what a tail was supposed to do, so she really hoped that the Lane woman would dismiss her as a threat.
Mayson’s glasses held clear non-corrective lenses, of course, but they also held tiny convex mirrors near each hinge. They enabled her to get an idea of who, if anyone, was following her, and when she saw Lois Lane head in the opposite direction, Mayson turned and skipped across the street.
As soon as Lane turned a corner, Mayson shoved her glasses in her pocket, reversed her vest, then pulled a dark windbreaker out of her purse and put it on. Her final move was to pull her long blonde hair out of the elastic band which had held it secure and shake it loose around her head.
She shifted from undercover mode to cop mode within three steps. It made her walk with her head lower and her stride more determined, and her face went from genial confusion to cold granite. She’d perfected the quick change after working with Bill Henderson for a few months, and now she was better at it than he was. Any stranger who hadn’t seen her transformation would not believe that the two women were the same person.
The odds that Lane would have picked out a ditzy blonde on a park bench as a possible tail were slim, but Mayson’s quick change would have thrown off anyone lacking super-vision. She had even tailed Superman once using this technique, and as far as she was aware he hadn’t picked her out. She was very good and she knew it.
She also knew that Lois Lane was dangerous. And there was no way she’d let this woman hurt the city or the hero she loved.
Even if neither the city nor the hero knew where her heart lay.
*****
Lois clamped down on her emotions as hard as she could. She’d left her sister, bleeding and still, on the floor of her own apartment. And Lois had used her own pistol to put her there.
It was for her children, she insisted to herself. For Jean and Collette. So the three of them could be safe from Rodolfo or any of his cronies.
Maybe if she repeated it often enough she could learn to believe it.
Lois walked with a purpose, seeing the people around her not as people but as obstacles in her path. The few times she caught sight of a face, it almost always reminded her of one of her victims.
There was the man in Turkey last year.
One of the men in Libya.
A woman in Pakistan.
The chubby little guy who just got in her way in Spain.
Carla.
The woman in Turkey.
Another of the men in Libya.
The man in Greece she’d viewed only through a telescopic sight.
She couldn’t stop seeing them. She couldn’t turn off her mind, couldn’t force those memories away, couldn’t keep from thinking about them. A part of her congratulated her for not becoming the mindless, soulless, remorseless murderer Rodolfo had tried to force her to become.
Another part of her reminded her that the people she’d killed were just as dead.
It was too much. She couldn’t take it anymore.
She’d go to the Daily Planet, find her target, get the information she needed, and bargain with the local cops, the FBI, Interpol, Rodolfo, whoever she had to, so she could get her kids back and go somewhere and disappear. She’d testify at all the trials and disappear again. She could do it. She knew how to find people who would help her get fake ID, birth certificates for the kids, a credit history, anything she needed.
It would take money, of course. She might have to risk tapping her offshore funds. Or maybe her target would pay her for not pulling the trigger. Maybe she could get into some witness protection program, move to Canada or Hawaii or Ecuador, anywhere she could escape Rodolfo’s clutches. At any rate, she would no longer kill because he told her to.
And if he came for her, or sent someone after her, she’d protect her babies and herself no matter what.
If only Clark had found her before Rodolfo—
But he hadn’t. And now he’d never forgive her for what she’d done. That funny tingle she felt when she looked into his eyes would never become anything else. The dream she’d had last night, the one of Clark smiling at her and holding her hand gently, would never come true.
And she’d never know what it was to be deeply loved by a truly good man.
*****
The buzz coming from James’ intercom startled him, but he took a quick breath and focused. “Yes, Mrs. Cox?”
“Sir, you have a visitor who did not make an appointment.”
That was an odd way for her to put that. “Who is it?”
“The person does not wish that his or her name be spoken over any electronic device, sir.”
Weird and weirder. “I’ll come to the door, Mrs. Cox. Please ask our mystery visitor to wait at your desk.”
“Yes, sir.”
He closed the connection, wondering who would behave so oddly in the middle of the day, then decided he’d have to find out.
As he cautiously opened the door, he looked for strangers in Dominique’s office, but saw only Lex Luthor.
Why was Lex acting so weird?
He exited his office, and as soon as Luthor saw him, the man strode toward him. “James, thank you for seeing me on literally no notice. I need to speak with you privately. Is there a place we can go which is not on this floor?”
“Why not this floor?”
“Perhaps I am being paranoid, but I would prefer not speaking to you here. There is too much danger of being overheard.” Luthor clasped James’ hand and squeezed. “Please?”
James looked into Lex’ eyes and saw desperate fear, something he’d never thought to see in the man. “Very well. Dominique, do you have a suggestion?”
She frowned in thought for a moment, then nodded once. “The news floor conference room. It’s glassed-in but soundproof.”
Luthor sighed and released James’ hand. “That will do. Thank you.”
“Then let’s go.”
“A moment, please. Might we have your administrative assistant accompany us? I would appreciate having a witness to this conversation, and I have a deep-seated mistrust of reporters.”
James looked at Dominique and she nodded. James looked back to Luthor and said, “Sounds like a plan. Shall we?”
Luthor bit his lip and jerked his head down once. “Yes, please, as soon as possible.”
James tried to lead the trio to his personal elevator, but Luthor shook his head. “If I am correct about being tracked, I would rather that everyone on this floor know that I am no longer here. I would not want anyone here to become a target because I was not observed leaving that person’s work area.”
Dominique’s voice squeaked, “Target?”
Still speaking quietly, Luthor turned to her as they walked to the non-private elevator bank. “I apologize for being so melodramatic. I judge it to be a slight but distinct probability.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “You don’t want to put innocents you’ve never met in danger but you don’t mind exposing James to it?”
Luthor’s eyebrows lifted as he digested the secondary meaning of her words. James caught it too: she was more worried about his safety than her own. “I must apologize once again,” Luthor said after a long pause. “I was not aware that the two of you had entered into a relationship.”
Dominique led the trio into the elevator car and pressed the button for the news floor. “It’s really none of your concern, is it?”
“No, not directly,” answered Luthor, “but I like to keep up with my friends and business associates. Something in a man’s private life can have profound effects on his business life.” He spread his hands. “I offer my current circumstances and behavior as an example.”
James cleared his throat. “For what it’s worth, Lex, I’m of the opinion that it can have only a positive effect.” He glanced at Dominique. “A profoundly positive one.”
Her expression softened and she almost smiled at him. Luthor watched their exchange, then said, “For what it might be worth on my part, I assure you that I will not make this information a subject of common gossip. I might not even tell my wife.”
The doors slid open and James led them onto the news floor. “Just for the sake of having a cover story,” he said, “you’re here because I’m interviewing you over a new tech breakthrough your company has made and Dominique is here to take notes.”
Luthor smiled and clapped him on the shoulder. “I’m pleased to release this new information to you, James. I’m sure that having the Daily Planet publish this story will significantly increase LexTech’s bottom line.”
“I think so too. Let me tell the associate editor what’s going on.”
James strode confidently to the office next to Perry White’s old digs and knocked. When he heard a voice say, “Come in,” he opened the door and leaned in.
“Mike, I need to commandeer your conference room for an hour or so. Will that interfere with anything you—”
He stopped as Mike shot a glance at the other occupant of the office. The man stood and smiled. “Hello, Mr. Olsen. It appears that my original plan has been simplified.”
James frowned. “What plan?”
“I was going to convince Mike to lead me to your private office, but it seems that the reason for my being here has come to me instead. Let’s go out on the floor, shall we?”
“Why? And who are you?”
The strange man gestured to Mike to precede him with one hand, then brought the other from behind his back.
It held a black semi-automatic pistol.
“This is all you need to know. In my hand is a nine millimeter Glock 17, Mr. Olsen, and it holds seventeen rounds in the magazine. There are two spare magazines in my pocket. I already have one round in the chamber, and I’m fairly certain you’d rather I didn’t start blasting away indiscriminately at your staff. I want good old Mike here to evacuate the floor, except for you and Mr. Luthor and the attractive lady behind you who has seen my weapon.” He nodded to Mike and added, “I want you to do that right now, please.”
Mike looked at James, who nodded slowly. “Do as he says, Mike. Tell everyone that it’s an unscheduled fire drill, and try to sound bored when you say it. Just get everyone out of here now.”
Mike took a deep breath and blinked. “Yes, sir.” He pushed past James and called out, “Okay, everybody, fire drill, fire drill. Right now. Everybody down the stairs and out on the street, okay?”
A young woman called out, “Now? Aw, Mike, you’re freaking kidding me, right? I’m in the middle of something important!”
“No, Allison, I’m not kidding. If you’re still in the building four minutes from now you get suspended for a week without pay. Come on, everyone, it’s not my idea. I’m in the same boat as you.”
With groans and mutters, the staff exited the floor. Mike was the last one to enter the stairway, and he looked back at James as if trying to tell him something.
James shook his head and pointed. “Go on, get out of here,” he mouthed.
Mike stomped through the door and let it swing shut behind him. The man with the pistol smiled. “There, that wasn’t so bad, was it?”
Dominique slipped closer to James and angled her body in front of his. “I suppose you’ve got some kind of ransom demand?”
The man chuckled and shook his head. “Actually—”
The stairwell door opened and closed again. All four of them looked up to see a woman standing at the top of the handicap ramp, wearing an amazed expression.
The new arrival tilted her head and looked directly at the man with the Glock in his hand. “Lester?”
Lester’s jaw dropped. “Lois?”
