>>> from the journal of H. G. Wells
I am cold. So cold.
My machine is running out of power. I have barely enough reserve to move to a warmer clime, assuming it begins to function within the next few minutes. The batteries are nearly drained and I must try to – to – do – something, I cannot—
...
This may be my final entry. I am sorry for being such a silly ass.
>>>
It took Clark most of the day to get a special dispensation from the Italian government to go to Sicily and retrieve Lois’ kids, assuming he could find them. The associate diplomatic attaché in Berlin had tried to stall him, but Horst had managed to pull some strings and get around the officious and maddeningly stubborn Madame Meucci to her boss, who rubber-stamped the request and sent it up the line for official approval.
Horst kept assuring Clark that the Italian diplomats were moving faster than he’d ever seen them move, but to Clark the clock was ticking and he was ready to go.
He hoped that Lois didn’t divine any of Lucy’s suspicions. There was no predicting what she might do if she thought she was being pressured. But surely she wouldn’t risk her children’s safety by doing something stupid.
The emergency dispensation came in just after five o’clock that evening. Horst handed it to Clark and said, “This will be in effect for twenty-four hours, and it will not only enable you to legally search for the children, it will allow you to arrest anyone who tries to interfere with your mission. I urge you to depart now. Rodolfo may have ears in the Italian diplomatic corps, and I cannot predict his actions should he discover your intentions.”
Clark nodded. “Thank you, Horst. Please thank Mika and Victor for me. They were both most helpful. And please blame me for making you late for supper with your family.”
Horst smiled. “I shall do all those things, my friend. When this is all finished, please come back and let me know – quite unofficially, of course – the result of your endeavors.” Horst shook his hand firmly. “I wish you success and smooth flying.”
“Thanks. I think I’m going to need your good wishes.”
Horst held the handshake. “Wait – please, I must ask you a question, my friend.”
“I’m kind of in a time crunch here, Horst. Can this wait?”
“I think not.”
Clark sighed. “Fine. Go ahead.”
“What will you do with the children should you retrieve them today?”
“Well – um – ah – I don’t know.” He frowned. “Guess I haven’t thought that far ahead.”
“Perhaps I have a valid suggestion. If you find them tonight, or by early tomorrow, bring them to my home. Steffi and I will watch over them, quite unofficially and only as friends would watch over another friend’s children, until you know where they should be. And you will not have to worry about passports or official forms or awkward questions from the authorities and such.”
Clark smiled and shook his head. “You know, sometimes I wonder who’s the superhero and who’s the guy just learning how to walk and chew gum at the same time.” He tightened the handshake again. “You’re a genius.”
“I think not. I know that Steffi’s mother thinks not.”
They shared a laugh. “When I come back with the kids I’ll tell her she’s wrong. Thank you so much, my friend.” He stepped toward the door. “And now I have to go or Lucy will have my head.”
“One day soon we will all eat dinner together. And your Lucy may tell my Steffi and her mother that I am indeed a brilliant man.”
A quick call to Lucy’s apartment went unanswered, so he assumed that the two sisters were out on the town somewhere. They’d probably gone to lunch someplace to talk about Lucy’s newly discovered niece and nephew. Or, maybe they were shopping for new clothes for Lois. Given the current state of her wardrobe, she could use a new look.
*****
Clark flew over western Sicily, looking for small towns which didn’t fit the map he’d memorized. From six thousand feet, it was almost impossible for anyone on the ground to see him unless he happened to cross the sun’s face. So he kept to the east and scanned for signs to tell him where Lois’ kids might be.
He wished he could have gotten away from Horst’s clutches far sooner, but that was like wishing he actually understood women. Besides, it wasn’t Horst’s fault. You couldn’t get any government official anywhere to move faster or slower than his or her usual speed, irrespective of the urgency of the situation.
He hated to leave Lois back in Metropolis without letting her know what was going on, but everything would be fine if he brought the kids back. And the mission really was time-sensitive – if he could liberate her children, she could walk away from Rodolfo and begin a new life with them. Besides, he’d given her his word. His suspicions, as strong as they were, and his conclusions, logical as they might be, didn’t constitute proof, and he agreed with Lucy’s reasoning that Lois would remain quiet until Clark brought back her children.
He thought about what he’d told Lucy, that he thought he’d felt something between Lois and himself the previous night. It was the truth, he had felt some kind of link between them, but as he mulled over his feelings and reactions, he knew that whatever he’d felt had been but a shadow of what he’d felt when meeting the ‘other’ Lois. Even that tie, or bond, or link, or whatever it was, even as powerful as it had been, never felt quite right, never felt settled or smooth. The link with the ‘real’ Lois, the one who had suddenly appeared just days ago as if back from the dead, was tenuous, thin, old and worn, as if the person on the other end had almost faded out of existence.
Lucy, on the other hand, was real. She was alive. Whenever they were together his heart felt light and free. And he was sure she loved him.
He compared what he felt and knew about Lucy to what he felt with and knew about this Lois.
There was no real comparison.
He loved Lucy Lane.
And he’d have to do something about it when he returned home. Right now he had to find Lois’ kids—
And maybe he’d just hit paydirt.
There were eight or nine – no, eleven pre-school kids in the playground behind a house in one of the unmapped camps. He descended slowly and stretched out his arms to either side, which he knew made him look like a big bird to any ground observer without binoculars or a telescope. Two thousand feet was about the limit for that illusion to hold, so he stayed that high and tried to pick out Jean and Collette, and he was surprised when he recognized them so quickly and easily. Something in their mother’s face showed up in theirs and made them unmistakably hers. Of course, her sketching skills were outstanding, too.
He didn’t want to create a Superman incident, even with the diplomatic papers he now carried, so he dropped to the ground about two miles east of the camp and changed into civilian clothes, complete with his old glasses, a baseball cap, sneakers, water bottle, and an expensive camera. Maybe if he played the clueless American tourist he could get close enough to get the kids, get away, and not reveal his powers.
But he knew he’d get them in any case.
He walked through the thin woods, grumbling to himself about being lost and making as much noise as he thought an irritated and lost American tourist might make. It wasn’t long before he saw the edge of town below the setting sun.
He took a drink from his water bottle and started breathing more deeply as if he were close to being worn out. Before he’d gone another dozen steps, a man carrying a pistol under his shirt appeared out of the bushes not far from him and called out in what Clark assumed was Sicilian.
He stopped and lifted his hands to either side. “Sorry, I don’t speak Italian.”
The man grimaced and waved for Clark to come closer. “That was not Italian, sir, it was Sicilian. The Italian tongue is partially derived from the Sicilian language, not the other way around as most – Americans believe.”
He said ‘American’ as if it were a disfiguring disease, or perhaps a congenital deformity. A proud man, touchy and sensitive about his heritage. Clark could use that.
“Sorry again, mister. I got separated from my tour group. We were supposed to hike back to salami and—”
“Salemi,” the man growled, “not salami. The second is a food, the first is the town.”
Clark shrugged. “Sorry. Sounds the same to me. Anyway, I got separated when I had to – ah – go visit the little boy’s bush, you know what I mean? I needed some privacy. And when I got done, I was all alone. They walked off and left me! Can you believe that? Is this somewhere near salami?”
The man’s teeth clenched. “No, this is not near Salemi. You have walked west when you should have walked east. You are lost.”
“Huh. Well, I’m not lost now, cause you found me. Hey, if there’s a place to get something to eat up ahead and maybe some wine or even a phone, there’s five American dollars in it for you. How about that?”
The man’s expression told Clark he’d been accepted as a typically disgusting Yankee boor. “Come with me, American. We will try to find you a meal. With some wine.”
“And a phone. Don’t forget that.”
The man’s lips pressed together. “I will not forget.”
He turned and began walking without a backward glance, as if his unexpected guest could follow him or not, didn’t matter to him. “Thanks,” Clark drawled. “Hey, if this town isn’t – ah, Salemi, what is it?”
The man didn’t look at him. “It is none of your concern.”
“None of your concern, eh? Funny name for a town.”
The man stopped and looked over his shoulder. “Please refrain from trying to be humorous. You have not the skill.”
Clark blinked and smiled thinly. “Well, then, I guess I won’t quit my day job.”
The man started off again without replying. Oh, well, thought Clark, at least he thinks I’m harmless.
*****
Rodolfo watched as Emil escorted the goofy-looking American – there was no better way to describe him – up the street toward the cantina. He knew that his rocking chair and wide-brimmed hat made him look like the cliché version of any older Italian man taking his ease before dinner, so he wasn’t surprised when the American called out “Hey!” and stepped toward the porch with his camera raised. Before Emil could stop him, the shutter snapped and the man said “Gracias!”
The great fool, thought Rodolfo. He does not even know the difference between Italian and Spanish. And his Spanish accent was truly terrible.
Emil took the fool’s elbow and guided him toward the eatery, where Emil would surely arrange an unfortunate but now unavoidable mishap with his expensive camera. They could not allow even an idiot such as this one to have in his possession a clear photograph of Rodolfo. It was either the camera or the man’s life, and since broken cameras created far less paperwork for the police and required far fewer bribes to smooth any ruffled feathers, the choice was clear.
Rodolfo watched as the man slipped away from Emil quite deftly and began snapping pictures of the buildings on the street. He was also photographing some of the people in the camp, something which made Rodolfo lean forward in the chair. Emil turned and caught his eye, then made a scissors gesture with two fingers followed by the press of an invisible shutter release.
Good. Emil understood that the camera was not to survive this man’s visit.
As the two stepped up to the cantina’s entrance, the fool stopped and slipped Emil’s grip once again, then ran around the corner of the building. Rodolfo blinked, thinking that he’d missed something. No one could move that fast, and no one could get that far away from Emil without pushing him back first.
But Emil just stood in his tracks for a moment before running around the building to retrieve his charge. Rodolfo wondered what the man might have heard or seen—
The children.
He had heard the children at play and now he wants to photograph them.
The fool was making it harder for Rodolfo to let him live. Perhaps the man’s death from a broken neck suffered when he fell from a height on a rocky slope would take care of him and not draw too much attention to the camp.
Rodolfo was considering which ravine to dump the body in when he heard two shots fired from behind the cantina.
He leaped to his feet and followed Emil’s path. A moment later he was standing next to Emil, looking around for the dead fool.
The dead fool was not on the ground before him.
“Emil, what happened? Where is the body?”
The other children and the two older women who were watching them were all sprawled out with their faces down on the ground. The little ones had been trained from the time each one began to walk that when someone discharged a weapon the child must lay flat on the ground. Rodolfo decided that after this situation was resolved, he would be mildly pleased that this part of their training had taken hold. A treat of some kind would be in store for them.
But not now. Not yet.
“Emil! I asked you – what are you looking at?”
Emil pointed to the sky with his pistol and did not speak.
Rodolfo lowered his voice and slowly stepped closer. “Emil, my old friend, please tell me what has taken place. Why did you fire your weapon?”
Emil shook himself as if coming back to his body from a far place. He blinked several times and slowly said, “The man – he called to the children. He took two of them and – and went away.”
Still speaking quietly, Rodolfo said, “Is that why you shot at him?”
“Ah – yes, that is why.” Emil pointed to a spot on the ground not far in front of them. “He knelt down right there and picked them up.”
“Which children did he take? Do you know?”
“Y-yes. He took – he took Lois Lane’s children.”
Rodolfo’s eyes widened. “What? How did he know which ones to take?”
“They ran to him.”
“RAN to him?” demanded Rodolfo.
Emil flinched and blinked again. “Yes. He called their names and said – he said that Puff the Magic Dragon had sent him to take them to their mother and the girl took the boy’s hand and they ran to him and he knelt down to receive them.”
Rodolfo stepped forward and pointed at a disturbance in the dirt. “There? The man knelt there?” Emil nodded. “And you missed a target that close to you?”
“Oh – oh, no. I did not miss, Rodolfo. I shot him twice. In the back.”
“Then where is he?”
Emil pointed the barrel of his revolver at the sky again. “He went to the heavens.”
“You mean you killed him and he went to heaven?”
“No. I shot him and he picked up the children and turned to look at me for a moment over his glasses. He seemed angry. Then he – he flew away.” Emil lifted his revolver again. “I tried to shoot again but I could not. My pistol would not fire.”
“What?” Rodolfo gently took the weapon from Emil’s slack hand and examined it closely. He tried to pull back the hammer but it refused to move. He pointed it up at the sky and tried to pull the trigger. Same result.
He looked closely at the cylinder and—
It was not possible.
No one could do this.
The metal of the front of the cylinder and the metal of the frame were fused together as if they had been heated and melted by a tiny welding torch. The Colt Python .357 Magnum revolver was now a kilo of scrap metal.
Rodolfo stared at the pistol for a long moment, then realized what had to have taken place. They had finally been found out. The authorities – or perhaps La Cosa Nostra, or another of his business rivals – had tired of waiting for him to make a mistake and had sent the one man he feared most to find him.
They had sent the Superman from Metropolis to kill him.
The realization took his breath away – but only for a moment. He spun around and shouted, “Emergency evacuation! Pass the word! Take only your survival bags! Find your evacuation partner and go! Go-go-go-go!”
He turned around to shout at the women minding the children, but almost swallowed his tongue when he saw the idiot American in front of him. Only he didn’t look like an idiot now. He looked like an angry underwear model with huge muscles and a sneer on his lip.
The man grabbed Rodolfo’s belt buckle and shirt front and snarled, “You’re coming with me.”
Then they rocketed into the sky.
Rodolfo fainted before he could vomit.
*****
Clark dropped Rodolfo off at the Caribrini office in Messina, the Italian national police force working with Interpol, and asked them to contact Horst Müller in Hamburg. He was lucky, because the officer in charge of the office was one of the truly honest ones, and he also knew Horst by reputation. Clark stayed there long enough to be sure that Rodolfo wouldn’t wiggle free any time soon, then briefly dropped in to Horst’s home to see that Lois’ kids were playing with Fritzi under Steffi’s watchful eyes.
It was time to let Lois know what was going on. An overseas call, even over his cell phone, would have taken too long, so he didn’t bother with it.
Crossing the Atlantic from Germany was fairly simple. He just checked for aircraft overhead, shot up to about 65,000 feet, and headed west toward Metropolis. He was looking forward to the thank-you hug Lois was sure to give him.
And he was hoping for an even bigger hug from Lucy.
Still smiling, he flashed through Lucy’s open window and closed it behind him. Before he could call out for anyone, though, he smelled the blood.
It wasn’t fresh blood, either. That alone alarmed him.
He immediately swept the apartment for a victim and gasped when he found Lucy lying face down on the floor, her head and arm covered with blood.
In an instant he was beside her.
No, he thought, no! Please, God, no!
He touched Lucy’s back, expecting to feel cold flesh.
It was warm.
He looked again at the wound. Blood was still seeping out of it.
But that meant – her heart was still beating!
He listened and heard her heartbeat. Then he steeled himself – knowing that Lucy had to be barely clinging to life – and looked inside her head for the bullet that he knew from experience had to be there.
But it wasn’t there.
She hadn’t been shot in the back of the head. She’d been slugged just behind and below her left ear with something hard and unyielding, maybe a pistol butt or a piece of pipe. He checked her skull and didn’t find any broken bones, so he reached down to pick her up.
Then he stopped and flitted to the window, then reopened it and secured the drapes to either side. In an instant, he was airborne with his precious cargo.
He landed at Met General in front of the emergency room entrance and pushed the doors open with his breath. “Head injury!” he called out. “Blunt force trauma to the skull, patient is breathing shallowly with thin but steady pulse but is unresponsive. She’s lost a lot of blood. I need help right now!”
Hold on, Lucy, he thought at her. You have to hold on. You have to get better.
You just have to.
I’m not going anywhere.
