CHAPTER THREE
The relaxed atmosphere in the guest waiting lounge had evaporated with the stranger’s statement. Clark stiffened for a moment and then laughed, again attempting to mask his fears. “If I had a credit for every time someone confused me with my distant relative, I would be a rich man.”
Morgan’s dark eyes flashed. He tilted his head somewhat and said not unkindly, “Especially over the last six months? When Mr. Kent died his biography became common knowledge. He lead a fascinating life, if my memory serves me correctly, he was adopted. Came to Metropolis and started working for the Daily Planet. Wrote a number of rewarding winning stories and was shot and killed by Clyde Barrows but was brought back to life by Dr. Emil Hamilton by a technique of cloning which disappeared with Dr. Hamilton not shortly afterwards.”
Clark nodded “He did lead and incredible life!”
“Are you a member of his biological family? If so, why weren’t you at the funeral? For if you had been, your strong resemblance to the ‘late’ reporter definitely would have been remarked upon. Pardon my bluntness, but I suspect Jerome Clark didn’t exist until after his ‘relative’s’ untimely death.”
An involuntary shiver spiked through Clark’s body. Who was this stranger? With his clear British accent could he be the 21st century equivalent of Sherlock Holmes? “OK. What’s your game? I thought you were waiting for a lady?”
“True. I am. I apologize for being so blunt Mr. …Kent, but the Lois Lane I remember would not have taken up with a complete stranger so soon after her beloved husband’s death.”
Clark’s eyes narrowed, had the stranger - this Morgan - mentioned something he shouldn’t have? “The Lois Lane you remember? Are you someone from our past? Have you been renewed as well?”
Realizing his blunder, Henry took a step back and was about to say something when the door opened and Beverly Bartholomew stepped inside the lounge. She immediately sensed the tension in the room, looked at each man in turn, than cautiously said, “Dr. Morgan, Jo’s paper work has hit a slight snag - something about her late husband’s death certificate. She might be delayed for a half hour.” Turning to his companion she asked, “Excuse me, Mr. Clark?”
“Yes?”
“Dr. Amundsen wanted you to know, Lois Lane has completed her paperwork and then … um she is going to have a … ah meeting with Dr. Klein.” Dr. Bartholomew looked decidedly ill at ease. “She doesn’t expect you to wait much longer.”
An odd expression crossed Clark’s face; one that was a mixture of amusement and chagrin. After a surprise visit from an old friend last night he and Lois had talked about taking further measures to insure the secret remained secret – measures he had failed to discuss with Mercedes. “Oh boy. Thank you.”
When Dr. Bartholomew departed, it was Clark’s turn to smile and it was not a pretty one. “Dr. Henry Morgan? As in Special Investigator Jo Martinez-Morgan’s husband who worked with Inspector Bill Henderson and his White Collar crime unit? As I recall you were occasionally called in because of your remarkable abilities in the forensic sciences. Lois and I even spent some time in your laboratory at New Troy University while you helped us with forensic information on some of our stories.”
‘Ian’ sat down, took a nervous sip of his coffee and nodded, realizing he had been caught. It was not wise to match with someone who was something of a contemporary of his.
“Isn’t it odd for her to have a ‘close friend’ of the family who looks remarkably like her late husband, Henry? If I remember correctly, you liked good tea, but didn’t have any objections to drinking excellent coffee like this.”
Henry sighed. How could it be that after decades – no centuries of covering his tracks he had been caught up by his own cleverness?
“Touché. It appears we both have intriguing stories to relate. Since we are each waiting for a lady who is important in our lives perhaps it would be wise to do so as a way to pass the time.”
Clark nodded and extended his hand. “Then it’s best by starting with proper introductions. My name is Clark Jerome Kent.”
The other man put down his cup, slowly stood and grasped Clark’s hand.
“As you have surmised, Ian is not my first name; it is Henry, Dr. Henry Morgan, Joanna Martinez-Morgan’s husband.”
***
Jo Morgan felt like she was back at her old precinct, dealing with an interrogation. But instead of being the one asking the questions, she was under the gun. The stiff looking paralegal, Ms. Krebs, whose tightly coiled hair was the color of mud asked a series of questions. The woman had droned on for what seemed like hours about her legal status. Still, if this meant she could spend another hundred years enjoying life with Henry and her extended family it was worth it.
She allowed herself a tiny smile. No doubt Henry was quietly waiting in the Guest lounge drinking fresh coffee, eating a freshly baked scone and reading a book of poetry - probably Keats. Trust her husband to read a book rather than use a tablet. There were some habits he would never give up.
“Now, Ms. Morgan, we just need to clear up a few things. Your husband was killed in freak car accident?”
The word ‘freak’ caused her policewoman’s instincts to rise and suddenly the relaxed black wool turtleneck sweater Jo wore felt tight and itchy around her throat. “Yes, what does Henry’s death years ago have to do with now?”
“If you wish to marry again, legally we need to ascertain that the marriage is over. It saves S.T.A.R. Labs from punitive actions should there be any error to the paperwork. In your case it seems the copy of the death certificate has been … mislaid.”
Jo took a shallow breath and asked. “Again, that was years ago. How one piece of paper affect me now?”
Ms. Krebs blew out a breath and said gently. “Unfortunately, this is one of the many hurdles those who are renewed face. Imagine being renewed and you decide to marry again, but your ‘late’ husband suddenly appears. He’s an old man. You cannot marry unless you wait for him to die or divorce him. As a former police officer you can imagine the other legal problems that would occur!”
Jo’s lips quirked slightly; as she fought back the urge to keep from laughing. Instead she answered back with a pronounced Manhattan accent. “Rest assured Henry is not going to appear here as a wizened old man. The day his car went through that guardrail my life changed forever. I have no intention of being married to two men at the same time. Not that it’s legal … and the marriage to the first would be the only real one anyway, but you know what I mean.”
At that moment, Ms. Krebs’ tablet gave a tiny chime. She looked at it, tapped the screen, studied it for a moment and then smiled. “Aha! The document was located! It was misfiled in the Metropolis city archives. Once we have it couriered over and your signature is authenticated on the document, life can begin anew!”
“Couriered? Why not just download it to your tablet? I can look it over and leave.”
The paralegal wagged her finger. “Now, now we can’t have that! Remember what I said before? This whole process is annoying, but rest assured, you’ll be happy we covered all the bases …legally. Now while we wait for the death certificate … how many grandchildren to you have?”
Jo looked up at the ceiling and groaned out loud. Not caring that Krebs heard her. No matter what age she lived in lawyers and paperwork in triplicate was always going to be here! Having questions asked of her about Henry’s ‘death’ so many years after the fact had put her on edge like being in the middle of a back alley shootout at midnight. But with the location of an ancient piece of paper, once again Henry’s secret was safe. Now if she could just survive getting through this inquisition!
***
An equally nervous Ignatius Klein sat impassively at a perfectly neat wooden desk; every item from the coffee mug, computer and picture of his Irish Setter Caractacus was in its set location. The desk, bookshelves, rugs, pictures and ceiling lights were all additions made to the office, purchased with his own money after his father, Virgil Klein, had retired and handed the duties as the ‘Super family physician’ over to him.
Organization and neatness was how he kept his world and everything in it under precise control. Right now he felt anything but in control. Only minutes before Mercedes Amundsen, had departed making a dreadful day even worse. He should be in the lab, documenting experiments; instead of sitting in his office like some errant schoolboy waiting for the wife of his former patient to scold him.
As a young man he had been raised on stories of the young Superman and how his uncle had saved him on many occasions. He had been told of his wife’s deep love and fierce loyalty to her husband and family. That in years passed whenever the Man of Steel faced a crisis her intelligence and fierce courage was a big part of what carried them through. Uncle Bernie said many a villain was imprisoned because of that wonderful partnership.
He had never held much credence to that piece of the Superman history. In his entire association with Ms. Lane-Kent she always seemed like such a gracious old lady, waiting quietly whenever her husband came in for a check-up. So he had rigorously ignored the warning given to him by both his great uncle Bernie and father.
Over the years he had performed any number of medical examinations on members of the Kent family – those that were super. But during his apprenticeship, a chance to study CJ’s DNA had presented itself and ever since whether a member of the family had come in for the simplest of tests he took a hair follicle for further study. The renewal of the Kryptonian cell structure was incredible! Over the years he had amassed quite a collection, but he longed to have the golden opportunity for an in-depth examination of the Kryptonian DNA.
When the opportunity presented itself in the form of the patriarch’s apparent demise and then subsequent metamorphism, he was practically giddy with excitement. So much so he never went home, but slept fitfully on the couch, ready to see what happened the next day. All he wanted to do was study Superman’s enthralling genetic structure as it literally rewrote into a younger version of itself. He thought that by discovering how it was done he could improve on Dr. Amundsen’s Renewal Process. Maybe bask in the glory of having an in-depth article written in the Instellar Medical Journal. Perhaps earn some credits for himself rather than being known only as Superman’s ‘doctor’ or the relative of Bernard Klein. Why did the administrators feel the need to insult him bring in Dr. Bartholomew who was only a halfway decent geneticist?
He should have told Clark Kent Jr. that his father was still alive, but he didn’t want anyone barging in on his the work and ruining the observations by waking Superman up too soon. As it was, the man woke up anyway; cutting short his experiments. Unfortunately, his stupidity and arrogance had proved to be a huge miscalculation. Now he was on a verge of losing everything.
He was so deep in thought that the sound of the door opening and closing never reached his brain. Until he heard a voice that was now vibrant and young say, “Iggy?”
He groaned inwardly, how he hated that ubiquitous nickname! He looked up and instead of seeing a ‘gracious old lady’, before him stood Lois Lane-Kent and she was stunning. That was one thing his great uncle and father did not forget to mention.
The last time they had met Lois demanded and received every scrap of medical information regarding her husband and family. Even the stockpile of Kryptonite was in her possession. The Lane-Kent history rang true; she was indeed a formidable opponent. Now she stood in front of him, long dark hair pinned into an alluring upswept style, wearing a silver sleeveless dress which showed off her sculpted arms and figure. Draped over one arm was a classic camel-colored trench coat. The woman certainly knew how to enter a room and make a statement without uttering a word.
Despite his trepidation he could not help admiring her. Clark Kent was a fortunate man; imagine spending untold years with such a creature? Regrettably he, on the other hand, was worried. What did she want from him this time - his job at S.T.A.R. Labs?
Holding up his hand before she could speak, he said, “Don’t worry, Dr. Amundsen and I have spoken. I know Dr. Bartholomew will be taking over my position as your family’s physician.”
Lois shook her head slowly and gracious insinuated herself into the chair across from him without the slightest hint of arthritic pain. It was gratifying to see this beautiful woman moving with the grace and allure which only comes with maturity. Slowly, she folded her beautiful hands into her lap, fixed coolly appraising dark eyes upon him and spoke with words filled with compassion.
“I’m not here to argue or shout Iggy. Do you have a few minutes?”
Rattled by her change of tactics, he swallowed and said, “Yes, I’m free. What do you care to discuss?”
“You weren’t even born when Bernie Klein introduced himself to Clark. It was during the Bad Brain Johnson case. Johnson had threatened us both with death for leading the investigation that eventually landed him in prison.
Superman took me to a safe place to hide until Johnson could be apprehended.
Ignatius nodded slowly, “That entire story is in the case files. Mr. Johnson if I remember caused some ‘problems’.”
Lois looked up at the ceiling, made a tiny sigh, looked at her folded hands and said. “Yes there were ‘problems’. Tim and Amber Lake were a fantastically rich and spoiled couple who collected rare and unique things – especially things they had no right to. Like Superman and his ‘girlfriend’ Lois Lane.”
Confused, the scientist said, “But …but what has that to do with now? Mr. and Mrs. Lake died over twenty years ago.”
“Because I didn’t listen to Clark and stay safe in Smallville with his parents. Instead, I caught the first flight back to Metropolis and ‘ran into’ the Lakes. Tim pretended to be Johnson and ‘blew me up’. Clark was devastated. He actually watched my ‘execution’ while in the newsroom in the guise of Superman. According to Jimmy, he screamed and put a fist through the television monitor.”
He could hear her voice tighten and grow silence. Ignatius sat quietly looking at the palms of his hands as if something very important was there rather than witness the display of raw emotions playing over his visitor’s face. Obviously talking about the long ago event still brought pain.
A moment later she continued, once again under control. “We were locked up – prime specimens in the Lake’s private museum, along with the arms of Venus Di Milo and the original Magna Carta. We exchanged some very intimate words while in our separate display ‘cases’.
“That must have been a frightening experience.” He said blandly.
"Yes … yes it was. That experience more than any other drove home the fact that Clark and I are not ordinary people. So the normal rules don’t apply when it comes to protecting his secret. Sometimes we have gone to extraordinary lengths to keep that information safe. But no matter what obstacles faced us, we always trusted Bernie and following his death, your father to help us. But after the emotional upheaval you put all of us through last year, unfortunately; we can’t say the same about you.”
Ignatius spread his palms out over the desk and said in an exasperated tone, “Mrs. Lane-Kent …Lois. My reasons were explained to you before; I thought they were just and good. From that short period your husband was under observation substantial material was gathered about Kryptonian cellular regeneration! There was so much more we could have gleamed from the study of his DNA if we had been allowed to have him under controlled observation for a few more months!”
Lois rubbed her shoulders as if trying to ward off a chill, than spoke. “I’m not getting through to you am I? How could such a man like you be Bernie’s nephew? Back when we faced Bad Brain, the Lakes and other villains, it was just the two of us. But now, there are three generations of superheroes helping not just on Earth, but in the Solar System. When they face a medical crisis my family needs to be cared for by someone they trust, someone with empathy. Not someone who used a tragic situation to their advantage. I am very sorry, but it cannot be you.”
Underneath the folds of her trench coat Lois produced a petite silver boxlike device.
Curious, Ignatius eyed the apparatus. “What is that? An old-fashioned recorder?”
“No. It’s a memory device given to me recently by an old friend. Lex Luthor’s widow, Aykira Milan, someone who knows quite a bit about compassion. It is very selective; the only information erased from your memory will be Clark’s secret and who the other superheroes are. Believe me, I don’t want to do this, but it’s for your protection and ours.”
Before the startled Dr. Ignatius Klein could respond, she pressed a button and a cool green light enveloped him. Afterwards his perfectly organized office dissolved into blackness.
