Chapter 3
Two weeks passed.
After overhearing a snippet of conversation between Jimmy and one of his contemporaries at the Planet, Clark visited a store specialising in surveillance and other espionage equipment. The name ‘Spys-R-Us’ didn’t exactly inspire confidence, but he was pleasantly surprised by both the range of products they stocked and in the shop assistant’s knowledge. With their guidance, he invested in an expensive (and he suspected not entirely legal) gadget that was supposed to prevent bugs from working. It's high pitched whine was even more irritating than that of the bugs, at least to his ears, but if it stopped them from working, he’d put up with it.
Blocking the hidden microphones only worked for the first week. After that, he started to get the eerie sensation of being watched.
The Planet building and his apartment were the only places that seemed to be permanently clear of the watchers; once he went outside, the sensation returned. He could usually shake it for a couple of minutes at a time- for which he was grateful, as it made it possible for him to engage in Super activities, but it always returned. To make the surveillance even more galling, he could never spot the watchers.
***
Lex Luthor leaned back in his chair and puffed on his fine Cuban cigar. Darkness was settling over Metropolis; the day to day business of his legitimate enterprises had been settled, leaving only the running of the activities dearest to his heart to deal with.
“What’s the latest news from our little project?” he enquired, regarding Nigel through a cloud of tobacco smoke. “Do the equipment issues persist?”
“Intermittently, sir. And Mr. Kent seems to be… unusually difficult to pin down,” Nigel reported. “He frequently evades our surveillance, although none of our operatives can ever explain how.”
“So either he is indeed Superman, or he’s more intelligent than he appears,” Lex stated.
“Quite.”
“Still no proof?”
“None, sir.”
Luthor drew heavily on his cigar, his brow furrowed.
“We are running out of time, sir.” Nigel ventured. “The first shipment arrives in-“
“I am aware of the timetable,” Luthor snapped.
He fell silent again, filling the room with increasing clouds of blue smoke.
“There is one other matter,” Nigel stated.
Luthor jerked from his abstraction and regarded his most trusted employee.
“I received a call from Devane. He has the Kryptonite and is ready to make the delivery whenever we choose.”
Lex’s face creased into an evil grin.
“Well, let’s not keep him waiting.”
***
Lois watched her partner covertly. Clark Kent had always been a strange guy, prone to disappearing at odd moments without explanation, but lately, he’d gotten downright weird. His usual open, guileless expression had been replaced with a hunted look and he seemed to be constantly looking over his shoulder these days.
Something was going on.
Either he’d started to crack under the pressure of living and working in Metropolis, or there was something more sinister at play. Lois was more inclined to believe he was starting to crack- it was something she’d predicted from the day he’d hired on at the Planet, after all. Besides, the thought of Clark- of all people- being wrapped up in something illegal was laughable. He was a real law and order type with strong morals, despite his willingness to accompany her on some of her more furtive information gathering expeditions.
She swivelled her desk chair from side to side, thinking it over. No, there was no way he’d gotten caught up in something sinister. Which left the possibility of him falling apart from the stresses of the job. She sighed. She wasn’t naturally the nurturing type, but Clark was her friend- and as much as she hated to admit it, their writing together was much better than either of their writing separately. If she wanted to keep him in Metropolis, she’d have to find a way to help him cope.
***
The long black limousine pulled smoothly up to the kerb in a deserted, seedy area on the outskirts of Metropolis. Nigel St John emerged, carrying a sturdy briefcase.
The only light came from one lone flickering streetlamp 50 feet further down the block; in its dim light, he could just make out the burly figure of Devane, carrying a similar briefcase. They met in the middle of the vacant lot that had been designated as the rendezvous.
“The money?”
Nigel hefted the briefcase higher. “Five million, as asked.”
“Let me see it.” Devane reached for the case; Nigel swung it back out of reach.
“The Kryptonite?”
Devane laid his case on a convenient pile of the debris that lay scattered about the vacant lot, a remnant of some long-demolished building, and snapped the latches open. He lifted the lid to expose a fist-sized jagged chunk of crystal that pulsed with a sickly green light.
Nigel allowed himself a thin smile. Laying his case next to the one containing the Kryptonite, he opened it to reveal hundreds of $50 bills, all tightly banded into neat stacks. Before Devane could reach for the money, Nigel snapped the lid shut, barely missing the fingers of the younger man. He grabbed the handle of the case with the Kryptonite, closing the lid and swinging it upright in the same motion. With the other hand, he drew a silenced .45 automatic out of his suit jacket, levelling it at Devane’s heart.
“What’s this?”
“This… is an old-fashioned double cross.”
He fired two shots in quick succession, watching impassively as the gaunt-faced ex-CIA operative crumpled to the ground.
The scrunch of footsteps on the weedy gravel heralded Luthor’s appearance at his shoulder. The billionaire barely spared the corpse a glance before holding out a hand for the case Nigel held. Retrieving the case full of money, Nigel returned to the waiting limousine.
Resting the briefcase on his knees, Lex opened the lid and extracted the Kryptonite, admiring the toxic crystal.
“A perfect jewel. Rarer than diamonds, emeralds or rubies and infinitely more precious.” He replaced the stone in the case. “My Excalibur.”
He closed the lid of the case, cutting off the pulsing green glow that had filled the darkened interior of the limousine, and lapsed into thought. Several blocks passed by the luxurious vehicle’s tinted windows before he spoke.
“The first shipment is on schedule?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And we still have no conclusive proof of Superman’s identity?”
“No, sir.”
“Place a call to Clark Kent. Ask him to have Superman meet me at… say 10 am tomorrow. Tell him it concerns Lois Lane.”
“Very well, sir.”
***
Clark replaced the receiver slowly, eyeing it as if had suddenly grown fangs. While it wasn’t unusual for someone- usually Lois- to try and get him to find Superman for them, Lex Luthor was the last person he’d expect to receive a phone call from. His first instinct was to refuse. Although he still couldn’t prove it, he was certain that Luthor was behind most of the crime in the city. And as much as he hated to admit it, he was jealous.
He didn’t for a moment believe that Luthor was capable of caring for another human being, but Lois was. And he would give every single one of his powers to have her look at him, Clark, the way she’d looked at Luthor on the night they’d been held hostage at the Daily Planet.
If it wasn’t for the fact that Luthor’s message had mentioned Lois, he wouldn’t even consider going. But it had, and as it concerned her- if Lois was in trouble- could he really not go?
***
Having concocted an excuse to leave the office and avoided the watchers, Clark soared high above the city. It wasn’t quite 10 am, and he was still in two minds about meeting Luthor. Hovering over LexTower- really, did everything Luthor put his hand to have to bear his name? He scanned the penthouse suite below, looking for anything threatening or out of the ordinary. Seeing nothing out of place, he dropped lightly to the penthouse terrace.
Luthor spotted him and raised the door between his study and the terrace, getting out of his chair to greet him.
“Ah, Superman. Thank you for coming to see me.”
Clark raised an eyebrow and pointedly ignored Luthor’s outstretched hand.
“Clark Kent said you wanted to talk to me about Lois Lane.”
Luthor dropped his extended arm. “Well, I’ll admit to prevaricating a little. I assumed you wouldn’t respond to a request for a meeting simply because it was my request.”
“You’re right.”
“Well, I know you’re a busy man, as am I, so I’ll get to the point. I have a business proposition for you.”
Clark crossed his arms across his chest. “I have no interest in doing any kind of business with you, Luthor.”
Luthor dropped his cordial façade, his voice becoming silkily dangerous.
“Oh, but I think you will, Superman. Or should I call you Clark?”
