Revenge of Kingpin

by Stephensmat

Another in the SpidermanShadow series. Mysterious explosions rock New York. Spiderman and the Shadow begin to track the bomber, leading them against the Crime Lord himself!

Revenge of the Kingpin

Chapter 1

Since Peter Parker had first put on the mask of Spiderman, and teamed up with his best friend and partner Stephen Cranston, a.k.a. The Shadow, he had seen a lot of disturbing things.  But never had he seen anything quite as weird as Stephen--who spent most of his time being professionally sinister--being in such a good mood that he was almost singing.

They were sitting in The Sanctum, The Shadow's private headquarters, both of them hovering over a large elaborate chess set.  That was a strange situation in and of itself; Peter never understood how he could get into The Sanctum when he was with The Shadow but on his own he could never find it.  Stephen was humming some tune from a good movie.  Peter didn't bother to ask why his partner was in such a good mood; he was in a good mood too. They would be boarding a plane later that day, and going on a holiday to Tibet and then Hawaii. They were going to Tibet, because that was where the original Shadow had learnt his superhero trade, and Stephen wanted to make a sort of pilgrimage. And then they were going to Hawaii because Peter thought that after being in the Himalayans, he would need to thaw out.

In the 2 years since the men had become "Guardians of Justice", as Peter was fond of saying when giving a speech on the greatness of what they did, neither of them had left the city for a vacation. And when the safety of the human race depended on them every week, as Stephen was fond of saying when giving a speech on the greatness of what they did, it can get to be a little much.

And so the duo was leaving New York for a month, and to make sure that they were taking an actual vacation, they were leaving their costumes in the Sanctum. And nobody on the planet ever looked forward to a vacation like Stephen did.

Peter moved a knight forward and placed Stephen in check. Stephen looked surprised; Peter thought for a moment that he might win. Stephen was the best strategist he knew, he had to be when planning strategies against criminals, and was almost always 3 steps ahead of everyone else. This made him a considerable challenger at Chess. But this time he thought he had victory within reach.

Stephen moved a rook and took the knight. Checkmate.

"Damn," said Peter. He looked back at the move list that the 2 had started keeping when playing long games. Peter looked at his opponent and tried to decide whether to ask a question about chess strategy or to try and wipe the smug look off his partners face.

But before he could decide, a large clock against one wall of the underground hideaway suddenly chimed. 3 o'clock. A look of pure joy crossed Stephen's face.  "Time to leave for the airport," he said.

The men stood and headed for the staircase that would take them back to the city. They were halfway up the spiral staircase when suddenly the room shook slightly.

"What the hell was that?" asked Peter.

"It had better not be something that will delay our vacation," said Stephen.

"Must have been an earthquake."

"Can't have been strong if we barely felt it underground."

"True. Let's go."

Barely had they started moving up the staircase again when both their rings started to glow. Girasol rings, worn by the Shadow and all his agents as identification and a signal. As the jewels glowed a buzzer sounded. Burbank, the Shadow's contact man for his agents, was trying to contact the Shadow.

"Arrrrrgh," growled Stephen in frustration.

Peter laughed at his own despair and led the way back down the stairs.

Stephen went from overjoyed to raging mad in seconds and marched over to the radio speaker. Sitting in an enormous chair he hit a button below the speaker. Peter silently watched his partner clear his throat and begin to speak. When he spoke it was in a sinister commanding voice that demanded compliance. It was the voice of The Shadow.  "Report," said Stephen.

"Our agent at 32nd and Broadway reports an explosion. That's all so far," replied Burbank.

Stephen muted the radio quickly and said to his partner, "That's just a few blocks from here."

"That was no earthquake then," said Peter, already heading for the costume locker.

"Get down there and see if you can help! I'll join you soon."

Seconds later Spiderman was racing up the stairs, and the buzzer was sounding again.  "Go on, Burbank," ordered Stephen.

"The first explosion was at a subway station…"

"The first explosion?" interrupted Stephen.

"Yes, sir, I just received reports of 2 more blasts--one at the main New York Classic offices and the other at the docks."

Stephen absorbed this information in moments. He thought miserably for 2 seconds about the vacation he was supposed to be leaving on now, and suddenly his brain was moving again.  "O.K., pay attention, Burbank, because I'm only gonna say this once," he ordered in a crisp and rapid tone. "Get every single one of our agents in the underworld, police, media, public services and bomb squad together and tell them to organise themselves into 5 groups. The first will search the wreckage for bomb debris. Tell them to find out what kind of bombs these were and even better, where they came from. The second group will look at the locations and try to find out if there is a connection between them, political statement, specific targets. Anything. The third group will look at the people killed and look for relationships, similarities, and acquaintances, anything that links them together. The fourth group will check out the criminal element in this town and try to find motives or recent crime lord activity. The fifth group will look at accidental causes. Equipment failure things like that. I don't believe for a moment that three explosions all at once is an accident but we have to cover all options. Understand?"

"Yes sir. That will take a while, though."

"Then don't waste time talking to me, Burbank."  With that, Stephen cut the connection and put on the Shadow costume.

Leaving the Sanctum, The Shadow headed out to meet his partner. He was seething. His first vacation in 2 years was over before it began. Whoever did this was going to pay.

Chapter 2

There was just something inherently unusual about talking to an upside down man.

So thought The Shadow as he stood in the darkness of a now-quiet subway tunnel, examining the small piece of evidence Spiderman had artfully snatched from the scene of the explosion just a few yards away from them.  Spiderman was sitting in a crouch upside down against the roof of the tunnel, looking as comfortable in that position as a Tibetan priest in the lotus position on his altar.  The Shadow let a light hypnotic suggestion drift through the tunnel that the police should stay far away, which would give them at least a few moments peace and quiet.  "Interesting little piece of electronics," he remarked.

"Isn't it, though?" Spiderman responded.  "Cost somebody a lot of money.  Russian technology doesn't come cheap even these days."

The Shadow turned the small remnants of what was probably a detonator over and looked carefully at it from several different angles.  "How many hands do you think it passed through before it got here?"

"My guess?  Not that many.  Looks recent.  Circuits are really small and tight.  That kind of circuitry's maybe five years old."

"Hm-m."  The Shadow's voice went quiet, but Spiderman could still almost hear the thoughts spinning around as his partner tried to find the picture on the puzzle box.  "Suspects?"

"I don't know.  Lot of crazy people in New York.  Some even crazy enough to do this.  But three bombs tells me whoever masterminded this thing is serious.  This wasn't meant for some kind of political statement or publicity grab; somebody was trying to kill people."

The Shadow grimaced as he remembered the sights that greeted them when they first arrived.  "They succeeded."

"Yeah, but it could have been worse.  An hour later and this place would have been packed with commuters."

"Maybe that was part of the plan."

Spiderman thought about it for a minute.  "Big enough to get somebody's attention, big enough to actually cause some damage, but not so big that it would create a passionate defensive reaction or huge public outcry.  Clever."

The Shadow handed the device back to his partner.  "We need this tested for residue.  Might tell us whether it was fuelled by domestic or imported explosives."

Spiderman nodded.  "I'll gently drop it in front of one of our agents."

"Good.  Meanwhile, I think I'll take a walk down the tunnel.  Maybe see if there are any more surprises waiting.  Meet me at the next station down the line."

Spiderman nodded again, and the two men departed company.

***

Spiderman had given the detonator to a seemingly ordinary businessman as he walked down the street. The man was wearing a bright Girasol ring on his right hand. Nobody other than the secret fraternity of the Shadow's agents knew this, but that man spent his days walking calmly all over the city until given a package, message, or instruction from another agent. Attached to the detonator was a small sheet of paper. The man read it casually as he walked and turned left at the next corner.

Spiderman grinned beneath his mask. The Shadow communication ring was working its magic once again. He swung to meet his partner.

***

Joe Cardona was about ready to shoot the next person to come through his door.

Commissioner Weston had decided to lock himself in his office and to let Cardona handle all the inquiries to the explosions. There were a LOT of inquiries. So many in fact that Cardona had put a piece of paper with the police statement about the blasts on the inquiries counter near his door.

Despite this, several people came forward, most of them nuts who said that they believed that dead people had warned them in their sleep about the bombs, or that aliens had planted them and other such insightful comments. Cardona always knew that there were crazy people in NYC. But why did they have to come in that door?

As he sat at his desk, trying to write a report, his glowing ring, clinking against his coffee cup, another man came in. Cardona pointedly tried to ignore him but the man leaned on the desk and rested his head in his hands.

"The sun is shining," said the man without preamble.

Cardona sat up and looked toward the man quickly. Sure enough, the signature ring was on his hand. He got up and went over to the man at once, saying, "But the ice is slippery."

The man slid a small piece of equipment across the table to Cardona. It was badly scorched but still recognisable as a detonator of some kind. "This is from this morning's tunnel blast. The boss wants to know what kind of explosive it was used for."

Cardona nodded.  "He'll have it within the day."

The man left without another word. Cardona headed for the forensics lab.

***

The Shadow was comfortable in the dark stone tunnels. Nobody could have found him if they even suspected he was there. With his form moving invisibly down the tracks, and his senses alive, searching the walls and track for more devices, he considered what had happened so far. He had very little info to go on, so he found himself replaying something his partner had said to him 3 days ago.

"Let's go on the next flight. It'll be cheaper than this one," whispered The Shadow inaudibly to the empty tunnel.  Cheaper! Between the 2 of them, Stephen and Peter had more money than anyone in the city not name Rockefeller or Gates. First vacation in 2 years.  The Shadow felt his blood begin to boil. Taking yet another focusing breath, he tried to work the current problem.

As his mind wandered from the task at hand, he thought he heard something up ahead. Coming to the turn in the track he found he was right. Years of stalking the dark had given him eyes like an owl and ears like a bat. A man was pushing a small package into a hollow beneath the rail junction. After this morning, it wasn't hard to guess what the package was. The sibilant laugh coming from his lips, he swept toward the man.

Chapter 3

The man crouching next to the rails looked up at the sound of the laugh.  His eyes were hidden behind silver-green goggle-like glasses, and it only took him a second to pick out its source.  He flicked out a switchblade and took a swing right at the swirling darkness in front of him.

Were it not for cat-like reflexes honed by years of training and experience, The Shadow would have been sliced by the lunging knife-wielder.  As it was, the blade caught the edge of his cloak and snagged, enabling The Shadow to rip it out of his opponent's hand.  He put aside a moment of puzzlement as to why the man wasn't fooled by his mind-clouding suggestion and knocked him backwards with a right hook.

The man stumbled and fell.

The Shadow swept toward him once more.

The man hooked his leg around The Shadow's as he stepped closer.

The unexpected motion caught The Shadow off-guard, and he lost his balance and fell to the ground.

The man got to his feet and scrambled away.

The Shadow grabbed at him and caught his ankle, but his fingers lost their grasp, and the thug climbed up onto the platform and took off running for the stairs.

That was when Spiderman swooped down toward him, swinging on a line and practically flying down the stairs, shooting a web to snare the escaping hoodlum.

The web hit right on target, but fell away as the man ran up the opposite set of stairs.

"What the…"  Spiderman fired another web.

The web clung to his prey for only a second before he was able to shake it off and continue his scramble up the stairs.

Movement in the darkness got Spiderman's attention.  "You O.K.?" he called to his partner.

"I'm fine—get after him!"

Spiderman leapt onto the wall and scrambled quickly up the stairwell.

The Shadow looked over at the bomb, wedged under the rail.  Wires were wrapped around the rail, clearly intended as triggers once the train ran over them and cut them.  He quickly checked the bomb over, trying to determine if it had been armed yet.

Fortunately, it hadn't.  He'd apparently interrupted the man just before he'd connected the last circuit.  He fished through his pockets and pulled out his Leatherman all-purpose tool, using the wire cutters to snip the remaining wires to free the bomb and pulled it out from underneath the rail.

It was a small, compact box, with a simple timer, a tightly packed circuit board, and probably a nasty patch of plastic explosives packed into its small smoked glass case.  A valuable clue in this investigation, one that needed careful evaluation.  He slipped it into his pocket and headed over to the platform.

A gloved hand closed around his arm and pulled him up.

The Shadow started to reach for his gun with his free hand before he recognized the masked man in front of him.  "One of these days I'm not going to recognize you in time and blow your head off."

"Yeah, bet you say that to all the superheroes."  Spiderman spotted the knife still dangling from an edge of The Shadow's cloak.  "You O.K.?"

The Shadow pulled the knife from the hem.  "My ego's more bruised than my body.  Did you get our man?"

Spiderman shook his head.  "By the time I got topside, he'd caught a cab or something and disappeared.  What the Hell was that all about?  I webbed him twice and he shrugged it off."

"Teflon clothes.  My hand slipped off his ankle when I went to grab him.  He had some kind of infrared goggles, too.  That's how he saw me.  Hard to fool somebody's eyes when they're not looking at you, but a computerized interpretation of your image."

Spiderman drew back slightly.  "You realize what you're saying, right?  You're saying he was outfitted to thwart both of us."

"Which means he's working for somebody who knows we work together."

"That narrows the list of suspects."

The Shadow pulled the box out of his pocket.  "This might narrow it more."

Spiderman took the box and looked at it.  "Glass.  Impressive.  If the explosives don't get you, the glass shards will."

"Just like the first hand grenades.  The blast wasn't as deadly as the flying glass was."

"Taking bets on whether the circuit board matches our earlier find?"

"I don't take sucker bets."  The Shadow pocketed the bomb again.  "By the time we get topside, Shrevnitz should be waiting for us."

Spiderman gestured up the stairs.  "Lead on, MacDuff."

"Don't call me that."

Chapter 4

Burbank had been busy. He was used to functioning with little sleep, but the last 2 days had stretched him thin, not by length of time, but by a huge workload. Reports kept coming in. He had to sift through them and send the relevant information to The Shadow. The next reports went through the tubes toward The Shadow.

***

"I love this job," Stephen said sarcastically to no one in particular.

The Shadow too, had been busy, locked in the Sanctum, Spiderman patrolling the streets.  Stephen yawned, looked at the umpteenth sheet of paper Burbank had sent him, then up at the chalkboard, with the endless options and notes that he had made. He went over it once again. No similarities between the places, except that they were common places for people to be. So the target was people. But the blasts were carefully timed to occur when the targets were not so busy—dock activity had wound down, most of the Classic's reporters were out on assignment, the subway hadn't yet ramped up for evening commute.  So the goal was to say something. Say what? To whom?

Then he considered the next clue. Teflon Man. An opponent specifically trained and outfitted to be ready for the Duo. That troubled him. Someone had been planning to fight them. So someone was trying to talk to them. And say what? If whoever it was knew where to find them, why so much scattering in the targets? So they did not know where the heroes were. But someone was trying to get their attention. Well, they had it. Back to the point, WHO?

A slight hiss brought his attention back to the pneumatic tube, which led to Burbank. That tube was running hot all day. Maybe this would be it.

It was.

Stephen looked at the brief note from Cardona: Detonator only effective with rare Trinitron explosives. Very rare, only a few suppliers. Do not have clearance for such information. Archives can be found at the hard copy vaults in the National Guard complex 3 miles west of NY.

Stephen smiled and stretched his aches. Sitting hunched over an endless array of notes for 3 hours had given him one hell of a headache. Letting out a breath, he signalled for Moe, and for Spiderman.

"I love this job!" he said again, not sarcastically this time, and reached for the costume locker.

***

Moe took them to the edge of the city. Once there, the 2 masked men switched to a decidedly, meaner looking mode of transport. It was a lean sports car, jet black, sleek and powerful. The kind of car you would see in a James Bond movie, it had more gadgets than a Swiss army knife.

As the powerful machine ate up the distance, The Shadow told Spiderman where they were going and why they were going there.

"So the archive room has information on who bought the explosives, and we are going to find those records," said Spiderman.

"Right," came the voice, that raspy, echoing voice that swirled in from everywhere and nowhere at once.  It was creepy how he could do it even in the tight interior of a car like this.

Half a mile from the perimeter, they hid the car.  Night was falling and the patrols were heavy. It took the heroes no time at all to get through. Silent shadows and shapes slid and scurried along the walls and ceilings. The Shadow led the way around the guards and into the huge armored doorway of the archive room.

The archive room was a huge vault room. Each wall was covered in large safes, full of files and folders. The door, left open, was VERY armored. The Shadow started reading the labels on the individual vaults.

"Guess they're not worried about people swiping old moldy papers," remarked Spiderman.

The Shadow nodded and moved to the appropriate vault. Kneeling, he took out his safe cracking equipment and got to work on the lock. In about 3 minutes, the heavy lock clicked open. Pulling the door open, The Shadow pulled out the correct files. "O.K., let's get out of here."

Spiderman nodded. They moved swiftly for the door. But the huge vault door swung shut with a loud clang and locked itself. The 2 men were now facing a solid wall.

"Um…now what?" Spiderman asked.

"Look around. There is always a key card or something, just in case someone gets locked in accidentally."

Spiderman started to say something, but another voice spoke. It was a recording from a small tape player, sitting on the floor next to a metal box that had a sealed lid and a small square handle sticking up.

"Good evening, gentlemen," said a man's voice.

The two men looked at each other at the sound of that all-too-familiar voice.  Neither needed to say aloud who it was.  They both knew instantly.

"You are right on time," the voice on the tape continued.  "I do apologize for having to do this, but you have been a thorn in my side for far too long. And I cannot let you get in my way this time. I also regret that it took the death of innocents to get you here."

"He's all heart," remarked Spiderman.

"Just so you know, you will not leave this room alive," continued the voice. "The door, ceiling, walls and floor are solid steel, unbreakable by your considerable strength and your weaponry. I would not recommend using automatics. Ricochets are dangerous. Now, you are correct if you think that there must be a second key card in the room. It's in the metal case next to the recorder. But I warn you; the box is also full of VERY powerful explosives. And it is vibration sensitive, so don't touch and you'd better walk lightly. In case Spiderman's webbing could smother a blast, the box has been treated with a chemical that dissolves the webbing solution."

"Clever fellow, isn't he?"  The Shadow's eyes danced around the room, looking for a way out that Kingpin hadn't already thought of.

"Now, I also know that someone may find you eventually, so I will be pumping toxic gases into the room. And on the off chance that your masks can work as breath filters, I will also be pumping all the air out. And yes, the room is airtight. Once again I apologize, but you should have kept out of my business."

The voice fell silent, leaving the 2 men staring at each other.

"Yep, I just LO-O-OVE this job."

Chapter 5

The men had been sitting in the vault for 10 minutes. It was getting harder to breathe.  Each was losing the ability to concentrate clearly.

Suddenly, The Shadow snapped his fingers. He had the solution.

A few brief seconds of silent conversation later, so did Spiderman.  He nodded his head, then shot a web loop up against the ceiling.  Then he spun a second web for The Shadow, this one a long, strong rope.

The Shadow took the web, made a loop on one end, and snapped up the tape player.

Spiderman emptied out 2 of the large vaults, and The Shadow pulled out the tape. While Spiderman checked the room inside the vaults, The Shadow broke the cassette in half and pulled out the tape. Carefully, he looped one end of the tape through the handle of the metal box, and the other through the 2 web loops. Both of them crawled into the vaults and Spiderman shut his. The Shadow pulled the tape and the web rope slowly. The box, lifted by the tape-like rope and being directed by the web line on the tape, gently lifted up. The loop stuck on the ceiling worked to turn the tape into a pulley. The Shadow pulled the web line carefully. The webbing pulled the tape, and the box began to swing, toward the door.

Giving the web a final smooth pull, The Shadow pulled the door to the safe shut. He did not see the box swing into the vault door, but he felt the explosion vibrating through the floor. The vibrations ceased and The Shadow and Spiderman forced their safes open. Fire was spreading through the records, the smoke alarms were screaming.

And, most importantly, the metal key card was now lying on the floor, blown free of its container.

In the chaos, it was easy to slip past the rushing guards. The 2 men were back in their powerful machine in a few minutes. Drained, but triumphant, they glanced at the records as they roared their way toward the distant skyline of NYC.

"I love this job!"

***

"What do you mean, they got away?" Kingpin snapped angrily.

The minion, a well-paid infiltrator of the police department who was normally brave and tough in the execution of his duties, looked uneasy as he conveyed the news of the explosion at the armory.  "I don't know how they did it, but we found pieces of webbing at the scene, and several floor safes had been broken into.  We think they must have used floor safes as shields and somehow rigged something to trigger the explosions without getting hurt.  There's no blood, and no evidence of them left at the scene."

"Anything missing?"  He barely suppressed a growl.  "Anything other than our two annoyances, that is?"

"Hard to tell.  There was a fire in the vault, and many of the papers in the floor safes that they tossed aside were damaged."

"But those floor safes themselves are fireproof."

"I believe so, sir."

"Of course they are.  That's why they used them as shields."  He took a swig of the mixed drink he was savouring before this interruption.  "We have to assume now that they've got a nice pile of records to go through.  Which means we have assume that much of our cover either already is or will soon be compromised."  He clicked an intercom.  "Tell Anton to pay a visit to the professor."

"The Professor? Not the Doctor?"

"Yes."

"Yes, sir," the voice over the intercom responded.

Kingpin looked at the man across the desk.  "Don't you have things to do?"

The officer knew what his next part in this plan was supposed to be, but there were other things that should happen first, or so he thought…"Now?"

"We have to accelerate the timetable.  If we don't, those two pests will regain the step we've managed to put them behind thus far."

"But I doubt the committee is ready to meet this time of night…"

"Then you'll just have to find some other pretence to get them together, won't you?"

With a wince and a heavy sigh, the man gave a nod and left.

***

"This hunk of play-doh really gets around."

Stephen looked up from the papers he was studying at Peter's pronouncement.  "What?"

"Listen to this."  Peter flipped back a page in the document he was examining.  "TRINITRON explosives, first developed by an East German scientist in the late 1970s named Gunther Kraus, now a Physics professor at Columbia.  Kraus defected in 1980, ended up in Israel working for the Israeli government in an 'advisory' capacity, went back to Germany after the wall fell, and came here in 1993 at the request of the U.S. government as an 'advisor' on the World Trade Center bombing that same year."  He looked up.  "Lots of opportunities along the way for a chunk of plastic to get lost."

"Or get re-engineered."  Stephen examined his own pile of notes from the armory.  "Pretty sophisticated stuff.  Extremely malleable when newly made, but gets brittle and highly reactive to electricity when it dries.  Best used when stuck in a concealed bomb somewhere, where it sits quietly and hardens.  Then an electric charge sparks it, and 'kaboom'."

"So our three bombs could have been there for days."

Stephen nodded.  "And apparently it doesn't take much of this stuff to pack a punch.  The bomb I found had maybe a couple of ounces of still-gooey plastic in it."

"Just waiting for the police to reopen the subway tracks."

"Where the first train to roll over it would cut the wires and set off the spark."  He looked thoughtful.  "We're still missing pieces of this whole thing.  Back to Journalism 101.  Who, what, where, when, why, and how?"

"'Who' is clearly Kingpin."

"But is he working alone?  Has he maybe hired a physics consultant recently?"

"Or did he procure the good professor's research?"

"You're forgetting Teflon Man."

"I didn't forget him.  But while you're procuring one piece of a physicist's work, you might see if he's got anything else you can use--like non-stick fabric or night vision goggles.  Remember, the good professor's a former military consultant."

"Point taken.  But however Kingpin got this knowledge, did he get it from a willing participant?"

"We need to find out."  Peter flipped through the paperwork.  "Don't see a current address.  There a phonebook down here?"

Stephen gestured over his shoulder toward the radio console.  "O.K., still questions about 'Who'.  What about 'What'?"

Peter got up to look for the phonebook.  "I'd think four bombs and three explosions would make 'What' pretty obvious."

"No, that's 'How'.  Unless Kingpin is slipping, he's got a much bigger plan than just getting our attention with a few explosions in mind."

"O.K., so still no clear 'What'.  Which means we don't know the full 'Where' yet, either."

"Or the 'When'".

"Or even the 'Why'."  Peter skimmed the phonebook.  "Not listed."  He slammed the phonebook down in frustration.

"Easy.  That's an antique desk."  Stephen got up and with a gentle but firm grip eased Peter back from the console, then sat down at his console and pushed a few buttons.  "Burbank," he announced into the microphone.

A slight buzzing from the speaker, noise from a chair moving closer to a remote desk, then an answer.  "Yes?"

"I need information.  Find out any details you can about any political activity or conference going on this week in the city.  Any world leaders due in, any new ambassadors at the U.N., any dinner reservation made by some visiting dignitary, I want it."

"That could take a while."

"Then get started."  He reached to turn the microphone off, then reconsidered.  "Oh, and I need a current address for a professor at Columbia, physics department, Gunther Kraus."

"That I can get a little faster."

"Prove it."  Stephen snapped off the microphone.

Peter gave Stephen a nod of thanks.  "Have I mentioned lately that I can't believe how vast this network is?"

Stephen gave a look around.  "Some of this stuff's almost 75 years old.  And we're still using it."

"Your grandfather must have been an amazing man."

Stephen smiled wryly.  Though he'd been dead for over 35 years, the aura of Lamont Cranston still permeated every aspect of this room that had served three generations of Masters of Darkness.  "He cast a big shadow."

"Yeah, but you fill it well."

Now it was Stephen nodding his thanks.  "With a lot of help from my friends."  He changed the subject immediately with a rub of his face and a fatigued stretch.  "God, I need a vacation."

"Me, too.  But if we don't solve this soon, we'll have to skip it."

Stephen gave Peter a dark glare.  "Like Hell."

Peter smiled mischievously.  It was so easy to push Stephen's buttons sometimes.  "Hey, climbing Tibetan mountains in winter is not my idea of a vacation paradise."

"The Tibetan monks think it is."

"Yeah, but they spend their whole lives in oxygen-deprived air."

Stephen was thinking of a retort when the buzzing of the intercom broke up the conversation.  Back to business, and even Stephen's body language turned from fatigued to commanding as he hit the microphone switch.  "Report."

"Available dossier on Professor Kraus coming across now."

A whoosh of the pneumatic tubes later, a tube landed in a nearby tray.  Stephen opened the tube and handed the rolled-up dossier to Peter, then sent the tube back empty.  "Thanks.  Keep me informed."  He snapped off the mike once more.

Peter turned several pages.  "Professor Kraus is a busy man.  Just got nominated for the Nobel Prize in Physics for the third time in as many years.  His entry this year was on polymer chain explosives."  He held up the page with Kraus' current address.  "Shall we go pay him a visit?"

Stephen's eyes fairly gleamed with confidence.  "Let's."  He gave a low, chilling laugh. "Man, I LOVE this job."

Chapter 6

Professor Kraus hurried home from a day of teaching and locked the door tightly. He was hoping against hope that nothing would connect him with the recent explosions, but after working with the explosives industry for decades, he was terrified that someone would think of him. The authorities had asked him for his expertise already, but he had refused. If he were right, then his 'expertise' would land him the blame.

"Professor Kraus."

The man's terror escalated several degrees and he spun. "Who's there?"

"Your explosives have killed over 200 people. I am JUSTICE. I am VENGANCE."

"I…I had nothing to do with it!"

The voice started to laugh like a hyena.  "The bombs used TRINITRON explosives. You created them. The governments of the western world all refused to fund your creation of them. You wanted too much power, too much control, for such a small amount of explosives in return. So you needed to go somewhere else to get money. I wonder who the highest bidder was this time?"

"I sold explosives to nobody! Yes, I needed money! But I did not sell the explosives to anyone!"

The voice was silent. Kraus wondered, not for the first time in the interrogation, if he was going mad. Was this…The Shadow?  No, it couldn't be...such things didn't exist..."Shadow? Are you still here?"

The Shadow, standing only a meter away, decided he believed this seemingly unbalanced person. The Kingpin was ruthless, but still kept control of his people. The crime lord would not accept a loose cannon like this. So The Shadow decided to trust him a little. If there was trouble, Spiderman was perched outside the window, listening.  "I'm still here, Professor.  Have a seat."

Kraus collapsed into a chair as The Shadow became visible in the room. When he spoke, it was no less impressive or authoritative, but it was a spoken voice.  "All right, Professor. Let's talk."

The men sat across from each other. The voice was no longer terrifying, rather, it was commanding.  And those eyes…they practically burned with power.  Kraus couldn't look anywhere but right at them.

The Shadow knew he had the man right where he wanted him.  "If the explosives did not come from you, whom else could they have come from?"

Kraus thought about that. "The only one I could think of is my assistant, Dr. Tarwin."

"And where can I find Dr. Tarwin?"

"I…someone powerful is involved obviously. Talking could be dangerous. That's why I didn't go to the police. Speaking to the cops about a crime lord is detrimental to your health."

The Shadow lost his patience. He reached out, grabbed the man's collar and reverted to his terror voice. "So is having your eyes spooned out and served on toast. Make up your mind FAST because it is getting awfully close to my breakfast time."

Kraus cracked. "He…he's living in Siberia. He wrote me last week, he said that he had a buyer for some TRINITRON, a lot of the stuff. I refused to help. He said the buyer was…"

The words were interrupted by the crack of a rifle. The shots came from the door, and Kraus was killed instantly. The Shadow turned invisible by reflex. But the rifle was turning toward him anyway. He knew immediately what that meant. Teflon Man.

The rifle was tracking him, preparing to shoot. Just before the blast came, the window exploded and Spiderman came barrelling through. The rifle turned toward the window. The Shadow fired 2 shots from his automatics. Teflon man stumbled and hobbled away. He was running normally again within a second, and the heroes found the smoking bullets on the floor.

"Bulletproof vest too?" asked Spiderman.

The Shadow nodded and let the assassin go. Instead he ran to Kraus. But the professor was already dead. After quickly searching the room for possible trails, the 2 men vacated the room.

Moe's cab was waiting, and the men headed back toward the Sanctum.

"To pack," said Stephen.

Peter looked interested.  "We are taking that vacation after all?"

"No."

"That mean I'm taking a vacation, boss?" asked Moe.

"Enough quips. We have a lead. Kraus said that only one other has the formula. A Dr. Tarwin. He's in Siberia."

"You've just got to get me in a cold, mountainous region with too little oxygen, don't you?" pouted Peter.

"Come on, it'll be good for you. How's your Russian?"

***

A man sat at a private airfield. He was not a remarkable man. Even his name was boring. John. But John did not have a boring life. The fiery ring on his hand was testimony to the fact. But, he did not get many assignments, so he waited, while staring at the numerous private jets, for something interesting to happen.

Today it happened.

The lights darkened, and strong, fast moving footsteps echoed down the hall toward the airfield. John came out into the hall and practically walked into… his heart stopped when he saw whom.

The Shadow and Spiderman pulled John along for a moment without slowing, until he started to keep up. John asked tentatively if there was something he could do. For his boss was clearly here for a reason.

"John," The Shadow commanded without slowing, "We were never here, you didn't see this, this never happened. That plane took off a week ago. You haven't seen it since."

The Shadow was indicating a small but very fast jet aircraft; the men were marching toward it at a rapid clip. John did not know what was happening, but he knew not to ask questions of The Shadow. "Yes sir." Then he went back to his office to forge some paperwork. He tried very hard not to notice the plane lift off and turn northeast.

***

Behind the controls, Stephen steered the plane with ease and practise. Peter sat on his left, watching the numerous dials which he could barely understand. On the way, they practised some Russian from a book, it was difficult but they picked it up easily. Russia was a week away. They flew and practised the language the entire time. Peter was taught the basics of flight and navigation on their first leg of the flight. Flying in shifts, the men made excellent time, taking turns to sleep during the night as they flew. The plane was fast, and they were on the way, after a few discreet refuelling stops, to Moscow.

Chapter 7 

"You sure this is the right place?"

Stephen checked the slip of paper upon which he'd scribbled the notes from his conversation with Burbank.  He didn't doubt the reason for Peter's skepticism, which was based on the visual impressions of the run-down cabin they were standing in front of on the outskirts of Siberian civilization.  Certainly not the place one would normally expect to find a physicist, even in the uncertain economic conditions of the former Soviet Union.  "It was the only Dr. Tarwin Burbank was able to find in Siberia."

"Yeah, but how reliable are Siberian phone directories?"  Peter eyed the house suspiciously.  There was something about this place that was making his spider sense tingle.  But it had been tingling to varying degrees since they'd hit the ground, so that wasn't necessarily indicative of immediate danger.  It could just be indicative of the danger of whiplash from the bone-jarring ruts they'd hit on the day-long drive to the Siberian tundra.  It could also be a warning about frostbite due to the fact that Siberia was even colder than he'd imagined it could be.  He huddled beneath his heavy winter coat, wishing not for the first time that Spiderman's red tights were a little better insulated.

Stephen, minus only The Shadow's black cloak to complete his normal harsh, dark image, shrugged.  "Well, Tarwin isn't a common Russian name."

"That's what worries me."

"Then keep your guard up."  Stephen knocked on the door.

It creaked open slightly as he did.

Immediately, Stephen drew his .45s.  Peter pressed himself against the wall, ready to scramble to a better angle if needed.

Stephen cautiously pushed the door open with the tip of the pistol and peered inside.

Nothing.  The place was empty.  Stephen eased his way inside.

Peter was right behind him, up the wall and onto the ceiling, scrambling across the house to check the other rooms.  "Nothing back here."

Stephen checked the doorjamb.  "Forced entry.  Looks like somebody got surprised."  He pushed the door closed and looked around the ransacked house, then eased into the interior.  "I'll check the cellar."  He started down the stairs.

"Stephen—stop!"

Halfway down the stairs, Stephen stopped moving—and heard the faintest sound of glass breaking right under his foot.  "Peter...I just stepped on a bomb."

Peter's blood ran cold.  That would explain why his spider sense was going crazy.  He held perfectly still and braced himself against the ceiling, waiting for the explosion.

Stephen hardly dared breathe.

Several seconds passed, and nothing happened.

"Isn't there supposed to be an earth-shattering kaboom?" Peter wisecracked.

"There probably will be if I move off this step," Stephen realized.  "Bet you it's a modified landmine."

"Oh, lovely."  Peter moved across the ceiling, eased past Stephen along the wall of the stairwell and dropped to the cellar floor, then headed under the stairs to check the location of the bomb.

"Filled with TRINITRON explosives, I take it?" Stephen asked.

"Yeah, but I have no clue why it didn't go off."  He looked at it closer.  "Wait a minute, yes, I do.  You're right about it being a modified mine.  Looks like a glass trigger separating two strips of metal to complete the circuit.  Except the trigger imploded instead of exploded, and there's a fragment wedged in there."

"So in theory, if I step off, the fragment should fall out.  Except it probably isn't that simple."

"Good guess.  See, the metal strips are on a pivot.  I'm guessing there were two triggers holding both sides apart, and you broke them both, but one malfunctioned.  If you step off, the fragment will fall out, but your weight on the stair is holding up the other strip.  Step off, and that strip will fall down and complete the circuit."

"Clever little device. You know, I really LOVE this job."

"Really.  You know, you're the explosives buff.  You should be looking at this instead of me."

Stephen chuckled.  "I'm not clairvoyant, Peter."

"So switch places with me."

Now they were on the same page.  "Get up here."

Peter sprang back to the ceiling and made his way back to the stairwell, standing almost beside Stephen on the wall.  "On three."

Stephen braced himself against the opposite wall and raised his heel off the step, keeping the pressure on his toes to hold the weight on the stairs.  "On three.  One…"

Peter eased his foot down to barely touch the step.  "Two…"

"Three."  Stephen raised his foot.

Peter planted his full weight hard onto the stair simultaneously, then they both awaited confirmation that the fragment hadn't shifted.

It hadn't.

Both men breathed a sigh of relief.  Stephen made his way down the stairs and underneath to further study the bomb.  "Oh, you're right.  This is clever."

"I thought you'd like it.  Does the circuit board match our other samples?"

"But of course."  Stephen's eyes, enhanced by years of training in detail observation and a little-known psychic skill called projective sight, scanned the board in the near-darkness and looked for weaknesses.  And he quickly found one.  He searched the floor for glass fragments from the broken trigger.

One at his feet caught his eye.  He picked it up.  "Don't move," he ordered, putting a strong hypnotic suggestion behind it to make sure Peter didn't involuntarily flinch at the sound of his voice.

"I'm not going anywhere," Peter replied.

Stephen carefully slipped the shard in position underneath the raised side of the strip arms.  "Very slowly move off the step."

Peter reached his hands up to the ceiling and let his weight shift from feet to fingers.

Stephen watched the metal strip moving in slow motion.  "Hold it."

Peter held the strange distribution of weight, not sure what Stephen was up to.

Stephen fished his Leatherman out of his pocket, extended a fine blade, and used it to carefully move the shard of glass along the closing metal strips, trying to find the perfect position.

The glass wedged against the falling ends of the arms.

Stephen pushed a bit harder.

The top arm flexed upward slightly.

Stephen breathed a sigh of relief.

Peter wasn't sure if that really was relief.  "Uh…can I move now?"

"Come on down."

Peter did so, joining his partner in examining the bomb.  "You know, I would never have thought to put part of the trigger back."

"That's why two minds are better than one."

"Think the good doctor was expecting company?"

"Or someone was expecting the doctor or whoever came down the stairs to blow up the place and get rid of any evidence or any remaining explosives.  Which reminds me...where is the good doctor?"

Peter's eyes widened as he looked up at the ceiling.  "Hanging around."

Stephen looked around the room, then saw what his partner saw.  "Dammit."

Hanging by a rope thrown over the rafters and knotted in a noose around his neck was the body of a man, eyes bulging, skin grey with death.  "Suicide?" Stephen guessed.

Peter hopped up to the ceiling to examine the body closer.  "Doubt it.  Kind of unusual for someone to electrocute themselves and then hang themselves.  Guy's got burns on both ears, where the KGB used to attach electrodes to fry suspects."

"So either they are very thorough with suicides in Siberia, or someone got to him first."

"And probably left the little present for whoever came looking for Tarwin."

"Which means they got all they needed out of him and he became expendable.  And they wanted to make sure nobody found out otherwise."

"So Kingpin's men did him?"

"Or the Russian middlemen did.  But why now?  What was so important that they had to get rid of him now?"

Peter clicked his fingers.  "Wait a minute."  He scrambled up the stairwell.

Stephen was right behind him, mindful not to hit the rigged step.

Peter found a piece of paper that had fallen behind a desk, where one would never think to look…unless one were on a different angle, looking down from the ceiling or walls.  "Thought I spotted one of Kingpin's front companies' letterhead.  Here—your Russian's better than mine."

Stephen read it.  "All must be ready.  Committee to meet shortly.  Russian Jewish immigration top of agenda."  His face blanched.  "There's a U.N. symposium starting Monday about the Middle East peace process.  They just set up a new subcommittee for it—it was in the paper earlier this week.  And one of the main sticking points is the question of continued immigration of foreign Jews into Israel."

Peter's face turned the same color as Stephen's.  "No.  No way.  Not even Kingpin is crazy enough to start a Middle East war."

Stephen smacked the letterhead with his fingers to emphasize his point.  "But this company would benefit from unrest.  It's one of Kingpin's arms fronts."

Peter took a minute and followed Stephen's thought pattern.  "And of course bombs in New York would mean the U.N. Committee would be moved together to a 'safer' location."

"Where they'd be sitting ducks for one big bomb."

"So now we know What and Why."

"Come on."  Stephen was already starting for the door.

Peter was right behind him.  "Where are we going?"

"Back to New York.  We've got to find out where the Committee's meeting and stop Kingpin from starting World War 3."

They rushed into their rented all-terrain vehicle and revved its engine, and then raced back toward Moscow, knowing now the clock was ticking on Armageddon.

Chapter 8

The jet was at its maximum speed and was shaking violently. On their way back to New York, Stephen was not at the controls but at the radio, working the tuner frantically. Finally finding the frequency he needed he spoke. "Burbank."

***

A few minutes later, Burbank shut off his radio. The Shadow had told him what the plan of the Kingpin was, and what was required. Writing madly in the invisible ink, which only became visible for a few moments before disappearing forever, he reached out with his other hand for several envelopes.

Sending the letters through several tubes, he finished his work for the moment, and started a coffee machine percolating. It was going to be a long night.

***

Peter had found some coffee beans on the plane and they were still drinking some of it while getting into Moe's cab. Both had been awake for the last 24 hours, trying to figure out where Kingpin would strike. Moe had never seen the men looking so haggard. Lack of sleep and jet lag had taken their toll; they were running on adrenaline and bad coffee. But they could not rest yet.

"I love this job," Stephen said wearily.

***

Unseen by the world, agents were receiving orders. The agents in question were spread across the United States. They were all stationed at airports, government offices and convention centres. Couriers of The Shadow left the mysterious envelopes. Left them in places where the people in question would find them quickly. But of the dozens of agents contacted, only 3 had things to report.

One was a man, who had a simple cleaners job at The Hague, Netherlands. He reported that his boss had ordered him, and the cleaning staff, to set up the temporary quarters on the grounds because they would all be needed soon.

The second was a records keeper at a main American airline. He reported that the U.N. had just requisitioned a large, jet aircraft for a month. The plane was capable of carrying hundreds, and the flight plan was being kept secret.

The final report was from a woman who made a living as a pilot of large commercial airliners. She reported that she had flown many Federal agents and security personnel, from numerous government stations, to The Hague.

As the reports headed back to Burbank, all three agents wondered how The Shadow knew something was up. But they all knew the answer.

The Shadow always knows.

***

In the Sanctum, the two heroes were sleeping in whatever comfortable space they could find. They had argued about the possibilities and details of Kingpin's plot until they just collapsed with exhaustion. It was all random speculation until some clue came in from the network. It was up to Burbank now. Accepting there was nothing else they could do yet, the men caught up on some much needed sleep.

***

Burbank was swallowing the last of a cold cup of coffee when the pneumatics hissed yet again. Yawning and trying to focus his eyes on the small writing, he grinned. The Shadow intelligence ring had beaten the odds once again. His hand made its way across the desk to a small panel, he hit the button and a small light started flashing.

***

The buzzer woke Stephen up faster than an air horn. In a moment he was up and at the radio speaker. "Report."

"Requested information coming across now," Burbank's all-too-awake sounding voice replied.

Moments later, Peter woke up with his shoulder being shaken by his partner. The smell of freshly brewed and high quality coffee got his eyes open.  He took the cup Stephen offered.  "Already? We just got to sleep 3 hours ago."

Stephen nodded. "I know, Burbank is a little too efficient at times. But, we are against the clock."

Peter kept taking deep sniffs of the coffee. "What's up?"

"Reports are in."  Stephen handed him the reports from Burbank and got himself another cup of coffee.

Peter gave them a quick once over.  "So…it's the Hague."

Stephen nodded as he paced the floor, deep in thought.  "That's where the conference is being held. But will Kingpin strike there? The U.N. is using the airline for a month. Are they going to fly all the delegates at once or are they going to collect them all and take them to The Hague?"

"There would be enough time for either.  But what exactly would Kingpin do?"

"What do you mean?"

"Who, what, where, when, why, how.  Who is Kingpin, What is to start a war, Why is to make money selling arms to both sides, How is using TRINITRON explosives.  But what specifically is he going to do, and when and where is he going to do it?  Would he plant a bomb?  Where?  Would he shoot down the plane?  Blow up a truck bomb at the airport?  Some other kind of weapon of mass destruction at some other unexpected place?"

Stephen gave the notion some consideration. "If he is going to use this to start a war, then he would somehow have to pin it on one side or the other."

"Or make it ambiguous enough that either side could be blamed.  And he would make a show of it, to rile up everyone involved. Each side would blame the other and violence will escalate."

"If the flights are being kept secret, then the only public place would be at the actual conference itself."

"At The Hague."

"On Monday."

"That's Where and When. Let's move."

And for the second time that week, the two men headed for the airport.

Chapter 9

Security was extremely tight around The Hague, as was always the case when special U.N. conferences were held there.  U.N. troops seemingly everywhere.  Bomb-sniffing dogs.  Radar trucks and surveillance vans parked all around.  And I.D. checks, at every point imaginable, with credentials extremely hard to come by.

So, naturally, even the press came under tight scrutiny.  "Sorry, sirs," the soldier at one of the side doors said to the two young American men approaching him.  "No admittance without a pass."

"It's O.K.," Stephen reassured, then pulled a laminated card out of a pocket of his overstuffed briefcase.  "Stephen Cranston, New York Classic."

Peter pulled a similar pass out of his large camera bag.  "Peter Parker, New York Classic."

The soldier studied the passes, making sure they were legitimate.  So much press here, even with the last-minute change of venue.  It was a security nightmare trying to make sure all the credentials were real.  But these certainly looked real enough.  "All right.  I need to inspect your bags."

"No, you don't."

The guard looked up at the strange declaration…and his eyes glazed over as a pair of burning black eyes transfixed him.

"You looked at them already.  There was nothing in there of interest.  You can let us through now."

The guard's face was blank.  "Go on through," he said in a flat voice.

"Thanks," Stephen said with a smile, then gestured for Peter to go on through.

Once they were out of the guard's earshot, Peter smacked his partner's shoulder.  "One of these days, you've got to show me how you do that."

Stephen smiled mischievously.  "I'm sure we can find a monk in Tibet to teach you when we're done with all this."

Peter rolled his eyes.  "You've got this unhealthy obsession with getting me into some cold and drafty monastery."

"I can think of worse ways to spend a vacation."

"And I can think of better ones…" His voice trailed off and he froze in place.

Stephen's eyes darted around, trying to find the danger that had triggered his partner's defensive reactions.  "Where?"

Peter listened for footsteps.  "Headed this way."

Stephen gestured with his head to a nearby corridor, and the two men retreated to a hopefully safer surveillance point.  Peter scrambled to the ceiling and pressed himself into the dark corner.  Stephen swirled into darkness, becoming one with the shadows.

Two swarthy Middle Eastern-looking men dressed in traditional Arabic robes and headscarves walked by.  One was large and round; the other was small and thin.

Stephen frowned up at his partner.  "You freaked out over a pair of delegates?"

Peter kept his eyes on the two men.  "You set all kinds of airspeed records to beat the U.N.'s plane here so we could watch all the delegates getting off, right?"

"Right."

"Do you remember seeing those two?  Better yet, do you remember anybody wearing robes?  Even the Saudi delegation was in business suits."

Now Stephen was with him.  "Kingpin."

Peter nodded.  "Betcha a million bucks the toady with him is Teflon Man."

"And they've probably got nice toys concealed under those robes."  Stephen opened the briefcase and pulled out The Shadow's hat, cloak, and 45s.

Peter slipped out of the loose clothes that covered Spiderman's tights, and then extracted his gloves, webshooters, and mask from his camera bag.

The Shadow looked over at his partner.  "Which one do you want?"

Spiderman looked at the two figures now in the distance.  Teflon Man might have embarrassed him earlier, but his battle with Kingpin was personal.  "You take Teflon Man—he's probably got the bomb, and you're better at figuring out those sorts of things.  Kingpin is mine."

"Don't get in over your head.  Yell for help if you need it."

"I can handle him.  You just worry about Teflon Man and his surprise package."

The Shadow gripped his partner's shoulder.  "Be careful."

Spiderman returned the gesture.  "You, too."

The two men parted company.

***

Anton—Teflon Man—kept looking over his shoulder.  He couldn't shake the feeling someone or something was right behind him.  Not for the first time since he and Kingpin had gone their separate ways, he wished Professor Kraus' night vision goggles wouldn't look out of place in his current disguise.  But they would have, and right now staying inconspicuous was more important than piercing the darkness.  He averted his eyes from other approaching delegates and moved calmly but quickly toward the center of the building, where a blast would have maximum effect.  He slipped down a side passageway just off the main corridor and into a darkened corner, giving one last look behind him.

Nothing.

He turned forward again, then opened his robes and pulled out the components for a small but deadly bomb.  The wires.  The timing circuit.  The batteries.  And most importantly, a half-dozen hermetically sealed glass boxes packed with TRINITRON explosives.  He snapped out a switchblade and used its tip to cut away plastic covers for wire holes in the boxes, then trimmed the casings off the ends of wires and began poking them into the newly-exposed holes.  The debris sprinkled quietly to the floor.

"Littering.  How sloppy."

Anton looked around at the sound of the mocking laugh.  Hurriedly, he reached into his robes for his goggles.

A swirling blackness knocked them from his hands.

Anton slashed his knife toward the motion.

A right hook to the jaw answered the blade's challenge.

Anton stumbled, then slashed at the air again.

A gloved hand grabbed his shoulder.  Anton stabbed his knife toward it.

At the last second, it moved away…and Anton's desperate jab plunged the blade into his own jugular.

The Shadow watched as the body fall to the floor and coldly let it bleed to death.  He had no time for pity for a hired thug who would plant bombs that killed hundreds and would have killed many more.  He loomed over the dead man and studied him for a long time. After several motionless moments, he headed off to find his partner, swirling back into the darkness once more.

"I love this job." Said the silent whisper.

***

Spiderman was following the Kingpin from the ceilings. But every few minutes a patrol of heavily armed guards came along the corridor. Spiderman knew that he could not explain his presence, so with every warning of his Spider-sense, he scurried into an air vent, a side passage or anywhere he would not be seen. Kingpin, however, was mistaken for a delegate and was given respectful nods.

The result was that he was losing Kingpin and had to rely on his spider-sense to lead him to his quarry. Finally, he snuck through an air-vent into a large dim room. And in that room was Kingpin. The huge man was hunched over a large packet of explosive. He was attaching it to a large cube shaped piece of machinery. There were 3 similar machines in the room and power leads were everywhere. It was apparent what the machines were. Emergency generators, water supply pumps, everything that made The Hague liveable. The amount of charge going through the generators would create a blast big enough to send the whole building to the moon. There were patches of explosive all over the machines; each had a power lead connecting to the central unit…the same unit, which Kingpin was now hunched over.

Spiderman took all this in instantly from his vantage point behind a grate inside a ventilation duct. Smashing through the grate, he landed a foot behind Kingpin.

The large man spun, far faster than any man his size had a right to, and threw a punch when he saw who had entered the room.

Spiderman dodged easily, and as the 2 men battled, Spiderman saw something that made him freeze.

The timer had started counting down. 15:00.

As he stared in horror at the counter, Kingpin took advantage of this and decked him with a single blow to the chin. Kingpin stood over the dazed Spiderman, and chuckled triumphantly.

Just then the door opened.

Kingpin turned toward the door and recognized his man instantly.   "Ah, Anton, good. Have you planted the other explosive?"

"Yes, sir," replied Anton.

"Good."  Kingpin looked back at Spiderman. "Give me your gun. We will end this troublesome wretch once and for all."

Anton handed the Kingpin a pistol with a silencer attached. Spiderman finally regained enough wits to realize that Anton was Teflon Man. If he was here, then his partner had been defeated. That realization destroyed what was left of Spiderman's optimism. Gazing stupidly up at the lowering gun, Spiderman prepared himself for the inevitable.

Kingpin pulled the trigger, a huge grin on his face.

Chapter 10

The gun gave a silent "click".

Kingpin whirled to face Anton, only to be met with a solid 2-fisted blow to the face. As Kingpin fell unconscious to the floor, Anton seemed to grow taller; a mocking laugh came from his lips. A damp cloth in his hand, rubbed hard at his face, and his profile became darker, more menacing and hawk-like. The robes peeled away and revealed darker clothes, along with a cloak and hat.

Teflon Man had become The Shadow.

Finally shaking off the effects of Kingpin's blow, Spiderman got to his feet and brushed himself off. "You cut that a little close, didn't you?"

"What? The gun wasn't loaded."

This conversation was interrupted when the doors exploded open and a flood of people came in. Kingpin's men, upon seeing their fallen leader, immediately rushed toward the 2 masked men.

The Shadow pointed at them. "BEGONE!" he bellowed.

The onrushing men stopped, then turned and ran away, scrambling out of doors, windows and fire exits. Only a few remained. And even they seemed to be carefully weighing their options.

"Is my voice really that commanding?" The Shadow asked Spiderman in a low whisper.

"Hell, I took half a step before I realized you were talking to them."

The remaining men had made up their minds and rushed the heroes again. The fight was swift, brutal and lasted about 2 minutes.

"Wham!  Whack!  Pow!" shouted Spiderman as they fought.

"What are you doing?" asked The Shadow.

"I don't know," said Spiderman. "It just feels right to say those things in a battle."

The Shadow let it go and watched the thugs run for the door. Three of them ran. The rest would not be running for a long time.

With the battle over, the heroes turned to the bombs. The Shadow gave them a quick inspection.  "Looks like all the explosives are connected to this central detonator. If we can defuse this one, then the rest will be shut down automatically."

"O.K.," said Spiderman. "Let's do it."

"You will fail!" shouted a voice behind them.

Spiderman's spider-sense screamed and they spun to see Kingpin awake, on his feet and with a small vial of liquid in his hand. Kingpin threw the vial and the liquid hit The Shadow in the face.

The Shadow let out an inhuman scream of pain unlike anything Spiderman had ever heard from him.

Spiderman turned to see The Shadow stumbling blindly toward a sprinkler release valve, fumbling to turn it on, desperately splashing the water from it onto his face.  He rushed to aid his partner.

Kingpin ran for the door.

Spiderman turned to go after him

A gloved hand held him back.  "No!" said The Shadow, his eyes still scrunched tight. "Let him go! We have to disarm the bomb!"

"You do that," replied Spiderman, starting to pull free from the restraining hand. "I'll get Kingpin."

The Shadow did not release his grip. Instead he thrust his Leatherman tool into his partner's hand. "Peter," he said in a silent whisper, "Whatever he threw at me, it was acidic. I tried to rinse it off, but I can still feel it burning my eyelids.  If I open my eyes, I will be blinded permanently. YOU will have to disarm the bomb."

Spiderman looked at his partner for a long, silent moment. Then he looked back at the bomb. It was a very complex piece of equipment, and only 9 minutes left on the countdown. Taking a deep breath, he steeled himself. "O.K.," he said. "But you will have to talk me through it.

The Shadow nodded. "Point me toward it and tell me what you see."

Chapter 11

Spiderman gently led his partner over to the central detonator, then helped him sit down in front of it.  For the first time, he noticed how red The Shadow's eyelids were.  It looked like he'd sat in front of a sun lamp.  "Messed yourself up pretty good this time," Spiderman commented dryly.

"Tell me about it."  The Shadow longed to relax his mind into a deep state of meditation known as a tumo summoning, which would speed his body's defenses against the acid burns, but there was no time.  Instead, he had to use his mental energies another way.  "O.K.  Before Kingpin blinded me I noticed these things look just like the ones we've seen before, right?  The one in the subway?  The one at Tarwin's house?"

"Right."

"O.K."  The Shadow thought for a moment.  "You have a working knowledge of how the controlling circuitry on a bomb works, right?"

"Not as detailed as yours, but yeah, I can read a basic detonator board."

"Good.  If I remember correctly, there isn't anything terribly complex about this circuit, if it's wired the way the others are."

"That's a big 'if'.  Kingpin doesn't strike me as the world's most competent electrical engineer."

"I know, but we'd already be dead if he hadn't.  TRINITRON bombs aren't forgiving of misrouted wires."  He winced as his burning eyes ached more, probably from sweat dripping diluted acid from his forehead down onto his eyelids.

Spiderman didn't miss the flinch.  "Come on, Stephen.  You've gotta hold on for at least…" He checked the timer.  "Eight more minutes."

"I know."  The Shadow took a deep breath and tried to clear his mind.  He hated working at this kind of disadvantage.  Spiderman was pretty good at science and a decent tinkerer, but detailed knowledge of military hardware and explosives were one of the things The Shadows had passed through the generations to one another.  He took a deep breath.  "Hold your hand over the top of the circuit board.  I need a gauge of depth."

Spiderman held his hand about an inch above the circuit board.

The Shadow reached into his psyche for the calm to push past the pain and use another skill passed from Shadow to Shadow-projective sight.  It was almost like mental radar; thought waves reached out and found the perimeters of an object or an area, returning a three-dimensional pattern of the area in question.  It was one of the reasons The Shadow could see in near-darkness—when you have built-in psychic sonar, your eyes can make better use of the remaining light to add the details.  "O.K., now move your hand."

Spiderman lifted his hand out of what he knew was The Shadow's psychic sight line.

The Shadow concentrated, turning the outlines of the board in his mind to match the memories of previous encounters with this type of bomb.  "Upper left hand corner, there's a large silvery disk."

Spiderman found it.  "Got it.  Hell of a capacitor."

"It's part of the control circuit.  See that thick wire attached to its tip at about 5:00?  Cut that."

Spiderman did so.

"Pull the two ends apart.  Can't have them touching.  A stray spark from the other wires we cut, and…"

"…An earth-shattering kaboom."  Spiderman turned the two edges of the wire outward away from each other.  "Next?"

"There are normally two routes from the power supply on a bomb like this.  But they both pass through the control circuit.  Now that the control circuit on this bomb is gone, we should only need to cut one of them.  Lower side of the board, there's a couple of thick wires leading from the control circuit back to the power source.  See them?"

"Yep."

"Cut one."

Spiderman did so.

"Is the clock still moving?"

Spiderman looked at it.  "Yeah, it is.  Seven-and-a-half minutes to go."

The Shadow blew out a frustrated breath.  "That means the bastard cross-wired the timer.  Dammit."  He thought.  "Find the clock."

Spiderman did.  "Got it."

"Trace back to find the wire that leads to the power supply."

"Got it.  Nice thick green one."

The Shadow kept thinking.  "If he cross-wired the timer, he may have cross-wired the control circuit, too.  If he has, the second we cut the timer, the bomb's going to go off, because these things are made to trigger an explosion when the timer hits zero and the signal from it cuts out.  Cut the other power supply line."

Spiderman traced back with his fingers the path of the second power supply line to the control circuit.  "Here it is.  Man, this thing is a spider web of tangles."

That made The Shadow smile.  "Then you ought to feel right at home."

"How'd you guess?"  He clipped the wire and made sure all exposed tips were turned away from each other.  "O.K., second line cut."  He looked at the timer.  "Still ticking.  Six minutes."

"Now you should be able to cut the timer line."

"You sure?"

"Well, we'll find out really quick if I'm wrong, won't we?"

"True."  Spiderman traced it back with his fingers.  "O.K.  Here we go."  He gave it a snip.

The timer went dead.

Both men sat motionless for a moment, waiting for something to happen.

Nothing did.

Two relieved sighs let loose simultaneously.  "No boom?" Spiderman asked innocently.

"No boom," The Shadow replied.

"No boom today. The boom comes tomorrow." Wisecracked Spiderman pessimistically.

The Shadow almost laughed, but instead, he collapsed onto his partner's shoulder.

Spiderman caught him before he rolled off and onto the floor.  His skin was cold and clammy, his eyelids badly burned, his breathing shallow and shocky.  He needed immediate medical attention.  And his tingling spider sense told him that the U.N. guards were on their way and would find them any second.

Slinging The Shadow over his shoulder, Spiderman leapt onto the wall and scrambled into the ductwork, then turned and shot a web over to where the grate had landed when he'd kicked it aside.  Pulling up the grate by the line, he fitted it back over the duct as best he could.

By the time the U.N. soldiers had burst through the door, everyone who had been in there were all long gone.

Chapter 12

Stephen Cranston's eyes fluttered open as he slowly returned to wakefulness.  His lashes were encrusted with discharge, and his eyes felt sticky and sore.  But the burning sensation was finally gone.

"See anything?" he heard his partner's voice ask.

Stephen hesitated.  "I think so.  That's a spider on the wall, right?"

Peter smiled from his perch on the opposite wall, leaning back against the ceiling.  "Yep."  He crawled across the ceiling, then down the other wall and took a seat on the chair by Stephen's bedside.  "Feeling better?"

"Relatively."  He rubbed his eyes.

Peter handed him a damp washcloth.  "Here.  Get that gunk off your face."

"Thanks."  Stephen wiped away the dried crust, then looked at the cloth.  "Awfully nice terrycloth they have in hospitals here."

"I checked us into the Crown Plaza.  Hospitals ask too many pesky questions, like 'how'd that happen' and that sort of thing.  Besides, you were already into that tumo thing you do by the time we got clear of The Hague.  I figured with a few hours of sleep and a little high-quality room service food, you'd be fine.  Hungry?"

"Starved."

Peter crossed the room and retrieved a room service tray.

Stephen slowly sat up in bed.  "That smells good."

"It better.  You should see the prices on their menu."  He removed the cover from the main course, a savory platter of sausage, carrots, and potatoes.

Stephen looked interested, then noticed his partner had no accompanying tray.  "You want any of this?"

Peter shook his head.  "I ate while you were sleeping.  They have decent burgers here.  But I know you always like to try the local cuisine."

Stephen nodded his thanks and cut himself a bite of the food.  "M-mm.  Pretty good."  He noticed the harder lines on his friend's expression.  "They didn't happen to catch Kingpin, did they?"

Peter poured Stephen a glass of wine to go with his dinner, then refilled his own wine glass.  "Nope.  They did find Teflon Man, though.  I heard them saying that it looked like he committed suicide rather than going through with his end of the plot."

"Fancy that."  Stephen took another bite.  "Sorry.  I know you wanted to get him once and for all."

Peter sighed.  "Someday."  He took a sip of wine.  "Anyway, the conference is going on as scheduled, with the delegates free to argue about the meaningless nonsense they always argue about instead of gearing up for WW3.  But it seems to be going well. They've already agreed how large the tables should be and what wine should be served with the introductory dinner. I filed our exclusive story on the whole thing with the Classic by e-mail a couple of hours ago."

Stephen raised an eyebrow.  "So which of us got top billing?"

"The by-line says 'Stephen Cranston and Peter Parker'.  Figured alphabetical billing works best."

"Good publicity never hurts."

"Never does."  He got up and walked around, finally climbing slightly up a wall and leaning back against it, as if reclining in a chair.  "Think we'll ever catch him?"

"Someday."  Stephen propped up pillows behind his back and reclined to sip his wine as well.  "Until then…"

"Until then, we've got a lot of work to do."

The two men offered toasting gestures to each other as the shadow of night fell over the city.

THE END