Disclaimer: "Lois and Clark: The New Adventures of Superman" is the creation and property of DC Comics and Warner Brothers Entertainment, used for entertainment purposes without permission or intent to profit.

Gah! Another disclaimer... Save me, Superman!

-o0O0o-

"The Man From The Bureau"
By J.T. Magnus, 'Turbo'

-o0O0o-

Of all the things which Clark Kent had ever expected to see upon returning to his apartment from a day of working at The Daily Planet, a man with balding grey hair sitting on his couch reading a copy of Ladislas Farago's "The Game of The Foxes" as though there were nothing curious about how he had gotten into a locked apartment had never actually made the list until the day it happened. When Clark shut the door behind him, the sound pulled the man from the book which he calmly closed and laid next to him on the couch.

"Welcome home, Mr. Kent... even though you are eight minutes late," the man observed as he looked at Clark and nodded in greeting.

Frowning, Clark folded his arms and looked back, "Who are you and what are you doing in my apartment?"

"Think of me as a messenger," the old man responded, "Because of your recent... encounters with him, I've been sent here to inform you that Jason Trask went rogue, despite his claims to still be an agent of Bureau Thirty-Nine, he's been disavowed and is considered a Threat-At-Large by the Bureau."

"And you are?" Clark demanded.

The old man waved a hand dismissively, "Who I am personally is unimportant."

"Okay, Mr. Unimportant," Clark said casually, getting an amused look from the other man, as he lowered his arms and walked further into the apartment, "Even if Trask is rogue, that still doesn't explain why someone from the same government agency he claims to represent broke into my apartment?"

"To offer my apologies, Mr. Kent, and something of an explanation. For that, let me go back to the beginning; in Nineteen-Thirty-Eight, Adolf Hitler 'acquired' a weapon of historical significance; a lance belonging to a Roman Centurion named Longinus - that weapon has been called many things in the last two-thousand years, but one thing hasn't changed. Whoever holds the weapon holds a power beyond normal understanding. In response, President Roosevelt formed a top-secret group to combat Hitler's occult... 'allies', shall we say? That group was formed a few months after the turn of the calendar, in Nineteen-Thirty-Nine, so it became known simply as 'Bureau Thirty-Nine'. The objective was simple; to combat threats to national, Allied and eventually planetary security rooted in sources beyond normal understanding, whether supernatural, paranormal or scientific. Trask is a product of the Cold War-era mentality of 'Use it, abuse it and lose it' when it comes to resources. To be blunt, he wouldn't know a potential ally from a potential threat even if his head wasn't up his ass."

Clark looked at him in suspicion, "What do you want from me?"

"Just for you to keep doing what you're doing, Mr. Kent. Just keep doing what you're already doing. Right now, despite the illusion of peace, the United States is a country surrounded by enemies that want to see it fall, it doesn't need the added problem of home-grown megalomaniacs trying to take over it or the world as a whole making it a target for the people that are supposed to be on the same nominal side as us. Nor does it need renegades inciting a panic that could tear the country apart when a time is coming when it will need to be more united than ever. The United States has enemies, Mr. Kent, and they're gathering their forces to strike."

The mention of 'home-grown megalomaniacs' rang a very specific bell in Clark's mind, "If you know about Luthor, why hasn't your 'Bureau Thirty-Nine' done anything?"

The old man smiled indulgently, "Mr. Luthor is an American citizen, Mr. Kent. While to some agents and agencies, that regrettably has come to have little to no meaning, we at Bureau Thirty-Nine prefer to remember that citizens have certain rights that are not meant to be infringed upon - no matter how well-intended that infringment in regards to the general welfare and common defence."

Clark raised an eyebrow, "I could make some comments about a government employee refering the preamble to the Constitution of the United States like you just did."

"Mr. Kent," the old man replied sadly, "I remember a time when no American Citizen, much less an employee of the United States government couldn't recite the preamble if asked to."

"So you know what Luthor's really like and you refuse to stop him," Clark frowned, "You realize that to some people that would make you and your agency as a whole an accessory to his crimes."

"I might be forced to concede the point, Mr. Kent," the old man responded, "But I maintain that until we have evidence that could be presented before a Federal Judge for a warrant or a Grand Jury for an indictment, there's nothing the Bureau can do about Mr. Luthor. The 'Curse of Cassandra', as one of my younger associates would say."

"'Curse of Cassandra'?"

"Cassandra,' the old man explained, "Was a Trojan prophetess - one of Apollo's lovers until they had a falling out; he'd given her the gift of prophecy and as punishment for spurning him cursed her that her prophecies would never be believed and the more ardent the disbelief, the more accurate the prophecies would become - she prophesied that Helen would be the downfall of Troy and that no good would come of a horse of wood. No one believed her, of course, and Troy fell. Cassandra was cursed with knowing what would happen and being unable to do anything about it; the same situation the Bureau is in regarding our knowledge of Mr. Luthor's activities. You, however, do not suffer those same limitations."

"In other words, you want me to do your dirty work," Clark's eyes narrowed at the old man.

"As I said, Mr. Kent, all we want is for you to continue your current activities in regards to men like Mr. Luthor and Mr. Trask, at your own discretion and by your own methods," The old man cocked his head and looked towards the ceiling, "You might want to answer that."

"Answer what?" Clark asked, then spun around in unaccustomed surprise as there was a knock on the door.

"How did you-" Clark turned back around and trailed off as he realised that the old man had vanished without him noticing, "What on Earth...?"

Again, the person at the door knocked. Clark looked around as though he would see the old man standing around a corner or behind a curtain, but all he saw was a book laying on his couch. As the knocking turned to pounding, Clark shook his head as he headed to open the door.