"Lies and Consequences"
-BERN, SWITZERLAND-
When Lana awoke, she was in a sparsely-decorated brick townhouse. Through the window, she could see the spires of the Historical Museum above the other houses.
"I'm … I'm in Switzerland?" Lana mumbled, still groggy from the sleeping gas. She had been in this city once before with Lex, who had insisted that they also visit the Einstein Museum. Albert Einstein had discovered the Relativity Theory while living in this city.
"The city of Bern to be more precise," a voice said. The accent was English. "We arrived on the private jet early this morning. You missed breakfast, Miss Lang. It's half-past noon." Bruce's long-time butler sat behind a 1950's-era wooden office desk. He was the only Wayne employee allowed to use a firearm; he was an excellent shot.
"So you're alive after all, Alfred," Lana said. "Where am I? One of your MI6 safe houses?" The shock of his presence jolted her adrenaline. I need to get out of here, she thought.
"No," said another voice – deep and rumbling – from the shadows behind her. "You're in one of mine."
Lana stretched out an arm and quickly seized a silver letter opener from the coffee table. Before she could spin around to confront her hidden foe, a hand gripped her wrist and twisted it firmly. Lana yelped, dropped the letter opener and collapsed on the couch.
"Never attack an opponent who can anticipate your next move," the voice said. Bruce Wayne, wearing a black cable-knit sweater and designer jeans, stepped out of the shadows. "Be thankful it was me. Alfred might have shot you."
Lana, clutching her sore wrist, looked across to where the butler was sitting. Alfred's personal weapon, a Walther P99, sat ominously on the desk.
"Does this mean you and Lex are tied to the hip now?" Lana said, glowering at them. "'Bound by honour, cursed by tragedy' and all that high society crap?"
"No to both questions," Bruce said. "Well, a qualified no to question number two. Lex still thinks I subscribe to the high society crap."
"It seems we should be the one asking you questions, Miss Lang," Alfred added. He opened his laptop. "You've been busy investigating your ex-husband's extra-curricular activities on the continent." A silver tray containing muffins, scones, croissants and a tea set was already on the coffee table. "It's herbal tea. It should soothe your nerves. We didn't quite get the sleeping gas dosage correct in your case. My apologies."
"Tea and an interrogation in Switzerland," Lana said, sipping the warm liquid from the tea cup. When she wolfed down a scone, she glared at Alfred, recalling the breaking news months ago about his alleged death. "Clark thinks you're dead! It's been eating away at him since your plane crash in Poland!"
"I plan to tell all of my Smallville friends in good time," Alfred said. "The ruse was a ... necessary evil." He didn't want to deceive them, but he knew that Checkmate agents were already tracking him. He had to throw them off the scent.
"And Chloe …" Lana began. Chloe was one of Alfred's closest friends, and they had cooperated on more than one occasion to thwart the nefarious plots that infected Smallville and Metropolis. Chloe had not taken the news of Alfred's death well: she never accepted the coroner's report that claimed his body had been burnt beyond recognition. She refused to attend his military funeral in England.
Alfred sighed. "I never meant to hurt her."
Bruce folded his arms defensively and faced Lana. "You shouldn't dwell on Alfred's deception when you, Clark, Chloe, the Kents and probably all of Lowell County have deceived us for years."
Lana calmly put down her tea cup. "I'm sorry, Bruce. I don't follow?"
Bruce paced around the room, each harsh step on the wooden floor echoing around them. "I know everything," he said at last.
"I don't understand," Lana said. She hoped that they didn't notice the hint of doubt in her voice.
Lana's thoughts spun in a thousand directions. What exactly did Bruce Wayne know? Bruce held a master's degree in criminology and had the money, technical resources and political access to uncover any secret he wished. It was the sort of global influence Lex Luthor could only dream of possessing. Alfred Pennyworth – Bruce's mild-mannered butler – had an extensive career in both the British Army and the UK's foreign intelligence service, with his own international contacts and resources. With their combined talents, could they discover Clark's secret on their own?
Lana knew the answer.
"Clark and Lex might have indulged you over the years with Secrets and Lies charades," Bruce said, "but I won't mince words. Where do I begin: the meteor shower in 1989, the Kawatche caves, Summerholt, Lex's miraculous rescue on Loeb Bridge, the green meteor rocks, Project Ares? Tell me when I should stop."
"I have no idea what you're talking about," Lana said, unconvincingly. Only a moment ago, the tray of pastries looked so appetizing. She wasn't hungry now.
"People have 'tells'," Bruce said. "Involuntarily signals that people give off when they are lying. It could be an inflection in their voice. A hand gesture, eye movements or facial expressions. I could claim that I learned about all of this in college. But, I'd have to give Alfred's field experience some credit for part of my knowledge. You're hiding something. We'll start over, shall we?"
Alfred took the laptop from the desk and sat beside Lana. "We don't need you to confirm what we already know as fact. Your encryption was good; WayneTech's is better. If you don't wish to betray Clark's confidence, we can understand that. Don't take us for fools, however. It's insulting. To me, in particular."
"Fair enough," Lana said. "I'm not your prisoner then?"
"The Prague incident was a precaution", Bruce said, without regret. He peered occasionally through the curtains at oncoming traffic and the lunch-hour pedestrians. "That pleasant doorman at the Prague Hilton? He was a Checkmate operative and you were being tailed. You can go at any time. At your own risk, of course. Just one more question: why your interest in my European technological projects and political connections?"
"Let's just say Lex has been taking an unnatural interest in some of Wayne Enterprises' more cutting-edge scientific breakthroughs," Lana said.
"I know that part," Bruce said. "I've been shadowing his nocturnal corporate activities for months. He's been buying shares in a variety of high-tech companies involved in lucrative military-defense contracts. He's already made a bid for my media properties in Asia, from Hong Kong to Tokyo. To what end, I don't know yet. What I don't get is the museum and gallery smash-and-grabs he's been involved in."
"So you were tracking him across Europe," Lana said, intrigued. "The museum thefts have something to do with an elite group or fraternity that Lionel Luthor and the Teagues were a part of. A scientific club."
Bruce whispered something into Alfred's ear. Clark's superior hearing would be useful right about now, Lana thought.
"Lex is looking for clues," Alfred said. "He's gathered a plethora of obscure items: medieval French manuscripts, Freemason logbooks from the American Revolution, artifacts from Napoleon's Egyptian expedition, looted World War II-era treasure from Italy and everything in between."
"If you know anything that might enlighten us further," Bruce said, "we're all ears."
"You've already hacked into my laptop, so you know what I know," Lana said.
"It has something to do with Clark," Bruce said. It was both a question and a statement. He wasn't sure – and Lana sensed it.
"I don't know if that's the case," Lana said. They know everything, she feared. Or just enough to bring the full weight of Wayne Enterprises into the investigation. She gathered that Bruce was not as friendly to Lex as it appeared on television or in the society tabloid rags from New York and London. His help would be invaluable, but could she trust him?
I need to talk to Clark first.
"If there are no further questions," Lana said. "I'll be on my way." She gathered her things and began to leave.
"There are two ways you can leave," Bruce said. "With our help – or without. Our way? We keep you off the grid, at least until you return to the continental U.S."
"Your way," Alfred added, "would be that first-class flight out of Geneva you had booked for tonight, when your Checkmate and Luthor tails would catch up with you." The pager on Alfred's hip began to vibrate and chirp. "Excuse me, Miss Lang."
Alfred dialed his cell phone. "Falconer here. Yes. Bern? There are complications. Not your concern! It bloody well is your concern if – but – yes, I know the stakes. Now? I understand."
"Alfred, what's up?" Bruce said. He sensed that the news was not good – the pager was from Alfred's MI6 minders.
"This location is compromised," Alfred said. "Last chance, Miss Lang." He opened up a brown envelope with half a dozen high-quality forged passports: each with Lana's photo. "Take your pick: French national, British, Costa Rican, or Canadian. The cover stories are attached. You can arrive in New York – undetected – by breakfast tomorrow. If you catch your original flight in Geneva, it's a death sentence."
Lana picked up the Canadian passport. "Megan P. Brauer, fine arts student from Toronto on a semester exchange program in Paris. I guess I have no choice, do I?" Bruce quickly gathered her luggage.
"Master Bruce, I'll catch up with you at Wayne Enterprises' Amsterdam offices next week," Alfred said. "I still have work to do." Bruce's face became ashen.
Lana zipped up her jacket. "Work?" Alfred had mentioned that people were tailing her in Prague. Checkmate agents or Luthor thugs – it didn't matter. Borders meant nothing to them. They wanted her secrets and they wanted her dead.
"Let's go, Lana," Bruce said, as he started the ignition of the silver Audi R8 Coupe. Lana hesitated as the realization of Alfred's work dawned on her.
"Alfred!" Lana called out. She dropped her purse, ran and hugged him.
"I have to go, Miss Lang," Alfred said. "Silly spy stuff and all that." He smiled and put on a brave face, more for her sake.
"We thought you had been killed!" Lana said. "Clark went to your funeral in England! He was beside himself in grief." Clark deserves an explanation, she thought. Despite his lies.
"Tell Master Clark –" Alfred began. He had a mission to do – it was no time for remorse. He would have none, when the time came. "And tell Chloe that I'm sorry. There are consequences for everything, you understand? Now, go! Auf wiedersehen."
"Now," Bruce said, the Audi's engine already growling. It was a command. Lana picked up her purse and jumped into the Audi. Bruce shifted into second gear and roared out of the driveway. They could see Alfred briefly in the rearview mirror, and then he was gone.
Bruce didn't speak for almost half an hour, not until they were within sight of Bern Airport.
Lana turned to Bruce. "I'm sorry if my actions have harmed our friendship."
"I'm sorry that it has," Bruce said. "I trusted you, trusted Chloe. And Clark – he saved Alfred and me a few times. I've helped him out of a few jams, too. And for that I'm left in the dark? About everything!"
"You've not been upfront with us, either," Lana retorted. "Your sabbaticals to Japan, Brazil, etc. No contact for weeks or months! No explanations."
"That's different," Bruce said. "And it's not your problem."
"Not my problem?" Lana said. "It is, if you consider yourself one Clark Kent's best friends." And one of mine.
Bruce took a deep breath. "You're right." The departures terminal was upon them, abruptly ending the conversation. He pulled over and retrieved Lana's luggage from the trunk.
He handed Lana the tickets for Swiss International-Flight 586. "Don't forget: you're Megan, the art student from Toronto. At least until JFK."
"And Lana," he continued, "that time you were married to Lex? I'm sorry I couldn't be there for you." He was overseas and he had sent his regrets one month before the wedding.
Lana thought of her time as a Luthor and how disastrous the marriage had become. Lex had hit her before she left him for good. "Perhaps if you had been around, Bruce, I might not have been caught up in that mess."
She thought of happier times: visiting Gotham City and sightseeing with her friends; Bruce's less-frequent visits to Smallville and Metropolis. They had both lost parents, tragically, at an early age and it had become the common ground that had bound their friendship. But he had grown distant over the years. So had she. Secrets had carved that chasm between them.
She would hate Lex for that, too.
She leaned up and gave Bruce a gentle peck on the cheek. She waved to Bruce Wayne, the so-called Prince of Gotham City, possibly for the last time. There was no real warmth in their goodbye now; the friendship had been wounded.
Time would heal it, she hoped.
-JFK Airport, New York City-
The middle-aged customs officer glanced at the passport. "Brauer, Megan. Canadian national. Destination?"
"Stopover in the Big Apple. I'm catching a connecting flight on Sunday to Pearson International in Toronto." Lana said.
"Home of the Leafs," the officer said unenthusiastically. "My sympathies." The Maple Leafs hadn't won a Stanley Cup in 40 years. He waved her through and Lana was on American soil again.
She waited in the arrivals lounge to recover from the trans-Atlantic flight. A stack of wrinkled newspapers sat on the table beside her. One of them was the Friday edition of the London Morning Review, a respected high-brow newspaper that both Lex and Bruce had been trying to acquire for nearly two years. They valued its reputation, but they both wanted its vast network of internet content providers. LuthorCorp. finally outbid Wayne Enterprises last year, just before her now-notorious engagement dinner. Lex had joked that the Review was one of his wedding presents for her.
She caught her breath when she read the headline:
'TWO AMERICANS SLAIN IN SWITZERLAND: Police suspect professional hit'
Lana tore open the paper to the article:
"Bern police found two bodies behind a grove of trees, near the Einstein Museum in Bern early Saturday morning. Their names have been withheld until next-of-kin are notified.
U.S. embassy officials confirmed that the Americans were trade officials attached to the American consulate in Geneva. They have refused to comment on speculation reported in the London press that they were former CIA agents."
Lana shuffled through the stack of papers. One was Le Monde from Paris, dated Thursday. Her French was rusty but one of the articles mentioned the unsolved murder of a hotel doorman in Prague. The local police chalked it up to a drug-related killing – but the doorman and the agents in Bern were shot in the back.
They were not random slayings.
Lana remembered what Alfred had said before she left: "There are consequences for everything." She had followed her leads, with no concern for the aftermath. She wanted to bring Lex down, at any price.
Bruce and Alfred deceived them, but they were doing that to protect them. Is that any different from what I'm doing to protect Clark, she thought. From what Chloe was doing? Alfred despised much of the shadowy work he had done for MI6: the renditions, the betrayals, the extra-judicial killings. He had left the spook world many years ago, but the threat of Checkmate and the rising clout of Lex Luthor had forced him to take up the old trade again. He had defied Bruce's wishes by doing so.
Consequences. He returned to the cold, she thought. To protect us – even though it's tearing his conscience apart. That's why Bruce had paled when Alfred got the call from the M!6 handlers in Bern. The recent headlines confirmed it.
Alfred had killed to protect Clark, Chloe, Lois, Oliver, Martha Kent, all of us.
Lana stood at the panoramic window, looking down at the planes on the tarmac. Planes were going to every corner of the world, but all she wanted to do was go to Smallville. It was home; it was safe, in spite of all evidence to the contrary.
Her cell phone had one text message from Chloe: "Something u might like from DP. Call me" Lana believed that the plan was simple: to raid Lex's plants, steal information and technology from him and hopefully succeed in stalling his myriad of plots against Clark. She remembered seeing Alfred's feeble goodbye wave in the rearview mirror of the Audi. He knew what was to follow.
What he was about to do.
This week, Alfred killed for me. She wept quietly.
A blonde American Airlines flight attendant in an immaculate navy blue jacket and skirt approached her. "Are you alright, miss?" She offered Lana a tissue.
"I'm fine," Lana sniffed. "It's just that I had a falling-out with some close friends."
"If they're really your friends," the flight attendant said, "you'll find a way through it."
Lana smiled a thank you to the flight attendant as she departed. The phone buzzed again.
"Lana? It's Chloe. I've been trying to reach you for days! I've barely gotten a tweet from you since Berlin!"
"I know, and I'm sorry," Lana said. "I've been saying that a lot lately." A businessman scooped up the assorted newspapers from the table and left for his flight. Lana shuddered – she knew more about the truth behind their headlines than she dared to believe.
Chloe heard the wavering in Lana's voice. "Something's happened," she stated. "Don't even try to deny it, I know you too well. In Budapest? Prague? Was it Checkmate?"
"It's taken care of," Lana said. Her stomach churned in disgust: she was using the same clinical language that spies used to explain away their bloody work, to sanitize it. There would be explanations, but that could wait. The thought of Bruce Wayne's inevitable heart-to-heart with Clark made her feel queasy. It was uncharted territory – something they always knew was a possibility.
That fear was now a reality and it terrified her. Be careful, Clark. Her voice became softer. "I'm coming home."
Chloe did know her well. "You're beginning to worry me, Lana. What is it that you're not telling me?"
"It's Alfred. He's alive." The silence on the other line was suffocating. Chloe clung to any sign that Alfred might have survived the Belarus mission, long after everyone else had accepted his death. Confirmation of that belief threatened to release a torrent of suppressed grief.
The phone signal cut out. Lana collected her belongings, checked the departures monitor for the next flight to Metropolis and rushed to the gate with her real passport.
It was her turn to put on a brave face.
I have to be there for Chloe. I owe her at least that much.
Part 5 to follow.