Episode 3: Part One – Power
The woman walking into the offices of the Daily Planet appeared nervous. She walked with a stride that appeared hesitant, even as she made it through the lobby. Glancing at the elevator, she sighed, her shoulders moving up and down. The bag on her shoulder appeared to be heavy, dragging one shoulder down slightly, and she hung on to it as if afraid if she took her hand off the strap for a second it would disappear.
Her brown eyes darted here and there. She appeared to be searching for something, then strode over to the wide staircase, hefting the bag on her shoulder once more and beginning to climb.
Anyone watching would have easily overlooked the woman. She was dressed in a plain black jacket and skirt, with a white blouse underneath. Her dark brown hair was pinned back neatly into a sort of bun, held in place by a large clip. She wasn't tall. Perhaps no more than 1.65 metres, but she had a slim build and long legs which made her appear taller than she was.
She wore make-up on her face, but it looked as if an amateur had done it. The eyelashes were lightly coated with mascara, but it was not even, with clumps in the corners. Over her eyes, the woman wore a pair of square frames which were not flattering to her face shape.
If it hadn't been for her apparent nervousness, the woman would never have been noticed at all. Except for the fact that she was so busy looking around her that she didn't see the tall man descending the stairs until it was too late. They collided, papers in the man's hands falling to the steps.
"Oh, god, I'm so sorry," she said.
Simultaneously, the man spoke, apologising profusely. He touched his horn-rimmed glasses, adjusting them on his face.
"Totally my fault, Miss," he said. "I should have been watching where I was going. Could I perhaps be of assistance?"
Light from one of the windows glinted off a gold band on his left hand. The woman bit her lip, fidgeting, even as she bent down to help Clark Kent gather his papers.
"Um, that's okay. I, uh, have an, um appointment," she stammered, blushing furiously, her face turning almost a blotchy red.
"An appointment? With who?" Clark said, frowning.
"Oh, um, the editor-in-chief." She pulled the bag around to her front and rummaged in the pocket, bringing out a small notepad. "Perry White?"
"Oh, yeah," Clark said. "But he's up on the tenth floor. You sure you don't want to take the elevator?"
The woman half-smiled, looking awkward. Clark had the impression the woman didn't smile very often.
"That's okay," she said. "The exercise is good for me."
Clark wasn't sure the woman could handle a walk up ten flights of stairs, but he made no comment.
"I'm Clark. Clark Kent," he said.
"Moana," she said, taking his proffered hand and shaking it.
"That's an unusual name," Clark said. He frowned. The woman had some kind of accent, but he couldn't place it.
"It's Maori," she said. "It means an expanse of water."
Clark's frown became even deeper, lines forming on his forehead.
"Maori?" He tried to pronounce it as she had, but the words didn't roll easily off his tongue, coming out sounding more like 'mouldy'.
"Sorry, I'm guessing it's not something you Americans hear every day. I'm from New Zealand. I'm a journalist attached to the exhibition in town."
Clark had vaguely heard something about an exhibition of art works and artefacts from down under, but he hadn't taken much notice. Well, he'd had a lot of other things on his mind lately.
"Oh. Well, welcome to Metropolis," he said. "Is this your first time in the States?"
She nodded. "Never been out of the country before, to tell the truth. Except for about a week in Australia. Big cities really aren't my thing, but, well, I got assigned to this and you know what it's like. When your editor barks you jump." She laughed, then glanced at the cheap gold-plated watch on her wrist. "Well, I should get to that appointment. It was very nice to meet you, Clark Kent."
"Likewise," Clark smiled. He watched as she started to climb the stairs, then gathered the rest of his papers from the floor before continuing on his way.
Moana hesitated at the top of the stairs, watching Clark's back. She hated lying, but sometimes lies were necessary. It wasn't a complete lie. There was an exhibition in town, and she was asked to report on it. But that wasn't all she was here to do. Somewhere in this god-forsaken city was a man responsible for murder. And she was going to flush him out. Somehow.
XXXXXXXX
Antoine de Sade had grown up knowing more about politics than he cared to, but his father had often told him that he would inherit not only the title, but all the political problems that went with it. So he was comfortable here in Washington DC. Not as comfortable as he would have been in Paris, of course, but he at least understood the seats of power.
He had been here about a week, taking the opportunity to attend some public senate committee hearings to observe the methods these Americans used in their democratic processes. De Sade was not impressed with the so-called democracy the Americans were so proud of. They had tried to sell the idea that the people had some input into the decisions made in government, but as de Sade had seen in the past week, this was just a fallacy.
He glanced at his Rolex watch. Only the finest quality, of course, for a man born into a title which had been in existence for hundreds of years. Unlike his errant ancestor, who had been known for his sexual proclivities and his outspokenness, Antoine de Sade had learned the value of subtlety. He had bided his time, listening to the various conversations until he found the information he needed.
His fourth day into his visit to the nation's capital, he saw her. A woman of African descent, aged in her mid-sixties. She walked with a limp, and her hair, once a gloriously ebony colour, was now flecked with grey. Her face had previously been smooth and unlined, belying her age, but now it appeared as if she had aged ten years in the past two.
She often came to these sessions, from what de Sade had heard, in an effort to draw support in the senate for a new organisation she was attempting to form in place of her old one.
This particular day, de Sade followed the woman from the halls of power as she limped out of the building. But his path was quickly blocked by a skinny man of average height who wore glasses and a patch over one eye.
"Why are you following us?" he asked.
De Sade began to speak in French, although he could very well converse in English, hoping to throw the young man off track.
"Please excuse me," he said. "I do not speak English very well. I am but a poor man filled with curiosity."
There was a sound of a click as the hammer of a gun was pulled back.
"Pourquoi," said Amanda Waller, late of Checkmate, speaking in fluent French, "ai - je l'impression que vous mentez?"
"Why do I get the impression you're lying?"
De Sade smirked.
"I see you have lost none of your touch, Dr Waller."
Waller frowned, her brow furrowing.
"Do I know you?"
"We have met. When you were still working for Task Force X and Valentina Vostok. Now I understand you are no longer working for Checkmate."
"You seem to know an awful lot about me, Mr ..."
"Marquis. Antoine de Sade."
Waller's eyebrow shot up, either in an expression of alarm or suspicion. But she let her arm drop, disarming the gun.
"You're with the Illuminati," she said.
"Good. Then you are familiar with our work. We have some questions for you. Particularly about the man we now know as Superman."
The dark-skinned woman frowned. "Everything was destroyed when the Kandorians set fire to Checkmate headquarters," she said. "There is nothing more I can tell you that you do not already know."
"That remains to be seen. Come. We should talk."
Reluctantly, Waller allowed herself to be led away.
XXXXXXXX
"Mr Luthor, thank you for seeing me. I know you're busy."
Lex stared at the woman. She was attractive, in a nerdy sort of way, with olive skin and dark brown hair. And she spoke in an accent which told him she was from the south Pacific. Maybe the Antipodes. Lex had spent a week in his teens staying near the Great Barrier Reef and had met a few of the locals.
He was busy packing documents in his briefcase, ready for a trip to Washington.
"As you can see, I'm about to take a business trip."
"Of course. Well, you know how important this exhibition is to my people," she said. "They're grateful for the use of the Luthor wing of the museum."
"Your people?" Lex frowned.
"The indigenous population of New Zealand."
New Zealand, that was it. He remembered now that the country had become famous for the filming of one of his favourite movie series: The Lord of the Rings. And clearly the woman, Moana, was descended from one of the indigenous population.
"Well, I'm always happy to support the efforts of another country," he said.
Moana smiled. She opened her mouth to ask another question but was interrupted by a knock on the door. Tess came in.
"Sorry to interrupt, Lex, but I've just spoken to the pilot. He's fuelling up and should be ready to leave in about an hour."
"Good. Tess, this is Moana Rangihau." Lex grinned. "Sorry, did I pronounce that correctly?" he said, looking at the journalist.
"Close enough," she smiled back, but the smile didn't quite reach her eyes.
"Tess Mercer," the redhead nodded, shaking Moana's hand. "I believe you're here with the exhibition. Such an interesting culture. I look forward to hearing more. Are you in town long?"
"A few days," Moana nodded.
"Good." Tess looked back at Lex. "I'll just go finish packing," she murmured.
Lex turned back to Moana. "Was there anything else?" he asked.
Moana nodded. She dug in her bag, pulling out a photograph.
"I was wondering if you could help me on a personal project. Do you know this man?"
Lex looked at the photograph. It was the Baron de Rochefort. He quickly schooled his expression into a neutral one.
"No, I'm sorry, I don't. Who is he?"
"A murderer," she said.
XXXXXXXXX
Clark looked around at Watchtower. This had been their 'clubhouse' for over three years and he still didn't completely understand how everything worked. Oliver had clearly gone all out when he'd outfitted this place with the latest in technology, from the one-touch screens to the high-level access to government satellites. And that was one thing that worried him. If they had access to Big Brother, then surely it could work the other way around?
"You worry too much, Clark," Chloe had once told him.
But if the past few weeks had taught him anything, it was that his worry was valid. He thought back to the Vigilante Registration Act. Now he knew that it had been initiated by someone who had been possessed by an entity which wanted to bring darkness to Earth. But even though he'd had a victory over Darkseid, the battle against the darkness in humans was still raging.
It felt like they were still at war. And that bothered him. He remembered something Carter had once said.
"I've been around long enough to know that the only way to win a war is to strike first."
Carter Hall had been his friend, but Clark wasn't sure he believed in that philosophy, any more than he believed in killing.
Jor-El had once advised him that in order for there to be balance in the world, there had to be an equal weight in both darkness and light, good and evil. Yin and Yang. And ever since Lex had returned, supposedly from the dead, Clark had found himself harking back to the old Kawatche prophecy of Naman and Sageeth. He'd long ago written the prophecy off as a story, but maybe it hadn't been.
Lois nudged him with her elbow.
"You look kinda deep in thought there, Smallville," she said.
"Just thinking," he told his wife.
"About what?"
He sat down on the couch, pulling her down beside him. Mara was asleep in a small room off the main room of Watchtower. Lois never let the baby out of her sight these days, which was unsurprising, given the scare they'd had over three weeks ago.
And it was strange that these people, the mysterious Illuminati, had made no moves since then. That was what worried him.
Lois touched his hand and he looked down at his beautiful wife. Her long dark hair was brushed back off her face in an untidy knot, her colour making her look wan. She was tired. Mara was now over six weeks old, but Lois still wasn't getting much sleep. Clark tried his best to help out, but he'd had to patrol a lot more recently, since Oliver and Chloe had gone back to Star City. Chloe wanted to stay under the radar for a bit, at least until she could get a handle on this threat.
And the thing that worried him lately was that criminal activity seemed to sense that Superman was distracted. He'd missed so many crimes lately. Maybe they were taking more care to not get caught, but Clark doubted it somehow.
"Honey, you're drifting."
"Sorry, Lois," he said. "I was just ..."
"Over-thinking. You always tend to over-think things, Smallville. Now talk to me."
"I don't know," he sighed. "There's so much going on and I'm not even sure where things stand right now."
"What's bothering you right now?" she asked.
"Everything."
"Well, that narrows it down," she said with a smile. "Why don't we start with the basics and work our way up?"
"Did I ever tell you about the legend in the caves?" he asked.
Lois' eyes darted and she frowned at him.
"The Kawatche caves?"
"Yes."
She shook her head. "No, I don't think you did."
"Well, there's a painting on the wall of a two-headed monster. Kyla Willowbrook told me that it was Naman and Sageeth."
"Whoa, back up there, Smallville. Kyla?"
"I sort of, um, dated her. Well, not really. I mean, we got together a couple of times, but ..."
"When was this?" Lois asked, with the slight bitter tone of jealousy in her voice.
"Sophomore year." Lois seemed happier with that.
"Okay. Go on."
"Kyla's grandfather had been searching for the caves, which got buried sometime in the late sixties. I stumbled across them. Well, more like fell in. Anyway, Kyla told me that there was a prophecy of Naman, who came to Earth in a rain of fire, had the strength of ten men and could shoot fire from his eyes."
"And of course, she naturally assumed that was you? How did she know about your powers?"
"Uh, well, she found me when I fell. It must have been about a hundred feet, and I didn't have a scratch on me."
"I see. So where is this Kyla now?"
"She died. It's a long story. But anyway, back to the legend, it said that Naman and Sageeth were like brothers, but somewhere along the way they were supposed to become enemies. One good, the other evil."
"That sounds a lot like you and Lex," Lois commented.
"Yeah, it does."
"So you were thinking about Lex?"
"I suppose. I mean, even Dr Fate told me Lex was destined to be my greatest enemy. But I was thinking about something Jor-El said. That there always had to be a balance in the universe. A Yin to someone's Yang."
"What does this have to do with what is happening now? With the Illuminati?"
"It just seems like we defeat one evil only to come up with something bigger."
"That's why it's so important to never give up, honey. To keep fighting. Remember that silly movie we saw one night before Mara was born? Totally cheesy, but there's a line in it that always stuck."
"Never give up. Never surrender. You're right. It is cheesy."
Clark got up and began playing with the keys on the main computer.
"I met someone today. She seemed ... I don't know. A little odd."
"In what way?"
"I don't know. She seemed awkward, but I just got the feeling it was all an act. She's supposedly here with the exhibition in town."
"Do you have a name?" Lois asked.
"Rangihau." He thought that was how it was pronounced.
"Rangi what?" Lois got up and went to the computer. "What exhibition?"
"The one in the Luthorcorp wing of the Metropolis Museum," he said.
"From New Zealand?" Lois frowned. "Okay, let's see what I can do here," she said, beginning to type.
XXXXXXXX
De Rochefort peered at the screen at de Sade.
"J'ai pris contact avec Amanda Waller," Antoine was saying. "Je crois que ce n'est qu'une question de temps avant qu'elle ne vienne a travailler pour nous."
"Excellent, mon ami." Yves told his fellow Illuminati. He signed out and glanced at the clock showing the current time in Bavaria. Almost time.
"I've made contact with Amanda Waller," Antoine was saying. "I believe it is only a matter of time before she comes to work for us."
"Excellent, my friend,"
Meanwhile, a man sat in a large conference room in the state located in the south east of Germany. He was surrounded by computer monitors, the room looking more like the bridge of the Enterprise than a conference room. The man smirked at the thought. Americans and their television, he thought. If they'd stopped watching the idiot box long enough, they might actually have noticed the little coup going on in their own country. But they hadn't. And sleeper agents had managed to infiltrate the seats of power with barely a murmur.
A monitor flickered into life and he stared at the screen. Other monitors began flickering.
"Welcome, brothers and sisters," he said, smiling in welcome. "We will begin our briefings momentarily."
He waited until all were online, then nodded in satisfaction at the figure in the first monitor.
Like himself, every one of the six members were dressed in black. The men in black business suits with black silk shirts, in the finest quality money could buy. The women were also dressed in silk, in conservative dresses – form-fitting, but so well cut they hid more than they showed. Every one of the six were slim. The Illuminati made no allowances for imperfections.
The man known only as Annaboth to those who knew him, had been elected to his seat a few years earlier by each known branch of the brotherhood. His name was kept confidential, for the most part, and to others outside this elite group of seven, he was known only by his rank. Number One.
Each member wore a simple badge, giving proof of their membership, on their lapel or pinned above the breast. The badge held the symbol of the Illuminati – a light-emitting giant eye, hovering above a pyramid and surrounded by a pentagram.
Number One stood, waiting, allowing a calm to wash over him.
"We shall begin. Number Three, brief us on the status of your mission. And speak in English."
Number Three nodded in reverence. He may have a very high rank in the Brotherhood, but he knew when to bow to his superiors.
"Thanks to our brothers and sisters in Paris and London, as well as the Brussels headquarters of the European Union, we have succeeded in creating economic instability. Despite various governments' actions to avoid bankruptcy, shareholders have fled to Asia, and we have seen multiple demonstrations against poverty and unemployment. In North America, there have been recent troubles with loans being called in – all, of course, orchestrated by our loyal friends. The Americans now have economic bankruptcy to match their moral bankruptcy."
The others nodded. One clapped softly for a few seconds, until Number One turned to them, nodding slightly. The woman stopped. Number Three continued.
"There is, however, a threat ... these so-called superheroes with their strange powers. And thanks to our agents placed in government organisations, and to our investments, we can now begin to move against these superheroes."
"To what purpose?" Number Six asked.
"To study them. I have personally been overseeing a plan to take a hybrid of the one called Superman. We know his true identity. Our testing has confirmed this. We are currently preparing underground bases purposely built for the study of these beings, and for those we now know to have power mutations by the substance known as Kryptonite. I have personally made a significant investment in a town called Smallville, and I will use the opportunity this gives me to gather more of this substance."
De Rochefort smiled evilly.
"I am prepared to be patient, my friends. The United States, with its Vigilante Registration Act failed, but we will not fail, my friends."
"What is your plan, Number Three?" Number One spoke.
"Soon, Number One. Soon the foolish American public will no longer believe in their hero, and we will crush Superman."
This time, the applause was deafening.
