A/N: Apologies for the horrible delay. Real life and attack of the idle Muses kept me from writing this week. You can also blame the totally engrossing TV show "Prison Break" and those who got me hooked on it. (You guys know who you are!) Shout outs to Sean Montgomery, Htbthomas and Bitsyboo1974 for the funny chats and encouragement to pull myself out of the PB fanaticism long enough to pay attention to a certain Super!Stud. Smoochies!
Veritas
Chapter 9: "In Too Deep"
The deafening roar of the chopper blades drowned out all other noise, as Margaret DeGalle sat looking out the window. It had been a long flight through Canada, and the lack of sleep while doing all her planning and researching was starting to catch up with her. Stifling a yawn, she looked out over the frozen expanse of a glacier. The white was blinding – the older ice floes and the crevices glowed a frigid blue beneath her, and Margaret wondered what the first explorers of this land might have thought, gazing upon such unforgiving lands.
The Vikings were some of the first to discover this area, and they brought with them treasures plundered from foreign lands in Europe. Lucky for me, they saved me a trip across the Atlantic. Margaret didn't want to think about how difficult it might have been searching for this final object of her 'legendary' collection if she'd had to traverse the whole of Europe and the Middle East.
The time was at hand, anyway. If she was to go forward with her plans, she had to put the pieces of the puzzle together in the right order, and do it soon. As they neared a mountain range, she could make out the faint spots on the ice floe that signified 'civilization.' Or perhaps, Jack London's idea of civilization.
The specks became houses, clustered together beneath the shadow of a hulking mountain. Her guide, Schleimer, would be waiting for her there. He had a background in archeology, but had a reputation for unscrupulous dealings in black market antiques and artifact trading. And he would be perfect for their venture – there were quite a few people who wouldn't mind Schleimer 'disappearing', because of deals that had gone bad in the past.
The chopper landed finally, sending ice and dirt flying. Omar hopped out first, opening the door and helping Margaret down. She adjusted the hood on her fur-lined parka, and made her way to the Land Rover parked at the end of the landing zone. Standing in front of the SUV was a tall, lanky man – his head was shaved, and sported a well-manicured bleach blond goatee. Behind the frames of his glasses were eyes as frigidly blue as the ice floes behind him. He smiled tightly as Margaret approached.
"Ms. DeGalle, I presume?" he asked in a thick German accent.
Margaret raised her chin a margin in response. "It's never a good idea to presume anything. But in this case…" she accepted the hand he'd proffered, giving it a reserved shake. "…you are correct. Is everything ready?"
"Yes, ma'am. I have all the gear to get to the site in my SUV. It will be an hour long climb through that cavern," he pointed to a niche in the mountain behind him. It wasn't too far up, but Margaret had come prepared anyway.
Omar stepped up behind his mistress with more gear. Margaret knelt to tighten her boots, and then stood. "So, what are we waiting for?"
Schleimer balked. "Um, do you have the rest of my fee?" When Margaret gave him a sharp look, he hastily added, "Not that I don't appreciate what you've paid me already, I did have to pay off the site guards so that we would have some privacy. Not to mention the arrangements to have the item shipped back to Metropolis without going through customs. All of those things take connections…and connections take money." He emphasized the last statement by rubbing his fingers together in a 'monetary' gesture.
Margaret took a satchel from Omar and faced Schleimer squarely.
Her rich brown eyes flashed as she answered in a smooth monotone. "Heir Schleimer, you seem to have confused me with an amateur. Things have been set into motion that goes way beyond your pitiful excuse for gainful employment. So you see, I really could care less who you happen to owe. You'll get the rest of your money after – and only after – the item I seek is safely on its way back to the States. I paid you to find the object and to keep it safe from any other hunters who may have heard about it."
Scheimer frowned deeply, his throat working to swallow as the regal woman before him stepped into his personal space. If he'd thought her beautiful at first sight, that thought evaporated as he saw the true depth of her malevolence behind the mask of practiced calm.
"If you have a problem with those arrangements, dear sir, I'm sure we can see to it that new plans for you are arranged." She stared him down until she could see a tiny bead of sweat form on his brow. When she was satisfied she'd made her point, an action she was well acquainted with accomplishing – Margaret strode away toward the SUV.
And Schleimer followed behind, all the while wondering just how deep he'd dug himself this time.
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The sun was starting to set in Metropolis, throwing shadows down the streets and throughout the cavernous buildings. In his office, Darius paced. In his hands he held the crumpled printout of the picture of the Davis Foundry employees. He'd circled the faces of the two Irish workers who had ended up dead in the basement of the east side antiques store.
It still isn't adding up. What do these workers have to do with those robberies? And what could foundry workers want with antiques? Darius ran a hand through his sandy blond hair. He'd been working on this ever since he and Hamill discovered the connection, and aside from his other business ventures, he'd barely thought of anything else. It was beginning to wear on him.
Pinching the bridge of his nose, he flipped open his cell phone and dialed his aunt's personal number. Usually she carried her cell with her everywhere. But just as he had the past day or so, all he got was her voice mail. Is she avoiding me? Darius chewed his lip for a moment – then called Margaret's personal assistant.
"Donna? Yes, it's me. I would really like to get in touch with my aunt, please," he said in a measured tone. I have a few questions to ask…
"I'm sorry, Mr. Darius. But your aunt left word that she didn't want to be disturbed on her trip."
He sighed and rolled his eyes, "Can you at least tell me where the hell she went? I mean, is that too much information?" Darius knew his aunt could be secretive, and she'd put him off many a time – but this was different. There was a different feel about her the past few days. Like she was planning something…and didn't want him to have any part of it.
The assistant was apologetic. "I'm really sorry, sir. She didn't say."
Darius shut the phone off and reared back to throw it across the room, before thinking better of it. He'd spent a long time trying to control his once hair-trigger temper. He was tired and stressed…and suspicious. But he needed to keep his cool.
"Dammit!" he spat.
Walking to his desk, Darius grabbed a tumbler of single malt Scotch, and drained it. Is she planning a take-over of the company? It's not as if she doesn't own a few of her own. And she's always been content to run things from the background. Suddenly, a thought broke through Darius' muddled brain.
"If she didn't leave word where she was going, maybe she left a paper trail," he muttered to himself, as he rounded his desk and sat at his computer.
He keyed into the Daedalus Corporation main frame. He tried to break into Margaret's personal files, but got nowhere. I guess I skimped on those computer tech classes at Harvard. Though, I doubt 'hacking' was a credited course…
He realized that most of the important things would be kept on Margaret's personal laptop, which she took everywhere. Darius sat back in his chair, rubbing a hand over the evening stubble forming on his chiseled jaw. Where else could there be a clue to her whereabouts?
The proverbial light bulb went off over his head, and Darius had to refrain from saying 'duh' out loud. His company kept a fleet of personal jets and Sesna prop planes. As CEO, he'd certainly have access to the flight manifests and plans for all the out-going flights. Quickly, he pulled up the files.
Margaret had taken one of the Sesnas late in the afternoon the day before, to Montreal, Canada. That was it. Montreal? Why the hell would she have to go there secretly? Darius couldn't believe that was all there was to it, that she'd gone up there on a shopping trip. After clicking around in the flight charters, he saw a small note on the bottom of a page.
"Well, well!" he murmured. "It seems that Aunt Margaret's bodyguard has a penchant for renting helicopters from this particular air strip."
He stared at the information before him, utterly confused and more than a little curious.
"Greenland? What the–?"
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A light started blinking on the computer of Justin Jenkins' desk in the security office in the bowels of the Daedalus Corp. He checked the incoming information carefully and frowned. He'd been there a long time, and he'd never thought he'd have to be making this call. Especially about the company's CEO, himself!
Picking up the phone, he dialed and waited. "Yeah. It's me. He's been snooping around the files. Yes, that's what I said."
Justin's fist tightened while he listened to the excuses. Then he said darkly, "I don't care what the signal strength is up north, or if you have to send a carrier pigeon. He said he wanted to know the moment this ever happened and he has his orders from the top. I'm just doing as ordered. Now see that the message is sent!"
He slammed the phone down, and went back to his computer. It was going to be a long night.
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Lois wandered back into the Daily Planet sometime before dark. She knew she'd be better off going home, but ironically enough, she'd left some thing s at her desk. She would just have to risk running into him.
God, please let him be gone. Flying around, saving people from landslides or stalled cars…something!
The war room had cleared out, only a few reporters and runners where milling about the office. Lois caught sight of Perry at his desk, berating someone. It was oddly comforting. While her world was spinning out of control, there were some things that stayed constant. Surreptitiously, Lois stole a glace over to the corner of the room – where his desk was. Mercifully, it was empty.
Lois breathed a little sigh of relief as she made her way to her desk and started pulling her things together. She noticed her notes on the antiques store robberies – completely recopied in clear, concise script. Damn him. He just had to do this…Lois glared at the notebook.
He'd recopied it for her while she was gone. Well, she might not be able to even say his name right now, but if using him helped her get further on this case, so be it. She snatched the book up and stuffed it in her bag, along with her list of police contacts. Maybe she could get farther with some of her contacts who worked the night shifts.
Her cell chirped. "I'm on my way, Richard," she said by way of greeting.
"No, its okay, hon. I just wanted to know if you could pick up some take-out on the way home. I've pulled the plane out of the water so I can get to work on those pontoons. I might be out here a while."
"In the dark?" Lois asked.
She could hear his smile over the phone, "You know those flood lights I had installed around the launch dock? Around the big work area I spent last summer setting up…?"
Lois twitched a sarcastic smile. It felt good to have something to smile about, for a change. "Oh yeah. Right. I forgot." She flipped through some messages left on her desk. "Is Jason with you?"
"Yeah, he's going to be my helper this evening," he said, and in the background she could hear her son yelling in agreement. Before she could ay it, Richard cut her off, "Don't worry, he's just going to be handing me some wrenches and fetching water bottles."
Lois frowned. "Well, just make sure he doesn't get too close. I hate it when you have to put that thing up on blocks like that. It looks unstable."
"Nonsense, Lois. Thos blocks are specially made for seas planes. Besides, if I don't get those pontoons fixed, they'll take on water the next time out. Then, all this bird will be good for is a semi-floating fishing dock."
Lois smirked, but before she answered, a yellow note on her desk caught her eye. At once, she recognized the same simple scrawl.
Lois,
I've done some insanely stupid things, but lying to you wins the grand prize.
I know you probably want nothing to do with me, but
I'd really like a chance to talk to you. If you'll let me.
I really want to try to make things right.
Please.
Clark
Lois' throat suddenly closed off, even though she could hear Richard asking her if something was wrong. There was a new presence in the room. One she had been completely in tune with, but had recently become alien to her. She slowly looked up to meet the deep blue eyes of Clark across the room. He was standing, hands in his pockets, gazing intently at her.
That same longing was there, echoing like shockwaves from his being – straight into her soul. It was suffocating.
Lois stood there, mouth open, cell phone still in her ear, barely breathing. She noticed, albeit distractedly, that Clark had changed at some point. The sneaky bastard. Had time to change, come back here – rewrite my notes…save a small country. And then he's back, playing 'normal' – back in his normal-suit, ridiculous glasses and all!
Lois suddenly felt sick, her mind reliving the humiliation of being lied to for so long. Richard's voice startled her, "Lois!"
"Oh, sorry Richard. I'll be home soon." And she quickly hung up.
Hastily, before he can come over here, Lois gathered her things. She was rounding her desk to make a dash to the elevator when Perry called out to her.
"Lois! What's the status on that report I gave you?" he bellowed.
"Working on it!" she yelled over her shoulder, and disappeared into the elevator. She didn't breathe normally until she was in the cab, on her way home.
Lois fumbled with her keys and the bags of take-out as she entered her house. After putting it away, she looked out the den window. Under the glow of the halogen lamps, she could see Richard bent over one of the plane's pontoons. Jason was sitting a few feet away, happily pretending to work on his toy plane with some of Richard's tools. The child carefully inspected his tiny plane's landing gear, and must have decided work was needed because he jumped up and went to rummage through the tool kit.
They looked so happy together – Richard telling his 'son' stories of flying, and Jason sitting in rapt attention. It's not fair. We have a good life. It's not fair to any of us to have it all turned upside down. Lois worked to swallow the knot in her throat as she watched her son and the man he'd always known as his father.
She had just stepped out on to the back porch to tell her boys that dinner was ready, when she heard an odd noise coming from the plane. Richard was now on his back on a rolling board underneath the pontoon, with Jason watching nearby.
Lois stopped dead in her tracks. Her blood went cold with terror as she heard a monstrous metallic groan.
And the sea plane began to tip…
TBC…
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A/N2: Thanks again to htbthomas and Sean Montgomery for the betas! You two rock harder than a Rolling Stones concert! Smoochies!
Want teasers for upcoming chapter, or fun (and sometimes hot) Clark/Lois drabbles? The check out my homepage in my profile on here! http / alamo-girl80 (dot)livejournal (dot)com
