All previous disclaimers apply.
Language revised as of 08/31/06. Three cheers for my lovely beta, SS4EVA!
Spoilers: Witness, Insurgence
Chapter 23
The steam shooting from Chloe's ears nearly matched those wafting from the booth Leo and Clark were sharing, gazing earnestly on at one another as Leo's knee beneath the table kept nudging nudged Clark's. Then Leo's hand brushed absently over Clark's as she passed him the sugar, completing the portrait of intimacy the two were sharing and tearing Chloe's beating heart from her chest.
Under other circumstances, even imagining that sight would have driven the heart-broken girl to her room in tears where she could snuggle up to Mr. Boots (an ancient teddy bear she disavowed any connection to if confronted) for comfort.
It just wasn't fair.
Chloe had privately cheered when Lana left town to pursue her European adventure. Not that it was inappropriate for her to do that – it really was a great opportunity for Lana – but she also wasn't sorry to see the object of Clark's stalker-like attention a few thousand miles away. She even harbored the occasional daydream of her clueless friend someday developing a new fixation; say, on a certain attractive, intelligent, witty female best friend...
Chloe was horrified when he did exactly that – she wasn't sure whether to laugh or to cry. Admitting Clark had no interest in her romantically was bad; losing her best friend status to Leo hurt even worse.
Competing against the homecoming queen is one thing.
Competing against a billionaire fashion model…this is getting ridiculous.
It was almost as if her life was the product of some sadistic writer that took twisted pleasure in torturing her. And what the hell does Leo Luthor see in a high school boy anyway? Aren't women supposed to be into older guys?
And why am I letting Clark and Mrs. Robinson get to me?
She was Chloe Sullivan – hard-bitten ace reporter, Editor of the Torch, journalist-in-training for the Daily Planet. If she was going to win her first Pulitzer before she turned thirty, she didn't have time for romantic nonsense anyway!
Thus armored from her despair by ambition, she speared the object of her torment with a murderous glare, stomping up behind him, shaking her head slightly. "What happened to you?"
Chloe punctuated her demand by throwing her bag down forcefully on the table with a loud thud.
Clark just looked at her, confused.
His befuddled expression only fed her growing rage, burning away the despair that had threatened to cripple her moments earlier. "Story deadline..." she hinted, waiting expectantly for Clark to catch a clue, "Stop me when I'm getting warm!"
A sudden look of realization crosses Clark's face.
"My article about the debate team," he blurted out, eyes widening. "Oh, Chloe, I'm really sorry," he hurriedly apologized. "I just got caught up helping Leo…um," Clark sputtered. Helping Leo in her lab, allowing her to take additional readings on my alien superpowers in a secret laboratory facility. "Um…"
"With some gardening at the Mansion," Leo supplied smoothly. Leo suppressed sending a chiding expression at Clark for his hesitation – he really needed to learn to think quicker on his feet. "The landscaping crew canceled on me, and I needed Clark's help tending to my rose bushes."
Relieved for the assist, Clark pleaded, "I'm so sorry Chloe; it was a…a sort of last minute thing. Those plants are really delicate. I'll get the story to you first thing tomorrow morning."
Chloe wasn't stupid. She caught that look Clark gave Leo, and her reporter's instinct had a pretty good idea what kind of "gardening" Clark was doing with Leo's bush. Hell, the entire town had been whispering about it for months. "Well, unfortunately Clark, I needed it tonight," she spat with scorn. "To fill in the hole, I had to blow up the lunch menu to a 60-point type. I'm sure the student body is going to find that fascinating."
"Chloe, it's really my fault," Leo replied dutifully, carefully suppressing a triumphant smirk. "I apologize for the inconvenience." Well aware of Ms. Sullivan's infatuation with Clark, Leo toyed with her vanquished competitor, much like a cat pouncing on a cornered mouse, and enjoying herself just as much.
"No, Leo, I don't blame you," Chloe replied with equal sincerity. As she spoke, Chloe then pinned Clark with a look that made him squirm uncomfortably.
While staying to watch the fireworks might have been entertaining, Leo decided to err on the side of discretion after a final sip of her latte. Now that she was certain her rival was vanquished, she could afford to be magnanimous. "Well, I need to finish up some loose ends at the office," she announced. Turning to Clark, she then bathed him in a knowing, sunny smile. "Thanks "Thanks again for your help."
Clark smiled back. "Yeah."
As Leo glided away, Clark turned his attention back to Chloe – who just stared at him, extremely upset. Clark shifted in his seat, suddenly feeling very small.
He took a deep breath. "Chloe, I'll make it up to you. I promise."
Chloe shook her head, refusing to take a seat. "I can't say that makes me feel any better," she replied bitterly. "Given your previous track record on promises..."
"It's one story," Clark answered matter-of-factly. "What's the big deal?"
"That it was less important than spending one afternoon with Leo."
"Don't make this about Leo," Clark snapped defensively.
"I'm not," Chloe asserted firmly. "This is about you, and your perennial inability to be there when I need you."
He flinched, struck by her accusation. "Whoa, don't you think you're being a little harsh?"
"No. I don't," Chloe replied bluntly, ignoring the wounded puppy expression he gave her. She was angry, she was hurt, and she was on a roll. Clark is going to listen to me whether he likes it or not. "I'm never a priority in your life. I'm always just your back-up plan, and I'm tired of it!"
Clark was shocked. "That's ridiculous."
"Is it?"
Upset, Clark rose from his seat and snapped, "Chloe, if that's the way you feel, then maybe I should quit."
Undaunted, Chloe raised her chin defiantly, not backing down. "Maybe you should!"
Chloe and Clark stared intensely at each other for several beats.
"Fine!" he barked angrily. "I quit!"
Clark turned and briskly stalked out of the Talon.
It took a moment for the words to register. Chloe wordlessly sank into the seat Clark just vacated, completely stunned. She turned and leaned against tabletop, sinking her face into her hands and sighing sadly.
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Clark jogged home from the Talon, stilling fuming from his blowout with Chloe. Where does she get off chewing me out like that? Sure he'd missed a few articles, but he had a lot on his mind. And how many times have I pulled her out of certain death?
Not that Clark expected any reward for doing the right thing, but he was sure he had at least earned a little slack.
As he sped through the back roads, he skidded to a halt when he ran across several masked figures surrounding an unmarked, overturned truck in the middle of the road. At first unnoticed by the masked figures, Clark watched them pull open the back doors of the truck.
"Come on, help me get the stuff out of the back!" one of the masked figures yelled.
"Right!"
Clark had seen enough. "Hey!" he yelled. "Hey! What do you think you're doing?"
One of the masked figures turned toward him. "Get out of here man!"
"Hey!" Clark yelled again angrily and grabbed one of the masked men's arms, pulling him away. As the man twisted around, Clark briefly noticed a Smallville High class ring.
As he looked at the ring, the masked man punched him hard in the chest.
To his shock, Clark released his grip as he stumbled back. He was slightly winded, but otherwise unhurt. How is this possible? What the heck is going on? With a slight shake of his head, Clark started toward the masked robbers again.
However, this time, one of the masked men ripped the back door off the van, turned toward Clark, and cracked him across the jaw with the door, sending Clark sailing through the air and into a nearby ditch. The boy then tossed the door down as if it were feather light.
Meanwhile, his accomplices quickly grabbed the contents of the truck.
"Hurry up, dude, hurry up," one of them urged.
Clark, still lying in the ditch, focused his X-Ray vision on the one who hit him with the door. He noticed a large metal plate above his right eye.
The robbers then pulled a large covered pallet from the van and loaded it into the back of another waiting truck before speeding off, leaving Clark behind to stare at them in wonder.
What just happened?
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After the boiler explosion and fire that destroyed Smallville High's main building, all classes and extra-curricular activities were crammed into the temporary trailers that Leo Luthor had donated to the school district until the newly rebuilt main building was finished at the beginning of the next school year. Until then, space was extremely tight. With classroom space being a premium, extra-curricular organizations had to settle for whatever space or resources they could scrounge.
Thus, when Clark went to the Torch to research the ringleader of the truck hijackers, Smallville baseball hero Eric Marsh, he was hunched over an ancient Tandy computer on a wooden stool in the back of a cramped trailer. While the resources of the Torch were severely reduced after the fire, it was the only research facility he had available. However, Clark purposely waited until later that evening to do his research. The Torch was sharing space with over a dozen other student organizations in the cramped trailer, and Clark wanted to avoid anyone looking over his shoulder.
He thought about asking Leo for help, but decided against it. She had already done so much for him; he didn't want to impose on her anymore than he needed to…
And he wanted to get all his facts straight before he asked her.
After Clark identified Eric Marsh as the likely ringleader of the truck hijacking (from both his class ring and the metal plate in his head), he tailed Marsh for most of that afternoon, following him to an old foundry where Marsh stored a complicated looking chemical apparatus and what Clark assumed Marsh and his gang had stolen the previous night – a cart full of refined meteor rocks.
Unfortunately, Marsh and his buddies discovered him and roughed him up badly before (attempting to) disposing of Clark by stuffing him into a burning furnace boiler. From what Clark did manage to learn, Marsh, chemistry wizard extraordinaire and Smallville's home-run slugging baseball star, had somehow stumbled onto a way to transform the refined meteor rocks into some kind of super-steroid.
While Clark was frustrated at being overpowered, he wasn't overly worried: one anonymous tip to the Sheriff before Marsh could refuel with the super-steroid again would take care of him.
What did concern Clark was the source of the refined meteor rocks. Ever since Leo had took taken over the Plant, the list of people who had the resources to process sizable quantities of refined meteor rocks in Smallville was not a long one.
What is Leo doing refining meteor rocks anyway? And why (and where?) was she transporting them in the middle of the night in unmarked trucks?
Everything about this situation stunk, and he resolved to confront Leo about this first thing tomorrow…
"Marsh?" a familiar voice piped up behind him, breaking his concentration. "Why are you interested in him?"
Clark recovered quickly. "Doesn't matter," he muttered flatly, gathering his things and putting them in a box beside the cramped workspace, refusing to meet Chloe's prying eyes.
She walked over to stand in front of him. "Clark, I didn't ask you to quit the Torch."
"I thought all I do is disappoint you," he replied coldly. Clark brushed past Chloe to the other side of the cramped office corner, removing some of his investigative research materials from another table.
"I didn't say that," Chloe snapped. "I just said it seems like you drop everything for Leo with no regard for anyone else."
Clark walked back to the desk and put the items he was carrying inside the box. "I thought this wasn't about Leo," he retorted angrily.
Chloe suddenly looked guilt-stricken. "It's not."
Clark shot a skeptical look at her.
"It's not." Chloe repeated, more firmly this time.
"Then why is it, every time you see us together, you look at me like I'm cheating on you?" Clark challenged.
Chloe froze. Am I that transparent?
Quickly recovering, she said defensively, "Well, I'm sorry Clark, but you're wrong, and if that's the way you feel, maybe we shouldn't even hang out anymore!"
Clark just stared at Chloe, completely stunned, a mix of anger, hurt, and disbelief parading across his face. But before Clark could fire off an angry retort, his mother's soothing voice inside his head suddenly stopped him. 'Don't say anything in anger you'll regret later,'. her voice counseled.
Succumbing to that voice, the same gentle internal voice he depended on to keep his powers in check, Clark bit back a caustic response. Instead, he picked up his box of research materials and office belongings and stormed out of the Torch's cramped quarters.
Chloe watched him go, angrily stifling the hurt and tears that threatened, planting herself at the very same work station Clark had just left. Burying her face in her hands, she tried to pull herself together.
Her entire world was falling apart. The boy she loved neglected her. Her best friend had left her. The Torch was practically in ruins. Wallowing in loss and self-pity, she idly wondered how she could sink any further.
"It's Miss Sullivan, isn't it?" a rich baritone voice inquired.
Surprised, Chloe hurriedly recomposed herself and spun around to confront her unexpected visitor. "Lionel Luthor?" she gasped.
Completely off-balance, all Chloe could dumbly blurt out was, "You know who I am?"
Lionel smiled wolfishly at her stunned reaction as he leisurely strolled into the center of the room. He radiated power and confidence in his elegantly tailored suit, contrasting sharply with the shabbiness of the office around him.
"I've been following your work at the Torch for quite some time," he replied casually. Nodding toward the cluttered workspace from which Chloe had just risen, he added, "Your principal told me you might be here. I must say, I'm most impressed to find you here at this time of night, burning the midnight oil. That kind of dedication is rare in one so young."
Lionel briefly paused, momentarily surprising himself with the truth he found in that statement. In his investigation of Miss Sullivan's background, he had rarely encountered such dedication in one so young, outside his own late wife and estranged daughter. And good help is so hard to find. "I hope I'm not interrupting you."
Struggling to regain her journalistic composure, Chloe quickly replied, "No. No, I mean I'm--I've never entertained a billionaire before," she smiled weakly. What is this, the twilight zone?
Lionel merely chuckled and inspected the Dickensian squalor of the Torch's wretched workspace in the cramped trailer.
Suddenly embarrassed by the dingy cubicle that served as the Torch office, Chloe apologetically sputtered, "Um, you'll have to excuse the conditions. We're still not fully recovered from the boiler explosion that wrecked the school."
Lionel noticed the remnants of the Wall of Weird hanging over the computer and walked over to it. "And what's this?" he inquired, more to himself than to Chloe. Lionel reached out and fingered a singed article entitled "Local Teen Discovers Indian Caves," with a picture of Clark alongside it. "Hmm... this is an interesting display."
Somewhat embarrassed again, Chloe braced herself for scathing mockery. "Yeah, I call it The Wall of Weird."
Lionel chuckled mildly. "I'll come to the point, Miss Sullivan. I'd like to help you rebuild. I've instructed the LuthorCorp Foundation to make a donation to your school. In addition to rebuilding the school, a portion of these funds are specifically earmarked toward rebuilding and updating the journalism department."
Chloe looked at Lionel, her expression a mixture of joy and bewilderment. "Mr. Luthor, I'm…confused."
Lionel studied her curiously.
Rallying from her earlier stupor, Chloe doggedly pressed on. "I mean, the struggling editor in me wants to just leave it at "Thank You" but... the journalist in me has to ask "Why?"
Smiling warmly, Lionel explained, "I'm impressed with your willingness to explore alternative ideas and options, even with such limited resources." Eyeing her speculatively for a moment, he asked, "You interned at the Daily Planet last summer, didn't you?"
Chloe blinked, still trying to wrap her head around all of this. "Yeah."
Lionel nodded. "Hmm. Well, I have a little influence there. They certainly could use some new blood. Maybe…a column?"
Chloe's eyes widened as she stared at Lionel, dumbfounded.
"To introduce your unique point of view," Lionel continued.
A mixture of suspicion, uncertainty, and elation intermingled on Chloe's face. Laughing nervously, she said, "I... I don't want to look a gift horse in the mouth, but... I don't understand why the most powerful man in Metropolis is interested in helping me."
Looking at her intensely, Lionel handed her his business card, simply saying, "We're after the same thing, Miss Sullivan - the truth. You know, journalists are the midwives of history. Perhaps, with my help, we could make history together."
Chloe accepted the card and studied it curiously.
As Lionel turned to go, Chloe silently watched him leave. As he reached the door, Lionel looked back, and Chloe nodded slightly. Chuckling, Lionel exited the trailer containing the Torch's office, flanked by a pair of hulking bodyguards waiting outside the doorway that Chloe silently kicked herself for not noticing earlier.
Chloe looked at the card again, then studied the open doorway that Lionel had left behind him with wonder.
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Patience was the key, and Slade knew that, taking his time before making his move. A lot of time, several weeks' worth.
His mysterious new benefactor, 'Mr. Green,' Slade noted, seemed perfectly content with this, allowing him to proceed at his own pace and staying out of his way.
Most of his initial work was surveillance. Although Mr. Green had provided him with ample details concerning Mr. Luthor's personal schedule and beefed up security measures, Slade preferred to do his own recon work. He selected Luthorcorp Tower, in the center of downtown, as his target location. While the immediate vicinity of the building, Luthorcorp Plaza, was not heavily guarded, the lobby of the building itself was protected with metal detectors, a small army of armed security guards, and dozens of cameras.
For that reason, he plotted carefully – studying the building schematics, tweaking his weapons and explosives (in case Lionel grew a spine and refused to open his vault), mapping his routes, calculating his best angles of entry and exit. He also planted a custom-tailored blaster worm virus into the security mainframe the week before his planned strike, a sleeper virus that he had programmed to temporarily cripple Luthorcorp Tower's automated security grid at precisely 2 pm that Saturday afternoon, when Lionel would be most vulnerable there.
'I guess that year at Ft. Meade's Electronic Warfare School wasn't such a waste after all,' he mused to himself.
While it would have been easier to kill Lionel somewhere else, he had his reasons for doing it there: he wanted to strike at Lionel where he felt safest and in control, to knock that smug expression off his face.
But Slade also had more practical reasons, too: one of the schematics 'Mr. Green' provided for him revealed a concealed vault in Mr. Luthor's private office. In addition to killing his betrayer, Slade felt it was poetic justice to collect his payment for services rendered as well. After all, Luthor was one of the richest men in the world; there was no telling what treasures were stored there: cash, diamonds, rubies, gold…
Enough to start a whole new life.
Only when he was certain he had accounted for all of the variables did he begin. As evening descended, he rose from his creaky bed in the dingy transient motel that had been his home for the past several weeks and dressed in a pseudo-militaristic jump suit that might be mistaken as janitor's garb from a distance. Though his motives were intensely personal, achieving his objective would demand the same precision as a commando op, and he dressed accordingly in utilitarian garb.
After he dressed, he hoisted a specially packed duffel bag onto his back. Slade took a moment, adjusting the straps and distributing the weight. After making certain it was seated properly, he left to collect what was his….
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Pulling a battered black van beside the rear service entrance to Luthorcorp Tower, Slade briefly checked the weapons and silencers in the duffel bag beside him before climbing out and slinging the pack over his back.
After Slade entered the loading docks in the bowels of the building, an irritable security guard with a sagging gut and thinning hair challenged him at the rear entrance. "Hey, you there!" the guard called.
The same guard from the week before was at the same post again. Sloppy.
In one smooth motion, Slade pulled a silencered submachine gun from a concealed pouch in his pack and opened fire.
The guard didn't even have time to scream.
Slinging his weapon, Slade searched the body. The guard wore a radio, and Slade took it, hooking it to his belt in order to monitor Security's transmissions. From the com traffic, it seemed that building security was still busy coping with Slade's computer virus; they had just shut down the entire security program for several minutes to deal with it. Finished with his search of the body, he removed the cooling corpse from the docking bay and dumped it into an empty file room.
The relief guard would still spot it immediately, but the next guard shift wasn't scheduled for another 6 hours – not that it mattered. Every security guard in the building was going to be dead in 20 minutes anyway.
Checking his weapon again, Slade then pulled out his 'lucky' African war mask from the duffel bag, which included a black featureless half that covered his lost eye. Not that he felt any need to conceal his face, but he chose to wear it nonetheless. Concealing his features was a conceit, but he knew the psychological value it could provide.
He'd originally acquired it as a trophy taken from the collection of a slain warlord during his service in Somalia before 9/11. Supposedly blessed by a sorcerer, folklore claimed that any warrior who wore the mask into battle could not be killed, fore the mask's totem would bless the wearer with its mystical protection.
While Slade wasn't particularly superstitious, he wasn't above harnessing an advantage from wherever he could find one either – even if it came from the occult. All he knew was that the one time he had failed to wear it later in Afghanistan, he was nearly killed by a roadside bomb.
For this operation, he wasn't going to take any chances.
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"To Martha, with deep affection, L.L."
After reading the inscription on the Tiffany diamond watch Lionel had just presented to her, Martha was speechless.
"I'm promoting you, Martha," he beamed broadly. "Which means I'll be needing you more in Metropolis, which means you'll need someplace to work."
Martha shook her head in disbelief. "Lionel...I'm flattered, really, but...I can't accept this. And, as far as working in Metropolis, this job is putting enough strain on my family as it is."
Lionel leaned towards her and ran his hand down Martha's arm slowly before taking her hand in his own. "Martha, I know how much you've given up to be a…a farmer's wife, but with your brains and your talent, don't you deserve to make your own ambitions a priority for a change?"
Martha just shook her head, unsure how to answer. She felt trapped. First being lured to his office alone under false pretenses, and now having to fight off his advances! While she had been aware of Lionel's interest in her, she was shocked at how boldly he pursued a married woman!
Reading her silence as tacit consent, Lionel immediately exploited the opening. "We'll discuss it over dinner," he replied smoothly.
But before Martha could respond, a tall figure in a dull jumpsuit and an oddly bifurcated mask (half of which was completely black, with no eyehole) strode into the room and leveled a lethal looking machine gun at them.
"Hug the floor! Now!" he barked harshly.
Stunned, both Martha and Lionel quickly obeyed.
While they were both lying prostrate, Slade visually scanned the room for additional threats before patting both Martha and Lionel for weapons. Then he planted himself behind Lionel's desk, swiftly inputting keystrokes into Lionel's computer which both deactivated the virus he implanted and consolidated his control over the building's restored security system.
Still lying on the floor, Lionel gripped Martha's hand and squeezed consolingly. "Don't worry, Martha. Security will have everything under control momentarily."
"I wouldn't count on that," Slade sneered. Finishing his work at Lionel's computer, he arose from behind the desk to hover over his former employer. He blithely tossed a pair of bloody electronic ear pieces on the floor in front of Lionel. "Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dumb out there won't be disturbing us anytime soon, and neither will any of your other donut-munching rent-a-cops."
"Why don't you just let us go?" Martha pleaded. "You can avoid adding kidnapping to the breaking and entering charges!"
Turning toward the gunman, Lionel smirked at the masked intruder with an oddly amused expression. "You should listen to this woman. I find her advice invariably sound."
His tone was one of playful whimsy, disguising his own blazing anger that anyone would dare impose on his domain. Yet despite those raging emotions, he carefully shielded his true feelings. Despite his current wealth, Lionel had risen from the streets and had been in similar situations before – this was not the first time he had stared down a loaded gun. Though his body might have softened over time, his survival instincts were still as sharp as ever. In situations like this, he had found the secret was to never let the other side see your true emotions and always act as though you were the one in the position of authority, whether you really were or not.
"And I plan to," Slade answered mildly. "Right after you open that little vault of yours behind that fake wall, and I make a small withdrawal." Everything was proceeding like clockwork, and the hardest part was already over. Five minutes to empty the contents, shoot the hostages, deactivate the electronic security grid from Luthor's console, and exit the building. Piece of cake.
Lionel's smirk grew wider, more sinister. "I don't respond to threats. Especially not from a petty hoodlum who hides behind a mask. Besides, there's nothing in there you would find of value."
"I'm just collecting what you owe me," Slade answered coolly. "And I'll be the judge of what I find valuable or not. Value can be found all around us, Mr. Luthor. But it takes a true visionary to recognize and transform that potential into a tangible commodity."
Hearing his own words flung back at him, Lionel's face flickered with recognition. You!
Lionel quickly buried his expression, lest Martha caught it. Feigning his concession, Lionel sighed loudly. "Very well."
Ordering Martha to sit on the office couch, Slade kept his muzzled gun trained on Lionel as the mogul retrieved a keycard from his pocket to swipe on the scanner and input his personal security code into the vault's keypad. But as the vault door opened and momentarily distracted Slade, Lionel backed away, slipping his key card back into his pocket and retrieving a tiny panic-button – a silver cylinder that acted as a powerful palmtop transmitter that was attenuated to emergency police frequencies.
As Slade lurched towards the vault to greedily survey his newfound fortune, Lionel pressed the trigger on his small transmitter. Its tiny red light began to flash…
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Leo was pacing impatiently up and down the hallway outside her study, talking on her cell phone. When Clark entered the hallway behind her, he called out to her.
"Leo?"
She glanced over her shoulder, and continued walking down the hall as Clark followed. "I'll have to let you go," she replied into her phone before hanging up. "How can I help you, Clark?" S she asked as they strolled into her study.
Leo pinched the bridge of her nose with frustration. Drs. Fontaine and Sutherland were practically having gunfights over who got priority in studying Clark's blood sample, and Leo had spent much of her morning as referee. Maybe having Fontaine run the initial blood work hadn't been such a great idea, no matter how intriguing her implications regarding cloning were…
"I just found out you visited Eric Marsh in jail," Clark said, obviously upset. From the metal plate in his head, Clark had identified him as the hijacker of Leo's armored truck – the truck that came from Leo's plant that was carrying a load of refined meteor rocks. "Why were you visiting him?"
Leo's lips quirked with amusement. "I wasn't aware my visit was public knowledge," she observed, walking over to the bar to retrieve a bottled water. "The man stole my property and assaulted my employees. I wanted to have a little chat with him." Aside from determining who Eric's mole inside her company was, Leo was also interested in learning how he had ripped the doors off an armored truck with his bare hands. "What's Marsh have to do with you, Clark?"
Clark took a deep breath. "I was the one who phoned in the anonymous tip that got him arrested."
Leo whirled around to face him. "You what?"
"I tipped off the cops," Clark answered. "What were you transporting anyway?"
"Some sensitive chemical materials," she answered neutrally, "Nothing too valuable, but I'd hate for it to contaminate the environment."
Leo was pretty good at bluffing, Clark would give her that. The smile on her face would have looked serene to someone who didn't know her better. While he cared about her deeply, he was also slowly learning to read her expressions for what they were. Her current expression was the blank smile she routinely lapsed into when she was trying to disarm her competition.
"Leo, I already know there were refined meteor rocks in that truck."
Her eyes narrowed. "Have you been spying on me?"
"Of course not," Clark protested indignantly, "I was there when Eric and his gang hijacked one of your trucks. When I tried to stop him, they knocked me down and made their getaway. After that, I got curious and tracked them down," he explained. "But that still doesn't answer my question. What were you doing with those meteor rocks, Leo?"
"A public service: I was trying to safely dispose of them, Clark. Those rocks are a menace and an environmental hazard. You of all people should know that," she retorted.
At Clark's blanched expression, Leo knew that was had been a low blow. She knew how guilty he felt about all the damage the meteor rocks had done, but she needed to knock him off-balance. She really didn't like where his line of questioning was leading…
And to her great internal relief, her cell phone rang. Grateful for the interruption, Leo shrugged and answered.
Clark just stood there and stewed, annoyed at being put off….
Then his annoyance transmuted to concern as he saw Leo's expression cloud over.
"When did this happen!" Leo tersely growled into the phone, giving Clark an odd look. She continued nodding and asked several more vague questions before she concluded, "I'll be there in a few minutes."
When she hung up, Clark mirrored Leo's frown, their previous squabble forgotten – at least temporarily. "Trouble at the Plant?"
Leo shook her head grimly. "Your mother and my father have been taken hostage at my father's office."
Blood drained from Clark's expression, his face hardening. "We've got to do something," he said, his voice a full octave lower and his eyes distant, as if he had already left.
"I agree." With that, Leo snatched her purse and fisted a clump of Clark's shirt as she pulled him towards her. Bracing herself on his shoulders, she hopped into his arms in one fluid motion.
It caught Clark by surprise.
At his slack-jawed expression, Leo merely shrugged. "Can you think of a faster way to get there?"
Nodding, Clark sucked in a deep breath and took off, and shattered shattering his old speed record for those he loved.
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After they arrived, Clark and Leo parted ways, each concentrating on what they did best.
The police put up barriers to keep the crowd back. Clark came up from the back of the crowd and slipped past the barrier. He gazed up at Luthorcorp Tower, trying to figure out some way inside without being seen. After a moment, a police officer pulled him away.
"Young man, you too. Stay behind the barricades," the officer warned.
Clark wandered around to the side, watching as SWAT teams positioned themselves outside the building. Glancing down, Clark noticed a steam grate. Using his X-ray vision, he saw that it lead directly to an underground tunnel – maybe an underground access to the building? After looking around and making sure no one was watching, Clark knelt down and grabbed the grate, prepared to pull it up from the sidewalk, when he noticed the gleam of a gun from the corner of his eye.
"Stand up and put your hands over your head," the uniformed policewoman gruffly ordered.
Clark glanced up at the gun, which she aimed directly at his face.
"Stand up!"
Clark slowly rose and put his hands over his head, his brow wrinkled with worry and frustration at getting caught.
"Turn around."
Clark did as she told him as the cop – named Sawyer, according to her uniform – started to frisk him.
"I can explain," Clark blurted.
"Hold still," she ordered sternly, "Keep your fingers laced."
Satisfied that Clark wasn't armed, Sawyer stood up and pulled him around to face her, still aiming her gun directly at him.
"I'm listening."
"My name is Clark Kent. My mom is one of the hostages being held up there…"
"And you thought you'd play hero?" Sawyer finished harshly. "Well, assuming you are who you say you are, you almost just got your mother killed. Every opening in this building is wired with alarms. The kidnapper has control of the security system, and he threatened to start shooting hostages if anyone so much as sets a big toe inside. Come on hero. You're coming with me."
Clark hesitated. I can't just let it end like this!
"Move it, mister!"
Clark, realizing he had no choice, followed the officer.
But before she could lead Clark away, Leo magically materialized in front of them, blocking their path. With a business-like nod, Leo sternly greeted, "Lieutenant Sawyer, my name is Leo Luthor..."
"I know who you are," Sawyer snapped. "Now if you'll please step aside."
Leo remained anchored in front of her, blocking the policewoman's path. "I'll be sitting in on the hostage negotiations."
Lt. Sawyer frowned sourly. It was times like this that Sawyer really hated TV cop shows. One episode of "Law and Order" and everybody thought they were experts. "I understand your concern, ma'am, but protocol specifically forbids…"
"There are lives on the line, and you can use every edge you can get," Leo observed evenly. Leo purposely avoided specific mention of her father, trying to avoid portraying the image of the hysterical relative – that would only undermine the image of authority she sought to project. "From what I understand, this terrorist has a powerful grudge against Luthorcorp in general and my family in particular. My participation could give your negotiators a distinct tactical advantage. Now take me to your commanding officer."
Ordinarily, such deference would be unthinkable to a civilian, no matter how much money they had. However, as Lt. Sawyer was very much aware, the Luthors were not just another family with money.
Not in Metropolis.
With a resigned sigh, Lt. Sawyer jerked her head towards the command center, bidding Leo to follow. "This way, ma'am."
"Thank you Lieutenant. You may release Mr. Kent now."
Clark studied Leo in open admiration. She was plainly very good at guiding others toward things that needed doing or needed doing in a particular way. His own father had always warned him against over-reliance on his powers. Maybe learning other ways of handling problems could be useful…
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As persuasive as Leo could be, however, her best didn't seem to be enough to aid the police this time. Unfortunately, the terrorist proved far too shrewd to accept any sham offers of money or escape sanctioned by the authorities.
After the latest bout of failed negotiations, Leo strolled over to Clark, who was nervously hovering outside the temporary police command center.
"How did it go?" he inquired anxiously.
Leo shook her head, dashing his hopes. "It seems we're still at an impasse." At Clark's troubled expression, she reached over to hold his hand in sympathy. "Hey, it could be worse," she said encouragingly, trying to put a positive spin on things. "Both your mom and my father are still unharmed."
"Yeah, but for how long?" Clark worried aloud. "The cops aren't going to keep talking forever, and the kidnapper might shoot them if the police try anything. We have to do something!"
Leo gripped his arm and led him away from the throngs of police and gawking crowds. In a lowered voice, Leo confided, "I happen to agree with you. I just need a little time to devise a plan."
Clark shook his head slightly. "That's okay. I think I've found a way into the building."
Leo arched a curious eyebrow at him. "You have?"
"Nobody's watching the Daily Planet," he explained, glancing up at the nearby building across the street from Luthorcorp Tower.
At that comment, Leo's eyes joined Clark's as they both stared up at the large, majestic golden globe spinning atop the sixty-story skyscraper.
"You're not actually thinking of jumping?" Leo challenged incredulously.
"It's the only way," he stated resolutely, his jaw carved out of granite.
"That's got to be over 200 feet!" Leo gasped in disbelief.
"I can make it," he replied, sounding far more confident than he felt.
Liar. "Clark, you don't know that. Besides, don't you have a fear of heights?"
Clark clenched his jaw, nostrils flaring. "If we're not here to save our parents, then why are we here?" he snapped. While he appreciated Leo's intellect and her methodical approach to problem-solving, there were times when it was just easier for him to jump in and resolve the issue himself.
Leo face screwed up into a frown. "Hey, listen to me!" she hissed, angrily whipping a fiery strand of hair from her cheek. Since when the hell do you talk down to me like that! "I am just as concerned about them as you are, but we can't afford to make a mistake that could get them both killed."
Clark silently chewed over Leo's warning as he continued staring up at the Daily Planet building.
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While Clark ascended to the Daily Planet's roof later that night, Leo made one final gambit of her own to end the hostage standoff. Striding away from the police barricades, Leo pulled a cell phone from her purse; not her usual cell, but rather a specialized disposable cell phone her security chief delivered to her earlier that evening. It featured reinforced Caller ID blocking, an untraceable EDC, and a voice scrambler to disguise her identity.
She trusted Clark's abilities, but there was no guarantee that the kidnapper wouldn't shoot the hostages as soon as he detected Clark's presence. At times like this, Leo never failed to marvel at the incredible acts of recklessness and stupidity an excess of testosterone could induce.
Besides, she wasn't shackled by the same legal and ethical constraints as a police negotiator. Between that flexibility and her bargaining prowess, Leo was confident she could neatly resolve this issue before Clark worked up the nerve to execute his macho stunt.
Leo dialed her father's secured office line – an alternate phone line that not even the police were aware of (and one that Leo theoretically wasn't supposed to know about either) – and waited for a response.
A gruff, impatient reply from an unfamiliar voice answered. "Listen, unless you provide me with a fully fueled chopper on the roof, we have nothing more to discuss."
"I'm afraid you have me mistaken for someone else," Leo replied matter-of-factly.
There was a slight pause. "Mr. Green?"
Mr. Green? Leo frowned slightly. That simple greeting answered a number of questions for her — and brought up several more. So this isn't just some lone gunman; there's somebody else behind this. But who and for what purpose? After all, it wasn't as if her father had a shortage of enemies.
"I'm afraid not," Leo's electronically distorted voice answered over the phone, "But I do represent other parties interested in bringing this unfortunate episode to a profitable conclusion," she bluffed. "Given your predicament, I may be your best ally in this situation."
"Oh really?" Slade sneered. "And just how do you propose to get me out of this 'situation'? Invent a time machine?"
Uh oh. This was clearly not a man accustomed to being cornered, and he was starting to lose it. "Whatever you do, don't hurt any of the hostages. Just stay calm."
"How the hell am I supposed to stay calm?" Slade snapped. I actually have to keep this gutless worm Luthor alive to retain leverage over the cops. "I open up that damn Scrooge's vault expecting to find my retirement fund, and instead I find a bunch of files and green rocks all cut up into bars!"
Leo's eyes widened. What the fuck? "What else was in there?"
"What's it to you?" Slade demanded suspiciously. He was getting thoroughly fed up at being manipulated by mysterious benefactors.
"Answer me, and maybe I can help you."
Slade sighed with frustration. "Just what I told you. Oh, and some metallic octagonal object."
Leo gnashed her teeth in disgust – both at her father and her own gullibility. I should have known. "Listen to me. Pack up everything--the files, the bars, the octagon."
"Yeah, then what?"
Leo took a deep breath, quickly devising a new plan in her head in light of recent discoveries. "I know a way out of the building, but first you let the hostages go."
And for the first time since Lionel hit that cowardly panic button, Slade saw a legitimate light at the end of the tunnel. "It sounds like the junk in that safe is worth something to you. Tell you what: I want one million dollars and a secure escape route from here."
"You're in no position to negotiate!"
Beneath his war mask, Slade's lips skinned back from his teeth in a cold smile. "This isn't a negotiation."
Leo silently cursed her tactical blunder. While trying to simultaneously save the hostages and secure the contents of the vault, she had accomplished neither and ceded control of the conversation to this lowly kidnapper. "All right, listen to me. Luthor has a private elevator. It can take you to a tunnel that leads to a garage three blocks away."
Slade looked over at Lionel curiously. "You've been holding out on me. Is there some kind of secret way out of here?"
Lionel stroked his beard calmly as Martha looked over at him incredulously. His lips curled into a thin smirk. "Oh, yes. And whatever that anonymous coward on the phone is offering, I'll double it. In exchange for our lives, and the contents of the safe."
"Looks like we have a bidding war," Slade mused.
Listening to her father's smug counter-offer over the phone connection, Leo turned an impressive shade of crimson purple. "Look, no matter what Lionel Luthor is promising you, you can't trust him!"
"Oh, but I should trust you," Slade chuckled, "Somebody who hides his own identity? I think I'd rather deal with the party I can see."
"I'll match whatever he's offering," Leo blurted out frantically, "Just don't hurt them!"
Click.
Leo stared into the empty phone in abject silence. She felt light-headed as the ground beneath her started to spin.
I failed.
She'd failed to save them. She'd failed to outwit a simple thug over the phone. She'd failed to secure her father's love and respect. She'd failed to protect Clark's secret…
Blood drained from Leo's face. The meteor rocks in the safe…I've got to warn Clark!
"Don't hurt who, Leo?"
Apparently, she had also failed to a notice a weary, middle-aged farmer with bloodshot eyes and stress-torn face who'd heard the tail end of her last phone conversation.
Leo quickly schooled her features before turning around to confront him.
"Were you just talking to the gunman up there?" he demanded. He had pushed his rickety old truck all the way to Metropolis, scared out of his mind for his wife's safety. He was in no mood to put up with Luthor intrigue when Martha's life hung in the balance.
Rallying her most soothing voice possible, Leo earnestly sought to console him. "Mr. Kent, whatever I'm doing is in the best interests of your wife and my father, believe me." Please believe me. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have to find Clark." I did my best…but I can still do better. Just let me keep trying…
But as Leo started walking away, Jonathan reached out and grabbed her arm, savagely swinging her back around so that he and Leo were face to face. "If I find out you had anything to do with what's going on out there, I'll…"
Leo slapped him - HARD – right across the jaw, momentarily shocking him into releasing her.
"Don't touch me," she said coldly.
But beneath the permafrost were…tears. How could you think I had anything to do with this? Is it that easy to believe the worst about me?
Or is this all I deserve?
Not sparing the stunned farmer a backward glance, Leo abruptly kicked off her heels and sprinted toward the roof of the Daily Planet. Forcefully brushing her feelings aside, she prayed she could catch Clark in time…
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After crashing through a 42nd floor window of Luthorcorp Tower, Clark instantly collected himself and raced toward his objective.
'That wasn't so bad,' Clark thought to himself. Leo hadn't thought much of his plan, but he had been confidant it would work. What good are my abilities if I can't even use them to save mom?
Using his X-ray vision to locate the building's circuit box, he yanked out every electrical wire he could grasp, plunging the building into darkness. With the lights out, Clark threw caution to the wind and raced towards Lionel's office on the 89th floor. He burst through the doors to the private office, shattering the office door locks and actually plowing through Slade (who had the misfortune of standing only a few feet behind the doors at the time), sending him sailing twenty feet across the room, crashing into Lionel's desk head-first.
"CLARK, GET OUT OF HERE NOW!" his mother shrieked.
But it was too late – a wave of nausea sent Clark crumbling to his knees. Writhing on the ground, Clark stared at the cart of glowing meteor rocks for the first time, trying to muster the strength to get up, but failing miserably.
Slade was only in slightly better shape. His head ringing from a probable concussion, he vaguely noticed he had lost his gun. The thrumping whirr of helicopters outside and the sweep of police searchlights into the office only added to his disorientation, the chaos and tumult around him drilling into his throbbing skull. Then, seeing his antagonist moaning on the ground across the room from him, Slade pulled a pistol from his waistband and doggedly leveled the muzzle on Clark with single-minded determination.
A burst of gunfire rang out.
Martha screamed. "CLARK!"