Twenty Five
Kitty Faulkner walked two blocks down from STAR Labs before hailing a cab. She gave the cabbie instructions to take her to Metropolis General Hospital then settled back for the ride, pulling out her phone. She selected a phone number from her phone list and waited for the number to ring.
"Lo? Kitty," she started. "Is our buddy up for visitors?"
"Yes," came the answer. "But are you sure this is a good idea?"
"No," Kitty admitted. "But I've run across a problem he might be able to shed some light on."
There was a sigh on the other end. "Okay, I'll let my brother Larry here know you're on your way."
"I'll be there in about twenty minutes."
"Bring something up from the deli, will you?" There was a pause, voices in the background. "Veggie with Swiss on rye, okay?"
"Will do," Kitty agreed, closing her phone. Larry Lane
"Ma'am," the cab driver said, breaking into her thoughts. "I think we're being followed."
"What? Who?" she asked. Followed? Who would want to follow me unless...?
"Black sedan with blacked out side windows and a license plate I can't make out. Pulled out right behind us as I pulled away from picking you up. They've stayed with us whole time and even ran a red light to keep up."
"Instead of Met General, drop me off at F&N, okay?" Kitty ordered. The cabbie nodded and pulled to a stop in the taxi zone in front of the venerable brick department store across from Dacy's. Kitty overpaid the cabby and hurried into the department store. She strolled through the cosmetics department, peering into the many mirrors to see if she was being followed. She didn't spot anyone. She walked over to shoes, then out the far exit door, on the opposite side of the building where she'd entered.
Met General was just down the street. She stopped at the deli on the corner and picked up the sandwich Lois had asked for and got a cup of coffee for herself before making her way to the hospital.
The main doors were still open and the sign indicated there was an hour left of visiting hours. She asked about Larry Lane, got his room number, went up the elevator to the twelfth floor. She spotted the man standing by the nurse's station and nodded to him and the floor supervisor seated behind the counter.
Kitty knocked on the door corresponding to the room number she'd been given.
"Come in," she heard Lois's voice say. She opened the door and walked in.
-O-O-O-
Bill Henderson sat at his desk. It was late and he was sure his wife had given up on him coming home anytime soon. Dinner time had come and gone more than an hour ago. She knew how he got when on a murder investigation. She was a cop's wife. Worse, she was a detective's wife.
The final report from the ME on Paul Foster had come in, confirming that Foster had died of a single, perfectly placed shot that had torn through his heart. There were no signs of drugs in his system, not even over-the-counter drugs. Except for one thing, Foster had been a very healthy man of fifty-six at the time of his death. That one thing would have killed him in less than a year if a bullet hadn't killed him first – his lungs had cancerous lesions that the ME figured might well have been caused by kryptonite exposure. They were going to do more tests.
The ballistics report came through on the bullet the ME had removed from Foster's body. It confirmed that the gun was a nine-millimeter. One final notation – the bullet matched the ones taken from the bodies of the hikers murdered last year at Manahasset State Park. Everything came back to Manahasset and SHADO.
His desk phone rang and he picked it up.
"Bill? Lupe," Lupe Leocadio's voice announced. "I just got some info back from Gotham PD related to the Clinton Bridge incident."
"Okay, I'll bite," Henderson said.
"We've been working on tracing the cell phone the shooter had," she explained. "The phone belonged to a company out of Gotham. And the company that owned that company had some familiar names as major stockholders. Eldon Stoner, Adam Fletcher, Paul Franks and Ursula Kraus. The call records for the phone finally came in too. The last call was to Kent, but we knew that before. The shooter's next to last call was to STAR Labs, to Eldon Stoner. The calls before that were to other cell phones. We're still working on tracking those down, but at least one of them belonged to that same company out of Gotham."
"That other number, what is it?"
Lupe told him. He shuffled through the file he had on Russell Graves.
"Lupe, that makes another positive link between the Mazik robbery, the Clinton Bridge shooter and the Manahasset killings," Henderson announced. "That phone number matches the one for the cell phone we found in Russell Graves's house and his were the only fingerprints found on it."
Lupe swore. "We're gonna' need a blasted task force on this one. Do you think we can get some help from the Feds?"
"Not likely," Henderson admitted. "I'm being stonewalled by the JAG's office. They deny knowing anything about anything. FBI won't touch it either. We're on our own."
"What are the chances we'll be able to build a good case?"
"I think the best we can hope for is to scare them away from Metropolis for a while," Henderson admitted. "But that doesn't mean I'm going to stop trying to bring them down."
"Should we bring Stoner in for questioning?"
"Let's see what we can get on him first," Henderson told her. "A positive ID on him as Edward Straker would be helpful, but I'm betting we won't get it very easily. I mean, he passed the STAR Labs' background checks. God, but I hate cases like this. It's like fighting a hydra, every time you cut off one head, two more come back to bite you."
"Tell me about it, Billy Boy. Right now we need a scorecard to tell who is who. I know I've heard of this Adam Fletcher, but I just can't place where," Lupe said. "I'm gonna' head home. I'll let you know if anything else comes my way."
"Sure, and thanks, Lupe."
-O-O-O-
Clark and Lois both looked up as the door opened and Kitty Faulkner walked in. She held up the bag with the sandwich. "Beware scientists bearing gifts," she announced handing the bag to Clark who was in the hospital bed, a blanket wrapped around his shoulders. "You know, I could get into trouble smuggling in food."
"I promise to eat the evidence," he said, taking a bite from the sandwich. "Angelo's?"
"How did you know?" Kitty wondered aloud.
"They make their own Russian dressing, and nobody else's comes close," he explained. "I wonder if they're still baking their own bread."
"I think they are," Lois told him. She watched as he wolfed down the sandwich, and then wiped the dressing off his chin.
"Clark?"
"Hmm?"
"I just realized something," Lois said. "You really are a klutz, aren't you?"
Color climbed up his cheeks as he nodded. "I sometimes have problems staying within 'normal' parameters. It's like my internal clock speed runs too fast and it's worse when I'm trying hard to be normal."
"Like at work?"
"Especially at work," Clark admitted. Embarrassed, Clark turned back to Kitty. "You wanted to ask something?"
Kitty sat down on the edge of the bed and opened her briefcase. She pulled out the sheets of figures and handed them to him. "These are Stoner's figures for the power plant he's got in the works using kryptonite as fuel. Bridgie and I have checked and double checked them, but my gut instinct says there's something wrong with them."
Clark spread the sheets in front of him on the bed, tucking his legs under him. "The math is right, but... I need to see the plans for the reactor, but I don't see anything that takes into account for the fact that kryptonite is crystalline instead of metallic, or how it behaves when subjected to heat and compression. And it does change behavior, drastically. That's why the kryptonite alloy used in that ammunition SHADO was selling was armor piercing. It can explode when compressed, as in striking something."
"So, if we add pressure and temperature estimates to the figures, how does that change things?" Kitty asked.
He held out his hand for a pen and Kitty handed him one out of her briefcase. He quickly wrote down a series of equations, humming to himself softly. The equations weren't in standard mathematical notation and he frowned at the resultant figures. "This doesn't look good," he said. "These documents also don't list what type moderator he was planning on using."
"The reactor is supposed to use graphite and lead. The rods were supposed to come in Friday," Kitty told him. "So, what's the initial verdict?"
"Like I said, it doesn't look good," Clark told her. "Based on my estimates, and these are only estimates, the reactor has a good chance of going critical on start up. If that happens, all bets are off. But it would take out Met Power's reactor. It would also put kryptonite into the atmosphere, contaminating the entire eastern seaboard. Not to mention a shock wave that'd put Luthor's crystalquake to shame. And that's all assuming the moderators were properly made and are free of crystals. If they weren't, if there are carbon crystals contaminating the mix, we could be looking at the equivalent of a hundred megaton bomb going off only twenty miles outside the city."
"You really think it'll be that bad?" Lois asked.
"Without asking the AI at the Fortress, I can only give estimates," Clark told them. "And since Luthor stole the memory crystals, the AI isn't exactly available either. But, um, Stoner's kryptonite reactor is looking like a very bad idea right now."
"I guess I'll have to do more than just delay his project," Kitty said. "I'll have to cancel it."
"How did Stoner take it when you told him you were postponing the test?" Lois asked.
"Not happy, but I guess he's just going to have to live with it," Kitty said. "I won't give final go-ahead on a project with such major safety issues."
"The question then becomes, what will he do then?" Lois asked.
"And what can we do about it?" Clark asked back.
Kitty picked up the sheet he'd been writing on. "Any chance you can translate this into English?"
"Uh, not really," Clark admitted. "The equations are actually within a multidimensional matrix and some of them use base twelve. Actually, I think that's where Luthor screwed up. The Kryptonian equations use different underlying numeric bases depending on the natural form of the crystals being referred to. Kryptonite uses base twelve, carbon would be base six, I think. It could be base twelve, doesn't change the results by too much. Salt is base four. Water is base six."
Kitty just stared at him a long moment. "Promise me that once we have Stoner taken care of, you'll figure out how to translate these into Earth math?" she said finally.
"I'll do my best," Clark said. "But I should warn you, I stopped at calculus in college, so I'm not altogether sure where to even start converting this stuff."
There was a knock on the door and a dark-skinned nurse stuck her head in. "Visiting hours are over," she announced, coming into the room. "I'm Nurse Mishlyn." She came around to the foot of the bed, picking up the metal clipboard that was tucked into its holder. She read through the day's notations frowning a little as she read.
"I'll talk to you tomorrow," Kitty promised, placing the papers back in her briefcase. She walked out.
"So, Mister Lane, how are you doing this evening?" the nurse asked. She tucked the clipboard under one arm as she took his wrist to check his pulse.
"Fine," Clark answered.
"Well, it's nice to see you conscious," she said. She frowned more deeply as she experimented with different spots on his wrist. "You don't have a pulse."
Clark gave her an embarrassed grin as she placed two fingers against his carotid artery. After a few moments, she noted down her findings. She looked down at his hands then gave him a speculative stare. "You didn't have a radial pulse last time either."
"Last time?" Clark wondered aloud.
"I was the nurse on duty that night, when you took off," she said. "You could have let us know how you were."
"Uh, sorry?"
Lois chuckled. Mishlyn smiled. "It's okay, Mister Lane. I was the nurse assigned to Superman when he was admitted last time. But I've already promised not to tell Charlotte down in the ER that you're back here. Last time she threatened to come up and kick your cute butt the hell out of here so you'd get back to work saving people. She'd be seriously torqued to find out you got yourself shot and landed up in the trauma unit."
"Um, Superman didn't get shot," Clark said.
Mishlyn chuckled. "Whatever." She put the clipboard back in its holder. "I'll be back in a couple hours and you'd better still be here." She went to the door, placing her hand on the door handle before looking back at Lois. "Miss Lane, it's nice to meet the people who make him care for the rest of the world. It's nice to know that they're good people." The door shut slowly behind her.
"When you wake up, you go to your loved ones," a woman's voice had said. She'd been holding his hand. "You go to those who make you care for the rest of the world."
"Clark?" Lois's voice intruded on his thoughts.
"I don't remember falling out of the sky," he said softly. "I think I remember the ambulance and the ER, at least bits and pieces. I remember a white room that was too quiet. I remember that I couldn't hear you and then you were there, talking to me, telling me about Jason. And then, later, she was there, talking to me, holding my hand. She was the only other person who touched me, who talked to me."
"Bryant invited her to join the Green Fire response team," Lois said.
"Green Fire?"
"After that last time, Kitty and Doctor Bryant put together contingency plans for the next time, which as it happens, was last Wednesday. They'll be the ones to respond to Kryptonians in trouble."
"Me?"
"You and Jason, probably," she said. "You get some sleep. Your mom will be here shortly so I can sleep in my own bed."
"Lois, thank you."
"For what?"
"For still being my friend," he said. "Especially after... after everything that's happened."
"Clark, close your eyes, get some sleep," she ordered. "We'll talk tomorrow, okay?"
"Promise?"
"Promise," she said. He is so much like Jason, so worried about everyone else, so hopeful things will be okay.
-O-O-O-
Lupe Leocadio tossed and turned, her mind refusing to calm down enough for her to fall asleep. Something in the reports on her desk, something she'd heard or read was trying to link itself to the case she'd been spending all her waking hours on for the past week. Something about Luthor, but she couldn't grab the elusive wisp of memory, of connection. She pounded her pillow several times before rolling over to bury her head in her blankets.
Eventually, she gave up, pulled on an old track suit and headed back to her office.
-O-O-O-
Martha Kent watched her son sleep. She'd napped during the afternoon, and even though staying up all night and sleeping in the day was the exact opposite of her long standing habit from living on a farm for forty years, she was managing. She'd brought some knitting and despite her arthritis, she was managing the cable knit pattern she was working on. It had been a long time since she'd knitted a child's sweater. With any luck, she'd have it finished before Christmas.
The ceiling lights were off and the only light in the room came from the lamp on the bed stand. She'd moved her chair close to the light to see, wishing she'd brought her other glasses.
Clark muttered in his sleep, tossing and turning as if fighting some monster that haunted his dreams.
"Clark?" she said, coming to stand beside the hospital bed. She placed a hand on his shoulder and he shuddered, eyes opening as he tried to orient himself.
"Mom?"
"Go back to sleep," Martha ordered softly.
"That's all I've been doing," he complained. He sniffed the air. "You brought a dream pillow for me. Um, eucalyptus, sage, rosemary and thyme?"
"Healing sleep. But I think I should have brought you the one I made for Jason. Chases the nightmares away. Do you want to talk about it?"
"Not especially," he admitted. "I think part of me doesn't believe that Luthor is dead. I can't believe that after everything that he did, everything that happened, he let himself be killed. Then part of me... I still see his face, his eyes after he... after he... stabbed me, after he ordered me to fly away. Mom, I ran. I never ran from anything in my life, even when it would have been smarter to do it. But I ran away from Luthor." He was shivering. Martha lowered the bedrail and sat on the side of the bed to hold him.
"Clark, you did what you had to do to save yourself, there's no shame in that. You did what you had to do so you could come back and take care of the problem. I think it's called a strategic retreat?"
"Withdrawal. Strategic withdrawal. Mom, when I went into the water, I knew I was dead. The cavalry wasn't coming over the hill. There was no miraculous rescue after the cliffhanger. Only three people besides Luthor and his cronies even knew where I was, and I'd ordered them to leave, to get away and not come back." His expression was bleak and he was still shivering, though not as much as he had been. His face was wet with tears.
"Good thing they didn't listen to you," Martha told him, brushing his hair away from his eyes.
"Lois never listens to anybody," Clark replied. "But then, I'm at least as bad, rushing in without looking. Luthor even made fun of me for that."
Martha didn't comment, waiting for the silence to urge him to continue.
"I knew a meteorite had been stolen from the museum," Clark began, finally. "I knew it was part of a larger one that Luthor had stolen pieces of eight years ago, so I should have known that Luthor had possession of kryptonite. But I went straight to him without doing any preliminary checking, got beaten nearly to death, and stabbed with a kryptonite dagger. Now, will somebody please tell me why someone who's supposed to be so smart acts so stupid?"
"Because despite of everything, you want to believe there's more good than evil in the world. Or maybe you've been around Lois too long?" Martha suggested with a smile. "Rushing in where angels would have the good sense not to go?"
Clark gave her a puzzled look then gave her a sad grin, wiping the wet off his face. "Maybe. Or maybe I've started to believe my own PR."
"No, I don't think that's it," Martha told him. "I think the problem is that you really don't understand evil. Your dad and I raised you to see the good and I'm not sure if we missed something or it's just the way you are. You just don't understand people who take pleasure in abusing their power, people who get their jollies hurting other people." She looked at Clark speculatively. "You don't understand evil. You always give people the benefit of the doubt. You feel for victims and it shows in how you approach things, how you interview people, how you write about them, what you do for them."
"Maybe," he admitted after a long silence. "Or maybe I'm just dense. Mom, I know Luthor is dead, but I still hate him. I don't think I've really hated anyone in my life, but I hate him. I'm glad Lois killed him, because it kept me from doing it." He'd started shaking again.
"Honey, I don't think you'll be going back to sleep any time soon," Martha said. "Why don't you put on some clothes and we'll see about rustling up some coffee." She nodded to a dark track suit tossed over the other chair. He nodded and his shivering subsided a little as he moved to do as he was told.
-O-O-O-
Lupe shuffled through the various files on her desk. Desk work was not her strong suit. She was a field officer, a hunter like her namesake, a wolf. But once the perp was brought to ground, cuffed and jailed, it was a religious devotion to the paper trail that really brought them to justice. Reports, evidence chains, phone, financial, tax records. She knew there was a snippet of a clue in the pile on her desk and it had to do with Luthor.
Luthor – it had to do with Luthor. She opened the Luthor/New Krypton file. The overturning of Luthor's conviction by Judge Westover last year, even though it was a foregone conclusion that Superman could not be served the summons to come to the hearing, grated on her. The investigation into Westover's finances had been shelved for lack of evidence. She flagged that file. With Luthor dead, maybe it was time to look into Judge Westover again.
Better yet, she'd give a copy of the file to Lois Lane.
Next, the international hunt for the criminal mastermind. Bingo. Adam Fletcher, the State Department official who retrieved Luthor from the Cuban prison. A State Department officer who had no personnel records, no driver's license, no Social Security number. A bogus State Department officer who apparently was also part owner of Tri-State Transport. A man who had been positively identified as Alec Everett Freeman, formerly of SHADO.
Six in the morning. Bill Henderson should be up by now. The pieces were coming together. Now to prove that the camera shy Eldon Stoner was really the reclusive Edward Straker.
From Waiting (part 2 of Not Human), by RoswellianMisha (used with permission of the author)