[Capitol Hill, Washington, D.C., the evening before the conference]
"I'm sorry there will be no more questions for today," the Luthor Corp. PR officer stated, waving away the members of the Washington press corp. Lionel Luthor and Lex ducked into the waiting Lincoln Continental.
"Haven't I told you that opening your mouth to the press only forces you to commit to actions you may not want to take," Lionel criticized.
"All I said was that Luthor Corp. intends to be a responsible military manufacturer, that's all," Lex repeated.
Lionel leaned closer. "Don't you see what that means? The press is now questioning our investment in technology firms that produce weapons for so- called 'rogue' states."
Lex frowned. "But you've known all along that some of our partners have ties to less-than-credible arms dealers. The only reason you've ordered an audit of those investments is because of the corporate ethics regulations. I don't see why you can't just cut those more questionable ties. Wouldn't that one action put us in a better light."
Lionel glanced outside the window. The Vietnam Memorial. He was knee-deep in that painful adventure as the covert supplier of the CIA and Special Forces - operating across the Vietnamese border in Laos and Cambodia. Many of his arms trade connections had developed during the tail end of the Cold War. He had prospered from engineered coups, assassinations and 'wars of independence': locally planned, American-funded. If Luthor Corp. were to systematically weed out those connections, those threads could lead all the way to the White House.
Even in this current administration. Lionel Luthor knew that he could never win in a geopolitical pissing match with the President of the United States.
No, it's better to let sleeping dogs lie. What the public doesn't - can't - know . won't hurt them.
"I've instructed our allies on the Ways and Means Committee to proceed with their investigation of 'approved' Luthor audits. Should our foes in Congress insist on full disclosure, our friends will invoke the usual platitudes ."
Lex shook his head. "In the interests of national security, we cannot divulge such information, etcetera, etcetera ."
Lionel smiled. I have trained him well. "I'll be in town for the rest of this week. To keep an eye on things. I'll be staying at our townhouse in Georgetown. Shall I have the help expect us for dinner?"
"Dulles International, driver," Lex commented. "I'll be taking the jet to Toronto. Putting a human face to our corporate support for Third World debt relief."
"Ah, yes, your idea," Lionel remarked, "at a time of public mistrust of corporate mismanagement, a calculated display of our 'care and concern' for our poorer brothers and sisters."
"I'm doing it because it's the right thing to do," Lex snapped, "and surely you don't want Bruce Wayne to upstage you again in the eyes of the adoring public."
Lionel laughed as the car pulled up to the airport. "I'm sure you want to catch up with your Gotham friend. Tell that son-of-a-bitch that I'll be moving to block his multimedia project. I won't have Gotham Times dot.com clones polluting the Internet with his bleeding-heart liberalism."
"I'll see you back in Metropolis," Lex slammed the door. On the Washington Post, the conference already grabbed the headlines: 'U2's BONO TO G-8: 'GIVE DIGNITY BACK TO THE POOR''
Interesting, Lex thought. Bono, Bruce Wayne and big business. Quite an unusual line-up. He ascended the Luthor Corp. jet.
"Destination, sir?" the pilot inquired. "Metropolis? New York?"
"To Toronto." Lex nestled in the Corinthian leather seat. "A Luthor is about to invade Canada."
[Scarborough motel, east-end of Toronto - Conference Day One, morning]
Liesl and her comrades-in-arms prepared for the solidarity march. I love the free press, she grinned.
All the local papers outlined the approximate route of the parade. Across Bloor St., south on Yonge, west on Queen, then north to University Ave.
The final destination would be the grounds in front of Queen's Park, the provincial capital buildings. The police had already erected barriers in front of the main gates. This was expected, since the current Ontario government was viewed as right-of-centre, pro-business . and definitely anti-protester.
Some of the more moderate protesters were already instructing their members to practice civil disobedience. Without violence.
That was not what the Fifth Column planned. Gas masks, bags of bandannas (to conceal faces and serve as emergency gas masks), placards, and half a dozen heavy duffel bags lay strewn across the motel room.
Liesl was not the leader, but her experiences in Seattle and Quebec City made her a veteran of these protests. Her status in the Fifth Column endeared her to the local anarchists who were prepared to take the next step from passive resistance to active revolution.
"So the rally at Queen's Park is our final stop?" one anarchist - likely a junior recruit from university - asked as he collected the gas masks.
"That's where our pacifist friends are going," Liesl stated. "On University Ave., north of Queen, is the U.S. consulate. Some of us are protesting there."
The new recruit smiled. Finally, he thought, we're going to expose the evils of corporate-driven American imperialism. He was expecting to graffiti a Gap store along the way to protest their alleged sweatshop business model. Anyway, he didn't want to go to his Psych 101 class today.
Liesl glanced at the duffel bags. The 'battle bags', as some of the more senior anarchists had labelled them.
They held the tools of protest. Bricks, chains, rocks, pipes and baseball bats. What speeches and rallies failed to do, these tools would accomplish.
Tomorrow we storm the Bastille, she thought.
[Metro Convention Centre, South Building - Convention Day One, 9:10 a.m.]
Delegates from over 100 countries mingled in the lower foyer. Africans discussing the internal strife in the Democratic Republic of Congo. The Rwandan were backing the rebel militias. Europeans discussing the pros and cons of debt relief - and how to tie debt forgiveness with human rights policies.
The Canadian PM, as chair of the conference, had strived to consolidate pro- debt relief support in the European parliaments. With Uncle Sam poised to take on the Baghdad regime, he could not expect much assistance from Capitol Hill.
The public address system called the meeting to order. "Welcome to the International Conference on Third World Debt Relief. We will begin with the opening statements shortly."
Bruce Wayne, CEO of international firm Wayne Corp., was reluctant to accept the prime minister's invitation last month to make the opening address. "The left respects your compassion and corporate generosity," the PM had stressed over dinner at the Canadian consulate in Gotham City. "The right praises your responsible citizenship and reasoned patriotism. You can be the responsible voice of Wall Street at a time when public confidence in their civic leaders is declining."
Bruce stepped up to the podium. A slight screech of microphone feedback.
"Mr. Prime Minister, G-8 leaders, delegates, members of the press, and, yes, the protesters - some of whom I consider brothers-in-arms - welcome to this most important conference. We are here not to discuss rising oil prices, the slow recovery of the telecommunications sector, or the accounting mishaps of recent months." He paused.
"We're here to share our successes - our wealth - with those who have been denied even the most basic rights: clean water, freedom of speech, the freedom to realize the highest of goals. Ladies and gentlemen, we're here to give back dignity to peoples around the world, regardless of creed or colour."
Bono applauded loudly, as the rest of the delegates followed his lead. Bruce waited for the impromptu applause to subside, then continued. He outlined why world leaders must hear the voices of those who cannot speak for themselves. The impoverished in Latin America, Africa - and around the world - needed to regain their self-respect.
The press conference began with the usual questions about how to reconcile corporate greed with the notion of Third World debt forgiveness.
Someone from the BBC asked Bruce about his views.
"Dignity is not the reserve of the rich and famous," Bruce replied. "Each and every one of us has the right to self-respect."
Lex fiddled with the security pass looped around his neck. "Observer", the pass stated. A by-stander.
While Bruce stood shoulder-to-shoulder with Bono on debt relief. Every major media outlet in the world was here.
I've got to hand it to him, Lex noted, Bruce is a fine performer. But he was no mere performer.
Wayne Corp. donated billions to UNICEF, the anti-landmine movement and several international relief funds. Bruce always had a soft spot for children. Especially victims of war and violence.
As the delegates broke out into several seminar sessions, Lex navigated the hordes of cameras and microphones to greet his friend/rival.
Bruce beamed. "Lex! Good of you to arrive. I'll be attending a breakfast meet-and-greet with the G-8 finance ministers. You could join us."
Lex was about to reply when a delegate from Nicaragua shouted at Lex and gestured violently.
"You vulture!" the delegate yelled. "Go home, Yankee imperialist! You're a Luthor, are you not? Your hands are bloody. Your father ploughed millions into the dirty little Contra war with the Sandinistas. My own brother disappeared without a trace just because his classmate was a Sandinista! Your family's assistance to the CIA ... makes you guilty of mass murder. Our people don't want your blood money. Go home!"
"Perhaps you should exit from the rear," Bruce recommended, as security personnel arrived to douse the brewing tensions. He tried to pacify an increasingly agitated number of Third World delegates who were offended by Luthor's presence.
Lex glared as cameras relayed this unexpected confrontation to their global audience. My father certainly won't like this, he muttered.
"Out of my way!" Lex barked at the reporters. A gauntlet of police officers escorted Lex to a waiting sedan. The conference had barely begun, Lex complained, and I've already caused a scene. The peace and civility of Toronto provided no refuge from Lionel Luthor's shadowy Cold War sins. "To the Royal York Hotel," he snapped to the driver.
Lex frowned. The Planet will have a field day with this one.
"I'm sorry there will be no more questions for today," the Luthor Corp. PR officer stated, waving away the members of the Washington press corp. Lionel Luthor and Lex ducked into the waiting Lincoln Continental.
"Haven't I told you that opening your mouth to the press only forces you to commit to actions you may not want to take," Lionel criticized.
"All I said was that Luthor Corp. intends to be a responsible military manufacturer, that's all," Lex repeated.
Lionel leaned closer. "Don't you see what that means? The press is now questioning our investment in technology firms that produce weapons for so- called 'rogue' states."
Lex frowned. "But you've known all along that some of our partners have ties to less-than-credible arms dealers. The only reason you've ordered an audit of those investments is because of the corporate ethics regulations. I don't see why you can't just cut those more questionable ties. Wouldn't that one action put us in a better light."
Lionel glanced outside the window. The Vietnam Memorial. He was knee-deep in that painful adventure as the covert supplier of the CIA and Special Forces - operating across the Vietnamese border in Laos and Cambodia. Many of his arms trade connections had developed during the tail end of the Cold War. He had prospered from engineered coups, assassinations and 'wars of independence': locally planned, American-funded. If Luthor Corp. were to systematically weed out those connections, those threads could lead all the way to the White House.
Even in this current administration. Lionel Luthor knew that he could never win in a geopolitical pissing match with the President of the United States.
No, it's better to let sleeping dogs lie. What the public doesn't - can't - know . won't hurt them.
"I've instructed our allies on the Ways and Means Committee to proceed with their investigation of 'approved' Luthor audits. Should our foes in Congress insist on full disclosure, our friends will invoke the usual platitudes ."
Lex shook his head. "In the interests of national security, we cannot divulge such information, etcetera, etcetera ."
Lionel smiled. I have trained him well. "I'll be in town for the rest of this week. To keep an eye on things. I'll be staying at our townhouse in Georgetown. Shall I have the help expect us for dinner?"
"Dulles International, driver," Lex commented. "I'll be taking the jet to Toronto. Putting a human face to our corporate support for Third World debt relief."
"Ah, yes, your idea," Lionel remarked, "at a time of public mistrust of corporate mismanagement, a calculated display of our 'care and concern' for our poorer brothers and sisters."
"I'm doing it because it's the right thing to do," Lex snapped, "and surely you don't want Bruce Wayne to upstage you again in the eyes of the adoring public."
Lionel laughed as the car pulled up to the airport. "I'm sure you want to catch up with your Gotham friend. Tell that son-of-a-bitch that I'll be moving to block his multimedia project. I won't have Gotham Times dot.com clones polluting the Internet with his bleeding-heart liberalism."
"I'll see you back in Metropolis," Lex slammed the door. On the Washington Post, the conference already grabbed the headlines: 'U2's BONO TO G-8: 'GIVE DIGNITY BACK TO THE POOR''
Interesting, Lex thought. Bono, Bruce Wayne and big business. Quite an unusual line-up. He ascended the Luthor Corp. jet.
"Destination, sir?" the pilot inquired. "Metropolis? New York?"
"To Toronto." Lex nestled in the Corinthian leather seat. "A Luthor is about to invade Canada."
[Scarborough motel, east-end of Toronto - Conference Day One, morning]
Liesl and her comrades-in-arms prepared for the solidarity march. I love the free press, she grinned.
All the local papers outlined the approximate route of the parade. Across Bloor St., south on Yonge, west on Queen, then north to University Ave.
The final destination would be the grounds in front of Queen's Park, the provincial capital buildings. The police had already erected barriers in front of the main gates. This was expected, since the current Ontario government was viewed as right-of-centre, pro-business . and definitely anti-protester.
Some of the more moderate protesters were already instructing their members to practice civil disobedience. Without violence.
That was not what the Fifth Column planned. Gas masks, bags of bandannas (to conceal faces and serve as emergency gas masks), placards, and half a dozen heavy duffel bags lay strewn across the motel room.
Liesl was not the leader, but her experiences in Seattle and Quebec City made her a veteran of these protests. Her status in the Fifth Column endeared her to the local anarchists who were prepared to take the next step from passive resistance to active revolution.
"So the rally at Queen's Park is our final stop?" one anarchist - likely a junior recruit from university - asked as he collected the gas masks.
"That's where our pacifist friends are going," Liesl stated. "On University Ave., north of Queen, is the U.S. consulate. Some of us are protesting there."
The new recruit smiled. Finally, he thought, we're going to expose the evils of corporate-driven American imperialism. He was expecting to graffiti a Gap store along the way to protest their alleged sweatshop business model. Anyway, he didn't want to go to his Psych 101 class today.
Liesl glanced at the duffel bags. The 'battle bags', as some of the more senior anarchists had labelled them.
They held the tools of protest. Bricks, chains, rocks, pipes and baseball bats. What speeches and rallies failed to do, these tools would accomplish.
Tomorrow we storm the Bastille, she thought.
[Metro Convention Centre, South Building - Convention Day One, 9:10 a.m.]
Delegates from over 100 countries mingled in the lower foyer. Africans discussing the internal strife in the Democratic Republic of Congo. The Rwandan were backing the rebel militias. Europeans discussing the pros and cons of debt relief - and how to tie debt forgiveness with human rights policies.
The Canadian PM, as chair of the conference, had strived to consolidate pro- debt relief support in the European parliaments. With Uncle Sam poised to take on the Baghdad regime, he could not expect much assistance from Capitol Hill.
The public address system called the meeting to order. "Welcome to the International Conference on Third World Debt Relief. We will begin with the opening statements shortly."
Bruce Wayne, CEO of international firm Wayne Corp., was reluctant to accept the prime minister's invitation last month to make the opening address. "The left respects your compassion and corporate generosity," the PM had stressed over dinner at the Canadian consulate in Gotham City. "The right praises your responsible citizenship and reasoned patriotism. You can be the responsible voice of Wall Street at a time when public confidence in their civic leaders is declining."
Bruce stepped up to the podium. A slight screech of microphone feedback.
"Mr. Prime Minister, G-8 leaders, delegates, members of the press, and, yes, the protesters - some of whom I consider brothers-in-arms - welcome to this most important conference. We are here not to discuss rising oil prices, the slow recovery of the telecommunications sector, or the accounting mishaps of recent months." He paused.
"We're here to share our successes - our wealth - with those who have been denied even the most basic rights: clean water, freedom of speech, the freedom to realize the highest of goals. Ladies and gentlemen, we're here to give back dignity to peoples around the world, regardless of creed or colour."
Bono applauded loudly, as the rest of the delegates followed his lead. Bruce waited for the impromptu applause to subside, then continued. He outlined why world leaders must hear the voices of those who cannot speak for themselves. The impoverished in Latin America, Africa - and around the world - needed to regain their self-respect.
The press conference began with the usual questions about how to reconcile corporate greed with the notion of Third World debt forgiveness.
Someone from the BBC asked Bruce about his views.
"Dignity is not the reserve of the rich and famous," Bruce replied. "Each and every one of us has the right to self-respect."
Lex fiddled with the security pass looped around his neck. "Observer", the pass stated. A by-stander.
While Bruce stood shoulder-to-shoulder with Bono on debt relief. Every major media outlet in the world was here.
I've got to hand it to him, Lex noted, Bruce is a fine performer. But he was no mere performer.
Wayne Corp. donated billions to UNICEF, the anti-landmine movement and several international relief funds. Bruce always had a soft spot for children. Especially victims of war and violence.
As the delegates broke out into several seminar sessions, Lex navigated the hordes of cameras and microphones to greet his friend/rival.
Bruce beamed. "Lex! Good of you to arrive. I'll be attending a breakfast meet-and-greet with the G-8 finance ministers. You could join us."
Lex was about to reply when a delegate from Nicaragua shouted at Lex and gestured violently.
"You vulture!" the delegate yelled. "Go home, Yankee imperialist! You're a Luthor, are you not? Your hands are bloody. Your father ploughed millions into the dirty little Contra war with the Sandinistas. My own brother disappeared without a trace just because his classmate was a Sandinista! Your family's assistance to the CIA ... makes you guilty of mass murder. Our people don't want your blood money. Go home!"
"Perhaps you should exit from the rear," Bruce recommended, as security personnel arrived to douse the brewing tensions. He tried to pacify an increasingly agitated number of Third World delegates who were offended by Luthor's presence.
Lex glared as cameras relayed this unexpected confrontation to their global audience. My father certainly won't like this, he muttered.
"Out of my way!" Lex barked at the reporters. A gauntlet of police officers escorted Lex to a waiting sedan. The conference had barely begun, Lex complained, and I've already caused a scene. The peace and civility of Toronto provided no refuge from Lionel Luthor's shadowy Cold War sins. "To the Royal York Hotel," he snapped to the driver.
Lex frowned. The Planet will have a field day with this one.