[U.S. Consulate, intersection of Queen and University Ave., Toronto, 12.10
p.m. - Conference Day One]
Clark saw that one of the protesters had been engulfed in flames. The rolling fog of tear gas swept across the entire avenue. Some protesters assisted some of their friends - pulling out Visine or water bottles to treat those with burning eyes. Others with vinegar-dipped makeshift scarf/gas masks began chanting "Shame! Shame! Shame!"
Chaos consumed the street. Chloe was still dazed. Paramedics were escorting Pete and Lana to the safety of the Toronto Hilton lobby. Mr. Shanahan herded the rest of the civics class behind a line of motorcycle cops. In moments, Clark thought, that protester will burn to death. Smoke from the Molotov bombardment and the tear gas had enveloped the entire intersection. He covered his face and exhaled. The gush of cold air smothered most of the flames, as the bewildered protester howled in pain. Several plainclothed officers immediately smothered the lingering flames
A legion of fully-armed riot police - the elite of Metro's Finest - marched west along Queen Street. They had waited a few blocks west ... in the event some of the protesters got unruly. They were expecting trouble on the lawn of the legislative buildings at Queen's Park.
Trouble had arrived.
Some of the anarchists had confronted the more moderate protesters, who had pleaded with them to stop the violence.
One of the bandanna-covered protesters turned to Liesl. "The cops are here."
"You know what to do," Liesl ordered, as she hurled a brick into the window of the U.S. Consulate. "We disperse. Do not proceed to Queen's Park. We have made the statement we wanted now. Regroup at the meeting area."
The anarchists themselves were not a cohesive group. The university wannabes continued to throw rocks and bricks at the marching line of riot police. Some officers drummed on their shields with their batons.
Trying to provoke us into a fruitless battle, she thought. Liesl's cohort of hardline Fifth Column radicals knew this was the moment to withdraw.
A Marine in ceremonial uniform peered out the shattered window.
"What the hell's going on?" the consul-general demanded.
"Some of the radicals broke away from the protest march and attacked the consulate, sir," the Marine replied. "The perimeter is secure. Our people videotaped the whole thing."
"Good," the consul-general nodded. He had received an intelligence report from Interpol only last night. German police had raided an Internet café in Munich. It turned out to be a front for an underground anarchist group. Interpol had traced hacker attacks to them, but also found email records. Something was going to happen in Toronto.
What that was . well, that was anybody's guess.
"Fall back," Liesl ordered. Her comrades immediately dropped their weapons and bags. Some sprinted towards a mob of protesters, hoping to blend in with them. Bad move, since the moderates immediately wrestled them to the ground. Curses and shouts in the air. A pair of arrests for Metro's cops.
Others tried to flee into the Osgoode subway station, where a dozen plainclothed officers arrested them.
Liesl would not make such novice mistakes. Amidst the confusion, she unzipped her jumpsuit and tossed her bandanna in the garbage. Now she looked like a typical college student: khakis and rugby-striped shirt. She casually walked north to Dundas Street. - past another legion of mounted police officers.
As they galloped south to trap the remaining radicals at Queen and University, Liesl calmly walked away.
Enter phase two, she smiled. No riot police on earth could disrupt our course.
At the corner of Dundas and University, a tourist on the corner had taped the chaos on his camcorder .
[Lobby of the Toronto Hilton, south of Queen and University, 12.30 p.m. - Conference Day One]
Clark managed to pull Chloe off the street - moments before the relentless line of riot police corralled the radicals between Dundas and Queen streets. In the distance, he could hear the 'clop clop' of two dozen mounted police. Yells of protest. Sirens.
The hotel lobby had become an impromptu triage centre. Protesters and students received treatment for tear gas exposure, cuts and bruises. One protester was arrested as soon as the paramedic applied a bandage.
The protester cursed, as he looked at the terrified civics class from Kansas. "Don't sit on your hands, people! This world does not belong to the multinationals, the IMF or the World Bank. It is time to rise up and oppose!"
Lana comforted Pete as he breathed into an oxygen mask. "It's all better, Pete. It's over." Pete took one last breath from the mask and coughed.
"My dad's gonna freak out when he sees this on the six o'clock news."
A reporter had tried to interview some of the students, but Mr. Shanahan swiped his notebook. "They're minors, dammit. All questions go through me!" he snapped.
His mood didn't change when Chloe and Clark meekly sat with the rest of the student body. "Chloe Sullivan," Mr, Shanahan pointed just in front of him," Here. Now!"
"When I told the class to get out, that means everyone!" he declared, ".not 'everyone, except Chloe'. Not only did you risk your safety, but the safety of your classmates who tried to help you!"
"I was doing my job as a reporter to bear witness to the day's events," Chloe insisted.
Mr. Shanahan wiped his face. All students were accounted for, thank God. "I want everyone to go to their rooms. Now. I will decide if it's still safe to go to today's events. The next time I tell students to meet somewhere, I expect you to do so." He glared at Chloe. "Even if you're the editor of the Smallville Torch." He left to give a statement to the Metro Police.
Clark noticed an imposing figure spin through the revolving door. Bruce Wayne!
"Clark, my god," Bruce looked at the organized chaos in the lobby. "I was at the Royal York with the finance ministers when I caught the live feed from CBC. Is everyone okay?"
"We're all okay," Clark nodded, "although Chloe let her journalistic instincts get the better of her. I'd say she's got a detention coming up."
"It was all worth it," Chloe beamed, "the Toronto Star and Globe and Mail want to see my photos."
"I'd be careful about your gut instincts," Bruce chided, "they can do more harm than good - if you don't think things through first."
A late-model sedan screeched in the main driveway. Lex bounded up the curb and into the hotel. "Clark, are you alright?"
"We're okay . considering ." Clark looked outside. Hordes of police officers had sealed off the intersection near the U.S. Consulate. This must be the safest corner of Toronto, he thought.
For now .
"Bruce," Lex added, "I'm recommending to the mayor that he increase security - especially around the convention site and surrounding hotels. After this, who knows what else those terrorists may do."
"I'm not in favour of the armed camp mentality," Bruce replied, then looked at the trembling faces of Clark's classmates, "but I don't want the conference to be disrupted by senseless violence, either."
Bruce noticed that Lex was complaining to a police sergeant. "It should never have come to this point! I say you should have been more forceful with those protesters. Who the hell do they think they are! We've got kids here visiting from Kansas ."
Security policy would entail the following: Public access on Front Street, outside the convention centre. Protesters would have their voice, limited as it was. Restricted access anywhere near the conference. Rigorous ID checks, searches and sniffer dogs. With regret, the Prime Minister approved a no-fly zone policy over the downtown core. Two CF-18 fighter jets roared overhead within the hour.
Bruce sighed as a motorcycle convoy escorted him back to the conference. So much for freedom of assembly.
[Bangkok, Thailand]
Juan, a quality assurance inspector with Luthor Corp. Asia, wanted to pick up some souvenirs before he returned to his branch plant in Osaka, Japan. He spotted a street vendor with a display of trinkets.
A gleaming white pendant caught his eye. My wife would love that, he thought.
"Very good choice," the vendor agreed in broken English, "It make good gift."
"What is it made of?" he asked. "This ." he pointed at the pendant, ". what is it made of?"
"Ivory. The best kind," the vendor grinned. "Good quality. It make good gift."
Juan shook his head in disgust. I thought the ivory trade was banned. He was about to move on, when he glimpsed at a crate in the backroom. Han Shipping, HK. The logo was unmistakable. The Africa to Asia route was common knowledge. Hong Kong was the midway point. Luthor warehouses stocked with goods from across Asia, the Mediterranean. Many manufactured goods would go to South Africa and all major ports north.
He called over a rickshaw and was pulled out of the marketplace. He pressed the speed dial on his cell. "Yes, get me the operations manager, Luthor Corp, Metropolis."
"Yeah, you heard me," Juan yelled over the noisy chaos of downtown Bangkok, "Ivory. The boss'll need to hear about this, for sure."
Juan frowned as he approached his hotel.
Lionel, what the hell did you do this time?
Clark saw that one of the protesters had been engulfed in flames. The rolling fog of tear gas swept across the entire avenue. Some protesters assisted some of their friends - pulling out Visine or water bottles to treat those with burning eyes. Others with vinegar-dipped makeshift scarf/gas masks began chanting "Shame! Shame! Shame!"
Chaos consumed the street. Chloe was still dazed. Paramedics were escorting Pete and Lana to the safety of the Toronto Hilton lobby. Mr. Shanahan herded the rest of the civics class behind a line of motorcycle cops. In moments, Clark thought, that protester will burn to death. Smoke from the Molotov bombardment and the tear gas had enveloped the entire intersection. He covered his face and exhaled. The gush of cold air smothered most of the flames, as the bewildered protester howled in pain. Several plainclothed officers immediately smothered the lingering flames
A legion of fully-armed riot police - the elite of Metro's Finest - marched west along Queen Street. They had waited a few blocks west ... in the event some of the protesters got unruly. They were expecting trouble on the lawn of the legislative buildings at Queen's Park.
Trouble had arrived.
Some of the anarchists had confronted the more moderate protesters, who had pleaded with them to stop the violence.
One of the bandanna-covered protesters turned to Liesl. "The cops are here."
"You know what to do," Liesl ordered, as she hurled a brick into the window of the U.S. Consulate. "We disperse. Do not proceed to Queen's Park. We have made the statement we wanted now. Regroup at the meeting area."
The anarchists themselves were not a cohesive group. The university wannabes continued to throw rocks and bricks at the marching line of riot police. Some officers drummed on their shields with their batons.
Trying to provoke us into a fruitless battle, she thought. Liesl's cohort of hardline Fifth Column radicals knew this was the moment to withdraw.
A Marine in ceremonial uniform peered out the shattered window.
"What the hell's going on?" the consul-general demanded.
"Some of the radicals broke away from the protest march and attacked the consulate, sir," the Marine replied. "The perimeter is secure. Our people videotaped the whole thing."
"Good," the consul-general nodded. He had received an intelligence report from Interpol only last night. German police had raided an Internet café in Munich. It turned out to be a front for an underground anarchist group. Interpol had traced hacker attacks to them, but also found email records. Something was going to happen in Toronto.
What that was . well, that was anybody's guess.
"Fall back," Liesl ordered. Her comrades immediately dropped their weapons and bags. Some sprinted towards a mob of protesters, hoping to blend in with them. Bad move, since the moderates immediately wrestled them to the ground. Curses and shouts in the air. A pair of arrests for Metro's cops.
Others tried to flee into the Osgoode subway station, where a dozen plainclothed officers arrested them.
Liesl would not make such novice mistakes. Amidst the confusion, she unzipped her jumpsuit and tossed her bandanna in the garbage. Now she looked like a typical college student: khakis and rugby-striped shirt. She casually walked north to Dundas Street. - past another legion of mounted police officers.
As they galloped south to trap the remaining radicals at Queen and University, Liesl calmly walked away.
Enter phase two, she smiled. No riot police on earth could disrupt our course.
At the corner of Dundas and University, a tourist on the corner had taped the chaos on his camcorder .
[Lobby of the Toronto Hilton, south of Queen and University, 12.30 p.m. - Conference Day One]
Clark managed to pull Chloe off the street - moments before the relentless line of riot police corralled the radicals between Dundas and Queen streets. In the distance, he could hear the 'clop clop' of two dozen mounted police. Yells of protest. Sirens.
The hotel lobby had become an impromptu triage centre. Protesters and students received treatment for tear gas exposure, cuts and bruises. One protester was arrested as soon as the paramedic applied a bandage.
The protester cursed, as he looked at the terrified civics class from Kansas. "Don't sit on your hands, people! This world does not belong to the multinationals, the IMF or the World Bank. It is time to rise up and oppose!"
Lana comforted Pete as he breathed into an oxygen mask. "It's all better, Pete. It's over." Pete took one last breath from the mask and coughed.
"My dad's gonna freak out when he sees this on the six o'clock news."
A reporter had tried to interview some of the students, but Mr. Shanahan swiped his notebook. "They're minors, dammit. All questions go through me!" he snapped.
His mood didn't change when Chloe and Clark meekly sat with the rest of the student body. "Chloe Sullivan," Mr, Shanahan pointed just in front of him," Here. Now!"
"When I told the class to get out, that means everyone!" he declared, ".not 'everyone, except Chloe'. Not only did you risk your safety, but the safety of your classmates who tried to help you!"
"I was doing my job as a reporter to bear witness to the day's events," Chloe insisted.
Mr. Shanahan wiped his face. All students were accounted for, thank God. "I want everyone to go to their rooms. Now. I will decide if it's still safe to go to today's events. The next time I tell students to meet somewhere, I expect you to do so." He glared at Chloe. "Even if you're the editor of the Smallville Torch." He left to give a statement to the Metro Police.
Clark noticed an imposing figure spin through the revolving door. Bruce Wayne!
"Clark, my god," Bruce looked at the organized chaos in the lobby. "I was at the Royal York with the finance ministers when I caught the live feed from CBC. Is everyone okay?"
"We're all okay," Clark nodded, "although Chloe let her journalistic instincts get the better of her. I'd say she's got a detention coming up."
"It was all worth it," Chloe beamed, "the Toronto Star and Globe and Mail want to see my photos."
"I'd be careful about your gut instincts," Bruce chided, "they can do more harm than good - if you don't think things through first."
A late-model sedan screeched in the main driveway. Lex bounded up the curb and into the hotel. "Clark, are you alright?"
"We're okay . considering ." Clark looked outside. Hordes of police officers had sealed off the intersection near the U.S. Consulate. This must be the safest corner of Toronto, he thought.
For now .
"Bruce," Lex added, "I'm recommending to the mayor that he increase security - especially around the convention site and surrounding hotels. After this, who knows what else those terrorists may do."
"I'm not in favour of the armed camp mentality," Bruce replied, then looked at the trembling faces of Clark's classmates, "but I don't want the conference to be disrupted by senseless violence, either."
Bruce noticed that Lex was complaining to a police sergeant. "It should never have come to this point! I say you should have been more forceful with those protesters. Who the hell do they think they are! We've got kids here visiting from Kansas ."
Security policy would entail the following: Public access on Front Street, outside the convention centre. Protesters would have their voice, limited as it was. Restricted access anywhere near the conference. Rigorous ID checks, searches and sniffer dogs. With regret, the Prime Minister approved a no-fly zone policy over the downtown core. Two CF-18 fighter jets roared overhead within the hour.
Bruce sighed as a motorcycle convoy escorted him back to the conference. So much for freedom of assembly.
[Bangkok, Thailand]
Juan, a quality assurance inspector with Luthor Corp. Asia, wanted to pick up some souvenirs before he returned to his branch plant in Osaka, Japan. He spotted a street vendor with a display of trinkets.
A gleaming white pendant caught his eye. My wife would love that, he thought.
"Very good choice," the vendor agreed in broken English, "It make good gift."
"What is it made of?" he asked. "This ." he pointed at the pendant, ". what is it made of?"
"Ivory. The best kind," the vendor grinned. "Good quality. It make good gift."
Juan shook his head in disgust. I thought the ivory trade was banned. He was about to move on, when he glimpsed at a crate in the backroom. Han Shipping, HK. The logo was unmistakable. The Africa to Asia route was common knowledge. Hong Kong was the midway point. Luthor warehouses stocked with goods from across Asia, the Mediterranean. Many manufactured goods would go to South Africa and all major ports north.
He called over a rickshaw and was pulled out of the marketplace. He pressed the speed dial on his cell. "Yes, get me the operations manager, Luthor Corp, Metropolis."
"Yeah, you heard me," Juan yelled over the noisy chaos of downtown Bangkok, "Ivory. The boss'll need to hear about this, for sure."
Juan frowned as he approached his hotel.
Lionel, what the hell did you do this time?