JSA: If Looks Could Kill
By Bruce Wayne
DISCLAIMER: Most of the characters portrayed in this story are copyright by DC Comics, an AOL/Time/Warner company. They are used without permission for entertainment without profit by the author.
An Elseworld's story: Stories, situation or events involving familiar characters in unfamiliar settings.
Chapter 4
It was cold enough that the children could skate again, and Wesley Dodds stared at them through his frosted window. He smudged at the frost on one of the panes of glass with the heel of his right fist. Now he could see more clearly, but the view was still distorted.
He turned away and walked the few paces to his desk. He sat down and looked at the sheafs of reports, picked up one, then threw it down. He stood again and began to pace the room.
Wesley Dodds walked back to the window. He looked out across the street far to his left. He thought of his own childhood on a dingy street near the Hudson River as it threaded between Manhattan and New Jersey. "A long time ago," he said to himself.
Dodds stared back at his desk. "Damn," he whispered.
He walked back across his small den and sat down.
Reports. He much preferred reading technical data in German, it was more precise. The reports came from Charles McNider, who in turn, obtained them from his numerous law enforcement and JSA sources. They told him that False- Face had once again escaped from the clutches of the law -- or namely -- Wildcat. He thought back to the events he had witnessed in Gateway City and shuddered at what might had been if False-Face's plan had succeeded. Newspaper reports of the incident hinted of some type of a group that was still somewhat of enigma. They were talking about the mystery men and women of the JSA.
His telephone rang and he picked it up. "Dodds," he said.
The caller was Jay Garrick. "Jay, how have you been?" Dodds asked pleasantly.
He listened for a moment and then asked, "You'll be here in a 'flash,' then? Okay." He hung the phone up.
He pulled out a small picture-framed mirror from a desk drawer. He needed a shave, his five-o-clock shadow was at its worst for him. He smoothed back his sandy-brown hair, then straightened the brown woolen tie he had once bought in London. He found his Tweed sportscoat and shrugged into it as he started from the office.
He walked to his front door and merely opened it. Within seconds a wind blew through the doorway and inside the foyer stood a human-sized replica of Mercury, the messenger of the Gods. Actually, it was just the fastest man alive -- The Flash.
Dodds inhaled, then exhaled hard. Witnessing such power close up could take a person's breath away, even if you were supposed to be used to it.
"Hi, Wes, sorry it took me so long. I took a little detour through Ohio," The Flash said with a smile.
"Not a problem, old friend. It gave me time to smooth back my hair for you."
The Flash smiled again. "Well, has it been a good evening for you, Wes?"
"It may look like a good evening, Jay, but it's not, I'm afraid."
"You been studying the affair that happened in London?" Flash continued.
"Yes," Dodds said automatically.
"You still think this False-Face character will try to release the contents of another one of those nerve gas canisters?"
"Yes," replied Dodds.
"Bruce sent me here to inquire if you might be willing to do something," The Flash informed him. He looked down for a moment, then looked up. "Bruce wanted to know if you might be interested in tackling the investigation from another -- seperate -- angle in order to verify information."
"In other words," Wesley Dodds started, "the so-called World's Greatest Detective doesn't want any competition in regards to tracking down that maniac from his rogue's gallery."
"Wes, he didn't say that. He really does respect your detective skills and thought it was best that the two of you were not ... tripping over each other's capes, so to speak."
"I would had figured he say that."
"Bruce just thinks if someone else were working seperately on the case, we would have less chance of missing something."
"Most detectives would say that would not be the best way to approach our search for this madman."
"We're not exactly the police, Wes."
Dodds realized his palms were sweating. He knew that Batman was probably right. If Bruce said turn left, Wes would probably insist they turn right. Then a big discussion would have to take place to resolve the differances of opinion. The Sandman probably worked better by himself, anyway. Still the intent of sending The Flash over here to inform him of this idea disgusted him. Bruce should had done his own "dirty work." There were some things, he privately believed, that The Sandman could do.
"Okay," Dodds said. "Will you be free to give me a hand, Jay?"
Garrick's face turned to a frown. "I wish I could, Wes, but The Fiddler is on the loose back in Keystone City and I really have to apprehend him first before I can help the JSA on this."
Dodds just nodded in understanding.
"I wish you good luck, my friend," The Flash said to him as he went to open the door.
"Good luck to you, Flash. Thanks for stopping by."
Wesley Dodds averted his eyes and some papers that were sitting on the end of a nearby table flew off and littered the floor after The Fastest Man Alive zoomed out of the room.
Dodds murmured, "Yes, Batman, you go your way and I'll go mine -- and we should end up somewhere in the middle."
He returned back to the desk in his den. Dodds knew that he would have to wade through the paperwork, then he would have to make contact to talk to some people who may know something more about this False-Face. He realized he better make sure his weapons and equipment were in order before The Sandman set out into the night.
He knew the drill very well. He listened to his heels click on the hard floor as he walked out of his den and headed for his Sandcastle.
***
A Japanese screen made of eight yellowed segments covered the center section of the far wall. Batman quietly entered through a side window of the 18th floor apartment on Gotham City's East Side.
He was trying to outsmart the best cat burglar in the business -- Catwoman.
It felt good to be back in his Bat costume and patrolling the rooftops of His city. His mind drifted to the report of the deadly combat that took place at Charles McNider's flat in London. But as he anticipated his surprising Selina Kyle in her apartment, he hoped that the results would be far different than what happened in London.
Selina was a fireball in her own right.
As the Caped Crusader moved stealthily through the large, very expensive apartment, he found Selina Kyle seemingly waiting for him in her library. She stood beside a small mahogany bar at the end of the green-carpeted room.
She turned to face him, and it was calculated, he knew to give him the full impact.
"Ohh, dear me! There is an intruder in my home. What will I ever do?" she said with false fear in her voice and a smile on her face.
She was wearing a cute black dress.
The Masked Manhunter tried to remain stoic. "You were expecting me?"
"Of course. You always have questions. I ... may ... have answers. Depends on how you ask them."
She was playing her favorite game with him -- cat and mouse. He always hated to be the mouse.
A diamond bracelet glittered at her wrist. Small diamond earrings pierced her ears, and thin necklace of diamonds guarded her throat.
Her dark hair was swept up at the nape.
"What can I say?" he asked.
"That I'm beautiful?" she teased.
He felt best not to reply.
She walked to the tall, dark figure in her room, took his left arm, hooking both her hands in the bend of his elbow and walked him toward the small bar.
"Where are the usual sidekicks? Boy Blunder and ... that tramp who has eyes for you?"
He felt himself flush underneath the cowl. He didn't answer her question but said in reply, "I'll ask the questions, here." He was trying to maintain control of the situation -- not an easy task with the likes of Catwoman and her many charms.
She laughed at his obvious discomfort.
"What's wrong, Batman? Cat got your tongue?" She laughed at her own joke.
Selina led him to a leather-covered barstool.
He decided to stand.
"What would you like to drink, my broody opponent?"
"To drink?" he asked in return.
"Yes. For now at least, what would you like to drink?"
"I'm fine, Catwoman."
She looked him up and down in his skintight costume. "I already know that, handsome." Her tongue rolled over her lips.
He felt himself flush again.
"I'm trying to be serious, Selina."
"That's your problem, isn't it?" she said teasingly.
"Crimefighting is a serious business, Catwoman."
"You know what they say, don't you, Batman? All work and no play ... make a very boring Batman."
"I'm not here to amuse you, Selina."
"You came to arrest me, then?"
"No."
Her voice became serious. "Then why are you here?"
"I heard there have been two attempts on your life recently."
She smiled at him and turned away.
"Nothing for you to be concerned about, Batman. The problems were taken care of."
"I want to help."
She laughed. "Or maybe you are here for my help, hmmm?"
"I don't know what you mean," he lied.
She laughed again.
"You're too much of a goody-two-shoes to be much of a liar, Batman. I could always read you like a book. The question has always been if you would let me turn the pages."
"I can't."
"Why?"
"I can't tell you."
"Oh, of course. You are a man of ... mystery." She put emphasis on the last word.
The last sentence set off alarm bells in his head. It sounded to him like she knew something.
Selina started to walk out of the room. The Caped Crusader followed her into her massive living room.
Batman looked overhead to a chandelier, small but impressively obvious as crystal.
"I know it's terribly rude," he began, "but isn't all this, well ..."
"Expensive?" she said for him.
"Yes," said Batman.
"Yes, it is," said Selina, holding her chin high. "But I enjoy it."
"Is that why you stay in the jewel theft business," Batman wanted to know, "to support your tastes?"
"Not really," Catwoman conceded. "I could live like this for five lifetimes if I were to quit today. But then, who would get to tease you so deliciously." She smiled wickedly at him. "Since we now seem to be talking business, I bet you're here to see if I could possibly help with these allegedly missing nerve gas canisters."
She was trying to shock him. She knew about the nerve gas. What else did she know?
"What nerve gas canisters?" he countered.
Oh, come on, Batman! Who do you think you're dealing with, here? The Riddler?" She laughed at her own joke again. "Yes, VX nerve gas canisters. Ninety-nine of them, now. VX nerve gas is several times more toxic than sarin but less volatile. It can kill a man within minutes if inhaled or deposited on the skin. Protection from VX would require both protective suits and masks. The compound was first prepared in the 1950s during research for new insecticides. Its chemical formula is classified by the U.S. government as secret. Does that encompass the spirit of the thing, Batman?" She wasn't showing off. She was deadly serious.
"Yes," he answered, "yes it does."
The masked crimefighter watched her.
After a pause, Catwoman said, "I'll help you find these nerve gas canisters. Truce until then. Truce off after we find them."
"I've got to get them and return them to the United States government," Batman intoned.
"I know that, but I could make an incredible fortune if I stole them from you and sold them to some foreign governments," she said with a sly grin.
"Then where will you live -- I mean after the world is uninhabitable?" Batman asked.
"I don't know," she said while trying to look into his eyes. "But I'm sure you could always find me. And my bed will always be your bed."
Gotham City's guardian didn't know what to say.
***
"That is St Anton's principal claim to fame, Mein Herr," the driver said in broken but understandable English.
Colonel Sam Flagg answered, "That's very nice," and followed the driver's pointing arm to a steep, snowcovered mountain.
The Audi kept moving along the plowed road, heavy snow piled in steep banks on either side of the route from Innsbruck. "Yeah," said the driver with evident pride, as if he himself had built the mountain, "that is the Kandahar. Some say it is the greatest of the downhill runs becaue it has everything."
"That a fact?" Colonel Flagg said, not interested in mountains. "How far is St Anton, then?"
"Only a few more minutes, Mein Herr."
Flagg grunted, and looked at his two companions. Intelligence Officer David Palms sat next to him. Intelligence Officer Ed Benson sat in the front seat beside the driver. Flagg looked out the window, seeing the snow but not seeing it. Flagg had been given a special presidential directive to pursue a man who lived outside St Anton. Ultimately, Flagg was after False-Face, a fiendish criminal. Recently he learned through contacts in the CIA that to find False-Face he needed to contact the man who was the living connection of all right-wing groups, one Abdul al-Kafir.
"What is it that you gentlemen do?" the driver asked.
"We're bible salesmen," Colonel Flagg answered. He couldn't very well say he was in the CIA, that he had been given carte blanche as to conduct the important investigation, and that in the bottom of his suitcase were concealed weapons. And it wasn't really his suitcase at all, it had been left in an airport locker for him with some other items.
This cloak-and-dagger stuff was something he had loved since his days in the Korean war. Well, if the President of the United States orders you to go out and save the world -- then save the world is what Colonel Flagg would do.
***
Batman sat on the edge of the double bed in Selina Kyle's hotel room. Catwoman sat beside him. Off to one side, Wildcat straddled a ladder-back chair. All three were watching Hourman as he looked at his watch -- something he did on a constant basis. They were in St Anton, Austria.
Hourman looked at Catwoman. She had crossed her legs, allowing Hourman an excellent eyeful of her shapely legs.
"Are you sure we can trust this young lady's information, Batman?"
"Oh, you can trust me, stud," Catwoman answered before the Caped Crusader could.
Wildcat chuckled. "Are you sure you want to try and pull this tiger's tail, Hourman?"
This time it was Catwoman's turn to snicker.
Hourman decided it was time to sit down and be quiet.
"I think," Wildcat started, "what Hourman was attempting to inquire from you, Catwoman ... are you fairly certain that your information is good enough to bring us all the way to Austria? We hope this isn't a wild goose chase."
"One cat to another, babe?" she asked.
Wildcat nodded.
"Yes."
"I don't think I'm gonna like this," Hourman voluteered.
"Really?" Catwoman asked, looking over to him. "What a pity."
Looking to his fellow male crimefighters, Batman said, "Okay, the three of us will ..."
Catwoman interrupted him. "The four of us. I'm coming along to Abdul al- Kafir's with all of you," she said matter-of-factly.
"No way," Batman snapped.
"I'll second that," Hourman added.
Wildcat said evenly, "I, too, would discourage you, Catwoman. It'll be too dangerous for a woman."
Batman looked at Catwoman, but before he could say anything, she spoke.
"If you want my help in getting to see al-Kafir, I'm coming along." She smiled.
"If he's someone you can point out to us, we can handle it," Batman said. "Didn't you say he was armed and dangerous?"
"I admit that he and I were never close. Al-Kafir's perversions disgusted me."
Batman looked down at his gauntlets, then to Hourman. "His perversions?" he asked.
Batman felt Catwoman's breath against his right cheek as she leaned to him, whispering. After a moment, he drew back and stared at her. "He does that?" he almost yelled, barely in control. "The vile criminal."
***
Unknown to the four costumed figures in Selina Kyle's room, another man was calling at the desk in the same hotel. "I'm Wesley Dodds, room 304. I believe the desk rang that the package I was expecting had arrived?"
The hotel desk clerk smiled, turned away and took a small package from the shelf beneath the board of room keys. He appeared to study the address for an instant, then passed it over the desk.
"Thank you," Dodds said. Though he could speak German fluently, he was supposed to be a Swedish health-food salesman and unable to speak the language.
"And thank you, Mein Herr," the clerk nodded deferentially.
Dodds weighed the package in his hands -- it had to be the right article.
He walked across the foyer and down the hall toward a men's room he had seen, and pushed through the door with the package under his arm. Inside, he extracted a small pine wedge from his jacket pocket and blocked the door closed with it. He sincerely hoped no one picked that instant for a case of diarrhea. He set the package on the steel shelf that ran under the mirror above the sinks. He ripped through the box because the adhesive tape was too resistant.
Inside the box was another box, this one wooden, closed with a tiny locked brass latch. Dodds took his key ring from his pocket and produced a tiny brass key. He unlocked the box.
Before him lay his new gas gun. Several viles of various anesthetics and sedatives accompanied the gun.
He took one tube that contained an orangish liquid and pressed the blue rubber cap into the needle inside the gun and checked to make sure the safety was on. He dropped the extra viles into his jacket pocket. It wasn't the safest place, but it would have to do for the moment.
Dodds stuffed the empty cardboard box into a trash basket and stuck the new gun, that resembled a semiautomatic pistol, under his jacket in the elastic waistband of his slacks. The gun would be in a more secure place in his Sandman costume.
He washed his hands, studying his face in the mirror. He needed more sleep but those dreams of his were bothering him again. Nightmares was a better word. Nightmares of a holocaust and False-Face, wearing a Hitler mustache, laughing.
Dodds pocketed his wedge and left the men's room. He started back toward the lobby. By now, his rented car should be waiting. He needed to get his gear and put it in the trunk of the automobile.
As he passed the desk, he noticed the desk clerk watching him, then remembered he had the wooden box under his arm. Dodds smiled, again affecting his phony Swedish accent, and called out to the clerk as he walked past to the exit, "An old girlfriend knew I'd be staying here. Sent me a useful little good-luck charm."
To be continued ...
By Bruce Wayne
DISCLAIMER: Most of the characters portrayed in this story are copyright by DC Comics, an AOL/Time/Warner company. They are used without permission for entertainment without profit by the author.
An Elseworld's story: Stories, situation or events involving familiar characters in unfamiliar settings.
Chapter 4
It was cold enough that the children could skate again, and Wesley Dodds stared at them through his frosted window. He smudged at the frost on one of the panes of glass with the heel of his right fist. Now he could see more clearly, but the view was still distorted.
He turned away and walked the few paces to his desk. He sat down and looked at the sheafs of reports, picked up one, then threw it down. He stood again and began to pace the room.
Wesley Dodds walked back to the window. He looked out across the street far to his left. He thought of his own childhood on a dingy street near the Hudson River as it threaded between Manhattan and New Jersey. "A long time ago," he said to himself.
Dodds stared back at his desk. "Damn," he whispered.
He walked back across his small den and sat down.
Reports. He much preferred reading technical data in German, it was more precise. The reports came from Charles McNider, who in turn, obtained them from his numerous law enforcement and JSA sources. They told him that False- Face had once again escaped from the clutches of the law -- or namely -- Wildcat. He thought back to the events he had witnessed in Gateway City and shuddered at what might had been if False-Face's plan had succeeded. Newspaper reports of the incident hinted of some type of a group that was still somewhat of enigma. They were talking about the mystery men and women of the JSA.
His telephone rang and he picked it up. "Dodds," he said.
The caller was Jay Garrick. "Jay, how have you been?" Dodds asked pleasantly.
He listened for a moment and then asked, "You'll be here in a 'flash,' then? Okay." He hung the phone up.
He pulled out a small picture-framed mirror from a desk drawer. He needed a shave, his five-o-clock shadow was at its worst for him. He smoothed back his sandy-brown hair, then straightened the brown woolen tie he had once bought in London. He found his Tweed sportscoat and shrugged into it as he started from the office.
He walked to his front door and merely opened it. Within seconds a wind blew through the doorway and inside the foyer stood a human-sized replica of Mercury, the messenger of the Gods. Actually, it was just the fastest man alive -- The Flash.
Dodds inhaled, then exhaled hard. Witnessing such power close up could take a person's breath away, even if you were supposed to be used to it.
"Hi, Wes, sorry it took me so long. I took a little detour through Ohio," The Flash said with a smile.
"Not a problem, old friend. It gave me time to smooth back my hair for you."
The Flash smiled again. "Well, has it been a good evening for you, Wes?"
"It may look like a good evening, Jay, but it's not, I'm afraid."
"You been studying the affair that happened in London?" Flash continued.
"Yes," Dodds said automatically.
"You still think this False-Face character will try to release the contents of another one of those nerve gas canisters?"
"Yes," replied Dodds.
"Bruce sent me here to inquire if you might be willing to do something," The Flash informed him. He looked down for a moment, then looked up. "Bruce wanted to know if you might be interested in tackling the investigation from another -- seperate -- angle in order to verify information."
"In other words," Wesley Dodds started, "the so-called World's Greatest Detective doesn't want any competition in regards to tracking down that maniac from his rogue's gallery."
"Wes, he didn't say that. He really does respect your detective skills and thought it was best that the two of you were not ... tripping over each other's capes, so to speak."
"I would had figured he say that."
"Bruce just thinks if someone else were working seperately on the case, we would have less chance of missing something."
"Most detectives would say that would not be the best way to approach our search for this madman."
"We're not exactly the police, Wes."
Dodds realized his palms were sweating. He knew that Batman was probably right. If Bruce said turn left, Wes would probably insist they turn right. Then a big discussion would have to take place to resolve the differances of opinion. The Sandman probably worked better by himself, anyway. Still the intent of sending The Flash over here to inform him of this idea disgusted him. Bruce should had done his own "dirty work." There were some things, he privately believed, that The Sandman could do.
"Okay," Dodds said. "Will you be free to give me a hand, Jay?"
Garrick's face turned to a frown. "I wish I could, Wes, but The Fiddler is on the loose back in Keystone City and I really have to apprehend him first before I can help the JSA on this."
Dodds just nodded in understanding.
"I wish you good luck, my friend," The Flash said to him as he went to open the door.
"Good luck to you, Flash. Thanks for stopping by."
Wesley Dodds averted his eyes and some papers that were sitting on the end of a nearby table flew off and littered the floor after The Fastest Man Alive zoomed out of the room.
Dodds murmured, "Yes, Batman, you go your way and I'll go mine -- and we should end up somewhere in the middle."
He returned back to the desk in his den. Dodds knew that he would have to wade through the paperwork, then he would have to make contact to talk to some people who may know something more about this False-Face. He realized he better make sure his weapons and equipment were in order before The Sandman set out into the night.
He knew the drill very well. He listened to his heels click on the hard floor as he walked out of his den and headed for his Sandcastle.
***
A Japanese screen made of eight yellowed segments covered the center section of the far wall. Batman quietly entered through a side window of the 18th floor apartment on Gotham City's East Side.
He was trying to outsmart the best cat burglar in the business -- Catwoman.
It felt good to be back in his Bat costume and patrolling the rooftops of His city. His mind drifted to the report of the deadly combat that took place at Charles McNider's flat in London. But as he anticipated his surprising Selina Kyle in her apartment, he hoped that the results would be far different than what happened in London.
Selina was a fireball in her own right.
As the Caped Crusader moved stealthily through the large, very expensive apartment, he found Selina Kyle seemingly waiting for him in her library. She stood beside a small mahogany bar at the end of the green-carpeted room.
She turned to face him, and it was calculated, he knew to give him the full impact.
"Ohh, dear me! There is an intruder in my home. What will I ever do?" she said with false fear in her voice and a smile on her face.
She was wearing a cute black dress.
The Masked Manhunter tried to remain stoic. "You were expecting me?"
"Of course. You always have questions. I ... may ... have answers. Depends on how you ask them."
She was playing her favorite game with him -- cat and mouse. He always hated to be the mouse.
A diamond bracelet glittered at her wrist. Small diamond earrings pierced her ears, and thin necklace of diamonds guarded her throat.
Her dark hair was swept up at the nape.
"What can I say?" he asked.
"That I'm beautiful?" she teased.
He felt best not to reply.
She walked to the tall, dark figure in her room, took his left arm, hooking both her hands in the bend of his elbow and walked him toward the small bar.
"Where are the usual sidekicks? Boy Blunder and ... that tramp who has eyes for you?"
He felt himself flush underneath the cowl. He didn't answer her question but said in reply, "I'll ask the questions, here." He was trying to maintain control of the situation -- not an easy task with the likes of Catwoman and her many charms.
She laughed at his obvious discomfort.
"What's wrong, Batman? Cat got your tongue?" She laughed at her own joke.
Selina led him to a leather-covered barstool.
He decided to stand.
"What would you like to drink, my broody opponent?"
"To drink?" he asked in return.
"Yes. For now at least, what would you like to drink?"
"I'm fine, Catwoman."
She looked him up and down in his skintight costume. "I already know that, handsome." Her tongue rolled over her lips.
He felt himself flush again.
"I'm trying to be serious, Selina."
"That's your problem, isn't it?" she said teasingly.
"Crimefighting is a serious business, Catwoman."
"You know what they say, don't you, Batman? All work and no play ... make a very boring Batman."
"I'm not here to amuse you, Selina."
"You came to arrest me, then?"
"No."
Her voice became serious. "Then why are you here?"
"I heard there have been two attempts on your life recently."
She smiled at him and turned away.
"Nothing for you to be concerned about, Batman. The problems were taken care of."
"I want to help."
She laughed. "Or maybe you are here for my help, hmmm?"
"I don't know what you mean," he lied.
She laughed again.
"You're too much of a goody-two-shoes to be much of a liar, Batman. I could always read you like a book. The question has always been if you would let me turn the pages."
"I can't."
"Why?"
"I can't tell you."
"Oh, of course. You are a man of ... mystery." She put emphasis on the last word.
The last sentence set off alarm bells in his head. It sounded to him like she knew something.
Selina started to walk out of the room. The Caped Crusader followed her into her massive living room.
Batman looked overhead to a chandelier, small but impressively obvious as crystal.
"I know it's terribly rude," he began, "but isn't all this, well ..."
"Expensive?" she said for him.
"Yes," said Batman.
"Yes, it is," said Selina, holding her chin high. "But I enjoy it."
"Is that why you stay in the jewel theft business," Batman wanted to know, "to support your tastes?"
"Not really," Catwoman conceded. "I could live like this for five lifetimes if I were to quit today. But then, who would get to tease you so deliciously." She smiled wickedly at him. "Since we now seem to be talking business, I bet you're here to see if I could possibly help with these allegedly missing nerve gas canisters."
She was trying to shock him. She knew about the nerve gas. What else did she know?
"What nerve gas canisters?" he countered.
Oh, come on, Batman! Who do you think you're dealing with, here? The Riddler?" She laughed at her own joke again. "Yes, VX nerve gas canisters. Ninety-nine of them, now. VX nerve gas is several times more toxic than sarin but less volatile. It can kill a man within minutes if inhaled or deposited on the skin. Protection from VX would require both protective suits and masks. The compound was first prepared in the 1950s during research for new insecticides. Its chemical formula is classified by the U.S. government as secret. Does that encompass the spirit of the thing, Batman?" She wasn't showing off. She was deadly serious.
"Yes," he answered, "yes it does."
The masked crimefighter watched her.
After a pause, Catwoman said, "I'll help you find these nerve gas canisters. Truce until then. Truce off after we find them."
"I've got to get them and return them to the United States government," Batman intoned.
"I know that, but I could make an incredible fortune if I stole them from you and sold them to some foreign governments," she said with a sly grin.
"Then where will you live -- I mean after the world is uninhabitable?" Batman asked.
"I don't know," she said while trying to look into his eyes. "But I'm sure you could always find me. And my bed will always be your bed."
Gotham City's guardian didn't know what to say.
***
"That is St Anton's principal claim to fame, Mein Herr," the driver said in broken but understandable English.
Colonel Sam Flagg answered, "That's very nice," and followed the driver's pointing arm to a steep, snowcovered mountain.
The Audi kept moving along the plowed road, heavy snow piled in steep banks on either side of the route from Innsbruck. "Yeah," said the driver with evident pride, as if he himself had built the mountain, "that is the Kandahar. Some say it is the greatest of the downhill runs becaue it has everything."
"That a fact?" Colonel Flagg said, not interested in mountains. "How far is St Anton, then?"
"Only a few more minutes, Mein Herr."
Flagg grunted, and looked at his two companions. Intelligence Officer David Palms sat next to him. Intelligence Officer Ed Benson sat in the front seat beside the driver. Flagg looked out the window, seeing the snow but not seeing it. Flagg had been given a special presidential directive to pursue a man who lived outside St Anton. Ultimately, Flagg was after False-Face, a fiendish criminal. Recently he learned through contacts in the CIA that to find False-Face he needed to contact the man who was the living connection of all right-wing groups, one Abdul al-Kafir.
"What is it that you gentlemen do?" the driver asked.
"We're bible salesmen," Colonel Flagg answered. He couldn't very well say he was in the CIA, that he had been given carte blanche as to conduct the important investigation, and that in the bottom of his suitcase were concealed weapons. And it wasn't really his suitcase at all, it had been left in an airport locker for him with some other items.
This cloak-and-dagger stuff was something he had loved since his days in the Korean war. Well, if the President of the United States orders you to go out and save the world -- then save the world is what Colonel Flagg would do.
***
Batman sat on the edge of the double bed in Selina Kyle's hotel room. Catwoman sat beside him. Off to one side, Wildcat straddled a ladder-back chair. All three were watching Hourman as he looked at his watch -- something he did on a constant basis. They were in St Anton, Austria.
Hourman looked at Catwoman. She had crossed her legs, allowing Hourman an excellent eyeful of her shapely legs.
"Are you sure we can trust this young lady's information, Batman?"
"Oh, you can trust me, stud," Catwoman answered before the Caped Crusader could.
Wildcat chuckled. "Are you sure you want to try and pull this tiger's tail, Hourman?"
This time it was Catwoman's turn to snicker.
Hourman decided it was time to sit down and be quiet.
"I think," Wildcat started, "what Hourman was attempting to inquire from you, Catwoman ... are you fairly certain that your information is good enough to bring us all the way to Austria? We hope this isn't a wild goose chase."
"One cat to another, babe?" she asked.
Wildcat nodded.
"Yes."
"I don't think I'm gonna like this," Hourman voluteered.
"Really?" Catwoman asked, looking over to him. "What a pity."
Looking to his fellow male crimefighters, Batman said, "Okay, the three of us will ..."
Catwoman interrupted him. "The four of us. I'm coming along to Abdul al- Kafir's with all of you," she said matter-of-factly.
"No way," Batman snapped.
"I'll second that," Hourman added.
Wildcat said evenly, "I, too, would discourage you, Catwoman. It'll be too dangerous for a woman."
Batman looked at Catwoman, but before he could say anything, she spoke.
"If you want my help in getting to see al-Kafir, I'm coming along." She smiled.
"If he's someone you can point out to us, we can handle it," Batman said. "Didn't you say he was armed and dangerous?"
"I admit that he and I were never close. Al-Kafir's perversions disgusted me."
Batman looked down at his gauntlets, then to Hourman. "His perversions?" he asked.
Batman felt Catwoman's breath against his right cheek as she leaned to him, whispering. After a moment, he drew back and stared at her. "He does that?" he almost yelled, barely in control. "The vile criminal."
***
Unknown to the four costumed figures in Selina Kyle's room, another man was calling at the desk in the same hotel. "I'm Wesley Dodds, room 304. I believe the desk rang that the package I was expecting had arrived?"
The hotel desk clerk smiled, turned away and took a small package from the shelf beneath the board of room keys. He appeared to study the address for an instant, then passed it over the desk.
"Thank you," Dodds said. Though he could speak German fluently, he was supposed to be a Swedish health-food salesman and unable to speak the language.
"And thank you, Mein Herr," the clerk nodded deferentially.
Dodds weighed the package in his hands -- it had to be the right article.
He walked across the foyer and down the hall toward a men's room he had seen, and pushed through the door with the package under his arm. Inside, he extracted a small pine wedge from his jacket pocket and blocked the door closed with it. He sincerely hoped no one picked that instant for a case of diarrhea. He set the package on the steel shelf that ran under the mirror above the sinks. He ripped through the box because the adhesive tape was too resistant.
Inside the box was another box, this one wooden, closed with a tiny locked brass latch. Dodds took his key ring from his pocket and produced a tiny brass key. He unlocked the box.
Before him lay his new gas gun. Several viles of various anesthetics and sedatives accompanied the gun.
He took one tube that contained an orangish liquid and pressed the blue rubber cap into the needle inside the gun and checked to make sure the safety was on. He dropped the extra viles into his jacket pocket. It wasn't the safest place, but it would have to do for the moment.
Dodds stuffed the empty cardboard box into a trash basket and stuck the new gun, that resembled a semiautomatic pistol, under his jacket in the elastic waistband of his slacks. The gun would be in a more secure place in his Sandman costume.
He washed his hands, studying his face in the mirror. He needed more sleep but those dreams of his were bothering him again. Nightmares was a better word. Nightmares of a holocaust and False-Face, wearing a Hitler mustache, laughing.
Dodds pocketed his wedge and left the men's room. He started back toward the lobby. By now, his rented car should be waiting. He needed to get his gear and put it in the trunk of the automobile.
As he passed the desk, he noticed the desk clerk watching him, then remembered he had the wooden box under his arm. Dodds smiled, again affecting his phony Swedish accent, and called out to the clerk as he walked past to the exit, "An old girlfriend knew I'd be staying here. Sent me a useful little good-luck charm."
To be continued ...