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 12
Batman, Wildcat, The Sandman, and Doctor Fate returned to the JSA headquarters in New York City empty-handed. Catwoman was still missing along with the ninety-nine canisters of VX nerve gas. The whereabouts of False-Face was another unanswered question.
Dr Mid-Nite had informed the other heroes that Diana Prince had called and informed him that intelligence personnel in Morocco had confirmed the landing of a helicopter, which the captain of the East German freighter had indicated False-Face had used for his escape. At the desert airport where the helicopter had landed, a private plane that had taken False-Face from the airport had been made by its registration number. It was assumed that the registration number was spurious, but it would be difficult to change the number in midair -- though this too could be done with special chemical paints.
When the crimefighters arrived back in New York, a massive search by the Free World Nations secret services and law enforcement was already underway to determine the plane's eventual landing site.
As they waited for intelligence to filter through, the crimefighters tried to relax from the strain. Bruce Wayne sat on the veranda beside the indoor pool. Wesley Dodds sat nearby, reading one of Charles McNider's thriller novels. Ted Grant sat in an inflated chair in the pool, reading as well.
Reading, or perhaps playing chess, was the only way to pass the time. They were waiting. The Batplane was on alert at nearby Idlewood Airport, the Batmobile was ready outside the JSA mansion to transport them there.
Charles McNider manned the telephones, alternately waiting for information to be called in and calling out to hunt it down. In the stillness, Bruce Wayne could periodically hear McNider's voice.
Bruce flipped through another article in the magazine he was reading. He waited.
Selina had been taken aboard a seaplane, but the captain of the freighter had sworn he had not known the destination. Bruce felt his brow crease into furrows. He wondered what would False-Face do with her? He closed the magazine. He knew what he would do with False-Face when he found him someday. It wouldn't be pretty. Bruce Wayne waited.
***
His Nazi contact had driven in silence through Oklahoma City and the outlying countryside, saying nothing. Recalling his geography, False-Face determined that ahead would be the Canadian River. There was a U.S. Air Force base there and that was his goal. But first the house, the change of clothes from his disguise as a British businessman. It was a versatile disguise. Removing the mustache and brushing the hair forward over his face, he matched the Canadian passport photo and a new identity.
This next disguise would not be so versatile, but vastly more useful.
The Volkswagon Beetle turned a sharp right up a driveway barely wide enough for one full-sized car to pass without bruising the trees that lined the sides of the road. The noise of gravel crunching under the tires made him realize the VW was stopping -- the silent Nazi had been a faultless driver.
False-Face turned to the man. "You drive very well," he said in English.
The man only nodded and stepped out of the car.
False-Face stepped out as well, and stretched his long legs, feeling the blood flow once again into cramped muscles and joints. A long ride in a small car was not his idea of comfort.
The silent Nazi had opened the trunk at the front of the car and was setting down the single suitcase False-Face had brought with him. False- Face looked at the low front porch of the home as a tall, gaunt man with a heavy mustache wearing a turtleneck sweater and the uniform pants of a U.S. Air Force officer stepped down from the last of three steps, his feet making a crunching sound across the gravel. The man did not smile, merely walked ahead and stopped, saying, "Herr False-Face, it is a pleasure to meet you."
False-Face nodded. It was always a pleasure for someone to meet him. "The pleasure is mine Major Kirkwood," he replied.
Kirkwood's eyes flickered toward the Volkswagon, then Kirkwood snapped, "That is all, Ziggy."
False-Face glanced toward the silent Nazi, watching as the man bowed slightly then started to get back into his car.
"Come into my house, please, Herr False-Face," said Kirkwood.
"Thank you," False-Face nodded. He followed the U.S. Air Force major up the three steps and across the porch. Kirkwood held the door open deferentially, and False-Face passed through. It was a comfortable if slightly sparse-looking home, False-Face noted as a woman appeared in the passageway at the far end of what he assumed was a dining room. She was wringing a floral apron in her hands.
"This is my wife, Herr False-Face," explained Kirkwood.
"Madame Kirkwood," False-Face nodded, smiling. The woman curtsied and turned on her heel and disappeared.
False-Face turned to Kirkwood. "All is in readiness." It was a statement, not a question.
"The F-4 is ready, Herr False-Face," responded the man. "But it is very fast. You can ..."
"I can fly it." False-Face quickly interrupted. "And the bomb laced with the nerve gas is ready and located aboard the aircraft." Again a statement.
"Yes, Herr False-Face. If I should be found out ..." Kirkwood faltered.
"You will not be unless it is by your own hand or your own fear," stated False-Face, his voice flat and firm. "The uniform is ready as I requested?"
"Yes, Herr False-Face," Kirkwood nodded, his face sweating profusely.
"Excellent," said False-Face, who smiled as he patted the major on the back. He had decided now that after he changed identities he would have to kill the major and his wife. The major was too nervous and knew too much and the wife, of course, could tell.
The silent Nazi from the Volkswagon knew nothing.
The wife reappeared. "A dinner I have made for Herr False-Face is ready," she said.
False-Face smiled. "I am touched by your hospitality, madame, truly touched." He was, he thought. Home cooking was always a pleasure, however humble the fare.
***
"Where are you taking me?"
Whatever voices belonged to those people gripping her upper arms didn't answer her.
"Take this blindfold off," demanded Selina. "What are you afraid of? My hands are tied behind my back." There was no answer. She swallowed hard.
She felt a change of direction, and the hands started to take her down a staircase. She started to stumble, and she was concerned that her anonymous jailers would just let her fall. But the hands only dug into her upper arms more tightly. "If it's money you want, I've got more money than False-Face could count." It was a gamble right out of the movies. But sometimes it actually worked.
Suddenly, the hands stopped her. She felt herself tensing. She'd be true to her words if they released her. Money was something she had in great amounts, something she could always replace or replenish. "Will you release me?" she asked.
When the voice finally came, it carried with it a heavy drawl, like it belonged to someone in the southern United States. "Could I get into your pants too?"
That pissed her. Who the hell did he think he was talking to, some two-bit hooker on the street? She held back any outward sign of her temper from showing and continued acting like the scared, docile female. She nodded and said, "If you release me, you can have me and the money -- but release me first."
"Would you do anything I want?" the voice asked her.
She hesitated, then let them think she was complying again, "Yes, anything you want. I swear it if you'll let me go."
"How about the other guy here?" asked the voice.
She felt the muscles around her eyes tightening as she nodded. "Yes -- anything he wants, too. Just let me go, please."
She felt the hands on her arms turn her around, felt her naked breasts brush against the rough jacket of the man who had spoken. She felt herself pressed against the man, his clothing scratching the skin of her chest.
"After False-Face has his ultimate triumph I'll be one of the elite," he snorted, "one of the masters. Maybe then, if you're a good little girl, I'll keep you, let you shine my boots maybe, let you ..."
She had heard enough. Selina drove her right knee hard upward and caught the would-be "master" just right and he dropped to ground like a pile of bricks.
She felt the rush of air against her left cheek before she felt the pressure of the second man's hand. She tried to roll with the blow, but the impact caught her and stunned her. She collapsed to the ground, the salty taste of blood on her lips.
She heard a key turn in a lock, and the sound of rusty hinges being worked. She felt herself being hauled erect and turned to her right, then hands on her shoulders, roughly shoving her. She tried making her bare feet move fast enough, felt herself falling, her knees paining her as they scraped against some hard surface. She fell forward, her right cheek thudding into the hard floor, her nose suddenly feeling stiff and sore. She then heard the rusty-sounding hinges again, and the turning of the key in the lock. She lay there, thankful they hadn't done something worse to her, raped her. Yet.
Selina twisted her body, trying to get up. As she tried to move, she felt a wave of nausea pass over her, racking her body. She fell forward again. Then in her dark world, she rolled over onto her left side, breathing hard. She tried to lift her head but she fell back, her brain swirling, and she lost consciousness.
When she woke up, she tried to open her eyes, then remembered the blindfold. Her throat burned.
She pushed herself across the floor. It felt like dirt beneath her. She kept moving, tentatively and slowly, pushing her feet in front of her body, exploring the way. Her feet smacked against something hard, and she felt rough concrete against her skin.
She edged her head closer and started to rub the blindfold against the wall, trying to shift it. The concrete sliced away at her skin like a hundred tiny knives. Finally, she could squint and see light with her left eye, the blindfold only down far enough to increase her discomfiture. She kept rubbing at it, getting it down now by wriggling her nose as well. Her nose was stiff and felt clotted with blood.
Her eyes clamped shut against the light. The blindfold had fallen across her nose, making it hard for her to breathe.
The first thing she saw was the wall. It was gray concrete, streaked with her own blood where she had scraped at the blindfold.
She licked her lips. They felt puffed and swollen, the skin cracked and dry.
She looked down at herself. She was scraped and scratched and naked. But everything looked okay.
She cocked her head back against the wall. The knot of the blindfold was bound into her hair and it hurt. She studied her prison. It was a cellar, empty, with a heavy-looking wooden door.
Selina Kyle twisted her body around against the wall, trying to gain leverage against it to stand.
As she stood, more of the nausa swept over her. She closed her eyes until it passed.
Her legs worked, and she slowly started across the room toward the solitary barred window. The glass was dirty and she couldn't see clearly through it. By standing on her tiptoes, she was able to reach the bottom of the glass panel with her face. The blindfold was still over her nose and she rubbed it against the window by moving her face back and forth. The dirt was old and hardened, but a clear spot started to emerge.
Leaning against the wall, cold against her flesh, she peered through the eyehole in the streaky dirt. Staring back at her was a chicken.
***
Entering the air base had been easier than he had anticipated. Major Kirkwood had done his work well -- the late Major Kirkwood, False-Face smiled. He walked toward the hangar, looking smart, he thought, in his blue U.S. Air Force major's uniform.
He casually returned an enlisted man's salute and entered the hangar. A mechanic stood beneath the fuselage of his plane, making a final pre-flight check. As he drew closer to the F-4, passing on an angle from the tip of its starboard wing, he could read the aircraft number painted on the fuselage. The number ninety-two was in black against the silver-gray color of the aircraft.
The mechanic, a sergeant, snapped to attention as he approached. The man said, "Major Garrity, your aircraft awaits!"
False-Face only nodded, walking closer to the machine. It would do at least Mach 2, perhaps better than that. It was among the fastest of military aircraft.
An officer was approaching, and False-Face eyed the man, placing the rank subordinate to him. He returned the young captain's salute, the man saying, "Major Garrity, I have been instructed to inspect your orders prior to take- off."
False-Face smiled as he reached under his tunic and produced the documents. They were marked U.S. Air Force, North American Aerospace Defense Command. They were signed by the commander-in-chief of NORAD. False-Face couldn't restrain a smile as he watched the young officer's eyes widen.
The captain returned the orders, saluting. "I did not know, major --" he began.
"You were not supposed to know," False-Face cut him off. "All is in readiness?"
"Yes, major."
"I shall change then into my flight suit. Have it brought from my car. It is parked outside the hangar." False-Face glanced at his watch. "I wish to be airborne in exactly seventeen minutes."
"Yes, major. Sergeant -- the automobile!" he snapped at the mechanic.
False-Face smiled, and fished his keys from his trouser pocket. He called after the sergeant as he jogged off, "Sergeant, you might need these!" He tossed the keys to the mechanic.
Soon, he would be flying over the breadth of the nation that was one of the two most powerful on earth -- one of the vultures that had picked at the bones of the Reich. And soon a nerve gas weapon, one that The Boomer had so meticulously prepared, would do its work.
He clapped his hands together softly, rubbing them like a man would do if he were cold. "I shall change now," he proclaimed, starting across the hangar. The young captain at his heels.
***
Back in costume, Dr Mid-Nite ran across the marbled floor of the corridor, Batman watching him from the leather easy chair beside the cold hearth of the library. Batman got to his feet. There was something in the way Dr Mid- Nite came in the room, in the look on his face as well.
"Wildcat, I think we've got something, Wildcat ..." He walked to his friend's chair, and nudged the man's right shoulder to awaken him. Colonel Flagg, who had joined them earlier, started to sit up. He too had been dozing.
"Wake up, Wildcat, come on," Batman prodded.
"Jeez," Wildcat muttered.
Batman watched as Wildcat's eyes suddenly opened.
Batman walked across the room to the open sliding doors. Dr Mid-Nite was nearly through the corridor, slowing his run, smiling.
"You've got something?" Batman said.
Dr Mid-Nite began. "A lead, we've got a lead. Sandman is on the telephone now. He had come in to talk for a moment and the telephone rang. It was the FBI in Oklahoma City. One of their men had infiltrated the Nazi underground, and just did some driving for them. He took a tall, British- looking man to the home of an air force major they've had under surveillance, a Major Kirkwood. The man matched the description the freighter captain was persuaded to give. The FBI man left, but waited in the woods with binoculors. Kirkwood never came out, nor did his wife. But a third person did, dressed as an Air Force major. He drove off in a car that the driver had never seen, presumably Kirkwood's. The driver waited two hours, but after seeing no movement he went down to Kirkwood's house and peered through a window. He admitted that he threw up. Kirkwood's wife was in the kitchen, her throat slit. The driver broke down the door and ran inside. Kirkwood was dead as well and there was no sign of False-Face. The driver tried using the telephone, but the wires had been cut and the vibrator in the mouthpiece removed. He ran back to his car and then raced back to Oklahoma City to report his findings. The man dressed as the Air Force major had been gone more than four hours by then."
"Shit," Wildcat snapped.
"Yes, quite," Dr Mid-Nite agreed. He turned to the CIA man. "Colonel Flagg, do you think you could get on the phone and get through the government red tape -- I don't envy you -- to get permission for us to contact the Air Force? The FBI thinks False-Face may be a mysterious Major Garrity, who flew off in an F-4, but the Air Force base won't designate where."
"If False-Face went to the trouble of stealing a plane and killing the Nazis who set it up, he'll have one of the nerve gas canisters aboard," Batman ventured. He heard Colonel Flagg make a low whistle.
"If he drops one over a city," Flagg began. He left the conclusion open for speculation.
"My God! An air burst of nerve gas over a city?" Dr Mid-Nite asked.
Batman was studying his boots, thinking. He heard the distant clicking of heels on the marble floor of the corridor and looked up. The Sandman was running quickly toward them.
The crimefighter who wore a gas mask shouted, "He's heading to Florida -- and is probably there now. Wonder Woman was able to get the information we needed. And there was an item aboard the plane. It may be a device laced with VX nerve gas."
Batman started to run for the front door, shouting to Colonel Flagg, "Get on the phone, Colonel, get the clearances set up to get us into Florida."
"I'm coming along," Batman heard Wildcat shouting.
"You, Dr Mid-Nite and Colonel Flagg look for Catwoman," ordered the Caped Crusader. "False-Face may not make it through this alive, so it's up to you to find Catwoman."
Batman punched the double front doors open, almost shattering the stained glass as he raced out of the mansion headquarters of the Justice Society of America. In the driveway was the Batmobile. The Masked Manhunter felt it in his blood. It was False-Face. False-Face had another bomb laced with VX nerve gas. False-Face would use it and maybe start World War III just for fun.
The Sandman was climbing into the passenger seat of the Batmobile. Behind him he heard Dr Mid-Nite shout to him, "I'll try to get you some help!"
"You do that!" Batman replied.
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 12
Batman, Wildcat, The Sandman, and Doctor Fate returned to the JSA headquarters in New York City empty-handed. Catwoman was still missing along with the ninety-nine canisters of VX nerve gas. The whereabouts of False-Face was another unanswered question.
Dr Mid-Nite had informed the other heroes that Diana Prince had called and informed him that intelligence personnel in Morocco had confirmed the landing of a helicopter, which the captain of the East German freighter had indicated False-Face had used for his escape. At the desert airport where the helicopter had landed, a private plane that had taken False-Face from the airport had been made by its registration number. It was assumed that the registration number was spurious, but it would be difficult to change the number in midair -- though this too could be done with special chemical paints.
When the crimefighters arrived back in New York, a massive search by the Free World Nations secret services and law enforcement was already underway to determine the plane's eventual landing site.
As they waited for intelligence to filter through, the crimefighters tried to relax from the strain. Bruce Wayne sat on the veranda beside the indoor pool. Wesley Dodds sat nearby, reading one of Charles McNider's thriller novels. Ted Grant sat in an inflated chair in the pool, reading as well.
Reading, or perhaps playing chess, was the only way to pass the time. They were waiting. The Batplane was on alert at nearby Idlewood Airport, the Batmobile was ready outside the JSA mansion to transport them there.
Charles McNider manned the telephones, alternately waiting for information to be called in and calling out to hunt it down. In the stillness, Bruce Wayne could periodically hear McNider's voice.
Bruce flipped through another article in the magazine he was reading. He waited.
Selina had been taken aboard a seaplane, but the captain of the freighter had sworn he had not known the destination. Bruce felt his brow crease into furrows. He wondered what would False-Face do with her? He closed the magazine. He knew what he would do with False-Face when he found him someday. It wouldn't be pretty. Bruce Wayne waited.
***
His Nazi contact had driven in silence through Oklahoma City and the outlying countryside, saying nothing. Recalling his geography, False-Face determined that ahead would be the Canadian River. There was a U.S. Air Force base there and that was his goal. But first the house, the change of clothes from his disguise as a British businessman. It was a versatile disguise. Removing the mustache and brushing the hair forward over his face, he matched the Canadian passport photo and a new identity.
This next disguise would not be so versatile, but vastly more useful.
The Volkswagon Beetle turned a sharp right up a driveway barely wide enough for one full-sized car to pass without bruising the trees that lined the sides of the road. The noise of gravel crunching under the tires made him realize the VW was stopping -- the silent Nazi had been a faultless driver.
False-Face turned to the man. "You drive very well," he said in English.
The man only nodded and stepped out of the car.
False-Face stepped out as well, and stretched his long legs, feeling the blood flow once again into cramped muscles and joints. A long ride in a small car was not his idea of comfort.
The silent Nazi had opened the trunk at the front of the car and was setting down the single suitcase False-Face had brought with him. False- Face looked at the low front porch of the home as a tall, gaunt man with a heavy mustache wearing a turtleneck sweater and the uniform pants of a U.S. Air Force officer stepped down from the last of three steps, his feet making a crunching sound across the gravel. The man did not smile, merely walked ahead and stopped, saying, "Herr False-Face, it is a pleasure to meet you."
False-Face nodded. It was always a pleasure for someone to meet him. "The pleasure is mine Major Kirkwood," he replied.
Kirkwood's eyes flickered toward the Volkswagon, then Kirkwood snapped, "That is all, Ziggy."
False-Face glanced toward the silent Nazi, watching as the man bowed slightly then started to get back into his car.
"Come into my house, please, Herr False-Face," said Kirkwood.
"Thank you," False-Face nodded. He followed the U.S. Air Force major up the three steps and across the porch. Kirkwood held the door open deferentially, and False-Face passed through. It was a comfortable if slightly sparse-looking home, False-Face noted as a woman appeared in the passageway at the far end of what he assumed was a dining room. She was wringing a floral apron in her hands.
"This is my wife, Herr False-Face," explained Kirkwood.
"Madame Kirkwood," False-Face nodded, smiling. The woman curtsied and turned on her heel and disappeared.
False-Face turned to Kirkwood. "All is in readiness." It was a statement, not a question.
"The F-4 is ready, Herr False-Face," responded the man. "But it is very fast. You can ..."
"I can fly it." False-Face quickly interrupted. "And the bomb laced with the nerve gas is ready and located aboard the aircraft." Again a statement.
"Yes, Herr False-Face. If I should be found out ..." Kirkwood faltered.
"You will not be unless it is by your own hand or your own fear," stated False-Face, his voice flat and firm. "The uniform is ready as I requested?"
"Yes, Herr False-Face," Kirkwood nodded, his face sweating profusely.
"Excellent," said False-Face, who smiled as he patted the major on the back. He had decided now that after he changed identities he would have to kill the major and his wife. The major was too nervous and knew too much and the wife, of course, could tell.
The silent Nazi from the Volkswagon knew nothing.
The wife reappeared. "A dinner I have made for Herr False-Face is ready," she said.
False-Face smiled. "I am touched by your hospitality, madame, truly touched." He was, he thought. Home cooking was always a pleasure, however humble the fare.
***
"Where are you taking me?"
Whatever voices belonged to those people gripping her upper arms didn't answer her.
"Take this blindfold off," demanded Selina. "What are you afraid of? My hands are tied behind my back." There was no answer. She swallowed hard.
She felt a change of direction, and the hands started to take her down a staircase. She started to stumble, and she was concerned that her anonymous jailers would just let her fall. But the hands only dug into her upper arms more tightly. "If it's money you want, I've got more money than False-Face could count." It was a gamble right out of the movies. But sometimes it actually worked.
Suddenly, the hands stopped her. She felt herself tensing. She'd be true to her words if they released her. Money was something she had in great amounts, something she could always replace or replenish. "Will you release me?" she asked.
When the voice finally came, it carried with it a heavy drawl, like it belonged to someone in the southern United States. "Could I get into your pants too?"
That pissed her. Who the hell did he think he was talking to, some two-bit hooker on the street? She held back any outward sign of her temper from showing and continued acting like the scared, docile female. She nodded and said, "If you release me, you can have me and the money -- but release me first."
"Would you do anything I want?" the voice asked her.
She hesitated, then let them think she was complying again, "Yes, anything you want. I swear it if you'll let me go."
"How about the other guy here?" asked the voice.
She felt the muscles around her eyes tightening as she nodded. "Yes -- anything he wants, too. Just let me go, please."
She felt the hands on her arms turn her around, felt her naked breasts brush against the rough jacket of the man who had spoken. She felt herself pressed against the man, his clothing scratching the skin of her chest.
"After False-Face has his ultimate triumph I'll be one of the elite," he snorted, "one of the masters. Maybe then, if you're a good little girl, I'll keep you, let you shine my boots maybe, let you ..."
She had heard enough. Selina drove her right knee hard upward and caught the would-be "master" just right and he dropped to ground like a pile of bricks.
She felt the rush of air against her left cheek before she felt the pressure of the second man's hand. She tried to roll with the blow, but the impact caught her and stunned her. She collapsed to the ground, the salty taste of blood on her lips.
She heard a key turn in a lock, and the sound of rusty hinges being worked. She felt herself being hauled erect and turned to her right, then hands on her shoulders, roughly shoving her. She tried making her bare feet move fast enough, felt herself falling, her knees paining her as they scraped against some hard surface. She fell forward, her right cheek thudding into the hard floor, her nose suddenly feeling stiff and sore. She then heard the rusty-sounding hinges again, and the turning of the key in the lock. She lay there, thankful they hadn't done something worse to her, raped her. Yet.
Selina twisted her body, trying to get up. As she tried to move, she felt a wave of nausea pass over her, racking her body. She fell forward again. Then in her dark world, she rolled over onto her left side, breathing hard. She tried to lift her head but she fell back, her brain swirling, and she lost consciousness.
When she woke up, she tried to open her eyes, then remembered the blindfold. Her throat burned.
She pushed herself across the floor. It felt like dirt beneath her. She kept moving, tentatively and slowly, pushing her feet in front of her body, exploring the way. Her feet smacked against something hard, and she felt rough concrete against her skin.
She edged her head closer and started to rub the blindfold against the wall, trying to shift it. The concrete sliced away at her skin like a hundred tiny knives. Finally, she could squint and see light with her left eye, the blindfold only down far enough to increase her discomfiture. She kept rubbing at it, getting it down now by wriggling her nose as well. Her nose was stiff and felt clotted with blood.
Her eyes clamped shut against the light. The blindfold had fallen across her nose, making it hard for her to breathe.
The first thing she saw was the wall. It was gray concrete, streaked with her own blood where she had scraped at the blindfold.
She licked her lips. They felt puffed and swollen, the skin cracked and dry.
She looked down at herself. She was scraped and scratched and naked. But everything looked okay.
She cocked her head back against the wall. The knot of the blindfold was bound into her hair and it hurt. She studied her prison. It was a cellar, empty, with a heavy-looking wooden door.
Selina Kyle twisted her body around against the wall, trying to gain leverage against it to stand.
As she stood, more of the nausa swept over her. She closed her eyes until it passed.
Her legs worked, and she slowly started across the room toward the solitary barred window. The glass was dirty and she couldn't see clearly through it. By standing on her tiptoes, she was able to reach the bottom of the glass panel with her face. The blindfold was still over her nose and she rubbed it against the window by moving her face back and forth. The dirt was old and hardened, but a clear spot started to emerge.
Leaning against the wall, cold against her flesh, she peered through the eyehole in the streaky dirt. Staring back at her was a chicken.
***
Entering the air base had been easier than he had anticipated. Major Kirkwood had done his work well -- the late Major Kirkwood, False-Face smiled. He walked toward the hangar, looking smart, he thought, in his blue U.S. Air Force major's uniform.
He casually returned an enlisted man's salute and entered the hangar. A mechanic stood beneath the fuselage of his plane, making a final pre-flight check. As he drew closer to the F-4, passing on an angle from the tip of its starboard wing, he could read the aircraft number painted on the fuselage. The number ninety-two was in black against the silver-gray color of the aircraft.
The mechanic, a sergeant, snapped to attention as he approached. The man said, "Major Garrity, your aircraft awaits!"
False-Face only nodded, walking closer to the machine. It would do at least Mach 2, perhaps better than that. It was among the fastest of military aircraft.
An officer was approaching, and False-Face eyed the man, placing the rank subordinate to him. He returned the young captain's salute, the man saying, "Major Garrity, I have been instructed to inspect your orders prior to take- off."
False-Face smiled as he reached under his tunic and produced the documents. They were marked U.S. Air Force, North American Aerospace Defense Command. They were signed by the commander-in-chief of NORAD. False-Face couldn't restrain a smile as he watched the young officer's eyes widen.
The captain returned the orders, saluting. "I did not know, major --" he began.
"You were not supposed to know," False-Face cut him off. "All is in readiness?"
"Yes, major."
"I shall change then into my flight suit. Have it brought from my car. It is parked outside the hangar." False-Face glanced at his watch. "I wish to be airborne in exactly seventeen minutes."
"Yes, major. Sergeant -- the automobile!" he snapped at the mechanic.
False-Face smiled, and fished his keys from his trouser pocket. He called after the sergeant as he jogged off, "Sergeant, you might need these!" He tossed the keys to the mechanic.
Soon, he would be flying over the breadth of the nation that was one of the two most powerful on earth -- one of the vultures that had picked at the bones of the Reich. And soon a nerve gas weapon, one that The Boomer had so meticulously prepared, would do its work.
He clapped his hands together softly, rubbing them like a man would do if he were cold. "I shall change now," he proclaimed, starting across the hangar. The young captain at his heels.
***
Back in costume, Dr Mid-Nite ran across the marbled floor of the corridor, Batman watching him from the leather easy chair beside the cold hearth of the library. Batman got to his feet. There was something in the way Dr Mid- Nite came in the room, in the look on his face as well.
"Wildcat, I think we've got something, Wildcat ..." He walked to his friend's chair, and nudged the man's right shoulder to awaken him. Colonel Flagg, who had joined them earlier, started to sit up. He too had been dozing.
"Wake up, Wildcat, come on," Batman prodded.
"Jeez," Wildcat muttered.
Batman watched as Wildcat's eyes suddenly opened.
Batman walked across the room to the open sliding doors. Dr Mid-Nite was nearly through the corridor, slowing his run, smiling.
"You've got something?" Batman said.
Dr Mid-Nite began. "A lead, we've got a lead. Sandman is on the telephone now. He had come in to talk for a moment and the telephone rang. It was the FBI in Oklahoma City. One of their men had infiltrated the Nazi underground, and just did some driving for them. He took a tall, British- looking man to the home of an air force major they've had under surveillance, a Major Kirkwood. The man matched the description the freighter captain was persuaded to give. The FBI man left, but waited in the woods with binoculors. Kirkwood never came out, nor did his wife. But a third person did, dressed as an Air Force major. He drove off in a car that the driver had never seen, presumably Kirkwood's. The driver waited two hours, but after seeing no movement he went down to Kirkwood's house and peered through a window. He admitted that he threw up. Kirkwood's wife was in the kitchen, her throat slit. The driver broke down the door and ran inside. Kirkwood was dead as well and there was no sign of False-Face. The driver tried using the telephone, but the wires had been cut and the vibrator in the mouthpiece removed. He ran back to his car and then raced back to Oklahoma City to report his findings. The man dressed as the Air Force major had been gone more than four hours by then."
"Shit," Wildcat snapped.
"Yes, quite," Dr Mid-Nite agreed. He turned to the CIA man. "Colonel Flagg, do you think you could get on the phone and get through the government red tape -- I don't envy you -- to get permission for us to contact the Air Force? The FBI thinks False-Face may be a mysterious Major Garrity, who flew off in an F-4, but the Air Force base won't designate where."
"If False-Face went to the trouble of stealing a plane and killing the Nazis who set it up, he'll have one of the nerve gas canisters aboard," Batman ventured. He heard Colonel Flagg make a low whistle.
"If he drops one over a city," Flagg began. He left the conclusion open for speculation.
"My God! An air burst of nerve gas over a city?" Dr Mid-Nite asked.
Batman was studying his boots, thinking. He heard the distant clicking of heels on the marble floor of the corridor and looked up. The Sandman was running quickly toward them.
The crimefighter who wore a gas mask shouted, "He's heading to Florida -- and is probably there now. Wonder Woman was able to get the information we needed. And there was an item aboard the plane. It may be a device laced with VX nerve gas."
Batman started to run for the front door, shouting to Colonel Flagg, "Get on the phone, Colonel, get the clearances set up to get us into Florida."
"I'm coming along," Batman heard Wildcat shouting.
"You, Dr Mid-Nite and Colonel Flagg look for Catwoman," ordered the Caped Crusader. "False-Face may not make it through this alive, so it's up to you to find Catwoman."
Batman punched the double front doors open, almost shattering the stained glass as he raced out of the mansion headquarters of the Justice Society of America. In the driveway was the Batmobile. The Masked Manhunter felt it in his blood. It was False-Face. False-Face had another bomb laced with VX nerve gas. False-Face would use it and maybe start World War III just for fun.
The Sandman was climbing into the passenger seat of the Batmobile. Behind him he heard Dr Mid-Nite shout to him, "I'll try to get you some help!"
"You do that!" Batman replied.
To Be continued ...