[The Talon, Smallville]
In the morning, Clark received an urgent call from Lana: "I think you'd want to come over here right away."
Clark hopped into his truck and drove off. He had too many things on his mind. He knew he had to balance on a delicate line when he was around Lex and Oliver. Don't bring up Dinah Lance, he repeated to himself like a mantra. Chloe was actually the voice of caution, he smirked. I was the one who barged ahead before I knew what was involved.
There was also the immediate matter of "the party." Metropolis' elite will be there. The mayor, the D.A,
the police commissioner, the university president and chancellor and the usual collection of industry captains, powerbrokers and politicians. But one guest, by his mere appearance, could cause an unexpected stir.
That was Bruce Wayne, a man on the verge of some grand destiny no one could fully understand. He was constantly preparing. Studying. Training. But for what, Clark had often wondered. For what purpose, to what end? Bruce had assumed control of the family's corporate empire once he turned 21. He had become CEO of Wayne Enterprises, and he was determined to prove that he was no lightweight: either on Wall Street or the halls of Congress. He was his father's son, and nothing on earth would keep him from exhalting his family's memory. Unlike Lex, who tried to purge his father's influence from his character. Lex and Bruce were friends, but their upbringing was so different. Perhaps they found common ground in the traumatic experiences of their youth.
Clark parked along the street and walked into the Talon. In a corner booth, Bruce Wayne was having breakfast. The Daily Planet was unfurled. The headline only emphasized what was the biggest news in town:
'QUEEN TO RECLAIM BROKEN EMPIRE: Lex assembles corporate legions in Queen showdown with LuthorCorp.'
Bruce has rolled his blue dress shirt up to his elbows. He wolfed down the hash browns from his Big Breakfast special. He barely flinched as he took a sip of his coffee: cream, no sugar.
"Uhh, Bruce," Clark seemed surprised. "I didn't know you were coming to town. I figured we'd meet at the party tonight."
Lana arrived with a fresh pot of coffee. "He just arrived about 15 minutes ago. He wanted to get something to eat while we were still serving breakfast."
"You could have come to the farm," Clark replied. He began to feel nervous. Maybe Lex told him about yesterday's incident. Perhaps Bruce was displeased that he had inquired about Ms. Lance. Bruce's silence didn't help him feel any better. He was usually sparse with words, though.
"Lex has invited you to the party?" Bruce asked. Clark nodded hesitantly.
Bruce studied a picture of Oliver at LexCorp.'s press conference earlier this morning. Lex had raised Oliver's hand in triumph. A powerful photo-op of unity.
"Ollie and Lex were closer than friends," Bruce revealed. "Oliver had been like a brother to Lex. Even when they were breaking all the rules, Ollie looked out for Lex." He finally looked up at Clark. "Please, have a seat. You want something to eat? Pancakes, coffee?"
"No, I'm fine," Clark slowly sat down in the booth.
"Lana, if you needed some advice with the building restoration," Bruce offered, "I could put in a query to my architectural wing on behalf of Lex."
"'That would be great," Lana beamed. She could sense that it was an awkward moment between Clark and Bruce. The chime of the microwave bought her an excuse to leave them.
"About Oliver Queen --," Clark began. Bruce was avoiding the obvious topic on his mind: the arrival of Oliver Queen.
"Yes, Oliver Queen," Bruce mumbled in that ambiguous tone which revealed nothing. "I first met him when I was 10. He was nine. I was always the smartest kid in class. Then Ollie beat me on a spelling test. I knew I had to push myself to maintain my standing. And he was so effortless with sports. Where strength and speed matter, I usually held my own. In sports that required finesse, he definitely bested me."
Alfred had arrived, bearing a copy of the Gotham Times and Star City Record. Clearly, Bruce was keeping informed about the NAFTA's review of Lionel's takeover.
Lana arrived with a menu. "Something to drink, Mr. Pennyworth? Coffee, perhaps?"
"Coffee?" he droned, unimpressed. "I may be in America, but by god, I will start my day as an Englishman! One tea -- two lumps -- my dear. Bruce,
tip the young miss. And be generous, lad. You can certainly afford it."
Lana laughed. Alfred always knew how to make her smile. "One proper tea. Absolutely, sir."
"What's the topic today," Alfred inquired. "J-Lo's latest love interest? Or Paris Hilton? You know, she called last night. Again."
Bruce chuckled. "You know what to say. I'm overseas. Actually, we were talking about Oliver Queen."
Alfred frowned slightly. For Bruce's own good, he could not reveal what he knew about Chloe's investigations. Lionel Luthor would certainly exploit Queen's arrival as the time to execute his final drive to capture the rest of the Queen fortune. Alfred had to prevent that -- without drawing Bruce into Lionel's crosshairs.
"I spent much of my teenage years overseas, or in different schools," Bruce continued. "Lex, too. The three of us kept in touch when we could, but we were growing up. Priorities changed. I was more focused than either of them. That sort of left me out in the cold during their juvenile phase. When I learned that both Oliver and Lex were at Metropolis U. when I was taking some electives at the Management School, we picked up where we left off. Lex told me you were curious about that time in our lives, as is your right."
Clark sighed in relief. "I wasn't sure if Lex's good will on the matter included you, too."
"I don't expect you to understand how we were raised," Bruce explained, "or the traditions we were expected to keep. And it would be arrogant of Lex or me to assume that you would. I always felt that I had to act responsibly. Even to the point that it might exclude me from some of Lex and Oliver's jet-set adventures. But ..."
Clark held his breath. Alright, here it comes. Bruce was always the most private person he knew. That was not going to change.
"Dinah Lance," Bruce stated. He pulled out his wallet and skimmed through some photos. The first photo -- the only photo that mattered, really -- was of Thomas and Martha. An old picture, taken when Bruce was probably still in kindergarten. He peeled out another photo. It was more recent. The background was the leaf-strewn grassy quadrangle of Metropolis U.'s campus. The faculty clocktower was there, with the business and journalism schools in the distance.
In the middle of that photo was an attractive young woman. Shoulder-length blonde hair, with blue-grey eyes. She wore a cream-coloured cardigan, with a red-and-black tartan kilt. And knee-high leather boots, which suggested that she was probably more Gotham-urban-savvy than some of her classmates.
"I knew her at Gotham State," Bruce added. "She was a freshman, I was a sophomore. We were just friends then. If she did express interest in me beyond that, I didn't notice. Or, didn't want to notice. But when I saw her again at Metropolis U., I thought I should take a chance ..."
Alfred could sense Bruce's anguish. So many missed opportunities for happiness. Dinah had been another one, he felt. Bruce carefully placed the photo back into his wallet, thus closing the remote chance that he would further confide in Clark about her.
"I tried to win her over, without success," Bruce lamented. "And Oliver --." Bruce became restless. "It was a game to him. It was always a game, do you understand, Clark?"
"I'm trying," Clark seemed puzzled. What exactly did Oliver do?
"The Queens gave him the world," Bruce argued, "with the power to do something meaningful. And what did he do with that gift? Lavish yacht parties in the Mediterranean with British pinup starlets. Keg parties in the Alps with his extreme sports enthusiast buddies. I tried to encourage him to do something -- anything -- useful with his inheritance. He didn't."
"There are two sides to every story, Master Bruce," Alfred noted. He would press no further, but Bruce's stubbornness was frustrating. How could he expect Clark to remain a faithful friend, if he didn't reciprocate the same level of trust?
Bruce quickly finished his breakfast and paid his bill. He put on his blazer. "I have a meeting with Metropolis U.'s dean of management studies," he explained. "I'll see you at the party." He read Clark's disappointed expression, then paused.
"I want to confide in you," he added. "I really do. It's just with Dinah, the whole thing with Ollie ... I don't want to burden you with my problems."
"That's what friends are for -- aren't they?" Clark replied.
Point taken, Bruce thought. Alfred didn't seem to be in a hurry. He calmly finished his cup of tea, then added a $5 tip.
"Exquisite tea, Miss Lang," Alfred nodded. "As usual, Master Bruce has left the cleaning up for others." He placed his bowler cap on and strolled outside to the limousine.
"Slowpoke," Bruce remarked.
Clark checked the clock. Homeroom was in 15 minutes. "Lana, I'll talk to you later. Lex will be by with the limo around 5 p.m. We can catch a ride with him to the museum party."
Lana waved goodbye. If Clark's relationship with Lex was complicated, she thought, his friendship with Bruce promised to be just as rocky. But she agreed with Clark.
Friends don't keep secrets from one another.
[Borders bookstore, Metropolis city limits]
Pete pulled the car into the parking lot. "You sure you don't wanna come to the basketball game? Oh wait -- are you going to that shindig for Oliver Queen at the museum?"
"Oh god no," Chloe shook her head. "I have too much stuff to do. Student council minutes, my biology assignment ... I had to tell Lex that I can't go. Now I've got to check if my new book is in."
"Yeah," Pete smirked. "It would have been cool to meet Ollie Queen. He's a legend of the extreme sports scene. But it's crunch time for the Crows, and duty calls."
Chloe waved as Pete's car zoomed away. She knew that she was stretching the truth again. She had already picked up the minutes from the student council. She only had to write the conclusion for her biology project. Her schoolwork would be done by dinnertime. But she did have to check if the Special Orders department had received her mass communications book order. But that wasn't the real reason she was in suburban Metropolis.
Her true reason had been browsing the 20th Century History aisle in the gigantic big-box store. Not surprisingly, the man was skimming through a book about the Cold War.
Chloe glanced at the cover. "'Escape from East Berlin'? I take it you're reliving past adventures."
Alfred shrugged. "You have the curiosity of cat, Miss Sullivan. It'll find you trouble if you don't keep it in check once in awhile." They found a secluded table in the corner, away from prying eyes. Alfred had given her specific instructions. You must find a location where we can meet -- where the Smallville locals or Lionel's spies won't notice us, he had told her. The largest bookstore, at the peak of the lunch hour, seemed to be ideal.
"Update, Miss Sullivan?" Alfred inquired.
Chloe pulled out a stack of photocopied news articles. "I had to download them from my home computer, since I can't be sure if Lionel's spying on me at the Torch."
Alfred had hoped that Chloe didn't stumble upon the bombshell he had struggled to keep hidden. He was about to be disappointed.
"I came across this article from the Gotham Post, dated about six months before Queen's disappearance." The headline read: 'Wayne, Queen to unite in partnership? New entity to challenge LuthorCorp.'
"What of it?" Alfred asked. He didn't want to serve the truth to her on a platter.
"If Wayne and Queen had entered that partnership," Chloe explained, "they would have been the largest pulp and paper operation in the United States. They would have squeezed Lionel out of the picture. Why didn't they do it?"
"Because Master Bruce lacked confidence in Oliver's business acumen," Alfred replied. "On the week of the negotiations, Ollie decided to conduct the meeting from his luxury suite in Las Vegas. He didn't make the conference: he was drunk and has passed out on the casino floor after a night of gambling and carousing. The deal fell through. Lionel was not amused at this possible alliance and immediately launched a hostile takeover of Queen Enterprises' west coast division. By the time Queen came to his senses, it was too late. The die was cast."
Chloe still seemed confused. "But even without those assets, Wayne and Queen could have made a fight of it. I don't claim to understand the minutiae of corporate politics, but both of them could have handily bloodied LuthorCorp.'s nose. Why didn't they?" Alfred shifted uncomfortably in his seat, but Chloe would not relent. "I need to know," she stated.
"Bruce hadn't assumed the CEO's position yet," Alfred continued. "He was an executive-in-training. Lucius Fox was, de facto, the man running Wayne Enterprises. He would have been the one to kill the deal, likely with Bruce's approval. I have no doubt they had good reason to, and Queen's behaviour only vindicated that decision."
Chloe pulled out another file on Wayne Enterprises. Alfred became increasingly agitated. "I've tried every access-to-information trick that I had, but whenever I came across the proposed Wayne-Queen partnership, the records were 'classified' or 'confidential'"
"Mr. Fox sealed the records," Alfred revealed. "That's as far as I know. Lucius Fox is Bruce's most trusted adviser, a friend of the late Thomas Wayne. If he sealed those records, he had a good reason for it."
Chloe sighed. "So we're at an impasse. If we dig further, Mr. Fox will get wind of it and before you know it I'll have the weight of Wayne Enterprises bearing down on Smallville High. Not exactly the best way to start a reporting career."
"Unless ..." Alfred began, then stopped himself.
"If you could, somehow, gain access to those records - without anyone knowing - we might be able to get to the bottom of this whole mess," Chloe suggested.
"I've come in from the cold, Miss Sullivan," Alfred declared. "I am just Wayne Manor's humble servant. My spying days are over."
Chloe frowned. Without the sealed records, they had no way of knowing why Bruce Wayne and/or Lucius Fox thwarted a deal that could have crippled LuthorCorp.'s west coast operations. She was reluctant to urge Alfred to relive his past life as a spook. But the stakes were already too high. They had to do something.
"Sometimes," Chloe argued, "we have to do less palatable things for the greater good. Politicians may claim victory for winning the Cold War, but it was you and your friends who risked their lives against the Soviets. If we do nothing, we know what happens next."
"Lionel Luthor will destroy Oliver Queen," Alfred winced, "leaving the West Coast open for his clear-cutting and toxic dumping. Then, he will move against Wayne Enterprises. No, not now. Not when he's so close ..."
"So close to what?" Chloe wondered. "I'm not following."
Alfred shrugged. "Never mind." Some secrets should remain in the shadows, he thought. In the caves.
"I have friends in The Company," Alfred whispered. Chloe's eyes widened. Her butler friend wasn't talking about Wayne Enterprises.
He was referring to the CIA.
Alfred pulled out a tiny black cellphone. "It can't be traced." He dialed a few numbers, then cleared his throat. "Westerling? It's Falconer. Remember that favour I did for you and Uncle Sam in Hong Kong? I'm collecting my debt. Today. I need information, in 24 hours." After a few moments, he hung up.
"You've asked a great favour from me," Alfred sighed. "I still regret some of the things I've done for queen and country. It's a Pandora's box that is hard to close, once opened. I must ask a favour in return ... as a sign of good faith."
Alfred was right, Chloe thought. This is a dangerous game. "Name your price," she replied cautiously.
"You've expressed interest in Bruce's past," Alfred continued. "You are not to investigate Bruce Wayne any further, do you understand? Not his youth, his schooling, or his travels. I will help you with our common struggle against Lionel Luthor. But your questions about Bruce -- it all ends now."
"But I still need to know more about Dinah Lance and how she ties into all this ..." Chloe protested.
"Out of the question," Alfred stated. "Do not contact me until I contact you. You've asked me to conduct myself as a spy, and so I shall. This isn't Le Carre's Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy novel, Miss Sullivan. The consequences are all too real."
Alfred spent the next five minutes explaining how he would leave the store, how he would ensure that they weren't being watched, and how she was not to leave the store until the end of the lunch hour. That way, she could blend into the departing lunchtime crowd and not raise any suspicions.
Chloe checked her watch. It was quarter to one. She drummed her fingers impatiently on the table. Chloe Sullivan, you had to push the envelope, didn't you, she grumbled to herself. The Pandora's box was now open.
What would be unleashed was anyone's guess.