(The Torch office, Smallville)
Chloe arranged the layout of this week's edition on Quark Xpress. She would have liked to attend the museum gala in Oliver Queen's honour -- just to see what exactly what all the fuss was about. She gathered from Clark that Lex wanted to assemble a legion of investors, who would reclaim those corporate divisions Lionel had stolen from Queen during his tropical absence.
Only she knew how dangerous Lionel's schemes truly were. Lionel intended to break the Queen stranglehold on the West Coast, and then use those assets to challenge Wayne Enterprises in one, last industrial showdown. Lionel wanted to destroy Bruce Wayne -- and Oliver Queen was the only man who stood in his way. Now, he wanted to exploit a simmering rift between the two billionaires.
This "agreement" I have with Lionel is getting worse by the minute, Chloe muttered to herself.
There was a UPS delivery earlier this evening. She had found it at the Torch office door when she first arrived here. She was going to open it, but an excited call from Pete had distracted her. "We beat Fawcett City!" Pete had screamed over the phone. It was a squeaker: 54-52 in favour of the Crows. They had survived the round-robin tournament and were going to advance to the playoff round. She promised him that she would wait until he filed at least one story about the victory.
Chloe's curiosity about the UPS envelope soon overwhelmed her. She stripped off the seal and opened the envelope. A brand-new copy of John Le Carre's The Spy Who Came In From The Cold novel fell out.
I don't remember ordering a spy novel, Chloe thought. A shiver rippled down her spine. She wasn't the one who ordered it. The novel appeared to have a loose page, which fell out when she flipped through the pages.
A blank page. She examined it carefully. There was a faint scent of lemon.
She quickly pulled out a match and carefully scorched the surface of the blank page. Words seemed to appear where there were none. It was an old trick: using lemon juice to write secret messages. It must have been from Alfred. She studied the message:
"Lionel mole in Gotham.
Meet Company contact at Metropolis Stock Exchange. 8:55 a.m. tomorrow. Look for black tie.
Last communication until NAFTA hearing.
Destroy message.
F."
The 'F' meant Falconer, which Chloe understood as one of Alfred's MI6 aliases. Chloe's pulse began to race. Lionel had a spy in Gotham City? Perhaps even in the halls of Wayne Enterprises. Lionel was quickly consolidating his position before the NAFTA hearing two days from now. Alfred had played his ace: his contact at the CIA, who would meet her tomorrow morning. They had selected a meeting time just before 9 a.m., when everyone would be scurrying into the building for work. Perhaps the contact has information that could still thwart Lionel's plans, she hoped.
She allowed the match flame to consume the paper, until it was nothing but ash and smoke. She pulled out an air freshener and quickly sprayed it around the garbage can.
The door burst open, causing Chloe to gasp in fright.
"Sorry, Chloe," Pete grinned. "I still can't believe we beat Fawcett City. Who'd have thought the Crows were in the running for the playoffs?"
"I'm just as surprised as you," Chloe added. "I've got this week's Torch layout almost done, but I've left space for about 300 words for your story about the Crows' victory-from-the-jaws-of-defeat. We can use one of your pictures for the front page."
"Sweet," Pete beamed. "Photo by Pete Ross. First stop Metropolis, next stop, New York, Washington ..."
"Don't get ahead of yourself, Mr. Ross," Chloe laughed at Pete's late-night enthusiasm. "We still need your 300 words."
"I'm on it," Pete dashed to his desk, pulled out his notepad and began to write. Then, he paused.
"What's up," Chloe remarked. Pete sniffed the air. Something didn't seem right to him and he wasn't about to let it go.
"Do you smell something burning?" Pete continued to snarl his nose at the faint scent of smoke.
"Oh, I was re-organizing those old back issues of the Torch, back when Duran Duran was at the top of the charts," Chloe explained quickly. "They're really musty, so I moved them into a newer box." She was telling the truth. Well -- technically. She had re-arranged the old archived issues, but that wasn't the cause of the smell.
Pete noticed the UPS envelope. "We got a delivery today?"
Chloe thought of coming up with another alibi, but she was uncomfortable lying again to Pete, who had done nothing to earn such treatment. "Umm, yes I did. I ordered a book, and it arrived today."
Pete picked up the John Le Carre novel. "Oh man, this was written, like, 40 years ago. I didn't think spy novels were up your alley." He nodded towards the Wall of Weird. "Then again, you've always liked a good mystery."
"Like the mystery of a high school editor who wondered how she was going to get the paper out to the publisher in time, if her sports reporter doesn't get his 300-word article out soon," Chloe smirked playfully.
"Yeah, I hear you, Comrade Sullivan," Pete teased, still amused that Chloe read spy novels of her father's generation. International intrigue. High stakes. Soviet-era double agents. Death stalking around every corner.
In other words, he smiled, nothing like Smallville.
(Luthor Hall, Metropolis Museum)
Lex shook the hand of the grey-haired senator. "I am glad you're entertaining our point of view, Senator. I trust that you understand that Oliver Queen means to keep jobs in the West Coast."
"That will certainly play well during the congressional elections," the senator grinned. He would support Lex's move to re-take Queen Enterprises' divisions from his father. Then, he would call upon Lex for funding at election time. Lex's political clout was rising, and he intended to hitch his fortunes to him.
In another corner, Oliver Queen was discussing his future plans with members of the Metropolis Board of Trade. Bruce Wayne was in the ante room, encouraging his friends at Metropolis U. to support Queen's efforts.
"I guess they've finally decided to set aside their differences," Clark observed.
Lex grinned at Clark's incorrect assessment. "Bruce is not one to give in so lightly. If there's one thing you should understand about Bruce Wayne, it's that Bruce has placed his parents atop a pedestal. They are above criticism in his eyes. Oliver dared to challenge that view. Bruce won't easily forget that slight, even if Ollie never meant to hurt him."
Clark noticed that Oliver, Alfred and Lana were sharing a laugh at the purple-velveted snack table. "Alfred and Oliver seem to get along," Clark observed.
"Alfred is the reason to Bruce's passion," Lex observed. "Though Bruce would argue he always has his emotions in check. Maybe he isn't quick to forgive Ollie because he reminds him of those traits he has suppressed since that night in Crime Alley long ago. Some men are raised to keep their feelings behind a veil of strength. Some -- like Oliver -- are more open to wearing their inner feelings on their sleeves. Whether either state is a sign of vulnerability, or maturity, is a matter for Metropolis U.'s psychologists to debate."
"Alfred," Lex announced over the strings of the quartet, "if you'd like something to eat, I could have the museum kitchen prepare something for you."
"I wouldn't want to be a bother," Alfred replied. He despised Lionel, but he still couldn't figure out Lex. He seemed to be polite. Even caring. But was that an act -- a performance for the public? Or was he really the polar opposite of his ruthless father?
"No, it's no trouble at all. It's all catered. I'll have them whip up something New England in flavour," Lex answered. He picked up the house phone and ordered several dinners.
Clark looked around. The guests were preparing to leave for the night. The cellist and violinists were shuffling away their song sheets. He looked for Bruce and Oliver. They were nowhere to be found.
He heard an argument, outside the panelled double doors of Luthor Hall. Alfred and Lana heard it, too, and they immediately raced to the doors.
Clark heard Lionel's raised voice. He was barking about someone being a disgrace to the family name. When he opened the doors, Lionel looked over at Bruce.
"Thank god your father isn't alive to see what you've become," Lionel muttered cruelly, "You're half the man Thomas Wayne was. Go find yourself a B-movie actress to amuse yourself with. That is what you're good at."
Bruce calmly placed his glass of wine atop a side table. He coughed, then lunged at Lionel. He tugged him by his lapels, raising him a foot above the ground.
"I warned you," Bruce growled, "not to speak of my father like that in my presence, you son-of-a--."
Clark struggled to restrain Bruce, whose immense strength tested Clark's own abilities. Lex called off the pair of Lionel's burly security guards, while Oliver pulled Lionel away from Bruce.
A few guests had turned around to see what was going on. Lex marched towards them. "The museum is now closed. Please leave."
"What the hell has gotten into you, Bruce!" Oliver snapped.
Bruce turned angrily towards Oliver, struggling to break free of Clark's grasp. "As usual, you don't understand. I warned him, didn't I?" Clark's grip was like an industrial vice. He wasn't going to let go.
"Just let it go, Bruce," Oliver pleaded. "This isn't the time or place --"
Bruce struggled again, but Clark wasn't about to let his friend loose on Lionel, which was what he'd probably want. A civil lawsuit would make Lionel look like a victim, and tarnish Bruce's reputation in the press.
"And what would be the right time or place, Oliver?" Bruce demanded. "Lionel has made it a war between us."
Oliver adjusted his tuxedo. "No, Bruce, you've made it war between us. I've had one year on that godforsaken island to reflect on my mistakes. I'm prepared to make amends for them, but you don't seem willing to let me! How can my put faith in a man who lacks confidence in my ability to make my own decisions?"
Lionel, crouched against the wall, smiled. "You see, Mr. Queen? Bruce lacks his father's sensibilities. You have a chance to join the ranks of the new century's leaders. Cast aside your familial loyalties to these old robber barons of yesteryear. Can't you see, Oliver – Bruce and Lex are beyond change. They're so smug in their self-importance that they'll merely use your resources to better their decrepit companies. They are using you! You've returned with renewed purpose. I can see that now. Put that purpose to use. The scales have fallen. You've opened your eyes, like Saul on the road to Damascus. Visionaries are often mocked in their own time. You and I are of a different breed. We carve the paths that others -- like Lex and Bruce -- are content to follow. I can give you the tools to do what you've always wanted: to make the world wake up and change the way they consume the earth's resources. That's not a fantasy. That's a realized dream: one that I offer now as a choice to you."
Lionel then extended his hand, indicating that he wanted Oliver to help him up. Oliver held out his hand and pulled him up.
"You see what he's trying to do?" Alfred glared at Lionel. "Lionel wants to break your ties with Bruce and Lex ... to serve his own ends!"
"Oh, please," Lionel rolled his eyes impatiently. "And my son and that Gotham playboy aren't serving their own ends with this offer of a triumvirate? Let me guess, Lex. You're the self-styled Augustus Caesar of the group. And Bruce is Mark Antony, the impassioned conqueror always in search of a Cleopatra to bed. I'd pity you both, if the notion of this alliance didn't seem comically absurd."
"Don't listen to him, Oliver," Lex insisted. "My father only satiates his own needs. Above all others -- including blood family."
"Spare me you're childhood resentment, Lex," Lionel scoffed. "No one here is interested in our petty family feud. You've constantly ignored my advice, in favour of the views of Clark Kent, the high school farmhand? It appears your post-secondary education was all for nothing."
When Lionel opened the museum door, his limousine was already there. The uniformed driver opened the rear door. "Will you be going to dinner at the usual spot, Mr. Luthor?"
Inside the museum were two of Lionel's secretaries. One was a petite brunette, the other a leggy blonde. With short skirts and strappy halter-tops, they were clearly not taking minutes for corporate meetings tonight.
"Hi, Mr. Queen," the two secretaries cooed in unison.
"Dinner for three, yes," Lionel noted, then paused. "No, make that four." He sat between the two secretaries, and left the rear seat free. "Oliver, join me for dinner, and I'll show you a glimpse of a future you never dared to seize. Until tonight."
"Oliver," Clark began, "Don't go with him. Lex is right."
"Clark, I don't want this rift with Bruce to stand in the way of our friendship," Oliver insisted, "and I don't begrudge your loyalty to Bruce. But -- I have to look after my own interests. With that memo from Wayne Enterprises, and the constant skirmishing between Lex and his father, I have to ask myself: whose interests are they serving? I need to weigh my options. It's my future at stake here. Not theirs."
"No, Oliver," Lex pleaded. Oliver began to walk towards the open limousine door.
Clark had let go of Bruce, who still glowered at Lionel. "If you step into that limo, you really are a fool, Oliver."
"If being a friend of yours means living up to your impossible standards," Oliver stated, "then perhaps we can't be friends any more. I'm sorry if I hurt your feelings, Bruce, but I'm not going to let you hold my guilt over me forever."
Before he stepped into the limo, Lex gripped his arm. "You're making a huge mistake, Ollie."
"You've always been a friend, Lex," Oliver replied, as he nestled into the back seat. "But I owe myself a chance at a new life. It's hope, Lex, and that trumps even my loyalty to you." He closed the door and the limo disappeared into the Metropolis night.
"A momentary setback," Lex offered unconvincingly. "He'll see things our way, Bruce."
"Alfred, take me back to the hotel," Bruce mumbled. In his hand, he clutched the tarnished silver locket with the black-and-white picture of his newlywed parents. He studied the tiny picture. Lana understood that Bruce wanted to preserve whatever fleeting memories he had of his parents -- before a gunman's bullets yanked them away from him. She gave his hand a comforting squeeze.
"You understand, don't you," Bruce noted. "With each passing year, it becomes harder to remember the happier times. That's all I have left. Those memories."
"I'm sorry, Bruce," Clark replied. "I know you would have preferred to stay friends with Oliver."
"If he sides with Lionel," Bruce sniffed angrily, "any hope of reconciliation is over. If he chooses to ride shotgun with Lionel, I'll have no choice but to view him as a foe." Alfred sighed in frustration. Bruce has few true friends, he thought, and he's casting aside yet another one. In moments, Alfred and Bruce also departed into an unknown future.
The musicians were at the front of the museum, hailing a cab. They waved at Lex, Clark and Lana -- unaware at what had just happened.
"This was not the night I had planned," Lex remarked. "and we played right into my father's trap. Now he has Ollie. Bruce is probably going to return to Gotham City. Without him, I don't have enough capital to recapture those Queen subsidiaries from LuthorCorp. Tell me, Clark, if you were Alexander the Great and you had learned of a plot against you, what would you do?"
"Well, I'm not an expert in ancient history," Clark insisted, "but I do know that if you're down by a few points in basketball, it calls for a full-court press, with the seconds ticking away. If there's an opening, go for the three-point shot."
Lex chuckled at Clark's analysis. In one sense, he was right: time was running out for them. "Alexander the Great was lucky. His choices were clearer. If you saw an elephant charging towards you, you got out of the way. Unfortunately, mistrust among friends often doesn't have a face. It's not Dinah Lance, or that stupid memo, or even the Queen and Wayne personalities that are at fault. How can you defend against a foe without a face?"