Chapter 11 - Seek
-- Metropolis – August 2010 (2 Months Later) --
Clark absently tapped along with the music from the radio as he drove back to Metropolis after spending another weekend at the farm. It scared him to think about how fast the past few months had flown by. Even scarier was the fact that he hadn't made any progress in finding Lois.
The Feds had not been making it any easier for him. They, along with the police, had been very tight-lipped and resistant to his inquiries about the case, claiming that his interference was keeping them from doing their jobs.
Clark was frustrated.
Clark had essentially been hired as a reporter for the Planet as he conducted his search. Just before he'd left for the weekend, he'd handed Perry his latest article. Perry had given him The Look.
Clark didn't want to see the look. For five months he had been combing through every article Lois had written- profiling every villain with a possible motive for revenge. He had spent hours each night walking the streets of the Industrial District, the place that the Metro's surveillance cameras had shown her last. Chloe hadn't been able to turn up anything on her end, yet. She was pulling double duty, working with him and on her assignment in Gotham.
He wasn't ready to concede to what The Look meant.
And that weekend, at the farm, when they didn't think he was looking, his parents had exchanged The Look.
Clark knew that the Feds were ready to close the case. They had promised to meet with him before they took the story of Lois's disappearance public so he could prepare family members for the news.
That morning, the agent heading the case, Agent Grayson, had called to schedule a meeting in two days.
In going through all of Lois's files at the Planet and at her apartment, Clark hadn't been able to come up with any explanation of why Lois had boarded a Metro train that fateful night. Last seen wearing sweats and tennis shoes, she could have been out for a jog.
Clark sighed as he remembered what he did find. He had noticed the odd compartment in her bookcase during his first exploration of the apartment. The covering of the shelf could have been decorative; he'd seen that type of thing before. Curiosity had gotten the better of him, and he'd x-rayed the paneling to see if anything was behind it.
When opened, the small space revealed two sparkling awards resting on a blue velvet-covered surface. When the electricity had been turned back on, Clark had been able to see the effect that the recessed lighting had on the two Kerth Awards for Investigative Journalism. The reflections of light poured through the crystal awards and caused a rainbow of colors to wash the surrounding walls.
He couldn't understand why Lois would keep something this beautiful hidden.
When he'd taken one of them out to take a closer look, Clark had noticed a tiny gap between the rear panel and the side panel of the compartment. To anyone with less than enhanced vision, the gap was unnoticeable. When he scanned it, he saw only one set of prints and no evidence of chemicals or powders. It didn't look like the police had realized there was an additional compartment behind the awards.
It was a good thing they hadn't.
In the area of the second hidden compartment, Lois had hidden a file. It held every article he had written during his joust around the world. It also held some curious tabloid-esque articles about the feats of mysterious guardian angels in some of those areas. He had never been able to fool Lois Lane for long.
Smiling at the notes she had written in the margins of his stories, Clark imagined that he could hear her voice. Somehow it comforted him to know that she had been keeping tabs on him- even when they were worlds apart.
Clark steeled his nerves as he entered the newsroom.
Acknowledging the greetings from colleagues as he passed, he made it to his… Lois's… desk and sat down. After five months, the Planet's other reporters had granted him a grudging acceptance. He knew that a lot of it had to do with the way he was treated by Perry and Cat, although many members of the pit crew were still perplexed over how the dynamics of his marriage left him estranged from his wife.
If the Feds had their way, everyone would know the truth by the end of the week.
"Kent, can I see you in my office?" Perry called, drawing Clark's focus away from the blank computer screen.
Sighing, Clark entered Perry's office and pulled the door shut. He was in no mood to be faced with The Look. "Listen, Chief, I know that the FBI have probably talked to the Suits upstairs, and they're ready to go public, but…"
"All that is true, but that's not why I wanted to talk to you," Perry interrupted. "Remember that PI I told you about? Well, he found something."
Clark looked up, startled. "He what?"
Perry nodded and handed Clark a small box. Inside he found a silver watch.
"I gave Lois that watch when she got her first Kerth Award," Perry said.
"Are you sure?"
Perry nodded again. "Turn it over. I had it engraved."
Clark ran his thumb across the face of the watch and stared at it for a moment before slowly turning it over. On the back, finely engraved script read: LL, Here's to many more. Chief.
Perry cleared his throat as the younger man met his gaze, reading in his expression a mixture of hope, disbelief, and fear.
"Stevens was able to trace it back to New York. Someone bought it at a street fair."
Clark's heart began to beat rapidly. "New York?"
"The person who sold it said that it came in a shipment of wares from Brazzaville," Perry continued.
"In Africa?" Clark asked, bewildered.
"Yep. The Congo." Perry picked an envelope off of his desk and handed it to him. "He couldn't find much more than that. Everything he came up with is in here."
As Clark reached to pull out the papers inside the envelope, Perry walked to the office door. "I'll just give you a few minutes to go through that stuff." With a final nod, he stepped into the newsroom. "What is everyone standing around for? This isn't a Betty Crocker Bake-off! It's a world-class newspaper. Get out there, and get me some news!"
Twenty minutes later, Perry returned to the office where Clark was reading through the papers for the tenth time. He was clutching the watch in his hand as if it were a lifeline. For all he knew, it was.
Perry rounded his desk and sat down.
"Do the police or the FBI know about this?" Clark asked.
"I highly doubt it," Perry replied. "But we can take it to them if you want."
"No!" Clark jumped to his feet. "I mean, not yet. We'll do that when I get back."
Perry tilted his head to the side. "Get back? From where?"
"Africa."
By the time Perry was able to say anything, Clark's hand was on the doorknob. "Hold it right there, Son."
"Chief, I've got to follow this up!"
"All right, all right. But don't you think you need a ticket?" Perry cocked an eyebrow.
Clark's hand dropped from the door. "A ticket?"
"A plane ticket? Or were you planning on walking across the ocean?" Perry frowned at the young man and shook his head. "I had a hunch you would be ready to take off as soon as you got this information, so I took the liberty of putting your cover story together. Why don't you take a seat so I can explain your assignment."
"My assignment?"
Perry chuckled and waved an airline ticket in front of him. "You don't think the Suits would foot the bill for a transnational flight unless they thought they were getting a story out of it, do you?"
Clark slowly returned to the chair he'd been sitting in.
Seeing that he had Clark's attention, Perry dropped the ticket onto his desk and laced his fingers together. "Okay, here's the deal. The AP has reported that Congolese officials uncovered a secession plot to have the Katanga Province declared an independent nation. Since our usual foreign correspondent is unavailable, your background makes you the best substitute. The Feds won't be able to drop the case until they can talk to you. I'll take care of all that."
Perry smiled and reached for another file on his desk. "These are the folks you'll be talking to…"
-- Brazzaville, Republic of Congo – August 2010 --
Clark ran a hand through his hair and sighed heavily. He had spent the last two weeks canvassing the country to no avail.
"Uncle, 200 francs please. So I can get something to eat," a child of around 12 begged in French.
The poverty that surrounded him saddened him a great deal. The civil wars that had rocked this country and the ones surrounding had made orphaned children a large part of the population. The children that did have parents who were alive were often forced to leave families who could not afford to feed them.
Clark discretely handed the boy 3 times the amount he asked for. He wished that he could do more to help all of the children he encountered, but he knew that if they targeted him as someone they could get money from, he would never be left alone.
It had amazed him to find out that over 70 of the country's entire population lived in the capital city. That left a great deal of uninhabited brush area where a person could disappear. In fact, those rural areas were home to numerous rebel groups whose murderous rampages had sent the peaceful villagers fleeing toward the capital city; orphaned children and weeping mothers… running for their lives.
If he had been able to fly, he might have been able to do his searching faster, or even branch out into the surrounding countries. He was able to float… or hover… but he still hadn't figured out how to add motion and direction. It was frustrating.
Especially now, when it could be of so much help.
He had finished his story for The Daily Planet, and he was scheduled to return to the States that evening. Having shown Lois's picture to everyone he came across in the cities and in the brush, Clark was at a loss. He had nothing to go on.
Sighing, he darted behind a small building, putting himself out of the sight of other people, as he got ready to kick his sprint into high gear. There was only one place he had yet to look.
Clark silently crept up to the young man in the tattered fatigues. He was holding a gun and staring off into the brush in the opposite direction of where Clark was coming from. Clark knew from previous interactions with rebel groups that this man was serving as a lookout.
"Excuse me," Clark called out, getting the man's attention. He walked toward him with his arms raised, palms forward.
The young man frowned and pointed his gun at Clark. "You're a little far from the city, aren't you?" he asked.
The rebel soldier was young, around twenty or so, and had a scar that stemmed from his hairline to his chin on the right side of his face. He eyed Clark with suspicion.
Clark nervously cleared his throat. He wasn't afraid of the soldier or his gun, but he didn't want this guy's buddies to become aware of his presence. He would have liked nothing more than to take out this group of raiders. He had the power to do it, but it wouldn't solve anything. Maybe, one day, he would figure out a way to help.
"I'm a reporter from the United States," Clark said. Rebel armies were fond of foreign reporters, because they drew attention to their actions. Denied access to the press in their own country, the power of public media aided in their misguided attempts to become martyrs.
The soldier indicated that Clark come closer, keeping his gun pointed at his chest. "What do you want?"
Clark had noticed an odd clearing deep in the brush on one of his earlier passes through the area. A crude airplane hanger had been built at one end of it, and Clark had seen the makings of a small camp in the distance. Spying on the camp from afar, he had noticed the rebel soldiers milling about. Wanting to approach them with Lois's photo, he had decided it would be best to wait until he could talk to one of them alone.
"I just want to ask a few questions."
"You want the leader?"
"No," Clark replied, his hands still in the air. "I want to talk to you."
Clark convinced the young man that he wanted to know his story. Intrigued by the potential to gain his own glory in a group that gave him very little power, the soldier began to open up. Clark found himself getting more interested as he listened, and prodded him with more questions. It hadn't been his original plan, but he just might do a story on this one day.
When they were done, Clark requested permission to pull a photo out of his pocket.
"Have you seen her?" he asked, showing the soldier Lois's image.
Squinting at the picture, the man shook his head. Sensing an opportunity, he smiled. "How much would you pay for her?"
Clark stiffened. There had been no recognition in the man's eyes as he had looked at the picture. Clark realized that he was being baited.
Within a second, Clark was behind the man, applying pressure to a spot on his neck. The man slumped to the ground, and Clark squatted to make sure his breathing was regular. He would wake up in an hour feeling woozy and confused.
Clark moved toward the camp. When his scan turned up no signs of Lois, he sighed and turned away. He had a plane to catch.
tbc
