Bruce made his way through the lavish hallways of Luthor's mansion, decorated with paintings, sculptures, even a couple of wall-mounted water features. He brushed his hand over his jacket pocket, feeling the plastic keycard within. Lifting it off one of Luthor's guards was easy. Getting into the mainframe room would likely prove more challenging.
He pictured the layout of the mansion in his head, all the while alert for roving guards. Left at this intersection. Past the kitchens. Down the steps to –
A shadow spilled across the bottom of the stairs.
Bruce glanced at the door to his left. He tried the knob. Unlocked. A flash of relief swept over him as he slipped inside. Shelves crammed with flour, spice racks, and other ingredients stood on either side of him. He left the door open a crack and held his breath, listening.
Muffled footfalls came from the carpeted stairs. Light, not heavy. Barely audible. Most likely female.
A thin, unsmiling woman with short hair and glasses strode past. Mercy Graves, Luthor's personal assistant. Though she did more than just schedule appointments and bring him his herbal tea. Mercy had received training from some of the world's best martial artists, making her just as formidable as any of Luthor's male bodyguards. Taking her down would take some effort, but he could do it.
But this wasn't the sort of place he could punch his way into and out of. This required stealth.
Bruce waited a full minute before pulling the door open a few inches and staring down the hall. No sign of Mercy. He exited the pantry, closed the door, and made his way downstairs. A check of the corridor showed it was empty. He headed left. The carpeting ended before a T-junction and become solid linoleum. Bruce guessed it had more to do with security than decor. It was harder to sneak up on someone on linoleum than carpet.
He moved softly on the balls of his feet, edging up to the corner. He pressed himself against the wall and listened.
Clomp. Clomp. Clomp.
The slow, deliberate footsteps came from the next corridor over, the one leading to the mainframe room. One guard.
Bruce took out his phone and opened a small compartment at the bottom. A tiny, round black object fell into his palm. Small legs and wings grew from the little robot insect. Another invention of Lucius's.
His jaw clenched, memories of his dead friend flooding his mind. Bruce shut his eyes, fighting to refocus.
You pull this off, and Lucius will get justice. Lucius and thousands of others who died in Metropolis.
He tapped the screen of his phone. The robot's little wings fluttered. It flew out of his hand and down the hall. Bruce watched the feed from the robot's camera, guiding its flight with a control app.
It went left and perched on the wall. Bruce slid his finger over the screen, the camera sweeping over the hallway. The mainframe room lay to the left. A glass door – likely made of bulletproof polycarbonate glass – was the only access. A boxy keycard entry system had been installed next to the door handle.
He panned right and spotted the guard. This one didn't look like the ones at the reception, picked to blend in with the guests. He was stereotypical high-end security. Six-one, thick build, unsmiling. Not someone who'd go down easy.
Not that he had any plans to confront him.
The guard reached the end of the hallway, then made his way back toward the mainframe room. He repeated the circuit a second time. A third.
Pacing. A sure sign of boredom. Even the best-trained guards and soldiers weren't immune to it. This guy had been down here for over an hour, maybe longer. Nothing was happening. He had no one to talk to. So he paced, just to give him something to do. And his mind likely wandered. Maybe about drinks with his friends after work. Maybe about his fantasy football team. Maybe about seeking employment elsewhere.
Anything except protecting the mainframe room.
Bruce watched the guard pace, calculating his pattern. Thirty-one seconds on average to start from the mainframe room and finish and the end of the hallway before turning. But the guard did glance down the T-junction. That gave Bruce fifteen seconds to get down this corridor, then make it the rest of the way to the mainframe room. And he sure as hell couldn't sprint across this floor, unless he wanted to alert the guard.
Only way to pull this off is with some help.
He watched the guard complete his circuit and start a new one. Just before he got to the T-junction, Bruce commanded the bug drone to fly off the wall.
The guard came to the junction, glanced down the corridor, and continued on.
Bruce started forward, then caught movement out the corner of his eye. He snapped his head left. Something flickered near the corner at the far end of the hallway. He thought he glimpsed red. A trick of the light, maybe?
No time to dwell on it. He had to get this done.
Bruce hurried around the corner, running on the balls of his feet. He kept one eye on his phone. In five seconds, the guard would turn around.
The little robot flew in front of guard's face.
"Da'hell?' He jerked back in surprise, then swatted at the drone, missing.
Bruce slipped into the corridor, walking backwards. His eyes flickered between the image on his phone and the guard. The robot flew circles around his face, even hit his cheek twice. He kept swatting and kept missing.
Bruce was at the door to the mainframe room. Controlling the robot with one hand, he pulled out the keycard with the other and swiped it through the lock. He slowly turned the knob and slid inside. He crouched behind one of the rectangular mainframes and thumbed the screen of his phone. The robot shot upwards and settled on the ceiling. The guard stared up for a few seconds, face scrunched in annoyance. He shook his head, turned, and headed back toward the door.
Back pressed against the mainframe, Bruce watched the guard on his phone. His pace quickened a bit, a natural reaction for someone agitated. The guard reached the door, spun, and started back down the hall, still moving at a decent gait. Bruce guessed he had twenty-five seconds before the guard reached the end of the corridor and turned.
Plenty of time.
He slid out from behind the mainframe, took out a specialized USB drive with security breaching capabilities – another Lucius invention – and stuck it into a data port. A tiny red light near the drive's tip flickered, indicating it was sucking in information.
Now all I have to do is wait.
Bruce returned to his hiding place and checked on the guard. The man resumed his slower pacing, probably forgetting about the fly. Up one end of the hallway, and back down it. Never once did he enter the mainframe room. He had no reason to. In his mind, everything was fine.
Ten minutes later, Bruce checked the USB drive. The light turned from red to green.
Done. He pulled out the drive, dropped it into the left breast pocket of his jacket, and hid behind the mainframe, waiting for the guard to start another circuit. When he did, Bruce slipped out of the room, tip-toeing just a few feet behind the guard. The man had no idea he was behind him.
Bruce turned the corner and started down the next corridor, checking his phone. He had the little robot buzz in front of the guard's face.
"Not again," the guard growled. "Luthor better get some damn exterminators in here."
Bruce made it to the end of the T-junction and around the corner. The robot zipped over the guard's shoulder, around the junction, and down the corridor back to him. Bruce caught it in his palm and inserted it inside his phone. With a satisfied nod, he set off.
Anticipation swelled, wondering what Luthor could be working on that might affect Superman. Could it have something to do with the phone call between him and Anatoli Knyazev? As soon as he returned to the mansion, he'd start going through the data.
Bruce reached the steps, looked up, and stopped.
Mercy Graves stood above him.
Crap.
"What are you doing down here?" Her eyes narrowed behind her glasses.
Bruce relaxed his muscles, letting his mouth fall open, trying to look innocent and dumb. "Oh. I thought the bathroom was down here. Sorry about that. My mistake." He tacked on an innocent smile.
A harsh breath shot out Mercy's nostrils. She frowned. "The bathroom's down this hallway to the right. Follow me. Mister Luthor doesn't like for people to wander all over his home."
"I understand. Thanks." Bruce tacked on another smile.
Mercy gave a small shake of her head and strode down the hallway.
Once he finished in the bathroom, Bruce made his way back to the reception. He'd say a few goodbyes, subtlety return the keycard to the guard he pilfered it from, then leave.
The string quartet began a waltz as he neared the living room. He'd barely taken three steps inside when a brunette in a red dress glided in front of him.
"Mister Wayne." Diana Prince smiled. "I thought you'd left."
His eyes swept up and down her trim figure. Heat flashed through him. "No, I . . . just needed some fresh air. That, and I can only take so much talk about mergers and new developments and political dealings."
"This coming from a man who's made a fortune with mergers, new developments, and political dealings."
"Guilty as charged." He grinned. "But even I need a break from all that."
Diana looked over her shoulder at the string quartet and the dancing couples. "Would that break include a dance?"
Bruce raised his eyebrows, a thrill flaring within his chest. "Definitely."
He took Diana's right hand and put his other hand on the small of her back. She brushed her free hand across the lower part of his jacket and rested it on his back. Bruce stared at her smooth, regal face, his heartbeat picking up. She was stunningly beautiful.
"So what kind of antiques are you looking for in Metropolis?" Bruce asked as they danced in a slow circle.
"Not so much specific antiques as people who may collect them. I'm sure many of the people here have objects hundreds, perhaps thousands of years old. They won't live forever, so I ask them to will some of their antiques to museums, that way everyone can appreciate history, not just a select few."
"How noble of you."
"Thank you."
"Did you make this pitch to Luthor?" asked Bruce.
Diana frowned. "Yes. He said he'd think about it, though from his tone, it was the 'I'll think about it' that means no."
"That's Luthor for you. He's only generous when it suits him."
"And what about you, Mister Wayne."
"Bruce, please."
"All right, Bruce." She smiled. "What about you? Are you generous with your antiques?"
He gave a small shrug. "I'm sure I have some things lying around that might peak your interest. I might even be willing to part with them without dying." He locked eyes with Diana. "Maybe we can talk about it over drinks."
Bruce felt her tense for a moment. She exhaled before answering. "That sounds delightful."
The waltz ended, and the crowd applauded the string quartet.
Diana put her hands on Bruce's chest and leaned closer. Electricity crackled through him. "Give me five minutes to freshen up."
She patted the left side of his chest, smiled, and walked off.
Bruce turned, admiring the sway of Diana's hips. This was turning out to be a productive night in more ways than one.
He headed toward the crowd for a quick round of goodbyes, Diana Prince dominating his thoughts. Luthor's files could wait a few hours. Maybe until morning if everything goes well.
A date with a gorgeous antiquities dealer and all the information on Luthor's mainframe. Bruce pressed his hand against his left breast pocket, feeling good about –
He stopped, the smile vanishing. He felt his breast pocket again. It was flat.
The USB drive was gone!
Bruce calmed himself, retracing his steps since exiting the mainframe room. He hadn't taken the drive out of his pocket. That meant someone must have lifted it without him noticing. Someone he had close interactions with.
Very close interactions.
Diana.
He set off toward the front doors, walking quickly. He hurried outside, standing in the circular driveway, searching for that red dress.
Bruce spotted her getting into a red sports car. She made eye contact, shot him a wry grin, and slid inside.
The engine roared and Diana Prince sped off.
TO BE CONTINUED