Three Days Ago

Doomstadt, Latveria

Father Mackenzie watched from his pulpit as his congregation left following the conclusion of the afternoon service. One by one or in groups they filed through the church's wooden doors, until the church was nearly empty, for there remained a single patron, sitting at a pew near the center of the church that was a few pews behind where most patrons were sitting a while back.

Father Mackenzie waited for the man to get up and leave, but he did not. Intrigued, the vicar walked toward the lone patron, sitting at the edge of a pew, his head resting against the back of the pew in front of him.

"Pardon me, my friend. Can I help you?"

"Perhaps you can." Answered the man in English, which was a rare occurrence for the Father.

"I hope you don't mind talking in English. I don't speak Dutch, I only understand the German words, so I'm sorry to say that I couldn't make heads or tails your sermon, not that I've ever been the religious type."

"I'm sorry, who are you?"

"My name is Priest," said the man as he stood up and stepped away from the pew, "I'm here on behalf of the opposition. It's time, Gray."

Dorian lowered his head at the strange visitor's declaration, startled and disappointed, as he'd been dreading this day's coming for a few months.

"When do we leave?"

"Now would be a good time."

"I'll need some time to make preparations." Said Dorian as he turned around.

"Hhh… Listen, I've had a rather horrible ten days and would really, really want to get this over with."

"Patience is the guardian of faith, the preserver of peace, the cherisher of love, the teacher of humility. I only require to pack a few things, inform a colleague to cover for me until the archdiocese to can arrange a replacement."

Now

Casablanca, Morocco

"Exactly who is deep throat?" asked Jenny as she sat back in her chair in Al-Sheikh's office, holding a cup of tea.

"I don't know." Answered Al-Sheikh as he stood looking out of his window, "I doubt anyone save for he knows."

"How did you manage to secure an appointment with him?"

"It wasn't easy. I had to call in a few favors from my contacts in the Pentagon. There were several failed attempts at contacting him, which consisted of peculiar methods, like buying a Russian newspaper at the lobby of a certain Hotel in Washington, or arranging flower pots on a balcony in a specific manner. One method worked; apparently each has a turn in rotation."

"Alright, if you don't know who is he, do you know what?"

Al-Sheikh sat at his desk and picked up his own tea-cup.

"He's a government official, presumably high ranking and well connected. His task is to ensure presidential integrity."

"What does that even mean?"

"Deep Throat was the pseudonym given to the secret source providing the Washington post with information relating to Nixon's involvement in what came to be known as the Watergate scandal. The secret source had came forward three years ago; William M. Felt, former Deputy Director of the FBI. All that's public knowledge, what's not known is that there has been a deep throat long before Watergate.

"No one knows who was the first, or when. There are rumors that the very first was a member of George Washington's culper ring. Some speculate that Felt was the second or third. Whatever the truth may be, these men were mavericks, operating clandestinely and independently, each charged with two tasks; to ensure that the presidency adheres to certain standards of integrity, though through the decades the standards have wavered, and to recruit a suitable replacement to hold that burden."

"That's… rather foolish."

"It is. But it is what we need."

"From where I'm sitting, I don't think he's been doing a stellar job. Are you sure he'll b any help?"

"By definition, deep throat is a traitor to the American government. The top brass know enough of him to want to cut the legacy out, so that makes his job harder. With the new, terrifying ways the CIA find to abolish secrecy, carrying on the mission of being deep throat and maintaining anonymity gets increasingly harder, thus what I have said about the standards wavering. However, stopping McNeil from getting into the white house, especially once we present the evidence Lana Lang has provided is entirely possible."

Yesterday

Gotham City, Maryland

"These will be your digs for the time." Said Priest, carrying a messenger bag and as he leaned against the metal door while looking around the ghost station that had served as the minutemen's base of operations during their tenure in Gotham, only two weeks ago.

"It's not the Waldorf, but we figured you liked the whole Spartan living thing."

"I'm sure I'll manage." Said Dorian as he set an upturned chair. He was rid of his cassock and wore plain clothe. Both he and Priest had just arrived in the city earlier in the day, having flown in under assumed identities on a chartered flight.

"Okay. The fridge is working, I fixed it myself. You should use the third bunk from the left, it's the, you know, best one. There's guns and ammo in the locker over there… You can even practice shooting down here; no one'll be the wiser."

"I actually prefer swords."

"I'm more of an axe man, myself. Alright, pay attention…"

Priest placed the messenger bag on the table and opened it and then pulled out a laptop.

"This is how you'll be in touch with Nemo." Said Priest, "You can either call up Nemo, or the management will call you. You just press the on-button and the rest takes care of itself, pretty easy to get a hang of. A monkey could do it."

"Where is she?" asked Dorian, "Where's Mina."

Priest mockingly clucked his tongue.

"Tt. Patience is the teacher of despair, or whatever."

"I'm here to kill the harlot, aren't I?"

Priest smiled slightly.

"Harlot; That's quaint. We say "Bitch" these days." Said Priest as he slammed a thick bundle of cash onto the table.

"Your orders for now are to sit tight, familiarize yourself with the city and wait for the order. Here's Ten grand; walking around money. Don't spend it all at once, and don't leave home with all of it, Gotham is an unpleasant place. And now, finally, the main event…"

Priest pulled a dossier out of the bag, out of which he took out a picture of a face painfully familiar to Dorian.

"Oh god…." Said Dorian as he took the picture with shaky fingers, and studied Mina's face, the attractive cruelty of her mouth accentuated by her perfect pale skin, and the aura of siren red surrounding her face.

"I know, right?" said Priest with a chuckle, "She's a smasher!"

"She's a demon." Said Dorian, squeezing the edge of the photo, "A child of abominations, a blood-drinking fiend, crawling among the scum in the darkness."

"Wow." Said Priest, "Us undead can be an uneasy bunch, but you've got a serious amount of issues."

"What?"

"You've been dragged around for the past two days by a blood-drinking fiend, padre."

"You're a -?"

"That's what I'm saying."

Priest shook his head as he walked toward the door, "I first knew death when I witnessed men of god sawing my big sister's head off, and this is what I get for being a sport about it."

Now

The Yellow Submarine

Lana looked over her shoulder to see Mona walk through the door. She turned back to the computer screen before which she had been laboring for hours.

"You should have brought some coffee." Mumbled Lang.

"I'm not your wife." Said Mona as she sat down on the edge of the bed, "How's the expose of the century going?"

"I'm just putting the final touches. Why, do you want to read it?"

"Oh, I'm a pleasure delayer. I'll read it in the papers like everyone else."

"Suit yourself."

"We're four hours away from Liberty City. The Captain thought you might want to know."

"Thanks."

"We'll be shadowing you the entire way; you have nothing to worry about."

"I know."

"Let me ask you one thing; did you give any thought what are you going to do after today?"

"I have friends in Metropolis who can help me until it all blows over. These people, the League, they'll stop coming after me when the damage is done."

"No, they won't. After what we did to break you out, they have to kill you-"

"Thanks for your concern." Said Lana as she tapped away at the key board with quick precision, "If you go to the mess hall, se if you can get someone to bring me some coffee."

Mona rolled her eyes as she headed for the door, muttering, "Your funeral."

Yesterday Evening

Elizabeth, New Jersey

Priest gloomily sat at the edge of the hospital bed, looking out the window with the eastern exposure as sunlight started to cease, the sun sinking below the horizon out of view.

The door to the exam room opened, and in entered a tall, thin man of fifty with an amount of stubble, walking with a limp and the aid of a cane.

"Well, good news. Remember when I said that you were going to die?" asked the doctor as he sat down and reached into his pocket for a little plastic bottle, "That wasn't a case of misdiagnoses."

"I'd laugh if I knew how to fake it."

"You are five months late fir your appointment."

"Sorry, I got busy."

"Doing what?"

"I got a new job, I travel a lot."

"Anywhere nice?"

"France, England, Gotham. Russia, recently."

"Ah, seeing the world before you die. That's so passé. Just once I would like to meet someone with Leukemia spending his last days watching Monty Python marathons."

The doctor unscrewed the bottle, poured it into his palm and then tossed the pills that came out into his mouth.

"Want one?" he asked. Priest opened his palm, and tossed back the pills that the doctor had bestowed upon him.

"How do you feel these days?" asked the doctor with sardonic indifference.

"How don't I feel? One day I'm fatigued, another I'm at the top of my game."

"When was your last episode?"

"Three and a half weeks ago, I think. Before that I was having one or two minor episodes a week."

"That… Poisonous agent you've got in your system is affecting your liver, causing it to secrete ... You know what, you have no idea what I'm talking about."

"None whatsoever."

"You still drink?"

"A bottle of vodka a day."

"Keep at it." Said the doctor as grabbed hold of his cane stood up, "Now if you excuse me, I have human patients to avoid."

"How long do I have?" asked Priest , looking down at his feet.

"I have no idea, nothing about your anatomy is within the boundaries of medical norms, and you know that." Said the doctor, "But, If I have to make a guesstimate…. A year and some change, maybe two."

"That's what you said six years ago."

"Sorry to disappoint." Said the doctor as he limped out of the exam room, "Come see me again in two months."

Yesterday Morning

Gotham City, Maryland

Josephine switched off her computer monitor, then turned to the door and beckoned whoever came knocking to enter.

Diana walked in in a hurry. Josephine got up from behind the desk.

"What is it?"

"The opposition has made a slip." She said with glee, "Remember the vehicle they used in attacking the decoy security convoy? They stashed it in a junkyard on the city limits. When we found it, we had it fitted with trackers, in the vain hope they'd actually try and collect it somewhere down the road. It started moving."

"When?"

"Two hours ago."

"They wouldn't be stupid enough to risk retrieving it. What kind of trackers were used?"

"Well, what we usually do is install two groups of tracking devices. The first is well disguised, but can be found by someone who knows what they're doing, which we would want to happen. The second group are the high-end equipment they can't find, that we intend to use. But seeing as how these people operate under Nemo, we knew finding the second batch would almost be just as easy. So we added a third batch, prototypes designed by a one of the Berlin branch R&D subsidiaries."

"Which are?"

"Nanites." Said Diana, her smile widening, "This is technology that didn't exist three months ago. Not even Nemo could detect it. We got them."

Josephine's face remained frozen for a few seconds before a wide grin spread across her face.

"Who are behind the wheel?"

"A witness said that it was only one man, wearing a hooded jacket. The build and height is that of Judas Priest. We have no idea what he was doing here, whatever it is, he did it before collecting the car. He just drove it out, stopped a quarter of the mile away for two hours, discarded the first two batches of trackers and then continued driving."

"Where is he now?"

"Passing through Delaware. We can have him picked up any time we want."

"Don't. Keep tracking him, get full satellite and CCTV images of him. He'll eventually lead us to his compatriots. Contact Mandy, tell her to take her unit back stateside and follow Priest's trail. Once he reached his final destination, we'll get them all."

Next Chapter: Priest unwittingly leads the League's counter-opposition unit on a crash course with the minutemen just as the Regan McNeil presidential campaign is put on the balance when Lana Lang and Deep Throat meet at last, all leading toward one thing; gratuitous violence on the streets of Liberty City, just the way you like it.

R&R.