The cool autumn morning of Columbia City had exploded into an orgy of violence. An armoured truck sat outside the Third National Bank. Its former occupants, six armed robbers, were inside the bank, holding the patrons hostage while their leader forced the staff to take sacks of banknotes out of the main vault at gunpoint.
One of the tellers nervously eyed the crooks, and then passed his eye towards the silent alarm under the table. It was just out of reach, but the robbers were watching out for any sudden movements. Three of them stood guard near the exits. The others were pacing around the main hall.
Then, there was a sudden loud noise outside the bank. Everyone's attention turned to the entrance for a moment. He saw his chance, and reached for the button – only to stare down the barrel of a hunting rifle, converted to full-auto.
The robber snarled, "A hero, huh? Get up. We'll show you all what we do to heroes."
But before anyone else could make another move, the sound echoed through the bank again. The ruined chassis of an armoured van crashed through the doors. It was followed by Wonder Woman, calmly walking towards the robbers.
They recovered quickly, and turned all their weapons on the sudden intruder. She raised her arms, and their rounds bounced harmlessly off her bracers. Before they could begin another salvo, her lasso had unclipped from her belt.
In one swift move, it sailed through the air, snatching two of the robbers. A simple twirl sent them flying towards their comrades. Guns and robbers fell left and right, the former quickly being separated from the latter by the security guards.
One of the guards hollered, "Wonder Woman! There's still one in the vaults!"
She dashed towards it. The door was closing quickly. She was barely able to see their leader's sneering face and the terrified one of one of the clerks before it slammed.
From the other side, a voice boomed, "That's far enough, Wonder Woman! Tell the cops I'm not coming out unless they let me go free! I've got a hostage in here with me. Make any sudden moves and the b*tch dies!"
Diana responded, "Very well."
Less than a second later, she tore the solid steel door off its hinges and threw it like a toy into a corner of the vault. The crook's finger tightened around the trigger of his pistol. When it fired, he found himself standing alone in the centre of the vault, with Wonder Woman between him and the clerk.
In even less time than that, the fight was over. Dragging the unconscious robber by the collar of his coat, she deposited him on the stairs of the bank.
Outside, the usual police teams were milling around to gather evidence. Three officers were unsuccessfully trying to push back the tide of reporters and photographers attempting to catch a glimpse of their city's latest hero.
"Wonder Woman-"
"-just smash through that armed gang?"
"What do you think of-"
She turned to the budging press crowd. All the time she'd spent here, and that was the one thing she was still uncomfortable with. All they did was bombard her with questions, but answering them truthfully only led to more and more queries. There was no privacy when it came to those people.
After answering a few perfunctory questions from the representative of the police force there, she took to the skies, gliding along the gentle air currents and viewing her new home from high above. Office tower after office tower passed her by as she made her way through the city.
Then, a faint voice reached her ears.
"Wonder Woman! Hey, Wonder Woman! Over here!"
She turned her head to see a young woman in a suit and skirt hopping up and down excitedly atop the roof of one of the many skyscrapers. She was holding a pad of paper and a pen in one hand and waving frantically with the other.
In a few moments, Diana descended to face the other woman. Her black hair was tied in a short ponytail and a pair of large watery electric blue eyes peered at Diana behind her horn-rimmed glasses. She seemed to be unable to know to begin talking.
"Uh-I-I…"
Diana placed her hand on the other woman's shoulder.
"Be at peace, sister. Tell me who you are and why you have called me."
The other woman blinked thrice before she spoke.
"Well…my name is Lily Brown…I'm the secretary to Mizz Priscilla Rich, and basically, she wants to talk to you to hammer out a deal."
Diana looked at her. "Forgive me, but who is this 'Ms. Priscilla Rich'?"
Lily Brown's eyes widened. "You don't know? Well, she's basically like the woman around town to know. She runs her own cosmetics line, she owns a private museum and even her own philanthropic fund to educate a bunch of underprivileged kids in the slums."
"Ah. So why does she wish to speak to me?"
"She says she can help you out…and vice versa."
Diana looked to the skyline. "A business arrangement?"
"Well, in a way…"
She turned to look back at the secretary. "Forgive me if I say I have my priorities. I have no need of money now."
The secretary took a step towards her, gazing at Diana with nigh-pleading eyes. "You're not going to even consider it?"
"Well…"
"You know what? You don't need to decide now. Here's her card."
She passed Diana a small rectangle of stiff paper. Written on it was a long string of Arabic numerals – a 'phone number', as Steve had called it. People entered them on their 'phones' to contact other people up to half the world away. She received it politely and tucked it away in a pouch on her belt.
With a great leap, Diana took to the air again, leaving Lily Brown alone on the rooftop. The secretary pulled out a stick of gum and proceeded to ruminate on it as she stepped into the stair door.
=w=
Meanwhile, at the home of Mr. Craig Vickerson, Esq., Major Steve Trevor dismounted from the unmarked black car to his first real day on the job. They were right when they said he couldn't miss the crime scene: the place looked like an igloo. The walls were covered in blue ice.
The weather was already bad enough as it was; he could feel the temperature fall ten degrees as he came closer to the house. A cop at the perimeter, dressed in a thick overcoat held out his hand as Steve approached.
"Sorry, sir, I'm going to have to stop you there-"
Steve opened up his wallet, to reveal a freshly-minted ID card printed by the CBI. Next to an old passport photo of him was a small picture of a black chess piece. The policeman's question hung in the air, and then faded as he let Steve pass without another word.
Steve walked up to the front porch. There, two spots marked the final steps that Craig Vickerson had ever taken. Only the barest of puddles had formed around them. He extended a finger to feel the misshapen oval on the ground, before a gloved hand grabbed his wrist.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you, friend. Hate to have to pry your finger to the ground."
Standing up, Steve turned to look at the stranger. He was a youngish-looking police inspector, probably closer to 20 than 30. A feeble attempt at a moustache had sprouted up under his nose, but that was balanced out by the square jaw and the cleft chin framing his face. He introduced himself.
"My name's Inspector Mike Lamont, CPD. Now then, who are you?"
"Major Steve Trevor, CBI."
The other man's rolled his eyes. "Oh, great. Just what we needed. The Feds want a piece of this, now the CBI. Your guys have been crawling all over this place since last night."
Steve's eyes narrowed. "Last night? You mean the ice…"
"Oh, yeah. Stuff's been there a solid nine hours."
"It isn't that cold yet. How come it hasn't melted yet?"
Using a scalpel, Inspector Lamont scraped off some of the blue ice from the ground and held it up to Steve's eye. The stuff was causing the blade around it to freeze up in a matter of seconds.
"The forensics guys call it 'Blue Snow'. Shorter way of saying '1,1,1,3-Tetrachloro-2,2,3-trifluoropropane'."
Steve blinked. "Say again?"
"Blue Snow. Funny thing is, this stuff isn't even on the market yet. The only corporation that makes it is the John Mahlon Chemicals Corp., and last we knew they haven't mass-produced the stuff."
"Then where did it all come from?"
"That's the question we're all asking ourselves. We're wrapping up here, then we're going to interview the two inventors of this 'Blue Snow.'"
"I'm coming along."
Inspector Lamont slowly turned around to stare Steve full in the eye. "The hell you are…major. This is a police matter."
Steve showed him the same pass that had let him in the first place.
"You can't be serious. The Agency wants a piece of this? Tell them the Icicle wasn't in town for the last 48 hours and stick that up their craw."
"I'll do that, all right…once we're done here."
"Goddamn hell. All right, Major, you want to tag along so bad, here's the address of the first one."
Lamont scribbled an address down on a sheet of loose notepaper, prefacing it with the name "James Dewey", before nearly throwing it at Steve, heading angrily over to the squad car. Just before he slammed the door shut, he had one last parting shot to give.
"See you there in half an hour. Go get your own ride there, Major – we're full up."
With that, and the revving of an engine, the police were gone, leaving only Steve and the cleanup crew with the futile task of getting rid of all the ice. With a shrug of his shoulders, Steve returned to the same black unmarked car he'd taken there and started up the engine when he felt a vibration coming from his pocket.
He took out his old handphone – not the bleeding-edge 'smart' one that Faraday had given him when he got press-ganged into Checkmate, but an old Nokia – and checked who was calling. It was a simple "DIANA", using the phone he'd bought her.
Steve drove away, talking at the same time.
"Hello?"
Her voice came through, a smooth tone with a hint of sparkle in it, unblemished even by the rough transmission. "Hello, Steve."
A smile came to his face, unbidden. "Hey. What's up?"
=w=
Diana sat atop a radio tower looking down on the city, swinging her legs across a pylon to seat herself more comfortably, leaning back on one of the girders that propped the massive antenna up.
"I've…been approached."
"What?" Steve asked, the incredulity obvious in his voice.
Diana was quick to clarify, "By a businesswoman. She is named Priscilla Rich."
"The Priscilla Rich? Multimillionaire, fashion designer, philanthropist and collector?"
"The very one."
With a small leap, Diana took to the skies again.
"What's she want?"
"I do not know. She's given me a number to call should I wish to respond."
"So call her."
"I will…but should I meet with her, I would like you to accompany me."
=w=
Steve paused at the red light, his hands-free set dangling from his ear, microphone hanging in front of his mouth.
"All right…but why?"
"I'm unfamiliar with business customs of your world. I would appreciate your help."
"Sure thing, Diana. I've got to warn you, though; only legal jargon I know was wrangling through my insurance policy. At any rate it's going to have to wait till after work."
"Understood. Good day, Steve."
"Bye."
The call ended. Steve pondered as he drove to the lab where Dr. James Dewey worked. Less than a week in America and Diana was already getting all the…right…wrong attention. He didn't know Rich personally, but Steve had never trusted people with more than six zeroes in their bank accounts. She was a philanthropist, though. Suppose that counted for something. He'd never been to her museum, but apparently it was worth the price of the ticket – most of the twenty bucks of it.
He put those thoughts aside. He was at the corner of the Vixen Road building where Dr. James Dewey worked. Outside, the letters of words JOHN MALON CHEMICALS CORPORATION (BRANCH OFFICE) were engraved on a solid chunk of black marble, painted gold. Steve got a sudden chill; it reminded him of way too many tombstones.
Inspector Lamont's car was already outside. Steve hurried into the building, where he saw a receptionist at the far end of the waiting room. She sat at the table, nonchalantly tapping away at her desktop computer, only bothering to look up when Steve was right in front of her. Even then it'd taken a forced cough to get her attention.
"…Yes?" she asked, looking at Steve through the tops of her glasses.
"I'm here to see Dr. James Dewey."
She drawled, "You and half the police force, Mr…"
"Major Steve Trevor, CBI."
"I'm going to have to see some identification, Mr. Major Trevor."
After he briefly showed his identity card to her, she gestured to the elevator at the end of the corridor.
"Third floor. You can't miss it, Mr. Major."
"Yeah, thanks."
Steve plodded down the hallway and called the lift. He was still trying to get used to his new role. Everywhere he went his CBI ID card had opened doors for him. He wondered if it gave him discounts anywhere as he watched the numbers tick upwards.
The elevator doors moved aside to reveal another hallway. Laboratories and offices passed Steve on his right and left as he navigated the maze of corridors in the research building, listening out for any murmur of conversation.
Sure enough, two cops were guarding the entrance to a spare office, where Inspector Lamont was grilling Dr. Dewey as they sat opposite each other, with only a table between the two of them. Dr. Dewey looked at Steve contemptuously as he entered the room.
"Oh, now what's this? Are we playing the 'good cop, bad cop' routine?"
Steve examined him. Dr. Dewey was pushing his 50's, balding and balancing a pair of circular-lens glasses on his beak-like nose, very much the picture one would think up when asked to think of a scientist.
Lamont leaned in towards Dewey, returning his look with his piercing blue eyes.
"No, Dr. Dewey. He's a Fed. I gave you the chance to come clean but now you've gone and made trouble for yourself."
"I don't care. I'm not saying a thing until you people come back here with a proper warrant."
"We're only asking a few questions, Dr. Dewey. My friend in the doorway doesn't need one to make you squeal. He's with the CBI."
The scientist's gaze darted from the inspector's to Steve and back to Lamont again. Steve knew Lamont was using him as a bluff, and played along, giving his stoniest expression. After a few moments of hesitation, Dewey turned back to Lamont, slightly more cooperative this time.
"All right, what do you want to know?"
Lamont relaxed in chair, and cocked his head to the sergeant with him, who started pencilling notes.
"Thank you, Dr. Dewey. We're investigating a suspicious… occurrence at the home of Mr. Craig Vickerson."
Dr. Dewey's eyes widened. "Mr. Vickerson? The board member? What's happened to him now?"
"That's what we'd like your help with. We found traces of the chemical known as…'1,1,1,3-Tetrachloro-2,2,3-trifluoropropane' there."
"Blue Snow?"
"Precisely. Now, who would have access to any amount of it?"
Dewey pondered the question for a while. "Well…I've got a few small samples here…Henry Compton's got some in his lab across town."
"Has mass-production begun yet?"
"Doubt it. We only managed to get it approved for production last week."
"Who has access to the formula?"
"Only employees of John Malon Chemical Engineering Corp. We developed the coolant privately."
Lamont scratched at his chin. "Who worked with you on 'Blue Snow', Dr. Dewey?"
Dewey's eyes darted to the table. "Only me and Compton."
"Therefore, since only you and Dr. Henry Compton have access to the formula and understand it, only you or he can account for its presence at the scene. Am I correct to say that?"
"Well…well…someone could have stolen it…I suppose?"
"Can you account for all your samples?"
Steve's mind wandered as he listened in on Lamont's cross-examination. Ever since he'd asked about who would be able to use Blue Snow his answers had become evasive. He was hiding something, to be sure. If only Diana was here with that fancy lasso of hers – Dewey would be spilling everything now.
Remembering her reminded Steve of his appointment later that day. Hopefully he could wrap things up fast enough here. He tuned in just in time to hear the standard questions on his whereabouts between the hours of so-and-so, which Dewey claimed that they could verify by checking the security cameras in the building. He'd spent the night at home, which he gave the address to.
With a few customary formalities, the policemen filed out of the office, leaving Dr. Dewey where he was. Steve followed them closely, catching up to Lamont.
"So, how does he check out?"
Lamont flipped through his notes. "Seems innocent enough."
"But he's hiding something. He seemed to be addressing his shoes when you asked him who worked on the coolant with him."
A twinkle seemed to enter Lamont's eye. "You'll make a cop yet, Major. It seems like I'm going to have to do a little more digging around."
They were on the ground floor. Lamont passed Steve a card with Henry Compton's name and work address on it and turned towards his squad car. Before the door closed, he shouted to Steve.
"By the way, thanks a lot, Major."
Steve cocked his eyebrow. "For what? Being your bogeyman?"
"Yeah. Before that you were just a burden," replied Lamont, mirth obvious in his tone.
The police car pulled away, leaving carbon monoxide in its trail. Steve allowed himself an ironic smile as he started the engine of his nondescript black sedan. He was about to enter the address into his GPS before his stomach rumbled. A quick glance at the dashboard clock told him it was already lunchtime.
He decided to head over to his favourite joint. A delay of a few minutes at Big Belly Burgers couldn't hurt. Maybe Diana could even join him there. Even Amazons had to eat, he reckoned. He pulled out his phone and hit redial.
=w=
Dr. Henry Compton, chemical engineer, was busy at work stabilising a new chemical batch. He hadn't worked with Dewey since the two had gotten Blue Snow approved. It was wrong, but he'd gotten the money for it already. Regrets were to be pushed to the past…but he couldn't help but feel a little sorry.
He realised he was distracted, and turned his close attention to the pipette. He patted his gloved fingers on his lab coat. The air-con must have been faulty. He'd go adjust it in a while. But then the temperature dropped again, and he decided to go and do it there and then.
A jet of some fluid suddenly coated the chair, and he found himself stuck to it. He pushed on the table and wheeled around – to see his doom. He barely had time to shout out in shock before he, too, got frozen on the spot.
Outside, a police car entered the carpark, and its occupants started filling out into the building…
=w=
In the meantime, Diana flew to the top of her apartment block and withdrew a set of clothes she'd bought when she first arrived in the city. With a deft twirl and a spin, she transformed from Wonder Woman to just Diana.
Hidden by a thick pair of amber-tinted sunglasses, a tank top with a jacket over it and a pair of jeans, one would have difficulty conflating her with the heroic figure of not so long ago. With a series of quick tugs, she pulled her flowing locks into a neat braid and headed down the elevator.
The diner that Steve had invited her to was his usual haunt. It served a number of thoroughly oily and unhealthy dishes, but had the decency to offer several salads, though covered gratuitously with thick sauce. When questioned on his eating habits, Steve responded his schedule had more than enough exertions to compensate for it.
Food on Themyscira was simple but delectable, and her sisters never ate to excess despite the island granting more than enough for all. A little oil of olives and a few springs of herbs on a length of lamb, cooked over a slow fire, served with sides of carefully preserved goat cheese had been the final meal she'd eaten before coming to America.
There he was, at his usual spot. She sat opposite him, taking off her sunglasses.
"Hello, Steve."
"Hi, Di. So you said Priscilla Rich approached you with some kind of offer?"
"Yes."
"Any idea what it's about? Advertising, licensing, public appearances?"
The food came. Steve had a steak lathered with a thick brown sauce with pepper in it, and a few pathetic wads of overcooked vegetables on the side. He had neglected to specifically request for the overly rich salad dressing to be placed on the side of Diana's salad bowl.
Scraping sauce off with her vegetables with her cutlery, Diana replied, "I don't know. What were the first two possibilities you mentioned?"
Between bites of his steak, Steve explained, "Advertising means your face would end up on all of those posters, magazine pages, so on and so forth."
"And dress as Priscilla Rich wants, showing what she wants to sell?"
"Well, uh, yeah. You got it in one."
Diana took a mouthful of her salad, slowly ruminating. "What's licensing?"
"It means that they'd get permission to use your likeness how they liked it. So instead of a physical you on those adverts, there'd be an illustrated version of you shilling her products and her events, or someone dressed like you."
"Why would she want that?"
Steve shrugged his shoulders. "Go figure. Maybe she thinks you're hot news after you saved the city from Ares's bad guys."
"And why would I want to go along with her?"
Steve painted lines of ketchup on his plate with his French fry. "Well, you said your mission was more than taking me home and beating Ares. Maybe this is how you can spread your message. I don't know. I think it's worth discussing with her at any rate. Just remember: don't sign anything or put your thumbprint on it, and you'll be fine."
Diana swallowed a mouthful of lettuce. "Understood, Steve. So will you…"
"I'll give you a call. I'm probably going to do overtime today."
Looking at Steve quizzically, Diana asked, "What precisely is it that you now do, Steve?"
Steve gulped down the chunk of beef in his throat, finding the best way of phrasing what he was going to say. He couldn't possibly say that he was spying on her, could he?
Diana asked again. "Steve?"
"I, uh, got transferred to military intelligence. I'm helping the cops investigate some strange cases."
"What makes them so strange?"
"They're not, uh, well…normal."
"That's a tautology, Steve."
He waved it aside, gazing at the street outside. "You know what I mean. I'm sorry, but I'm not at liberty to discuss it, Di. You know you could force it out of me, but you're going to have to believe me for now. That's what we call trust."
"Very well."
He got up abruptly, glancing at his watch. "At any rate, I have to go. The case I'm looking into can't wait. Good talking to you. I'll give you another call if I'm free later. Bye, Diana."
Steve left two ten-dollar bills on the table, and headed to his nondescript black car, leaving Diana with her unfinished meal on the table. He'd left so quickly that her "Goodbye" had been lost to the wind. Idly picking at her food, Diana passed into thought about his evasive ways.
=w=
As he made his way to the building where Doctor Compton worked, Steve, too, was thinking to himself. This task that Agent Faraday had thrust on him: spying on Diana…what had he been thinking? Right there was a woman who owned a magic lasso that could make him tell her everything she wanted him to, and he expected him to keep secrets. What a job.
And now there was all this business with Priscilla Rich. Diana had barely spent a week in the city and its biggest media mogul already wanted a piece of her. Diana wasn't naïve – not by any stretch – but all the people she'd known to that point give or take a god of war and a sorceress, were honest and supportive.
For all her philanthropy, Ms. Priscilla Rich could be utterly ruthless when it came to competitors. Sure, she could play nice and give you all the help you needed – but God help you if you crossed her. He made a silent prayer, hoping that he would be savvy enough not to get entrapped when they eventually met.
But there would be time enough to think about such things later. Right now, he had some case to investigate, and here was Dr. Henry Compton's laboratory. Flashing the CBI pass was enough to get him waved in, and the front desk receptionist told him to head up to the fourth floor.
The cold front struck him as the lift door opened. Something was wrong. Very wrong. Steve pulled his Beretta from its shoulder holster and chambered a round, slowly heading down the corridor, which was getting chillier with every step. Mist flowed from his mouth as he exhaled, and the walls were coated with ice.
There was a sound of something like breaking glass from around the corner. Steve froze and pressed himself against the wall. A chunk of ice rolled from around the corner. Steve squinted and tried to take a closer look at it.
It was a human finger, encased in blue-tinted ice…