Part Fifteen
On the other side of Centennial Park, Lois and Clark waited for Rita Lane in front of a bronze statue of Lewis and Dawson, the leaders of the first continental crossing of America.
“My curiosity is getting to me, how does your aunt, who works as a chef in a restaurant, know about someone like Daae?”
His partner avoided looking at him, but said in a low voice, “I’ll let her tell, if she wants to. Oh look, here she comes!”
Rita, wearing a light green jacket over a cream colored blouse and black pants walked carefully over the cobblestones and soon approached the duo, slung over her shoulder was a yellow canvas bag. “Good to see you Lois.” She stood on her tiptoes and gave her niece a quick hug, then turned to Clark and looked at him carefully. Not in a coolly appraising manner, but like the protective relative she was. Lois was her favorite niece and ever since Claude had nearly broken her spirit, the older woman acted more like a watchful mother hen.
“I’m surprised you brought Mr. Kent along. I thought your work on this story was strictly a solo effort now that Eduardo is retired?”
Feeling a little like a teen-ager caught with a boy nobody cared for, Lois responded, “Like I told you over the phone, Clark’s my partner, we are going to finish writing this story as a team.”
Rita was not only a former espionage agent, but a wife and mother of two boys. She was quite aware just from watching their body language that there was more to this ‘partnership’ than her niece was letting on. It was with no small amount of difficultly that she fought to keep the smirk off her face.
“Okay, to begin. A few rather disturbing facts have come to light since I started re-researching this case.”
They made themselves comfortable on a lovely old wooden bench. Immediately, an alerted Lois said, “What kind of facts?”
“Well for one thing, most of the agents - about ten people - who were involved in it on both sides of the Atlantic are either dead or missing. Only two others and I are alive. All three of us retired from the service around the same time. Now I’m no spring chicken, but that should strike anyone as odd.”
“If you don’t mind my asking,” Clark said, ‘wh … what did they die from?”
She looked directly at him with an unflinching stare, “Heart attacks or ‘mysterious’ accidents.”
Lois was about to ask more, but Rita stuck up her hand and stopped her. “Listen, I’ve got thirty minutes before the dinner prep, Mike has no idea that I’m here talking to you about this. But if he knew we were discussing this the old concerns from my years at the agency will worry him. Keeping him in the dark like is not making me happy, so we need to get this matter discussed and settled as soon as possible.”
She pulled a thick manila folder crumpled from age and use out her bag and placed it into Lois’s hands. “This envelope came to me yesterday afternoon from Mark Hickman, son of my old partner, Avery. Avery died about a year after we returned from Zurich of Pancreatic cancer. His wife, Prudie hated the service and everyone in it. She felt that Avery should have been home with her and the children. Apparently he received a package from Sharron Macready, a Swiss secret service agent who was helping us with the bank case. Unfortunately, when the package arrived, Avery was in the hospital dying. He never got a chance to open the envelope.”
“After his death, Prudie boxed up all of these papers and put them into storage. They laid there for nearly twenty years.”
“How did the envelope come to you?” Lois asked.
“Prudie died a few weeks ago of natural causes, her son, Mark went through her papers and discovered she had been paying on this storage unit for years. He opened the unit and discovered all of his father’s papers. Some of it was garbage, but this envelope was most definitely not. There’s a note in here with the names of all my team members. Mark remembered me and mailed it.”
“That sounds odd, why send it to you and not the agency?” Lois said.
“It seems that Prudie’s dislike of the agency was passed on to her children. Mark wants nothing to do with the contents of this envelope; I guess he figured mailing it to me was good enough.”
Lois shook her head in amazement at the younger Hickman’s behavior and was going to say something, but Rita continued.
“The material in here covers the entire chaotic situation with the Bank of Switzerland, there are names, dates and places mentioned here that coincide with our investigation. But we don’t know where this information came from.”
“Can’t you ask Sharron Macready? After all, she did mail it to Avery Hickman.” Clark said.
Rita rubbed her chin, “I’d love to, unfortunately, Sharron, and her partners Craig Barrett and Richard Sterling were on assignment in Tibet when their plane crashed into the side of a mountain, no wreckage was ever discovered.”
A chill went through Lois, but she said, “I take it they are the missing agents?”
“Yeah, and they were the best of the best in their division. The entire USB case was the only time they ever failed. Looking at that file has opened a large can of ugly worms. I contacted Tremayne, Sharron’s original handler. He is a very old man. Somehow, he must have gotten in touch with Eduardo, knew I was still alive and pointed the finger in my direction. I have it on good authority he was quite unhappy with the death of his agents. They were special to him and not bringing the masterminds behind the USB case to justice has always been a thorn in his side.”
“We’ll match up this material with what I have already. Maybe something will come together we can use.”
“In the meantime, you both need to be extremely careful. If Daae is behind the deaths of so many people, none of us is safe.”
***
As Clark and Lois made their way back to the Daily Planet, they passed the opulent Lexor hotel. A limo drove up and a man stepped out. Lois studied him, thinking he was just another wealthy businessman visiting the renowned hotel. He was tall, impeccably dressed in a perfectly tailored dark suit with a black and white tie. Handsome with wavy, light brown hair and brown piercing eyes. However, there was something about his manner that bespoke of arrogance, even malice. Who was he?
Unbeknowst to her, Clark froze in shock. Jasper Templar looked at him directly, smirked and then walked past him and numerous other guests and into the hotel’s sumptuous lobby.
Unexpectedly the strange dream he’d experienced the day he moved to Metropolis came sharply into focus. He thought, <This makes no sense at all. Why should that dream come up?> Slowly, thoughts, events and memories surfaced from the abyss of his brain, as if two long separated halves of a whole, reunited.
Lois noticed her partner was no longer walking beside her. She turned back and immediately noticed his wan complexion and said, “Goodness Clark, you look so pale! Are you all right?”
He shook his head, struggling to shake off his confusion and said, “No, no, I’m not. Lois, please tell Perry I’m not feeling well and I’ll be in tomorrow. Earlier today I gave him a couple of filler pieces, for the evening edition.”
“Don’t worry about that! Do you want me to help you get home?” She asked; her voice filled with worry and concern.
“No! Sorry Lois, I … I should be fine. Maybe … taking a nap for awhile, will to help. See you in the morning.” With that, he departed and went to his home on Clinton Street.
Lois watched him weave unsteadily through the crowd, walking as if he was carrying the weight of the world on those firm broad shoulders. There was something decidedly peculiar about her partner’s sudden behavior and it had nothing to do with Lana Daae. She wondered briefly if the man they saw entering the Lexor was someone they should both know.
Arriving at home, Clark felt wobbly and uncertain, maybe even more than when he saw that man outside the hotel. He managed to get out his keys and with an effort opened the lock. It was with profound relief that he entered the apartment and closed the door behind him. He leaned heavily against it, feeling the cold metal knob as it dug into his lower back. <Why do I feel so sick? I haven’t felt anything like this since my childhood>.
Another heavy wave of nausea rolled over him like a tempest tossed sea.
Tempus?
That name sounded familiar, as well as the ugly emotions that roiled to the surface like a hive of enraged fire ants. He seemed to scrape the very bottom of his reservoir of strength to lift his hand and bring it to his face. The appendage seemed faint, almost like a translucent membrane. Carefully, he walked over to the mirror and what he saw tore a ragged scream from his lips. His clothes were in solid stark contrast to his body, he was literally fading away. A thought, half-formed galloped through his mind. Is this a late blooming manifestation of his alien powers?
Abruptly a sharp knock on the door split through his shock and terror. <Who could it be? Maybe it’s Lois checking up on me? I can’t see anyone now!> The knocking started again, this time more insistent. Then a voice with a distinct British accent came through. “Mr. Kent! Mr. Kent! I know who you are and what’s happening to you. Please let me in.”
Clark stumbled up the short flight of stairs and managed to walk to the door, something about the voice was achingly familiar, and this was someone he could trust. He reached over to unlock the door when he noticed that his right hand had simply melted away. A strangled, frightened cry escaped his throat.
“Mr. Kent … Clark, you must remain calm, I can help you! Please do try to open the door.” Clark looked down and saw that his left hand was still strong and solid. With super speed he flung open the door. Standing before him was an older gentleman wearing a black frock coat and a black bowler hat. He looked like someone who had just stepped off the stage of an Edwardian play. Slung over his shoulder was a satchel made of dull metallic fabric which contrasted oddly with the man’s costume. He bounced jauntily on his toes and said, “H.G. Wells at your service! It is a pleasure to ah, ‘see’ you again Mr. Kent.”
The introduction on some level made sense to Clark, but he was too ill to care, “The writer? But you died in 1960. How … how do you know me?” He muttered.
Unfazed by Clark’s body oscillating between translucence and solidity simply said, “Oh dear, it appears I have arrived none too soon.”
“You … you understand why this is happening?” Clark whispered hoarsely
“Yes … yes of course my boy. But please, do let’s sit down! You look all in!” Draping Clark’s now solid arm over his shoulder, he gingerly helped him down the stairs and to the couch. The odd little man wearing the bowler hat and who called himself H.G. Wells sat on the coffee table taking a moment to catch his breath and said, “It’s a long story Mr. Kent, simply put, the very essence of your past and present selves are coalescing … becoming one as it were. I have in my possession a tool which should assist in making the transition easier.”
He removed a device that looked like a fountain pen from the satchel, pointed it at Clark and fired. A cool, silvery violet light bathed Clark’s body. Immediately he felt stronger and with feeling better came a barrage of memories, sounds and voices moving purposefully through his mind, reshaping his memories like a bowl of colorful jigsaw puzzle pieces tumbling to a table and landing neatly into place forming a new picture. A series of images arose from the main puzzle; one of the images was of him at Larkin Airport watching a younger Lois slamming a phone back in the receiver. She angrily stormed past him to the man behind the ticket counter.
Another memory was of him holding Lois, her long brown locks had been cut very short and she was wearing a white pantsuit. They flew through the darkness, the wind flowing around them. He was wearing some kind of costume with a red cape and matching red boots. But that wasn’t the most amazing thing about this memory, image or whatever it was… he was flying. Yet Lois knew who he was…
This reflection was replaced by images which frightened him; he was in a television station, again wearing the suit and writhing on the floor in terrible agony as the sickly green glow of kryptonite washed over him. In the background, a chorus of voices was crying out in alarm and fear. On one of the monitors ran a news report of him flying as Clark Kent. His long hidden secret revealed.
One voice stood out among all the others, a tall man with a mustache and light brown hair, calling him alien and freak. The voice belonged to Jasper Templar, better known to him as Tempus.
As the numerous memories and images continued to form into a whole, Clark began to feel more like himself. He understood that the time traveler who sat before him was a friend, someone who had helped him and Lois before, as well as the other Lois and Clark. The Lois who flew in his arms that night was that Lois – married to the Clark in an alternative universe. Unfortunately, Tempus discovered his identity and to satisfy his own twisted purposes revealed it to the world. Sadly, in his world Lois Lane was dead, killed somewhere in the Congo long before he joined the Daily Planet.
But Tempus, the monster, using an ordinary television station as his stage had stolen Clark’s anonymity, his chance for a normal life. Lana Lang wanted nothing to do with him after that night. He shook his head as if to put the memory in its proper place. That was the life that was. In this moment, with Mr. Well’s assistance, he had his life back.
So did Lois.
Looking at the older man with unyielding gratitude, he managed a lopsided smile and said, “Thank you again, Mr. Wells.”
A gentle smile creased the time traveler’s face, “Yes my boy! Now all those memories are together in one place. But I have a gift for you. He pulled a small silver globe from the satchel. Clark took it in his hands and immediately felt a connection to the device. It began to glow …
“This is from the other Clark? It’s from our homeworld isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
As soon as his hands touched the globe, a gray haired man wearing silver garb appeared before them floating in mid-air. Clark’s mouth opened wide, as if to speak, but no words escaped his lips. He turned to H.G. Wells but his visitor seemed calm and perfectly receptive to such a sight.
As the man spoke, Clark learned about himself; the history of his people and the tragic reason why he was the sole survivor of a once magnificent civilization. True, the other Clark – whom Wells referred to as Clark Jerome or CJ - had told him about Krypton, his birth parents and why he was here. Sadly, while in that universe there had been no time to let him study the Globe. Eventually the images ceased and standing in the place of Jor-El was Herb.
Clark was overcome with surprise, joy and grief for the undoubting courage and love his birth parents had shown him.
After a few moments of silence, Herb’s voice broke into his thoughts, “My young friend, the other Clark thought that you needed to know more about your origins. Unfortunately, the globe with its history could not be given to you until this joining of your former past and new timeline took place. The reason why you were nauseous earlier is because of that merging. The device I used earlier sped up the process.…”
Clark nodded, slowly the vague memories began to come into sharp focus, “That’s right, after we left the other Lois and Clark in their world, we traveled to Larkin Airport and made sure Lois did not board the plane.”
“Yes, who would have thought that something as simple as Miss Lane accepting a newspaper from me would be the instrument to save her life? If she had not read it, out of sheer curiosity she would have joined the paparazzi, inveigled her way into the VIP lounge and gotten a ride to Europe with the Luthors.”
“After she read that article by Linda King, going to the Congo was a waste of time.” Clark finished the story.
The older man hesitated, contemplating his next words with care and then said, “Miss Lane’s memories were ‘interfered with’ as well.
Suddenly overwhelmed with concern for his lovely partner he said. “What? Why? She’s never had any contact with that maniac.”
“No, but she has had contact with you. Miss Lane possesses a mind that reaches conclusions with a handful of facts. She remembered seeing you at the airport wearing light weight clothing. Garments which are totally inappropriate for that chilly time of year. Upon meeting you at the Daily Planet for the first time her subconscious mind would work on that piece of information and eventually she would want to know what you were doing there and how you managed to get away in the middle of a blizzard.”
He leaned back against the couch and asked wearily, “Could something so insignificant really be that damaging?”
“Perhaps not of itself, but in time that short memory might lead Miss Lane down a path we do not want her to enter just yet. Think what happened once you saw Templar…”
“Tempus,” Clark corrected him.
“Yes, once you saw Mr. Tempus that was the ‘time pivot’ which pulled everything together. We are now in the point in time when/where I collected you to provide assistance to the Kents. But this time, your secret identity is intact.”
If Clark wasn’t nauseous and confused about what had happened over the last hour, a circuitous discussion of physics and time travel would have sent him to bed. Instead he decided to stay with something he could understand. “In the original timeline Tempus was the one who revealed my secret identity and destroyed any hope of privacy in my life. I was engaged to Lana and because of his actions that relationship came to an end.”
“True, taking you out of that timeline changed many things. I am sorry about the broken engagement with Miss Lang, but it seems that the two of you were never meant to be husband and wife. Miss Lane on the other hand, is alive and doing what she does best; investigating and exposing corruption, such as this fellow who owns DMG. The only way to put an end to this villain’s deeds is to work together as an investigative journalist team.”
“But how do I keep Tempus from destroying my life now? Surely he knows who I am? Unless…” his voice trailed off, “Lois and Clark from the other universe! I was … Superman to help him?” Clark said the name, testing the word.
“Correct! When Tempus tried to destroy Clark Jerome’s identity you were there to prove him wrong – as Superman. But remember so many events here have changed. Miss Lang is now married to Gregory Daae. Perry White did not run for office, so James Olsen won’t be arranging a debate between him and Tempus. You won’t have to face Templar at a television station. But eventually there will be a confrontation with him. He is a man of means in Metropolis, albeit he is not as well-known as either Mr. Daae or Lex Luthor, but he is a shadowy manipulator in the corporate arena.”
“Lana?” Clark asked, despite everything, he still could not dismiss her as she had done to him.
The expression on Herb’s face was blank when he said, “Mrs. Daae has chosen her path. There really is nothing further to be done in that regard. Whatever difficulties she and her spouse face in the aftermath of the media exploitation investigations cannot be a barrier to yours and Miss Lane’s investigation … or your future happiness together. My chief concern in this matter is Superman and Utopia.”
“Superman, that’s my secret from the dream I had. It is … my secret identity?” He asked.
“Indeed it is and since in this universe we do not have Martha Kent’s seamstress skills to call upon, this might be appropriate to wear something in order to protect that identity.” For the third time, Wells reached into the bag, removed a familiar blue and red suit and handed it to Clark. “This is as much a part of your heritage as being Kryptonian. Wear it with pride … Clark – Kal-El – Kent.”
Clark stretched his hand out to take the offered garment when lines of worry etched themselves bit by bit over his handsome face. “The memories of how Tempus was able to track me down by following and capturing Lois are coming back. There are also memories of what my life was without Lois and a secret identity. I have to tell you that is a major concern. Will … will that occur again?”
“Not at all, we will use a method that Mr. Tempus is ignorant of. Metropolis has a system of underground tunnels running throughout the warehouse district. They were used originally by dockworkers to move supplies from the harbor to the main part of the city. As the roads within the city improved these underground passages were all but forgotten. Somehow their existence was rediscovered and during the early part of this century, those tunnels were used by Prohibition era racketeers like Pino ‘Pretty Boy’ Dragonetti to transport illegal alcohol to Speakeasies all over Metropolis.”
“That’s an incredible piece of history, but how does that help me keep my secret?”
“Thanks to a set of old blueprints of the city I was able to …. procure, the scheme to keeping Superman’s secret is right below our feet! Come along, we are making a visit to your basement.”
Clark followed the time traveler out of his apartment and downstairs. He had never been to the basement; all the apartments in this building had a washer and dryer. His landlord may have been a little sneaky in the beginning of their relationship, but as the rent checks began to flow, Mr. Wrenn quickly forgot about his quiet, respectable tenant on the top floor and did not bother him.
As they made their way downstairs Clark said hesitantly, “These ‘new’ memories are telling me I have done some pretty amazing things as the Man of Steel. But what if I … I don’t quite measure up to those memories? Can I truly be Superman again?”
Herb reached into his bag once more and pulled out a flashlight. “Yes you can. There is no reason to be afraid; in both this world and Clark Jerome’s, the feats performed by you were laudable. After all, the ‘Haze’ has been around for months. It must be frustrating doing all you can do, yet work within the shadows. Shadows as I am sure you will agree, limit the feats such powers can perform.”
“Yes, but Lana…” He stopped and realized he was hiding simply because he did not want to upset a woman who no longer deserved his loyalty - a woman who belonged to another man. It was time to put all memories oof their previous relationship aside, as she had done.
As if from far away he heard H.G. Wells say, “Clark Jerome made the same decision. Isn’t it time to step out from the ambiguous shadows to be your own man - to become the Superman of this world – to help?”
His mind understood the words, but what about his heart? Ok, so Tempus wouldn’t expose him in a television station but what was to stop him from doing it somewhere else? “I understand everything you are saying, but Tempus is aware of who I am. According to you, Utopia knows everything about Superman and his descendants. How can I possibly keep him from exposing that information and destroying my life and any chance of a real relationship with Lois?”
“Simply put Mr. Kent, by doing something that is unrecorded and completely unexpected! He does not know everything about you or Superman. We are going to change the rules of the game.”
At this point they had reached the entrance to the basement. Carefully H.G. opened the door, unlike the rest of the common areas within the building which were brightly lit, well maintained and painted in vivid colors. The basement, on the other hand, looked like they had stepped into another world, or perhaps another century. H.G. turned on the light switch, with a flicker of an ancient blub that cast a yellowish light the big room came slightly into focus.
The walls were made out of large rocks; the once sharp edges were made smooth and rounded with the passage of time. The storage room held all manner of supplies and cleaning materials, covered with a thick veil of grayish dust, most of which had not seen the light of day in years.
“Oh dear, it appears like this room is no longer used by the superintendent.”
“That’s probably makes sense, each floor has a storage room for all his supplies. There is no reason for him to come down here.” Clark responded.
“Just so, than this is perfect for your needs.” He consulted the paper map and then walked straight towards a wall lined with old wooden shelves. There were five shelves in all; four were set against the wall, except for the center one, which was set inside the wall itself.
“Ah yes, here we are, could you please use your x-ray vision to see beyond the center wooden shelf?”
Clark stared at the wall; on the other side was a passageway choked with cobwebs, dust and debris. To the right side was an old mechanism, probably used to open the door. Before he could tell his companion, the little man reached down under one of the shelves pulled hard on an unseen lever and then stepped back with an alacrity that surprised Clark. The noise that followed hurt his ears as ancient gears which had not moved in decades screeched in adamant protest. Little by little, like a flower blooming, in slow motion the shelf opened to reveal the tunnel. Tendrils of dank, musty, foul air assailed their nostrils, both men sneezed in protest.
Despite the smell, H.G. Wells bowed and said dramatically, Behold Mr. Kent! A passageway from here to the Daily Planet building and throughout lower Metropolis! Using these tunnels will allow you to enter and egress without Tempus tracking your movements.
Clark’s face split into a huge grin, H.G. was right. Using these underground tunnels will keep him safe from prying eyes. He could perform all manner of rescues and disappear. Superman’s true identity would be protected. Comprehending the myriad of possibilities was exhilarating. “When do I begin?” he asked his companion eagerly.
Last edited by Morgana; 10/03/16 04:22 AM.
