It took several hours, but Foster finally had a list of locations for the MPD to search. Foster just hoped the actual location was on their list, and if it was, they’d be in time. He assigned a SHADO operative to each of the four pairs of officers Henderson could spare for the search. The FBI had sent four people from the local office to help out.
The MCC was too small for a briefing of this size, so he commandeered the conference room of the Daily Planet.
Straker and Freeman didn’t appear concerned about their sudden close association with the press, an attitude completely at odds with their prior opinions of the Fourth Estate. But that was a long time ago. Things had changed a lot in the fourteen years since SHADO become operational.
In 1980, SHADO was most sophisticated intelligence gathering/fighting machine ever assembled. It had only one purpose, to prevent an invasion by technologically advanced extra-terrestrials whose modus operandi included organ stealing, kidnapping, and murder. By early 1984, SHADO discovered it had won the conflict and they’d been actually dealing with two warring parties from the same dying world.
One of the factions sued for peace, which, as unlikely as it appeared at the onset, was granted after many long hours, days, months, of top secret negotiations. Fifty thousand Rokan-shou were allowed to emigrate to Earth, to North America, with the understanding that any high technology or advanced knowledge be parceled out slowly with SHADO being the first beneficiary.
They were still at war with the other faction, the Rokan-shui, but those attacks were now few and far between. SHADO had evolved into an anti-terrorist group whose mandate included more than just home-grown fanatics. Pundits within the organization joked that Tom Clancy had it almost right – he just had the names wrong.
Foster looked over the law enforcement officers assembled for the briefing, judging how much he could tell them of what he already knew. Sophisticated satellite scans of Metropolis, in fact the entire Eastern seaboard, had failed to show a Kryptonian bio-signature. That meant the boy was either dead, in a radiation-shielded area or under at least ten feet of dense material such as concrete or stone.
He took a deep breath as the conference room door opened and one of the Planet reporters slunk in. Olsen, Jimmy Olsen, Foster recalled the name. His briefing notes on the Daily Planet staff said the kid’s father was NIA and he was a computer wiz.
“I hope you guys don’t mind,” Jimmy stammered. “But I’d really like to help out. Lois and Clark are . . . They’ll like family.” He looked forlorn, almost ready to cry.
“Have you cleared this with Mister White?” Foster asked.
The boy nodded, face clearing. “It’s my day off, actually. I really want to help find them.”
Foster nodded and Jimmy found a seat next to one of the MPD officers. Foster picked up the remote control for the video machine beneath the wall mounted television monitor and turned on both units. “I’m sure you’ve all seen this,” Foster began. On the screen was a video of Superman walking into the alley followed by the two police officers and moments later, being ‘helped’ out of the alley by the same two officers. “Those two officers were found dead. We are dealing with a paramilitary cell that has no qualms about killing police, civilians, or their own people, to achieve their goals.”
“And that is?” one of the FBI men asked.
“Bureau 39’s function was to collect evidence concerning hostile extra-terrestrial activity on this planet. And before you ask, yes, Superman is not the only extra-terrestrial living on Earth. He is, however the most obvious, thanks to a certain penchant for theatrics,” Foster gave them a humorless smile. “Bureau 39 has overstepped its mandate and is now targeting Earth-born under the mistaken belief they are party to an impeding alien invasion. An alien invasion, I must add, this planet has more than adequate resources to handle, should it occur.”
“Do you really think Superman is still alive? If they have the capacity to render him helpless, what are his chances?” Betty Reed, one of the MPD officers, asked.
“Frankly, we’ll be lucky to find his body.” He paused, gauging his audience. “Of more immediate concern is the kidnapping of the two reporters who have had the most contact with him, Clark Kent and Lois Lane.” He handed out the maps his people had prepared for the briefing. “We’ve come up with a list of about thirty locations in the city that fit both the Bureau’s profile and the criteria our people have come up with as to where they might be being held. I shouldn’t have to remind you that our primary goal is the safe retrieval of Lane and Kent. We don’t want any dead heroes. Should you locate the Bureau’s hideout, call for backup immediately. Do not attempt a rescue yourself.”
Foster stood back as the officers and SHADO operatives divided up the search areas based on local knowledge and location. He saw Betty Reed take Jimmy’s arm, bringing him into her group.
Good, somebody’s taking charge of the kid. An extra pair of feet and eyes won’t hurt.
