TP&S II - The Return of a Superman
by Tank

CHAPTER TWENTY

Clark walked along next to Nigel St. John, not sure how to proceed. So far a sulky silence had served him well. St. John hadn't seen through his charade yet, but he knew that it was only a matter of time. Nigel had referenced a 'job well-done', but what that job might have been Clark had no idea. He wasn't sure how much longer he could remain silent, but he needed some sort of clue as to what St. John had been talking about.

"Look, my boy, I know you're upset with me because I told you to stay away from Sergeant Lane, but if you look at the situation logically, you'll see that it's for the best."

"I guess." Clark kept his head down, and half mumbled his response.

Nigel led Clark into what clearly was his office. It wasn't a large room, but it was efficiently appointed. The desk was of moderate size, and tidy. A phone system on one side, and a couple of paper trays on the other. A computer sat on a side credenza. St. John sat in a typical office-style chair behind the desk, and Clark took one of the guest chairs which sat in front.

St. John folded his hands in front of him. "I take it we won't have to be worried about Intergang getting in our way now, will we?"

"Guess not." Clark stayed with the reluctant monotone. Intergang! Did the job that he was supposed to have done have something to do with Intergang? Clark racked his brain for any information he might have about the shadowy criminal organization which supposedly had moved into Metropolis.

He wasn't aware of any real hard evidence against the crime cartel, but rumors had been flying hot and heavy for a few months now. Clark replayed as much of the street gossip he'd heard through his head as he could. There wasn't much there to help him. The only things he could seize onto were that the person, or persons at the top were well-known figures, and that they ran a successfully legitimate business as their front. Apparently St. John knew more than Clark did.

"You're not going to make me pull the details out of you bit by bit, just because you're cross with me, are you? I'd like to hear you tell me how it went down."

Clark shrugged, still playing up the sulky child act. "You heard the report. I'd imagine you could guess how it went."

Nigel sighed, then nodded his head. "Oh, I can imagine, all right. I know you delight in showing off your powers, but don't you think this was a bit over the top, even for you?"

Clark didn't make eye contact with St. John. Instead, he let his gaze drift about the room, as if he were getting bored. "No. I did what I thought was best."

Nigel shook his head and allowed himself a slight chuckle. "Well, it certainly does send a message. I mean, dismembering the entire family and stuffing their various body parts into their own company's dumpster is not something that will be soon forgotten."

A chill knifed through Clark's being. His clone had done that? Dismembered human beings? It didn't matter that, whoever this family was, they were criminals. They were still people. How could anyone kill so casually, and so cruelly? Clark was shocked.

"That was in the news report?" The words came out before he could stop them.

Nigel shook his head again. "No, but I had people on scene when the police found the bodies. Or I should say, the body parts."

Clark had to fight his gag reflex. Talking about tearing people apart as if it were no more than the latest stock market report made Clark want to retch. But he knew he couldn't let St. John see how he was being affected. After all, he was supposed to be the one who had done it!

At least he now knew what his job was supposed to have been. Eliminate more competition. More specifically, Intergang. The problem was, he still didn't know who that had been. He hadn't paid much attention to the news that morning. He'd been too worried about Lois' impending lunch date with the clone.

His stomach knotted as he thought about Lois being with a creature that could do such a thing. A super powered being who thought nothing of rending people limb from limb. He had to find a means to get away from St. John. He had to get back to Lois.

*******************

Henderson prowled the hallways, making sure that no one saw him. The fact that the facility was huge was a double-edged sword. On one hand, it meant that the likelihood of running into someone was lessened considerably. He knew, from their conversations, that St. John didn't house a lot of people there, and Mamba only had a small staff working under him. The problem was, the large size of the complex made it difficult to know where he was, and where he was going. There had to be a way out of the place, but how to find it was the question.

He'd been gone for nearly an hour, by his guesstimate, and still an alarm hadn't been raised. Apparently no one was missing his waiter yet. Bill knew it wouldn't be long before the fellow was noticed not to be where he was supposed to be. So, he had to find a way out, and soon.

Rounding a corner, he nearly ran into a small man wearing a white lab coat. Henderson quickly averted his face and grunted something unintelligible as he brushed past. He held his breath as he walked on, waiting for the person to call out after him, but he never did. That was a close one, he thought to himself.

He had to duck into empty rooms twice to avoid a couple of other people in lab coats. He reasoned he must be in the research end of the complex. Bill racked his brain trying to remember the reports he'd read about this place. Did any of them contain a blueprint of the facility? He was drawing a blank. It looked like he'd have to continue to flail about and trust to his luck.

Coming upon a junction, he slowed as voices broke the more common silence of the complex. He approached the corner slowly, and stealthy peered around it. He saw another of the generic thugs leaving a room holding a tray filled with empty dishes and tableware. It looked like someone had actually gotten a chance to eat their lunch.

He watched as the guard threw a simple slide bolt across the closed door and moved on down the hallway in the opposite direction. Clearly, Henderson hadn't been the only captive being held.

After a quick check up and down the adjacent hallways, he moved swiftly to the closed door. With a rapid jerk, he slid the bolt back, and eased the door open. Slipping inside, he stayed close to the door just in case he had to exit quickly.

He let his gaze pan slowly around the obvious laboratory. Off to one side, bent over a table full of scientific 'stuff', was a small man. His movements were furtive and guarded. His absorption in his task wasn't complete though. He must have heard Henderson enter because he turned around and saw Bill standing there.

The small man's gaze locked onto Henderson's as his eyes widened in surprise at seeing someone there. Then the fellow's eyes made a quick flick toward the upper corner of the room. Bill followed his glance and saw the camera mounted there. He noted that his position by the door wasn't quite in the cameras view and gave silent thanks that there hadn't been any cameras mounted in the outer hallways.

So, whoever this scientist was, he was being watched. That meant he wasn't here of his own free choice. A situation Bill had gleaned from the fact that the door had been locked from the outside. He had to give the fellow credit, he didn't call out, nor did he make any obvious moves or gestures, beyond that first look of surprise, that would've given Henderson away. Bill just watched as the small man went into some kind of act.

The movements were jerky, and betrayed a bit of fear, but he had to admire the little man's performance. After puttering around with his instruments for a few more minutes, the fellow picked up a clipboard and posed for the camera, as if in deep thought. He wandered over toward the wall just a few feet down from where Bill stood. There was a storage cabinet there. Once the man reached it, he flattened himself against the wall and edged his way toward Henderson.

His voice was only a whisper. "I'm out of range of the camera now, but I don't know if the place is wired for sound." He stuck his hand out. "I'm Professor Emil Hamilton, late of Star Labs, lately a captive of Superman."

Henderson frowned. "The creature you've been dealing with is not Superman." Bill matched the professor's whisper. "The real Superman is dead."

The small scientist's face fell. "I'm sorry to hear that, though I have to admit that I'm not surprised." Hamilton leaned closer. "So, is the Superman who kidnapped me... a clone?"

Bill nodded. "Yeah, at least that's what I've been able to get out of my association with these people over the past months. No one has come right out and told me, but they haven't tried to hide the fact either."

"Knowing a bit about Dr. Mamba's research, that would've been my guess." Hamilton gave him a confused look. "Exactly who are you, if I may ask?"

Bill allowed himself a self-mocking grin. "Bill Henderson, late of the Metropolis Police Department."

The Professor's eyes got wide again. "You're a police officer? Are you undercover?"

"I wish." Bill pulled the door open again and peeked out into the hallway. "Say, professor, what do you say we get out of here? I'm tired of speaking in whispers, and I'd really like to get the heck out of this place."

Hamilton nodded rapidly, giving him the look of a human bobble-head doll. "I'm all for that, but if I'm being watched all the time, they'll know fairly soon that I'm gone, and that will institute a search."

"Yeah, but I hope we will have enough of a head start to find a way out of here."

"I'm afraid I have no idea how to get out of this place."

Bill shrugged. "Why am I not surprised by that?"

************************

The Clark clone sat opposite Lois Lane in a quiet corner of a small Italian restaurant a few blocks away from the precinct house. She had suggested it, and he had told her that it would be fine. He liked pasta. She seemed a bit nervous, or maybe just ill at ease. He could understand that. He was a pretty imposing fellow. He wondered if she'd known Kent before he'd lost his powers.

She was a beautiful woman. Not in the over-the-top way of some super models, or a silicon-stuffed starlet. She was real. She had all the curves that a man could want, and eyes that you could get lost in... if you allowed it. She wasn't perfect. Her silky, dark hair was too short for his tastes. The practical style suited an active woman like her, and he had to admit that it did look good on her. He just liked the long flowing styles that most of the women he had been with favored.

They had sent the waiter off with their orders, and now he was curious as to where the conversation was going to go. He knew she didn't like him. Heck, she probably hated him. He had been a party to the murder of her former lover. But, if she was smart, she'd get over that. No matter what she thought of him, he planned to stick around her. It was going to be fun.

He pasted an indifferent smile onto his face and waited for her to begin the conversation.

"So," she began, after clearing her throat a couple of times. "How much do you know of your, um - birth?"

He grinned at her discomfort. "Do you mean, do I know that I'm really just an artificial construct grown from the cells of a *real* man who is now dead?" Lois flinched at the word 'dead'. "Yeah, I'm well aware of what... and who, I am."

"Oh." Lois played with her napkin. "Does the knowledge bother you?"

The clone shrugged. "Should it? I think, I feel, I have free will. I'd say that makes me a living being, wouldn't you?"

Lois shrugged. "I don't know? Do you have free will, or are you just a product of your programming?"

He laughed. "Touche, Lois. But, really, we're all products of our environment and upbringing. Our *programming* as it were. Mine was just more concentrated."

Lois shook her head, sadly. "Yes, but I had the advantage of a lifetime of influences and experiences to use to come up with my personal value system. My parents weren't exactly what you'd call the best role models for a young girl growing up, but that didn't mean I had to follow their example. I learned, and was able to make my own choices as to what sort of person I turned out to be."

He, grudgingly, had to give the woman credit. She wasn't about to back down. And, it was clear, she might be leery of him, but she wasn't afraid.
"And I'm learning too. As each day goes by, I experience living, and it affects me, just as it does you."

Lois waved her hands in frustration. "But, if that's true, how can you not see St. John and Mamba for who they really are? How can you pretend to be Superman and not be affected by the good you have done when you've made those rescues, and helped so many people?"

He reached over and rubbed his thumb across the back of her hand. She pulled it away. He grinned at her action. "Look, Lois, I may look like the former idol of millions, but as you've so eloquently pointed out before, I'm not him. I'm me."

He leaned back in his chair as their food was delivered. He watched her as she picked up her fork and dug into her pasta. He hid a grin behind a drink from his water glass. He could see the tension on Lois' face as she tried to look nonchalant while eating her lunch.

"I know exactly who Nigel St. John is. And I'll admit that it's been fun playing the hero. Having all those people fawning over you is a kick." She looked up as he reinitiated the conversation. "But do you know what's even more fun? What's more satisfying?" She shook her head, her mouth still full of food. "Power. It's true, you know. Power is the ultimate aphrodisiac." He leaned closer to her. "And I have the power. I'm the most powerful being on this planet. It's by my will that someone, anyone, lives or dies."

Her eyes suddenly took on a steel-like glint. Her mouth drew into a tight line. He could almost see the anger rising in her body. "Really, " she said between clenched teeth. "Seems to me that it's Nigel St. John who makes those decisions, not you. You're nothing more than his super-powered lap dog."

The clone felt his face flush in a growing anger. He reached over and grabbed Lois by the chin, squeezing just enough for her to feel pain. He could see her discomfort in her eyes, but she refused to cry out. "Don't play your mind games with me, Lane. It may look like St. John is in charge of things, but that's because I want it that way. I let Nigel think that he is still in charge because it amuses me. I allow this because, so far, our agendas happen to coincide."

Lois sat back in her chair, putting as much distance between her and the clone as possible. She rubbed her chin with her fingers. "Do you really believe that?"

His hand clenched on the water glass causing it to shatter and splash water across the table top. The clone ignored the mess as his eyes blazed in anger. "Yes I do. It may have taken me some time to have my eyes opened, but now that the blinders are off, both Nigel St. John and Dr. Mamba are going to find out whose desires will prevail."

He glared down at her as he stood. It made him feel good to see fear flash across her face. It didn't matter that she'd angered him. He wasn't about to harm her yet. He wasn't done with Detective Lois Lane, not by a long shot.

"I think this lunch date is over. I'm sure you can find your way back to the police station on your own." He made to leave, but was stopped by a hand on his arm.

He turned in time to see her glance at her watch, then shift her gaze toward him. "Don't go. Not yet. I really am interested in what you think, and why you are like you are." She ducked her head and took a deep breath. "I can't ever condone what you've done with the gifts you've been given, but I'd like to try and understand why you feel the way you do."

His brow rose as he stared at the woman seated in front of him. She was biting her lip, not meeting his eyes. Suspicion rose in him. What was she up to? He knew what she thought of him. She didn't care why he did anything. She was only interested in seeing him pay for what he and St. John had done to the other Clark. She was up to something... but what?

*******************

Clark stared at Nigel St. John, who drummed his fingers on the desk. He was getting more nervous that he'd be discovered as each moment went by. Not that he was afraid for himself; he did have his powers back after all. But if he were found out, and word got back to the super clone, where would that leave Lois? He wasn't as confident as she was that the creature wouldn't hurt her.

He had stayed mostly non-communitative with the man, and St. John was getting a bit fed up.

"Look, my boy, you have to realize that sometimes we have to submerge our personal wants and needs for the good of the larger picture. I can imagine that some might find Miss Lane desirable... sexually, but you can have your pick of nearly any woman in the world. We need Detective Lane to function in her position as a policewoman. I can't have her distracted by your attempts at seduction."

Clark felt his stomach clench at the thought of that vile creature making advances at Lois. Not for the first time, he wondered how much sway St. John actually had over the clone. He hoped that the creature was smart enough to realize that Nigel was right, that they needed Lois where she was, regardless of how he might resent St. John at the moment.

He brought his mind back into focus onto what Nigel was saying. "Look, if in the near future, we find we no longer need Lane as our tool in the department, you have my blessing to do with her whatever you will. But for now, let's leave the woman alone, shall we?"

St. John was staring at him, waiting for some sort of response. "Ah, sure, I guess that makes sense." Clark added a meek shrug. No sense in antagonizing the older man.

The light on the desk phone began to blink which interrupted the heart to heart they'd been having. St. John reached over and picked up the receiver. Clark watched as the Englishman's face darkened. "Very well," he said. "Tell Gunther to get Boris, and then meet me at reception." Being out of practice, Clark hadn't thought to listen in on the conversation.

He gave him a quizzical look as St. John rose from his desk and moved toward the entrance. "Come along, my boy, we have a problem. Your assistance could be needed."

"What's wrong?"

"It seems that your friend, Professor Hamilton, has managed to wander off."

Clark frowned. So Hamilton had been here, and now he had escaped? "How could he do that?"

They exited the room and began to move down the hallway. "He couldn't, not without some help." Suddenly, there was a buzzing coming from St. John's pocket. He reached into his coat and pulled out a small cell phone. He listened for a few moments. Clark didn't quite catch the words mumbled from the other side. "Of course, I should have guessed," Nigel said. He stuck the small device back into his coat pocket, then turned toward Clark. "Well, we now know who helped the professor."

Clark felt a spark of hope begin to flame. "Who?"

St. John increased his pace. "Henderson. It appears he overpowered the guard who brought him his lunch and slipped out."

Clark followed along, barely keeping up with the long strides of the tall Englishman. "So, where are we going?"

They rounded another the corner and moved into another long straight hallway. "We're going to reception. As you're aware, it's the only way in or out of here that the general staff knows about."

"What about the two up at the top of the mountain?" The look St. John gave him made Clark realize that he probably had just committed a faux pas. "I mean, isn't it possible that they could've somehow found their way out that way?"

The older man frowned. "As far as I knew, there was only one extra egress constructed at the top of the mountain... unless you had decided you needed one for yourself?" St. John took Clark's silence as an admission of guilt. "It doesn't matter. But think about it. Neither Henderson, nor Hamilton, know the layout of this complex. How are they going to find their way out?"

Clark shrugged. "Luck?"

St. John snorted. "Hardly. Oh, they might have tried that method for a time, but once they realized that their time must be running out, they'd opt for the more logical approach. They'll have coerced a member of the staff to show them the way."

Clark nodded, more to himself than as an acknowledgement of the statement. It made sense. With a facility this large, anyone not familiar with it could wander aimlessly for hours before happening upon the 'front door'.

A few more yards and the hallway ended at a large intersection. Other halls went off to the right and the left, and a large double door was dead ahead. Without slowing for a beat, St. John reached for the lever and pushed one of the large doors open.

Clark found himself following Nigel into what could only be described as a commercial style reception area. The room was approximately twenty feet square with another set of double doors opposite those which they'd entered through. A single desk with a startled-looking fellow sitting behind it was just to the right of the doors. There were a couple of sterile-looking office style reception chairs off to the other side. Within another moment, a very large man walked through the door and nodded at St. John.

"Where's Boris?" St. John asked as soon as the man entered.

The big man shrugged. "I don't know, he didn't answer."

Nigel frowned, then motioned the man to flank the other side of the door. Pulling a revolver from his coat pocket, St. John kept his eye on the double doors they'd just used. Clark wondered what he was going to do if Henderson and Hamilton came through that door. He couldn't let either of them come to harm, but should he just use his powers to help them escape? He saw the other man draw a pistol, also. He wasn't in any danger, but with bullets flying about, even with his speed, there was a chance that Bill, or the professor, could get hurt. He'd have to be careful, and watch for his opportunity.

Lois would be pleased with getting Henderson free, but he wasn't sure that either Bill or Hamilton knew enough to really give them what they'd need to put St. John and his cronies behind bars.

Henderson's testimony would be tainted by his prior involvement with them. That was, if he would be willing to testify at all. And who knew how much Professor Hamilton knew? Would anyone believe that he'd been kidnapped by an evil clone of Superman? Did he really want that knowledge to come out?

His mind had been so engaged he hadn't noticed that St. John had received another phone call until he saw the older man closing the lid on his small cell phone and slipping it back into his pocket.

"Who was that?" Clark asked, trying to sound merely curious.

"Nobody important." St. John gave him only the slightest of glances before turning his attention back to the double doors. Holding the pistol tightly in his right hand, Nigel slipped his left hand into his coat pocket. He seemed a study in casual menace.

Suddenly the doors burst open and a slight fellow in a white lab coat came stumbling into the reception area. He was followed by two other men, one of whom held a gun in his right hand.

"Ah, Inspector Henderson, so good of you to finally show up. I see you brought the good professor with you. You've both been very naughty fellows."