Thanks to all of you that have provided comments. They really do affect the direction and (hopefully) the quality of a story.
Besides, it feels so nice.
TOC is
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From part 5:
“It’s my fault,” I whisper, “He killed him and it’s all my fault.”
“No, Lois. It’s not your fault; you had nothing to do with it. Luthor did everything himself; there’s no way you could have known.”
Part of me appreciates Clark’s words and recognizes the kernel of truth in them, but I can’t accept absolution. No matter what he says, my overconfidence and blindness are inexcusable. I have always prided myself on being the best investigative journalist at the Planet, but instead of asking the tough questions, I had gotten into bed with the devil.
Humiliated, I pull away from Clark and wipe away the moisture on my cheeks. I’m suddenly uncomfortable with the intimate setting and I stand to put some distance between us. Backing up, I mumble some excuse as cover for the shame and anger that burns anew, and then practically run for sanctuary of his bathroom.
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Master of Disguise - Part 6
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“Come on, Lane. Pull yourself together.”
I splash water on my face and then look at my red-rimmed eyes in the mirror, determined not to fall apart again. I look a mess, but I’m a little more in control of my emotions now. Glancing at my watch, I am appalled to see how long Clark held me while I released some of the anguish I felt inside.
The tears pool again when I think about Perry’s death, but I steel myself against the sadness, pushing the pain aside in favor of the anger I feel toward Lex. Anger is something I can handle, a hot, protective blanket to wrap myself in until we nail the slime ball. All that matters now is bringing Lex to justice and I can’t do that if I’m a blubbering mess. I’ll mourn Perry later.
I fortify myself with a brief pep talk and am about to rejoin Clark when I hear voices in the living room. I have a cover explanation ready if someone finds out I was talking with Clark tonight, but I’m in no hurry to use it if I can avoid discovery. I press my ear against the door, but can’t quite tell what’s being said. Common sense tells me to hide in the bathroom until whoever it is goes away, but my curiosity wins over caution.
I turn the doorknob slowly and ease the door open until I can peek through to Clark’s bedroom. From this vantage point, I can’t see who’s talking, but I can hear Clark’s agitated voice sparring with a gruff voice.
“…says this warrant is an order to produce evidence and compel testimony, but nothing about searching my place of residence.”
“Take it up with Washington.”
“I know my rights. You can’t just come in here.”
“Mister Kent. I want *Superman* and I’m not leaving until you tell me where I can find him.”
The brief vindication I feel at being right about military’s reason for shadowing Clark fades quickly as I hear a scuffle at the entryway. Wanting to get a look at this military man, I pull the door open another fraction, enough to slip out of the bathroom and take up surveillance behind the corner wall that separates us. I lean out to take a peek and see that GI Joe has entered Clark’s loft with three armed guards, two of them flanking and holding Clark by the arms. Remembering the tape recorder Clark left on his bed, I grab it, flip the tape over and start recording.
“How would I know where to find Superman?” Clark asks.
“The reason is two-fold, Mr. Kent. In the time since his first public stunt, the alien has spoken only to you and used you as a conduit for spreading its propaganda.”
“Propaganda?”
“The claim that the alien is a peaceful benefactor is false. I’m here to protect the American people from their own ignorance. I, for one, will not be deceived. This so-called ‘Superman’ is really the forerunner for an alien invasion, sent to gather intelligence and mislead us into complacency.”
“Invasion? How can you accuse him of that?”
“We have been watching alien activities for quite some time and have conclusive evidence that the so-called ‘Superman’ is indeed an alien that infiltrated our great country almost three decades ago.”
My heart quickens at Trask’s revelation and my hands itch to take notes. This is big! A million questions flood my mind as I mentally start to sketch an article. A secret military organization tracking alien activities is good enough for an award right there, but having proof that Superman had been here for decades is fascinating. Where and when did he arrive? Why did he hide before his debut? What motivates him and is he as honest and good as he appears? The endless procession of questions is halted when I glance at Clark and see his expression. He looks either petrified or excited and his voice nearly squeaks with his next question.
“Evidence?!”
I see Trask nod to the third soldier, who promptly sets a metal box down on the floor at Trask’s feet.
“Well, that question brings us to the second reason we believe you know how to contact the alien. The evidence – a small spacecraft – links Superman’s arrival to your hometown of Smallville, Kansas, the same year you were born. I don’t think that was a coincidence, do you?”
Clark goes still as the color drains from his face, his eyes locked on the metal box sitting on the landing. Trask’s words, and the box’s presence, clearly upset him. I don’t blame him; if a military Colonel were to show up at my door claiming he had evidence linking me to a powerful being with nefarious purposes, I’d be worried too. On second thought, I’d probably grab the evidence and run straight to the police myself. I shake my head to disrupt my inner babble and focus again on the tableau before me. When Clark speaks, his voice is strained.
“W…what is that?”
“I’m not here to answer your questions, Mr. Kent. I’m here for answers. Now, where can I find the alien?”
There is a tense moment of silence before Clark pulls his wide eyes away from the box to rest on Trask’s malevolent face. From across the room, I can see him swallow roughly and when he speaks, his voice is hesitant and tense.
“S..superman has never said where he lives. H…how could I tell you?”
“I don’t think he has to tell you. I think you already know. Have you been harboring the dangerous alien all these years, helping to deceive us and lull us in to a false sense of security before the attack?”
“There is nothing dangerous about Superman. He’s only trying to help!”
“Where can I find the alien?”
Clark says nothing, but reiterates his earlier answer with a simple shrug of the shoulders. Trask’s eyes narrow before he tries another tactic.
“Where did the alien come from?”
“I don’t know.” Clark mumbles.
“How did it get its powers?”
“I don’t know.”
“Are there others like him?”
“I don’t know!”
“Tell me the timeframe for the invasion.”
“There is no invasion! As far as I know Superman is alone. He only wants to use his powers to save lives and make the world a better place.” Clark yells, his face flushing with frustration at each provocative question.
Trask glares at Clark for another moment. “You must have been brainwashed. Tell me, Mr. Kent, did it take over your mind, infuse you with its power?”
“Take over my mind? That is the most bizarre thing I’ve ever heard!”
Colonel Trask’s eyes flash at Clark’s flippant answer and I feel a tendril of nervousness at the mad gleam in his eye. I’ve seen fanatics before in my line of work and that look always makes me uneasy. My esteem of Clark’s ability to remain cool in a dangerous situation is rising by the second, but there’s a difference between bravery and downright stupidity. I’m never one to overly rely on the police, but when Trask pulls a gun from his holster, I figure it’s time to call for reinforcements and end this party.
I look for Clark’s phone and grimace when I see it on his kitchen wall; I won’t be able to reach it without being seen. I release a breath and wish I had my bag with me, but it’s still sitting atop Clark’s coffee table. I look around his bedroom and see a something on his nightstand. I squint into the darkness and smile when I realize it’s a mobile phone.
I glance toward the front door to make sure no one is looking my way before inching away from the wall. I tiptoe across the room, grab it and dash back into my dark corner. I flip the phone open and dial 911, slipping back into the bathroom to whisper my instructions to the emergency worker who answers.
Once done, I snap the lid closed on the phone and turn around, gasping in shock when I run smack into a soldier in the dark. He grabs me and hauls me out into the living room.
As the soldier frog-marches me out, I notice that Trask has moved Clark from the landing and is standing in front of our research.
“This has nothing to do with Superman,” Clark says.
“I’ll be the judge of that,” Trask warns before gesturing to his men to continue their search. “Confiscate anything connected to the alien.”
“Colonel?”
Trask turns to see me struggling against the soldier’s grip and lifts an eyebrow. “Well, well. Who have we here?”
“Marie Antoinnette.” My snide comment doesn’t go over well with the soldier holding my arm in a death grip and I wince in pain as it cinches tighter.
Another soldier grabs my bag from the table and my stomach clenches in apprehension as he rifles through it. He pulls out my wallet and ID and I take a quick breath, shoving the feeling away; there’s no reason to believe these men are connected to Lex.
“She’s Lois Lane, from Metropolis, New Troy.”
Trask looks at me again, his eyes shining in recognition. “Mrs. Luthor. I wonder…what brings you from Metropolis?”
“I’m a big Giants fan.”
I watch his eyes darken in rage as his hands clench into fists. “You don’t want to mess with me, Mrs. Luthor.”
“It’s Ms. Lane and it’s *you* that doesn’t want to mess with me, Colonel Trask. As the National News Director for LNN, I’m thinking of leading tomorrow’s headline with an eyewitness account of military agents flaunting the first amendment, trespassing and aggravated assault on a civilian. And that doesn’t even touch the Superman angle. How does ‘The Army and Little Green Men – Your Tax Dollars at Work’ sound? Or how about ‘Military Paranoia and the Deranged Lunatics that Lead It’?”
An involuntary gasp escapes me when Trask grabs my other arm, shaking me roughly. Together with the twitch in his eye, I’m convinced that I’ve overstepped my bounds.
“Let her go.”
In response to Clark’s demand and movement toward me, one soldier grabs Clark from behind while Trask releases me and sucker-punches Clark in the stomach. Clark bends over at the waist and grunts as Trask’s fist connects, but doesn’t seem overly affected by the rough treatment. Trask, on the other hand, shakes his hand and winces. I smile. Clark must have abs of steel.
“You are in no position to make demands, Mr. Kent. I came for the alien and I’m not leaving until you give him to me.”
“He’s already told you he doesn’t know where he is,” I say. “Maybe you should stand outside and yell, ‘Help, Superman’?”
Trask sneers at me before gesturing to the third soldier. “Perhaps with another form of persuasion you’ll tell me what I want to know.”
The soldier picks up the metal box from the landing and carries it to Trask who pushes the lid open. His face is illuminated in sickly green from the glowing crystals. I stare at it transfixed and an eerie silence descends as they walk toward us. After a heartbeat, Clark tries to move away and breaks the spell. Goon number three pins Clark’s arms behind him to halt his movements; Clark’s face pales as Trask takes a step closer to him.
“Ah,” Trask smiles, “I see my theory is correct.”
“What is that?” I ask, nodding at the crystals.
“It’s a meteorite that landed in Kansas the same time as a small vessel bearing the alien’s symbol. We’ve studied it and postulated that its high-frequency radiation would have a negative effect on the alien. Judging from Mr. Kent’s fear of it, he knows more about the alien than he’s admitting.”
“Are you crazy?” I ask. “You have a radioactive rock that can theoretically hurt a super-powered, invulnerable alien and we’re not supposed to be afraid of it? If that can hurt Superman, just think what kind of damage it can do to a mere human.”
I step back and the soldier holding my arm backs away with me. The soldier holding the crystal moves the box imperceptibly away from his body as his wary eyes drop to the glowing stone before snapping the lid shut again.
Just then, sirens filter in from the street outside. Trask glares at one of his underlings, who steps to the window and confirms that the police cars are stopping outside.
“Two police units approaching the main entrance, Sir.”
At Trask’s look of consternation, I can’t help but smile; it’s an imperceptibly small lift to the corner of my mouth, but Trask notices it. His eyebrows draw down stormily.
“I called them,” I confirm. “I figured anyone with a valid federal warrant wouldn’t mind confirming that with the San Francisco PD.”
Trask glares at me for another moment and then motions for his men to leave. Before they can take anything, I sit quickly on top of our research strewn over the coffee table. One soldier looks the question to his commander and then leaves me alone at the slight shake of Trask’s head.
Clark eyes flick back to the metal case containing the strange rock in it and when the soldier holding it heads for the door, he foolishly moves after him. Trask pulls out his gun and cocks it, training it on Clark’s forehead. Clark freezes and my heart thumps madly in my chest, my breath catching in my throat. The man is completely mad.
In the background, the soldiers file out of the room as Clark and Trask face each other. Finally, Trask grimaces, unlocks the hammer and re-holsters his gun.
“We’re not finished here, Kent. You *will* tell me what I want to know.”
Trask sprints out the open door and disappears down the back stairs at the same time I hear footsteps pounding up the front. I watch Clark take several faltering steps after the soldiers before stopping at the doorframe to breathe deeply. He takes another step in the direction of the stairwell when I call out to him.
“Clark? What are you doing?”
“I’m going to um… need to… uh…”
He looks at the corner Trask’s men rounded and releases a breath, giving up the chase. I want to ask him what he thought he could accomplish by rushing after them, but am interrupted by the police topping the stairs. Torn between following Trask and his men and dealing with the police, he casts a longing glance at his balcony window before dropping his head in defeat.
I shake my head at his foolhardy behavior. Even I’m not crazy enough to follow an armed military man without a plan of attack. I almost snort at the thought. Actually, that sounds exactly like something I’d do.
After a hasty explanation, the in-charge sends two men down the back way after the soldiers while he and his partner start taking our statements regarding the trespass. Clark and I take turns quickly explaining what happened. I’m pleasantly surprised at how well we’re able to tell the story, trading off sentences as if we had rehearsed it.
The officer’s disinterest disappears when I tell him that the Colonel threatened Clark with fists, a gun and a radioactive substance. When the officer asks if we could identify the men, Clark disappears into his bedroom and returns with a sketchpad. I’m beyond impressed when he quickly sketches Trask’s face.
About the time the officers finish taking our statements, the others re-enter Clark’s loft empty-handed. Even expecting that Trask and his men are long gone, I’m disappointed. Thoughts are spinning so quickly in my mind that I don’t even notice the officers leaving until Clark bids them farewell and closes the door.
As soon as they’re gone, I waste no time in striding over to my bag. Pulling out my cell phone, I dial and then glance at my watch, grimacing. It’s near two o’clock in the morning in Metropolis; Jimmy is sure to be asleep.
“’lo?”
“Jimmy, wake up. I need you to research something for me.”
“Just a sec.”
I hear him yawn and wait for him to grab a notebook, tapping my foot impatiently. When he’s ready, I give him the few details we have about Trask and Bureau 39.
“Call me back as soon as you’ve got something,” I command and then snap my phone shut.
I toss the mobile into my bag and then pause, remembering how Trask recognized my name. Making a snap decision, I root around for my official cell phone and finding it, dial Lex. Holding the phone tucked precariously between chin and shoulder, I begin to quickly load file folders into my bag. The phone slips from its perch just as Lex answers and I drop the folders in my hand to catch the phone before it hits the floor. I lift it up again in time to hear Lex’s concerned squawk.
“…thing alright?”
“Fine, Lex. I just dropped the phone,” I explain. “Listen, I know it’s late, but I wanted to let you know I’ll be out for a while following a lead on Superman.”
“That sounds promising. What did you find?”
“I tracked down the reporter that did the Superman interview; you know, Clark Kent? He didn’t have anything else for me, but I did come across a crazed military group that thinks Superman is the forerunner of an alien invasion.”
“Interesting. Why do you say crazed? The idea sounds plausible to me.”
“I know fanaticism when I see it and this guy was just oozing deranged psychopath. Also, if he were legit, he wouldn’t have threatened us or disappeared when the cops arrived.”
“He threatened you?”
I shiver at the menace in Lex’s voice and pause to switch the phone to my other ear. Before tonight, I would have been touched by Lex’s obvious concern for me. Now, he just sounds possessive, like someone has poached on his territory. It irks me.
“I’m a big girl, Lex. I handled it.” I snap my jaws shut and shake my head. I know my tone is too vehement, but can’t help myself.
“I’m sure you did,” he says, his tone placating. “I just worry about you. I’ll call and get someone to watch out for you. Where are you now?”
All the anger I felt earlier about Perry’s murder comes rushing back at his blatant attempt to get me back under surveillance. A heat suffuses my face and neck and I grit my teeth against the invective on my tongue to keep from letting it loose. I need to get off the phone before I blow everything.
“Lex, it’s unnecessary. Listen, I’m going to be busy investigating this all night and I need to go. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
I snap the phone shut without waiting for a reply and drop the phone as if it’s scalding hot. I close my eyes tight and clench my fists against the rage flowing through me. After a couple of deep breaths, I start stuffing file folders into my bag again with jerky movements until I’ve gotten the worst of it under control. I’ve packed it to overflowing before I notice Clark standing immobile next to the coffee table.
I look up into Clark’s face and his expression halts my frantic motions. The way he holds himself speaks volumes; he’s radiating tension and indecision, like he wants to be somewhere else, but doesn’t want to leave me alone either. Instinctively, I know that if not for me, he’d be gone already, probably knee deep in research.
I’d gotten so focused on the story and my anger with Lex that I completely forgotten Clark. Does he think I’m trying to scoop him or steal his story?
I’d spent the past few days fighting the urge to investigate Clark’s shadows, wanting instead to focus on my investigation of Lex. Now, I realize that I need some time and distance. If I proceed with my investigation of Lex now, I know I’ll make a mistake. I need time to get my anger under control and I realize that more than ever, I need Clark to help me, to buffer my impulsive nature.
After seeing Trask’s fanaticism, I also want to expose his crackpot ideas. He’s a dangerous man in his own right and needs to be in custody. Going after Bureau 39 is the perfect distraction, but I don’t want to lose Clark’s help by stepping on his toes. Fighting habits deeply ingrained after hard-earned experiences, I set my bag down and offer the tape recorder to Clark as a peace offering.
“This is more your story than mine,” I admit. “I’ve been itching to find out what these guys are up to for days, since I first saw them tailing you. I want to expose Trask, but I don’t want to walk over you to do it. What would you say to a joint investigation?”
I end the question in a rush, breathing in deeply as I wait for his reply. I’ve never shared a byline before and saying this is just about killing me. I don’t wear team player very comfortably. I never have. When he doesn’t immediately answer, I continue, unable to keep the pleading tone completely out of my voice.
“I want to be free of Lex, but I’m too angry to be effective. I need this, Clark. I need some distance and Trask is the perfect distraction. What do you say?”
I find myself holding my breath for the second time that day while I wait for Clark’s decision. After an agonizing moment, he exhales and his shoulders relax. He reaches to take the tape recorder from me and his face breaks into a pleased smile.
“Okay. Come with me to the office and we’ll get started on the story together.”
I release the breath I’d been holding when he agrees and I smile in response. After he calls a cab, he helps me on with my jacket before I shoulder my overfull bag and stride toward his door. He picks up the remaining folders and rushes forward to open the door for me before I can do it myself. My eyebrows rise at his old-fashioned manners, but he shrugs off my question with a gentlemanly, “after you,” and we leave his loft.
As we walk down the hall to the lift, my thoughts return to Lex and his duplicity and I start to seethe. By the time we step out of the elevator, I’m scowling and my stomach is churning with anger. It helps when I focus on Trask and the pleasure of seeing my byline in print again, but I can’t quite smother the negative feelings completely.
The remnant of my anger finally dissipates when I feel the soft warmth of Clark’s hand at the small of my back. I’m startled not only by the deliciously warm feeling that suffuses my body from the point of contact, but also by how much I like it. I turn to look at him and Clark flashes a brilliant smile at me as we walk down the steps of his building. My mouth stretches into a goofy smile in response.
The thrill I get when I imagining my name on a newspaper byline again is exhilarating, but it has nothing on the rush I get from Clark’s smile and the touch of his hand.
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tbc...
