"You allowed a dangerous alien to escape."
Escape? "An alien?" Eric said.
"Are you denying any knowledge of the existence of an alien living on our planet?"
Eric straightened in his chair. "Ms Rhodes," he said. "I work for a government agency. Every day, I deal with highly confidential information that could affect national security. I don't have the time for scaremongering tales that have no basis in fact."
Ms Rhodes reached into her bag again and withdrew a sheet of paper. She held it up for him to see.
The hairy, unkempt face of the alien stared back.
Part 26
Eric gazed at the photograph - not because he had any doubts that it was the alien, but to give himself time to formulate the best strategy. "Ask your questions," he said, wanting to determine her agenda.
He didn't miss the fleeting flash of triumph in her violet-blue eyes. "Is everything you say 'on the record'?"
"If I say it's 'off the record', will you print it anyway?"
"Mr Menzies," she said crisply. "I have Mr Moyne's letter, and I have the photograph. I have substantiated some of Mr Moyne's claims - such as the recent demolition of the building on Bessolo Boulevard. If you refuse to answer my questions, I will be left with no option but to print what I know."
Did she know Neville was dead? "Have you tried to contact Mr Moyne?"
"No."
"He didn't include a contact number in his letter?"
"No."
She was good, Eric thought with grudging respect. She could have been agency-trained. Never give away information. "Do you have anything more newsworthy than a razed building?" he asked.
"I have a description of an alien being, including an exhaustive list of his known abilities."
"A third-rate science-fiction novel has that."
Her eyes narrowed. "Those abilities make him a danger to all mankind. That is why he was in captivity. That is why your agency has failed in protecting the citizens of the world."
"Do you know the current location of the alien?"
"Mr Moyne's letter details his valiant attempt to recapture the escapee."
Actually, Neville had been chasing Lois Lane, trying to exact revenge for his dismissal from the alien operation. Ms Rhodes' investigation might have led to knowledge of Neville's death, but her continual harping on an escape suggested she didn't know the alien had died. And she probably didn't know that her source was a meth-soaked murderer. "Have you considered that if you print your story, it could severely hinder Mr Moyne's chances of success?" Eric asked.
She sent him a look of disdain. "The people have a right to know when their safety has been compromised."
"Did Mr Moyne mention why he felt compelled to enlighten you about his activities?" Eric said, wondering how long she would allow *him* to ask the questions.
She ignored the dash of ridicule in his tone. "He wanted to ensure that his story be told."
*His* story? "I thought this was about an alien apparently running amok in the world."
Ms Rhodes' eyes turned ice cold. "Why didn't your agency alert the public to the danger when the alien escaped?"
"Ms Rhodes," Eric said. "You mentioned that you have information - from Mr Moyne's letter. During our phone conversation, you seemed to imply that I would benefit from this discussion."
"You will," she retorted. "I'm giving you a chance to explain how an agency that has the benefit of such favour from the government can -"
"Favour?" Eric questioned.
"I know Moyne met his death when a country sheriff's office refused to believe his story. I also know that information regarding his death has been suppressed."
"*That* couldn't have been in his letter," Eric said calmly.
Her expression turned to disgust. "You don't seem particularly upset by the death of one of your agents."
"I am sorry about Mr Moyne's death," Eric lied. "But I'm nonplussed that a reporter of your reputation thinks she has a story when she's missing so many of the critical facts."
"I have sources," she said defiantly.
"We all have sources, Ms Rhodes," Eric said. "The mark of a successful agent is knowing how to use that information."
She understood his subtext. That being a reporter, even a successful one, did not mean she could successfully compete in his world.
"The prime objective of any agency of your type is to ensure the safety of all American citizens," Ms Rhodes said. "Yet you have allowed this menace the freedom to continue his plan to take over the world and seize this planet for his fellow aliens."
Eric decided they had spent enough time circling. "If you report what you think you know, your opposition papers will lead tomorrow with the story of exactly how badly you misjudged Mr Moyne's information."
"Not if the alien is recaptured," she said brusquely. "I assume you *do* have people searching for him?"
"There is no chance of the alien being recaptured," Eric said.
The cool edge of her confidence blunted a little. "Why?"
"How about you tell me exactly what you propose to write, and together we'll see if it's possible for you to have a passably accurate story without inciting an unnecessary public panic?"
"Are you going to endorse *anything* I print?"
"Ask your questions."
"Can I name you?"
"No, you can't. But if you ask your questions, you will have more chance of being able to accurately sift the truth from Mr Moyne's ravings."
"*Is* there an alien?
Eric tried to ignore the desire for another shot of whisky. He was confident he had her measure, but it was going to require some juggling to divulge enough to satisfy the headstrong reporter with a whiff of a story in her nostrils, extinguish the fire of her investigative tendencies by discrediting Neville, and still ensure Phoebe wasn't hurt by anything that besmirched her sister's memory.
And there was also the need to protect the agency. Rhodes hadn't mentioned Lane, so it was possible that Lane hadn't been featured in Neville's letter. Eric wanted to keep her - and Neville's attempted rape - out of this.
And he also had to be careful not to say anything that would alert Rhodes to a possible 'abuse of human rights' story.
"Mr Menzies?" she snapped. "Is there an alien?"
"There was an alien," Eric said slowly.
"*Was*?" she gasped.
"Yes," Eric replied, gratified by her shock. He could be a little loose with the truth about the imprisonment. Neville was dead. The alien was dead. Lane was on leave. Scardino, Shadbolt, and Longford wouldn't dare publicly contradict him. "There was an alien," he repeated. "A being who came here from another planet. A being endowed with abilities that far exceeded human strength."
"What happened?" she asked breathlessly.
"My agency captured him," Eric said with a discernable trace of satisfaction. "We discovered the risk to humankind and took the necessary steps to ensure they were protected."
"Until he escaped," Ms Rhodes fired at him.
"He didn't escape."
"Mr Moyne gave his life trying to recapture the alien."
"He died."
"I know *that*, Mr Menzies," she exploded. She gathered herself with considerable effort. "Do you have a contingency plan? What steps are you taking to apprehend this invader?"
"There is no need for a contingency plan, Ms Rhodes," Eric said blankly. "The alien is dead."
Her carefully coloured bottom lip fell open. "Mr Moyne said he escaped."
"Did Mr Moyne also tell you that he was removed from the operation two weeks ago, following a serious breach of regulations?"
Ms Rhodes didn't reply. She was probably too busy scrambling to salvage her fast-dissolving story.
"I assume you're familiar with the concept of sour grapes?" Eric asked.
The balance of power had shifted to him, and Ms Rhodes was smart enough to know it. She had walked into his office thinking Neville's letter was her trump card. "How did the alien die?" she asked, her blue eyes turning frosty in her attempt to recover lost ground.
"Natural causes."
"*Natural* causes? What is natural for an over-powered alien?"
"We were unsure of his expected life-span. We lacked knowledge of his physiology."
"So you don't know what killed him?" Ms Rhodes said, sounding more scornful than was wise.
"Anything I do know, I'm not free to disclose to you."
"Why did Mr Moyne believe he had escaped?"
"When Mr Moyne was removed from the operation, the alien was still alive. Mr Moyne was assigned to another operation. Without the knowledge of his superiors, he decided not to attend the assignment. I can only assume that he returned to the location where the alien had been kept, saw that the building had been demolished, and drew his own conclusions."
She stared at him, and Eric could imagine the spinning cogs of her brain.
He toyed with the idea of informing her of Neville's drug use - just to drive home the spurious nature of her information. However, thoughts of Phoebe stilled his tongue.
"You have a story," Eric said, hoping to placate her. "There was an alien. The threat to our safety was dealt with quietly and efficiently; the threat has now passed. If you print that story, we will avoid a widespread panic, and your integrity as a reporter won't be tarnished."
"But if this individual *was* an alien, there are so many questions requiring answers," she said excitedly. "Did we learn anything from him? Did he admit to planning to wrest our planet from us? What do we know of his planet? His society? Are there more aliens here, or was he the only one? How did he get here? How does he communicate with others? Why did he come?"
"Ms Rhodes," Eric said. "I have limited time today. I wasn't involved personally in guarding him."
"Who was? Can I talk to his guards?"
"If you print the story you have today ..." Eric flicked through his desk calendar. "... I can see you again on Wednesday afternoon."
The reporter looked so pathetically eager. She didn't know that by Wednesday afternoon, the story of an alien would be of no consequence. "You won't talk to any other reporters? You'll guarantee me the exclusive?"
"Yes."
"Can I use the photograph today?"
Eric reached across the table and took the sheet of paper. He stared into the mostly-concealed face of the alien, wondering what had really transpired between Trask, Neville, and the individual they had believed to be such a dire threat. "Yes," Eric said as he handed back the photo. "You may print that photo."
"Can I quote you?"
"You can say that a senior representative of the agency said ... 'American citizens can be assured that their safety is always the foremost objective of all government agencies, and secrecy is sometimes required in order to achieve this.'"
Ms Rhodes finished scribbling on her pad and returned the photograph to her bag. She stood. "Goodbye, Mr Menzies," she said.
Eric figured the promise of a greater story should be enough to curb what she printed, but he decided to add a final safeguard. "Ms Rhodes?"
"Yes?"
"If you choose to go beyond our agreement and print other, highly questionable, details, your career will be over by the end of the week."
"I don't scare easily," she said with a toss of her light brown hair.
"I don't warn unnecessarily," Eric replied.
She swept from his office. As Eric watched her go, he wondered when she would discover how close she had come to the biggest story in the history of Planet Earth.
||_||
Lois had bathed her red eyes in cool water and hoped that any lingering traces of distress could be attributed to this morning when she had cried on Clark's chest. Just after midday, she heard Clark enter the kitchen. She stood from where she had been pretending to write her novel.
She sniffed and couldn't detect any traces of smoke in the air. Not obvious ones, anyway. Would it be enough to keep Clark from being suspicious? Was his olfactory sense as keenly developed as his sight and hearing?
She sniffed again, and this time, she smelled it. The aroma curled into her nostrils.
She inhaled again. And again. Hardly daring to believe.
Her mouth watered. Her stomach leapt with blissful recognition.
Pizza.
Lois hurried into the kitchen, her nose working double time to soak up the delectable forerunner of their lunch.
Clark was there - holding a pizza box as wispy whorls of aromatic steam rose from it.
"Clark?"
"I got it from my favourite place in Italy," he said, his face full of uncertainty.
Lois could wait no longer. She stepped up to him, lifted the lid on the box, and breathed in like a drowning woman plucked from the depths of the ocean.
When she looked back to Clark, he was grinning.
"You know, don't you?" Lois said.
She saw him consider a range of replies. Eventually, he just nodded.
"I guess I'm going to have to learn that very little escapes your notice."
He winced. "Sorry."
"Why did you get pizza?"
"Because when we talked about our favourite foods, I said that I loved apple pie, but there was pain there, too, because I always associated it with Mom. You said that you didn't know if you would ever eat pizza again. I figured you thought that maybe it was time to make some new memories." He shrugged self-consciously. "I didn't know what else to do."
Lois stretched over the box to give him a quick hug. "Well, I know exactly what to do," she said. "Let's eat before it gets cold."
Clark grinned, and they sat down together. He pushed the box towards her, offering her the first piece.
Lois took it out, dragging in great big breaths of reminiscence. How many times had she and Linda shared a pizza? Hundreds? Thousands? The memories flooded back - good memories. Memories that brought a smile and not a tear.
Lois took a bite and chewed, appreciating the taste of every individual topping. When she'd finished her piece, she looked at Clark. "Thank you," she said.
"I'm glad it didn't upset you more."
"It was a lovely thing to do."
He looked pleased by her comment. "Are you looking forward to seeing your dad?"
"Yeah. Are you still OK with coming in to the nursing home?"
He nodded.
Lois reached for another piece of pizza. "Tough things are easier to face when you share them with someone," she said.
"Yeah," he said with a smile.
||_||
Clark held Lois's hand as they walked into her father's nursing home. He'd never expected he would have to meet a girlfriend's father. It seemed so normal - something that most young men faced at some stage in their lives.
Young men.
Not young aliens.
Not a young alien living on a foreign planet.
Lois stopped as a nurse with a big smile greeted her enthusiastically. "Ronny," Lois said. "This is Clark Kent. Clark, this is Veronica."
His hand was shaken with gusto. "Call me 'Ronny'," the nurse said. "It's lovely to meet you, Clark."
"You, too," Clark said, smiling despite feeling a bit besieged by her exuberance.
"How's Dad?" Lois asked.
"He's doing really well," Ronny replied. "He added another four words to his sign list yesterday. Hurry in. I know he'll be delighted to see both of you."
Lois took Clark's hand again and led him through a big room and to a door to a smaller room. A man who had probably once been tall and distinguished sat in a wheelchair, working on a jigsaw puzzle in the tray that Clark had made. He looked up as they entered, and his face broke into a crooked expression that probably represented a smile.
Lois let go of Clark's hand and rushed forward to hug her father. As his right arm came around her shoulder, his eyes looked up to Clark.
Clark smiled, not sure what else to do.
When Lois backed away from the embrace, she picked up the jigsaw tray and placed it on the bed. Her father lifted his arm and swung it horizontally before dropping it to his wheelchair.
Lois laughed, sounding happier than she had all day. "Yes, Dad," she said. "This is Clark. Clark, this is my father, Sam Lane."
Mr Lane's head turned slowly to Clark, and their eyes met again. He lifted his hand, stretched it out, and placed the top of his fingers against his mouth. Then, his arm fell forward.
Lois's head snapped sideways, and Clark saw a large hand-written list of words above the bed.
"Thank you," she said.
Mr Lane nodded, his eyes still fixed on Clark.
"You're saying 'thank you' to Clark?" Lois asked.
Her dad nodded again. Then he made another sign.
"Thank you for making Lois happy," Lois interpreted.
Mr Lane nodded.
Clark smiled.
Mr Lane awkwardly stretched his hand towards Clark.
Clark shook it gently, immensely grateful for Sam Lane's affirmative reaction to him being with Lois.
Lois pulled up two chairs, and they both sat down.
She began talking about the jigsaw puzzle, and Clark sighed with relief at the opportunity to slip into the background.
The visit went well - as far as Clark could determine. Lois laughed more than once, and her dad smiled. She did most of the talking, but the communication seemed surprisingly two-way despite the obvious difficulties. Clark spoke a few times, but mostly he just enjoyed watching Lois in a new situation. Enjoyed watching her interact with her dad, who obviously loved his daughter very much.
His nervousness faded quickly; he wasn't overly relieved when Lois stood and kissed her dad's cheek to signify the end of the visit. Clark shook hands with Mr Lane and told him it was good to meet him.
He signed the words for 'thank you' and 'come'. Lois promised she would visit again soon, and Lois and Clark walked out of his room.
Clark slipped his hand into Lois's, and she turned to him with a smile.
"Thanks for coming," she said. "I know Dad enjoyed meeting you."
"I enjoyed meeting him," Clark said. "I can see that he loves you a lot."
Lois smiled. As they walked towards the exit, Clark looked around the room at the few people gathered around the television. His eyes fell on a copy of the Daily Planet lying on the coffee table.
His breath stopped. His head reeled.
The front page was filled with a shocking photo of a man with a shaggy beard and long, straggly hair.
Above the photo, the headline screamed: "ALIEN!"
||_||
Lois felt Clark's hand lurch in hers. Her eyes shot to his face, registered his horror, and followed his gaze to the paper lying on the coffee table. Her heart heaved with recognition. The photograph burned an image into her mind. The headline exploded from the paper, pumping alarm through her veins.
She put her other hand on Clark's arm to steady herself. After a moment to re-summon the ability to think clearly, she turned away from the paper and took a step towards Ronny, tightening her grip on Clark's hand to transmit the message that he needed to come with her.
"How did the big meeting go?" Ronny asked.
What big meeting? "Ah ... good," Lois said with a feigned smile. "So good that we're now running late."
Ronny smiled brightly. "It was lovely to meet you," she said to Clark. "I hope you come again."
"We will," Lois said quickly, not sure that Clark would be capable of a response. "See you next time, Ronny."
She walked towards the door, conscious only of the need to get Clark to a place where they could talk. Once outside, she scooted numbly along the sidewalk, just wanting to put some distance between them and anyone who might be idly looking out from the nursing home windows. At the corner, they turned. Lois saw the broad trunk of a tree and headed for it.
When they reached the cover afforded by its branches, she turned to Clark and put her hands on his neck. "We'll be all right," she whispered hoarsely. "We'll be all right."
His face was jagged with shock.
"Did you read the entire story?" Lois said.
He shook his head - jolty little movements that testified to his shaken emotions.
"Ronny didn't recognise you," Lois said. "The newspaper was right there, in the same room as you, and no one recognised that photograph as being you."
He didn't respond.
"We need to get a copy of the paper," Lois said.
"We can't," Clark hissed.
"We have to. We have to know what they're saying so we can decide how we're going to deal with it."
"I can't," he exclaimed. "Someone will see me. They'll know it's me."
From Lois's bag, her cell phone rang. She saw the call was from Scardino. She couldn't answer it now; there wasn't time, and when she talked to him, she wanted to do it on the security-enhanced agency cell phone. She disconnected the call and took Clark's hand firmly in hers. "Come with me," she said. "We'll go to the nearest newsstand and buy a copy."
"I can't."
"Yes, you can," she said. "We need to test this. If someone recognises you, we'll deny it. If things get really out of hand, you can pick me up and fly away so fast no one will know for sure what happened."
"I ..."
Lois smiled up at him. "You can do this," she said. "You've done much harder things than this."
His hand tightened around hers, and he gave her a stunted nod.
They walked out from under the haven provided by the tree. At the next corner, Lois saw a newsstand. A large group of people milled around it, reading, speculating loudly.
She marched to the newsstand. When she arrived, she had to let go of Clark's hand as she reached into her bag for her purse. She took out the coins, gave them to the vendor, took the paper, grasped Clark's hand again, and walked away.
Half a minute later, they found an empty alley.
A minute after that, they were in the kitchen of the farmhouse.
Lois slapped the paper on the table. "How fast can you read?" she said.
Clark's eyes were already scanning the words. He turned the first page and continued reading.
When he looked up, his face was pale, but his expression wasn't as appalled as Lois had feared. "It says I died," he said.
Lois felt the vice-like grip of her tension ease a fraction. "Is there any indication of the source of the information?"
"A 'senior agent' is quoted."
"Menzies?" Lois guessed. "Hold on a minute; I need to talk to Scardino." She raced up to the bedroom, grabbed her agency cell phone from the drawer, and dialled as she scurried down the stairs. He answered within seconds. "What's happening?" Lois said as she reached the kitchen.
"Have you seen it?"
"Yes."
"I've just called the higher-up," Scardino said. "His nephew sent a letter to the paper, claiming an escape and that he was attempting the recapture."
"He's the one quoted?"
"Yes."
"Does he still believe he was killed in the compound?"
"I think so."
"But surely, he must be wondering. He must wonder if there is any truth in the letter. He must wonder how I became involved in the attempt to recapture the prisoner."
"He didn't ask any questions. He seemed distracted."
Lois felt the tension grip again. Distracted by what? What else was coming to threaten them? "What are we going to do?"
"Say nothing and hope it dies a natural death."
"Do you think it will?"
"It's possible. The story barely skims the surface. Perhaps she doesn't know anything else."
"Does she know the agent is dead?"
"Yes. But there's no mention of him, or any details of his death."
"If she knows where he died, that's only a small step to us."
"The higher-up will want that kept out of the papers for his wife's sake. He won't want attempted rape added to the mix."
"Do you know why he didn't come to the party when the sheriff called?" Lois asked.
"No. He called to inform me of the death and asked that I go and arrange for transportation of the body. He didn't say anything else."
"You really think this could be all?" Lois asked, daring to hope.
"Do any locals read the city paper?"
Lois looked to Clark, who shook his head. "No," she replied into the phone.
"Good. The story doesn't give a timeframe, but we don't want anyone connecting this with the disappearance."
"What are we going to do?"
"We are going to ride it out," Scardino said. "This changes nothing. Tell him to hang in there."
"OK. Bye." Lois disconnected the cell and laid it on the table. "You heard all that?"
Clark nodded.
She stepped up to him and folded her arms around his neck, hugging him closely. "We'll be all right," she said. "We're together. We'll be all right."
She could feel the trepidation straining the muscles of his body. She held him for a long time, hoping it would dissipate. When he didn't relax, she backed away and looked up with a smile. "No one recognised you," she said. "Around the newsstand, they were all looking at the photo. You were right there, yet no one thought you were the person in the photo."
"Did you hear what they were saying?" Clark asked.
"No," Lois said. "I just wanted to get a paper and get out of there."
"They were saying how evil I looked. They were scared. Even though they think I'm dead, they were scared of what I could have done to them. They said -"
Lois put her fingers over his mouth. "What could they tell from a photo?" she said.
"They could tell that I'm different. And because of that, they found it easy to believe the worst about me."
Lois turned from him and picked up the paper. "This is how you looked when I first saw you," she said. "This is how you looked when I walked into your cell. This is how you looked when I washed your hair. This is how you looked when we arranged our first 'date'." She tossed the paper onto the table. "Were my actions the actions of someone who thought you were evil?"
"But you're different. You're -"
"Then we're a good match," Lois said. "You're worried because you're different. But as you've just said, I'm different, too."
"Lois ... " His gaze settled on the paper, and she saw the hurt and rejection in his face.
"Is there much detail?" she asked. "About your time in the cell?"
"Nothing accurate," he said. "It reads as if it were nothing more than a high-security prison."
Lois picked up the paper again. "Take this into the barn and burn it," she said. "We don't want anyone from around here seeing it."
"Don't you want to read it first?"
Lois snorted. "No," she said. "I have better things to do with my time."
"It says I wanted to rule the world. To conquer this planet and kill its people. It says I'm inhuman, and vicious, and -"
She ran her hand down his chest. "The reporter is just parroting Moyne," she said. "And he parroted Trask. I love you, and I *know* they are wrong."
Clark took the newspaper from her. "I'll get rid of this," he said.
He walked out of the door, and Lois watched him, wishing that destroying the impact of the story could be as easy as burning the newspaper.
