“How much did we get from the raid?” Straker asked when Freeman got back to his office.
“Three of Trask’s goons, a lot of junk,” Freeman answered. “It looks like they’d already moved the good stuff, or maybe they never had any.”
“Any idea what the piece they got away with was?” Straker asked.
Freeman shook his head. “It was something that seemed important to Kent, though. I thought he was going to pass out when he saw it. …and speaking of Lane and Kent, any idea how they managed to get through Trask’s supposedly impenetrable security?”
“Oh, I’m sure they had help,” Straker assured him with a flicker of a smile. “Just like they, and the Daily Planet Building, had help this afternoon to avoid getting hit by an air to air missile.”
“Superman?”
Straker nodded. “Bureau 39 has been declared a terrorist organization. Interpol has posted a black notice on him and his known confederates. The FBI is not well pleased to find out he’d targeted government officials. Every airstrip in North America has been asked to keep an eye out for his plane. Luckily there aren’t all that many Gulfstream Twos out there with jungle camo and missile mounts. Throwing two reporters out of one of their airplanes at 20,000 feet didn’t do anything to endear him to his supposed masters as the NSA, either. And now half the U.S. military is falling all over the other half to prove that Trask didn’t get the missile from them.”
“Do we know where he did get it?”
“It’s possible he traded some of his finds to some foreign power,” Straker suggested.
“Or?” Freeman prompted.
“Or some arms dealer just happened to lose a couple of missiles.”
“Scary thought, arms dealers having access to tech that advanced,” Freeman admitted.
“Assuming Trask gave them anything they could use,” Straker said.
“Have we any idea where Trask is holed up?”
“He hasn’t left the planet,” Straker said. “And we’re pretty sure he hasn’t left the country.”
“Well, we both know he isn’t going to just give up,” Freeman reminded Straker. “He’s just going to lay low until he thinks the heat is off then go after Superman again.”
“He won’t stay low for long,” Straker warned. “Lane and Kent humiliated him in front of his men, and so did Superman.”
“I’m surprised nobody’s said anything about me letting Trask take those reporters away with him,” Freeman commented. “It could have gone very badly for them.”
“What were you supposed to do? Break through the back door and get into a fire fight with him? You had no idea what Trask planned to do with them when he left. Besides, they were trespassing.”
“It still could have gone very wrong,” Freeman said.
“Yes, it could have,” Straker finally agreed. “And we’re damned lucky it didn’t. We may not be so lucky next time.”
-o-o-o-
Freeman’s dreams were filled with horrific visions of a cold dead world with a soot black sky.
“What’s the date?” a young Straker asked a glum looking little man in an old-fashioned suit. Freeman couldn’t place the man’s name but thought he ought to.
“November 15, 1994,” the man answered. His accent was cultured British with a touch of something else as well. “It is now one year since Nightfall collided with the planet Earth.”
Freeman looked around at their surroundings. There was nothing but rubble a far as the eye could see – rubble, twisted steel, broken glass. The air was dank and there were smells Freeman didn’t want to identify. Half-buried in one of the nearer debris piles was an object Freeman was surprised to see – the brass globe that had adorned the Daily Planet Building.
“Did anyone survive?” Straker asked. His voice was hushed and Freeman wondered if Straker was a shaken as he was. “Anyone at all?”
The little man’s expression turned even more glum if that was possible. “Lex Luthor had been told that his shelter beneath his building would be able to withstand all but a direct strike. But his engineers had underestimated the effects of such a large strike on the crust of the Earth. The crust cracked like the shell of a hard-boiled egg. The earthquakes… the volcanoes… not to mention the dust thrown into the upper atmosphere, blocking out the sun.”
“Nuclear winter,” Straker said. “How long until the atmosphere clears?”
“A thousand years, perhaps.”
“And you say this all happened because this Superman person was murdered?” Straker asked.
“The best of Earth’s technology was unable to divert the asteroid,” the little man said. “You, Ed Straker, even brought in the help of the people you knew had access to technology not developed on Earth. All for naught.”
“And why should we believe that this is anything but some fantastic trick?” Freeman demanded.
“Commander, what can I do…?” the little man began.
Straker didn’t pay him any attention as he looked at the devastation around them. “This can’t be real. But…” He shook his head. “I’ve seen the future and this isn’t it. So if this is real we’re looking at a paradox. They both can’t be right.”
“The future you remember will unravel, unless you stop Jason Trask from killing the one being capable of saving the Earth and saving the future.”
“And if I don’t?”
The little man looked at Straker with sad eyes. “Then the future dies, and so do you.”
