52 - The Novel Read online

  "Who the hell are you?" she demanded.

  "I asked you first." He lobbed the emptied gun back to her.

  She caught the pistol, then scrambled to her feet amidst the strewn trash. A greasy fast-food wrapper clung to her jeans. "I shot you," she insisted. "I know I shot you."

  "Are you sure?" He opened his coat, showing her the bullet holes in his lapel.

  Renee squeezed the grip of her pistol. Even though she knew it was empty, the feel of the gun in her hand was reassuring. Her memory replayed those frantic moments in the -loft when she had fired a t the intruder. Was it possible that he had somehow managed to dodge the bullets via some tricky kung fu move? "Pretty sure."

  "So you are a detective after all." Even though he didn't have a mouth, she could practically hear him grinning. Smug bastard.

  She frowned at his assertion. "No, I'm not. I've got a new job. It's called being a drunk."

  He sounded dubious. "Do I judge you by what you say or by what you do, Renee?"

  "How do you know my name?" she asked suspiciously. What is it about me that keeps attracting these freaks? And how come it's never Catwoman that comes slinking into my life? ,

  "I'm hiring you. Two hundred dollars a day plus expenses." He reached beneath his coat and extracted a thick roll of bills, bound together by a rubber band. He shoved the roll in Renee's free hand. "First three weeks, paid in advance."

  She blinked in surprise, completely taken aback by this unexpected development. She flicked through the bills, seeing plenty of crisp green hundreds. Benjamin Franklin smiled up at her. What the hell? she thought, trying to make sense of it all. This guy breaks into my home, nearly gets himself killed, just to offer me a job?

  "Don't judge the building by how it looks," he advised her. "Judge it by how it's used and by who uses it...."

  Her nose caught a whiff of that same chemical odor. Opaque blue fumes began to rise from the stranger's clothing. Renee had seen Batman exit under the cover of a smokescreen too many times not to realize what was happening. Especially after the stranger's disappearing act in her apartment the night before.

  "What? Wait!" She lunged forward, trying to stop the faceless mystery man from vanishing again, but her hands grabbed onto nothing but a dense blue mist. "I still have questions!"

  She could forget about getting any answers, though. The stranger Was gone once more, leaving behind a column of smoke in the shape of a question mark. The puzzling symbol fit her mood perfectly. She contemplated the roll of banknotes in her hand.

  What was that all about?

  WEEK 3

  SHIRUTA.

  A marble statue of a beautiful woman and two smiling children dominated Black Adam's private sanctum. Clad in the garments of ancient Egypt, where he had fought on behalf of Pharaoh Ramses II, they occupied a position of honor within the spacious chamber, posed before an open balcony that looked out over the entire city. Massive stone columns, engraved with intricate arabesques, supported the ceiling. An imposing mahogany desk rested in one corner, beneath a large framed map of the world. Potted ferns and palm trees brought a touch of nature to the grandiose decor.

  His arms clasped behind his back, Adam grimly contemplated the statue of his murdered family. Even after three thousand years, the pain of their loss still gnawed at his soul, spurring him on in his sacred crusade to stamp out evil wherever he found it. The sun set behind the statue, briefly granting the figures a radiant halo. Adam wondered if Shiruta's spirit still waited for him in the Land of the Dead, or if she had given up on him millennia ago.

  Time weighed heavily upon him. Plans were in motion, but there was little for him to do at the present. A long, lonely evening awaited him.

  "Black Adam." A servant addressed him from behind. "You have visitors."

  He turned to find the aged servant, his head bowed in respect, escorting three unfamiliar personages into his presence. Two men, both wearing Westem-style business suits, flanked a dark-haired young woman whose body was clothed in a shapeless violet gown. A blindfold was fastened over the maiden's eyes and her arms were tied behind her back. Black Adam did not find it remarkable that his guards had permitted the strangers to venture all the way to his office. Indestructible as he was,,he required little protection ... as past assassins had learned to their regret.

  "Who are they?" he asked the servant in Arabic.

  "We're friends," answered one of the men, a stocky fellow whose insincere smile reminded Adam of an unscrupulous camel merchant. A dark mustache and beard failed to conceal his greasy complexion. He held a black metal case before him, while his companion held onto the woman by her shoulders. The speaker's accent betrayed his American origins.

  "You speak Arabic," Adam observed.

  "I'm not just brawn," the man declared. His phony smile stretched even wider. "The name's Rough House. This is Noose."

  The other man was tall and lanky, with sandy red hair and a smirking expression. "It's a pleasure, your highness."

  "I am not a king," Adam clarified. He considered himself Kahndaq's champion, not its monarch. He regarded the men warily, his arms crossed atop his chest.

  "Regardless," Rough House declared, "we've come here to offer you gifts." He opened the metal case, revealing a quantity of gold ingots. "Two million in African gold." He nodded at Noose, who pushed the barefoot woman forward. "And the most beautiful virgin in all of Egypt." An odious leer exposed his vile character. "Guaranteed."

  Adam contemplated the pair's offerings. "May I ask why you have brought me these 'gifts'?"

  "To congratulate you on the opening of your embassy in Metropolis," Rough House explained. Adam was scheduled to attend the opening later this week. "And to say hello on behalf of our employers. Intergang."

  I see, Adam thought. Intergang was an American crime syndicate that was well known for applying advanced technology to the practice of organized crime. Although he had never personally dealt with Intergang before, he was more than familiar with their infamous reputation. Then again, he recalled, he himself had often been unfairly maligned by the Western press. It seemed unlikely, but perhaps the notorious syndicate had also been misrepresented? He resolved to hear the men out before rendering judgment.

  "The world is still recovering from the Crisis," Rough House continued. "My bosses are hoping to take advantage of that. We're already essentially running Bialya, as you may be aware."

  "Perhaps," Adam allowed. Bialya, Kahndaq's neighbor to the south, was a rogue nation that been ruled by a succession of military strongmen for several decades now. Adam had heard rumors that a foreign crime syndicate was pulling the strings of Bialya's latest puppet ruler, one Colonel Harjvati. Apparently, those rumors were well founded. "Go on."

  "Now we're looking to expand," Rough House said. "And Kahndaq is essentially the bridge between Africa and the Middle East."

  Noose expanded on his accomplice's spiel. "There are a lot of people willing to pay truckloads for the kind of weapons Intergang can supply. Thanagar-ian. Apokoliptian."

  Black Adam caught the references to two warlike alien civilizations. Apparently Intergang's tentacles extended beyond the boundaries of Earth's solar system. The thought of such weapons falling into the wrong hands gave him pause.

  "We're more than willing to cut you in on the action," Rough House offered, "in exchange for, what shall we call it? Safe passage?"

  Noose must have let his grip on the young woman relax, for she suddenly twisted free of his grasp and lashed out at her captors. "Let me go, monsters!" she shouted defiantly. Her unshod foot kicked Noose in the shins even as she rammed her slender shoulder into Rough House. Adam admired her spirit. Clearly, she was unwilling to be traded like chattel.

  "Hey!" Noose reacted in surprise. He grabbed for the girl, his face contorted by anger. The genesis of his nickname became clear as his flexible fingers stretched like vines around the maiden's throat. Struggling to free herself once more, she gasped for breath. "Dammit, hold still! Hold still, you stupid—" br />
  "Noose!" Rough House said sharply "Don't damage his gift." He glowered at the other man until Noose ceased throttling the squirming girl. The lanky gangster retracted his fingers, and held on to to the girl by her chin and hair, clearly intent on making sure that she didn't get loose again. Satisfied, Rough House turned back toward Adam. He acted as though the brief disturbance was not worth mentioning. "So. What do you say?"

  Black Adam scowled. I have seen enough, he decided.

  Without warning, he reached out and pulped Noose's head like a balloon filled with red gelatin. Blood and brains splattered the pristine marble floor. Rough House looked on in horror.

  "I say no."

  METROPOLIS.

  The cocktail party took place in a lavish penthouse suite overlooking Centennial Park. Stylishly dressed men and women sipped champagne, mingled, and networked throughout the suite. Picture windows offered a spectacular view of the city at night. Thirsty guests flocked to the free bar.

  "To the future, Mr. Gold!" a dapper young CEO toasted Booster. Crystal champagne flutes clinked together. "And to the stock options that will make you a billionaire once we go public."

  Sounds good to me, Booster thought. He had just signed a potentially lucrative endorsement contract with Akteon-Holt, an up-and-coming new pharmaceuticals company. The party was to celebrate his new relationship with the firm. The company's logo was already in place upon his uniform. He smiled in anticipation of depositing a sizable payment into his bank account. Last week's jet rescue had raised his price significantly. •

  "I'm curious," Leonard Akteon asked. "What made you so certain that a relatively small company like mine was worth your time?"

  "Skeets," Booster admitted, gesturing toward the robot floating nearby. "I was on the lookout for a new sponsor, and he recommended you as a man on the rise." In fact, according to Skeets, Akteon-Holt was destined to become one of the economic powerhouses of the twentieth-first century. And I'm getting in on the ground floor!

  "Shame," a new voice broke into the conversation. A trio of men in dark suits and sunglasses barged through the crowd toward Booster and the startled CEO. "Mr. Leonard Akteon?" The leader intruder flashed a badge. "Agent Rogers, Secret Service." A second agent held out a warrant. "You're under arrest for securities fraud."

  "What!" Akteon almost choked on his champagne. "There ... there must be some mistake ...!"

  "Yeah, yours," Agent Rogers snarled. "The SEC has had you under investigation for some time now. Their case is open and shut." His men clamped a pair of handcuffs onto the businessman's wrists and began to escort him toward the door. Stunned partygoers, including Booster, looked on in dismay. "So much for 'Akteon-Holt.' Hope you didn't spend too much on letterhead." Rogers sneered at the dumbfounded guests witnessing the perp walk. "Party's over."

  Booster watched numbly as Akteon disappeared through the exit, taking billions of imaginary profits with him. He wheeled around to confront Skeets.

  "You ... you .. !" -

  The robot seemed equally taken aback by what had just occurred, “sir, i ... i ddn’t . . . that wasn’t suppdsed To happen!” At least Skeets wasn't having a complete breakdown, complete with sparks and static, like he had at the memorial service, “perhaps i am malfunctioning, shall i

  ATTEMPT A TOTAL REBOOT?”

  "No," Booster decided. That hadn't worked before. "I want you to find someone for me." He stepped out onto the balcony outside the penthouse and launched himself into the air. Agent Rogers was right; the party was over. "Get me everything you can on the current whereabouts of a man called Hunter."

  I should have done this before, he thought. The first time history went wrong.

  "Rip Hunter."

  METROPOLIS.

  The brownstone had once housed the Themysciran Embassy, before the Amazons of Paradise Island withdrew from this plane of existence, leaving only Wonder Woman behind. Now the Kahndaqi flag flew above the building, as the crowd outside waited for Black Adam to make his promised appearance. Police officers had set up wooden barricades to keep back the mob of reporters and demonstrators swarming the scene. Picketers held aloft signs protesting Black Adam's illegal takeover of Kahndaq, as well as scores of alleged human rights violations. Other demonstrators attempted to remind the media of Black Adam's frequent clashes with Earth's true heroes, both before and after he became a de facto head of state. REMEMBER THE FREEDOM FIGHTERS! one handmade banner implored; rumor had it Black Adam had taken part in the grisly massacre of an American super-hero team early on in the Crisis. FREE KAHNDAQ! another sign demanded. BLACK ADAM IS A WEAPON OF MASS DESTRUCTION ! '

  Lois Lane was among the reporters covering the embassy's opening. She dictated some background material into her handheld tape recorder:

  "One of the most controversial individuals in the world today, Black Adam claims to have lived and ruled Kahndaq during the Nineteenth Dynasty as the historical figure Teth-Adam. Scholars and Middle Eastern leaders dispute these assertions and have called Black Adam a 'pretender' and 'one of today's greatest evils.' "

  She hit Stop on the recorder, then played back what she had dictated to make sure it had recorded properly. Satisfied with the sound quality, she put away the device and went back to mingling with her fellow reporters, who were busily speculating about Black Adam's motives and intentions. No one was quite sure what to expect today, including Lois.

  "Heard rumors from D.C.," Vicki Vale of the Gotham Gazette was saying, "that he's about to open up his country to super-villains. Anyone wanted for a crime gets a free pass."

  Lois was skeptical. "Why would he do that? From what I know, he doesn't want anything to do with them."

  "Well then, what does he want, Lois?" asked Steve Lombard of WGBS-TV.

  Flashbulbs suddenly went off all around them. The protestors booed and chanted louder. Lois looked up at the balcony overlooking the embassy's front door. "I think he's about to tell us."

  Black Adam floated above the balcony, defying gravity as easily as Clark usually could. He gazed down at the people below, his inscrutable expression giving little hint as to what he had in mind. His muscular arms were crossed atop his chest.

  "Thank you all for coming." He spoke English with a slight Middle Eastern accent. "Over the last year> I have dedicated myself exclusively to the people of Kahndaq." He paused dramatically. "That ends today."

  Uh-oh, Lois thought. I don't like the sound of that. According to Clark, Black Adam had all of Captain Marvel's powers and none of the Captain's innate decency and restraint. That’s a dangerous combination, especially these days.

  "The world has celebrated the aversion of disaster," Black Adam declared. "They have praised the heroes who stood up to save them. Superman, Batman, and Wonder Woman. But where are they now?"

  Lois scowled. Don't go writing my man off just yet, she thought. Superman will be back before you know it.

  Or so she hoped.

  "I hope to gather allies. Brothers-in-arms who will deliver messages to everyone out there looking to take advantage of the heroes' absence."

  He glanced down at the balcony, and Lois belatedly realized that Black Adam was not alone. A stocky man in a business suit stood upon the balcony, looking apprehensively up at Black Adam. It took Lois a second to recognize the sweaty individual as Rough House, one of Intergang's super-powered enforcers. Was Black Adam in cahoots with Intergang? If so, that was serious bad news for the rest of the world, Talk about an unholy alliance!

  Then again, Rough House didn't look too comfortable up on the balcony. He tugged nervously at his collar. Perspiration beaded on his forehead. He looked like he wanted to bolt from the balcony, but was afraid of provoking Black Adam. He swallowed hard as the floating superman continued to address the world. His eyes darted from side to side, as if searching desperately for an escape route.

  "The first message is simple," Black Adam said. "People like this man don't deserve to live."

  "What?" Rough House's eyes went wide with panic. He
backed away fearfully, holding up his hands. "Wait, your highness! Please!"

  Black Adam paid no heed to the hoodlum's pleas. Swooping down from on high, he plucked Rough House from the balcony ... and ripped the man in two. Blood spattered Lois and the other reporters as the severed halves of the dead man's body rained down onto the sidewalk in front of the embassy. Crimson gore sprayed over the signs of the protestors, mocking their pitiful efforts to censure the ruthless dictator. Lois gagged as she wiped Rough House's blood from her face. Her fingers came away red. A few feet away, Steve Lombard vomited onto the pavement.

  He wasn't the only one.

  "It's time for heroes who don't just patrol the world," Black Adam declared. "They change it."

  He took off into the sky, rapidly disappearing from view. Lois had no idea where he was going next, but she doubted that it boded well for the rest of humanity.

  Looks like Black Adam isn't just Kahndaq's problem anymore.

  WEEK 4

  GOTHAM CITY.

  Even when she was on the force, Renee had hated surveillance. It was so boring, it practically redefined the word. "Bor-ing: adjective, tiresome. See also: Surveillance."

  She was camped out behind the wheel of her dented red sedan, which was parked across the road from the abandoned building at 520 Kane Street. Cigarettes and coffee rested upon the dashboard, vital necessities for the long hours ahead. The hot and muggy night made her wish she could run the car's air conditioner for awhile. Perspiration glued her white T-shirt to her back. Her Smith & Wesson rested securely in her shoulder holster. She rolled down the window to let in a little fresh air.

  Stakeouts were hard on the body too. Sitting in the same place, focusing on the same thing for five, six, maybe even eight hours at a time definitely gave you a whole new appreciation for over-the-counter painkillers. She rescued a bottle of generic aspirin from the glove compartment and poured a couple tablets into her palm. She washed the pills down with a mouthful of cold coffee.