Ceridov followed Luthor along the jetty to the beach, where an unmarked Jeep waited. The KGB general seemed too confident, perhaps even teasing. “We will take over the world soon enough. When all is said and done, perhaps we can turn your little island into a vacation resort for party officials!” He laughed at his own joke. Luthor did not.
“Don’t believe your own propaganda, General. I like my island exactly the way it is.” Though undeniably charismatic, Castro seemed an unruly and unwashed fanatic, dedicated to the Communist cause with a fervor that had not been equaled since Lenin himself. Instead, Luthor had paid substantial bribes to the current Cuban dictator, Batista, finding it simpler to manipulate a man who could be bought, a man who showed a healthy and normal tendency to basic greed rather than a passion for an esoteric cause.
“My position here is secure, and I am left undisturbed to do my work. Everyone from Cuba to Jamaica to the Bahamas knows to avoid this area. I’ve been forced to sink a fishing boat and couple of pleasure craft to emphasize that point. The nighttime fires from my smokestacks and flames from the firing of test rockets are enough to feed local superstitions that some giant dragon lives here.” He rolled his eyes at their gullibility, even if it served his own purposes.
First off, Luthor drove his guest up to the launch complex, pleased to show the black-star general what he had accomplished with his own fortune, his own ingenuity and investment. The missile launchpads bore dramatic patterns of soot and char from test blasts. When the general seemed overly fascinated with the red-painted gantries and cooled tanks filled with propellant, Luthor said, “If you think that’s impressive, let me show you something much more unusual.” The skin around Luthor’s eyes crinkled, the closest he ever came to a genuine and unrehearsed smile.
He led Ceridov to ranks of dish-shaped projectors, and both men gazed at all the beam transmitters pointing to the skies. “These focused energy rays can shoot directly through the atmosphere and strike any incoming target. It is a perfect defense against Soviet aggression.” He turned to the KGB general. “I hope you are as eager to test it as I am.”
Ceridov was intrigued. “Certainly, comrade Luthor. For a long time now, I have wanted the opportunity to demonstrate our missiles in a real combat situation. Normally that would lead to the end of human civilization—”
“But with these beams, I could intercept your missiles before they cause any damage. This way, we both win.”
“You would take that risk?” Ceridov’s bushy eyebrows lifted. “The danger to America…”
“I prefer not to think of myself as just an American. I am a citizen of the world. My world.”
During the tour of the island, Luthor intentionally kept the Soviet officer from the secluded north end, where the largest and most ambitious construction work took place. Ceridov didn’t need to see any of that. It was a different part of Luthor’s plan.
He brought his guest to the main command center, a modern structure built around the old fortress walls and a tower of ancient stone. His headquarters, control room, and offices were inside new cinder-block structures whose interior walls were painted white or seafoam green. Rather than simple hardwood planking, the floors were the most modern waxed linoleum in alternating squares of black and white. His central control room had large computer banks that displayed amazing constellations of indicator lights. These electronic superbrains had been modified from von Neumann’s original designs for the sophisticated computer called ENIAC, with an added dash of Luthor genius.
“And what supplies your power?” Ceridov mused as he walked past the tall computers, regarding the flashing lights as though they imparted some sort of secret message. “Your own reactor? A new-model design, I presume?”
“The very best design.” Luthor nodded smugly. “Far superior to your antique at the Ariguska camp.”
“Antique! That is the most sophisticated new Soviet model.”
Luthor made a bland gesture. “As I said…” He merely showed Ceridov the control rods and indicated the maximum power levels he could achieve using high-quality radioactive material diverted from the processing plants in Oak Ridge, Tennessee.
“And how did you build this reactor? In my gulag, we lost many prisoners to hazardous radiation exposures. Safety measures are very expensive.”
“I may not have a prison camp, General, but I do have a pool of expendable workers.”
“You continue to surprise me.”
“As it should be.” Luthor turned back to the much more interesting weapons systems. “My focused-energy-ray defense system will be complete as soon as I receive a few important components from my insiders at Wayne Enterprises. When I am ready for the test firing, will you be prepared for my signal? We have to give them a real target.”
“Two of our most hawkish generals are easily provoked. General Gregor Petreivich Endovik and General Ivan Ivanovich Dubrov have long advocated a preemptive strike against America. They are my puppets. They will play right into my hands.”
Nodding calmly to himself, Luthor regarded the large screens on the control-room walls, which showed live images of oblivious people going about their daily business in Washington, D.C.; Metropolis; London; Leningrad—reading newspapers, hurrying to catch a bus, walking inside skyscrapers, shopping in open-air markets, playing in parks with their children or pets.
This little “incident” would ratchet international tensions even higher, thereby benefiting both Ceridov and himself. Once Luthor successfully demonstrated his unexpected defensive system, he would seem to be a savior, after which he would sell his extravagantly expensive “death ray” to the U.S. Department of Defense. And after Luthor’s energy beams had destroyed the Soviet missiles, General Ceridov would be able to demand—and get—more spending for his military, thereby ensuring a continued and profitable arms buildup on both sides.
Ceridov frowned. “Once our nuclear missiles are launched, I will not be able to recall them. You are positive that your system will be effective?”
“I am entirely confident.” How dare the man suggest otherwise? “Complete and total nuclear annihilation would be bad for business.”
Ceridov took him at his word. “Do you have vodka? We must toast.”
“This is the Caribbean,” Luthor reminded him irritably. “We have rum.”
“It will have to do.” Ceridov waited as Luthor extracted a bottle and two glasses from a metal desk drawer and poured them each a drink. They raised a silent toast, each man mulling over his own grand dreams.
CHAPTER 27
LAS VEGAS, NEVADA
THOUGH THEY INTENDED TO PURSUE THE STORY TO NELLIS Air Force Base the following day, Clark and Jimmy had to stay overnight in Las Vegas. Self-conscious about the expense to the Daily Planet, Clark drove around comparing room rates. Finally, they found a budget motor hotel with two beds, air-conditioning (which, unfortunately, didn’t work), and a private bathroom: the Atomic Age Motel.
After they checked in, Clark and Jimmy were free for a night on the Vegas Strip (though both of them were somewhat intimidated by the prospect). Clark flipped through a copy of the Las Vegas Sun and was surprised to find a wire-service article on page seven about Lex Luthor’s press conference, in which he accused Superman of collusion in the robbery of his mansion. The reporter seemed to make much of the fact that Superman had not been seen in Metropolis for a day or two and had made no public response to Luthor’s accusations.
Clark pressed his lips together, upset by the implications. He had not been helping Batman escape—he’d been taking him off to the authorities. The two had never been partners in any way! How could anyone, especially Lex Luthor, accuse Superman of dishonesty?
Jonathan Kent had always insisted, “A man’s actions say everything about him that anyone needs to know.” Superman did not need to defend himself against accusations from a man like Luthor. Clark tossed the newspaper into the wastebasket and tried not to think about it anymore.
On their way out, Jimmy stopped t
o stare at a metal slot machine in the shabby lobby of the motel. It was adorned with a whirling model of a nucleus and a bright loop of neon light. Jimmy’s small supply of money was obviously burning a hole in his pocket, and he pulled out a shiny nickel. “Okay, just once. I don’t usually gamble, but…well, we are in Las Vegas.” He held up the coin and looked with some trepidation at the seductive machine. “I should give it a whirl, right?”
“Those things are called one-armed bandits for a good reason, Jimmy.”
Undeterred, Jimmy plunked the nickel into the slot, pulled the handle, and set the machine in motion. With a quick glimpse of his X-ray vision, Clark viewed the mechanism behind the small transparent windows and saw what lay in store for his friend.
The reels spun, and Jimmy stepped back as though afraid the machine might turn white hot. The blur of whirling cartoon fruit halted sequentially, and Jimmy gasped with delight as the first, then second, then third bunch of cherries thunked to a halt. A light on top of the machine blinked and a bell clanged. With a clatter, a wealth of coins showered into the spill tray: twenty nickels.
Jimmy yelped with excitement, scooped up the coins, and counted them. “A dollar, Mr. Kent—I won a whole dollar!”
“Actually, ninety-five cents. You spent—”
“I never won anything before! I can’t believe it. Maybe we should go to one of the casinos. I’m hot tonight!”
“Jimmy, right now you’re ahead ninety-five cents. Do you want to risk losing it?”
“Maybe I should just keep my winnings.” Jimmy settled down, though he still seemed unable to believe his good fortune.
Clark allowed himself to share his friend’s innocent joy, but his thoughts drifted back to the crash site of the supposed spacecraft. As Superman, he had seen and chased a mysterious UFO across the United States. He’d watched the Air Force jets doggedly pursue it. Now the military had taken away this crashed vessel from Mercy Draw, presumably the same one. Had there been any alien survivors aboard?
He tried to imagine what might have happened if his own Kryptonian spaceship had been intercepted by the U.S. Army instead of the humble Kents. How different his life would have been if he’d grown up on a secret military base rather than in Smallville, Kansas.
In their rental car, Clark and Jimmy drove along the Strip, passing one gaudy casino after another: the Sands, the New Frontier, and the famous Desert Inn. Clark could see that his friend was about fit to bust, as Jonathan Kent might have said.
“Look at all the colors, the lights! Have you ever imagined so much neon in the whole world?” Jimmy kept staring at the marquees. The Dunes advertised what was purportedly “The Greatest Show in Vegas”—Minsky’s Follies. “What do you suppose that is, Mr. Kent? Singing and dancing?”
Clark looked at the fine print beneath. “‘A daring new topless show.’” When Jimmy blushed bright red, Clark suggested instead something more their speed. “How about another movie?”
Jimmy agreed immediately. “Invasion of the Body Snatchers is playing. I’ve been dying to see that one!”
THE THEATER WAS MOSTLY EMPTY, AS THE LOCALS APPARENTLY preferred gambling to motion pictures. Jimmy sat wide-eyed, munching his popcorn, while Clark pondered the implications of this latest installment in the current “evil alien” film genre. As they left, both were unsettled (though for different reasons) by the frightening invasion of “pod-people,” capped by Kevin McCarthy’s paranoid tour-de-force performance at the end. They’re coming! They’re coming!
As they returned to the Atomic Age Motel, knowing they had to get up early for the long drive out into the desert, Jimmy finally asked the question on his mind. “Do you suppose there could be aliens walking among us—ones that look just like people, so we can never tell? More aliens…not just Superman?”
Clark automatically brushed aside the idea. “It’s just a movie, Jimmy. It’s supposed to scare you—for fun. It’s not real.”
Jimmy nodded, abashed. “You’re probably right, Mr. Kent.” Clark gave the young man’s shoulder a comforting pat, and they walked toward their room in silence, thinking their own thoughts.
CHAPTER 28
THE CAVE
IN THE DANK SHADOWS OF THE CAVE, THE MYSTERIOUS mineral fragment emitted its own gemstone light, an eerie emerald glow, though no unusual radiation registered on Bruce Wayne’s sophisticated instruments. When he passed a Geiger counter wand in front of it, the device yielded no clicks, no static. The rock shed no intrinsic heat; in fact, it felt cold and oily to the touch.
No wonder Lex Luthor was so interested in this sample. But why did it have such a dramatic effect on Superman, who seemed impervious to all other forms of attack? A simple exposure to the rock had nearly paralyzed him. Bruce had seen it with his own eyes.
After extricating himself from the debacle at Luthor’s mansion, he realized that too many things simply didn’t make sense—Superman foremost among them. Was the “Man of Steel” the personal watchdog of Lex Luthor? Superman had denied the accusation…but why else would he have raced in to protect the mansion and prevent Batman’s escape? On the other hand, why hadn’t he simply delivered Batman to Luthor and his goons, rather than flying off with him?
Did LuthorCorp have something to do with his superpowers? And if Luthor could create a Superman, why would he waste time dabbling with the bulky and primitive battlesuits based on Wayne Enterprises technology when those suits were clearly inferior to Superman’s demonstrated abilities?
And what did this lump of green rock have to do with anything?
Bruce continued to run his tests. Researching the name “Ariguska,” he discovered an isolated region of Siberia, unremarkable save for the fact that a large meteor had hit there two decades ago. Classified maps suggested, but did not confirm, that a harsh gulag was known to exist in the vicinity. Did the Soviets have some kind of mine there, the source of this rare and unusual mineral? And what could it be used for in a practical and industrial sense?
Around the United States, thanks to the burgeoning nuclear industry, prospectors were combing remote deserts and mountains using Geiger counters to locate natural uranium deposits, hoping to strike it rich. Atomic power showed great potential, and the nuclear weapons industry had a constant demand for new fissile material.
Bruce ran a fingertip along the smooth green face of the stone. Had Lex Luthor or his Siberian cronies discovered a substance potentially more powerful than uranium?
Crystalline spectroscopy had broken down the mineral’s content of heavy elements as well as strange inclusions of inert atoms and noble gases—argon, neon, even krypton. Other than that, the mineral itself seemed unremarkable. But if Luthor considered the green rock so extraordinarily valuable, there had to be something more to it….
Studying the unusual rock under high magnification, he detected a shocked crystalline structure, which implied that this sample had been subjected to tremendous heat and pressure—an impact or a great explosion. Perhaps this was a fragment of the Ariguska meteorite….
The mineral sample wasn’t the only mystery he had uncovered in Luthor’s secure private office, though. Bruce wondered what kind of “property” Luthor was demanding the U.S. military return to him? Why was he so interested in Area 51? Why had unmarked LuthorCorp planes been chasing the UFO, according to Superman’s statement, and what had they done to cause the F-100D to crash?
Bruce was certain everything was connected.
He looked up to find Alfred approaching with a tray bearing dinner. He set it down on one of the laboratory tables and removed the plate covering with a flourish. “A fresh salad and pea soup, sir.” The butler regarded the glowing emerald mineral next to all of Bruce’s analytical notes. “I noticed you seem to be in a green phase today.”
CHAPTER 29
NELLIS AIR FORCE BASE, NEVADA
THE ENDLESSLY MONOTONOUS SCRUB DESERT OF SOUTHERN Nevada looked different from the endlessly monotonous desert of Arizona…and yet the same. Clark drove the rental car
again for hours along the eerily deserted highway. “You’d almost expect to see buzzards circling up there.”
With the highway map spread out on his knees, Jimmy looked up to study the cloudless blue sky. “I’d rather see flying saucers. Then at least we’d get a story for Mr. White.”
They had picked up the highway map at a filling station when they left Las Vegas that morning, heading north in the general direction of Alamo and Ash Springs. When the map proved entirely unhelpful in revealing the location of any secret experimental area, the man pumping the gas had drawn a circle on it with a callused, grease-stained finger.
“This is what you want, here—the Tikaboo Valley. That dotted line is a dry lake bed, Groom Lake, but the government took the name off all the maps. You won’t find the roads marked either.” He vaguely traced the spot with his finger again. “Just head out that direction and you’ll find what you want—or they’ll find you. They got orders to shoot to kill.”
“It’s all right,” Jimmy had said cheerfully. “We’ve got press passes.”
Clark had folded and refolded the map, trying to make the creases match. “Thank you very much, sir.”
Now the rental car rolled past ranchland fenced in with barbed wire, where it seemed impossible that any livestock could possibly survive. Jimmy swigged from the grape Nehi he had bought with some of his slot machine winnings at the gas station. In a generous mood with all of his nickels, he had bought Clark a bottle of soda pop as well.
During the long ride, the young man regaled Clark with stories of flying saucer sightings and UFO encounters he’d read about. Nine unusual objects had been seen flying near Mount Rainier, Washington, in June 1947, and less than two weeks later the famous “crash” had occurred near Roswell, New Mexico, and all evidence of the object had been whisked away by the U.S. military.
Enemies & Allies: A Novel Page 14