“That sounds a lot like what happened at Mercy Draw,” Clark said.
Jimmy bobbed his head. “I wonder if the army has a secret warehouse filled with downed alien craft.”
A year after the Roswell incident, a DC-3 commercial airliner nearly struck a torpedo-shaped object; both witnesses were veteran airmen who had served in World War II and were not prone to hallucinations. Only a few months earlier, a Kentucky Air National Guard pilot had crashed his P-51 Mustang while pursuing a flying saucer.
Sighting after sighting had generated a public craze and much speculation about aliens. The Air Force had launched several major investigations, the current and most ambitious being Project Blue Book. Their results, though, had never been released to the public. Clark, of course, had done his homework, intrigued by the possibility that he might not be the only extraterrestrial visitor on Earth. So far, he had no concrete answers.
They took an unmarked road leading west from Crystal Springs, though the map gave no hint of its destination. They rolled along parallel to a drooping barbed-wire fence that bore unwelcoming PRIVATE PROPERTY and NO TRESPASSING signs. Miles later, with no apparent change in terrain, the ominous signs switched to PROPERTY OF U.S. GOVERNMENT, then WARNING: MILITARY INSTALLATION or DANGER: LIVE WEAPONS RANGE.
“We must be getting close, Mr. Kent.”
But they were out in the middle of nowhere, and Clark could see no barracks, no Quonset huts, no installation of any kind. He peered into the distance for a guarded gate, office, or entrance station, which would have been present at any normal military installation. With his keen eyesight, he noted three Jeeps racing along a dirt road that intersected the highway, kicking up plumes of dust behind them.
“We’ve attracted some attention,” Clark said.
“Maybe we can ask them where to go.”
Another Jeep roared up on the blacktop road behind them, proceeding much faster than the speed limit. Ahead, a fifth vehicle bore down directly toward them. Within minutes, they were surrounded.
Clark dutifully used his turn signal and pulled off onto the dirt shoulder. As the military Jeeps converged, he saw that each vehicle carried at least two soldiers in full uniform, plus sidearms. Three men even carried machine guns. They looked like they meant business.
The military police were stone-faced and clean shaven, their eyes hidden behind sunglasses. A no-nonsense corporal walked up to them. “You are trespassing on U.S. government property. Turn around and get out right now, or you’ll find yourselves in a world of trouble.”
Jimmy had pulled out his camera and pressed the button to expose the lens. He waved his press card and nudged Clark to do the same. “We’re from the Metropolis Daily Planet. We’re here to do a story.”
“Not on this base, you aren’t. No press allowed.”
“There’s a base here?” Clark said. “I don’t see anything.”
“There’s no base.”
“But you just said there was a base.”
Two other soldiers closed in, hefting their rifles. The corporal rested a hand on his sidearm. “I told you, sir—turn around.” He pointed meaningfully at a metal sign dangling from a strand of barbed wire: WARNING! BEYOND THIS POINT TRESPASSERS WILL BE MET WITH LETHAL FORCE!
Lois would never have allowed herself to be so quickly evicted once she smelled a story. Clark pressed, “Could you please give us the name of someone we could talk to? We’d like to arrange a meeting—”
“No interviews.” The corporal was angry now. “Are you deaf?”
Clark had never faced so many drawn weapons before, except as Superman. Now even Jimmy was nervous. “Maybe, um, we should do as they say, Mr. Kent.”
“Okay, we’re stymied.” Clark took off his hat and absently ran the brim through his fingers. Keeping his eye on the Jeeps that had pulled up to block them, he shifted the car into reverse and backed up slowly, then turned around.
Jimmy looked over his shoulder as they rolled back down the lonely highway in the direction they had come from. None of the soldiers had so much as moved. “That’s the end of the story, I guess, Mr. Kent. We’re never going to get inside that base.”
Clark nodded grimly. “These soldiers are just doing their jobs. We have to respect that and leave them alone.”
Jimmy sagged into his seat. He packed his Graflex back up and put it into its leather case.
Clark hid his smile, though, as the clutch of soldiers diminished in his rearview mirror. With his super-vision he had scanned the area, and he had seen enough. He was already making plans for just how to get into Area 51—using his own means, later…after dark.
CHAPTER 30
THE DAILY PLANET
AT ANY OTHER TIME, LOIS WOULD HAVE SNICKERED AT Clark’s assignment to chase little green men, but she had already taken a lot of flak for believing Superman’s claim that he wasn’t from Earth, and Lois did not like to be ridiculed. If Clark did get definitive proof of a real alien spacecraft, then no one would doubt Superman’s statement.
Besides, this particular UFO was much more interesting to her because LuthorCorp planes had been chasing it. Since Clark was on the scene in Podunk, Arizona, Lois decided to approach the story from an entirely different angle.
And that angle had to be Lex Luthor.
After learning of Blanche Rosen’s tragic and way too convenient death, Lois had gathered her scraps of evidence about what a snake Luthor was, and she had no intention of stopping now. She needed to do this for Blanche and for all those unfortunate employees who had been fired or had mysteriously died of “natural causes.” Those men and women had just been doing their jobs, trying to make a living.
At her desk, Lois withdrew into her thoughts. She glanced at the framed photo of herself and her kid sister, Lucy, standing next to their father, the general. Lucy had always been Daddy’s little girl, and her career as a stewardess was considered an “appropriate” job for a young, attractive woman. But what about women like Blanche Rosen?
Fighting back her anger, Lois walked into Perry White’s office, dropped a stack of her notes on his desk, and explained what she had found. “I started digging like you told me to, Chief—and this story goes far beyond Luthor simply firing all his female employees and some older, disposable men. Even I’m surprised at how deep and how insidious this is. I turned over a rock and uncovered a whole nest of squirming, slimy things.” She explained about her source and how she had been brutally silenced. “Murdered, Chief. No doubt about it.”
Perry looked down at the obituary. “Says here ‘hit and run.’”
“Murdered.” Lois showed him the death notices of all the former LuthorCorp employees who had died in LuthorCorp-funded medical centers without being allowed to speak a word in public. “Poor people who were exposed to deadly levels of radiation during the construction of an atomic power reactor on a secret island base.”
“Says here ‘natural causes.’”
“Murdered.” She showed him her sketches and photographs of Luthor’s base, which she had surreptitiously taken in his munitions factory. “These plans are further proof. Luthor is setting up an entire control center outside the boundaries of the United States. Why would he do that if he’s conducting legitimate government work?”
Perry looked skeptically at the blurry photo of the blueprints from the wall of Luthor’s sealed factory office. “I see a map that doesn’t mean anything and sketches that you did yourself.”
“It’s proof!”
“Not proof that I can publish in the newspaper, Lois—and you know it. Coincidences, yes. Suspicions, yes. But if I go ahead with this story, Luthor’s attorneys will have a field day with us in court. Great Caesar’s ghost, I’m not saying I don’t believe you. I don’t need to tell you your job. I’m saying that I can’t publish this exposé until you have something concrete.”
Lois felt her face burning. “Then send me down there. I’ll make my way to that island and come back with all the proof you need.”
Perry
put his cigar in his mouth but didn’t light it. “You want the Daily Planet to send you on an all-expenses-paid Caribbean vacation? I’ve already got Kent and Olsen out in Las Vegas chasing little green men.”
“This could be the biggest story the Planet has ever run!”
He raised his hand when he could see she would continue to protest. “Keep digging, Lois. Get me something tangible. Prove me wrong.”
She headed toward the door, barely keeping her temper in check. “I will, Chief!”
CHAPTER 31
LAS VEGAS STRIP
FORTUNATELY FOR CLARK, JIMMY OLSEN WAS A SOUND sleeper. After the young photographer began to snore softly in his bed, Clark left a note on Atomic Age Motel stationery stating that he had gone for a walk, just in case Jimmy woke to find him gone.
In a blur, he donned his blue and red suit, slipped outside, ducked behind the motel unseen, and took off. No flashy public show, no oohs or aahs. The cape hem fluttered about him in an uneven ripple, and gravity fell away. This was his time to fly.
As he rose above the glittering expanse of the Las Vegas Strip, Kal-El looked at the kaleidoscope of casinos and hotels. Despite the late hour, countless people were gambling, attending shows, losing fortunes, or making a small profit, which only enticed them to gamble more. From high above the tallest buildings, he could hear the faint jingling of slot machines paying off, roulette wheels spinning and clicking, chips clattering together, nightclub bands playing, people talking and laughing, cars honking their horns.
And police sirens. Then fire engines.
Though his curiosity about the flying saucer tugged him toward Nellis Air Force Base, his sense of duty made him concentrate on the emergency instead. He could not follow his own interests if somebody was in trouble. He circled around and raced toward the source of the sirens, sure that the Las Vegas police and firefighters wouldn’t mind a little extra help.
In addition to the usual searchlights skating across the sky to commemorate some new Las Vegas extravaganza, dazzling beams painted the Champagne Tower of the Fabulous Flamingo, billed as the world’s most luxurious hotel. Kal-El wondered if a fire had occurred inside, but he saw no smoke. The flurry of activity centered on one penthouse room, one open balcony—and one man standing on the edge, threatening to jump.
Suddenly the emergency took on a different character. Kal-El focused his super-vision until he could see the man, still dressed in a gray business suit with a long, thin black tie that had been loosened, his collar unbuttoned. His face was florid; tears streamed down his cheeks. His expression flickered between grief and terror. He had taken off his shoes to leave his feet bare, perhaps for a better grip on the ledge.
This wasn’t a fire, a robbery, or an attempted assault. This man wanted to take his own life.
“I’ve lost everything!” the man shouted in a rough voice. “I can’t pay my markers. They’ll kill me anyway!”
Hotel patrons thrust their heads out of nearby windows, beseeching the man not to jump. From inside the penthouse room, Kal-El picked up the earnest voice of a manager. “We can sort this out, sir. Come back inside. The casino will work out a payment plan for now.”
Far down in the streets below, fire trucks pulled up, sirens wailing, lights flashing. More police cars joined them. Firemen left their trucks and pulled out a circular frame with a broad stretcher, which would never be able to catch a man after he fell thirty stories.
From inside the penthouse, a burly security man whose body did not seem designed for the tuxedo he wore stepped out onto the balcony. “You don’t want to jump—you know you don’t. Come off that ledge.” He abruptly extended a hand to grab the jumper by force, but his move only startled the man. He sprang from the ledge and dove out into the air, closing his eyes as if in prayer.
Absorbing everything in a second, Kal-El streaked toward the Flamingo.
A chorus of gasps rang out, breaths drawn in unison. Crowds on the streets below stared upward.
The falling man seemed to be imagining he was flying. He had his arms outstretched, his jacket fluttering—in total silence, apparently convinced he wanted to die.
But Kal-El actually could fly. He swooped down, matched the speed of the falling man, and caught him. “I’ve got you, sir,” he said in a comforting voice. “You’re safe.” Smiling, he descended toward the waiting crowds of wide-eyed onlookers, police, and firemen in front of the Fabulous Flamingo.
Kal-El couldn’t guess what psychological complexities had driven the jumper to take such drastic measures. Gambling debts, no matter how bad, did not seem to be reason enough to end one’s life. Why would this person want to throw everything away?
The suicidal man began pounding on his shoulder, struggling to break free, but Kal-El tightened his grip, careful not to let the man slip out of his grasp before they landed on solid ground. “Please don’t struggle.” His red boots touched down on the sidewalk as applauding people backed out into a circle to give them room. Kal-El spoke in a deep and reassuring voice, but he didn’t know if the man could even hear him. “You’ll be all right now, sir. These people will take care of you.” Two firemen rushed forward to take the sobbing jumper.
Kal-El felt a strange wrenching sensation in his chest. Even superhuman strength and speed could not touch the panic and despair over finances that had gripped this man. Now that he was safely in the hands of the authorities, he would not be allowed to hurt himself.
But was that enough?
Kal-El stood, hands on hips, his cape rippling behind him in a night breeze. Ever since he had willingly donned the hero’s mantle, he had been learning just how much he could do for the people of Earth. He hadn’t revealed his real Kryptonian name to anyone, but he was happy with what they chose to call him—the name Lois Lane had coined. Superman. It had a nice ring to it.
Still, he couldn’t stay. Soon reporters would crowd around and bombard him with questions. Kal-El had questions of his own elsewhere, and he could not miss this opportunity. It was his chance to learn if the U.S. military had found an alien spacecraft…whether another ship from Krypton or from some other world entirely. What if the crashed object contained another young refugee from his destroyed planet? His father, Jor-El, could not have been the only one to see the disaster coming.
Kal-El had to know.
Waving to the gathered awestruck spectators, he raised his fist again, looked up to the open slice of starry sky between the Flamingo towers, and soared into the night.
CHAPTER 32
AREA 51
FOR A MAN WITH BRUCE WAYNE’S CONNECTIONS AND Batman’s technology, finding a secret facility inside the Groom Lake restricted area proved to be no great challenge.
He had his own private Wayne Enterprises jet and a pilot’s license to fly it, and his plane had been modified to land on even the most minimal airstrips. After dark, most of the rural landing areas in the Nevada desert were shut down and unattended. A small ranch strip west of Crystal Springs looked to be ideal for his purposes.
Leaving his plane unattended on the empty airstrip, he donned his mask and armor to better blend into the darkness. Bats like swift, jagged shadows flitted about in the clear, moonless night.
He crossed the many miles of painfully open terrain on a newly designed high-powered motorcycle, which had been developed as a military all-terrain prototype by Wayne Enterprises. The cycle’s wide tires and rugged suspension were housed in black aerodynamic armor, and—most important out here—its engine was virtually silent, thanks to a superior muffled stealth mode. Like a loping coyote, the cycle glided along the sand, scrub, and rocks.
He’d overcome the problems of distance and inaccessibility; now he had to deal with security. Judging by Luthor’s insistent memos, even the bald industrialist knew very little about the place. Fortunately, the base’s primary line of defense was its secrecy and miles of exposed, empty buffer zone. He needed to avoid all roads, and he could use no lights.
The first barrier was a simple barbed-wir
e fence strung with warning signs: RESTRICTED AREA. ACCESS BEYOND THIS POINT PROHIBITED. The wires were easily cut, and after idling the cycle through, he gripped the throttle with his dark glove and raced toward his destination.
A mile farther, he encountered more daunting fences—barbed wire and increasingly strenuous warnings: LETHAL FORCE IS AUTHORIZED BEYOND THIS POINT. The fence was electrified with enough voltage to give any intruder a severe jolt, but his insulated gloves protected him. He cut the wire and made his way through.
The barrier line immediately beyond this fence carried a much more powerful charge, deadly voltage. He unclipped leads from his utility belt, attached them to the wires with alligator clips, and grounded them, making the fence safe for him to get through.
As the cycle carried him onward with barely audible purring, he used front-mounted metal detectors to scope out buried land mines and other pitfalls. He activated the cycle’s “trail of bread crumbs” system, which spat regularly spaced dots of pigment visible only in infrared. He placed filtered goggles over his mask and rode across the now greenish-hued desert landscape.
Finally, he spied the diaphanous glow of a complex ahead, nestled at the base of barren mountains. The Jeep roads met at a cluster of standard military buildings, Quonset huts, long rectangular barracks, hangars, warehouses, igloo-shaped storage domes, a tank farm. Guard towers sported brilliant searchlights. Military police patrolled the inner perimeter, rifles shouldered, while growling Jeeps circled the outer roads.
He ditched the cycle behind a pile of boulders, then activated a sounder on his utility belt that would emit a locator ping so he could find the vehicle again. He made his way closer on foot.
Hidden by his dark cape, he moved forward in a low crouch to take advantage of the minimal cover. He extended his palm and, listening for feedback from the sensitive metal detector in the gauntlet, avoided several buried booby traps. Following established military procedure, the soldiers had placed land mines on a precisely spaced grid that made them easy to get around.
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