He sat in perfect stillness for several long minutes, watching carefully.
The base soldiers were alert, but not alert enough. They had been drilled repeatedly—so frequently, in fact, that he could use that to his advantage. Even a genuine breach of security would seem to be just another exercise at first. He was certain no intruder had ever penetrated this deeply into the restricted area.
The main research hangar was unmistakable, and that was where he had to go. He would need to use his grappling hook to get over the barricade, and from there he’d resort to metal-eating acid, diamond-edged cutters, even smoke bombs or tranquilizer darts if the smoke alone didn’t create a sufficient diversion. In his utility belt he had everything he needed.
Piece of cake.
IT TOOK HIM FORTY-FIVE MINUTES TO GET INSIDE THE secure hangar, fifteen minutes longer than he had anticipated. Now he had to move quickly. Judging by all the military security in this forsaken place, the U.S. government considered the mysterious object to be as important as Luthor seemed to think it was.
All of the base research activities had shut down for the night, and now the exotic object sat in the middle of the hangar under security lights, surrounded by complex instruments; adjacent tables were piled with notes and black and white photographs.
He stepped forward, feeling a clear sense of awe. Without a doubt, the sleek, silvery vessel looked like an alien spacecraft, a flying saucer with aerodynamic lines and propulsion curves unlike anything he had seen in his own research and development for the aircraft industry.
As a rational man, he had never believed in stories of alien visitors or Martians spying on Earth. As he studied the object more carefully and began to guess exactly what it was, he found himself even more surprised by the truth.
He hadn’t expected this at all.
CHAPTER 33
AREA 51
KAL-EL FLEW OFF, LEAVING LAS VEGAS BEHIND. HE WAS glad to have saved a life, but he still felt unsettled and uncertain about what lay in store for the poor man. The complexities of the human psyche, the twisted burdens that forced everyday people to make extremely bad decisions—those were not problems Kal-El could solve with a burst of super-speed or strength. He was reminded of all those difficult and disturbing letters written to “Lorna for the Lovelorn.”
He flew silently away from the neon glow and out across the empty landscape. Radiant heat still wafted up from the desert sands, and thermal currents swirled around him like invisible smoke. Accelerating, he flew northeast, keeping himself just under Mach 1 so as not to create a prominent sonic boom. In minutes, he had passed the hurdles that military security had thrown up against him and Jimmy the previous day, when they’d approached via more conventional means.
He found the large dry lake bed, its smooth alkaline surface sparkling in the starlight; a military landing strip marred the otherwise pristine-looking flat. Long, straight roads cut across the desert, running from the Tikaboo Valley to the east and over the mountains and mesas from Yucca Flat and the atomic testing grounds. All of the roads converged like a targeting cross on the secret installation.
With his sharp vision, Kal-El spotted the central research hangar amid the barracks, warehouses, storage tanks, and blocky buildings. Decreasing speed, he landed gently atop the corrugated roof, dodging searchlights from the guard tower.
Kal-El was not accustomed to lurking in shadows like some prowler, but this mission was a personal one. He didn’t want to be seen. Though it made him uneasy, he would have to bend the rules. The demanding pull to learn who he was, to see if he was truly alone on Earth, trumped his other concerns.
As quietly as he could, causing as little damage as possible, Kal-El popped the rivets on a sheet of the research hangar’s roof. He pried the zinc-coated steel upward, opening a way for him to get inside. He scanned the skeleton crew of base security, and when he was satisfied that he had tripped no alarms, he dropped down inside the hangar. With barely a whisper of noise, he settled onto the swept concrete floor and looked around.
The cavernous bay was dim and quiet, lit only by a few emergency lights around the edges and a set of bright utility spotlights in the center. His blue eyes immediately locked onto the object he sought: a silver spaceship.
Kal-El wished he knew more about Kryptonian science, more about the small craft that Jor-El had built to send him away moments before their planet exploded. Up in his Fortress of Solitude, Kal-El still had the crystalline data-storage units along with recorded messages that his parents had placed in his ship, but even those were not enough to answer all his burning questions.
The flying saucer on display was of a completely different design, a technology that had not originated on Krypton. Had another alien race created it? The vessel was much too small to carry a human-sized adult. Could it have been designed to hold a baby, like the ship that had saved him from his doomed planet? Or was this craft simply used by a more diminutive species?
If the alien occupant had survived the crash in Arizona, the soldiers and scientists in Area 51 would have taken him or her captive. Maybe the precious passenger was even now in a military holding area on the base.
Taking a step forward, Kal-El scanned the craft with his X-ray vision to penetrate its inner workings—and to his surprise he found no passenger compartment. No room, in fact, for any living creature. This strange vessel was nothing more than a case to hold exotic propulsion systems and automated controls. The whole machine was a drone of some kind. A scout ship from another world?
“It’s a LuthorCorp prototype.” The deep voice came out of the shadows behind him. “As you well know.”
Kal-El spun, saw the dark-suited figure, the black cape, mask, and cowl. Batman.
Batman stepped into the glow of the utility lights. “Luthor sent you to get the craft back for him, didn’t he? His other efforts failed.”
At first Kal-El didn’t understand what the other man was implying. He scanned with his X-ray vision to determine if Batman carried a piece of the devastatingly powerful green mineral. He saw numerous tools, cables, vials, darts, and other devices he could not identify but no sign of the debilitating emerald rock.
Kal-El countered, “It’s more likely that you came to steal the ship—just like you stole from Luthor before.” He realized that several pieces of the analytical gear connected to the strange object had come from Batman’s belt rather than the Area 51 scientific teams.
Batman clearly took offense. “I’m not a common thief.”
They faced off, tense, ready for battle. At any other time, Kal-El would have assumed that his powers could subdue any opponent, but the green rock Batman had carried…what else did he have up his sleeve?
“Then what were you doing to the craft?” Kal-El persisted. “Trying to sabotage it?”
Batman pressed with his own questions. “What does Luthor have over you, Superman? Why do you do his dirty work?”
Kal-El drew an exasperated breath. “I don’t work for Luthor!”
“The evidence suggests otherwise.” Batman’s voice was brittle. “You were there to protect Luthor’s mansion. Now you’ve breached military security to get his precious test craft back.”
“I don’t work for Luthor!” Kal-El raised his voice, not accustomed to having his word doubted by anyone—especially by a shadowy cat burglar in a dark mask. “Haven’t you read the newspapers? Luthor claims that I helped you escape, that we’re partners in crime.” The very idea offended him.
“It wouldn’t be the first time someone’s given a false story to the press,” Batman answered coolly. “Luthor would do anything to retrieve this prototype. And here you are.”
“I came seeking answers. I intend no harm.” Kal-El squared his shoulders, keeping himself between Batman and the silvery craft. It was time to turn the tables, keep his opponent off balance. “And I’m not the only one who broke into a high-security government installation.”
After a long, tense pause, Batman added, “I’m here for ans
wers, too.” He took a step closer, not intimidated by Superman or his reputation. “Maybe you should ask yourself what Lex Luthor is doing with a prototype spaceship. Look for yourself; study the design.” He held up a scanner in one dark-gloved hand. “The propulsion system, the metal-fabrication technique—they’re identical to notes and blueprints contained in secret LuthorCorp documents.”
Batman walked past him and applied a sort of electronic stethoscope to the skin of the “alien spaceship,” then attached another set of leads to create a sonic-echo map of the sealed interior, verifying what Kal-El could see with his X-ray vision. Now that he knew what to look for, he did detect the hints of machining and subtle design commonalities that could have come from a cutting-edge arms manufacturer.
And that would explain why unmarked LuthorCorp planes had tried to stop the Air Force jets from intercepting the UFO, why they had been willing to use some kind of energy scrambler to make the F-100Ds malfunction when the pursuit got too close.
Even though it wasn’t the answer Kal-El wanted to hear, Batman’s assessment was correct. This was not an extraterrestrial vessel. This craft had been constructed on Earth, in secret. A LuthorCorp prototype.
He slowly came to an uncomfortable conclusion. Perhaps Batman hadn’t just been burglarizing Lex Luthor’s mansion. Maybe he’d been uncovering information for his own reasons, just as Kal-El had come here to do.
Suddenly sirens shattered the peaceful night, cutting through the tension. Rotating magenta lights flashed on inside the hangar, and a klaxon blared. A strained voice bellowed from loudspeakers in the ceiling, calling for a full-fledged response to an internal security breach.
“We can’t be seen here,” Batman said. “Neither of us.”
Kal-El glanced upward. Someone might have noticed the open sheet on the hangar roof, or some sign of Batman’s break-in…a hole in a fence or a cut lock.
Kal-El turned to launch himself toward the ceiling. Though he had meant no harm, he knew his presence would raise too many questions. He could haul Batman out of here just as he had carried him away from Luthor’s mansion—and they could continue this conversation elsewhere.
But Batman had vanished without a sound. The shadowy figure was simply gone, along with his equipment.
Kal-El shot a final glance at the fake spacecraft, thinking of all his lost hopes, then flew through the hole in the corrugated roof. He paused just long enough to bend the metal sheet back into place and weld it securely with a quick burst of his heat vision before soaring off into the night, just as the Area 51 military police surrounded the hangar.
They would find nothing inside.
CHAPTER 34
LUTHOR’S ISLAND
A WEEK AFTER GENERAL CERIDOV RETURNED TO SIBERIA, ALL of Luthor’s systems were in place, all components assembled to his exacting personal specifications. The array of energy-beam transmitters stood ready, their dishes and antennae pointed toward the Caribbean sky, startlingly modern next to the abandoned Spanish fort.
Lex Luthor was about to change the world.
Inside the computer-filled control room, large screens displayed images of important cities, calm cities, soon to be filled with terrified citizens wailing for rescue. Soviet nuclear missiles would shortly be on their way to Metropolis, and Luthor alone would save the human race. He had everything firmly in hand.
Wearing hooded cleansuits, his technicians stood around the humming computer banks, while others used compasses and grease pencils to plot trajectories on glass maps. The radar screens remained blank for now, but that would all change as soon as General Ceridov initiated the launch from silos in the USSR.
Though Luthor had little need for a bodyguard on his own island, Bertram stood at his side nevertheless. “We will push both superpowers to the brink, Bertram. The world’s greatest leaders will hide under their beds. They’ll pray, they’ll whimper, and when they see that only I can possibly save them, I’ll have them in the palm of my hand.”
Bertram rarely made comments and never asked questions. Luthor had no evidence that the man was particularly intelligent, yet he earned his master’s respect simply because he didn’t talk all the time or make stupid rejoinders. If only more men could be so wise….
At his command desk, Luthor picked up a red phone, listened to clicks and static as he was connected by a secure transatlantic cable (which LuthorCorp had privately laid). His call passed through the Soviet network, bypassed the usual monitoring substations and listening devices, and after an interminable wait, was finally connected with Ceridov.
“We are prepared and waiting, General. Have you taken care of all the details on your end?”
The other man’s voice was scratchy from the distance, but his words were clear enough even through the popping static. “I am ready, comrade Luthor. Generals Dubrov and Endovik are like rabid dogs anxious to be loosed. They have already been to see the premier twice, demanding permission to launch a preemptive strike. I have a way to send a counterfeit message to them, and they will believe they have the necessary permission. I am confident they will not hesitate, nor will they doubt what they are doing.”
“And your name is completely absent from all records?”
“I am a black-star KGB general! My name never appears on any records.”
Soon, though, Ceridov would control the entire Soviet military. In their preliminary discussions, he and Luthor had proposed dividing the world in half, each with his own to control, but the KGB general probably dreamed of expanding his sphere of influence deeper into Southeast Asia, China, and more of Europe. Luthor was certain his counterpart would never be completely satisfied with half the world.
And neither would he. In fact, he was already making plans to deal with that very problem. First, though, the next step. “Your missiles are reliable?”
The general’s voice exuded a gruff pride. “Our R-7 rocket successfully placed Sputnik into orbit, which is more than your American space program could manage! We have loaded three R-7s with nuclear warheads. They will devastate Metropolis—unless your weapons stop them. You are positive you can stop these missiles? Much as I hate you capitalists, I do not truly intend to destroy America. Too many parts of it will be useful.”
Luthor didn’t have to consider his answer. “I designed the entire system personally, and I supervised the installation of the Wayne Enterprises components. There will be no errors.”
He hung up the red phone and turned to face the screens again, silently waiting.
LESS THAN AN HOUR LATER, SEVERAL OF HIS TYPICALLY quiet technicians gasped when sweeping arcs on the radar scopes revealed a trio of bogeys: the missiles launched from the Soviet Union. Without warning, the Russian R-7 rockets cruised toward America on a polar trajectory that would bring them down over the Distant Early Warning line along the edge of the Arctic Circle.
Luthor smiled, knowing that red phones would be jangling on the desks of the world’s leaders. The U.S. military must have been scrambling to launch a counterattack with fighter jets and bombers, which could do nothing against these intercontinental missiles.
To prevent a full-scale war, the Soviet premier would insist, quite stridently, that the launch was “accidental.” People might even believe his claims, because right now the premier himself was giving an important speech at the United Nations in Metropolis: ground zero for all three nuclear missiles. No one could evacuate in time.
With each sweep of the radar, the traces showed the inbound warheads getting closer….
CHAPTER 35
METROPOLIS
SINCE HE COULD NOT REVEAL WHAT HE HAD DISCOVERED inside Area 51, Clark’s trip had not yielded much of a story. After he and Jimmy returned to Metropolis, Clark had tried to cobble together a background piece using the old rancher’s tale, as well as anecdotes of previous UFO sightings and Project Blue Book, but Perry filed Clark’s draft article directly in the wastebasket, saying, “If there’s no little green men, there’s no story, Kent.”
Instead
he dispatched Clark and Jimmy to cover that week’s UN General Assembly meeting. “The Soviet premier is scheduled to give another one of his blowhard speeches, and there’s some funeral for the king of a country I’ve never heard of. Squeeze something interesting out of it. Nothing much else going on in the world today.”
“It’s the United Nations, Mr. White. It’s got to be interesting.” For Clark, the UN was a symbol of hope that all nations could find common ground and cooperate, much as he imagined the lands and peoples of Krypton had done.
When he found himself staring up at the tall UN building, Clark realized that in his relatively short time in Metropolis, he had never actually gone inside. He and Jimmy flashed their press passes and hurried to the hushed observation gallery. Clark took out his notebook, sure that he was about to see a compelling example of diplomacy in action.
Instead, he found that the routine activities of diplomats were neither particularly exciting nor newsworthy. The ambassadors were mostly sedate old men barely interested in their own goings-on. The speakers droned on in a babel of languages while interpreters translated in real time; the spectacle played largely to an audience of empty chairs.
The opening session consisted of a forty-five-minute parade of diplomats expressing their condolences that the king of Timacu had died (at the age of eighty-seven, and after fourteen wives). Each member nation expressed its official sorrow before the next ambassador expressed an even more extravagant amount of grief, and so on, until it seemed that the whole world considered the king of Timacu to have been a statesman of such profound influence that civilization itself was unlikely to continue without him. Clark decided to search the Daily Planet’s archives to find out what the king of Timacu had actually done during his reign.
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