Wonder Woman: The Official Movie Novelization

by Nancy Holder

  He was grateful to Diana for encouraging him to stick around. Drink and nightmares had been taking their toll. But last night, he had slept better than he had in years. It was good to be back with the fellows, counting on teamwork, making a difference for a worthy cause. There was none worthier than freedom.

  “We should scout the area in case we need to beat a hasty retreat,” Charlie said.

  The Chief nodded. “What do you think, Diana?”

  There was no answer. They both turned to look behind them. “Uh-oh,” Charlie muttered, his stomach dropping to his knobby knees.

  So much for teamwork.

  The bloody Amazon was nowhere in sight.

  * * *

  Curtain rising, Steve thought, chewing anxiously on the end of a pipe he had stashed among his things in his messenger bag, still with him despite all the craziness. He used the pipe on occasion for disguises. Seated in the back of the limousine, he stared at the back of Sammy’s head, which was wrapped up in a tea towel, also from the bag, in a good approximation of a turban. Making do with the resources at hand was part and parcel of the espionage game. Sammy’s lifelong ambition to be an actor had come in handy on more than one occasion in the past. The way Steve figured it, he himself had the simpler role, but not the easier task—he had to sit in the back and stay alert while feigning nonchalance. He well understood Diana’s impulse to do something.

  They inched along, creeping closer and closer to the gate. Steve breathed deeply and surveyed his surroundings. The old trees lining the drive reminded him of Washington, D.C. The castle itself was distinctly Old World, a paean to fairytales adorned with gabled roofs and tall towers. The stylishly dressed women walking up the grand entry staircase could have stepped out of Parisian fashion magazines. The German elite appeared to be as hungry for peace as the peasants of Veld—though for different motives, he assumed. The poor wanted to survive; the wealthy, to profit.

  The limousine managed another inch forward. Then another. They were within a car’s length of the checkpoint. He fought the impulse to drum his fingers on his knee.

  Then Sammy cleared his throat and said anxiously, “Steve, they have invitations.”

  Sure enough, as the car in front of them pulled up to the gate, a gloved hand extended from the driver’s side dangling a piece of paper. The guard took it and pored over it as if he were studying for an exam. He actually held it up to the light to check the watermark. Then he handed it back.

  Steve’s spy brain began to consider solution. If we could find a piece of paper, scribble on it, get it wet… maybe they wouldn’t look at it that closely? A few things were missing: paper, water, a pen, and time. Could they pull out of line? No. There was no room, and it would look suspicious.

  Well, so much for stealth. Time to move on to bluster.

  “Don’t worry. Play it cool. You got this,” Steve assured Sammy.

  They had no choice but to approach the gate. One of the guards held out his hand. Sammy clasped it with both of his and shook it, hard.

  “Dhanyavaad, sahib,” he chirruped. “The colonel and I wish many blessings and all manner of other things to fall upon your head—”

  Steve took his cue. “And your head’s empty!” he growled. “He wants my invitation, you idiot!”

  Sammy dipped and bowed, groveling as one did before their German overlords, and kissed the German’s hand. Astonished and repulsed, the guard attempted to pull it away. Sammy held on for dear life.

  “I must apologize a thousand thousand times, my masters, for I made the most horrible, the most unforgiveable mistake. I lost the colonel’s invitation.”

  Steve made a show of checking his watch and then he let Sammy have it. In perfect German, he shouted, “What! Are you saying we drove all the way through the mud and rain only for you to lose my invitation!”

  “I am a snail!” Sammy wailed. “No, a bug. No, the dung of a bug!”

  Bluster won the day; the bewildered and uncomfortable guards shooed them on, eager not to make a scene when it was obvious that these two had been master and servant for quite some time and it would cause far less havoc to be rid of them.

  Sammy grinned at Steve and drawled, “Blessings be upon us.”

  Steve smiled back, but as they drove on, his smile faded when he spotted a squad of German soldiers setting rows of seats a distance from the palatial building, as if for a viewing or a parade. What is this? Unease prickled the back of his neck.

  By then they had reached the front of the chateau. Sammy played the chauffeur, leaping out to open Steve’s door, giving him a deep, servile bow.

  Steve raised a brow at him. Sammy smirked, pressed his palms together, and bowed deeply again. Soon he was bowing and blessing the seemingly endless line of arriving Germans, who turned away from him with apparent distaste. “Prince Cashmere” finally had a part that was made to be overplayed. Steve found that both ironic and amusing. He flashed a grin. Then he put on his game face and joined the party.

  * * *

  From the protection of the trees, Diana contemplated her options to get inside the castle. Then she noticed a female party guest striding toward the entrance in a striking blue gown. Diana moved along the bank of shadow below the building’s windows and melted into the trees as the woman approached. When she was ten feet away, Diana stepped out of concealment and into her path. The woman froze, shocked by the sudden approach. Then her eyes widened and her brows lifted as she took in Diana in her long cloak, greaves, and armored shoes.

  “What are you supposed to be?” she demanded haughtily.

  Ignoring the woman’s ire, Diana moved even closer, sizing her up. Close in height, she confirmed. She kept one eye on her target, the other on possibility of witnesses. As the woman tried to move past her, Diana backed up and maintained the close interval.

  “What are you doing?” the woman snarled, stopping again.

  Her indignation was cut short by Diana’s quick, powerful hand chop to her neck, a blow that landed in the tight space where her neck met her throat. The woman made a soft oooof sound—an involuntary expulsion of breath—and her eyes rolled back in her head.

  In the shadows Diana laid her down on her back and quickly undressed her, deftly unzipping and unfastening. No longer was she bewildered by the complex clothing of the women of this world. She recalled her visit to Selfridges, and the kindness and stretched patience of Etta Candy, and smiled to herself. If, one day, tales were told about her adventures in the world of men, they must include Etta, who was brave in a very unique way.

  The deep blue, floor-length sheath fit perfectly over Diana’s armor. Having now seen that the women wore their hair up especially when attired for special occasions, she removed the jeweled hairpins from the woman’s hair, and plaited and twisted her own locks. She had spent hours playing with her mother’s hair when she was a little girl, braiding and unbraiding it while Hippolyta sang lullabies or retold the old story about how she had made Diana from clay and begged Zeus to breathe life into her. It took her very little time to achieve an appropriate hairstyle. The long dress hid her boots; she hid her bracelets inside the folds.

  After taking the woman’s invitation, Diana wrapped the woman in her cloak. The Godkiller she kept, hesitating for only a moment before she slid it down the back of her dress, assuming correctly that the ornamental hilt would look like part of the gown—at least for as long as it took her to get inside and find her quarry.

  She practiced yanking it out and thrusting it in a single, blindingly fast move—dealing an unexpected and instantly fatal blow. Her blood sang. The Godkiller came to life in her hand. She had been born to wield it, of that she was certain.

  Replacing it between her shoulder blades and down the length of her spine, she walked around the front of the chateau. Her chin raised high, she regally strode up the stone stairs to the entrance. Her heart skipped beats as she handed over the invitation and swept inside. Heads turned her way, following her. Her vibrant blue dress stood out in t
he sea of gowns. She relaxed her facial muscles, then smiled with her eyes, projecting calm, ease. But inside her breast a warrior’s heart thumped, and her every gliding step was the supple, precise movement of a lioness advancing on her prey.

  * * *

  It doesn’t matter if they stare at me, Dr. Maru told herself. It was perhaps the twentieth time she had reminded herself that night as perfectly coifed women swirled around their male companions like so many pampered Persian cats. Her purpose in life was not to dazzle with something as shallow and fleeting as physical beauty. It was to win glory for the Fatherland through scientific inquiry, and tonight would be the culmination of her life’s work, and the reward for all her suffering. She had lost what looks she had once had in a lab experiment. Beneath the scars the memory of the searing pain still lingered. Her drive to succeed in a field dominated by men had given her the strength to move past it, and to excel. Let them glitter in the jewels and silks they acquired through their men. She had medals and commendations from High Command.

  Tonight she and General Ludendorff would prove to the Kaiser that, contrary to the wishes of von Hindenburg, he must not negotiate an armistice with any foreign power. Peace must come off the German table. Tonight her weapon would change the course of history. For that achievement, she would have paid any price.

  15

  Dr. Maru watched the guests walking down the receiving line, many of them flushed with the excitement of meeting the Kaiser. That excitement became muted when they came face to face with her. She wished she were back in the lab, double-checking everything, making sure all was ready, and that the bodies of the men she and Ludendorff had gassed had been properly disposed of.

  A number of people asked her when von Hindenburg was going to arrive. The Armistice was his to celebrate, and the party would be incomplete until he appeared. General Ludendorff had been so wise to dispose of von Hindenberg and his fellow weaklings. She had prepared a response for the question; each she shrugged as if there was nothing to worry about and replied that she had heard he had been “delayed” but would arrive soon. Very soon.

  But that answer would not satisfy them for long. Even the Kaiser was beginning to shift uneasily and scan the throng for that familiar face. More and more guests were beginning to look at watches and to murmur among themselves.

  The next time she came abreast of Ludendorff, she said, “They’re starting to ask where von Hindenburg and the others are.”

  “Soon it won’t matter,” he replied, his attention elsewhere. That was true. But as the lag leading up to their demonstration dragged out, she began to lose her poise. Everything must work flawlessly. It was one thing to run an experiment in the lab. But this would be the first real test of her brainchild. And if it didn’t work—

  It will work, she told herself. You have tested and retested every single component. The trajectory is correctly calibrated. And you know what the gas will do.

  Chandeliers and candles gleamed. There was so much glitter and glamor, men in uniforms and formalwear dancing with ladies in all the latest fashions, clusters murmuring and laughing and sampling the fine Belgian delicacies including chocolates. She hadn’t even had time to arrange her hair, find a more flattering dress.

  Irrelevant, she thought, and she moved to a fireplace, seeking composure as she gazed into the flames and waited.

  * * *

  Here goes nothing, Steve thought, as he plucked two glass of champagne off the tray of a passing waiter and approached the woman he had come to regard as a mad scientist. How else to explain why she took such glee in the horrors she inflicted on her victims?

  “Excuse me,” he said to Dr. Maru, who appeared to be lost in thought as she gazed into the flames of a cheery fire. He held up the glasses, his opening play.

  “I don’t drink.” She blinked and wrinkled her forehead. “Have we met?”

  This was a gamble. If she recognized him, he was in big trouble. It was unfortunate that he hadn’t been able to smuggle in more of the team. His thoughts flickered with an image of Diana, whom Maru and Ludendorff had never seen. No. Diana wouldn’t have contented herself with espionage. She would move directly into action—attacking Ludendorff in the middle of the party, and never mind the consequences. Steve had done the right thing… but what if Dr. Maru realized he was the spy who had stolen the notebook?

  “No, but I’ve been watching you,” he replied, injecting warmth into his voice as he regarded the monstrous woman. He forced himself to focus on her eyes and not look down at the eerie flesh-colored plates. “Following your career. I mean, you’re Dr. Isabel Maru, the most talented chemist in the German Army. I’m a fan.”

  He briefly shifted his gaze to Ludendorff, and she caught him. He covered, thinking fast. “I hope I’m not crossing a line. I hear you and General Ludendorff are very close.”

  Her back visibly stiffened. The uncovered side of her mouth drew into a thin line.

  “We work well together, yes,” she replied.

  That was his cue to turn on the charm. He smiled flirtatiously. “I’m sure he provides a great deal of support for you and your work, but having someone like me behind you…” He let that double entendre work its way to her. “…I could provide a lot more.”

  His words did not have the desired effect. There was no pink in her exposed cheek, no eye blink, nothing to suggest that his flattery was welcome. But she did regard him more closely.

  “And who are you?” she said.

  He realized that the standard rules of seduction did not apply in this case. She knew she wasn’t beautiful or desirable. He reasoned that compliments meant to turn her head had to be directed at a different target.

  “A man who would show you the appreciation a genius like yourself deserves,” he said.

  Dr. Maru stared into the fire. There. A tiny smile gleamed from the mobile half of her mouth. Yes, focusing on her intelligence. That had hit home. In a big way. He definitely had her attention now.

  “I love fire, don’t you?” he asked silkily. “It’s like a living act of entropy. The ultimate weapon of destruction reminding us that, in the end, everything eventually returns to the ash it once came from. There’s something… reassuring about it.”

  From her reaction, he could tell that she liked that analogy. She turned to him and again stared deeply into his eyes. He fought to keep his expression warm and sexy, but he felt as if he were facing down a cobra. Having seen firsthand what she was capable of, it was difficult not to flinch at her slightest move.

  “I see all that in your eyes,” he added, doubling down. What did the Brits say? In for a penny, in for a pound…

  Yes, yes, she was buying it. She needed to be appreciated for her accomplishments by a man smart enough to know she was smart. Maybe he could get her to show off.

  “Perhaps you could tell me what you’re working on? I hear it is extraordinary.”

  She parted the right side of her lips, preparing to speak. At last, the answers he needed. He remained calm… outwardly.

  And then… out of the corner of his eye…

  Oh. My. God.

  He stopped breathing. Everything stopped. Diana stood at the top of the stairs. She glowed in a deep blue gown; her head was held high, regal; her hair was swept up, revealing the long column of her neck. No, no, he thought, as she turned her head and her expression shifted to a predatory scan of the room, undetectable to anyone who didn’t know her field techniques.

  But he did.

  As Diana turned a bit more, he caught sight of the crossguard, grip, and pommel of the Godkiller, which she had slid down the back of her gown. To the untrained eye, it looked like part of the decoration of the dress. She was prepared to kill Ludendorff here and now, but if she did, it wouldn’t stop the Germans from using their new weapon. It would only get the team killed.

  And it looked like Maru was about to tell him everything they needed to know. Once they had the details, they could run their own covert operation. They didn’t need to come
out in the open like this, on a suicide mission.

  “I appreciate your interest in my work,” Maru said, “but I am loyal to General Ludendorff. Besides, now I see your attention is directed elsewhere.” She laughed sharply, and Steve understood that she had busted him for staring at Diana.

  Then Diana looked straight at Ludendorff. Their gazes locked. Steve could see she was studying him intently. He saw a flicker of emotion in her intense concentration. Was she now uncertain that Ludendorff was Ares? Would that stay her hand and keep the mission intact?

  What is she going to do?

  * * *

  Diana walked towards the being who was her destiny. Every footfall echoed in her head. She heard her heartbeat and—so strangely—the ticking of Steve’s watch. Was she right that this was Ares? From a distance the general looked all too human. She sharpened her senses, staring at him with a warrior’s eyes. Should she feel something emanating from him? Could she sense the depth of his power? How did one know when one was in the presence of a God—the God who had killed all the Gods?

  I feel nothing unusual. What of him? Could he tell who she was? That she was his nemesis, the Amazon who had come to bring peace to humankind?

  Her heart was thundering as she closed the gap. Everything depended on this moment. Stealth was one of her gifts. The defeat of her foe was another. She could almost feel the Godkiller leaping into her hand, and then the smooth, well-aimed thrust. The world’s suffering would end. The chains of evil would fall to dust.

  If she was right.

  Then he grabbed her. She prepared to fight back—

  —and as he put his arm around her, he began to sway.

  To dance.

  With her.

  His hungry look… his arrogance. She studied him, searching for proof positive that he was the God of War. Locked in his arms, she could not reach for the Godkiller without interrupting the charade of manners he had forced her into. She had not expected that. She wondered if he could hear her thundering heartbeat, the pump of her blood. The blade of the Godkiller pressed against her spine. She sent a silent thank you to Steve— wherever he was in this place—for teaching her how to dance in the approved way. She could keep up this masquerade for as long as was necessary. She stayed focused on him as party guests milled and danced past gleaming candelabras and glittering jewels, oil paintings and magnificent statues. He was imposing and regal, clearly at home amid the splendor.