Green Lantern - Sleepers Book 2

by Unknown Author

  Finally, as if on invisible cue, they came together for a kiss. Holding her, Scott felt the instant animal surge to drag her to some room, any room, under this desk, and have her, throw himself into her, lose himself. This was pure instinct—their relationship was built on wit, shared ambition and respect. But the instinct whipped through him like bad liquor, making his heart race, his throat constrict and blood pump.

  Then, looking into her green eyes, he saw that she felt it as well, a shock to both of them, since nothing in their past or their letters to each other conveyed this. For one second Scott looked around for an empty room.

  A tap on his shoulder brought him out of this idea. Malvolio was staring at Irene with an expression he had never seen before. It wasn’t so much lust or desire as pure, childlike awe.

  Scott cleared his throat and stepped away from Irene’s embrace.

  “Irene, this is Mai.”

  Scott and Irene gaped as Malvolio gently took Irene’s outstretched hand and dropped to one knee in genuflection.

  “Well, pleased to meet you too!” she laughed.

  But when Malvolio looked up and locked eyes with her, she stopped. She could see a churning mixture of emotion in his look—love, hurt and animal anger. Her laughter dried up in her throat.

  ”So what you doing back here?” she said to Scott.

  “I’m on leave with Mai here. Thought I’d show him Gotham.” “How do you two know each other?”

  Scott looked at Malvolio.

  “He’s my uncle.”

  “No, really.”

  Scott sighed. He didn’t think she’d buy that. “We’re in the same unit overseas. Mai is from England.”

  Malvolio turned to Irene. “We share the power of the flame.” Irene nodded, confused. “I see.”

  Scott took Irene by the arm and led her away from Malvolio. She spoke to Scott out of the corner of her mouth. “What is up

  with him?”

  “Don’t ask. He’s a bit shell-shocked. Look-I have to leave town for a couple days, but I’ll be back. Can I see you?”

  “Sure.”

  “How are things with you?”

  “I’m still looking to get posted overseas.”

  Scott turned to her, concerned. “What?”

  “I’m sick of writing copy for these overblown hacks. There are more stories out there, and I want to be there when they break.” “You don’t belong in combat,” Scott told her.

  Irene looked miffed. “I thought we established that a girl like me can take care of herself.”

  Scott shook his head. “It’s not about you being a girl. No one who can avoid it should be in combat. It’s not how it’s written up in the press, Irene.”

  “That’s why I want to go, Alan.”

  Scott knew he couldn’t explain it to her. Combat could not be explained. Anyway, he knew he couldn’t stop her once she made up her mind.

  “I’ve got to get Mai back to his hotel,” Scott said. “I’ll see you later, okay?”

  Irene gave him a sweet, lopsided smile. “You’d better. Call me.” Once they were on the street, Malvolio turned and stared at Scott. “Why did you lie to the girl about me?”

  “Look, I told you before-no one knows that I have these powers. Not even her.”

  “Who do they think has it then?” Malvolio asked.

  “The Green Lantern.”

  “Are you and he not one and the same?”

  “We are, but I’m keeping my identity a secret.”

  “Explain this to me,” demanded Malvolio.

  “If everyone knew that I was the Green Lantern, I couldn’t be myself,” Scott said.

  “Therein lies your weakness. You are no longer Alan Scott. You are Green Lantern. Why do you insist on remaining part of this rabble?”

  Scott stopped walking and turned to Malvolio. “Because I’ve seen what power does.”

  A thousand thoughts flickered behind Malvolio's dark eyes. Then a slow smile spread across his face.

  “You have not harnessed the lantern’s magnificence,” Malvolio said. “You have no understanding of the great power you have, do you? Your time is wasted among these weaklings. You are destined for greater things.”

  Pushing through the sidewalk crowded with people, Scott yelled over his shoulder, “I’ve heard that speech before, Mai. Save it.”

  he darkened room in the basement of the War Department had a large heavy table, chairs, pitcher of water and glasses, and ash trays. The only men in the room were Scott, Malvolio and Colonel Pryne.

  Before Scott could ask a question, a door opened and in stepped the general that Scott had only read about in the papers. He did know that as this war progressed, the man in the room with them held more information on every aspect of it than anyone in the world, including President Roosevelt.

  T

  The men rose to their feet as the general stepped in.

  The general waved them back down to their seats and came around the table to shake Malvolio’s hand. The general’s steely-hard gaze locked into Malvolio’s as they sized each other up. In that moment, the general came away looking more troubled than reassured.

  “At ease, gentlemen. Let’s get right down to it.”

  The general pulled back a curtain along the wall to reveal a map of a chain of islands in the Pacific.

  “These islands are part of our island-hopping campaign we’re embarking on in the PTO. It’s our first step toward getting us within striking distance of Japan.”

  Using his hands instead of the wooden pointer, the general gestured across the huge map as if he were a painter and the war map his canvas.

  “The first objective is this string of islands. The largest one-here-holds an airfield, which will be critical for providing fighter escorts for our bombing missions against the Japanese mainland. Because it is so close to Japan, we’re expecting heavy resistance. We’ll need that island. But it’s this other island that we’re interested in as well.”

  The general pointed to a small island northeast of the large chain of islands. It couldn’t have been bigger than half-mile in diameter.

  “Intercepted and decoded radio transmissions are telling us that the Japanese are digging something up on that island, based on intelligence they were given by the Nazis. They’ve got a massive garrison there and hundreds of slave laborers-some of them allied POWs—digging deep into the core of the dormant volcano there.

  “Although the invasion of the main islands in this chain is critical, we’re sending an amphibious force to take this island as well. Ostensibly, it’s to liberate the POWs there. But what we’re really going after is what the Japanese are attempting to dig up.”

  Piyne couldn’t resist waiting and blurted out the question on his mind.

  “What is it they’re digging up, sir?” •

  Of course the general was waiting for this question. As if on cue, three MPs-two armed with carbines, and one holding a silver box the size of a toaster, marched it into the room. The box was placed on the conference table. The general waited for the guards’ departure before reaching into the lapel pocket of his uniform and producing a key and opening the box.

  The general paused before opening the lid. For a moment he looked like a weaiy old man, the weight of the world on him, crushing him as if he were at the bottom of the sea.

  “Every day I face a multitude of decisions, any one of which can change the course of the war. I can tell you that it’s impossible to know what the rippling effects are of such decisions. But I can tell you that what is in this box will win the war for whomever possesses it.”

  With that the general flipped open the lid.

  Comically, all three men peered cautiously into the box, as if vipers were going to leap at them.

  What they saw were two rings. They were glowing.

  Malvolio smiled.

  Scott frowned.

  The general stared at the rings. “We know that these artifacts contain a tremendous amount of power, more than anything
we’ve seen or developed. What we don’t know is how to use this power.

  “We also know that the Germans have been searching for and, I fear, finding these things, which are apparently scattered all around the world. We’ve managed to find these two, and the Japanese are going after a third. We think Hitler may have one.”

  Silence fell like a shroud.

  “You knew of the rings, Lord Malvolio. Better yet, you used the power of the ring in Sicily against that German tank column. And then you told us that you knew where to find the remaining rings. That is why you’re here, talking to me. We want your help in recovering the remaining rings and we want you to join us in defeating the Axis forces.”

  Malvolio reached out and closed the lid of the box.

  “You overestimate my current abilities, sir. I can remember little about who I am or how I got here. The forces I used on that island came from me by reflex and my instinct to defend myself. But I am embarrassed to say that I can recall nothing of its origin, nor of mine. And with my cursed mind in this foggy state it is a talent that I can neither explain nor enlighten. Nor do I know where the remaining rings are. I am sorry.”

  The general, Pryne and Scott shared glances.

  Malvolio continued with a bow. “But I am at your leave to assist you and your great nation in your struggle against the darkness of these evil men.”

  The general exhaled. Scott couldn’t tell if he was relieved or disappointed.

  “I appreciate that, Lord Malvolio. I, too, wish I knew who you are and where you came from. I do believe that any help you can provide in giving us insight or securing these rings would be a huge step towards this conflict’s resolution. And the sooner we end this war, the better. The fact of the matter is that you did something with this power that none of us can do.”

  Malvolio looked at Scott. Before Malvolio could respond, Scott spoke up. “Sir, what do we know of the allied prisoners there?”

  “They’re survivors from Corregidor,” the general replied. “Two weeks ago, one of our submarines sank a troop ship. We had no idea that it was loaded with prisoners outbound from this island. Unfortunately, most of the POWs perished, but a handful survived. They reported deplorable conditions on that island, and a heavily reinforced Japanese garrison. Their reports are in these dossiers. I’m afraid I can’t let you take them, but you may examine them here.” Scott opened the reports from the prisoner/survivors, carefully typed from transcripts on self-deteriorating paper. As he flipped through he caught key words-“mine workers,” “green lights,” “executions,” “malaria.” At the end of the report was a list of names of the POWs the survivors could recall were at the camp on the island. The list was surprisingly long—over a hundred names—and Scott idly scanned them until one caught his eye:

  S/Sgt. Paul Shustak, Fox Company, 2nd Div

  The general spoke. “The invasion force is on its way from San Diego as we speak. The invasion will be in six days. We’d like for you to be present for this.”

  Malvolio nodded. “I will be there. You have my word.”

  athed in moonlight, Malvolio stood on the ledge of the building, looking down to the street five stories below. He was displeased at what he saw.

  Irene was kissing Scott passionately at her doorstep.

  B

  Malvolio had followed them as they strode through Gotham arm in arm, chatting, laughing and arguing. He saw the ease of their presence with one another, and he was consumed with envy. But at the same time he knew that he could win her over with the force of his will. Anyway, it was destined.

  He pulled the locket from his tunic. The image inside had survived with him through time and space, triumph and imprisonment. Malvolio snapped open the locket and stared at the face of a young woman, the image of his mother before her pain, her troubles-before him.

  Her face was identical to Irene Miller’s.

  Malvolio allowed himself a moment of self-pity and almost tenderness as he touched the faded image. Then, looking down at the

  dusk-lit avenue, the streetlamps kicking on as Irene leaned in Scott’s arms as she looked up at him chatting, laughing once again at a something Scott said, a joke Malvolio could not hear.

  Malvolio brooded and considered his options. Scott was not a threat, nor was he a source of the vast power he’d need to rule. No, Scott was pitiful, unable to tap his potential as Green Lantern. And now that Malvolio had destroyed Scott’s lantern, Scott wasn’t a threat at all.

  Still—the strength he showed in Sicily had shocked Malvolio. But it was a fluke, and Malvolio knew that the power was spent in that battle. Once he gathered the rings, he would be able to recharge and destroy Scott for good.

  His ring held the faintest of glows: enough for Malvolio to do some traveling and seek out the rings the general had referred to. Then, with the Americans leading to the other rings, his power would be once again fully restored.

  And he would confront Irene in due time.

  Doctor Otto Ackermann was as usual in his lab, deep within the concrete and steel-reinforced bunker buried one hundred feet under the German Chancelleiy. Because of the importance of Ackermann’s work and his personal interest in it, the Ftihrer wanted him close, and the scientist’s reaction to his move to the underground space quickly went from flattery to fear. The cramped room gave him just enough space for his equipment and a small desk, but he was forced to work standing, with little room to maneuver. His anxiety in the claustrophobic, dimly lit dampness was rampant, so he kept it in check with the many narcotics at his disposal; enough to numb the hysteria but not the low-grade angst that a leading scientist in Hitler’s regime must bear. Ackermann was not a happy man.

  He was used to unexpected visitors, as the Fiihrer would drop in to check on the work he was doing with the rings. Disturbingly, the Fiihrer took to Ackermann personally and thus the sulky scientist became a confidant to the madman. Based on this, Ackermann knew

  he and his family would soon be dead. Not far behind the madman’s trust came fear of betrayal, paranoia, then torture and execution.

  His only hope, he knew, was to discover the power source of the rings. Once he had this he would become indispensable, thus insuring his survival for at least another few years. His intellect would either save or doom him.

  He worked long hours. For now Ackermann had the backing of the Fiihrer and his trust, so he exploited that to the fullest degree.

  So far he was able to develop a detector that could track the source of the energy to within a few hundred yards. It worked similar to an infrared spectrometer device he was using for Messer-schmitt Bf-110 night fighters. Squadrons of Bf-110s equipped with this device were in constant flight over North Africa, the Baltics, Norway and Tunisia. They even searched the endless expanse of the Russian front.

  Surprisingly, using Ackermann’s detector, it was their Japanese allies that had found the next ring. One of their specially equipped Mitsubishi bombers detected a power source on a small island that was part of a chain on which they were constructing an outpost.

  This bought Ackermann more time. He believed and told the Fiihrer that only the gathering of the rings would unleash their potential might, only through a concentrated matrix.

  He was startled to hear the click of the heavy iron door opening behind him. Expecting to see Hitler or one of his high-level idiot lackeys, Ackermann jumped out of his skin when he saw the muscular, long-haired man walk through the door.

  Although he was obviously a foreigner, the man spoke flawlessly in German to him.

  “You have the ring?” the stranger asked.

  Ackermann backed away. “Who are you? Who let you in?”

  The man did not seem cautious about his presence. Indeed, he seemed more at ease in the sterility of damp concrete and harsh lighting than Ackermann. This was especially odd, considering that the man was in a tight uniform with a cape. He had read about such super men but had dismissed it as over-imaginative American propaganda.

  The stranger aske
d casually, “Where is the ring?”

  Ackermann said nothing but his eyes gave him away. The stranger went to the wall Ackermann had glanced at, then commenced to punched his way through the six feet of reinforced concrete that encased the rings. It took him the same effort to do this as it would take a normal man to cut through six feet of loose papier mache-in other words, not long at all.

  Once in the small room, the stranger walked to the box sitting on a pedestal in the center of the room. He opened the box and, for the first time, the stranger smiled.

  “Ah-you have TWO rings!”

  The man fetched the rings. To Ackermann it was as if he had wrapped his hands around the throat of his infant daughter-he was paralyzed with fear but wanted to rush the man at the same time. He could feel his heart beating wildly and he barely breathed.

  The stranger looked at the rings. They began to glow. The stranger sat down on the leather, high-backed chair reserved for the Fiihrer. He jingled the rings in his hands like pocket change as he leveled a stare at Ackermann.

  “I’m curious: why do you want them?”

  “The rings?” Ackermann nervously replied.

  “Yes. The rings.”

  Ackermann stammered, “Their power... ”

  “Yes-yes-yes. Power,” the stranger interrupted. “But what do you intend to do with them?”

  Ackermann blurted out the only thing his mind could come up with. “Make the world a better place.”

  The stranger burst out laughing. Ackermann tried again. “A purer place.”

  “Pure for who?” the stranger asked.

  “The Aryan race.”

  “Are you Aryan?”

  “Yes.”

  The stranger pointed to the portrait of the Fiihrer on the concrete wall behind Ackermann. “Is he-your leader-Aryan?”

  “Yes,” Ackermann replied. “Of course.”

  “And he is pure?”

  “Yes.” Perhaps this was a test, thought Ackermann, some sort of warped test of his loyalty. He would try his best to pass it.