Chapter 8
[Scotland Yard, forensic technology lab]
"Turn on the telly, something big just happened in Gotham City," the inspector said as he sipped his cup of tea, "arrgh, this swill is bloody awful." He sipped it again.
"This is Summer Gleeson reporting live from the Gotham Opera House where Gotham's first citizen, Bruce Wayne narrowly escaped an assassin's bullet. GCPD confirms that the would-be assassin died as he stepped into the path of an oncoming truck. With me is Superintendent Jim Gordon. Superintendent, do you have any idea of the motive?"
"Summer, the investigation is ongoing. All I can say at this point is we've talked to area rental car companies and staff at the Gotham Hilton. We've notified the feds and Interpol, but the perp had no identification of any kind."
"And what of the heroic efforts of Kansas' favourite son, Clark Kent?"
"The kid, not surprisingly, had been through an ordeal. We'll be taking statements from all witnesses. Mr. Wayne has asked that the media respect Mr. Kent's privacy at this time."
"Thank you. We are now going live to our correspondent in Amsterdam for the latest ..."
"My god," the inspector sipped his awful tea, "that lad Wayne ... three assassination attempts in two months?"
"My money's on Luthor Sr. behind the hits," the lab technician replied.
The inspector laughed. "You watch too many movies."
The technician pumped his fists in victory. "I've got it, I've got it!" The inspector and a few officers huddled around the computer. "I've got a handful of partial files. See, they've been encrypted. But it's an older form of encryption. It took me the weekend, but we've got something. There." The screen filled with account sheets, email, contracts and timetables - all depicting Luthor House's transactions in eastern Europe. Coffee bought in vast quantities via Turkey, shipped to Germany and the Ukraine. Unusually high volumes to Bulgaria, Turkmenistan ... and Sarajevo. A few friendly calls to their Russian counterparts would certainly reveal that Luthor House laundered money. Coffee was a front for the real product: guns, ammunition, military-grade explosives, vehicles and who knows what else.
"If the press ever got wind of this ..." the inspector wondered.
"They never will." A grey-haired gentleman shoved a piece of paper in his face. An order reversing the seizure of Luthor House files. "Tyndhurst and Lassiter, Barristers-at-Law, Fleet Street. We represent Luthor Corp'.s interests in the UK."
The inspector gasped as he read the document. "Intellectual property?!?"
The attorney brought a dozen private security officers, who promptly gathered all the diskettes, computers and silicon chips.
"You can't do this! Luthor House and its assets don't belong to you anymore," the inspector challenged.
"The attorney adjusted his glasses. "Yes, Luthor House does not belong to Luthor Corp. But Luthor Corp. never surrendered any intellectual property rights as a pre-condition of the 2000 sale to Rotterdam. These files describe business strategies, concepts ... ideas, really. Luthor House's building, furniture, and yes, even computer hardware all are the property of the owner, Rotterdam. But the business strategies contained in those files, etc. belong to - and always will belong to - Luthor Corp."
The technician was livid. "Oh come on! This is bullshit! Inspector ..."
The attorney continued. "Once we have extracted all intellectual property from such files, we will, of course, return all hardware to Rotterdam."
The inspector shook his head. "I suppose you won't allow us to supervise this process."
The attorney smirked and presented another document. "Gag order. Since this is private corporate information, you cannot divulge anything you may - or think you may - have found on those files. Or risk a lawsuit. And, no, only Luthor Corp. employees, partners and associates may view such sensitive documents." Within minutes the attorney left with what could have been concrete evidence of Luthor's involvement in the Bosnian conflict.
The technician crossed his arms. He looked completely dejected. "Good job, son. Not your fault. Good job." The inspector slapped the technician on the back. It seemed to him that money can buy anything. Even absolution from the dirty business of arms trading.
Bloody laywers, he grumbled.
[Gotham City]
"...miraculous reversal of fortunes as Luthor Corp. successfully thwarted the Scotland Yard investigation, using an admittedly creative defense: intellectual property ..." Alfred switched off the radio.
"Thanks, Bruce," Clark mumbled, "for keeping me from losing my head."
Bruce looked at the light mist of rain over the skyline. "You kept your own head. I only helped you to remember what you already knew. You're Jonathan Kent's son, after all."
Clark smiled, but couldn't shake the feeling of disgust at the blind rage he had felt in that stairwell. Alfred interrupted. "Sir?"
"Yes, Alfred."
"The flowers, sir."
Bruce nodded. Alfred turned away from the highway and drove to Gotham Cemetary. At the tombstones of Thomas and Martha Wayne, Clark stood a few feet back as Bruce Wayne knelt between their graves and placed the bouquet of flowers on the soil. "Happy anniversary," Bruce muttered.
"He'll need a few moments to himself," Alfred mentioned and took Clark aside. "Every year it's like this. You know, he blames himself in part - after all these years - for what happened. He was only a boy. Just a boy."
"He can always count on me," Clark added, "for anything."
"Really." Alfred was still guarded. "If those radio reports are true, Luthor Corp. may have pulled another rabbit out of the hat. Your friend Lex can rest easier now."
"Yeah, with all that's happened in Smallville, the last thing he needs is another scandal." Clark pulled the umbrella closer to his head.
Clark is a good friend, Alfred thought, but his friendship with Lex - well, there's reason for concern.
"I've served the Wayne family for nearly 30 years. Lionel Luthor has crossed my path on a number of occasions." He glared directly at Clark. "It is my opinion that Lionel cannot be trusted. He was an enemy of Thomas Wayne. His tabloids dragged the Waynes through the mud for years after the funeral. Tried to tarnish everything Thomas fought for. That makes him my enemy, you understand? And from what I've seen of Lex ..."
"You don't know Lex, he's is not like his father," Clark insisted.
Alfred paused. The folly of youth. "I don't presume to choose your friends for you. And make no mistake, your friendship with Master Bruce is ...". He glanced over his shoulder. Bruce stood over the graves. No expression.
Alfred continued. "... beyond value." He clutched Clark's arms with both hands. "Do not let him down."
Clark looked up. The sky exploded in thunder and sheets of rain. Bruce still stood there. Rigid. Frozen in time.
"I apologize if I've stepped over the line," Alfred added.
Clark pulled the umbrella closer to Alfred. "No, not at all. You're his only family. You only want what's best for him."
"Yes," Alfred rubbed his eyes, "yes I do." I still have a point to make. He stood in front of Clark.
"These are dangerous times. Whatever you may believe, the Luthors have a reputation for ruthlessness - and not just in the boardroom. There may come a time when you will have to choose between your friendship with Lex Luthor and your friendship with Master Bruce." He opened the limousine door as Clark closed the umbrella. "I can only pray that you will make a wise choice. For Bruce's sake. And yours."
Bruce's basement project will be over in mere weeks, Alfred recalled. The ordeal is yet to come.
[Gotham Federal Train Station - two days later]
Bruce tried to entertain Clark. Only last night he took Clark to catch the Gotham Sentinels' baseball game against the Cardinals. It was a squeaker in favour of the Sentinels: 8-7. Bruce tried to convince Clark to enjoy himself, but Clark couldn't shake the feeling of disappointment at the Opera House events. Clark finally decided to cut short his trip to Gotham. "I need to sort some things out," he had told Bruce.
Bruce was dejected, but he understood. Clark shouldn't have to bear the responsibilities I have accepted by design. "When you feel ready to come back to Gotham, I'm only a phone call away." Clark gave him a firm handshake.
"Here's your luggage" Alfred wheeled over the bags. "I took the liberty of packing some fresh sandwiches. The train to Smallville leaves in about ten minutes." Clark thought he saw a glimpse of shoulder length blonde hair in the crowd.
Chloe was depressed. Two months away from home. No friends. Oh yeah, one little byline. Finally, they let me do a little blurb about Luthor House. But all the exciting stuff was left to the veterans. Still, a summer internship at the Planet was quite an accomplishment. Perry White left the door open for a summer job next year - no guarantees, of course, just possibilities. This fall will be full of possibilities. Clark.
She looked puzzled. "Clark Kent?" Clark ran towards her, nearly tripping over his own bags. He spun her around and gave her a big hug.
"My train had a little engine trouble, so we had to detour to Gotham," she explained. "I'm supposed to catch the express to Smallville in a few minutes." She saw Bruce and Alfred and waved. "I ... thought you were gonna stick around until the end of the week."
"Well, I promised my dad I'd keep a low profile," Clark pulled out the Gotham Times: 'CLARK KENT GRAPPLES WITH WOULD-BE KILLER: SAVES WAYNE AGAIN'
"I'm getting out while I still have a sliver of a private life."
Clark saw Alfred pointing to the clock. "Train to Smallville now boarding," the porter hollered.
Chloe noticed that Clark's eyes seemed watery. "Are you alright?"
He remembered the feeling of utter despair he felt in that stairwell. Yet, he faced his darkest fears and survived. He led Chloe aboard the train, then turned to wave at Bruce Wayne. My friend. "Ms. Sullivan, you are about to have an exclusive one-on-one interview with Farmboy. Where should I begin? Gotham Opera House. The biggest social event of the year. Celebrities everywhere. You still with me, Chloe??"
"Always, Clark Kent, always," she replied. This detour was sooo worth it, she thought.
EPILOGUE
Georgetown: a well-to-do neighbourhood in Washington, D.C. Home of diplomats, senators and generals. Maurice's was a popular restaurant where members of Congress dined - and plotted. Congressional races were coming up soon. The Democrats desperately wanted to win back control of the House. It's only fair. The Republicans have the White House.
"So we're agreed?" one senator asked. "We draft him for the Senate, 2004."
"We have a substantial war chest ready for him," a congressman added, "if he would only say yes."
"The Republicans have already sent feelers. He may side with them. But his father has a solid reputation with our party," yet another senator continued.
"We get him in the House, 2004. Let him raise his profile. Then ..." They clinked their wine glasses together.
"Exactly. A toast, gentleman, to - we hope - a future Democratic presidential candidate, Bruce Wayne. Even if Powell takes a run for it, Wayne is this generation's Jack Kennedy. In time, we'll have another Camelot."
In the booth around the corner, Lionel Luthor knocked over his entree. Even as news of Luthor Corp.'s legal triumphs reached the capital, Wayne still trumped him in the halls of power. Senator Wayne? Not if I have a say in it.
THE END (for now ...)
[Scotland Yard, forensic technology lab]
"Turn on the telly, something big just happened in Gotham City," the inspector said as he sipped his cup of tea, "arrgh, this swill is bloody awful." He sipped it again.
"This is Summer Gleeson reporting live from the Gotham Opera House where Gotham's first citizen, Bruce Wayne narrowly escaped an assassin's bullet. GCPD confirms that the would-be assassin died as he stepped into the path of an oncoming truck. With me is Superintendent Jim Gordon. Superintendent, do you have any idea of the motive?"
"Summer, the investigation is ongoing. All I can say at this point is we've talked to area rental car companies and staff at the Gotham Hilton. We've notified the feds and Interpol, but the perp had no identification of any kind."
"And what of the heroic efforts of Kansas' favourite son, Clark Kent?"
"The kid, not surprisingly, had been through an ordeal. We'll be taking statements from all witnesses. Mr. Wayne has asked that the media respect Mr. Kent's privacy at this time."
"Thank you. We are now going live to our correspondent in Amsterdam for the latest ..."
"My god," the inspector sipped his awful tea, "that lad Wayne ... three assassination attempts in two months?"
"My money's on Luthor Sr. behind the hits," the lab technician replied.
The inspector laughed. "You watch too many movies."
The technician pumped his fists in victory. "I've got it, I've got it!" The inspector and a few officers huddled around the computer. "I've got a handful of partial files. See, they've been encrypted. But it's an older form of encryption. It took me the weekend, but we've got something. There." The screen filled with account sheets, email, contracts and timetables - all depicting Luthor House's transactions in eastern Europe. Coffee bought in vast quantities via Turkey, shipped to Germany and the Ukraine. Unusually high volumes to Bulgaria, Turkmenistan ... and Sarajevo. A few friendly calls to their Russian counterparts would certainly reveal that Luthor House laundered money. Coffee was a front for the real product: guns, ammunition, military-grade explosives, vehicles and who knows what else.
"If the press ever got wind of this ..." the inspector wondered.
"They never will." A grey-haired gentleman shoved a piece of paper in his face. An order reversing the seizure of Luthor House files. "Tyndhurst and Lassiter, Barristers-at-Law, Fleet Street. We represent Luthor Corp'.s interests in the UK."
The inspector gasped as he read the document. "Intellectual property?!?"
The attorney brought a dozen private security officers, who promptly gathered all the diskettes, computers and silicon chips.
"You can't do this! Luthor House and its assets don't belong to you anymore," the inspector challenged.
"The attorney adjusted his glasses. "Yes, Luthor House does not belong to Luthor Corp. But Luthor Corp. never surrendered any intellectual property rights as a pre-condition of the 2000 sale to Rotterdam. These files describe business strategies, concepts ... ideas, really. Luthor House's building, furniture, and yes, even computer hardware all are the property of the owner, Rotterdam. But the business strategies contained in those files, etc. belong to - and always will belong to - Luthor Corp."
The technician was livid. "Oh come on! This is bullshit! Inspector ..."
The attorney continued. "Once we have extracted all intellectual property from such files, we will, of course, return all hardware to Rotterdam."
The inspector shook his head. "I suppose you won't allow us to supervise this process."
The attorney smirked and presented another document. "Gag order. Since this is private corporate information, you cannot divulge anything you may - or think you may - have found on those files. Or risk a lawsuit. And, no, only Luthor Corp. employees, partners and associates may view such sensitive documents." Within minutes the attorney left with what could have been concrete evidence of Luthor's involvement in the Bosnian conflict.
The technician crossed his arms. He looked completely dejected. "Good job, son. Not your fault. Good job." The inspector slapped the technician on the back. It seemed to him that money can buy anything. Even absolution from the dirty business of arms trading.
Bloody laywers, he grumbled.
[Gotham City]
"...miraculous reversal of fortunes as Luthor Corp. successfully thwarted the Scotland Yard investigation, using an admittedly creative defense: intellectual property ..." Alfred switched off the radio.
"Thanks, Bruce," Clark mumbled, "for keeping me from losing my head."
Bruce looked at the light mist of rain over the skyline. "You kept your own head. I only helped you to remember what you already knew. You're Jonathan Kent's son, after all."
Clark smiled, but couldn't shake the feeling of disgust at the blind rage he had felt in that stairwell. Alfred interrupted. "Sir?"
"Yes, Alfred."
"The flowers, sir."
Bruce nodded. Alfred turned away from the highway and drove to Gotham Cemetary. At the tombstones of Thomas and Martha Wayne, Clark stood a few feet back as Bruce Wayne knelt between their graves and placed the bouquet of flowers on the soil. "Happy anniversary," Bruce muttered.
"He'll need a few moments to himself," Alfred mentioned and took Clark aside. "Every year it's like this. You know, he blames himself in part - after all these years - for what happened. He was only a boy. Just a boy."
"He can always count on me," Clark added, "for anything."
"Really." Alfred was still guarded. "If those radio reports are true, Luthor Corp. may have pulled another rabbit out of the hat. Your friend Lex can rest easier now."
"Yeah, with all that's happened in Smallville, the last thing he needs is another scandal." Clark pulled the umbrella closer to his head.
Clark is a good friend, Alfred thought, but his friendship with Lex - well, there's reason for concern.
"I've served the Wayne family for nearly 30 years. Lionel Luthor has crossed my path on a number of occasions." He glared directly at Clark. "It is my opinion that Lionel cannot be trusted. He was an enemy of Thomas Wayne. His tabloids dragged the Waynes through the mud for years after the funeral. Tried to tarnish everything Thomas fought for. That makes him my enemy, you understand? And from what I've seen of Lex ..."
"You don't know Lex, he's is not like his father," Clark insisted.
Alfred paused. The folly of youth. "I don't presume to choose your friends for you. And make no mistake, your friendship with Master Bruce is ...". He glanced over his shoulder. Bruce stood over the graves. No expression.
Alfred continued. "... beyond value." He clutched Clark's arms with both hands. "Do not let him down."
Clark looked up. The sky exploded in thunder and sheets of rain. Bruce still stood there. Rigid. Frozen in time.
"I apologize if I've stepped over the line," Alfred added.
Clark pulled the umbrella closer to Alfred. "No, not at all. You're his only family. You only want what's best for him."
"Yes," Alfred rubbed his eyes, "yes I do." I still have a point to make. He stood in front of Clark.
"These are dangerous times. Whatever you may believe, the Luthors have a reputation for ruthlessness - and not just in the boardroom. There may come a time when you will have to choose between your friendship with Lex Luthor and your friendship with Master Bruce." He opened the limousine door as Clark closed the umbrella. "I can only pray that you will make a wise choice. For Bruce's sake. And yours."
Bruce's basement project will be over in mere weeks, Alfred recalled. The ordeal is yet to come.
[Gotham Federal Train Station - two days later]
Bruce tried to entertain Clark. Only last night he took Clark to catch the Gotham Sentinels' baseball game against the Cardinals. It was a squeaker in favour of the Sentinels: 8-7. Bruce tried to convince Clark to enjoy himself, but Clark couldn't shake the feeling of disappointment at the Opera House events. Clark finally decided to cut short his trip to Gotham. "I need to sort some things out," he had told Bruce.
Bruce was dejected, but he understood. Clark shouldn't have to bear the responsibilities I have accepted by design. "When you feel ready to come back to Gotham, I'm only a phone call away." Clark gave him a firm handshake.
"Here's your luggage" Alfred wheeled over the bags. "I took the liberty of packing some fresh sandwiches. The train to Smallville leaves in about ten minutes." Clark thought he saw a glimpse of shoulder length blonde hair in the crowd.
Chloe was depressed. Two months away from home. No friends. Oh yeah, one little byline. Finally, they let me do a little blurb about Luthor House. But all the exciting stuff was left to the veterans. Still, a summer internship at the Planet was quite an accomplishment. Perry White left the door open for a summer job next year - no guarantees, of course, just possibilities. This fall will be full of possibilities. Clark.
She looked puzzled. "Clark Kent?" Clark ran towards her, nearly tripping over his own bags. He spun her around and gave her a big hug.
"My train had a little engine trouble, so we had to detour to Gotham," she explained. "I'm supposed to catch the express to Smallville in a few minutes." She saw Bruce and Alfred and waved. "I ... thought you were gonna stick around until the end of the week."
"Well, I promised my dad I'd keep a low profile," Clark pulled out the Gotham Times: 'CLARK KENT GRAPPLES WITH WOULD-BE KILLER: SAVES WAYNE AGAIN'
"I'm getting out while I still have a sliver of a private life."
Clark saw Alfred pointing to the clock. "Train to Smallville now boarding," the porter hollered.
Chloe noticed that Clark's eyes seemed watery. "Are you alright?"
He remembered the feeling of utter despair he felt in that stairwell. Yet, he faced his darkest fears and survived. He led Chloe aboard the train, then turned to wave at Bruce Wayne. My friend. "Ms. Sullivan, you are about to have an exclusive one-on-one interview with Farmboy. Where should I begin? Gotham Opera House. The biggest social event of the year. Celebrities everywhere. You still with me, Chloe??"
"Always, Clark Kent, always," she replied. This detour was sooo worth it, she thought.
EPILOGUE
Georgetown: a well-to-do neighbourhood in Washington, D.C. Home of diplomats, senators and generals. Maurice's was a popular restaurant where members of Congress dined - and plotted. Congressional races were coming up soon. The Democrats desperately wanted to win back control of the House. It's only fair. The Republicans have the White House.
"So we're agreed?" one senator asked. "We draft him for the Senate, 2004."
"We have a substantial war chest ready for him," a congressman added, "if he would only say yes."
"The Republicans have already sent feelers. He may side with them. But his father has a solid reputation with our party," yet another senator continued.
"We get him in the House, 2004. Let him raise his profile. Then ..." They clinked their wine glasses together.
"Exactly. A toast, gentleman, to - we hope - a future Democratic presidential candidate, Bruce Wayne. Even if Powell takes a run for it, Wayne is this generation's Jack Kennedy. In time, we'll have another Camelot."
In the booth around the corner, Lionel Luthor knocked over his entree. Even as news of Luthor Corp.'s legal triumphs reached the capital, Wayne still trumped him in the halls of power. Senator Wayne? Not if I have a say in it.
THE END (for now ...)