Charade
By Nan Smith <hachiban@earthlink.net>
Rated: PG
Submitted:  July 2001


Disclaimer:  The familiar characters and settings in this story are the property 
of DC Comics, Warner Bros., December 3rd Productions, et al, and I have no claim 
on them, nor do I profit by their use.  The story, however, is mine.

This is the sequel to "Vanishing Act".

Charade
By Nan Smith

"Clark?"  Lois pushed her way through scratchy branches and underbrush, and 
paused, drawing a breath to softly call her husband's name again.  Surely, he 
would hear her.  Even the noise of the night insects and the not-so-distant surf 
couldn't drown out her voice completely, especially for him.  The tall pines 
towered above her, giants in the darkness, and beneath her feet the leaves shed 
by the few deciduous trees among the evergreens crunched as she took a step.  
"Clark?"

Only the night sounds answered her.  Ahead, a cricket chirped loudly, then fell 
silent at the sounds of her approach.  Surely, he must have gone this way, she 
told herself.  She had seen the form of a tall, broad-shouldered man enter the 
trees only moments before.

Was she even still going in the right direction?  Under the trees, the silver 
glow of the moonlight was nonexistent, and she was suddenly unsure which way she 
was facing.  The sound of the surf seemed to come from all directions.  She 
moved slowly forward a few steps and whispered Clark's name a third time, only 
to sputter and spit out a spider web encountered in the darkness.

This wasn't a good idea, she thought.  If that hadn't been Clark after all, she 
could be walking into trouble, especially with all the things that had happened 
since they'd gotten to Crescent Island, but how was she supposed to find her way 
out of here?  If she yelled for Superman and anyone overheard her, her cover 
would be blown.

An outboard went by on her left with a tremendous racket and she winced at the 
sound, but it was the clue she needed.  She had turned ninety degrees from her 
original direction.  Lois adjusted her course and started forward.  Her heels 
sank into soft, powdery soil and she stumbled slightly.  The beach couldn't be 
very far away and once she was out in the open, she would be able to see.  Then 
she could simply make her way along the shoreline until she was past the stand 
of trees and she could take a slightly longer detour back to the house.

It was no more than five minutes later that she pushed aside a screen of pine 
needles and emerged onto the open stretch of beach, gleaming under the 
moonlight.  Breakers rolled a short way out, rushing and curling up onto the 
sand, and collapsing into little eddies of water, edged with foam, which was 
sucked slowly back into the sea.  There was no sign of her husband, but she 
turned right and began her trek along the shoreline toward the wide path that 
led back up to the big house on the low hill beyond the trees.  She was going to 
have to change her clothing before she went in to dinner, she thought.  The 
shoes she was wearing were dirty and the hem of her dress was bedraggled and 
muddy.  Mentally, she berated herself.  Where had her common sense gone?  She'd 
dealt with difficult situations before without losing her cool.  The last thing 
she and Clark wanted to do was draw undue attention to themselves at this point.

A short distance away something lay on the white expanse of sand, like a bundle 
of rags thrown carelessly down and abandoned.  As she moved toward it, the 
shapeless mass took on form and outline, and she found herself floundering 
clumsily forward through the powdery substance, her heels sinking into it.  One 
of her shoes fell off and she paused only momentarily to pick it up, barely 
noticing.  

It was the body of a man face down on the sand, limp and lifeless like a sack of 
flour and there was a dark, irregular patch of something warm and sticky 
blotching the white shirt between his shoulder blades and all down his back.

**********

Last week:   

"Clark, I got that stuff back on Jeffers."  Lois Lane dropped a sheaf of papers 
onto her husband's desk.  "You were right.  He *did* work for Lexcorp.  He was 
the head of LexTravel Cruise Lines.  Do you sense a connection here?"

"Could be."  Clark looked up at his wife with a smile.  "He's become an 
executive with Caribbean Imports, and we know that Lexcorp, and later Luthor's 
son, dealt with them.  I'd say that's more than a coincidence." 

"Lexcorp has more tentacles than an octopus," Lois said, distastefully.  "You 
think you've killed it, and then another part pops up." 

"Well, we don't know Caribbean Imports was actually part of Lexcorp--at least 
not officially--but I agree with you in principle," Clark said.  "Considering 
the number of illegal dealings they've been caught in, I'd say that's the avenue 
to pursue next."

The investigation into Caribbean Imports had been going on slowly but steadily, 
ever since the time, six months before, that Lois and Clark had uncovered its 
connection to a group of white slavers and rescued Lois's sister, as well as 
three other young women, from a warehouse by the docks where they had been 
imprisoned.  Caribbean Imports, as usual, had managed to wiggle out of the 
incriminating circumstances, but not without the shadow of suspicion falling on 
them.  Subsequently, Interpol's investigation had located dozens of young women 
of many nationalities in the secret harems of wealthy men in numerous countries, 
including the United States.  So far, the involvement of Caribbean Imports 
seemed to be only with the transportation angle, and the only persons connected 
to that appeared to be a group of lower level employees.  However, the company 
had fallen under suspicion of the international police as a result.

"You know," Lois remarked, "if I were a company head, I'd be worried that so 
many of their lower level employees seem to be involved in illegal activity.  It 
could give the business a bad name."

Clark gave a short laugh, but didn't reply.  Neither of them was really under 
any illusion regarding the company.  With its headquarters in the Cayman 
Islands, in spite of the fact that it maintained an office here in Metropolis, 
Caribbean Imports had come up too often in the recent past to be mere 
coincidence.

The elevator doors opened and Lois glanced up to see Ralph emerge.  The man 
still walked with a slight limp, she observed happily, the momento of that same 
event now six months past.  He'd acquired a bullet in a delicate spot and still 
complained every now and then that he continued to have shooting pains there 
when the weather was damp, as it was today.  One good result from her point of 
view, however, was that the incident had thoroughly quelled Ralph's desire to 
pursue Clark in an effort to learn the secrets to acquiring his big scoops.  
Lane and Kent, he'd stated flatly, were crazy, and were going to get themselves 
killed one day if they continued to use the investigative methods he'd observed.  
He'd stick to sex scandals.  It was safer. 

Perry had said nothing--pointedly.  It wasn't as if their editor hadn't tried to 
warn him, Lois thought, but it had taken a bullet in the posterior to convince 
him.  Oh well, all was well that ended well.  At least they wouldn't have him 
mucking up their current investigation or anything else that happened to 
intervene in the meantime.

"I've got Jimmy digging into any other connections between the two companies," 
Lois said.  "Want to make any bets?"

Clark laughed and shook his head.  "Not at those odds.  If there's anything to 
find, Jimmy will find it." 

Lois thought briefly of the folder of information they were gradually amassing.  
The owner of Caribbean Imports--ostensibly a gentleman who made his residence on 
a secluded estate located on a small, private island off the coast of Maine--had 
refused to grant them an interview, and his background was strangely cloudy, as 
was everything important about the company.  All the ingenuity of Lane and Kent 
yielded the most minimal of results, but the evidence was very slowly 
accumulating to prove that Caribbean Imports might be involved in more kinds of 
business than it advertised. 

**********

The sky was a dull grey color when they emerged from the building some time 
later.  Lois carried six-month old Marta and Clark toted CJ on his shoulders as 
they walked the two blocks to their car.  As usual, Clark scanned the Jeep 
carefully with his x-ray vision, looking for explosive devices, before any of 
them got into it.  The attempts to blow them up in their car months before had 
never quite been forgotten.

"No bombs," he told Lois, reassuringly.

"Don't laugh, Clark," she said.  "You know as well as I do that with the kids, 
we can't afford to take chances like that."

Clark didn't answer, but he couldn't resist a slight smile as he unlocked the 
doors and set CJ into his car seat.  Lois was busy settling her sleeping 
daughter into her own seat and didn't see it.  The thought of Mad Dog Lane 
worrying about safety was ironic, especially since two years before, he had been 
the one imploring her to be careful.  Having to care for two children had sure 
changed her attitude, although at times the Lois Lane of old sneaked through.  
The new Lois, however, was sure easier for his peace of mind.

Lois started the engine, glanced over her shoulder for oncoming cars and pulled 
smartly out into the street.  A thin mist was drifting down, coating the 
windshield very lightly, not enough to turn on the wipers, but enough to obscure 
slightly the vision of an ordinary human.  Clark knew enough to keep his mouth 
shut; Lois didn't like back seat driving from him any more than from anyone 
else.  They maneuvered through the rush hour traffic without incident, however, 
and within a short time had left the business district of Metropolis behind.  
Clark glanced back at the two children in their car seats.  CJ might be 
seventeen months old now, but he still hadn't outgrown his tendency to fall 
asleep in a moving vehicle.

"Sound asleep?" Lois asked.

"Snoring," Clark replied with a smile.  "I asked Mom if I did that, and she said 
I didn't, so that's one difference between us."

"That's because he's not you," Lois said, reasonably.  "Even identical twins 
have some differences."

"I guess so."  Clark looked back again at his sleeping son, who was also his 
genetic twin, smiling affectionately.  "Would you ever want to have another 
one?"

"Only if you have the next one," Lois said.  The red light they were approaching 
turned green.  

"That would be a definite first," Clark said.  "I don't think even Superman 
could handle...look out!"

A pickup truck was barreling toward the intersection against the red light, 
showing no sign of slowing down.  Lois jammed her foot onto the brake.  "Clark, 
I don't have any brakes!"

Clark did the only thing he could think of.  He opened his door and thrust a 
foot out onto the street, dragging it along the asphalt to slow their momentum.  
He was aware of a woman's scream from somewhere--not Lois, he thought absently--
and then the Cherokee was coming to a halt against the curb.  Quickly, he pulled 
his foot back inside and shut the door.

"Oh, God."  Lois leaned forward and rested her head on the steering wheel for a 
long moment.  "That was close."

"Are you all right?" Clark asked.

"Yeah."  Her voice was little more than a whisper.  "Thanks, Clark."

He glanced back at the two children in the rear seat, noting that neither one 
had awakened.  "That's what's meant by the phrase 'sleeping like a baby'.  What 
happened?"

"I thought the brake pedal was a little soft when we started, but everything 
seemed to work all right," Lois said.  "But when I tried to stop--suddenly I 
didn't have any brakes.  Where did the truck go?"  

"It's gone," Clark said.  He glanced around at the small crowd of onlookers that 
was collecting.  "I'll be right back.  Superman is going to fly us to our 
mechanic.  I want to know what happened."

**********  

"Joe said the brakes were tampered with," Clark told Lois, sometime later.  
"Someone tried to kill us, all right."

Lois glanced across the room to where CJ was absorbed with the characters on the 
television.  Clark grinned involuntarily at the sight, in spite of the 
seriousness of the situation.  The baby was sitting alertly in front of the 
screen, swaying his body back and forth in time to a counting song's bouncy 
rhythm.

She turned back to him, and he could see the faint lines of strain around her 
eyes.  "They weren't very discriminating, were they," she said.  "It could have 
killed CJ and Marta right along with us."

Clark shrugged uncomfortably.  He had spent the last forty minutes with Joe 
Pemberton, their mechanic.  "I'm sure they didn't care," he said.  "That makes 
two 'accidents' inside of a week.  Coincidence?"

"You know how I feel about coincidences like that," Lois said.  "I'm calling 
Bobby.  Maybe he's heard something."

"Good idea."  Clark removed his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose.  "Who 
would be after us this time?"

"Who *wouldn't* be?" Lois asked rhetorically, picking up the phone.  "Maybe one 
of the thousands of enemies we've managed to acquire along the way, who swore 
eternal vengeance against us, has gotten out of the penitentiary or something."  
She punched a number into the phone and waited while it rang.  "Come on, pick up 
the phone...Oh, hello, Bobby.  It's Lois...you were?  Well, I wish you'd called 
*before* your afternoon snack!"

Clark waited impatiently while Lois listened to Bobby Bigmouth.  Their informant 
seemed to be in an unusually loquacious mood, even for Bobby, for he saw Lois 
open her mouth to speak several times, only to shut it again as the man 
continued to talk.  At last, she said, "Thanks, Bobby; we owe you a dinner.  
I'll phone the Hunan House and charge up one of their Imperial Feasts for you, 
but next time call before you eat.  We nearly got killed an hour ago."  She 
paused, listening.  "I'm serious.  Thanks for the warning.  Bye." 

She shut off the phone, then clicked it on again and punched in another number.  
"Hello?  Yes, this is Lois Lane.  I need to charge up the usual for...right."  
There was a pause.  "For whenever he comes in to collect.  Just put it on my 
account, okay?  Right.  Bye."

She put down the phone and looked up at Clark.  "Well, that was interesting."

"What did he say?"

"There's a new guy in town, according to Bobby.  He's been hired to kill us."

"By who?"

"Bobby doesn't know.  He says we've rattled someone's cage and they don't like 
it.  We're bad for business."

"Great.  Who have we investigated recently?"

Their eyes met.  "Caribbean Imports," they said, together.  

"I guess we've gotten too close for comfort," Lois added.  She glanced at CJ, 
still glued to the television screen.  "This is serious."

"Did Bobby give you the 'new guy's' name?"  Clark asked.

Lois nodded.  "Harriman Jones.  He's staying at the Lexor, believe it or not."

Clark had raised both eyebrows at the name.  "Well, I guess it's a good place to 
stay if you don't want to be connected with his business.  I can't say his name 
is familiar, though."

"Me, either.  Bobby said the guy was out of town talent.  Clark--"

"Just a minute."  He removed his glasses and did a quick scan of the room.  
"Good; no bugs.  We should have thought about that before."

"We didn't know there was a contract out on us before!"

"No, but we should be careful, anyway.  I'm going to make a point of scanning 
the house when we come home from now on--just in case."  He glanced once more at 
CJ.  "We're going to have to do something about this contract fast.  Look; let's 
call Mom and Dad.  They won't mind taking care of the kids for a few days until 
we can get it sorted out."

**********

"'A few days'?" Lois repeated his words sometime later.  "It's taken us months 
to get as far as we have.  What makes you think we can handle it in a few days?"

"Well, I figure we're going to have to go at this in a slightly more unorthodox 
way," Clark said.  "Besides, we know a little more about them than we did even a 
week ago."

"True," Lois admitted.  "What have you got in mind?"

"How do you feel about going undercover?"

"Undercover where?"

"I'd say we go to the source of all this.  The head of Caribbean Imports, 
himself."

"But he knows what we look like," Lois protested.

"So?  As you've pointed out to me before, 'you see what you expect to see'.  If 
we find a way to get onto his island, maybe as part of his staff or something--
not together, of course--he won't expect to see Lane and Kent there.  Especially 
if we change our appearance somewhat, and make it look as if we couldn't 
possibly be there anyhow."

"And how are we going to do that?"

"Do you trust me?"

"Of course.  Do you even have to ask?"

"Not really."  He grinned briefly.  "Okay, we'll have to get Perry and Jimmy in 
on this, and if you've got any ideas, tell me.  This is just a bare outline, so 
feel free to make suggestions.  Here's what I'm thinking..."

**********

Tuesday was a bright, fall day, with a brisk wind that gusted through the 
streets of Metropolis, blowing off hats, whipping the skirts of women's dresses 
about their knees and denuding trees of their red and gold autumn foliage.  

It felt strange not to be rushing around, readying the children for the trip to 
the Daily Planet with them, but Lois felt better knowing that CJ and Marta were 
safe with Martha and Jonathan Kent on their Kansas farm.  Any further attempts 
on their lives would not include the lives of their children, and she knew Clark 
felt much more confident that he could protect her alone than all three of them 
from the unknown hit man.

She had been a little surprised at first when Clark suggested the plan he had 
outlined the night before but on further reflection, she understood.  His family 
was threatened, and he would do whatever was necessary to protect it.  If the 
two of them attacked the problem together, they would undoubtedly be more 
efficient than either would alone--and, he would be at hand to bail her out in 
case she got in over her head, as well.  A few years ago, Mad Dog Lane would 
have been furious at the suggestion that she might need help on any assignment, 
but now the knowledge that she had a partner who worked with her so perfectly 
that they might really be extensions of each other was reassuring.

Jimmy arrived a minute early, and pulled up at the curb as they were descending 
the steps of the townhouse.  The car was his pride and joy, Lois knew.  He'd 
bought it for barely more than scrap-metal prices and worked lovingly on it 
after work and each day off--when he wasn't dating, of course--until it looked 
and ran like new.  Clark opened the front passenger door for her and stood back, 
letting her enter, then closed it and got into the rear seat.

"What happened to your Jeep?" Jimmy asked as he pulled carefully out into 
traffic.

"It's in the repair shop," Clark said.  "Someone messed with the brakes."

"You mean somebody tried to kill you?"  Jimmy looked worried.  "Are the kids all 
right?"

"Yeah.  They're staying with relatives until we figure this out," Clark said.  
"That's what we need to talk to you and Perry about when we get to the Planet."

"Sure.  I'll do anything I can to help."

"Thanks, Jimmy," Clark said.  "We're going to need some research done, and maybe 
more.  This could turn out to be a little complicated."

"What's going on?" Jimmy asked.  "You sound like it's more than the usual whacko 
out for revenge."

"It is," Lois said.  "We've got a hit man with a contract on us."

Jimmy's lips pursed in a soundless whistle.  "That's bad.  Do you know who hired 
him?"

"We're pretty sure we know," Clark said.  "You know that investigation we've 
been on for the last six months?"

"Caribbean Imports?"

"That's the one," Lois said.  "We've apparently gotten too close to something, 
so they're trying to eliminate us."

"But you've got a plan, right?" Jimmy asked.

"You bet we do," Lois said.  "We'll tell you all about it at the office."

**********

"You're sure you two can handle this?" Perry was saying, forty-five minutes 
later.

Lois nodded vigorously.  "Perry, it's the only way we can get the evidence fast 
enough to do any good.  This hit man--"

Their editor held up a hand.  "Easy there.  I agree."

"--has probably tried to kill us twice in--you agree?"

"Sure," Perry said.  "You're right.  And besides, if this pans out, the Planet 
will scoop every newspaper in the country."

Clark had to work to keep his expression straight.  He'd figured they could 
convince their boss to go along with the plan but not without an argument, at 
the very least.  The ease with which they had won their point brought up a 
suspicion he'd been harboring for months, but he didn't voice it.  If it was 
true, Perry obviously had no intention of saying so and apparently didn't want 
him to mention it, either.

"All right," Perry said.  "Let's get started.  Jimmy, you know what they need 
you to find, so get busy.  In the meantime," he added, looking straight at Lois, 
"you stay in the office, out of sight.  I don't want this Jones guy jumpin' the 
gun before we're ready."

Lois glanced uncertainly at Clark and nodded.  "Okay."

"Good.  Go on, now.  There's no time to waste."

"I'm on it, Chief."  Jimmy headed for his desk and Lois got slowly to her feet.  
Perry smiled a trifle grimly.  

"Just see that you come out of this with a whole skin, you two.  Don't worry 
about me.  I'll do my part."  Perry lifted an eyebrow at Clark.  "You sure came 
up with a plan fast after you found out about Jones."

"Um--" Clark ducked his head.  "Not really, Chief.  Ever since we found out 
where Alejandro de Los Rios spends most of his time, I've been trying to figure 
out how to get close to him.  I've been looking for an angle, and I finally 
found it.  For some reason, he periodically invites parties of people to his 
island, apparently wealthy businessmen and their families.  Maybe he's trying to 
make business contacts, deals--who knows?"  He shrugged.  "Anyway, it seemed 
like a reasonable opportunity for us.  This only speeded things up a little.  
The guy has a good-sized staff, and he often brings in temporary personnel--
always from the same agency."

"It sounds like you've already done some research," Perry said.

Clark nodded.  "Just some preliminary stuff.  I was going to ask Jimmy to start 
digging into it today anyway but after yesterday, we're going to have to rush 
the agenda a bit."

Perry nodded.  "Okay.  Just make sure you keep me in the loop as much as you 
can."  He glanced at his watch.  "I've got a meeting with the suits upstairs in 
five minutes.  I better get movin'."  He hoisted himself reluctantly out of his 
chair.  "I hate these things."

**********

It was something over two and a half hours later that Jimmy approached Clark's 
desk.  Clark had been in and out of the office twice during that period and was 
in the process of writing up one of Superman's more spectacular rescues when the 
young computer expert set several sheets of printout on his desk.  

"I think I might have what you want, CK.  Look at this." 

Clark picked up the sheets.  "What have you got here?"

"Well, apparently they've got a some kind of big shindig coming up in a few 
days.  They've asked for an assistant chef for a two week assignment, and I have 
the guest list here."

"Do I want to know how you got hold of that?"

"The guy apparently always makes travel reservations for his guests via the 
Internet.  You don't want to know the rest."

"You're right, I don't.  Have you found a position for Lois?"

"Not exactly.  The only position is for the chef.  But there's a possibility.  
Look here."  Jimmy extracted a printout of a photograph.  "This guy, James 
Riley, is the new whiz-kid head of Futurevision.com.  As you can probably tell, 
it's an Internet company, and he's the founder.  He's one of the people on the 
guest list, and as far as I can tell, he's never been to Crescent Island before.  
His company's only been in existence for about a year, but it's been a real 
success.  That's the only picture of him I was able to find, too.  Apparently he 
avoids the media like poison."  

Clark glanced at the picture, then took a second, longer look.  James Riley 
appeared to be in his early twenties, and bore a superficial resemblance to 
Jimmy.  His hair was shorter, and of a lighter color, but there was a certain 
likeness between the two.

"Jimmy, you're not thinking what I think you're thinking."

"Look at the stuff I dug up on him, CK.  He has a...um...girlfriend."

Clark scanned the printout quickly.  "Kellie Davenport?  Jim, she's not a 
girlfriend.  She's a mistr--companion."

"Yeah, I know."  Jimmy had the grace to blush.  "But she's about five years 
older than him, and--"  He paused, swallowed and continued, "Lois could pretend 
to--you know--be my girlfriend.  I'll do everything you say, and stay out of the 
way.  And I do know computers.  It isn't as if I couldn't play the part so you 
and Lois could do whatever you need to do."  He added, "And it *is* kind of 
urgent."

The problem was, Clark realized, he was right.  It was an emergency, and they 
didn't have a lot of time.  Still he said, "Jimmy, I hope you're kidding."

Jimmy shook his head.  "I'm not.  Don't you think I can handle it?"

"It isn't that," Clark said, "but it's going to be dangerous."

"I know.  But it looks like the only real option we've got on this short 
notice."

"What does?" Lois's voice said, behind them.

Neither man had heard her approach.  Clark saw Jimmy grow slightly paler.  "Uh, 
we have a little problem, Lois," he said.  "There's only one opening for an 
employee--an assistant chef."

"Well," Lois said, "That's not someone I can impersonate.  There's got to be a 
way to get me on the island, Clark.  What were you talking about a minute ago?"

Clark glanced wickedly at the suddenly silent Jimmy Olsen.  "Well, there *is* 
one other possibility...." 

**********

"You're kidding me," Lois said.

"I'm afraid not."  Jimmy looked apologetic.  "Lois, you *know* I'd never try to 
take advantage of the situation!"

Lois looked at Clark, who shrugged eloquently.  "This looks like our only shot, 
Lois."

She took a deep breath.  "All right, if that's what we have to do, then we'll do 
it.  Is there a picture of this bimbo?"

"Um, yeah," Jimmy said, uncomfortably.  "Here."  He produced another printout.  
"There aren't many of her, either.  This one was taken with a long-distance 
camera.  I enhanced it digitally, and--"

Lois snatched the paper, examining the woman she would be impersonating.  

Contrary to what she expected, Kellie Davenport didn't match the image in her 
mind of the prostitutes she had met in the course of her job here in Metropolis.  
She was a slender woman, dressed conservatively, even elegantly, in a black, 
knee-length dress and heels.  Her golden-blond hair was styled in a simple 
pageboy cut and just brushed her jaw line.  Lois ran a hand over her shoulder-
length hair.  "It looks like I'm going to need a visit to the beauty parlor."

"Here's her bio," Jimmy said.  "She has a degree in literature from Metro City 
College."

Lois raised her eyebrows, scanning the printout.  "Why would a woman with the 
education she's got pick this sort of career?"

"Who knows?" Jimmy said.  "I understand computers but there's a lot about people 
I don't get." 

"I can relate to that," Lois said.  She fixed Jimmy with a basilisk glare.  
"Just make sure you don't get any ideas, Junior."

Jimmy turned bright red.  "Lois, you know I wouldn't do that!"  

She saw Clark hide a grin and couldn't control herself any longer.  She began to 
giggle.  "Of course I know, Jimmy, but your expression was priceless.  I just 
couldn't resist."

**********

"Okay, you're in, CK," Jimmy said.  "I cancelled the request for the chef with 
the agency and notified Crescent Island that their new guy would be arriving 
tomorrow.  You're Raoul Desrosiers, recently from Paris.  I hope you speak 
French well enough to fool them." 

"No problem, Jimmy," Clark said.  "How about you and Lois?"

"Mr. Riley's people think the party's been postponed because of a flu epidemic 
on the island," Jimmy said.  "Lois and I still have to visit the beautician, and 
we're all set."  He ran a hand through his hair.  "I guess it's time I got a 
different haircut anyway, but I'm not so sure about the perm."

Clark grinned.  "Think of it as educational, Jim.  The next time Sharon shows up 
with a new perm and asks how you like it, you'll know what she went through."

"It's Alicia, now."

"Well," Clark said, "the same principle applies."

"Yeah.  Oh, well."  Jimmy glanced around as their editor approached.  "Hi, 
Chief."

"I'm not sure I like this, Jimmy," Perry said, " but I guess you've got to get 
your feet wet sometime.  You follow Lois and Clark's orders to the letter now, 
you understand me?"  At Jimmy's nod, he turned to Clark and continued, "I've got 
things set up with the financial office--just try not to go whole hog.  I have 
to justify this on my balance sheet at the end of the month."

"We'll be careful," Clark assured him.  "Lois and Jimmy have to put on a show, 
but I'm just a lowly assistant chef."

"Well," Perry said, "it's a good thing you made cooking your hobby."

"In more ways than one," Lois's voice said from behind him.  "If he had to 
depend on me, we'd have starved a long time ago."  She stepped up beside Clark.  
"I've tracked down Jones, Clark.  He's staying in room 912 at the Lexor, like 
Bobby said.  He's originally from New York and has a rap sheet a mile long--and 
good lawyers, unfortunately." 

"What are you going to do?" Jimmy asked, curiously.  

"Convince him he's managed to kill us, naturally," Lois said.  "Superman's going 
to help us with that.  The guy has to report back to his boss that we're dead, 
so no one will even consider that we might be on Crescent Island."  She glanced 
at Clark.  "But if he gets one scratch on our Jeep, I'll murder him, myself!"

**********

"Good as new," Joe Pemberton said, handing Lois the keys to the Kent Jeep.  They 
were standing by the door to the repair shop's office.  In front of them, 
gleaming in the sunlight, sat their Jeep.

"Thanks, Joe."  Lois glanced at her husband who was standing, hands in his 
pockets, regarding the Cherokee with a thoughtful expression.

"Oh, Clark," Joe said, "your insurance man was here, looking at the Jeep this 
morning.  Asked me a bunch of questions about it.  I thought you said you 
weren't going to call them."

"I didn't call them," Clark said, after a short pause.  "Did you, Lois?"

"No," Lois said.  "What did he look like?"

Joe shrugged.  "Just like anybody.  About six feet, give or take an inch, brown 
hair, I think, brown or blue eyes--I didn't really notice.  If it wasn't your 
insurance man, who do you think it was?"

"That's a good question," Clark said.  "Was he alone with the Jeep for any of 
the time he was here?"

"Yeah, he was.  I had to answer the phone.  I was only gone a few minutes, 
though."  Joe looked worried.  "You don't suppose he was the guy that messed 
with your brakes, do you?"

"Could be," Clark said, slowly.  He turned back to the Jeep and Lois saw him 
lower his glasses.  After a moment, he shoved them back onto the bridge of his 
nose.  "Look, Joe, don't worry about it.  If it was just a couple of minutes, 
I'm sure he didn't have time to do anything serious.  He'd have been afraid 
you'd come back and catch him.  Besides, I reported what happened to the police.  
That's probably who it was."

The mechanic hesitated.  "I dunno, Clark.  I'm pretty sure he said he was an 
insurance investigator.  Mebbe I should look it over one more time, before you 
take it." 

It was fairly obvious to Lois that Clark didn't want Joe to check the Jeep over 
again.  She stepped into the breech.  "I think I know who it was," she said.  
"Don't you remember, Clark?  Henderson said they're investigating an auto 
insurance scam some group is running.  He was going to check out our accident, 
too--just to rule it out."

"Oh," Joe said.  He looked relieved.  "Sure, that must have been it."

A few minutes later, Clark turned the Cherokee out onto the street.  Lois hadn't 
objected when he'd removed the keys from her hand and gotten behind the wheel, 
but now she asked, "What's going on?"

The corners of his mouth twitched.  "I didn't want Joe to spoil our 
opportunity."

"So Jones did tamper with something."

Clark nodded.  "The front wheel should come loose after while.  That's why we're 
headed for Briar Canyon Road.  I think I can stage an accident there and still 
save the Jeep."   

"I hope so.  I don't think our insurance company would be very happy if they had 
to replace it twice in two years."

"You're probably right," Clark said.  "When we skid, just hang on tight, okay?"

Lois nodded.  "With you in charge, I'm not worried.  Not much, anyway."

"Good.  We've got a tail, by the way.  I suspect he wants to be sure, this 
time."

"Where?"

"See the blue car about a hundred yards back...wait until he comes around the 
corner.  There."
  
"The Chevy?"

"Yeah."  

Lois watched their pursuer in the rear view mirror for a moment.  "I'd like to 
be able to bring this guy in, too--just as a bonus."

"Well, you never know, we might be able to," Clark said.  "Stranger things have 
happened, but right now let's just stick to the plan."  He lowered his glasses 
and glanced at the front left tire.  "The wheel is wobbling.  I'm going to have 
to do a little lifting if we're going to make it to where I want to be."

"What do you--" Lois was beginning, then she saw what he meant.  Clark was 
floating upward, to hover a few inches above the driver's seat, and now he 
pressed one hand to the roof of the car.  The sound of the wheels on pavement 
died, and she knew he had lifted the Cherokee slightly so that they floated a 
fraction of an inch above the surface of the road.

Unless someone was watching closely, no one would realize what was going on.  
Lois glanced in the mirror, noting that their tail was still at least a good 
hundred yards behind them.  From Clark's expression, she could tell that he was 
concentrating hard on his task as he guided them toward his chosen destination.  
She didn't speak, preferring not to distract him, but what her husband was doing 
left her a little breathless.  They'd been married just over two years, now, and 
known each other for much longer, but sometimes he still managed to take her 
breath away with his abilities.

It was barely twenty minutes later that he lowered them to the road again.  They 
were on the Briar Canyon Road.  To their left, the ground on the opposite side 
of the road dropped sheerly away, and two hundred feet below tumbled the water 
of the Metropolis River, a tributary of the larger Hobbs River, which lay 
farther to the south.  On their right, a cliff wall rose almost vertically, bare 
rock, dotted by shallow pockets of soil where here and there an adventurous 
shrub or vine had somehow taken root.

"Here goes," Clark murmured, and twisted the steering wheel sharply.  The 
mistreated tires screeched as they veered across the road.  Out of the corner of 
her eye, Lois saw for an instant, the bouncing form of their front wheel 
hurtling off into space, and then they followed it.

It was only by the exercise of a good deal of self-restraint that she stifled a 
squeak of alarm.  Clark had the situation under control, she knew, but he made 
it look convincing as they plunged over the brink and out of sight of observers.

Then they were flying so fast that the river, now only a few feet below them, 
passed in an indistinct blur to her eyes, and she was sure that it wasn't her 
imagination that the floor under her feet grew distinctly warm.  It continued in 
this fashion for less than a full minute by her estimation--which, she admitted, 
might be a little off--and suddenly they were in the dark.  She blinked, trying 
to force her eyes to adjust.

They were in a garage, she realized, just as Clark turned on the dome light.  In 
fact, they were in Perry White's garage.  She let out the breath that she hadn't 
realized she was holding.

Clark glanced over at her, a slight look of concern on his face.  "Are you all 
right, honey?"

"Sure."  She drew a shaky breath, and then another.  "Wow.  Even after all the 
time I've known you, you still manage to surprise me, sometimes."

"Sorry," Clark said.  "I had to make sure he didn't see us.  Now, with any luck 
at all, he'll think we went into the river.  And since he was the only witness--
"

"No one will report it to the police or anything," Lois said.  "I'm glad of 
that.  I really didn't want to explain this to my parents."  

The door that led to the White's kitchen opened suddenly, and Alice White looked 
through.  "Lois?  Clark?  Oh, thank goodness, you're here.  Perry called me.  
Did everything go all right?"

Clark turned off the dome light and opened his door.  "It sure did, Alice.  Did 
you get the things he wanted?"

She nodded.  "Yes.  What's going on?  Perry didn't explain anything."

Lois opened her own door and slid her feet to the ground, not in the least 
surprised to discover that her legs were shaking slightly.  "It's a long story.  
We'll tell you about it while Clark does my hair for me..."

Alice glanced at the front of the Jeep.  "You look like you've been having 
adventures," she said.

"Did Perry tell you someone is trying to kill us?" Lois asked.

"No."  Alice shook her head and led the way into the kitchen.  "He only said you 
had to hide the Jeep here for a few days.  Knowing you, I figured something 
dangerous was going on.  What exactly happened?"

"Has Perry said anything about our investigation into Caribbean Imports?" Lois 
asked.

"You mean that company that was involved with the white slavers you exposed back 
in April?" Alice asked.  "I didn't know you were investigating them, but I'm not 
surprised.  Perry never thought they were as innocent as they claimed, and he's 
not the editor of the Daily Planet because he can yodel."

Lois had to smile.  "That's for sure.  Well, they've sent a hit man after us.  
We must have gotten too close or something." 

Alice drew in her breath.  "Are CJ and Marta all right?"

"Yeah," Clark said.  "Superman flew them out to my parents in Kansas.  They're 
safe until we get this figured out."

"That's a relief," Alice said.  "What happened to your Jeep?"

"Oh, that," Clark said.  "I told Perry this morning that we were going to stage 
an accident if we had to, but it turned out that the man trying to kill us 
cooperated by sabotaging our wheel."  He gave her a brief, suitably edited 
version of the last thirty minutes.  "Naturally, Superman had an eye on us," he 
concluded.  "He caught us when the Jeep went off the road and flew us here.  The 
guy probably thinks we're at the bottom of the Metropolis River right now."

Alice nodded her approval.  "Good.  So, what happens now?  You can't hide 
forever; not that I think you're going to--judging by the hair color and the 
other things Perry told me to get.  I've got it in the guest bathroom.  This 
way."

They followed her up the stairs.  "We're going undercover on the estate of the 
company's owner," Lois said.

Their boss's wife glanced back over her shoulder at them.  "You two be careful," 
she said.  

Clark gave her one of his brilliant smiles.  "We will."

********** 

Crescent Island, seen from above, was actually shaped like a rough crescent.  It 
wasn't large, and had been landscaped carefully.  Clark Kent, a.k.a. Superman, 
soared above the island, masked by a thin layer of clouds as he surveyed his 
destination.

Lois and Jimmy would be arriving in a few hours.  Chef Raoul was due at Crescent 
Island's private dock in fifteen minutes.  He changed course toward it, leaving 
the island behind.

There was a large, sleek, black motorboat waiting for him at the dock when he 
strode down the weathered pier ten minutes later, clutching a modest bag and 
correctly attired in a grey suit.  A small, neat mustache and beard adorned his 
upper lip and chin.  The man at the wheel of the boat glanced up at him with a 
businesslike expression.  "Raoul Desrosiers?"

"Oui, m'sieu."

A frown.  "Do you speak English?"

Clark nodded.  "Yes," he said, in accented English.  "I believe it is a 
requirement of the job."

"It is.  Put your bag in here and get in.  I've got a schedule to keep."

Friendly bunch, Clark thought, descending carefully into the craft.  The other 
man didn't glance at him again, but set the boat in motion almost before his 
passenger was seated.

The trip took a little over half an hour and was accomplished in silence.  As 
they neared the island, Clark viewed it from a different perspective than he had 
received from his overflight a short time before.

Veiled in mist from the sea, and with the overcast sky above, the island seemed 
somehow shadowed.  A beach of white sand stretched down to the waterline.  
Behind it, tall pines formed a solid barrier between it and the rest of the 
land, except for one place where stone steps led upward to a wide, white path 
that disappeared into the trees.  It became visible again beyond the barrier, 
where it wound its leisurely way up a low hill toward the big, sprawling house 
perched at its summit.  To the right, the beach dwindled and disappeared, 
becoming a cliff of bare stone, and with his enhanced vision unimpeded by 
glasses, Clark could see white birds of some kind flying in and out of holes in 
the rock, halfway up the escarpment.

As the motorboat approached, the silent man at the controls veered to port, and 
gradually the beach fell behind.  Beyond a narrow promontory, a wooden pier 
stretched out into the water, and it became evident that this was their 
destination.  The pilot cut the motor, and they floated gently up beside it.  
Without a word, he reached out with a boat hook to snag a wooden ladder that 
extended down the side and pulled them in close to it.

Another man in battered blue jeans and a windbreaker stood waiting, and caught 
the line that was thrown to him.  He cinched it tight around a wooden post, all 
without a word.  Clark's pilot reached out with one hand, grasped the ladder and 
swarmed onto the pier without glancing at Clark.

Clark tossed his bag onto the dock and followed him.

He ducked involuntarily as a seagull swooped by close overhead, one foot almost 
brushing his hair as he stepped onto the weathered boards of the pier.  The 
bird's harsh screech seemed to linger in the air for a long minute as he looked 
after it, then he stooped and picked up his bag.

The sea breeze that brushed his face was heavy with the scent of salt air, and 
the weathered grey boards underfoot had a gritty feel; salt, he thought.  The 
tiny white grains crunched under his feet like sand.  Five or six other 
motorboats and a single rowboat were moored to the pier, he saw now, bobbing 
gently in the water, and at some distance, but clear to his better-than-human 
vision, he could see a boathouse and another dock, much more elaborate than this 
one.  Tied to it were two motorboats that made the one in which he had ridden 
look shabby, and near the end was moored an elegant yacht with the name 
"Buccaneer" painted on one side in silver letters.  He could see the miniature 
figures of men in white uniforms moving about on the deck.

"Those are for Mr. de Los Rios's guests and family," the pilot said.  "Nobody 
goes there but authorized staff.  This pier is for the employees.  Understand?"

"Of course," Clark murmured. 

He followed the man in silence up the dock.  In a shed that stood nearby, they 
found a small vehicle similar to a golf cart which took them up a narrow, paved 
path toward the back of the big house he had seen from the sea.  They pulled up 
into a covered area where he saw that several more of the carts were parked and 
his driver cut the engine.  "We're here," he said.    

"So, I see."  Clark disembarked and reached back into the cart for his bag.  
"Where do I go now?"

"Knock on that door," the other man said, pointing.  "The housekeeper will tell 
you."  He turned and walked away without another word.  Clark looked curiously 
after him for a moment, then shrugged and strode toward the door.

**********

Lois Lane and James Olsen, alias Kellie Davenport and James Riley, exited the 
car that had brought them from the airport and stood waiting while the liveried 
chauffeur retrieved their baggage.  Moored at the end of the pier was a large, 
black craft with an enclosed cabin designed to hold a small convention, Lois 
thought.  Two men, wearing matching outfits, who had been standing near the 
boat, hurried forward, and one of them took two of the bags from the chauffeur.  
The other turned respectfully to Jimmy and smiled.  "Mr. Riley?  I'm Robertson, 
your pilot.  I hope you and Miss Davenport had a comfortable trip?"

"It was fine," Jimmy said.

"Excellent.  Come this way.  I'm afraid the weather is clouding up.  We're 
expecting a slight storm this evening, but we're told it should be clear by 
tomorrow."  He ushered them toward the boat and another man standing in the 
craft reached out a hand to help Lois down a short ladder onto the deck and 
through the door of the passenger cabin into its elegant interior.  Jimmy 
followed her, glancing around, but he said nothing.

The pilot smiled politely.  "If you'll take your seats, we'll get underway.  
You're the last guests.  Mr. de Los Rios was afraid the storm would arrive 
before you did."  The man turned quickly and disappeared into the pilot's cabin.  
Lois both heard and felt the engines start up moments later, and then the 
rocking motion of the craft increased slightly as they eased forward away from 
the pier.

"Would you like a cocktail?"  The man who had taken their bags was speaking.  

"Umm--no, thank you," Jimmy said.  "Kellie?"

"No, thanks," Lois said.  "How long until we get to the island?"

"About half an hour, Miss--if the weather holds."  The man glanced at the glass 
of the cabin's round windows-- they were called portholes, Lois recalled 
abstractedly.  At least that was what she remembered from the times she'd been 
on Lex's yacht, several years ago.  Most of her experience with boats didn't 
involve anything this fancy.  Drops of water spattered them, whether spray 
kicked up by the boat or raindrops she didn't know.  Their companion turned 
casually back to them.  "We're getting a little rain, but it shouldn't affect 
the trip."

True to the prediction, they docked thirty-five minutes later.  Two men standing 
on the pier lowered steps to the deck of the boat and gave Lois and then Jimmy a 
hand onto the dock.  They were ushered into a small, motorized cart, and the 
driver piled their bags into a second conveyance.  

The trip to the house that Lois could see above them in the fading light, was up 
a narrow but smooth, paved road.  They drew up in the concrete circle in front 
of the house's main door, and stopped.

The door opened, and a man in the uniform of a butler emerged.  He nodded at the 
driver and turned to give Jimmy and Lois a prim and correct little smile.  "Miss 
Davenport and Mr. Riley, welcome to Crescent Island.  If you'll just follow 
Jeffery, he will show you to your rooms."

**********

"Well," Lois said, "I've got to admit, the room's nice."  

"And at least they put us in separate ones," Jimmy said.

"With a connecting bathroom."  Lois added, dryly.  "I'm going to get changed.  
That guy said semi-formal, so I'm taking him at his word."  She glanced out the 
window at the scenery, only partly visible in the fading light.  The house 
overlooked the hill and the landscaped gardens.  Far to the left, she could see 
a swimming pool; lights reflected off the surface of the water in little rainbow 
shimmers.  Who in his right mind would swim in this weather, she wondered, but 
concluded that the water must be heated.  Still, it wouldn't be her first choice 
of recreation in October, on an island off the coast of Maine.  Brrr!  

Over the tall pines, she could see the ocean.  The surf was breaking vigorously 
on the beach, almost ghostly in the dusk, and she could hear the sound faintly 
through the closed window.  The tops of the pine trees were tossing in the brisk 
wind, and an occasional drop of rain streaked the glass.  She made a face.

"What's the matter?" Jimmy asked.

"I feel like I've been stuck in the middle of some cheesy gothic novel," she 
said.  "I used to read that stuff in high school, and this looks just like I 
imagined all those old houses in the books to look--the isolated estate with the 
reclusive owner who's really an axe murderer or something.  I sort of expect to 
go down to dinner and discover that the master's son is actually insane and his 
wife is plotting to kill the handsome young nephew to keep him from inheriting 
the family title.  Not to mention, there's probably a headless family ghost that 
walks the halls wailing and wringing its hands and clanking its chain, and 
scaring visitors for the fun of it."

"How can it wail if it doesn't have a head?" Jimmy asked, prosaically.

"Well, they always seem to in the novels.  Besides, that's not the point."

Jimmy snorted.  "Do women really read that stuff?"

"Companies wouldn't publish them if they didn't sell," Lois said.  She made 
shooing motions.  "Scram, now, Jimmy.  I need to take a bath and get dressed."

"Okay."  Jimmy turned toward the bathroom door.  "Let me know when you're done 
so I can get a quick shower."

The door had barely closed behind him when there was a brief gust of wind and 
Clark was standing in the middle of the room, clad in a chef's white garb and a 
tall, white hat.

"Hi."

Lois raised her eyebrows.  "Well, that didn't take long."  She ran a finger 
lightly across his goatee.  "Good disguise."

Clark grinned and pulled her into his arms.  "But of course, Madame," he purred 
with what Lois could swear was a genuine Parisian accent.  

"Mmm, you Frenchmen," she murmured, and then couldn't say any more because her 
mouth was otherwise very pleasurably occupied.  

After a long, lingering kiss, Clark let her go.  "I missed you," he said.

"I missed you, too," she said.  "How long have you been here?"

"I got in about four hours ago," Clark said.  "I have to be back in the kitchen 
in a minute.  I'm making the dessert.  You should enjoy it.  It's chocolate 
mousse."

"Kellie Davenport is allergic to chocolate," Lois said, glumly.  

"There's also apple pie a la mode," Clark suggested.  "I haven't had a chance to 
do any snooping yet.  I'm told the employees are supposed to stay away from the 
dock where you came in, but I don't know why.  It might just be general policy.  
Besides, I can't see that any company records are likely to be kept in a 
boathouse."

"You never know," Lois said.  "I might be able to look around there.  When do we 
get to meet our host?"

"At dinner tonight, I guess.  So far, I've only spoken to the head housekeeper 
and the guy's general manager.  According to them, if my work pleases Mrs. de 
Los Rios, they might hire me on permanently."  He grinned.  "I understand the 
salary is quite generous."

There was a knock on the adjoining door and Jimmy's voice said, "Kellie?  Are 
you talking to someone?"

"Come in, Jimmy," Lois called.  

The door to the bathroom opened and Jimmy stuck his head through.  His jaw 
dropped for a moment, and then he closed it with a snap.  "Great shades of 
Elvis!"

Lois and Clark broke out laughing.  Jimmy grinned a little shamefacedly.

"Sorry," Lois said.  "You sounded just like the Chief.  What do you think of 
him?"

"Wow!" Jimmy said.  "I'd never have recognized you!  How can you see without 
your glasses?"

"Contacts," Lois said.  "He doesn't like them, but they're useful sometimes."

"Wow," Jimmy said again.  "No wonder you guys are such good reporters.  You 
really do anything you need to when you're after a story."

Clark grinned.  "Thanks, Jim.  I have to get back to the kitchen.  I just wanted 
to let you know where my room is, in case you need to find me.  It's in the 
servants' quarters, Room Seven, in the back of the house."

"You have your cell phone, don't you?" Jimmy asked.  "You could call us--or we 
could call you if we need you."

"They don't work on the island," Clark said.  "I already tried.  At least, they 
don't work for us.  I distinctly heard the butler using a cellular phone, and it 
seemed to work fine."

"That's a little odd," Lois said.  

"It sure is," Jimmy said.  "I wonder if they have some kind of blocking device."

"Which leads me to wonder why they might not want guests to make outside calls," 
Lois said.  

"We'll find out," Clark said.  "Now, I have to go."  He glanced meaningfully at 
Jimmy, who nodded and quickly pulled the door shut.  

"Be careful," Lois said.

"I will," Clark said.  "I'm in a lot less danger than you.  Watch your step, 
okay?"  He kissed her quickly and was gone in a swirl of air.

**********

There were four other couples waiting in the lounge, none of them older than 
thirty-five.  Lois automatically identified them from the pictures Jimmy had 
given her.  Gerald Brown was accompanied by his wife.  He was, according to the 
bio Lois had read, the founder of Northstar Chemicals, a small, but growing 
company.  June Hampton, who had brought her new husband, was the owner and CEO 
of Practicality, a business journal for the working woman.  Horace Blumenthal 
had founded a small, but locally successful electronics supply chain, and was 
considering expanding his business nationally.  He and his fiancee were due to 
be married next year.  Finally, there was Andrew Filberg, accompanied by his 
partner, a young man with a studious air.  Filberg was the owner of Westwind 
Horizons, a growing bioengineering firm.  The only thing any of them had in 
common, as far as Lois could tell, was that they were all owners of small, but 
successful businesses, just as James Riley was.  There was the possibility, of 
course, that the interest in them displayed by the owner of Caribbean Imports 
was perfectly legitimate, but Lois was willing to bet her pension that it 
wasn't. 

The company was having cocktails when Lois and Jimmy arrived, and they found 
themselves being scrutinized by the entire group.  A tall, well-dressed woman 
whom Lois didn't recognize came forward to greet them.

"Mr. Riley and Miss Davenport?  I'm Mr. de Los Rios's social director.  Let me 
introduce you to everyone here..."  The woman proceeded to make introductions, 
and a young man appeared from nowhere, to offer them a tray of drinks.  Lois 
immediately picked up a small glass, with no intention of drinking any of it.  
She didn't want anything to cloud her attention to detail this evening.  Jimmy 
hesitated a moment, than chose a glass of what looked like Scotch.  Lois saw 
Mrs. Brown eyeing her curiously and smiled at her.  She was well aware that most 
of them would guess what she was supposed to be in short order, if they hadn't 
already, but that was all to the good. 

"James Riley?"  It was Blumenthal.  The man was tall and dark-haired, with the 
shoulders of a football player and a wide, infectious grin.  "Harry Blumenthal."  
He thrust out a hand.  "I'm glad to meet you."

"Call me Jim," Jimmy said, shaking his hand.  "This is Kellie."

"Glad to meet you, Kellie."  Harry clearly knew what her position was, but he 
only smiled.  "I hear you're the founder of Futurevision?"  At Jimmy's nod, he 
continued, "I've always been interested in the possibility of online business 
opportunities.  I was wondering if you had any advice for someone in my line of 
business for expanding onto the Internet--"

Within two minutes, the conversation had drifted completely away from any 
English Lois knew.  She stood surveying the room, although what she might be 
looking for she didn't know.  People stood about in small groups, talking.  
Behind them, a tall mirror reflected the room, and she studied herself in it.  
With her blond hair and completely different makeup style, she really looked 
like another person, which, of course, had been the intent.  That, coupled with 
the report of her death, should make it unlikely anyone would recognize her, 
even someone she knew, unless they looked quite closely.  Jimmy, too, looked 
more mature with his new haircut and clothing.  Someone who knew the Planet's 
young photographer would have to look closely to see him in the poised, young 
businessman.  The kid was growing up, Lois realized all at once.  Her youthful 
friend had become a man right before her eyes and she hadn't even realized it.

The social director had left the room for some minutes, but now she returned to 
stand in the doorway.  "Ladies and gentlemen, shall we go in to dinner?"

Jimmy gave Lois his arm and the two followed in the tail end of the party as 
they entered the dining room.  

A man was standing near the head of the table, smiling a greeting to his guests, 
as they appeared one by one.  Lois glanced curiously at the mysterious head of 
Caribbean Imports.  The man seemed somehow familiar.  Then recognition struck 
like a bolt of lightning, and she felt slightly dizzy.  A lot of things were 
suddenly explained, and she moved forward with Jimmy, careful not to do anything 
to draw the man's attention.

How it might be she had no idea, but Alejandro de Los Rios was a dead ringer for 
Lex Luthor. 

**********

Lois paced restlessly in her room.  She had slipped away at the conclusion of 
dinner, as soon as the opportunity presented itself to do so in an unobtrusive 
way.  

She didn't think she had been recognized.  She had watched de Los Rios, or 
whatever his name was, but let Jimmy carry the brunt of the conversation at 
dinner while she smiled and nodded a lot.  

In the beginning, when she had first known Lex Luthor, and even during that 
horrible time just prior to her disastrous near-wedding to him, his acquaintance 
with Jimmy had been just that: an acquaintance and not a very important one, at 
that.  Jimmy had changed a good deal since then.  He'd put on nearly another 
inch in height, his shoulders had broadened and he had acquired an air of self-
confidence that had been absent a few years earlier.  Coupled with his new 
haircut, the hated perm and hair color, Lois was pretty sure he wouldn't be 
recognized unless someone was actively looking for him.  

It was possible that Lex, in the impossible circumstance that it was actually 
Lex, might not recognize her either, unless he got up close, but she wasn't 
willing to risk it.  He had known her a lot better than he'd known Jimmy.

But it couldn't be.  Lex Luthor was *dead*.  Clark had seen him crushed in that 
cave-in.  He had retrieved Lex's lifeless body himself, identified it and been 
there when it was cremated.  He was as sure as anyone could be that their old 
Nemesis was gone for good, and she trusted his judgement.  

Lex Luthor was like his company, though.  You thought it was gone and it turned 
up somewhere else, but even Lex couldn't rise from the dead...at least, not 
again, not after that.  Once was enough for any man.

What was she *thinking*?  There had to be a rational explanation for this, she 
told herself, determinedly.  Lex *hadn't* risen from the grave like the 
proverbial vampire, returned to prey on the living.  Some things simply couldn't 
happen no matter how many miracles of science one had at one's fingertips.  

So, who was Alejandro de Los Rios?  If he had been the head of Caribbean Imports 
all along, it couldn't be Lex...could it?

Could it possibly be the Luthor clone?  The last she had heard of him, he'd been 
sitting in prison, facing twenty-to-life.  If he'd gotten out, surely she would 
have known.  Besides, up until a little over a year ago, the clone had been in 
stasis or whatever it was Dr. Klein called it.  De Los Rios, according to his 
very sketchy biography, had been the owner of Caribbean Imports for ten years.

So, it wasn't the clone.  Could it be another son of Lex's?  She considered that 
possibility and finally rejected it.  This man had his every mannerism, and Lois 
knew them well.  If she didn't know better, she could have sworn the man was 
Lex.  His hairstyle was different, his tightly curling locks tamed with a short, 
modern cut, which was why it had taken her a second look to realize what she was 
seeing, but in all other ways he was Lex Luthor.  Only, Lex Luthor was dead.  
She repeated the phrase in her mind like a mantra--or a prayer.  Lex Luthor was 
dead and he couldn't harm Clark or her ever again.  

Her thoughts churned in circles, but in the end, she was no closer to a solution 
than before.  Whatever the answer to this puzzle might be, she didn't have it--
at least, not yet.  Nothing she came up with seemed to make sense, but there had 
to be some kind of explanation, somewhere.  They just had to find it.

And where was Mrs. de Los Rios?  Clark had said they'd told him that if Mrs. de 
Los Rios was pleased with his work they might want to hire him on a permanent 
basis, so there was a wife somewhere--unless she was this man's mother or 
something.  And, of course, there was always the possibility the woman didn't 
exist.  At this point, Lois was willing to believe just about anything.  The 
situation was weird, no matter how you looked at it, but one thing remained 
unchanged.  Caribbean Imports was connected with far too many kinds of criminal 
activity for it to be a coincidence--including three attempts to kill Clark and 
her.  Come to think of it, that was completely consistent with LexCorp, as it 
had been, except for the last.  Lex wouldn't have tried to kill her.  So, where 
did this line of reasoning leave her?

Back at the beginning, she admitted ruefully.  It just meant that their 
instincts had been right.  There was something very odd going on here on 
Crescent Island.

**********

By the time Jimmy returned to their rooms, Lois was as close to climbing the 
walls as she had ever come.  She wouldn't be able to contact Clark while he was 
still on duty in the kitchen, and snooping around while the staff was still so 
active seemed unwise, especially since her excuse for leaving early--in case 
anyone asked Jimmy about her--was that she had developed a migraine as a result 
of the weather.  When she heard him enter his room, she hurried through the 
connecting bathroom and knocked on his door.

He must have been expecting her, for he opened it almost at once.  "Come on in."

She did so, closing the door quickly behind her.  He looked at her in a little 
concern.  "Lois, are you okay?"

"Of course I'm okay!"  She paused and took a deep breath, trying to force her 
voice under control.  "Sorry, Jimmy.  I'm a little upset."

"I don't blame you."  Jimmy pulled off his tie.  "Lois, that couldn't actually 
*be* Luthor, could it?"

"I don't see how," Lois said, trying to sound certain.

"But he came back before."

"Yeah, but Superman saw him die, Jimmy.  He was *cremated*!  There was nothing 
left to regenerate!"

"Yeah.  It does seem pretty unlikely, and if it were anyone but Luthor, I'd be 
certain.  Does CK know?"

"Not yet."  Lois started to pace again and reminded herself to relax.  It just 
couldn't be Luthor.  It was a physical impossibility.

"I'd like to know what he thinks about it."  Jimmy sat down on his bed and ran a 
hand through his hair exactly like Clark did when he was worried about 
something.  "Lois, did it occur to you that it might be another clone?"

It hadn't, which told her how upset she'd really been.  She shook her head.  
"How could someone have produced another one?"

Jimmy began to unfasten his jacket.  "Well, maybe Luthor did it, for some 
reason."  He got up slowly and went over to the closet to hang up the item.  
"Look, I'm reaching here, okay?  He made the Lois clone--or his people did--and 
the one of himself, and the two he was going to shift both of you into, and the 
baby clone of Superman that the other Luthor clone thought was CJ, and that no 
one ever found.  Why couldn't he have made a spare?"

Lois found herself staring at her younger colleague in astonishment.  "Wow, you 
get almost as complicated as I sometimes do when I talk.  You might be right.  
But de Los Rios has been the head of Caribbean Imports for ten years.  How could 
he take the guy's place and not get caught?"

"Maybe that's why he never leaves the island," Jimmy hazarded.  "And, that there 
aren't any pictures of him that I could find.  If none of the company's old 
employees ever see him--"

Lois frowned thoughtfully.  "Well, if he's a clone of Lex, with Lex's memories, 
he'd be smart enough to do it, so I guess something like that could have 
happened.  If it did, we're going to have to prove it--and that the company is 
up to its collective neck in crime!"

"Just like LexCorp," Jimmy said.

"Yeah," Lois said.  "Just like LexCorp."  Her eyes widened.  "Oh, God, that's 
what he's trying to do!"

"What?"

"He's trying to bring back LexCorp--or something just like it."

They stared at each other in horror for several seconds, then Jimmy said, 
"Remember, this is all just a guess, Lois."

"Yeah, it is," Lois agreed.  "I hope we're wrong."

"So do I," Jimmy said.  He grinned slightly.  "I guess none of us are very 
rational where Luthor is concerned."

"There's a reason for that," Lois pointed out, dryly.  She took a deep breath.  
"You know, I feel a little better--now that I know there might be a rational 
explanation for all this.  The thought that he might have come back from the 
dead again--not that I really believed it--kind of makes my skin crawl."

"Yeah, but now we have to figure out what did happen," Jimmy said.  "I'll do 
whatever you tell me to, Lois.  I don't want to see LexCorp come back--or 
Luthor, either--any more than you do.  The guy was a monster, no matter how 
great he seemed on the outside."

"You don't have to tell me that, Jimmy," Lois said.  "Did you know that while I 
was walking down the aisle, he had Superman trapped in his wine cellar, in a 
cage with Kryptonite-coated bars?"

"He *did*?"

"He sure did.  He told Clark and me about it later--that was why he couldn't 
save Lex when he dived off Lex Tower."

Jimmy shook his head.  "Man!  I'm just glad Superman got away."

"So am I."  She jumped when someone knocked discreetly on Jimmy's door.

"Who is it?" Jimmy called.

"Rogan, sir.  I'm led to understand Miss Davenport retired early.  Is everything 
all right?"

Jimmy gestured Lois back into the bathroom, waited until she was out of sight 
and opened the door.  "Oh, hello, Rogan.  Yes, she's all right.  She has a 
headache and is lying down.  This kind of weather always gives her one."

"Very good, sir.  If anyone can be of help, please let us know."

"Thank you," Jimmy said.  "I will."

"Good night, sir."

"Good night."

Lois heard the door close and poked her head out of the bathroom.  Jimmy glanced 
at her and put a finger to his lips.  Lois nodded.

After a long moment, Jimmy relaxed.  "He's gone."

"Who's Rogan?" Lois asked.

"The butler."

"Oh.  Well, I better get back to my room and get changed.  I hope I can find 
Clark, later.  He needs to know about this development."

Jimmy looked at her oddly.  "You're not going down there."

"That all depends on whether he comes up here or not.  I hope he does.  I don't 
really want to go looking for him."  

**********

Clark returned to his room in the servants' quarters and changed out of his 
chef's gear.  He hadn't had a chance to look around the island yet, but he 
planned to do that as soon as things quieted down a little, which might be 
awhile.  Until then, he put on a pair of casual, dark slacks and a dark shirt, 
and made sure his mustache and goatee were still secure.  

A check of the weather through the window told him that it was still windy and 
cloudy, with a light sprinkle falling, but there was no rule of which he was 
aware that said he couldn't take a stroll in the rain if he felt like it.  He 
slipped on a light, water-repellant coat and pulled on a dark cap.  Anyone who 
saw him outside might be surprised, but there was no reason he shouldn't take a 
look around.  

On his way toward the servants' exit, he encountered one of the groundskeepers 
on his way to his quarters.  The man glanced at his clothing without surprise.  
"Going outside?"

"I thought I would take a short stroll before I go to bed," Clark said.  He 
didn't have to think about his French accent; as long as he was in the persona 
of Raoul Desrosiers, he would stay in Raoul's character, which included an 
accent.  "I need a little fresh air after an evening in the kitchen."

"Don't go too far," the man warned him.  "It's easy to get lost in the dark 
around here."

"I will take care," Clark promised him.  "Thank you for your concern."  

The man nodded and went on down the hallway.  Clark continued toward the exit.

Outside, in the rear of the mansion--it couldn't really be called anything else, 
Clark thought--floodlights illuminated the immediate grounds, and the faint haze 
of the falling mist blurred the harsh brilliance of the lamps.  Clark strolled 
casually across the lighted area, hands in the pockets of his coat, clearly 
making no attempt to avoid being seen.  He paused squarely in the center of the 
lighted area and looked back at the house for a moment, then continued at a 
leisurely pace until he had left the lighted area behind.

Even then, he didn't abandon his open, unhurried attitude.  He was already aware 
that things were not as they seemed on this island.  It was quite possible that 
there might be other methods of monitoring his progress of which he was unaware, 
at least so far, and so he sauntered down the driveway, still with his hands in 
his pockets, glancing around with an air of interest. 

It was very dark here in the open.  Above, clouds covered the sky and the mist 
continued to drift downward, neither intensifying nor decreasing.  Clark stayed 
on the driveway, but moved steadily away from the house.  Finally he stopped and 
stood still.  The noise made by the other occupants of the house was far enough 
away now that he was able to tune his hearing to more distant sounds and he 
slowly became aware of something.  So unobtrusive that it had been masked by the 
chatter and activities of those in the mansion, and only barely audible over the 
sounds of the wind and surf, was a vibration.  Too faint to be called a sound, 
it scraped softly on the edge of his awareness.  He strained even his super-
hearing trying to locate the source, but he couldn't pinpoint it.  It was as if 
it came from all directions at once, a steady, very, very faint, muffled hum.   

It wasn't the house's generator.  He'd been aware of that since he'd arrived 
this afternoon.  This was something else, and his curiosity was aroused.  He 
pivoted slowly, trying to tell if there was a direction in which it was slightly 
stronger, but even for him it was impossible to be sure.  The normal sounds of 
the island almost entirely drowned it out.

He was listening so hard that he almost missed the sounds of approaching 
footsteps in time not to seem startled when a dark shape rounded the turn of the 
driveway.  A flashlight came on, and after a moment of erratic searching, came 
to rest on him.  A male voice said, "Mr. Desrosiers?"

"Oui," Clark said.

"You really shouldn't be out here at this time of night."  The voice belonged to 
a man wearing a raincoat with "Security" emblazoned on the left breast.  "If you 
were to get hurt, Mr. de Los Rios would consider it our fault.  Will you please 
go back to the house?"

The sentence was phrased like a polite request, but Clark could hear the command 
underlying the courteous words.  He nodded.

"I needed fresh air after all evening in the kitchen," he said, calmly.  "I was 
just about to return."

"Good," the other man said.  "I'll come with you, to be sure you make it all 
right."

"There is no need," Clark replied, "but you are welcome to--how do you Americans 
say it?--'come along' if you wish."  Unhurriedly, he turned around and started 
uphill toward the mansion, all its windows alight and welcoming in the darkness.  
How deceptive that might be, he thought to himself.  They certainly didn't want 
people walking about unsupervised around here.  After things got a little more 
settled for the evening, he intended to go see Lois.  Now that they had both 
seen a little of the lay of the land, they needed to make a few plans.

**********

Lois shifted around uncomfortably in the big bed, adjusted her pillows for the 
third time and finally put down her romance novel with a sigh of impatience.  
She just couldn't concentrate on the escapades of the heroine and her black-
sheep boyfriend.  The vision of Lex's handsome face kept rising up between her 
and the print.

She glanced at her little traveling alarm clock.  The hands said it was eleven 
thirty-nine.  If Clark didn't show up pretty soon, she was going to have to go 
out and try to find him.  It was just as well that she couldn't have slept if 
she'd tried, in spite of the incredibly comfortable mattress and the mound of 
large, fluffy pillows.  She couldn't go hunting for Clark until most of the 
staff was abed, and she was pretty sure they would still be up and around for 
awhile yet.

She glanced at the elegant little bedside lamp and sighed again.  How was she 
going to get any sleep at all, tonight?  The dinner with Alejandro de Los Rios 
had thoroughly spooked her.  Just the thought of Lex sent chills up her spine.  
There were only two persons in the world of which she was truly afraid, she 
admitted reluctantly to herself, and Lex was one of them.  Considering 
everything he and his sons had done to Clark and her, even the possibility of 
his return--or, more probably, that of his clone--was enough to cost her a 
night's sleep.  She wished, frankly, that Clark could spend the night in the 
room with her.  Sleeping next to him would chase away the ghosts.

There was a faint tapping at her window.  Looking up, she could see the 
silhouette of a tall man floating just beyond the glass.  Instantly, she 
switched off her reading lamp and scrambled out of bed to open it.  The little 
night-light on the opposite wall shed a pale glow, giving her just enough 
illumination to avoid bumping into things.  She fumbled with the catch and 
pushed up the glass pane.  The screen presented a little more difficulty, but at 
last, she had it loose and Clark, clad in dark clothing, stepped over the sill.

He took the screen from her and replaced it carefully in the window, closed the 
curtains then turned and pulled her into his arms.  Lois kissed him back almost 
frantically, burrowing tightly against him, almost surprised at herself.

It certainly surprised him.  After a long moment, he drew back and looked down 
at her in some concern, his face shadowed in the dimness.  "Honey, are you all 
right?"

Lois drew a shaky breath and nodded.  "Yes.  I don't know why I'm acting like 
this."

His eyes narrowed, and he reached out to snap on a table lamp.  "Lois, I can 
hear your pulse beating like a drum, twice as fast as it should be.  What's 
wrong?"

She laughed a little shakily.  "I can't fool you, can I?  Clark--are you 
absolutely sure Lex died?  It couldn't have been a mistake, could it?"

He shook his head.  "It wasn't a mistake, Lois.  He died.  What's this all 
about?"

"De Los Rios," she said.  "If he isn't Lex, then he's a clone of Lex, Clark."

She felt him go completely still for an instant, and then his arms tightened 
around her.  "No wonder you're upset.  Tell me what happened."

There was a knock on the connecting door.  Clark turned his head.  "Come in, 
Jim."  

The door opened and Jimmy entered.  "Did Lois tell you?"

Clark nodded.  "What happened?"

"Clark, he looked just like Lex."  Lois made no move to extricate herself from 
her husband's embrace.  In a way, her own actions amazed her.  Here she was, an 
independent, liberated, modern woman, depending on her husband for comfort when 
she was frightened.  "He even *acted* like him."

"He did," Jimmy said.  "I don't know how to describe it, CK, but if I didn't 
know it was impossible, I'd have sworn it was him."

"Okay, I believe you," Clark said.  "What did you do?"

"Well, as soon as I could after dinner, I came up here," Lois said.  "I was 
afraid he'd recognize me.  Jimmy stayed with the others."

"What happened after Lois left?" Clark asked.

"We went into the sitting room," Jimmy said.  "They served us after dinner 
drinks--it was somewhere about then that Lois left.  De Los Rios sort of 
circulated around, just socializing, but I kind of got the impression he was 
feeling us out."

"Feeling you out?  About what?"

"I'm not sure," Jimmy said.  "He was talking about Caribbean Imports branching 
out, and diversifying into other areas."

"That makes sense," Clark said.  "He wasn't talking about partnerships or 
anything, was he?"

"No...not exactly.  I think he was trying to find out, without saying so, who 
might go along with something like that."

"What did you do?" Clark asked.

Jimmy grinned.  "I kind of made semi-favorable noises, just to see what would 
happen."

"Good idea," Clark said.  "See where he goes with it."

Jimmy nodded.  "And if that doesn't produce anything, I'll back out at the last 
minute and see what he does."

"Just make sure you give us fair warning," Clark said.  "If de Los Rios is a 
clone of Luthor, you can bet he won't take it well."

"No," Jimmy admitted.  "But we're here to find out what's going on.  I have this 
creepy feeling that there's more to this than just business partnerships."

"So do I," Clark said.  "I took a walk outside a little while ago.  I hadn't 
been out there ten minutes when a security guard showed up to take me back.  
They definitely don't want people running around outside without a chaperone."

"Then whatever they're trying to hide might not be that hard to find," Lois 
speculated.  "Do you think all the employees are in on it?"

"I doubt it," Clark said.  "We can't assume anything, though.  What we need to 
do is get out--without being spotted--and do some looking around."

"Do you have any idea where to look?" Lois asked.

"Not yet.  I told you I'm not supposed to go near the boathouse where the 
yacht's tied up, but that might not mean anything."

"Well, it's a start," Jimmy said.  "What do you want me to do?"

"Just do what you would do if you were a real businessman who's been invited 
here," Clark said.  "We're depending on you to give the two of us cover.  But 
keep your eyes and ears open."

Jimmy gave them the trace of a grin.  "I can do that."  He added, "I probably 
better go to bed now.  If anyone checks, I want to be where I'm supposed to be."

"In that case, you better put up the 'do not disturb' sign," Lois said with a 
trace of humor.  It was amazing how much better she felt with Clark's arm around 
her.  "They think they know why I'm here, after all."

Not surprisingly, Jimmy turned pink.  "Lois!"

Lois found herself giggling.  "Sorry, Jimmy, I couldn't help it."

Clark laughed, too.  "Just think how many of those guys down there envy you, 
Jim," he suggested.

"CK!"

Clark slapped him lightly on the shoulder.  "Sorry.  I'll quit kidding you.  You 
did a good job tonight."

"Thanks."  Jimmy accepted the praise with a deprecating grin.  "I better go.  
G'night, guys."

When the door had closed behind him, Clark put both arms around Lois again.  
"Are you going to be all right, honey?"

She nodded, aware that her heart was starting to beat fast again at the thought 
that he was leaving.  Clark raised an eyebrow at her.  "No, you're not."

She made a face.  "I will be.  This isn't the first bad situation I've been in."

"I know that," Clark said.  "You've got more courage than any two other people I 
know."

"Except your mom and dad," Lois interjected.

"Well, yes.  But this situation is different."  He was frowning, and abruptly 
seemed to make up his mind.  "I don't have to be up until five.  I apparently 
impressed the head chef because I've been put in charge of breakfast for 
everybody, tomorrow.  Would you prefer it if I stayed here?"  He waggled his 
eyebrows suggestively.  "After all, the servants are going to expect that one of 
these beds is going to have two people in it tonight--at least for awhile."  

"Well--"  She pretended to hesitate.  "If it would make *you* feel better--"

"Don't let me twist your arm," he said.

Lois smiled, recalling a very similar conversation some years before in his 
apartment.  She had arrived there late one night seeking his protection from 
Kyle Griffen, not knowing then that she had come to Superman for help.  Instinct 
had sent her running to her partner, knowing that Clark would die before he'd 
let anyone or anything harm her.  Now, she simply slid both arms up around his 
neck.  "Well, if you don't mind sleeping with a 'kept' woman," she began.

A wide smile crossed Clark's face.  "Just as long as *I'm* the one doing the 
keeping," he drawled.  Lois cut him off by standing on tiptoe to kiss him.  It 
looked as if she would be able to sleep tonight, after all.

**********

Clark woke suddenly and completely.  He glanced at Lois's traveling alarm, 
noting that it was barely after two.  He had been sleeping for just under an 
hour.

Lois was sound asleep, curled up against him within the curve of his arm, and 
the room was completely silent except for the soft whisper of her breathing.  
What had awakened him?

Slowly he became aware of another sound, outside the house.  It was the steady 
downpour of rain.  The storm had finally broken.  That must have been what woke 
him up.  

Clark adjusted his position in the bed, bringing a slight mumble of protest from 
Lois, but she settled back into his arms with a little sigh, never waking.  He 
relaxed once more, sliding down toward sleep.

Lightning flashed suddenly, visible even through the curtains, and thunder 
crashed like a kettledrum almost before the flash had died away.  Wow!  That one 
must have been close!  Lois lifted her head, her eyes wide.  "What was that?"

"Thunder," he said.  "Lightning must have hit nearby."

"Oh."  She put her head down on his shoulder again.  

Somewhere in the house a telephone trilled.  Clark was instantly alert.

There was a second ring and a third, and suddenly there was the sound of someone 
fumbling for the receiver.

"Hello?"  The voice was Rogan's.  In spite of the hour, the man didn't sound in 
the least sleepy.  "De Los Rios residence."

"I need to speak to Mr. D," a voice said, urgently.  "We have an emergency.  
This is Higgins, sir."

"What is it?" Lois asked.

"Sh.  It's a phone call."

"Oh."  Lois fell silent.

"Mr. de Los Rios is in bed," Rogan informed the voice, curtly.

"Then wake him up!  We've lost power.  Everything's on emergency backup, but if 
we don't get our power back in four hours, we'll lose the whole lot!"

"One moment," Rogan's voice said.  There was a click.  Clark strained his ears.

Somewhere in the house there was a soft beeping noise.  A woman's voice said, 
"Yes?"

"Madame, I'm sorry to awaken you," Rogan's voice said.  "Dr. Higgins is on the 
line."

"Put him through."  The female voice had a distinct English accent.  Clark 
wrinkled his brow, striving to remember where he had heard that voice before.

"Dr. Higgins?" the voice said, "this is Mrs. de Los Rios.  What's the problem?"

Lightning flashed again, illuminating the room, followed by an instant explosion 
of thunder.  Unprepared, Clark clapped his hands to both ringing ears.  "Ow!"

"Are you all right?" Lois asked, at once.  "Clark?"

He felt as if every Swiss bell-ringer that had ever attended a wedding had 
gathered together to hold a concert in his head.  Faintly, some distance away, 
he could hear a voice speaking from the telephone receiver, and the reply of a 
female voice, but the ringing in his ears blurred the sound.  Then there was a 
click.  The caller had hung up.

**********

Lois woke late after a disturbed night.  Clark, of course, had disappeared, but 
the excellent breakfast delivered to her by the little, uniformed maid bore the 
unmistakable stamp of his handiwork.  She breakfasted in a leisurely way, 
enjoying his cooking, even if she couldn't enjoy his company, all the while 
mulling over the events of the previous night.

Clark's hearing had recovered quickly, but the telephone conversation was over 
by that time, and a quick flight around the island uncovered nothing he could 
identify as unusual.  Whatever Dr. Higgins had been talking about wasn't 
obvious, even to Superman, assuming it was even on the island.  In the end, he 
had returned and they'd slept soundly the last couple of hours before he had to 
report for work in the kitchen.

Lois didn't know what plans their host had for them today, but she intended to 
stay as far away from de Los Rios as she could.  Clone of Lex or not, it was 
likely he had the original Lex's memories, and those almost certainly included 
her.  She took great care with her hair and makeup that morning, making certain 
that they were as different as she could make them from the hair and makeup of 
Lois Lane.  She chose clothing that she and Clark had selected to be chic, but 
utterly unlike her usual style, and now she was grateful that they had made the 
effort.  No one must even dream that Kellie Davenport might be anything else but 
what she seemed to be.

A knock on Jimmy's door established that her junior colleague had already left.  
She returned to her room, glancing at her bed.  It would be obvious to anyone 
that she had not been in it alone last night.  That was just what she wanted, 
and reinforced the picture she was trying to portray. 

With a last glance at herself in the mirror, she opened the door of her room and 
exited into the thickly carpeted hallway.  Another maid was vacuuming, and 
switched off the machine as Lois paused to speak to her.  "Yes ma'am?"

"I'm Kellie," Lois said.  "Is there any place I should be this morning?"

"No, ma'am.  Mr. de Los Rios went out to check on storm damage from last night, 
and Mrs. de Los Rios is occupied in her office this morning.  We have the big-
screen television in the sitting room, and if you wish, there's the swimming 
pool and the tennis courts and we have a well-stocked library--and, of course, 
Mrs. de Los Rios is particularly proud of her gardens, although the summer 
flowers aren't in bloom anymore.  We even have stables, if you'd like to ride!"

"Would anyone mind if I walked around a little outside?" Lois inquired casually.  
"Of course, I'd stick to the paths.  I don't want to get lost!"  She giggled.  
"I need to work off a little of that dinner last night."

"Of course!  Just tell Rogan, so he can send someone after you if you *do* get 
lost.  It's awfully easy when you don't know the way around well."

"Thanks.  I'll do that," Lois said. 

Jimmy was nowhere to be seen when she descended the stairs, but Rogan, the 
butler, was just emerging from the sitting room.  He glanced at her, and paused 
when she called his name.  "Yes, Miss, may I be of service?"

"I was wondering if it would be all right if I went for a walk, just to stretch 
my legs," Lois said.  "I usually walk in the morning to keep in shape."  She 
smiled brightly at him.  "I won't get lost if I stay on the paths, will I?"

Rogan didn't smile.  His face remained bland and expressionless.  "If you stay 
on the paths, there should be no difficulty, Miss, but it's easy to become lost 
if you leave them."

"Oh, no, I wouldn't do that," Lois assured him blithely.  "This place is so big 
I'd get turned around in minutes.  I have absolutely *no* sense of direction."

Rogan allowed himself a prim, little smile.  "In that case, I'm sure there will 
be no problem.  Mr. de Los Rios is understandably concerned that his guests be 
safe.  Parts of the island are quite untamed and it would be unfortunate if you 
were to have an accident."

Lois gave a realistic shudder.  "I'll stay in the civilized part.  Roughing it 
isn't my style."

The butler nodded.  "Enjoy your walk, Miss." 

"Thank you.  I won't be gone long."  Lois headed for the main doors, and Rogan 
hurried to open them for her.

True to her promise, Lois stayed strictly on the system of paths that networked 
the area around the house.  As she walked, she took pains to appear to any 
observer, to simply be enjoying the sunny, clear day that had succeeded the rain 
of last night, but she was mentally mapping the area around her.  The main path 
led through a stand of trees, mainly impressively tall pines with peaked tops 
swaying in the brisk wind.  When she cleared the immediate area of the house, 
she could see that part of the area to the right and rear of the mansion was 
also heavily wooded.  After a moment's indecision, she made up her mind to 
explore the more open land in front of her first.  That should convince anyone 
who might be keeping track of her that her intentions were entirely innocent.  
Without further delay, she made her way through the pines to the steps that led 
down to the white, sandy beach that she had seen from her window the night 
before.  She stood for a moment, apparently enjoying the view, and then removed 
her shoes to stroll barefooted through the powdery sand.

Today the ocean was a deep blue, and little whitecaps dotted the waves.  The sun 
shone down brilliantly out of a cloudless sky, and a lively wind whipped a light 
salty spray into her face.  Low on the horizon, she could see the indistinct 
line of the mainland.  Off to her left, the beach extended for some distance and 
then dwindled away to nothing.  A sheer cliff rose from the waterline, and she 
could hear the cries of sea birds as they wheeled and dove in the air about it.  
There seemed to be quite a colony of them, flying into and out of holes some 
halfway up the side of the stone edifice.  She squinted at them for a few 
minutes, then turned her attention in the opposite direction.  A low promontory 
extended some distance into the sea, and she recalled that Clark had said that 
the piers were beyond that.  She wanted to get over there as soon as she could 
and explore them.  While it was possible that stray employees were forbidden to 
roam around the owner's dock for totally innocuous reasons, she wanted to verify 
that before she gave up on it.  Clark had given it a cursory check last night, 
and reported that a good deal of lead seemed to be incorporated into the 
structure, but whether that was a coincidence, he couldn't say.  Locked doors 
and the presence of two night watchmen and a German shepherd had precluded a 
more thorough examination, at least at that point.  Still, the precautions taken 
to guard an ordinary boathouse seemed to Lois to be a little excessive.

Slowly, she turned and retraced her way to the stone steps, where she sat for a 
moment, replacing her shoes, then ascended to the path that ran from the steps 
up to the house.  Another footpath branched off from the main one toward the 
right, and after a short pause, she followed it.  It led toward the cliff that 
overlooked the sea, and wound around the base of the rising land.  Green grass 
gave way to rock some distance up the slope and the angle became abruptly 
steeper.  It looked as if it would be a very stiff climb to reach the summit.

A glint of reflected light from a spot among the rocks above caught her 
attention.  She almost disregarded it for a second, then paused, careful not to 
look up again.  She glanced around, and finally settled for taking a seat on a 
section of grass that seemed fairly dry.  Meticulously, she removed her shoe and 
shook it vigorously, all the while peering upward through her lashes, trying to 
spot the source of the reflection.

Movement caught her eye.  There was a man seated on a rock, almost invisible to 
the casual observer, watching her through a pair of field glasses.  

Lois replaced her shoe and tied the laces, eyes fixed on her task.  It wouldn't 
do for the watcher to realize she'd seen him.  Without another look, she 
continued on her way, following the little dirt track in the grass.  The land 
was rising slightly as it bypassed the rocky hill and within a few moments she 
had reached the end, a spot where she could stand and view the ocean from a 
sheltered, but slightly elevated, position.

She stood still for several minutes, watching the play of the sunlight flashing 
from the waves, and thinking.  Clark had said they hadn't let him walk around 
unsupervised last night.  It was clear that they hadn't let her do so, either.  
The surveillance was simply less obvious.  She wondered how many other persons 
that she hadn't seen had been keeping track of her progress, and if she would 
have been intercepted if she had ventured somewhere she shouldn't.  What could 
it be that de Los Rios was hiding?  And why, if he had something to hide, would 
he invite visitors here?  She had hoped to find records and possibly other proof 
of the criminal activity of Caribbean Imports at the man's home base.  
Obviously, there was something more as well.  That phone call last night 
suggested that something was being manufactured, but what might it be, and 
where?  The fact that the man was most likely a clone of Lex Luthor had already 
confirmed in her mind the probability that something both illegal and very 
dangerous was going on, and the care with which he apparently monitored the 
whereabouts of his visitors told her clearly that there was something more 
concrete to find, if they could figure out where to look.  It had to be pretty 
well concealed, though, or Clark would have seen some indication of it last 
night.  

After a time, she turned around to make her way back to the main path, humming a 
careless little tune and remaining sharply alert for anything else that didn't 
belong.  It wasn't likely that she would see anything obvious if Clark hadn't, 
but he'd been looking for signs of activity, of which there had been none.  
There might be other, more subtle indications that he hadn't spotted. 

But she saw nothing this time, not even a reflection of light from above.  She 
was careful not to glance in that direction at all, instead striding briskly on 
by.  If she was to be able to sneak out unseen later on, they mustn't suspect 
that she had noticed anything at all.

By the time she reached the main walkway back toward the house, her watch 
informed her that it was nearly one.  Lunch was supposed to be served at that 
time, and the last thing she needed was to draw attention to herself by being 
late, so she hurried.  Rogan was nowhere to be seen, but one of the servants 
with which this place seemed to be generously supplied, opened the door for her 
and directed her to the patio where Mr. de Los Rios's guests were gathering for 
the midday meal.

**********  

Clark finished putting the final touches on the tray of shrimp hors d'oeuvres 
and turned to check the chilled tomato consomme.  The head chef, a slender 
Frenchman in his late forties, glanced over at him and nodded his approval.  "I 
shall certainly request that you be hired as my assistant on a permanent basis, 
Raoul.  Your skill is almost equal to my own."

Clark smiled at the little man.  Rene Didier was a veteran chef, whose cooking 
skill and organization had impressed him greatly the night before.  Clark was 
able to keep up with him only because of his super powers but, of course, Rene 
didn't know that.  The head chef had been delighted to have an assistant who 
spoke his language on the staff, and the two had spent the previous evening 
conversing in rapid-fire French, to the exasperation of the rest of the kitchen 
workers.  "No, my friend," he said, now, "I only did as you told me."

"Will you two speak English?" one of the other men muttered under his breath, 
but Clark heard him.

Rene didn't, but he gestured to one of the others to take Clark's creation to 
the guests, who were no doubt impatiently waiting for their lunch, and turned to 
oversee the removal of the souffle from the oven.  "Gently, now," he cautioned.  
"It must not fall."

Clark glanced in the direction of the patio and noted, with the aid of his x-ray 
vision, that Lois had arrived.  He almost didn't recognize her for a moment, and 
gave her silent credit for the disguise.  Jimmy came forward to meet her, and 
Clark started to turn back to his job when he saw the doors open again behind 
Lois and Jimmy, and a woman entered.  He gulped.

Arianna Carlin hadn't changed much in four years.  She was still a stunningly 
beautiful woman, and if he hadn't known the kind of person that her beauty 
camouflaged he might have appreciated her appearance more.  He saw Lois glance 
at the woman, and her whole body stiffened slightly.  Then she moved quietly to 
a seat at one side of the long table and waited while their hostess, who must be 
the mysterious Mrs. de Los Rios, walked to the head of the table.  There was a 
moment of scraping chairs as the guests sat.  Clark waited for some sign of 
recognition on Arianna's face, but there was none, and with a silent plea to the 
Fates, he turned back to his job, his ears trained for the slightest suggestion 
that all was not well outside. 

**********    

Lois stiffened instinctively when she saw Arianna Carlin.  She had known her for 
a very short time four years ago, but the woman who was Lex Luthor's ex-wife had 
nearly destroyed her.  She forced herself to relax.  "You see what you expect to 
see," she told herself silently.  As far as these people knew, Lois Lane and 
Clark Kent were dead.  If she didn't do anything to draw the woman's attention, 
she probably wouldn't be recognized.  After all, Clark had fooled her for two 
years with a pair of glasses and a little hair gel.  Surely, she could do the 
same with Arianna Carlin, who didn't know Lois nearly as well as Lois had known 
Clark back then.

Casually, she turned and followed the others to the table.  Jimmy took a place 
beside her, and she saw his eyes fixed on her face.  Casually, she placed a hand 
over his and gave it a light squeeze.  He jumped slightly, then his expression 
relaxed.  Lois winked quickly at him.

He gave her the slightest of nods and reached for his napkin.  Lois felt herself 
relaxing as well.  Jimmy would be all right.

Later, she couldn't have said what they had talked about at lunch.  Arianna 
mentioned, very sweetly, that "dear Alex" was inspecting damage to the estate as 
a result of last night's storm, leading Lois to wonder exactly where and what 
that damage was.  Had they managed to get their power back on in time to save 
whatever "the whole lot" had been?  She kept quiet and let Jimmy do any talking 
that was required.  She had to admit he'd surprised her so far; her young friend 
was calm and poised, and projected a professional image quite at odds with how 
she usually thought of him.  In fact, he was showing quite an unexpected talent 
for subterfuge.  Clark had told him it was his job to provide cover for the two 
of them, and that was what he was doing.

When the lunch party broke up, Lois retreated to her room to change her 
clothing, repair her makeup and mostly to think.  Jimmy disappeared with the 
businessmen, while the wives and significant others were temporarily left to 
their own devices.

Lois went to look out her window at the scene before her.  She had to admit the 
island was lovely, but what lay under the surface wasn't.  If Arianna Carlin was 
involved, and Lex's clone, the criminal history of Caribbean Imports was 
explained in spades.  And was it even Lex's clone?  The question had been 
bothering her since last night.  Was it possible that the Lex who had kidnapped 
her had been a clone, too?  Lex had escaped from prison.  They had always 
assumed he had engineered that escape and all the previous and subsequent 
events--but what if he hadn't?  What if it had been Arianna? 

But, that was silly!  Why would she have gone to all that trouble?  It would 
have been to her advantage for Lois to marry Clark.  Still, the disquieting 
thought, once established, wouldn't quite go away.  If the man who had abducted 
her from her own wedding and who had died in that cave-in had actually been a 
clone, it raised a whole bushel of new questions, but it didn't really change 
anything, at least immediately.  Clone or original, Lex would act true to type.  

The question that was of more urgency was who was really in charge.  If Arianna 
somehow had the upper hand here, it would explain why the hit man had been 
directed to kill her as well as Clark.  Arianna Carlin had no love for Lois Lane 
for a number of reasons, the foremost being that Lex had wanted to put Lois in 
Arianna's place as his wife.  No, Arianna wouldn't hesitate an instant at the 
idea of killing her.

Leaning on the windowsill, studying the scene below, Lois felt a chill pass over 
her scalp at the thought of what that might mean.  Lex had been intelligent and 
thoroughly evil, but his obsession with her had always given her a slight 
feeling of reassurance.  Arianna Carlin Luthor had all of Lex's evil 
intelligence, and an abiding hatred of Lois as well.  She was going to have to 
walk very carefully, even more carefully than before.

Deeply immersed in her speculations, she almost didn't notice the single figure 
of a man hurrying across the lawn in the direction of the beach.  She frowned, 
squinting her eyes, then gave up and fished in her handbag for the miniature 
opera glasses she always carried.

He had a familiar profile, she thought trying to follow him with the glasses.  
He was a little chubby, of average height, as far as she could estimate from her 
position, with greying, curly hair.  He seemed familiar, and she was certain she 
had seen him somewhere before, but she couldn't quite remember the occasion.  
His quick stride made it difficult to keep his features in the picture, and 
within a few seconds, he had vanished around the corner of the hedge that 
separated the vast front lawn from the gardens.  From her vantage point, she 
could see the top of his head for a moment before he disappeared from view.  
Slowly, she lowered the opera glasses, frowning.  The sense of recognition was 
strong, but for the life of her, she couldn't place him.  Although she continued 
to watch for several minutes, the man didn't reappear.

After a time, she went into the luxurious bathroom and readied herself for a 
bath.  The big, circular tub would hold six with room to spare, she thought as 
she slipped down into the warm, scented, bubbly water.  She needed the 
relaxation after the last couple of hours.  Lying back into the tub, Lois rested 
her head on the side and closed her eyes.

Noises in her room beyond the half-closed door awakened her some time later.  
Lois opened her eyes, realizing that the temperature of the water had dropped 
somewhat, although it was still lukewarm.  The next thing she realized was that 
someone was moving around in her room.  There was the scrape of a foot on the 
carpet and a bump, followed by a soft exclamation.  The temptation to call out 
died almost instantly.  Someone was searching the room.  She heard the door of 
the closet being opened, and closed a few minutes later.  Then came the scrape 
of someone opening her dresser drawers, and she thanked her lucky stars that she 
and Clark had taken every precaution before they had set about on this 
investigation, even to the false identification she'd gotten from Louie.  
Knowing guys who knew guys had its advantages, as she'd pointed out to Clark.  
 
Still, what was she going to do if the guy came in here?

As she thought of the possibility, the soft steps came toward the bathroom.  
Lois acted on instinct.  "Honey, is that you?" she called clearly.

The footsteps stopped, and she could almost feel the intruder freeze in his 
tracks.  "Jim, is that you, baby?" she called again.

The footsteps resumed, this time retreating quickly.  She heard the door to the 
hall open, and an instant later it closed with a soft click.  The searcher had 
departed.

**********

"Somebody searched your room?" Jimmy repeated.  "How do you know?--not that I 
don't believe you."

"I was in the tub and heard him opening things," Lois said, a little curtly.  
She could still feel a trace of the adrenaline rush tingling along her nerves.  
"After I scared him into leaving, I looked around.  Some of my things were 
disturbed--not much, but I could tell someone had been messing with them."

"What should we do?" Jimmy asked.  "The last thing you need is for them to pay a 
lot of attention to you."

Lois nodded.  "True.  But an ordinary person would report it.  If somebody was 
trying to check on our credentials and we don't report it, that will make them 
suspicious, too."

"I don't like it that somebody might be checking on us," Jimmy said.  "They 
could be suspicious."

"Maybe.  Or maybe it's standard operating procedure around here and they do it 
to every guest.  These people probably have a lot to hide."

"Yeah."  Jimmy paced a few steps.  "I guess there's no choice."

"Not really."  Lois stood up and turned toward the door.  "Let's go.  I think we 
should report it to the butler.  With luck, that will take care of it.  After 
all, I might not be completely *sure* there was someone in my room."  She winked 
at Jimmy.

He looked puzzled for a few seconds, then the light dawned.  "Oh, you're giving 
them an out.  Good idea."

**********

Rogan was appropriately disturbed at the report and promised to investigate.  
Even the possibility that someone had entered Miss Davenport's room without 
permission seemed to shock him to the soul.  He assured her that if anyone had 
been there, the transgressor would be identified.  It was possible, he said, 
hopefully, that a maid had entered the room by error and when she discovered 
that she was in the wrong room, was frightened and had fled.  Lois agreed that 
it could have been exactly that way, and she and Jimmy left with the assurances 
of the butler that the matter would be dealt with. 

"Whew," Lois said softly, when they were out of earshot,  "I think that went 
over all right." 

"I hope so," Jimmy said.  He slipped his arm around her waist as they went up 
the stairs.  The whole idea of so casually manhandling his superior had made him 
pale when she had suggested it upstairs, but he hadn't argued.  They had an 
image to consider.  Lois was aware of the butler's gaze on them from below, and 
put her arm around Jimmy's waist as well, snuggling up to him.  She could see 
beads of sweat on the young man's forehead and controlled the urge to grin, 
schooling her expression into one of affection for her companion.

Once inside the room, Jimmy let her go.  He wiped his face with the back of his 
hand and Lois regarded him with a smile.  "Do you act like that with all your 
girlfriends?"

He had turned a dull pink.  "No, but they're not *you*."

She laughed outright.  "I don't bite."

"Yeah, tell Ralph that," Jimmy muttered.

"But you're not Ralph, Jimmy," she pointed out, reasonably.  "Ralph has all the 
sensitivity of a rhinoceros.  Somehow, I don't think you'd even consider trying 
to take advantage of the situation.  Take it easy."

Jimmy relaxed a little.  "I guess not."

"I *know* not.  We're doing a job, that's all.  So, what's been going on with 
you and the other guys?  Do you know what de Los Rios is after?"

"I think so," Jimmy said.  "He's been talking about possible cooperation between 
the companies.  I'm not completely sure, but I think what he's got in mind may 
be illegal."

"Big surprise there," Lois said.  

"Yeah.  He hasn't come right out and said so yet, but some of the others are 
looking a bit doubtful about it.  I wonder what he's going to do if they say 
no."

"Lex never took no for an answer," Lois said.  "I'm sure he's got something in 
mind to deal with them, if he has to."

"But if he wants to force them into cooperation with him, what can he do?"

"I'm sure there are plenty of things," Lois said, a trifle grimly.  "Lex never 
worried about a little thing like uncooperative business partners.  If they 
won't go along with him, he'll have a backup plan."

"I wonder if that's why he wanted us here with no way out unless he lets us," 
Jimmy said, slowly.  "Have you or Clark tried to call out?"

"Clark tried with his cellular phone," Lois reminded him.  "He couldn't."

"Yeah, well I tried it with the regular house phone, this afternoon," Jimmy 
said.  "I got a recorded message saying that the connection wouldn't go through.  
Rogan told me that they have a lot of trouble with the phones.  We're supposed 
to be having sunspots right now, or something.  Am I wrong, or is something 
really screwy here?"

"You're not wrong," Lois said, "but we're going to find out what it is."  She 
glanced at her watch.  "It's already past four-thirty.  I have to talk to Clark 
as soon as I can.  He needs to know about Arianna."

"Yeah," Jimmy said.  "Lois, are you *sure* that was Lex who died in the tunnel?  
This couldn't be the real one, could it?"

Lois shrugged.  "I've been sort of wondering about that, myself.  But even if he 
is, what difference would it make?  A clone with his memories would act exactly 
the same way.  What I'm more worried about is Arianna."

"Yeah, me too."  Jimmy said.  "Which one of them is really in charge here, I 
wonder."

"You've been thinking about that too, huh?"

"Yeah," Jimmy said again.  "You know, I'd almost rather it was Luthor than 
Arianna.  She scares me.  I mean--" he floundered a second, "they both scare me, 
but she actually scares me more."

"I know what you're trying to say," Lois agreed.  "What I'd like to know is how 
they got into the positions they're in.  How did Lex get to be the head of 
Caribbean Imports?  For that matter, how did they get hold of this island and 
all the trappings?  Where did they get the money?  Lex didn't have any after 
that lawyer of his robbed him blind--except the money he stashed under my name."  
She grimaced slightly.

"If I could get on line, I could probably dig up some of the answers," Jimmy 
said.  "As it is, we're stuck."

Lois shook her head.  "No, we're just going to have to find our answers the old 
fashioned way.  I want a look into Arianna's office.  Maybe I can get in 
tonight, if I can figure out where it is."

"I can show you," Jimmy said.  "I saw Rogan go in there this morning.  It's 
right off the sitting room."

Lois gave him a grin.  "You know, Jim, you're a lot more useful on this trip 
than I expected--and don't be insulted.  I know you're smart; I just didn't 
realize you had such a gift for espionage."

Jimmy looked down at his shoes.  "I don't.  I just notice things.  I only wish I 
had the talent you and CK do for putting the facts together."

"You will," Lois said.  "It just takes experience."  She glanced at the clock.  
"Oh, great, it's nearly five!  We better start getting ready for dinner.  We 
don't want to be late."

**********  

Lois checked herself over one, last time, craning her neck to see the back of 
her gown in the full-length mirror.  There, that looked good.  The thin, black 
dress was fairly low cut and hugged her curves without being too daring, and the 
modest string of pearls added just the right touch.  She mustn't forget that 
although Kellie Davenport was James Riley's mistress, she had excellent taste in 
clothing.  Black, high heels just matched the dress, and Lois dabbed a new 
French perfume that Clark had brought her straight from Paris on her wrists and 
behind her ear.  There, that was just right, she decided: attractive, without 
being outstanding.  Being too plain could draw as much attention as the 
opposite.

While she waited for Jimmy to finish dressing, she stood looking out the window, 
squinting her eyes against the brilliance of the setting sun.  There was 
something that had been nagging at her all afternoon and she couldn't quite put 
her finger on it.  It was some minor thing that she'd observed during her walk 
that morning.  At the time, she hadn't thought much about it, but some part of 
her mind must have taken note, for now she found herself trying to recall what 
it had been.  The scenery below was bathed in gold, pink and red.  Even the 
ocean had taken on a pinkish hue, but the shadows were long, and the ground 
shaded by the tall, fragrant pine trees was shrouded in gloom.

Down by the line of trees, there was movement.  She squinted, shading her eyes 
against the sun, trying to discern what it might be--an animal, bushes waving in 
the evening sea breeze or something else.  Peering into the darker area beside 
the trees, half-blinded by the brilliant sunset, she couldn't make it out, and 
reached into her bag for the opera glasses.  She lifted them to her eyes, 
careful to avoid looking at the red ball swimming on the horizon, and trained 
them on the ground by the tree line, but if there had actually been anything to 
see, there was nothing, now.  She put the glasses back, berating herself for 
letting her imagination get the best of her.  A few seconds later a short, 
stocky man--the gardener, she thought, judging by his clothing--emerged from the 
hedged-in gardens and made his way toward the side of the mansion, disappearing 
after a minute or two around the corner of the building.  His appearance brought 
to mind the man she had seen earlier, crossing the lawn toward the gardens.  He 
had definitely not been the gardener.  He had been wearing a long-sleeved, white 
shirt and a pair of dark slacks, and his head had been bare.  It hadn't occurred 
to her to wonder at the time, but where had he gone?  She had watched him enter 
the gardens through the gap in the hedge, she had seen him walking along, inside 
the hedge, and suddenly he had vanished.  There was almost certainly a logical 
explanation for it, but she wanted to find out what it was, especially since the 
man had seemed so familiar.  Since they had so few clues as to what Lex and 
Arianna were actually up to, anything out of place might be a lead.  The gardens 
looked like one more place she and Clark were going to have to check out.  

The sun had sunk noticeably in just the time she had stood there, thinking, and 
the shadows were growing longer.  She turned away from the window at the sound 
of a knock on the connecting door.  Time to go downstairs and face the enemy 
once more.

**********

They were early, Lois realized, as soon as they reached the downstairs hall.  No 
one had yet arrived in the sitting room, and the only person besides themselves 
in sight was Rogan, hurrying back toward the kitchen.  She glanced at Jimmy.

"Maybe we better go back upstairs."

"Yeah."  Jimmy checked the sitting room again.  "I think Mrs. de Los Rios is in 
her office."

"Great.  I don't want to be anywhere near her unless I'm in a crowd.  I'd 
better--"  She broke off as the door of the office began to open.  Arianna 
Carlin turned in the doorway, speaking over her shoulder to someone behind her.  
Trapped, Lois did the only thing she could think of.  She backed into the hall 
and covered the ten feet to the front entrance nearly as fast as her husband 
could have accomplished it.  There was no time to go up the stairs and remain 
unobserved.  She opened the front door and stepped out onto the broad, stone 
steps.  

Behind her, as she closed the door gently, she could hear Jimmy, still with his-
-to her--surprising presence of mind, greeting Arianna courteously, quite as if 
his dinner partner hadn't just made a precipitous retreat.  Thanking her lucky 
stars for Jimmy, Lois tiptoed down the steps, feeling nothing in the world like 
Cinderella.

It looked as if her best bet was to go around to a side entrance and knock, she 
decided, a minute or two later.  She wouldn't even bother to explain to the 
servant who answered the door.  She would simply return to her room for a few 
moments, wait until more of her fellow guests appeared, and follow them down to 
the sitting room.  That seemed simple enough.  Accordingly, she started around 
the building, lifting her black gown carefully so as not to trip on the trailing 
hem of the garment.

From somewhere, she heard the loud backfiring of an outboard engine, and managed 
not to jump at the sound.  There was, of course, no reason that she shouldn't be 
out here, but if she was seen it would draw unwelcome attention, so she moved as 
quickly and quietly as she could toward the corner of the building.  
Fortunately, by now the sun had set and only the after-colors still lit the sky.  
Above her, a gibbous moon was just visible over the roof and here and there, 
some of the brightest stars were beginning to appear.  

She was at the corner of the mansion when the sound of running footsteps behind 
her made her stiffen.  Instinctively, she turned toward the sound. 

A tall, dark-haired man was sprinting down the sidewalk toward her.  Without 
warning, he turned sharply and angled across the lawn, toward the stand of 
pines.  As she watched, stunned, he plunged into the trees and vanished.  Lois 
stared after him, her mouth slightly open.
                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                        
"Clark?" she whispered, incredulously.  What had her husband been in such a rush 
for?  Something must have happened.

Without another thought, she turned and ran after him.

**********

Clark took the lemon meringue pie from the oven and set it carefully on its rack 
to cool.  Everything was prepared for dinner and his job was technically 
finished for the evening.  Rene checked the dessert and nodded his approbation.  
"Very well done," he said.  "You are a true relief after Donald."

"Donald?" Clark asked.

"Yeah," remarked the assistant who was quickly and efficiently loading the 
dishwasher.  "Don Baler.  The guy said he was a cook, but he couldn't boil water 
without burning it.  He lasted a week.  Mrs. D got rid of him the first time she 
had to taste his cooking.  Turns out he used to flip burgers at some greasy 
spoon."  

"Ah," Clark said.  "I understand.  There is much difference between someone who 
'flips burgers' and a true artist."

"You said a mouthful," the assistant said.  "The first time I tried to eat one 
of his steaks I nearly broke a tooth."

Clark tidied his cooking area quickly.  Being confined to the kitchen 
unfortunately tended to hamper his ability to do as much snooping as he would 
like.  He was sure Lois was more than capable of handling the majority of it, 
herself, but he wanted to be able to help her, and to do a little of his own 
special brand of investigating, himself.  The sooner he finished and Rene 
dismissed him, the better.

He was just wiping the last crumb from the spotless counter when he heard her 
voice whispering his name.

It didn't sound as if she were in trouble but for some reason she wanted him.  
He'd better get out of here as quickly as he could and find out what was up.

He rinsed out his rag and hung it neatly on its appointed rack.  Lois's voice 
whispered his name again as he turned toward Rene to ask his permission to 
depart, but he was destined to be frustrated once more.  Her third whisper of 
his name coincided with the opening of the kitchen door and Arianna Carlin 
stepped within.  She surveyed the kitchen and its occupants with a critical eye.

"Madame," Rene said, hurrying forward to greet her.  "Can we be of assistance?

"Thank you, Rene," Arianna said.  She smiled fractionally.  "I only wanted to 
meet this new chef, Raoul, whom you recommend so highly.  Where is he?"

Rene beckoned to Clark.  "This is Raoul Desrosiers, Madame."

Clark reminded himself that he was meeting Madame for the first time and came 
forward quickly.  The woman extended her hand, and instead of shaking it, Clark 
took it and lifted it to his lips.  His skin crawled as he brushed his lips over 
her knuckles, but he controlled the reaction and smiled into her eyes.  
"Madame."

She showed no reaction as he released her hand and smiled pleasantly at her.  
"Mr. Desrosiers.  I must agree with Rene that your cooking is far superior to 
that of our last assistant chef.  We'll discuss your employment tomorrow.  I'm 
sure Rene will be glad to have competent help."  She turned to cast her eyes 
over the kitchen.  "We'll be sitting down to dinner in a few moments, Rene.  
Miss Davenport apparently had a slight problem with her dress and will be 
joining us later.  We won't be delaying dinner."

"Very good, Madame," Rene said.

Arianna smiled again--her smile never reached her eyes, Clark noticed--and 
turned back to Clark, studying him for a split second longer than really 
necessary.  "Is it possible we've met before, Mr. Desrosiers?"

"I do not believe so, Madame," Clark said, easily.  "I should certainly have 
remembered such a lady as yourself."

Again, that slight, cold smile.  "Very likely."  She turned back toward the 
door, and Rene hastened to open it for her.

Clark allowed himself to relax slightly as the panel closed behind her.  Rene 
had already returned to his supervision of the dinner, but took a moment to 
speak to Clark.  "If you are finished, you may go, Raoul."

Clark began to remove his apron.  "Will you need me?"

Rene shook his head.  "No.  Your part is done for the evening.  An excellent 
first full day at work, may I add."  He smiled warmly at his new colleague.  "Go 
and relax.  You must be tired."

He had barely left by the servants' entrance when he heard Lois's whisper again, 
and this time it was not only more urgent, but also held a note of alarm.  
"Clark!  I need you!"

He strode to his room in a businesslike way, closed the door behind him and an 
instant later was launching himself through the bathroom window faster than the 
human eye could follow.  Fifty feet in the air he paused, orienting himself by 
her heartbeat.

She wasn't in the house, he discovered at once.  She was to the west of him.  He 
soared in that direction, and within seconds had located her.  She was on the 
beach, kneeling in the sand beside the body of a man.  He landed beside her a 
bare instant later.  

"You took long enough!" was her greeting, delivered in low tones, but none the 
less fierce for its lack of volume.

"Sorry.  I couldn't get away.  What's happened?"

"I don't know.  I found this guy here.  I think he's dead."

Clark examined the man with his x-ray vision.  "Almost, but not quite.  If I 
don't get him to an emergency room fast, though, he will be.  Wait here."  With 
that, he scooped up the severely injured man and headed for the mainland.

********** 

Lois got slowly to her feet and mechanically brushed sand from the black gown.  
This thing was going to need to be dry-cleaned before she could wear it again, 
she thought absently.  It was an open question whether the shoes would even be 
salvageable.  

She looked uneasily around.  Whoever had shot the unknown man, or stabbed him or 
whatever, might not be far away.  How long had he lain here in the sand?  There 
was no way for her to know, but she hoped Clark would hurry. 

And how about that guy she'd mistaken for Clark?  True, she hadn't gotten a good 
look at him, but she'd thought it was her husband.  He'd ducked into the trees 
and disappeared.  Where had he been headed in such a hurry?  It had certainly 
looked like some kind of emergency.  Was it possible the man she had found was 
the cause?

The moonlight was bright enough tonight, now that she was out of the trees, and 
the white sand gleamed under its light.  Lois stooped to look at the spot where 
he had lain.  There were a few ominous, dark patches, and the sand had been 
churned up there, and now that she was thinking straight again, she could see 
the tracks where he had dragged himself.  Slowly, she backtracked the marks in 
the dry sand.  He had crawled up from the water line, she thought.  Come to 
think of it, his clothing had been wet.  She had hardly noticed it at the time.  
He had somehow made it out of the ocean where he must have been dumped after 
someone had tried to kill him.  So perhaps the would-be murderer wasn't around 
here after all.  But where had he come from?

A shadow drifted down silently from the sky, and her husband's voice said, "Find 
anything?"

"He crawled out of the ocean," Lois said. 

"I figured that.  He was sopping wet," Clark said.  "Someone might have thrown 
him overboard from a boat, or something."

"Is he alive?" Lois asked.

Clark shrugged, uncomfortably.  "He was when I left him--just barely.  He didn't 
have any identification that I could see."

"I've never seen him before, either," Lois said, "so he wasn't a guest here on 
the island."

"At least not that we know of," Clark amended.  He was turning his head right 
and left, and Lois figured he was scanning the surrounding vicinity.  "There's 
no one around.  You know, it's possible he *jumped* overboard from a boat."

"What?"

"Sure.  If you're going to dump a body, you do it in deep water.  He might have 
jumped, if he was conscious--on the chance he could make it to the island."

"Clark, he had to know he was badly hurt!"

"Well, sure."  Clark was still checking over the area closely.  "But if I were 
in his position, I'd take any chance that was offered to survive.  Wouldn't 
you?"

"I guess so," Lois said, a little doubtfully.  "But what was he doing here?"

"That," Clark said, "is the million-dollar question.  Somebody wanted him dead, 
that's certain."  He stopped, then strode forward.  Something lay on the sand, 
inches from the water line.  Clark picked it up and extended his hand for her to 
examine what he held.

"A pack of cigarettes?" Lois said.

"It's not.  Look."  Delicately, Clark peeled back the cover, to reveal a tiny 
camera.  "It's a miniature digital camera.  It looks as if somebody was taking 
pictures where he wasn't wanted."

"But it's soaked," Lois said.  "Do you suppose the pictures would still be 
good?"

"Maybe.  Dr. Klein should be able to recover the data, or most of it."  Clark 
glanced around once more.  "Look, why don't I take you back to your room so you 
can get changed out of these clothes.  I'll take this to Dr. Klein, and be back 
as soon as I can.  Arianna told Rene that you had a problem with your dress.  
What happened?"

"I guess that was Jimmy's idea."  She let him scoop her up in his arms.  "Did 
you know he has a real talent for this kind of thing?"

**********

As a result of the delay, Lois arrived several minutes after the other guests 
had gone in to dinner.  She walked in quietly and took her seat beside Jimmy 
without fuss.  Lex, or whoever he was, glanced at her and said, smiling, "I see 
Miss Davenport has arrived."  Arianna nodded to her and spoke in a low voice to 
Rogan, who replied softly and left the room. 

"Just in time," Jimmy murmured to her.  

She nodded without speaking, wondering how she was going to get through the 
evening without coming face to face with her host.  Fortunately, about twenty 
minutes into dinner, one of the waiters approached and informed Mr. de Los Rios 
that