Finding Clark Kent: An Experimental Poll-Driven Story
by Paul-Gabriel Wiener <pgw@mit.edu> and the FoLCs of the L&C 
Fanfic Message Boards ( http://www.lcficmbs.com )
Rated PG
Submitted April 2004

Author's note: This was an unusual story. Although I did all the 
writing, I was not the one who decided what happened. That was 
done by the FoLCs at the Fanfic Message Boards 
( http://www.lcficmbs.com ). The way it was supposed to work was 
this: I'd post every Monday. FoLCs would read the story and post 
comments in a separate message thread. In that thread, I'd ask a 
question, typically, "what should Lois do next?" They'd post 
their suggestions, and I'd read them over. On Wednesday, I'd 
create a poll using those suggestions. The poll would close on 
Friday, and no one could see the results until then. That kept 
the current results from influencing other voters, and it also 
kept me from being tempted to look at the (possibly misleading) 
results too early. Once the poll closed, I'd look at the results 
and, based on the voting, would write the next part.

So, that was the plan. To make it work, of course, I needed a 
plot. (To be clear, I came up with the plot before I worked out 
the exact schedule, but the basic idea to have a poll story came 
first.) The first thing I thought of was having someone kidnap 
Clark. The reason for that was that I wanted to limit the 
readers' options. They were going to be controlling the good 
guys. With Clark on the loose, they'd be able to use his powers, 
which could make things difficult for me. On the other hand, 
having Clark taken captive would not only wipe out all those 
potential problems, but it also made for good drama.

So, Clark was going to be kidnapped. The next question was 
"when?" I quickly realized that if the readers were going to be 
in control of Lois, it would be best if they knew exactly as much 
as she did. If Lois knew more than the readers, it could make 
things confusing. More to the point, if the readers knew more 
than Lois, it could influence their decisions. I wanted them to 
vote "in character," and if they knew something that Lois didn't, 
that could cause problems. So, the story would have to be set 
post-revelation. It would also be better if it was set during 
show continuity, so that there wouldn't be anything extra to 
explain to the readers. I decided to go for sometime after they 
were engaged, but before they were married.

That was right about where I got stuck. I needed a plot. I needed 
to nail down the timing. I needed to know all the background 
information because I had to be ready to explain anything the 
readers chose to have Lois question. It was a daunting prospect, 
and I wasn't sure if it would ever happen. One day, though, I 
brought the story up in conversation with Kaylle. We were just 
chatting, and I mentioned it. She liked the idea, and we got to 
talking, and, with her help, I got things figured out. More 
details were added over the next couple days. Soon, I had a solid 
backstory. The timing, the villains, their goals, their plans, 
what they'd been doing... just about everything I needed. Some 
details were added as the unpredictable story required, but those 
initial brainstorming sessions with Kaylle were the most crucial. 
Had it not been for her help, this story would still be nothing 
more than a very short file of notes mouldering away in my "in 
progress" folder.

With the backstory set, I wrote Part 1, Kaylle BRed, and I 
posted. For the most part, things went according to plan from 
there. Readers made suggestions, I turned them into polls as best 
I could, and I interpreted the results. Often, there was room to 
do more than one thing per question. When that happened, I took 
the vote totals as priorities. The option which had gotten the 
most votes was the one Lois considered most important. She'd then 
do whatever she had time for. The story would progress, and I'd 
stop when it came time for the next major decision. Kaylle 
continued to BR on short notice, sometimes in a single morning. 
Once she did it just after I'd posted, and I edited as the 
comments came in. A time or two, she was swamped with school work 
and couldn't read in time. For the most part, she somehow managed 
to come through, despite a full course load.

Of course, not everything proceeded as planned. A couple of times 
(after parts 3 and 7), there was no poll; the possible actions 
were too few. Also, due to RL, I wasn't always able to write and 
post the next part over a single weekend. Of course, I wasn't the 
only one with RL issues. Most of the story was posted during 
Kerth reading period, when many FoLCs were too busy to check the 
boards. Readership and participation declined, and I was worried 
that I wouldn't be able to continue the story. After posting a 
poll about that, though, I kept going. Things picked up again 
after the Kerths, and all was well.

One other thing went differently than I'd expected: Clark stayed 
in the story. I'd originally planned on this being Lois's story, 
with Clark doing little if anything after the first part. The 
readers were supposed to be controlling Lois's investigation. If 
Clark was in the story, he'd learn things that Lois didn't know. 
The good readers, however, managed to outsmart me by coming up 
with some good suggestions for things he could do to improve his 
situation.

It was a surprise, but ultimately it worked out quite well. With 
Clark back in the running, I was able to do some things that 
would otherwise have been very difficult. The readers even came 
up with a way to solve the problem of Clark knowing more than 
Lois. Still, I'd set some pretty tight constraints on him. I 
couldn't change that, and so Clark's role remained unusually 
small. It was frustrating at times -- for me, and, I suspect, for 
many of the readers -- but I'm not sure the story could have 
worked without him.

So, that's the story of the story. It was written as much by the 
readers as it was by me. There are more than a few things in it 
that I'd probably have never thought of myself. Beyond the 
readers' suggestions for our heroes, I was often inspired by 
their other thoughts and comments. So, all in all, it was a very 
worthwhile experiment. I had a lot of fun with it, and I think 
the readers did, too.

So, this is the collected archive version. Hopefully, it will 
still be fun to read it, even if you didn't get the chance to 
participate. I've left the part numbers in the file, so you can 
see where I stopped to let people decide what to do next. If 
you're interested in seeing the original comments folders, polls, 
and whatever else, they're still on the boards. It's kind of like 
the DVD version. The table of contents can be found at the 
following URL: http://www.lcficmbs.com/cgi-
bin/boards/ultimatebb.cgi?ubb=get_topic;f=6;t=000292

Speaking of the archive, I'd like to take this opportunity to 
thank my GE, Kathy MacFarlane, whose extraordinarily diligent 
reading has saved you, the reader, from more errors than I care 
to mention. It's also saved me from the embarrassment of having 
you, the reader, see all those stupid mistakes. Well, maybe not 
*all* of them. Like I said, her reading, especially given the 
length of this story, was extraordinarily diligent. Still, there 
were enough to go around. Any mistakes left are, at this point, 
almost certainly the result of my own stubbornness.

The usual disclaimer: Lois, Clark, and related characters 
(including a few borrowed from the comics) belong to DC Comics, 
Inc., a subsidiary of AOL Time-Warner. This story was written for 
fun, not profit. No money was made from this story. No copyright 
infringement is intended. Captain America (whose name and history 
are briefly mentioned) and related characters belong to Marvel 
Comics.

One final note: In our universe, Feb. 1, 1996 was a Thursday. In 
this universe, I made it a Monday. Yes, I changed the day of the 
week. I have that power. Fear me, mortals!

Finding Clark Kent

Part 1

Monday, Feb. 1, 1996
Lois's POV

It was a bright, clear morning. I remember that. They'd been 
predicting snow, but I didn't see a cloud in the sky. I smiled to 
myself. It had been a week since I'd come home from Tempus's 
twisted alternate universe, and I was still riding high. I'd left 
the people of that world with newfound hope. With the help of the 
Clark Kent of that universe, I'd made a real, noticeable 
difference. It had felt good, really good. At the same time, the 
experience had given me a greater appreciation for the comforts 
of home. Sure, there were neighborhoods with gangs and guns, and 
many of the city's officials were probably corrupt, but it was a 
far cry from the world I'd left. It had been a place of fear and 
paranoia, where no one had walked the streets unarmed, where 
Tempus had nearly been elected mayor, and where, as far as 
everyone knew, Lois Lane was dead.

So, as I drove to work that day, I did so in a cheerful mood. I 
was warm and safe inside my Jeep, the weather was better than I'd 
been expecting, the people around me didn't have automatic 
rifles, and in just under two weeks, I was going to marry the 
most amazing man to ever walk the earth (or, for that matter, to 
fly above it). I did, however, spare a moment to grumble to 
myself about the capricious accuracy of the weather forecasters. 
When I was a kid, they'd been fairly consistent. If they'd told 
you it was going to snow, you could at least be fairly confident 
about crossing "snow" off the list of what to expect. In the 
years since then, the accuracy of their predictions had gone up 
from about five percent to about sixty, which was completely 
unhelpful. You just never knew what to expect.

When I got to the newsroom, the first thing I noticed was that 
Clark wasn't there. It wasn't like him to be late, and he'd have 
told me if he'd gotten a lead on a story. If he wasn't at his 
desk, it could only be because Superman was needed elsewhere. I 
hadn't heard anything on the radio during my drive over, so it 
probably wasn't anything major. Hopefully he'd be in soon.

I sat down at my desk and sorted through the messages that had 
been left for me. Half of them were about the wedding. My mother 
alone had called no less than eight times already that morning, 
hoping to settle some detail or other. The florist had also 
called with a minor crisis, the band was trying to get us to 
agree to pay overtime for the last hour, and some city bureaucrat 
was notifying us that we couldn't get a marriage license without 
certain documented blood test results. I put those messages in a 
pile on the side of my desk. I'd deal with them when Clark came.

Sifting through the work-related messages, I found little of 
consequence. Legal needed whatever evidence I could give them 
about Baron Sunday's criminal activities. After he'd escaped from 
Superman, he'd apparently left the country. He'd never been taken 
into police custody, but we'd still written the story. Now safe 
from arrest, he was attempting to sue the Planet. He didn't have 
a leg to stand on, of course, but Legal wanted to cover all the 
angles. I made a mental note to copy the relevant files and drop 
them into an interdepartmental envelope.

The next few messages were company memos. I glanced at them and 
tossed them out. An envelope from Washington, DC caught my eye. 
The government was still sorting through the aftermath of the 
treasonous NIA plot we'd exposed with the help of Jimmy's father. 
The president himself had made sure we were kept up to date on 
the progress of the investigation and the restructuring, or at 
least the details that weren't too highly classified. I looked 
through the latest. Nothing too earth-shaking, but certainly 
enough for a sidebar.

Having gotten to the end of the messages, I took a second to look 
around. Clark still hadn't arrived, and the news feeds still 
weren't reporting any Super activity. I squelched a pang of 
worry. Maybe the media hadn't caught up to him yet. Maybe it was 
just one of those days when small things cropped up, one after 
another. Nothing to worry about. I booted up my computer and took 
a minute to check my email. A message came in with the subject "A 
tip for you" from "SecretSanta@goal.com." It was probably just 
some crank, or someone with some worthless information they 
thought was a hot tip. The address itself didn't say much for the 
credibility of the sender, though it was intriguing. It was 
obviously an account which had been set up for anonymity. There 
was no name, just Secret Santa. Knowing it was from a GOAL 
address didn't help very much, either. Get Online At Lexcorp was 
a popular service provider, though I'd never understood why. My 
aversion to anything associated with Lex Luthor aside, I just 
couldn't see why anyone would put up with it. Their menus were 
all graphical, supposedly to make navigating through their maze 
of services a little easier. A good idea, in principle, but even 
with the Planet's modems, which were capable of transferring over 
fourteen thousand bits of data per second, a single menu took an 
intolerably long time to load. Still, like I said, a lot of 
people seemed to like it. A few businesses, too, so I couldn't 
even be sure that the message was from a personal account, 
although the anonymous username made it seem like a safe bet. I 
considered deleting the message, but then decided that it 
couldn't hurt to at least give it a look. There weren't any 
attachments, so at least it wasn't a virus.

TO: LLane@dailyplanet.com
FROM: SecretSanta@goal.com
DATE: 02/01/96 07:02:56 AM
RE: A tip for you

Dear Ms. Lane,

You may be interested in the contents of a certain shipment 
coming in to Pier 31 at around 11 PM tonight.

Love,
Your Secret Admirer

It was certainly an interesting message, I thought. I wasn't too 
happy about the implications of that signature, but if it meant a 
scoop, I was willing to put up with some extra attention. Not 
that I could be sure that the information was at all reliable, 
but it might be worth checking out. Maybe there was a legitimate 
reason behind my so-called admirer's desire for anonymity. Of 
course, it could also be a trap, but I wasn't too worried about 
that. I'd gotten out of plenty of tight situations before, and 
now I had Superman to back me up.

At least, I hoped I did. Clark still hadn't turned up, at work or 
on the news. Well, he was Superman; he could take care of 
himself. I pushed my growing unease aside and got to work on the 
NIA sidebar. As I was finishing it up, though, I heard a news 
report about an airplane that was in trouble. They were calling 
for Superman, but there was no sign of him. No one knew where he 
was, no one had seen him, no one knew how to find him. I tried 
calling Clark's pager. I groaned when I heard it beeping at his 
desk. He'd left it there last night after dashing out for a 
rescue. He must have forgotten to come back and pick it up. I had 
no way to get in touch with him, and my gut was telling me with 
increasing urgency that something had happened to him. I only 
wished I knew what it was, and, more importantly, what I could do 
about it.

******

Clark's POV

I woke up to pain. It was dulled somewhat by the grogginess, but 
that wasn't much consolation. I wasn't really used to either 
sensation. I tried to remember what had happened, but couldn't 
come up with any useful information. Obviously, I'd encountered 
Kryptonite, but I didn't know how or why. I decided to give my 
head some time to clear before trying to prod through my memories 
again. Instead, I focused on taking stock of my surroundings.

I quickly realized I'd been blindfolded. Not a good sign. I tried 
looking through it, but it was no use. My powers were gone. From 
the feel of my skin, I was in the Suit. That didn't seem right, 
but I wasn't sure why. I tried to move around a bit, but didn't 
get too far. I'd been tied to something. A chair, probably, but I 
couldn't be sure. The bonds were tight, more than I could hope to 
break through or slip out of, given my weakened state.

My headache was starting to clear a bit. Not much, but enough for 
me to realize that there were voices nearby. I'd been hearing 
them since I'd woken up, but they'd been too indistinct to catch 
my attention through the pain. They were getting closer now, 
though. From the sound of their footsteps, I guessed that several 
people were walking through a nearby concrete hallway.

A door opened. The voices became much clearer.

"... about that, but I'm sure you can appreciate the need for 
secrecy." The voice was clearly male, but not one I recognized.

A female voice responded. It seemed vaguely familiar, but I 
couldn't come up with anything solid. "Yes, but I don't like it 
when the secrets are kept from *me*."

"Well, we can talk about that later. First, I'd like to introduce 
you to my guest."

"After you."

He chuckled. "You still don't trust me, even with your... friends 
looking out for you?"

Her voice turned deadly serious. "I don't trust anyone."

"A sound policy, if a lonely one." I heard footsteps, then the 
man spoke again. "See? It's safe. No traps."

More footsteps. Some heavy ones, followed, at last, by a lighter 
set. "That's him?" she asked.

"Yes. Not much to look at now, is he?"

"I want proof. You say it's him. If he doesn't have his powers, 
how do I know that it's not a trick?"

"With this." Suddenly, I felt a searing pain. I gasped and pulled 
away. Then, as abruptly as it had come, the pain was gone. 
"Here," he continued, "take it. The box opens smoothly, and, as 
you can see, he's blindfolded. If it were anyone else, he'd have 
no way of knowing when you opened it."

A pause. Footsteps. Another pause, then pain. I struggled, but it 
only got worse. "Oh, it is him!" she exclaimed delightedly. The 
pain continued.

"Careful, not too much. I want to keep him around a while 
longer."

"Why?"

"For fun. Oh, it's safe enough. He can't get out of here, not 
tied up like that, and not if I keep that box around."

"It's still a risk."

"It's worth it. Here, watch." A TV turned on, but I didn't pay 
any attention to it. Not with the Kryptonite still there.

"What's that for?"

"Just wait. Close the box."

A pause, then the pain subsided. I knew that if my captor wanted 
me to listen to the TV, I'd be better off ignoring it, but it was 
the only sound in the room. I couldn't help but pick up the 
words. I was confused to realize I was listening to a commercial. 
It ended, and another one came on. Still woozy from the 
Kryptonite, I wondered if the plan was to torture me with an 
endless stream of commercials. Then a new voice came on.

"Welcome back. I'm Leslie Willis, and you're watching LNN. Our 
top story tonight: Where is Superman? There have been no reported 
sightings of the hero today, despite frantic pleas for 
assistance. Earlier today, a commercial airliner bearing 327 
passengers crashed due to mechanical failure. LNN obtained this 
recording of the pilot's conversation with Metropolis 
International Airport's control tower.

"I shut down engine #4, but it doesn't look good."

"Try to keep it level. We're clearing the runway for you. 
Emergency teams are standing by."

"Oh ****! There goes #2! I don't think we're going to make it!"

"Stay calm. We're calling for help. Just try to keep it level."

"I'm trying, but if you want to send help, it better be soon. I'm 
losing control here! Oh, that's it. Only Superman can save us 
now!"

Leslie's voice came back on. "Calls were sent out through 
Emergency Services and the news media, but Superman did not 
arrive. All passengers and crew who were aboard the flight are 
presumed dead. The exact cause of the failure is under 
investigation, but preliminary reports suggest faulty 
maintenance. An FAA spokesperson told reporters that 
investigators have no reason at this time to suspect foul play. 
LNN is asking that anyone with information about the whereabouts 
of Superman please call our toll free news line at 1-800-555-
1234.

"In other news, gang violence in Metropolis is on the rise. In 
the last three months, the number of reported firefights has 
increased..."

The woman laughed, covering the sound of the television. "Oh, 
you're cruel. I like that!"

"So, do I get to join your little club?"

"I'd prefer to talk about that somewhere a little more... 
comfortable."

"Certainly. We'll just leave our guest to entertain himself, 
then."

The footsteps retreated. The door closed. I sat, weakened, 
pained, blindfolded, helpless. I tried to rest, to gather my 
strength, but I couldn't tune out the continuing litany of people 
I'd failed to save. I struggled, with myself and with my bonds, 
until sheer exhaustion finally brought me some measure, however 
temporary, of peace.

******

Part 2

Monday, Feb. 1, 1996
Lois's POV

It was all over the news. The plane had crashed, and there was 
still no sign of Superman. Something was definitely wrong. I had 
to find him. Thinking things through, it seemed like the best 
place to start would be to try to track his movements. I decided 
to look into the stories he'd been working on. Mostly, we'd been 
working together, but there was always a chance he'd started 
looking into something without mentioning it to me. Perhaps a 
lead he hadn't been sure would pan out, or something which had 
developed suddenly.

I started over to his desk, but figured that as long as I 
wouldn't be using mine, I could have Jimmy look into that email. 
It might somehow be connected to Clark's disappearance, and if I 
was going to follow the lead, I wanted to know as much as I could 
ahead of time. "Jimmy!" I shouted. He was there in a flash, ready 
for action. "I got this message today," I told him, pointing to 
the screen. "It seems suspicious. Look into it for me, will you? 
See what you can find out -- who sent it, where it came from, 
anything -- and let me know as soon as you can."

"You got it, Lois."

"Thanks, Jimmy."

"Sure thing." He sat down in front of my computer and began 
scrutinizing that jumbled mess of letters and numbers that comes 
at the top of every email. I always scrolled right past it, but 
apparently all that nonsense meant something to him.

I shrugged and headed to Clark's desk. Acting as if I had every 
right to rummage through his files (I was, after all, his partner 
and fiancee), I began to search for any sign that he'd been 
working on something I didn't know about. There didn't seem to be 
very much. A few human interest stories, but that wasn't 
surprising. Clark knew I wasn't much for puff pieces, so he 
tended to work on them alone. He'd usually ask me to look them 
over when he was done, but didn't always bother to mention them 
before that. Looking over them, the only ones that involved any 
sort of danger were the stories which had started out as rescues. 
He'd already come away from those intact, so it didn't seem 
likely that any of them were related to his disappearance.

There was one file, though, which stood out from the rest. It was 
about gang fights. Coded notations indicated that most of the 
information consisted of things which he'd noticed as Superman. 
Apparently, the gangs were becoming more violent, and seemed to 
be using more dangerous weapons. Clark hadn't started looking 
into anything yet, but he was worried about the trends. There was 
a note that he'd been planning to mention it to me this morning 
so that we could get started on the investigation. He hadn't done 
anything yet, though, other than to stop a few of the fights. 
Come to think, when he'd left the newsroom last night, he'd 
mentioned something about gunfire.

Could that have anything to do with his disappearance? Only one 
way to find out. I needed to look into that rescue last night and 
see if anyone knew what had happened. The gang fights, for the 
most part, had been in Suicide Slum. I remembered that Clark 
tended to use the 68th Precinct as his drop-off point when 
working in the Slum; he said it was the one he knew best. I 
pulled out the phone book and found the number.

"MPD. Can I help you?"

"Yeah, hi. This is Lois Lane. I was wondering if you could tell 
me if anyone there has seen or heard from Superman recently."

The gruff voice turned instantly somber. "Oh, yeah. Hold on." 
There was a pause, and the next words sounded muffled, even 
though they were loud enough to understand. Clearly, he'd decided 
to put his hand over the receiver before shouting across the 
room. "Hey, Mags, got a sec? Lane wants to talk to you." Another 
pause, longer this time, and then he spoke into the phone again. 
"She'll be right with you. Good luck finding him."

"Thanks," I said, but there was no response. The silence told me 
I'd been put on hold.

A short while later, a new voice picked up. "Sawyer here."

"Hi. Lois Lane. I'm calling to find out if anyone saw Superman 
last night."

"Yeah, I did." She blew out a deep breath. "I've been wondering 
if I was the last one to see him."

"What happened?"

"He flew into the precinct last night around midnight. He had 
some... passengers and a bag full of guns. Told me they'd been 
fighting in the streets. I brought them in for booking and took 
his statement."

"Then what?"

"He thanked me, said goodnight, and flew away."

He'd thanked her? I smiled. Just like Clark... I brushed the 
thought aside. No time for that now. "Did he say where he was 
going?"

"No, he just left."

"Did you happen to see which way he went?"

She paused, but not for very long. "Uptown... Northwest. More 
north, I think."

I thought about it. There were any number of places north and 
west of the Slum, but one of them was Clark's apartment. It 
didn't sound like he'd been in a hurry when he'd left, so he 
probably hadn't been headed to another rescue. "Thanks."

"Sure." She sounded weary. "Look, we're trying to find him, too, 
but... This is off the record now, you understand?"

"Yeah, go ahead."

"We've got nothing. No leads. And just when we want to divert the 
manpower to help find him, we can't. Officially, we're not 
supposed to look for missing persons until they've been gone for 
at least 48 hours. None of us would bother with that, but we 
don't have the time to go looking anyway. We've already logged in 
more calls today than we usually get in a week, and things are 
getting worse. Every lowlife out there seems to see his absence 
as an opportunity. What I'm trying to say is... Good luck."

"Thanks."

"Yeah. I'm heading back out. You find anything, think of 
anything, need anything... let us know, okay?"

"Sure, thanks again, and good luck yourself."

"Thanks."

I hung up the phone, then glanced back at my desk. I was startled 
to see Jimmy using my phone. I went over to see what was 
happening.

"Here she is now," he said as I approached. "Good talking to you, 
Mrs. Kent."

Clark's mother. Of course. I'd been putting off calling her, 
hoping to spare her some worry, but obviously she'd seen the 
news. Bracing myself, I took the receiver from Jimmy. "Martha?"

"Lois! Have you heard from Clark?"

"No, Martha, I haven't. I guess you haven't either, then?"

"No. I tried calling his apartment, but there was no answer. When 
his work number was busy, I'd hoped..."

"Oh. I was using his phone, talking to someone who saw him last 
night. I'm looking for him, Martha. I've got a couple of things 
to look into, people to check with... I'll find him."

"Jonathan and I will be on the next plane out there."

"No, Martha, stay there. What if he calls home?"

"But what about you, Honey?"

"I'll be all right. Don't worry about me. I just need to find 
him."

"You'll do it. If anyone can, it's you."

"Thanks, Martha. I'll call you as soon as I hear anything."

She sighed. "Thanks. Bye, Lois."

"Bye."

"Everything okay, Lois?"

Jimmy. I'd forgotten he was there. "Just worried about Superman, 
Jimmy."

"Oh, yeah. I wonder where he is. I tried using my watch to call 
him, just in case, but he didn't show."

"Good try anyway, Jimmy."

"Thanks. Hey, where's Clark?"

"I haven't seen him today, Jimmy. Maybe he got sick or something. 
I'm going to go check his apartment soon, see if he's okay." As I 
spoke, I tried to think of a way to change the subject; this was 
not a topic I wanted to discuss too closely with him. "Did you 
get anything from that email?"

"What? Oh, right. Not much. Looking at the IP addresses, I can 
tell you it came through a server in New Troy, probably 
Metropolis. But anyone with a GOAL account could have dialed into 
it. Could have even dialed long distance from somewhere else, if 
they felt like throwing you off the trail. Can't tell you 
anything about the account. I tried to hack into the server, but 
Lexcorp's security is *tight.* Sorry, Lois."

"Thanks anyway, Jimmy."

"Sure. So, you going to go?"

"Go?"

"To the pier."

"Oh, right. Yeah, I'll probably check it out."

"You sure? Looks pretty suspicious..."

"I know, Jimmy." I'd been debating with myself about that. I 
couldn't not go, not if there was any chance it could lead me to 
Clark. I'd been considering going alone, but, if it was a trap... 
Better to be at least a little cautious, especially with Clark 
missing. "Listen, do you want to come with me? As backup? Take 
your camera, with a nice long zoom lens and some night equipment. 
Maybe you'll get a few good shots of whatever's going on, and if 
something happens to me, you can call for help."

"Really? You'd let me come?"

"Sure, why not? You could use the experience, and I could use a 
photographer."

"Thanks, Lois! ... Oh, but I don't have any night equipment."

"I'll talk to Perry. Maybe he'll let you check out some of the 
Planet's gear."

"Oh, wow! I'd love to get my hands on some of that stuff. You 
know, they've got a set-up that will let you take high-
contrast..." He trailed off, evidently realizing that I didn't 
share his enthusiasm. "Never mind. I'll let you get back to 
work."

I nodded to him, and he walked off. I turned back to the phone. I 
wanted to go to Clark's apartment, but there were a couple of 
calls I needed to make first. I picked up the receiver, punched 
the speed dial button, and then, after a moment's hesitation, hit 
the four. It rang a couple times and then someone picked up.

"Hello, Thai Palace."

"Hi, this is Lois Lane --"

"-- Oh, yes! What would you like?"

"Reservations, actually, this time."

There was a brief pause, as if he needed a second to absorb this 
information. "Yes, reservations. What time?"

"Seven, please."

"For how many?"

"Four," I lied. Knowing my intended companion, we'd need the room 
on the table. I knew they wouldn't mind, in the end. I was, after 
all, a regular customer, and I was confident that we'd be 
ordering enough to make up for the empty chairs. Thinking of 
that, though, brought up another idea. We didn't want chairs, not 
if we wanted privacy. "Is there any way we can get that booth in 
the back?"

"Booth? Yes, of course."

"Great, thanks."

"Thank you."

I hung up, but only long enough to get another dial tone. 
Quickly, I put in another number, one that wasn't on the speed 
dial, but which I knew by heart.

"Hello?"

"Bobby? It's Lois. Listen, do you have any plans for dinner 
tonight?"

******

Clark's POV

When I woke up again, I was confused and disoriented. Gradually, 
I remembered what had happened and why I couldn't move. The TV 
was still on; I blocked it out as best I could. I forced myself 
to focus on my memories, to see if I could figure anything out 
about my captors. There was a man, but I'd never heard his voice 
before, not that I could remember. No, wait... I'd heard it once 
before. In my apartment. I'd just flown home and was about to get 
ready for bed when I'd felt something... Kryptonite. There'd been 
a voice then, that same voice. I couldn't remember what he'd said 
-- I'd been too surprised by the sudden pain -- but it was the 
same voice. So, someone had been waiting for me in my apartment 
with Kryptonite. Not a good sign.

Then there was the other voice. The woman's. Something about it 
had seemed like it should be familiar, but I couldn't place it. 
It nagged at me, but I couldn't make the connection. I put the 
thought aside, hoping it would come to me. Instead, I tried to 
think of what I could do. There didn't seem to be much. I was 
weak, tied up, and blindfolded. Well, if I couldn't do anything 
with my body, maybe I could do something with my mind. I'd felt a 
connection with Lois before. I didn't know how strong it was or 
how it worked, but maybe I could somehow reach her. I 
concentrated on her, tried to tell her what had happened. I 
couldn't be sure if I was getting through, but I tried.

Suddenly, a sound interrupted my thoughts. It took me a minute to 
realize that I'd been the source of it, and another minute to 
realize that it was related to the unfamiliar sensation I was 
experiencing. Finally, it clicked. The sound had been my stomach 
rumbling; I was hungry. I hadn't eaten very much in the past few 
days. I didn't really need to eat, usually, and we'd been so busy 
that I simply hadn't bothered. Now, my body was looking for fuel 
to help its recovery. At first, I was sorry I hadn't been eating, 
but then something else occurred to me. If I had taken the time 
to eat, I'd have processed that food, which would have brought up 
another need. It didn't seem likely that my captors would be 
particularly willing to untie me so that I could use the 
restroom.

On the other hand, they'd said they didn't want to kill me just 
yet. That might give me some leverage. I could ask for food... 
but no, they probably wouldn't give me any, not yet. Sunlight, 
though... I could tell them that I needed sunlight. Maybe, if 
they thought I'd die without it, they'd be willing to bring me 
near a window. If there was a window around here... Nothing I'd 
heard or felt seemed to indicate that there was one nearby. The 
other thing was that not many people knew I recharged myself with 
sunlight. If I didn't give them any reason to think it was 
important, they wouldn't know to keep me away from the light, if 
there was any. So, I'd probably be better off not mentioning 
sunlight. It might give me a chance to recharge without them 
realizing it. If that happened, and if I didn't give them any 
sign that I was doing better, I could gather my strength, maybe 
enough to escape.

Come to that, I could play that game even if there wasn't any 
sunlight. If I pretended to be sicker than I was, maybe they 
wouldn't bring the Kryptonite as often. Without sunlight, I'd 
recover slowly, but it would be something. With that thought in 
mind, I slumped in the chair, lying back as much as I could. I 
breathed shallowly, weakly. I focused on being as quiet and still 
as I could. Soon, I drifted back to sleep.

******

Lois's POV

After making the arrangements with Bobby, I dropped by Perry's 
office, to let him know that Jimmy and I were going on a stakeout 
at the Pier. He agreed to let Jimmy take some of the Planet's 
surveillance equipment. Now, if anything went wrong, Perry would 
know where to start looking. Back in the newsroom, I found Jimmy 
and gave him the good news. I told him to meet me in the lobby 
with everything ready to go at ten o'clock.

Leaving the Planet, I drove to Clark's apartment. Maybe there'd 
be some clue there. I didn't have a key (I made a note to rectify 
that situation as soon as I'd found Clark), but I knew Clark had 
never bothered to get a particularly good lock. I pulled out my 
picks and examined the door. To anyone on the street, it would 
look like I was simply fumbling with a key. At least for the 
moment. Looking at the door, though, I noticed some tiny 
scratches near the lock. It might not mean anything, but it 
looked like someone else had tried to pick it. Someone 
inexperienced, or perhaps out of practice. I noted that with some 
trepidation, then tried the knob. It was unlocked. That 
definitely wasn't like Clark.

Inside, however, everything seemed to be in place. Well, almost 
everything. There was a window open.

Suddenly, I felt something. It felt like... Clark. It was a weak 
impression, though, as if he was far away or very tired. He was 
definitely in trouble. Then it was gone. I shook myself. 
Obviously, I'd been imagining things. This was Clark's apartment, 
of course I felt his presence! Of course I'd sensed he was in 
trouble! He was missing, and now it looked like someone had 
broken into his apartment. I got back to the problem at hand.

The open window was telling. Whoever it was who had broken in had 
come in through the door. Since the door wasn't locked, that 
person had probably left through the door, too. Clark, flying 
back from a late-night rescue, would most likely have entered 
through the window. Now he was missing. There could only be one 
conclusion: someone had broken into his apartment and waited for 
him, armed with Kryptonite.

Disturbed, I looked around for any other clues. There was 
nothing. I tried playing the messages on his machine, just in 
case, but the only new message was from Martha. She'd mentioned 
that she'd tried his apartment first. Nothing new there.

I left Clark's place and tried talking to his neighbors. I'd met 
some of them in passing, so I wasn't entirely unfamiliar to them. 
Trying not to show too much concern, I asked them if they'd seen 
Clark lately, or if they'd heard anything unusual last night. A 
few of them said they'd heard some noises, but it had been late 
at night. Only one of them had gotten out of bed to check, and 
all he'd seen was a car driving away. He couldn't even give me a 
good description; it just hadn't been important enough to note, 
especially at that hour.

I left Clark's neighborhood in low spirits. The only new 
information I had only served to make things worse. Someone had 
definitely taken him, and if that person had known to wait in his 
apartment with Kryptonite... Well, maybe someone had just noticed 
that Superman tended to go there. Everyone knew that Clark and 
Superman were good friends. Superman had even announced, during 
that whole mess with Diana Stride, that Clark kept his extra 
suits and did his laundry. There was a chance that Clark's 
captors had come for Clark, not Superman, and had only had 
Kryptonite in case their quarry's famous friend happened to show 
up. If Clark had come in as Superman, they might not even know 
about his secret identity. It was a possibility, at least. 
Whatever the case, I needed to find Clark, and to do that, I 
needed more information. Hopefully, Bobby Bigmouth would have it 
for me.

I got to the restaurant early. They'd kept the booth for me, like 
I'd asked. I sat down but declined to order. I told them I'd wait 
until everyone came. I sipped tea for the next fifteen minutes or 
so, and then Bobby showed up. As I'd expected, he promptly 
ordered enough food for three. When I'd spoken to him over the 
phone, I'd told him that if he could find what I needed, he could 
order whatever he wanted and keep the leftovers. When Bobby was 
done ordering, I ordered a dish for myself and informed the 
waiter that the "other two" wouldn't be coming, after all. He 
seemed a bit taken aback, but I assured him that Bobby would be 
taking their share home. He shrugged and left. I turned to Bobby.

"Thanks for meeting me here. I know you usually prefer something 
a little less public, but this is an emergency. What did you 
find?"

"As far as I can tell, Superman was last seen in Suicide Slum..."

"Stopping a gang fight. I know. He dropped them off at the MPD 
and left."

"You know that, what'd you ask me for?"

"I was hoping you'd have heard something more recent."

"Sorry, Lois. That's all I have on him right now. Heard a few 
rumors, but they're mostly just street talk. Nothing reliable, 
and they contradict each other."

"Any luck with the hospitals?"

"I looked into it, like you asked, but didn't find anything."

"What about Kryptonite?"

"There, I have a bit more for you. Not much, but something. 
Apparently, some sanitation worker by the name of Otis Flannegan 
found a piece in the sewers. He spread the word around that he 
was going to sell it off. Turned up dead in an alley two days 
later. It was the weirdest thing. Looked like he'd been shot 
point blank from the front. He had no business being in that 
alley, either. The auction wasn't until the next day, and he'd 
been trying to keep a low profile until then."

"Any word on who might have it?"

"No, nothing."

Dinner came. Bobby dove into his dishes, eating as if he hadn't 
seen food in days. He paused every once in a while to compliment 
or critique the dishes. I wondered how he could possibly taste it 
properly, eating at that speed. I ate more slowly, thinking 
things over. There didn't seem to be much else I could ask. Not 
much else I could do, really, until I looked into things at the 
pier. On impulse, I asked Bobby about the gang story.

"Oh, yeah. Things haven't been good. Something's got them riled 
up. There have been some pretty strange-looking guns turning up, 
too. Not many of them, but still... these aren't the kind of guns 
you'd expect some street kid to have."

"Where are they coming from?"

"I don't know. No one's talking."

"You seem awfully short on information, Bobby."

"Hey, I'm just a snitch. I know some guys, I keep my ear out... I 
don't know everything. Never claimed to."

"Sorry, I'm just tense. With Superman missing..."

"Don't worry about it, Lois. You're right; I don't have much for 
you this time. Listen, why don't we just say I owe you one? I'll 
keep looking. I find anything, I'll let you know, no charge."

"Thanks, Bobby."

He was already shoving more food into his mouth with his right 
hand, so he simply waved his response with his left. The rest of 
the meal passed in silence. I paid the bill, Bobby had the 
leftovers packed to go, and we went our separate ways.

I considered calling Martha, just to update her, but decided 
against it. The little information I'd found would only serve to 
cause her needless worry. Instead, I went home to get ready for 
the stakeout at the pier. I picked out a pair of navy sweat 
pants, a warm shirt, a dark sweater, and a pair of black sneakers 
-- quiet, hard to spot at night, and appropriate for the winter. 
I tossed a few flashlights, a pair of binoculars, and some tools 
into a bag, and packed another bag with food. I put it all in the 
Jeep and drove back to the Planet to pick up Jimmy.

I got there half an hour early. Jimmy wasn't there yet, so I took 
the opportunity to go to the bathroom (always a good idea before 
a stakeout). I waited around until he showed up a few minutes 
before ten, encouraged him to use the restroom, waited while he 
did so, and then took him down to the Jeep. Along the way, he 
started to babble about how excited he was to be going on a 
stakeout and how cool the camera he'd borrowed was and how it had 
so many features, but I ignored him. Soon he quieted down, and we 
drove to the pier.

I parked across the street and looked through my binoculars. 
There was, indeed, a ship berthed at Pier 31. It was the "Cost 
Cutter," registered out of Jakarta, Indonesia. If they were 
smugglers, they had a bold sense of humor. The name of the ship 
seemed to be a deliberate pun on the Coast Guard's Cutter patrol 
ships. Of course, given the relatively shabby look of the 
freighter, the name might simply be a reference to the captain's 
financial strategy.

Looking around, it was a while before I spotted any activity near 
the ship. The area near the gangplank had been surrounded with 
shipping containers in what seemed to be an almost haphazard 
fashion. They could have been piled that way because it was 
convenient for the crane operator, but it could just as easily 
have been a deliberate attempt to hide the entrance to the ship 
from view. There were gaps, however, and by watching closely, I 
was able to see the men who were unloading the ship. They were 
working silently in pairs, carrying crates and stacking them near 
the piles of previously offloaded cargo.

Peering at the crates through the binoculars, I could see that 
the captain's frugal nature extended to packing materials. They 
were poorly made, and some of them had been damaged. I told Jimmy 
to take pictures of whatever he could, then got out of the Jeep 
and crept to the pier. Fortunately, the stacked containers served 
just as well to block the men's view of the outside as they did 
to block an outsider's view of them. Even better, they didn't 
know to look for me. I hoped.

I made my way through the maze of cargo to a position near the 
growing stack of crates. I snuck around to the far side while 
they weren't looking, then knelt to examine the boxes. I found 
the ones which were in the worst condition, and, as quietly as I 
could, expanded the holes. I took out a penlight, and, shielding 
the tiny bulb with my hand, used it to look inside.

I was so startled by what I saw that I nearly gave myself away. I 
stifled the reflexive gasp, then checked a few more crates, just 
to be sure. They did not, as I'd been half expecting, contain 
guns. They were full of drugs. Prescription drugs. Some over-the-
counter ones, too. All neatly sealed in tamper-proof packaging. 
Perfectly ordinary items that you'd find in any pharmacy. So what 
in the heck were they doing being offloaded in careful secrecy in 
the middle of the night?

******

Part 3

Monday, Feb. 1, 1996
Lois's POV

There was only one way to find out what was happening -- 
investigate! I grabbed a few of the smaller boxes, then left some 
others scattered near the crates. With any luck, if anyone 
noticed the missing inventory, they would simply assume that the 
boxes had fallen out in transit. That done, I carefully made my 
way back to the Jeep, stashed the boxes, and updated Jimmy.

He'd already taken some shots of the ship and the people 
unloading it. I wanted some close-ups of the crates and their 
contents. I hadn't been able to take samples of everything, since 
many of the drugs which looked to be prescription items had been 
packaged in large containers. I couldn't have snuck off with one 
of those larger containers, and the tamper-proof seals would have 
made it obvious if I'd opened one. Since the contents of those 
very containers were the ones I most wanted information on, I 
figured the best thing to do would be to get some pictures of the 
labels.

Cautiously, I led him to the stack of crates. I checked that he'd 
disconnected the flash, then pointed to the things I wanted him 
to shoot. He'd assured me the night lens would pick up enough 
light for the pictures to be clear, but just in case, I had him 
take a few shots illuminated by the faint glow of my penlight.

I considered trying to sneak aboard the ship and see what else I 
could find, but decided against it. I had enough for a solid 
start. No use wasting any more time here. Clark was still 
missing, and I was having even more doubts that the tip which had 
led me here was connected to his disappearance. I'd come to the 
pier because the timing seemed suspicious. I hadn't been willing 
to take the chance that there was no connection. Now that I'd 
found these crates, I'd finish with the investigation, but 
locating Clark was my main priority. Boarding that ship would not 
only be putting myself in jeopardy, but it would be hurting 
Clark's chances of rescue, as well. It wasn't worth the risk.

I signaled to Jimmy that it was time to go. We crept back out 
through the maze of shipping containers, climbed into the Jeep, 
and drove off. I kept a careful eye out for pursuit until we were 
well out of the harbor district. "Jimmy," I said when I was sure 
we were clear, "I want you to do some digging for me tomorrow. 
Take down the information from those labels -- manufacturers, lot 
numbers, anything you can find -- and try to track down where 
those boxes came from. When you've got everything you can off the 
labels, let me know. I want to send what we've got to STAR Labs 
for testing, make sure that those drugs are what the labels say 
they are. Then I want you to look into that ship. Find out who 
owns it, where it's been, and what it's doing here."

He blew out a breath, as if overwhelmed by what I'd asked, but 
then drew himself up. "You got it, Lois. And Lois? Thanks again 
for taking me along. That was so cool. Sneaking around, taking 
those pictures... they never even knew we were there! And that 
camera is amazing! That night lens, I'm telling you --"

I cut him off before his gushing went any further. "You earned 
it, Jimmy. Besides, I needed the backup."

He practically glowed at that, but then, after a moment, his 
expression turned more serious. "Lois, can I ask you something?"

For a second, I was afraid he was going to ask me out, but I 
tossed the thought aside. I was engaged, for heaven's sake! Jimmy 
deserved more credit than that. "What is it, Jimmy?"

"I was wondering... did something happen to Clark?"

"What makes you think that, Jimmy?" I asked nervously.

"Well, he didn't show up at work today, and then his mom called. 
I didn't mean to eavesdrop on your conversation, but I was right 
there and... It sounded like something was wrong. I know you said 
you were worried about Superman and you thought Clark might be 
sick, but wouldn't he have at least called in? And why would his 
mom call?"

Yup. Jimmy definitely deserved more credit than I'd given him. 
What a time to prove it, though! "Clark is..." What could I tell 
him? I tried to think quickly. Say he'd gone undercover? Then why 
would Martha have called? I could say that Clark and I had had a 
fight, but that had its own problems. There was only one thing to 
do. "Listen, Jimmy, can you keep a secret?"

"Sure, Lois. I won't tell anyone, I promise."

"Okay. Clark is..."

"Yes...?"

I took a deep breath. It was risky, but I didn't see what else I 
could do. "He's missing. I don't know what happened to him. I 
don't have any proof that there's something wrong, and I haven't 
wanted to add to the panic, but I'm worried. The police say they 
can't help. With Superman gone, crime's way up, and Clark hasn't 
been gone for 48 hours yet anyway. I was hoping that tip might 
have been related, but it doesn't look like it was. I checked his 
apartment. It looks like someone might have broken in, but I have 
no solid evidence of that."

"Oh, wow. Do you have any leads?"

"Not much, but I'm looking. I've got some more calls to make 
tomorrow."

"Is there anything I can do?"

"Just look into that ship. There's still a chance it's related to 
something. I'll let you know if I need anything else. Thanks."

"Sure, Lois. Good luck. ... But what are you going to tell the 
Chief?"

"I'll let him know, Jimmy, but we'll probably tell everyone else 
that Clark is out sick."

"If you think that's best..."

"It is, Jimmy. Trust me."

"I do."

"Thanks, Jimmy."

He smiled, but said nothing more. Soon enough, we were outside 
his apartment. I dropped him off with the camera and the drugs, 
then drove home. It wouldn't be easy, but I needed to get some 
sleep so I could get to work in the morning.

******

Clark's POV

I slept fitfully. I was weak, hungry, and probably feverish. I 
wasn't used to any of it. I needed the rest, though, and my body 
clearly knew it. So I slept, and I dreamed. Mostly, I dreamed of 
Lois, but oddly, one of them was about drug smugglers. It didn't 
really make sense, but then, dreams usually don't.

When I awoke, it was to pain. My captor was back, and it seemed 
he'd decided it was time for another dose of Kryptonite. 
Remembering my plan, I tried to look as weak as I could, hoping 
for minimal exposure. Playing sick, I found, wasn't all that 
difficult, given how I was really feeling.

When the box closed, I slumped in relief. I waited a while, to 
gather my strength and to play up my weakness. Then I spoke, in a 
harsh, struggling whisper. "Who... are you? What do... you want?"

"What do I want?" he echoed, surprise and anger in his voice. 
"What do I want?! I want revenge! You ruined my life, and you're 
going to pay for that!"

"Wha... how...?"

"You took away everything I had! You..." He paused. When he spoke 
again, it was in a much calmer tone. "Never mind that. It's in 
the past. I'm moving forward. It hasn't been easy, but I'm sure 
the therapy sessions will help."

"Therapy?"

"Oh yes. It really helps with my anger management. I believe 
you've met Dr. Greenstone? Here, let me reintroduce you..."

More pain, then blackness.

******

Tuesday, Feb. 2, 1996
Lois's POV

When I got to the newsroom, I headed straight for Perry's office. 
"Perry, I need to talk to you about something..."

"Let me guess. Clark went out looking for Superman and got into 
trouble."

I blinked. That was certainly a better story than the one I'd 
come up with, but... "How did you... what makes you...?"

He quirked an eyebrow. "Yodel-a-yodel-a-yodel-ay-hee-hoo."

With his gruff voice, it sounded very odd. "Right. Definitely not 
the reason you got the job."

He grinned for a moment, then turned serious. "Now, do you have 
any leads? On Clark or Superman? If Clark went missing because he 
was looking for Superman, then it seems like the same people 
might well have them both."

"Nothing solid yet, but I'm working on it."

He looked at me, as if appraising my condition, then nodded. 
"Good. You need anything, you let me know."

"Thanks, Perry."

Heading back to my desk, I wondered just how much he knew. After 
a moment, I set the question aside. Time enough for that after I 
found Clark. So, how to go about doing that? The newest lead I 
had was about the Kryptonite. Maybe the MPD knew more about Otis 
Flannegan's death than Bobby. Even if they didn't, I should let 
them know that his case was probably linked to Superman's 
disappearance. Whom to call? Bobby had said Flannegan's body had 
been found in an alley in a bad section of town. That probably 
meant the Slum. I already knew one officer there who was ready to 
help me. She'd even asked me to contact her if I found anything 
related to Superman. With that in mind, I called the 68th 
Precinct and asked for Officer Sawyer.

"Sawyer here." She sounded exhausted. I realized that I hadn't 
really been expecting to find her. It was morning, and as far as 
I knew, she worked a later shift.

"Officer Sawyer? Are you okay? Did the shift schedule change?"

"What? Oh, no. We're pulling double shifts, as many of us as can 
manage it. It's a mess out there, and we need as many people as 
we can get."

"Well, don't push yourself too hard. You won't be able to help 
anyone if you exhaust yourself."

"Yeah, thanks. I'll take care. So what are you calling about?"

"I wanted to know if you had anything on an Otis Flannegan. One 
of my sources told me that his body was found a few days ago."

"I can look. Why?"

"It seems he found a piece of Kryptonite. He'd been planning to 
auction it off when he got shot."

"Oh. My. ... Right, I'll see what I can find. Thanks. Anything 
else?"

"Yeah. I was wondering if you could tell me anything about the 
recent rise in gang activity."

"Well, they've definitely become more violent. We've been seeing 
a lot more fights. Deadlier, too."

"Deadlier?"

"There have been more guns involved. Some of them pretty 
powerful. Just a few, but enough to cause a lot of damage."

"Any idea where they're coming from?"

"No, we haven't been able to find anything."

"Is there any particular gang that seems to be getting them?"

"No, they're all getting them. Just one or two each so far."

"So someone's supplying all sides. Hmm. Anything else?"

"Well, nothing I can prove, but some of the gang members have 
been acting kind of... crazy. Taking bigger risks, doing things 
they shouldn't be able to do. Again, not many, but I've seen at 
least a few reports. I think it might be some kind of new drug or 
something, but I'm not sure."

"Hmm. I came across some smugglers last night. At least, I think 
they were smugglers. I'm still looking into it, but it seemed 
pretty suspicious. They were offloading crates full of what 
looked to be prescription drugs, but they were doing it at night, 
under cover."

"Interesting. Where was this?"

"Pier 31. A ship called the 'Cost Cutter.' I've got someone 
looking into it now."

"Well, let me know what you find."

"I will, as long as I get the exclusive."

She chuckled. "You got it, Lane. ... Okay, here. I've got 
Flannegan's file. Found dead in an alleyway off 15th and Shuster. 
Shot twice in the chest, at point blank range. No witnesses. No 
evidence pointing to why he was there, no known next of kin. 
Neighbors said he'd been behaving oddly. Suspected drug use, but 
no sign of it on the autopsy. Small shard of unidentified green 
crystal, assumed to be a fragment of a beer bottle, found 
embedded in his right hand. That's it."

"Hmm. Not much to go on. Thanks anyway."

"Sure. If that's it, I should get back to work."

"Yeah, me too. I'll call you if anything else comes up."

"Thanks, and I'll make sure someone looks into the Flannegan 
case."

"Right. Bye."

"Bye."

I hung up the phone, then tried to think of what to do. I checked 
my email, but there wasn't anything worthwhile. I considered 
writing back to my admirer, to see if I could get any more useful 
information that way, but decided against it. Probably wasn't 
worth it, yet, and I didn't want to be too encouraging. I kept it 
in mind in case he wrote back again. With that decided, there 
didn't seem to be much I could do until Jimmy got back to me with 
his research. Then I remembered that Clark had some half-finished 
puff pieces at his desk. Even if he wasn't going to be in today, 
they still needed to be written. I didn't like it, but for Clark, 
and for the paper... I pulled out the files and got to work.

I was finished with one and struggling with the second when Jimmy 
came to my rescue. "I checked the lot numbers, like you asked," 
he said. "They come from all over the place. Most of the brand 
name stuff was actually made in the US. Some of the others were 
made in Canada. The generics were made overseas... China, 
Indonesia, India... all sorts of places. All of them are 
legitimate manufacturers, certified by the FDA. It's all legal, 
but every one of those packages was intended to be sold outside 
the US."

"Why would they be smuggling US-made drugs back into the 
country?" I wondered, thinking out loud.

"Well, a lot of companies sell their products more cheaply to 
overseas distributors. They mark up the prices because of the way 
the health insurance companies work. At least, that's what I've 
heard..."

While I thought that over, Jimmy continued explaining what he'd 
found.

"I checked the ship's registry. It's owned by some small 
Indonesian company, but they're owned by another company called 
Amalgamated International Transportation, Incorporated. 
Amalgamated is owned by what looks like a bunch of shell 
companies in the Caribbean. I did some digging on them, and 
finally managed to trace their ownership... to CostMart."

"CostMart? Intergang? Why would Intergang...? No, wait... Doesn't 
CostMart have a pharmacy department?"

"Yeah, I think they do..."

My mind raced through the possibilities. "So maybe they're 
smuggling cheap drugs back into the US to stock their shelves. 
Not all of them -- there didn't seem to be enough in those crates 
to stock all the stores in the area -- but maybe mixing them in 
with the legally purchased ones. They could lower their prices, 
drive the other pharmacies out of business, but still make a tidy 
profit. It would not only get Intergang more money, but it would 
be all the more reason for them to expand CostMart, giving them 
more fronts to work from. They might even be using the whole 
scheme to launder money. We'll have to wait for the lab results, 
of course, but I'll bet that's it."

He stared at me. "How do you do that?"

I grinned at him. "It's a gift."

"I wonder who sent you the tip, though. Do you think he's 
involved with Intergang?"

"Huh. I don't know, Jimmy. It looks like he might be, but then, 
why would he send me a tip that would expose one of their plots? 
One of their minor plots, but still..."

"Maybe he's a cop?"

"But then why wouldn't he have sent the tip to his superiors?"

"Good point. I don't know..."

"Well, no use speculating without any more information. We'll see 
what happens when the story hits the stands."

"Right."

Jimmy wandered off, and I got back to work on Clark's puff piece. 
My heart wasn't really in it, though, and my mind wandered. I was 
trying to think of who might have Clark, and where they'd have 
taken him. If I was trying to keep Superman, even if I had 
Kryptonite, I'd want to stay on the safe side. I'd want to keep 
him in a place where it would be hard for him to escape, and I'd 
probably want to set things up where he couldn't happen across me 
before I was ready. Maybe, if I could find that place... "Jimmy!"

He rushed back. "Yes, Lois?"

"I just thought of something. Get me a list of every place in and 
around the city with reinforced walls and lead lining."

"Something Superman-proof! You got it, Lois!" He dashed off.

I started back to work on the article, but then the phone rang. 
"Lois Lane."

"Lois? This is Bill Henderson. I've got something for you. It'll 
be all over the news tonight, but I thought you'd want to hear it 
first. They found a body..."

******

Clark's POV

I think it was the footsteps that woke me up. I realized my 
captors were coming back. I slumped in the chair, as if I was 
still asleep, too weak to wake up. From the sound of things, it 
seemed that the woman was back with her escorts. My guess was 
confirmed soon after the door opened.

"How's our guest doing today? Awww, all tired out, huh? Did you 
play too hard with your friends, Superman?" Her voice sounded 
different this time. It was the cutesy tones. She'd sounded more 
serious the last time I'd heard her. That time, I'd also been 
disoriented from my capture. This time, I was more focused, and 
with the vacuous intonation (which I only now realized must have 
been an act), I was finally able to place the voice. It was Mindy 
Church.

"He's been sleeping a lot," the man said. "I think I may have 
overdosed him with the Kryptonite last time."

"Well," Mindy said, "he's less fun to play with, but at least 
he's not getting in my way."

"Yes, but I may reduce the exposure so we can have more... fun."

"Be careful. We don't want to take any chances."

"Of course."

I listened to this with half an ear. I was more concerned with 
trying to figure out what Mindy Church was doing here. She'd 
seemed like nothing more than Bill Church's trophy wife, a 
bubblehead who'd caught his attention, but clearly there was more 
to her. Bill and his son had both been arrested four months 
previously, on charges connected to Intergang. Things had been 
quiet since. I remembered, though, that my captor had said 
something to Mindy about joining her club. If Mindy had taken 
over Intergang... She could have been laying low for the past few 
months, waiting for the investigation to blow over.

Once that clicked into place, I stopped to review the 
conversation I'd heard. Suddenly, it filtered through that I was 
going to be exposed less to the Kryptonite. The plan was working! 
Quickly, I squashed my exuberance. Letting them see my reaction 
would only serve to ruin what progress I'd made. I forced myself 
to remain slumped. They talked a little more, but, evidently 
realizing they weren't going to be able to have any "fun" with 
me, they soon left.

I shifted a bit, trying not to let my muscles get too stiff, but 
I tried to make it look like I was only moving in my sleep. Even 
though they'd left, I had no way of knowing if I was still under 
observation. Sitting back, I focused on Lois. I had no idea if 
she could hear me, but if there was any chance she could, I 
needed to let her know that I'd recognized one of my captors. I 
focused on trying to send her the name.

A few minutes later, I still had no idea if I'd been successful, 
but I stopped trying because a news report had caught my 
attention.

"The body of Lex Luthor was found today at a small private 
airport just outside of Metropolis. It is unknown at this time 
how or when Luthor, who was given a double life sentence last 
year for numerous criminal charges, managed to escape from 
Stryker's Island Prison. At a press conference this afternoon, a 
spokesperson for the Metropolis Police Department told reporters 
that, given the fact that Luthor's escape had not been reported, 
key prison officials are now under investigation. More details on 
this story as it develops.

"Coming up next, how safe are you? With Superman missing, the 
Metropolis crime rate has seen its largest overnight increase in 
recorded history. Is your home secure? We'll have some expert 
tips for you, after the break..."

******

Lois's POV

Even a few hours after Henderson's call, I was still somewhat 
shocked. Lex dead? After everything I'd gone through with the 
man, it hardly seemed possible. I was just starting to get used 
to the idea when Jimmy came to me with the latest. He hadn't been 
able to come up with anything on the building search. To be more 
exact, he'd come up with too much. The city was littered with 
bomb shelters, old prewar buildings with lead paint, and 
converted buildings which had once housed dental offices with x-
ray machines. That was just the legal side of things. There was 
no way to tell how many criminals had done some clandestine 
"remodelling" work since Superman had first shown up.

While I digested that, Jimmy handed me the lab reports he'd 
received. The drugs had checked out. They matched the labels and 
had not been contaminated. Working on autopilot, I called Officer 
Sawyer and told her that the drugs weren't connected to her case, 
after all. When I'd explained what we'd found, she suggested that 
I call the Coast Guard and give them whatever evidence I had. 
They could take care of the ship and turn the CostMart 
investigation over to the FDA.

It seemed reasonable to me, so I put the call in. I had a contact 
there from an old gunrunning investigation. I agreed to give him 
copies of the pictures Jimmy had taken along with the information 
we'd found on the ship and its cargo on the conditions that I 
remain an anonymous source, be kept up to date on their 
investigation, and be given the exclusive story.

After I hung up, I started thinking more about Intergang. I 
wondered who was in charge now that Bill and Bill, Jr. had been 
arrested. Out of the blue, Mindy Church came to mind. What if she 
hadn't been the clueless innocent she'd appeared to be? Suddenly 
I was sure that she'd been the one to take over. It was nothing 
more than a gut feeling, but I'd learned to trust my gut. Even if 
I was right, though, what could I do about it?

******

Part 4

Wednesday, Feb. 3, 1996
Lois's POV

I came into work the next morning without any better idea of what 
to do about Mindy. I didn't have enough evidence to really go 
after her, I didn't have any solid leads to follow, and a direct 
confrontation didn't seem wise. The thing to do, then, would be 
to investigate the other loose ends and see if one of them would 
lead me in the right direction. If Intergang was still active, 
then there was a chance they might have something to do with 
Clark's disappearance.

There was Lex's death to consider. Henderson hadn't had too much 
information to give me, though he had promised to call me with 
the autopsy results. Still, it seemed like Intergang might have 
had something to do with that. He hadn't been nearly as powerful 
at the time of his death as he had been even a year or two prior, 
but he could well have been a perceived threat.

Then there was the gang situation. Something was happening there, 
and that might be linked to Intergang, too. They could well be 
the source of the guns, and I was wondering about drugs. The ones 
on the "Cost Cutter" had been prescription, but it seemed that 
there was something else going on. Officer Sawyer had said she 
suspected some kind of new drug in the gangs, and Flannegan had 
been acting strangely. Maybe there was something going around. It 
was something to consider, anyway.

So, I had a busy day ahead of me, which was just how I liked it. 
Before I got to work on any of those things, though, I called 
Jimmy over. I'd had a thought the night before, while I'd been 
lying awake in bed. If Intergang was active and if they were 
responsible for Clark's disappearance and if they didn't think 
anyone knew that they were around and active, then there was a 
chance that Clark was being held on Intergang-owned property. 
When Jimmy rushed over to my desk, I explained that to him.

"Makes sense," he said.

"Good. So, if you could take that list you found last night of 
all the lead-lined rooms in and around town and cross-index it 
with a list of properties owned by CostMart, then that might 
narrow things down enough that we could start checking places 
out."

"I'll see what I can do. CostMart has a lot of subsidiaries, and 
I might not be able to trace all of them. I'll get what I can, 
but there's always a chance I'll miss something."

"Well, do your best, Jimmy."

"You got it, Lois."

Since I couldn't do much about Lex's death until Henderson called 
back, I decided to get started on the gang problem. I called up a 
contact I'd made during a previous investigation, hoping he might 
know something that Bobby didn't. "Vinny? Hey, it's Les," I said 
in as deep a voice as I could manage. I'd met Vinny while I'd 
been working undercover as Lester Lewis, and he still didn't know 
that I wasn't "one of the guys."

"Hey. Been a bit. How ya doin'?"

"You know me. Les is more."

"Heh heh, yeah."

"So how're you doin', Vin?"

"I'm good. I'm good."

"That's good. So, look, Vinny, can I ask you a question?"

"Whatcha need?"

"Well, gangs around my place have been heatin' up, ya know? 
Fights all the time. Gettin' so I can't hardly sleep. They're not 
just usin' pop guns no more, either. Some of 'em been acting 
kinda funny, too. Know what I mean? It hasn't made things real 
comfortable around home. Can't entertain a lady all proper when 
somethin' like that's goin' on outside the window."

"Yeah. It's a problem."

"Exactly. So, I was wonderin'... You maybe know what's goin' on? 
Any idea if it'll blow over or what? Or maybe where they're 
gettin' their stuff?"

"What? You wanna piece of the action?"

"Me? Nah. You know that's not my thing. I just wanna know what's 
goin' on in my neighborhood, ya know? Be nice if I had someun I 
could maybe talk to, too. At the least, I'd feel better if I knew 
what was goin' on."

"Well, I'll tell ya, Les. I dunno if I can really help you here. 
These gangs, they're not really our thing, ya know? We don't 
bother with them, they know better than to mess with us."

"Yeah. I get that."

"I heard some things, though..."

"Oh?"

"Not really what you're lookin' for. Actually, maybe I shouldn't 
tell you..."

"What is it?"

"Well, it won't exactly make you feel better, know what I mean?"

"Hey, I'd rather know than not, Vin."

"Okay, then. The thing I heard is that some of the gang members, 
they were goin' missin'."

"Missin'?"

"Yeah. Just kinda not showin' up no more. People who'd been hurt, 
but, ya know, not so bad as you wouldn't expect to see 'em 
again."

"Well, they don't have the fine medical care that you do, Vin."

"I know, but still... And, ya know, some of 'em do show up again. 
Not many, but a few. When they come back, though... they start 
actin' all funny, like they don't think no one can hurt them no 
more."

"That's weird. You'd think they'd be more scared, after bein' 
hurt an' all."

"Exactly. But no. They start runnin' around, doin' things they 
oughtn'ta be able to do... Jumpin' around and whatnot. Real fast. 
Real aggressive, too."

"You think they're juiced up?"

"I dunno, Les. Could be, but I dunno with what."

"Hmm. Got anythin' else?"

"Naw. That's alls I know."

"Well, thanks, Vin."

"Don't think nothin' of it, Les."

"Thanks. So, you hear about Luthor?" I asked, pretending to be 
casual.

"The boss man bitin' it? Yeah, everyone's talkin' 'bout that. 
Nobody seems to know nothin', though."

"Guy just escapes from prison, then turns up dead. It's weird."

"Hey, it happens. Not like he had so many friends after he got 
busted an' all, know what I mean?"

"Suppose not."

"Yeah. Bin nice talkin' to you, Les."

"You too, Vin."

"Hasta la vista, baby."

"Pasta la pizza to you, too."

"Heh. Later, Les."

"Later, Vin."

Well, that had been an interesting call. So, injured gang members 
were disappearing off the streets, and the ones who turned up 
again were the ones who'd been acting differently. Not much to go 
on, but it was definitely a start. Maybe Bobby would know 
something more.

First, though, I needed something for my throat; that voice 
wasn't easy to keep up. I reached for my cup, unconsciously 
expecting it to be full of hot coffee, made just the way I liked 
it. It felt oddly light, though, which was, of course, because it 
was empty. Clark hadn't filled it for me, like he always did, 
because Clark hadn't been there to do it.

I stared at the cup, as if it had somehow betrayed me by not 
filling itself. Then a new thought occurred, and I looked at it 
with sympathy instead. It wasn't its fault. It was just that, 
without Clark, it was empty.

After a moment, I shook myself. It was just a stupid coffee cup. 
Staring at it wasn't going to help Clark. Staring at it wasn't 
going to make it magically produce coffee, either. I got up, took 
it to the coffee machine, and filled it from the relatively fresh 
pot. There. Just because Clark wasn't around to take care of it 
didn't mean it had to sit around empty. I'd managed to fill it 
just fine without Clark, and I could do it again for a while. 
Just until I found Clark. Maybe, when I found him, I'd even start 
bringing *him* a full mug of coffee. We could fill each other's 
cups. It would be... pretty silly, actually. Oh well.

I stirred in a packet of sweetener, carefully not thinking about 
the fact that it was artificial, then returned to my desk. I was 
still sipping at it, my throat almost back to normal, when the 
phone rang. "Hello?"

"Lois? It's Tom Black." Ah. My contact at the Coast Guard. "Those 
pictures and files you sent were enough to get us a warrant last 
night. We searched the ship. Just like you said. They were 
smuggling prescription drugs. The ship and the drugs have been 
seized. We've confirmed that the ship is owned by CostMart, so 
the FDA will be knocking on their doors soon. They'll probably 
deny any knowledge of the smuggling operation, maybe blame some 
low-level types, but we might be able to get them anyway. Worth a 
try. Meantime, we'll be keeping a close eye on all their ships."

"Great. So how much of this can I publish?"

"Everything I just told you. Except, of course, the bit about 
where the information came from. Officially, that's 'an anonymous 
source.'"

"Right. Thanks, Tom."

"Thank you, Lois. We'd never have found these guys without you."

"Hey," I said casually, ignoring the fact that I still didn't 
know who'd sent me the tip in the first place, "it's what I do."

He chuckled. "Well, thanks for doing it. I'll be in touch."

After I hung up, I got straight to work on the story. I'd been 
writing it in my head during the odd moments when I hadn't been 
working on something else, so it went pretty quickly. When I was 
done, I turned to call Clark to come read it over, then caught 
myself. Instead, I sent it to Perry.

That done, I decided it was time to call Bobby. "Do you know 
anything about what happens to injured gang members?" I asked, 
once we'd gotten past the pleasantries.

"They go to a doctor. Someone who will patch them up without 
asking too many questions. Why?"

"I heard that some of them have been going missing, and the ones 
that turn up act like they're on drugs or something. Stronger, 
more aggressive, that sort of thing."

"Hmm. I'd heard a rumor or two like that, but nothing I could be 
sure about. It's hard to keep track of all of the members, 
especially now that there are so many people being injured in the 
fights."

"Any idea what could be happening to them?"

"Nothing you obviously haven't thought of yourself. I'll look 
into it, see if I can find where they're getting treated."

"Thanks. By the way, do you know anything about Lex?"

"Just what's on the news. Escaped from prison, found dead at that 
airport just out of town, the one they use for small private 
planes. Maybe he was trying to get out of the country before the 
cops caught up with him. Although I did hear they found him 
closer to the hangars the crop dusters use than he was to the jet 
hangars. Maybe he was just taking the back way, to be more 
careful. I don't know."

"Hmmm. You find anything new about Flannegan?"

"Nah. No one seems to know anything about him, and believe me, 
there have been people looking. Not quite as much now that 
Superman's missing, but there are still plenty of people who want 
to know what happened to that piece of Kryptonite. Come to think, 
there's something strange there..."

"What?"

"You know how I said people aren't as interested now that 
Superman's missing? Well, some of them have been even less 
interested than the others. I hadn't really thought about it 
until just now, but they have definitely been asking fewer 
questions lately." 

"Oh? Who?"

"They're not saying who they're working for, but I'll give you 
good odds it's Intergang."

"So they probably have Superman. Probably killed Flannegan, too."

"I don't know about that. They might well have Superman, but I 
don't think they're responsible for Flannegan. They were asking 
just as many questions as everyone else for the first few days 
there."

"That could have just been a cover."

"I guess. Doesn't feel like it, though. They seemed pretty 
sincere in the beginning."

"Hmm. I'll have to think about that. Thanks, Bobby."

"Sure thing, Lois."

After I hung up with Bobby, I called the 68th Precinct and asked 
for Officer Sawyer.

"Sawyer here." She sounded just as tired as the last time. I 
didn't know how she was managing.

"This is Lois Lane."

"Hi. Got anything new?"

"I was calling to see if you did."

"Oh. No, not really. Nothing on Flannegan. We're looking into it, 
but the trail's cold. I called the ME to ask about that green 
crystal, but it had already been thrown out. They only have so 
much room there, and with the case as it was -- no leads in days, 
bad part of town, no family to even notify -- there didn't seem 
to be much reason to keep things around. So, no way we can be 
sure, but I think it's clear enough that it wasn't a piece of a 
beer bottle. Especially since there wasn't even a trace of beer 
in his system."

"Right."

"Was that it?"

"Well, actually... Do you know anything about where injured gang 
members would go to get patched up?"

"The ER, probably. They won't refuse anyone, and they're not 
allowed to ask too many questions."

"Anyplace else?"

"Well, there are always a few people who will do that sort of 
work. Doctors in the area who won't ask questions because they 
care more about treating the patients or because they don't want 
to get involved in anything illegal. Others who aren't really 
doctors, or aren't able to practice legally anymore. Why do you 
ask?"

"I heard that some of the injured gang members have been 
disappearing. The few that come back are the ones you told me 
about, the ones who were stronger and more aggressive."

There was a pause while she digested that. "I see," she said, 
after a moment. "That puts a new face on things. I'll mention it 
to some of the guys on the beat, let them know to keep an eye 
out. I'll call you if anything turns up."

"Thanks. Take care. Try to get some rest."

"I'll try. Bye."

"Bye."

When I put the phone down, Jimmy came over, looking a little 
stressed. He had a sheet of paper in his hand.

"I finished this a minute ago. It's the list you asked me for. I 
checked the ownership of all the buildings on the old list. 
Crossed off all the ones I couldn't trace back to CostMart. That 
wasn't as much as you might think. A couple years ago, Intergang 
bought up most of the buildings owned by Lexcorp. That's a lot of 
real estate that we know they own. There were some other 
properties I couldn't be sure of, so I left them in, just to be 
on the safe side. Left the abandoned ones, too, like that old air 
base outside of town. Anyone could be using that."

I blinked. He was right on that score. Jimmy didn't know it, but 
Jason Mazik had used that base as a hideout for exactly that 
reason.

"I crossed some places off because the lead-lined rooms are too 
publically accessible," Jimmy continued, "but that still leaves 
all of these. I can't be sure the list is complete, either. They 
could have lined a room without notifying the city. They had that 
whole complex under CostMart, right? The one Bill Church was 
using as his headquarters? The police have been keeping an eye on 
that, but there's no way to tell if Intergang built anything like 
that anywhere else."

"Thanks anyway, Jimmy. It was worth a look -- at this point, any 
possible lead is worth a look -- but I can't even be sure he is 
being kept in a lead-lined room. They might not feel the need, if 
they have Kryptonite. Lead only blocks that vision gizmo of his, 
and he won't be using that if he doesn't have his powers." Of 
course, it blocked sunlight, too, but the fewer people who knew 
that was important, the better. Besides, there were plenty of 
other things that blocked sunlight just as effectively. "Come to 
that, lead blocks Kryptonite. They might not want to take the 
chance that he could use it to shield himself."

"Yeah, I guess not."

"Sorry, Jimmy."

"Don't worry about it, Lois. It felt good to be able to do 
something to try to help. I'm just sorry it didn't work out."

Jimmy wandered off, and I turned back to my desk. Not seeing 
anything better to do, I picked up the puff piece I hadn't 
managed to finish the day before. I was just putting the 
finishing touches on it (and wishing Clark was there to help me 
do it) when Henderson called.

"I got the autopsy report," he told me.

"What did it show?"

"He was shot in the chest at point-blank range. Three bullets, 
fired in quick succession. Spaced fairly widely apart, given the 
circumstances. From markings on the skin, it looks like he'd been 
tied down for a while. No other marks or cuts. Given the range, 
the fact that he was tied down, and the trajectory of the 
bullets, it looks like the gunman's hand was probably moving 
around. Shaking, maybe. Now, no one at the airport heard 
gunshots, and someone tied up would be fairly obvious. So, 
clearly the body was moved after death. No idea why anyone would 
want to dump a body there. Maybe it was an accident, or intended 
to send a message to someone. Who knows?"

I didn't know what I'd expected, but that wasn't it. Who would 
have done all that? Lex had undoubtedly made more than his share 
of enemies, but why tie him up, shoot him, and then leave his 
body at an airport? If it was supposed to send a message, what 
was the message and whom was it for? Was the message for me? It 
was, after all, the airport where --

"Lois? You there?"

"What? Oh, yeah. Sorry, Bill. I was just thinking..."

"Oh. Well, I'll let you do that, then."

"Thanks," I said, still distracted.

"Bye, Lois."

"Bye, Bill." I hung up the phone, absent-mindedly. It still 
didn't make sense. Sure, it was the same airport where we'd 
landed after Lex had proposed to me, but who would know about 
that? It was also the airport where Miranda had hijacked a plane, 
intending to spray the city with her pheromone. So many other 
things had happened there, too, over the years. Maybe one of 
Lex's business dealings? Or maybe the killer had simply been an 
amateur who'd decided to make it look like Lex was trying to flee 
the country, without really thinking things through. There were 
so many possibilities, and none of them seemed quite right. What 
was I missing?

******

Clark's POV

When I woke up the next time, I was alone. I couldn't tell how 
long I'd been asleep, but it seemed like it had been a while. 
Listening to the TV, I realized it had been about ten hours. So, 
I was being given a chance to recover a bit from that last dose 
of Kryptonite. I certainly wasn't about to object. I stayed 
slumped, trying to look as sickly as possible, just in case I was 
being watched. It wasn't hard. I was still pretty weak, and my 
muscles were feeling stiff from having been held in pretty much 
the same position for so long. Still, I was feeling better than I 
had since I'd been captured. If I could keep it up, there was a 
chance that I could escape, or at least find out a little more 
about where I was. I tried listening, but all I could hear was 
the TV, which was still tuned to LNN. There were more stories 
about people I hadn't been around to save.

I think my captor meant to torture me with those, but they only 
served to make me angry. Hearing those stories reminded me that I 
wasn't the only one my captor was hurting by keeping me here. 
Quietly, I strengthened my resolve to escape.

I stretched my aching muscles as best I could. I needed to be 
ready for any opportunity. I tried my best to make it look like I 
was weak and confused, shifting around to try to get loose, but 
unable to do so effectively. I did take the opportunity to test 
my bonds, but they were still too tight to break.

When I'd done the best I could with that, I slumped again. I 
listened for a while to the news. There was a follow-up story on 
Luthor, but I could tell that they were only trying to hide the 
fact that they had no actual new information. They moved on, and 
I listened to see if there was anything else of interest. 
Sometime during the weather report, I fell back asleep.

******

Lois's POV

I didn't really manage to get much done that afternoon. I worked 
as best I could, but my heart just wasn't in it. My thoughts kept 
wandering. I was trying to think of anything else I could do to 
find Clark. Towards the end of the workday, Bobby called me back. 
He gave me an address on the outskirts of the Slum. He said that 
a lot of the gangs had been taking their injured members there. 
Most of them were treated and then sent back home to recover, but 
some of them had been kept longer. Those weren't always the most 
seriously injured, though. There wasn't really a clear pattern 
that Bobby had been able to find. Some of them were low-ranking 
members, others were leaders. Most of them were known as 
fighters, but then, that was the reason they'd been injured in 
the first place.

I wondered how to investigate that further. Go undercover, 
probably, but in what guise? Or was there another way?

While I was thinking it through, I took the time to check my 
email. There was a new message from my admirer.

TO: LLane@dailyplanet.com
FROM: SecretSanta@goal.com
DATE: 02/03/96 05:32:47 PM
RE: Congratulations!

My dear Lois,

I just saw this evening's paper. I knew you wouldn't let me down. 
Congratulations on getting the story, and so quickly, too!

Wise of you to keep yourself as an anonymous source. I do believe 
the investigation has made some people rather upset. Be careful. 
They may decide to wonder why you got the scoop.

If you're up for it, I have another tip for you. Take a look into 
the medical treatment in Suicide Slum, particularly the gangs'. 
I'm sorry I can't be more specific yet, but I have confidence in 
your capabilities.

Best of luck. Take care.

Love,
Your Secret Admirer

No new information this time, but my admirer probably didn't know 
that. Still, it seemed like all the more reason I should check 
out that address Bobby had found. Looking at it, though, 
something bugged me. I had a feeling I'd seen it before, but I 
wasn't sure where. After a moment, I had a thought. I grabbed the 
paper Jimmy had left on my desk. There it was, towards the bottom 
of the list of lead-lined buildings owned by subsidiaries of 
CostMart.

Intergang was running a mysterious illegal hospital with 
disappearing patients, and they'd lined it with lead. How very 
interesting.

******

Part 5

Wednesday, Feb. 3, 1996
Lois's POV

I looked back at the email, wondering about its author. Whoever 
it was had tipped me off to the smuggling operation, and now this 
hospital. Both were Intergang operations. This message also 
mentioned that "some people" had been upset by my investigation. 
Presumably, that referred to Intergang's higher-ups. Thinking 
about that raised quite a few questions. Just who was my 
"admirer"? Where was he getting his information? How was he 
connected to Intergang? Why was he sending it to me?

Jimmy hadn't been able to trace the message, but maybe I could 
get some answers another way. I'd considered responding to the 
previous message, but decided against it. It just hadn't seemed 
important enough at the time. For all I knew, it could have been 
a one-time thing. Now, though, I definitely wanted more 
information. I hit the "reply" button and started writing.

Dear "Santa,"

Thank you for your information. As you know, your first tip 
landed me with a front page scoop. I'm always grateful for a good 
tip, but it doesn't get much better than that!

As for your second tip, I was already aware of the medical 
facility you mentioned, but I appreciate you telling me. It's 
always good to have confirmation.

While we're on the subject of information, why don't you tell me 
a little more about yourself? I've never been one for the 
mysterious type. Part of the reason that I'm an investigative 
reporter is that I like to know about people - who they are, what 
they do, why they do it.

If you're nervous, don't worry. I know when to keep things to 
myself. I've gone to jail to protect my sources more than once.

Looking forward to hearing more from you,

Lois Lane

When I was done typing, I looked it over carefully. It seemed 
good. It had an encouraging tone, but it made no promises. 
Hopefully, my "admirer" would choose to open up a little more in 
his reply. I had just hit "send" when Jimmy came by, probably on 
his way out for the day. When he asked what I was up to, I showed 
him the message.

"Hmm. Can I have a look at it?"

I didn't see why not. Maybe he'd find something this time. I 
stood up and waved him towards the keyboard. He read through the 
jumbled mess at the top, just as he had with the previous 
message. After a minute, he turned back to me.

"Do you still have the last one? I want to check something."

"Yeah, let me pull it up." Since Jimmy was still in my chair and 
since I didn't want him reading through all my mail, I leaned 
over and used the mouse to open the message. He checked back and 
forth, then grabbed a piece of scrap paper and a pen. He copied 
some things from both messages, then stood up.

"I think I may be able to get something, Lois. It'll take a 
while, but I've got an idea..."

"Whatever you can find, Jimmy. Thanks."

He smiled and started to leave, but then something occurred to 
me. "Jimmy, wait a sec!"

"Yeah?"

"I got an address for this hospital, the one the gangs use... I'm 
going to check it out tonight. I don't need a cameraman, but I 
could use some backup, just in case."

"You're asking me?"

"If you're up for it."

"You bet!"

"Great. Thanks, Jimmy."

He shot me an excited grin, then, remembering the paper in his 
hand, dashed off.

I smiled at his enthusiasm, but only for a moment. These weren't 
particularly cheerful times, and I still had work to do. For one 
thing, I needed to get ready for my little visit to the hospital. 
I considered staking it out, trying to see if I could find any 
patterns in the comings and goings, but decided against it. It 
could take days, and that was time I didn't have. No, a more 
direct approach would be better. Maybe I'd be able to find 
something if I went in undercover.

If I was going to do that, though, I wanted someone to know where 
I'd be, just in case. So, I went over to Perry's office. Even 
though most of the staff had left for the day, I was not 
surprised to see that he was still working hard. Briefly, I 
brought him up to date on my investigations and my plans for the 
evening. He wanted to talk more, but I wasn't in the mood. I was 
tired and I had a fair amount ahead of me. I also missed Clark, 
not to mention my obvious worry. All in all, I was feeling less 
than social.

So, I threw off Perry's questions and went back to my desk. 
There, I picked up the phone and called Officer Sawyer. I was 
starting to feel like I should have her number on speed dial. 
Maybe when Clark was safe and the city was back to normal (it was 
going to happen; there simply wasn't any other option), we could 
take her out to lunch or something. It would be good to talk to 
her in better times, and in person.

"Sawyer here," said the now-familiar tired voice.

"Hi, it's Lois."

"Hi, Lois. You calling with questions or answers?"

"Questions, I'm afraid."

"Ah, well. It was worth a try. What do you need?"

"I was wondering if you could tell me about any of those gang 
members who were acting more aggressive. Have you brought any of 
them in, alive or otherwise?"

"No, they've always managed to escape arrest. I think a couple 
have died, but, if so, the bodies disappeared off the streets. 
The one time we did get a body in, it vanished from the morgue."

"So someone really doesn't want anyone to get their hands on 
these people. I think I know who, too, but I can't be sure just 
yet..."

"Hey, a theory is better than nothing."

I considered telling her about the hospital, but figured that it 
was probably better to wait. What I had so far was vague, and 
besides, involving the police now could make for some tricky 
legal situations. "Well, I've found a couple of leads pointing to 
Intergang. I'll be looking into one of them tonight. I'll let you 
know if I find anything."

"Good luck, then. Anything else?"

"Not that I can think of. I'll call you if something comes up."

"Okay, I'll do the same."

We said our goodbyes, and I went to find Jimmy. He was working at 
his computer, though I couldn't tell what he was doing, exactly. 
With a little persistence, I managed to get his attention for a 
minute.

"I'm going to go home and change," I told him. "When do you think 
you can be ready?"

"Anytime, I guess, but if I could have another hour or so..."

"Sure, Jimmy. That should be fine. I'll meet you here or down in 
the lobby."

"Okay, sure," he replied somewhat absently. He'd already turned 
back to the monitor and was typing at full speed before I'd taken 
a single step away.

Back home, I found a message on my answering machine from Martha 
and Jonathan. I hurried to call them back.

"Hello?"

"Martha? It's Lois."

"Oh, thank goodness! Jonathan, it's Lois!"

"I got your call. Sorry I wasn't here to get it. I was still at 
work..."

"Oh, don't worry about that, dear. How are you? Have you heard 
from Clark?"

"I'm fine, Martha, but no, I haven't heard from Clark. I think I 
know who has him, but I still don't know where. I'm looking, 
though. Checking every lead I can find."

"We're coming over. We're booked on a flight out of Wichita first 
thing tomorrow morning."

"What? But, it's not safe here... Haven't you seen the news?"

"Of course we have," Jonathan said, "but we can take care of 
ourselves. We're not going to stay at home when our boy is in 
trouble."

"Where will you stay?"

"In Clark's apartment," Martha answered, as if it were obvious. 
"We have the keys."

"No! You can't stay there! That's where they took him from! If 
they saw someone else was staying there..."

Martha gasped. "They were in his *apartment*?"

"Do you think they might... know?" Jonathan asked nervously.

"I don't know. They might. There's no way to be sure."

"But, if they know... they could be after you, too!"

"No one's come after me yet, Martha. If they do, I'll deal with 
it. Don't worry. I'm being careful."

"Well, what can we do?"

"Just... stay there. I know it's hard, but it's too risky coming 
here. Please. I'm doing my best, but if they got you, too..."

"But you're--"

"-- I know. I'm being hypocritical, and probably selfish, too, 
but Clark's been taken, and I miss him, only I can't stop to let 
myself miss him or be worried about him because if I do, I'll 
never be able to go out there and find him, and I have to go out 
there because the police are too busy because without him, the 
city is a mess and there are gangs and they have guns and who 
knows what else and yesterday the streets were clogged because 
everyone was panicked but today it's even worse because there's 
hardly anyone on the road and if anything happens, there'll be no 
one to see it and now I have to go to one of the worst parts of 
town to investigate this gang-infested hospital because 
something's going on there and whatever it is, it's being done by 
the people who have Clark and if there's any chance that it's 
connected I have to risk it because I need Clark, the city needs 
him, the whole world needs him, and I'm the only one who can do 
it and if you were here and I had to worry about them getting you 
or someone else getting you because the whole city is going crazy 
and anything could happen and --"

"-- We'll stay."

It took me a minute to register. I'd almost forgotten that there 
was someone on the other end. "What?"

"We'll stay," Martha repeated. "If that's really what's best, for 
Clark and for you, then we'll stay here."

"Thank you," I said, pulling myself back together. "It is best, 
trust me."

"We do."

The weight of that trust settled on top of the pile of my 
responsibilities, but I hardly felt the difference. I was 
starting to feel as overwhelmed as I'd been as Ultrawoman. I 
didn't know how Clark dealt with it all.

"Lois?"

"Yeah, I'm here. Sorry. Look, I should be going. I'll call you 
tomorrow, okay?"

"Okay. If there's anything we can do..."

"I'll let you know. Thanks."

"You'll find him, dear. I know you will."

Her confidence gave me the strength I needed to get myself back 
on track. I didn't know how she had it in her. Maybe that was 
Clark's secret. Maybe he could deal with the responsibility of 
being Superman because his mother had taught him how. "Thank 
you," I said again, though the words felt inadequate. We said our 
goodbyes, and then I went to dig some long un-used clothes out of 
the bottom of my closet.

******

Clark's POV

When I woke up again, I was alone. The TV was still on, still 
tuned to LNN. I listened for a while, but there wasn't much to 
hear. The city was still in chaos, but I couldn't tell how much 
of that was exaggeration for the sake of ratings. There wasn't 
anything I could do about it, in any case. The police were still 
looking into Luthor's death, but there was nothing new there. 
People were still out looking for me, but nothing new there, 
either. Stocks were down and the temperature was due to rise, but 
I wasn't too interested.

I focused on myself. I was feeling better, but I did my best not 
to show it. I knew I still wasn't ready to test my bonds again, 
but I did try to see through the blindfold. Nothing. I tried my 
hearing instead. There was the TV. I focused past it. There was a 
faint hum and a wooshing sound, which I eventually realized were 
caused by a fan pushing air through some ducts. I breathed in 
through my nose. There was the scent of dust and recirculated 
air, but nothing more than that.

I sat back and tried to ease my cramped muscles as best I could. 
After a while, my nose caught a new scent. Perfume. I tried my 
hearing again. There, footsteps. Far away, I thought, but I 
couldn't be sure. They were coming closer, though. I knew that 
much.

I waited. Still the footsteps came closer. They'd been relatively 
far, then. There were three sets, I thought, though it was hard 
to tell with the echoes. Closer still, and then they were outside 
the door. It opened. I turned my head towards the sound, as if I 
was groggy and had only just heard them. "Water," I said, my 
voice weak and rough. "Please." I was thirsty, although I wasn't 
in desperate need.

Mindy laughed delightedly, as if I'd performed some trick for her 
amusement. "Is there any water down here?" she asked a moment 
later.

"What? You'd actually give it to him?"

"It'll be fun," she said in her usual vacuous tones. "Besides, I 
thought you wanted to keep him around to play."

"Oh, very well." I heard him go out the door, leaving me alone 
with Mindy and presumably a guard.

"Where am I?" I asked, figuring it couldn't hurt to try.

"Tied to a chair, silly."

Oh well. It didn't sound like she was going to be very 
forthcoming. Better to change tacks. "Who are you?" I knew the 
answer, of course, but there was no reason to let her know that.

"Awwww. You don't remember me? I'm the nurse."

She'd been Bill Church's nurse before their wedding, I 
remembered. I tried to think of what else I could say, but before 
I came up with anything, the door opened again.

"Oh, thank you!" she said, all perky. I heard the sound of a 
bottle opening, and then she walked over. "Here you go," she said 
as if talking to a child or a pet. "Have some water, Supey-doll."

I felt the bottle against my lips. I sipped at it. The water felt 
good, but I didn't want to drink too eagerly, to appear too 
strong. I also didn't want to risk drinking too much and getting 
into trouble later. She poured too fast, though, and some spilled 
down my chin. I ignored it.

"Awww. Supey-doll's all wet. Here, let me dry you off..."

I felt her hands patting at my chest. It was disconcerting, but I 
did my best not to flinch away. The sound of shuffling feet told 
me that the man was shifting uncomfortably.

After a moment, Mindy apparently realized that she wasn't going 
to get a reaction from me. The hands left. "You've had your 
water," she said. "Now it's time for your medicine."

Pain again. I moaned for a while, but then forced myself to fall 
back and lie still, as if I'd passed out. The pain went away, and 
I heard the door open. I followed the sound of their footsteps 
down the corridor, but I couldn't keep track of them for long. I 
gave up and let sleep take me again.

******

Lois's POV

When I got to the Planet, Jimmy was waiting for me in the lobby. 
"I got it!" he said as soon as I walked in.

"Got what?"

"Your admirer's information! See, the message itself was designed 
not to give away anything, and the account was secure, but he 
forgot about the phones! He used the same server both times, so I 
tracked down the access number. Then I went into the phone 
company's records and got the list of everyone who'd called that 
number in the last few days. It was pretty long, but there was 
only one number connected at the times from both emails. I have 
the address here. It belongs to a Bob Maxwell. I did some digging 
on him. He's 32. No close relatives that I could find. Worked as 
a delivery driver for Global Parcel Express up until he suddenly 
quit last week. Was hired yesterday by CostMart, as a 'special 
inventory manager,' whatever that means. That's all I could 
find."

"That's a heck of a lot more than I had a few hours ago, Jimmy. 
You're amazing! Thanks!"

"You bet, Lo--" He stopped, suddenly, his jaw dropping. "Whoa! 
That's some outfit!" Apparently, he'd been so wrapped up in his 
explanation that he'd only just noticed.

"Uh, thanks, Jimmy," I said somewhat uncomfortably. I'd decided 
to go undercover as "Angel," the persona I'd used the previous 
year during the investigation of Sean Mallory and the 
resurrection pills. That meant clothes which were tight and 
cheap. I didn't really like it, but on the upside, I figured they 
would fit in with the crowd at the hospital. Hopefully, they'd 
even help make sure I wouldn't be recognized. They weren't 
anything like what I'd wear normally, and, as Jimmy was 
demonstrating, they could be fairly distracting. Hey, it worked 
for Clark.

We made our way to the Jeep, and then I drove to the address 
Bobby had given me. I parked across the street. "Stay here," I 
told Jimmy. "Keep out of sight. If anything happens, or if I'm 
not back in half an hour, call this number." I handed him my cell 
phone and a slip of paper with the number of the 68th Precinct. 
It was the closest, and at least some of the officers there knew 
me.

I got out of the Jeep and crossed the street. The building, like 
most of the ones in the area, looked like it had seen better 
days. More to the point, it looked like those better days had 
been years before I'd even been born. There was a sign over the 
door. "Our Lady of Mercy, First Church of Metropolis, Medical 
Clinic." I thought about that for a second. I knew the building 
was owned by CostMart, or at least one of its subsidiaries. If I 
was right about who was in charge, then Mindy Church, I decided, 
had an odd sense of humor.

Inside, it looked like a fairly ordinary charity clinic. At least 
the reception area did. I rushed up to the desk. "My brother! I 
have to find my brother!"

"Okay," the woman on the other side of the plexiglass window said 
in soothing tones. "Who's your brother?"

"Spike! Where is he? I gotta see him! Is he okay?"

"Spike? I see. Uhm, last name?"

"He's Spike! He's my brother! Where is he??"

"Calm down, miss. I just need some more information..."

Feigning impatience, I ran off, past the desk.

"Hey, you can't just --" the woman called after me, but I ignored 
her. "Oh, forget it," I heard her mutter. "Good luck, girl." As 
I'd hoped, this part of the hospital, at least, wasn't too 
secure. Having established myself as relatively harmless, I would 
be able to wander freely. Also, while I'd undoubtedly made an 
impression on the woman, I'd been quick enough that she quite 
likely wouldn't be able to describe me in more than general 
terms.

I moved from room to room. The larger ones had rows of beds, 
their occupants down with what looked to be relatively minor 
injuries. A few of them called out to me, but I ignored them, 
pretending to search for my "brother." I passed some smaller 
rooms -- examining rooms, individual rooms for the more seriously 
injured patients, a couple of offices -- but I didn't see 
anything particularly noteworthy. It all looked perfectly 
ordinary. I was beginning to wonder if my information had somehow 
been wrong when I heard a conversation that made me pause. It was 
coming from inside one of the single rooms. I leaned against the 
wall and listened in as best I could.

"You're recovering nicely, Rick. Soon enough, you'll be good as 
new. If you want, though, we can make you even better."

"Better?"

"Yes, like we did for your friend, Mike."

"What do I gotta do?"

"Come with me, and I'll show you."

I realized they were about to leave the room. Quickly, I ducked 
around the corner, then sat down on the floor, my back to the 
wall, my eyes closed. Just a girl waiting around in a little 
hospital that didn't have enough space for a visitor's lounge. 
They walked by without pausing. I waited until they were well 
past me before opening my eyes. Rick, a muscular-looking young 
man in a somewhat threadbare hospital gown, was being led down 
the hall by a man in a generic white coat. Cautiously, I stood up 
and followed them down the hall, staying far enough back so that 
they wouldn't realize I was trailing them. A few turns later, the 
doctor, if that's what he was, stopped in front of a door. He 
opened it with a key and led Rick inside. He closed the door 
behind them.

I approached it slowly. There was a sign that said, "Staff Only." 
There was a small window inset into the door. I looked inside. It 
appeared to be a medical supply closet. A locked storage room 
where they kept the medicines and other things that shouldn't be 
accessible to the general public. There was no sign of Rick or 
the man who'd been leading him. There was no one else in the 
hall. Deftly, I picked the lock, then slipped inside.

At first I didn't see anything unusual, but then, walking around, 
I spotted a second door on the other side of the room. It had 
been hidden from view by some shelves. A camera on the ceiling 
was aimed directly at it. It was solidly built, and it had an 
impressive-looking electronic lock. It did not have a window. 
Some words had been stenciled on it in blocky, vaguely military 
lettering. They said, "S. Rogers Memorial Wing. Authorized 
Personnel Only." A small sign below that read "Enter At Your Own 
Risk."

I didn't see any way to get through that door, and something told 
me that, even if I did, I'd only get myself into big trouble. I 
knew, too, that Jimmy was waiting for me outside, probably 
counting the minutes. I did have some time, though. I stopped to 
think if there was anything else I should do before I left.

******
Part 6

Wednesday, Feb. 3, 1996
Lois's POV

I waited a moment, trying not to think about how dangerous it was 
to stay there. A few years ago, it wouldn't have even occurred to 
me to worry, but that was another life. That was B.C. -- Before 
Clark. I'd mellowed a little since I'd met him. I could admit 
that to myself, if no one else. Now, with him in danger, I had to 
be doubly cautious. Not only was I working without Super backup, 
but I was endangering Clark's chances of rescue every time I 
risked myself.

Of course, my "doubly cautious" was probably someone else's 
"slightly daring," but that someone else was a boring person. 
Besides, I had to take some risks, or I'd never get anywhere. 
Speaking of which, I still needed a plan, and all this musing 
about risk wasn't helping.

I'd already decided that I needed to get out of that room before 
anyone spotted me. I could come back later, better prepared to 
get through the door. Maybe Jimmy would know a way to get past 
that electronic lock. Maybe there was another way in. A whole 
wing couldn't have just one door, could it?

Maybe, though, I could grab some records on my way out. Medical 
charts or admissions records could give me more information about 
who was picked and why. I slipped back out of the room and then 
walked casually down the hall. There was no one around. 
Obviously, this was not a particularly well-travelled corridor. 
Not surprising, really, since they wouldn't want to take the risk 
that someone would find the secret door. Someone like me, for 
example.

I wandered around, pretending to be lost. Nothing to see here. 
Just a harmless girl from the neighborhood, here to visit her 
brother, but too bubble-headed to keep track of all this new 
territory. I kept the persona in place, all the while directing 
my "wanderings" to an office I'd passed earlier. I'd seen a 
filing cabinet inside, and it seemed as good a place to look as 
any. The front desk would be more likely to have admissions 
records, but it was also an area where it was far easier to be 
spotted looking into the wrong things.

When I reached the office, I carefully glanced around. As I'd 
hoped, in keeping with the charity clinic facade, the room was 
sparsely furnished. There was no good place to hide a camera. I 
picked the cabinet's lock on my first try, then carefully slid 
the top drawer open. It was the one with the lock on it, and also 
the most easily accessible. It seemed like the best place to 
start. I skimmed through the folder labels, looking for any ones 
containing "Rick," "Mike," or any variation.

After glancing through about a dozen files, I was pretty sure I'd 
found the two I'd been looking for. Riccardo Martinez and Michael 
Harisson. There was a fair amount of medical jargon, but my 
father was a doctor and my mother had been a nurse. I remembered 
enough to get the gist of most of it, and I certainly had no 
trouble understanding phrases like "possible candidate for 
special treatment."

Riccardo, it seemed, had come in with a broken leg. Michael had 
been shot in the arm. Both were relatively minor wounds -- enough 
to keep them in the clinic for a while, but nothing life-
threatening. Both had apparently met certain criteria involving, 
among other things, blood type, muscle development, and various 
physical proportions. Both also fit some kind of psychological 
profile, and had the "correct group affiliation to maintain the 
balance."

I was wondering what that was supposed to mean when I heard 
footsteps in the hallway. I hurriedly replaced the files, then 
eased the drawer closed and sat down in a chair, as if I was 
waiting for the doctor. I tried to think up some story, but 
fortunately the footsteps moved past the door. I waited a little 
while longer, just to be sure, then got the files back out.

I didn't have time to read any more, I knew, and the outfit I was 
wearing left no place to hide them. Fortunately, I'd come 
prepared. In my purse was a small camera that I kept for just 
such an occasion. It was a cheap model. Not the best quality, by 
any means, but it wouldn't be too hard to explain why "Angel" was 
carrying it around. With decent lighting and a short focus, the 
pictures should come out clearly enough.

Keeping an ear out for trouble, I hastily took a snapshot of each 
page. Then I carefully put the folders back together, replaced 
them in their proper locations, and closed the drawer. It took a 
little while to lock the drawer, since I was more skilled at to 
using my picks to open looks, but I managed to get it right.

I listened at the door before opening it again. When I was as 
sure as I'd ever be that there was no one nearby, I got back in 
character, put on the vaguely sheepish expression of someone who 
had yet again gotten lost and wandered into the wrong room, and 
stepped back out into the hallway.

I wandered around for a little while until I happened across a 
staff member who seemed to be taking a break, or at least not 
going anywhere in a particular hurry. I saw his eyes flick up and 
down when he saw me and noticed that his posture straightened a 
little. I smiled at him. A faint blush colored his cheeks. I 
walked over. "Hi, can you help me? I think I'm a little lost. I 
was looking for my brother, but he's not here. Now I can't find 
my way out. These hallways are so confusing!"

He smiled. "Yeah, they look a lot alike, don't they? Took me a 
while to get used to it when I first started working here. Come 
with me. I'll take you back to the lobby."

"Oh, thank you!" I said, flashing him a bright smile. This must 
be what it felt like to be Mindy Church, I thought suddenly. It 
was not an especially pleasing realization.

He led me down the hall, occasionally asking questions. I fed him 
my cover story, but thwarted all attempts at any kind of lasting 
conversation with strategic flakiness. Even as I concentrated on 
deflecting his conversational thrusts with deceptively fluffy 
finesse, I realized our path to the lobby was somewhat more 
circuitous than necessary. I worked the phrase "my boyfriend, 
Sean" into my artful babblings, and noted with amused 
satisfaction that our next turn put us on a more direct route.

Once we were close enough that the lobby door was clearly 
visible, my guide pointed it out and, claiming he needed to 
return to work, took his leave. I smiled to myself. Now, if 
anyone at the clinic asked about me, I'd be remembered as a 
complete airhead who had come frantically searching for her 
brother, only to find out that she was in the wrong hospital. I 
walked past the desk, looking disappointed and confused. The 
woman behind it was busy and didn't really seem to notice me.

When I got back to the Jeep, Jimmy looked intensely relieved to 
see me. He settled down quickly, though, and before I'd driven 
more than a block away, he started asking questions. I told him 
about my wanderings and the door I'd found.

"S. Rogers?" he repeated when I got to that part. "Whoa, just 
like Captain America!"

"What?"

"Captain America. From the comic books."

I'd known that much. I had a vague image of a man in a red, 
white, and blue costume which, for some reason, had wings over 
the ears.

"His real name is Steve Rogers," Jimmy added after a brief pause.

I shook my head. Only Jimmy could hear a name from a serious 
investigation of an Intergang-owned hospital and somehow connect 
it with a comic book character. He continued to babble for a 
while about World War II, patriotism, an invulnerable shield that 
somehow acted like a boomerang, and some kid named Bucky. I 
ignored it, lost in more pressing thoughts. Then, something 
filtered its way up through my consciousness. "Wait a second, 
Jimmy. Say that again."

"Say what again?"

"That part about Rogers and the government project."

"Oh. Sure. It was World War II, and the government was trying to 
develop something to help win the war. They had this secret 
program, kind of like the Manhattan Project, except that this one 
wasn't supposed to make a bomb. They were trying to make a better 
soldier. So, they picked this guy, Steve Rogers, as a test 
subject. He was no one special. Just a private in the army. 
Scrawny, but with a good heart. Someone willing to volunteer, and 
who would be loyal, but also someone they thought was expendable, 
in case something went wrong. They took him to this lab and 
injected him with an experimental formula called 'Super Soldier 
Serum.' Just after that, though, one of the scientists started 
trashing the lab. Turns out he was a Nazi spy. The place blew up, 
and Steve was the only survivor.

"Without the lab and the scientists, there was no way to make any 
more of the serum. The only people who knew the formula were dead 
and all their notes had burned up with the lab. But Steve had 
gotten his dose, and it'd worked. He was stronger, faster, more 
agile... 'the peak of human potential.'

"Now, they'd been planning on making a whole army of super 
soldiers, but obviously, without the formula, they couldn't do 
that. So they decided to take Steve and make him into Captain 
America, a leader and a living symbol, a focus for the troops. 
Because of the serum, he was able to do things that no one else 
could.

"So they trained him and gave him this costume and a bullet-proof 
shield... Well, actually, the shield was supposed to have been 
the hatch of a tank, but due to one of those strange accidents 
that keep popping up in the comics, the metal was turned into 
something called 'Vibranium.' Completely invulnerable. Able to 
absorb the kinetic energy from any impact and distribute it away. 
Something like that. Cap used to jump out of airplanes and land 
on it, and it would absorb the impact. It was pretty cool.

"So, anyway, they took the hatch and made it into a shield and 
gave it to Steve and had him train with it. Then they sent him to 
go fight the war as Captain America. He led the troops and went 
on these missions and..."

I let the babble flow over me again as I thought over what he'd 
said. The part about the tank and the shield was just weird and 
confusing, but the description of the project... Could Jimmy 
actually be right? Could S. Rogers be a reference to the comic 
book superhero, an in joke they'd never expected anyone to get?

The pieces fit, all too well. Gang members were being offered a 
chance to be made "better." Many were disappearing, but the ones 
who came back were stronger, faster, and generally better 
fighters. Someone was taking pains to make sure that if they 
died, their bodies were never found.

If Intergang was trying to develop better soldiers, then the 
gangs would make ideal test subjects. From Intergang's point of 
view, they were completely expendable, but at the same time, they 
were locked in war with each other, these days more than ever. It 
would make them look for an edge, something to make them better 
than the rest. Some of them would be more than willing to take a 
risk if it meant a chance of getting what Intergang was 
promising.

Intergang would take those volunteers and experiment on them. 
They'd have to let at least some of them back out, or they'd run 
out of volunteers. If the gangs saw that it worked, though, more 
members would be willing to try.

The bodies were disappearing. What did that mean? Obviously, they 
were keeping track of their experiments. Probably watching to see 
how well things worked. They wouldn't want anyone else to see 
what they'd done, because that would raise suspicions. They'd 
probably also want to run more experiments, to improve the 
process. So that fit, too.

The reference to "balance" suddenly clicked. For things to work, 
Intergang would need to carefully maintain the balance of power 
between the gangs. If one got too strong, it could take over the 
Slum. Then its members wouldn't have as much of a reason to risk 
volunteering.

What else was there? The guns. How did those fit in? Was 
Intergang supplying them? If so, how? More importantly, why? 
Supplying the guns would escalate the gang wars, increasing the 
number of wounded. That, in turn, would send more people to the 
hospital, giving Intergang's scientists more potential subjects. 
Was that it, I wondered, or could there be something else going 
on?

Other questions... Just what could I do about the hospital and 
the lab? I could call Sawyer and tell her what I suspected, but I 
had no solid proof. That aside, what about Clark? Was there any 
chance this was connected to him? Could he be in the lab? I 
needed to know more. Tomorrow, I could make some calls, but for 
tonight, there was only one other thing I could do. I needed to 
get those pictures developed.

"Decades later, they found him and thawed him out. Because of the 
serum, he survived intact and because he'd been frozen, he hadn't 
aged. So then..."

Jimmy was still talking about his comic books! He'd actually been 
babbling away the whole time. I didn't think even I could babble 
that much. Didn't he realize I hadn't been listening? Or was he 
just that wrapped up in his own story? Well, whatever the case, I 
still needed to get those pictures taken care of.

"... and that's when they made him the leader of the Avengers. He 
was a natural at it, of course. Able to direct --"

"That's great, Jimmy, but if you don't mind my interruption, I 
could use a favor..."

"-- each team member in a way that... What? Oh, a favor? Uh, 
yeah... What do you need?"

"In my purse over there is a camera. I used it to take pictures 
of some files in the clinic. Can you develop them for me? 
Preferably without letting anyone else seeing them."

"Sure, no problem. I'll be careful."

"Thanks, Jimmy. Oh, there's something else..."

"Yeah? Anything I can do to help, Lois, you got it."

"Thank you. I'm glad I can count on you."

"You bet," he said, smiling. "So what do you need?"

"I want to go back to the hospital, see what else I can find, but 
I'm going to need to be better prepared next time. See what you 
can dig up for me? Blueprints for the building and the ones next 
to it, and anything else you can find. Also, I'm going to need 
some way to get past security. The door I saw had a camera on it 
and some kind of electronic lock. If there are any other doors, 
they'll probably be just as well guarded. The place has probably 
got a backup generator, even if I was willing to cut the power to 
a hospital, so I'm going to need something that can get me 
through. The camera I can probably take care of with the old 
Polaroid trick, or even just a can of spray paint, but I'll need 
some way to get around that lock."

"Electronic lock? I don't know. I'll see what I can do..."

"Anything you can come up with would be great."

"Well, maybe... Actually, you know what? I don't have the stuff 
to deal with a lock like that, but I know just the guy to ask -- 
Jack!"

"Great idea, Jimmy!" I'd completely forgotten about Jack. He'd 
worked at the Planet for several months a couple years back, but 
hadn't rejoined the staff after the place had been rebuilt. He'd 
claimed that it hadn't felt right. Originally, he'd been 
implicated in the bombing which had destroyed the building, and, 
although he'd been cleared, he'd felt that people still treated 
him as if he'd been guilty. So Clark had used a contact to get 
him a job offer at a home security company. There, he was able to 
put his talents to good use, helping to identify vulnerabilities 
in the systems as they were being designed. I'd lost touch with 
him, but I knew that he and Jimmy were still friends. Jimmy was 
right; if anyone could help me get past the hospital's security, 
it would be Jack.

"I'll call him tomorrow," Jimmy said, a note of excitement in his 
voice. "See what he can come up with."

I dropped him off at his place not long after that, then headed 
home myself.

******

Clark's POV

When I woke up again, I was alone. From the TV, I could tell that 
it was late at night. I was still tired, weak, and sore, but I 
was feeling better than I had, none the less. Slowly, I was 
gathering my strength. Still, I didn't really have very much that 
I could do. I wasn't strong enough to break free, and the TV 
wasn't telling me anything I needed to know.

I decided to see if I could figure out where I was being held. I 
replayed everything in my mind. What did I know? Mindy Church was 
one of my jailers, but she hadn't been the one to originally 
capture me. The man had done that, and he'd said something about 
my capture getting him into Mindy's "little club." So, he hadn't 
been associated with Intergang before.

When I had woken up that first time, Mindy had been skeptical 
that I was really Superman. By her reaction, I could be fairly 
sure that that encounter had been the first time she'd seen me 
since my capture. So, I probably wasn't on Intergang property.

The last time I'd woken up, I had gained enough strength to hear 
footsteps from fairly far away, but I hadn't been able to hear 
anything else. For that matter, I'd never heard any footsteps 
other than those belonging to my captors. So, I was probably in a 
fairly secluded place. Maybe someplace soundproofed, too.

That same time, Mindy had asked the man if there was any water 
available. That confirmed that I wasn't on Intergang property, 
and it also said a fair amount about just how isolated this place 
was. When the water had come, it had been bottled. That was 
probably important, too.

On the other side of the seclusion issue was the fact that my 
captors came to visit every day. I probably wasn't too far from 
the city if they could do that. Perhaps even somewhere in the 
city itself. There was also the TV. LNN was a cable channel. 
There might be a satellite dish, but Mindy had specifically said 
"down here" when asking about the water. It might just mean that 
I was south of the city, but it seemed more likely that I was 
underground. The recirculated air lent credence to that 
conclusion.

The construction might also give me a clue, I realized. The walls 
were made of concret