by Gwenda Bond
“I’ll go out looking for leads,” I said quickly.
I’d be less worried about the rest of them if I was the only one in harm’s way.
“No,” Maddy said. “I should come with you. Keep you from doing something rash.”
James set his phone back on the receiver and it immediately started to scream. He had a wild-eyed look about him, and I thought of all the different sightings Devin had to plot the last time. That would have equaled a lot of calls.
“I feel like I have a rapport with Reya,” I said. “If I do run into her, she might clam up if anyone else is there.”
Maddy measured me, like she was trying to decide if this was a legitimate argument. “Fine,” she said. “I’ll stay here and help James with calls. When we move on Donovan, though, I’m there. I want to be there when you take down the guy who almost ruined my sister’s life.”
“Fair,” I said. I caught Devin’s eye. “Can you do the thing for me?”
Maddy and James shook their heads at our secrecy, but they didn’t demand an explanation. Devin crossed to his desk and took a seat. I lingered nervously behind him.
He logged in and pulled up a screen that looked like random letters and numbers to me. In just a few key-stroke-filled moments, he’d managed to decode it into readable text.
It was a message from TheInventor to a .gov email address: I’ll have more to tell you tomorrow. You seeing this activity in Metropolis?
Crap. This was the very definition of not good. My mind raced. He said he’d have more information for the .gov guys—like my dad—tomorrow.
I’d have to take the risk I’d been putting off. I needed to contact TheInventor and explain how dangerous it would be if he kept on with these leaks. I couldn’t let him continue to act without at least trying to give him the benefit of the doubt. I owed him that much, because he had stepped up to the plate when we asked last time—and because of Clark’s faith in him.
“Thanks,” I said, and Devin gave me an apologetic look.
But first, I had some reporting to do. Chefs and singers and Harriet Tubman weren’t the only people who could be spies. So could I.
I took out my phone and sent SmallvilleGuy a message: I need to do some field reporting. Don’t let anyone see you, but meet me at the intersection of…
And I gave him the cross streets up the block from the building we’d found. I still had a feeling about it. All those cameras had to mean something.
I’d decide what we were going to do there on the way.
CHAPTER 18
The street was busyish when I got there, people heading into and out of shops, walking their tiny or giant dogs along the sidewalk. It was as active as I’d ever seen it.
The old payphone booth that had been turned into a piece of street art by a muralist sat near the corner. It was all shiny bright colors. I decided to wait next to it.
“Surprise,” a familiar voice said.
I whirled and hit Clark with a smile that probably had the intensity of a thousand suns. “Hi there. Lurking around phone booths?”
“Is that what this is?” he asked, giving the side of it a gentle knock with his fist and smiling back.
That face is a good face. I trust that face.
There we stood, grinning at each other. He was still real. And so tall I had to look up a little to fully appreciate his extremely good face and those nice blue eyes behind his glasses. He had on a plain blue T-shirt and jeans, and somehow managed to look, well, dashing in them. Dashing? Was that a word people even still used? It fit.
“Used to be,” I explained, thankfully still capable of speech. “Now it’s just decorative. I guess they don’t have these in Kansas?”
“I don’t think they have them much of anywhere anymore. It’s pretty cool though.”
“City art project,” I said. “The same one that funded Dante’s mural.”
“I’d like to see that in person while I’m here.” He took a step closer. “How was Perry?”
We were somewhat off the radar in the shadow of the phone booth, its boxy shape blocking anyone from seeing us from the building we were here to case. At least, that was the plan I’d come up with on the way.
We’d had no luck with the front door, so I wanted to check out the back of the building. Maybe there was another way in.
“Insistent we get a story,” I said. “I’m supposed to be out tracking down the armored gang, but I thought it might be better to come here.”
He poked his head around the edge of the booth. “I take it the place you guys visited the other day is up there. The one with all the weird cameras? I count six.”
“From here?” I asked, impressed. We’d only spotted five the other day. And we were more than half a block away now.
Clark shrugged a shoulder. “I, uh, walked past it on the way, thought it might be the one.”
I wondered where he’d been coming from, but I let it pass. I’d find out about his day later. “We need a better vantage point. I want to take a look around the back of it. See if we can catch the Contessa leaving, or anyone else. Maybe talk to Reya and Todd, if they come back to home base, if this really is it. Devin turned up some articles after I left him at the library—the Contessa has invested in all sorts of tech projects over the years.”
“So Boss Moxie wasn’t just winding you up,” he said.
“I still think he was trying to do something, I just can’t figure out what.” I used Clark’s arm to steady myself—my cheeks heating with a blush the second I touched him—and stood on tiptoe to get a better look up the street. It looked like there was an alley a couple of buildings up from our destination. That might work.
“Let’s see how quick we can make it to that alley,” I said, pointing.
“You lead the way,” he said.
Feeling oh-so-brave, I took his hand in mine as I stepped out of the shadow of the phone booth and steered us up the street. I tried to stay aware of everything around us. But it wasn’t so easy. I felt like every one of my nerves had moved to the palm of my hand.
“Lois,” he said.
“Hmmm?” I didn’t want to meet his eyes, not until we were safely in the alleyway. I might get distracted.
“A guy just left that alley. The one we’re going to.”
More distracted, I meant.
I followed his eyes to the man he was talking about. He was waiting to cross to the other side of the street. He wore a suit that was meant to convey status, but subtly, and looked highly pleased with himself. It wasn’t Donovan, but the face was familiar.
“How do I know him?” I asked.
Clark blinked. “You mean you recognize him?”
I nodded. “Yeah,” I said. “I can’t remember from where, though.”
The man loped across as soon as there was a break in traffic. No way I could let him give us the slip without figuring out who he was.
“Let’s go,” I said, taking Clark’s hand and tugging him along.
He resisted. “What are we doing?”
“Tailing him.” I released his hand and started walking, suspecting he’d follow. “We’ll cross at the next block.”
“Should we be doing this?” he asked.
“Doing what?” I said, speeding up so we wouldn’t be in danger of losing him. “We’re simply taking a walk on a public street. And staying just far enough behind that he won’t notice us.”
I expected more protest, but when Clark spoke next there was admiration in his voice. “You know how to tail people?” he asked.
“I, um, might have read about it.”
“Of course,” he said. “That is something you would read about.”
My cheeks heated again as he found my hand with his. I glanced over at him. “So we can pretend to just be out for a walk, if he turns around,” he said.
“Smart,” I said, smiling a little. “You catch on quick.”
We kept the suited man in our sights and traveled a couple more blocks with him, before he turned onto another street. I tugged on Clark’s hand to steer him to the same sidewalk, where we’d be directly behind the guy—well, about a dozen feet back.
I didn’t want to risk this opportunity… and if I had to, I could just confront the man and demand to know who he was. None of the silver-armored kids they were exploiting were here to protect him.
He slowed as he approached a newsstand. I turned to face Clark, and he mirrored my movements, taking my other hand too. So we were just two starry-eyed people out for a walk who suddenly needed to gaze into each other’s eyes. Except too much gazing would mean we lost our strangely familiar mystery man before I recognized him.
“You’re too distracting,” I muttered, trying not to pay attention to him even though he was right in front of me.
His eyes widened, affronted. “So are you.”
“Hmph.” But it was impossible to feel too disgruntled while he held both my hands in his.
“He’s leaving,” he murmured, without moving.
“Oh,” I swiveled and started moving again, embarrassed that he’d noticed before me. “He bought a Daily Planet. It almost makes me like him.”
He’d unfolded it and was skimming the pages, flipping through too quickly to be reading, while he walked. And not caring one bit when other people had to dodge around him and his giant newspaper. Finally, when he’d skimmed through each page, he dumped the paper in a trash can.
“I take it back,” I said. “I hate him.”
“I bet he was…”
“Looking to see if we’d written about the latest sightings,” I supplied.
“Yes.” Clark’s voice had taken on an edge. “Or specifically if you had. I just realized that this is one of the people who’s been spying on you.”
“Probably,” I said, though that was low down on my worry list at the moment. Then I stopped.
Because our quarry was slowing in front of a tall apartment building with a doorman. I scurried closer, hearing Clark’s steps behind me. “Lois,” he whispered, “he’ll see us!”
I reached the sidewalk right behind the Daily Planet trasher just in time to see the uniformed doorman swing the glass door open for him and say, “Evening, Mr. Jenkins.”
Mr. Jenkins, being a jerk, didn’t respond, but sailed through like a prince who couldn’t be bothered to speak to servants.
I whirled and ran right into Clark. My mind was racing. The face and the name had finally clicked into place.
“The disgraced ex-CEO of Advanced Research Labs. Steve ‘Dirtbag’ Jenkins. Of course.” I swung out around Clark and began to walk back the way we’d come. “I never actually met him, just saw photos.”
I couldn’t believe it. But then, oh yes, I could. Now it was all starting to make sense.
“The Contessa,” I said. “She invested in some of the tech that ended up in holosets. They might know each other from that.”
Clark caught my arm and stopped me. He pulled us over toward the wall of a building, so we would be out of the way of the sidewalk foot traffic. “It also explains why they’re so fixated on you. You forced Donovan to move and he lost his financier. Jenkins lost his job and business status because of your story.”
But not his doorman building. And wait, what had Clark just said? “You’re not saying this is my fault?”
He put a hand on my arm. I couldn’t breathe for a second.
“I’m not saying that at all,” he said. “You did the right thing—your job—and they were in the wrong. But that doesn’t mean they don’t have it in for you. Clearly they do. I don’t like the thought of anyone wanting to hurt you.”
It was a sweet thing to say, but… “They haven’t tried to hurt me. Not really. Reya said they wanted me to ‘come to them’ on my own.”
“You’re not going to, obviously,” he said.
Was it that obvious? They were laying some sort of trap, but what if the only way to break this story was to get caught in it? I couldn’t promise I wouldn’t.
Not now that I knew where their HQ was for certain.
“Not yet, anyway,” I said.
“Not yet,” Clark said. “Don’t you mean never?”
“Never say never. That’s from Dickens, you know.”
Clark’s expression didn’t lighten. “You’re trying to change the subject.”
My phone started to buzz. I pulled it from my pocket and saw MOM flash on the screen.
Crap.
Though, if I was being honest, the interruption was a minor relief. I didn’t want us to have our first fight so soon. He usually understood me, and so he should understand I’d do whatever I had to.
“Did your mom call mine today?” I asked.
Clark said, “She was going to after I left. To torture me.”
“They’re going to get along great.” I slid my finger across the screen to answer. “Mom, hey, what’s up?”
“Lois,” my mom said in my ear, “are you out with Clark Kent right now?”
Uh-oh. Maybe I shouldn’t have been so grateful about the call. “He’s just with me while I’m running something down for the Scoop.”
Clark was watching me, and I turned around, feeling a little exposed.
“Well, I want you to come home,” Mom said. “No dates without a chaperone until I’ve met him. I talked to his mom—who’s lovely—and they three of them are coming for dinner tomorrow night.”
“But Mom, I’m working on a story, really,” I said.
“Tough,” was her response.
I sighed. “Fine.”
Hanging up, I faced Clark.
“How bad?” he asked.
“She ordered me to come home, which is pretty bad for her.” I slid my phone in my pocket. “But you guys are coming for dinner tomorrow and I’m sure you’ll charm her then. I’m just not allowed to hang out with you alone until she’s met you.”
I craned my head to look back at Jenkins’s building, making a mental note of the address.
“No way,” he said. “If you’re thinking of talking your way into that building, no way.”
“I wasn’t,” I said, laughing. He did understand me.
He didn’t laugh. “I don’t want to get on your mom’s bad side. You’re not going anywhere near that place. You have to go home.”
“I should tell the others about Jenkins. What if it’s him and not Donovan? But Moxie seemed to confirm Donovan was involved. Still, this gives us a new angle to work—no way he’s disciplined enough to stay off the grid. Devin might find something.”
I’d almost forgotten in the excitement of newsgathering. There was something else I had to deal with—someone. TheInventor.
“Lois,” Clark said, “it’ll work out. Don’t look so worried.”
I waved a hand an inch in front of my face and said, “Worry be gone.”
Finally, he laughed, so it worked. He must not have been able to see how much worry was still there.
*
Mom was in the kitchen when I came in, and she poked her head out. “Record time,” she said.
“You can thank Clark,” I said. “He insisted I come straight home. You really are going to like him.”
I hope. How could anyone not? He was the definition of likeable.
No kiss today, though. I hadn’t even thought to regret it until I was already heading home. I didn’t blame Mom—nope, I blamed TheInventor. It was time to call his bluff.
I headed upstairs and logged on to my laptop. I would send a message to my fellow Scoopers about Steve Jenkins’s involvement in this Typhon business. But first…
I navigated over to Strange Skies and pulled up a new private message box.
Private Message from SkepticGirl1 to TheInventor, sent at 5:05 p.m. EST: Hi there, A – I think you know that I don’t trust you, but our mutual friend SmallvilleGuy does. It’s time for us to get on the same page or you risk landing all of us in trouble, not to mention the flying man. I know the intelligence that’s been going to your military friends; I don’t think you understand how dangerous the information you’ve sent already could be. And I don’t know why, if we should trust you, you included us on that list. Before you do something else, let’s talk.
I hesitated, trying to decide how to sign off, then figured he’d used an initial… I could give that much away in the hope of convincing him to level with us.
I look forward to hearing from you with an explanation. - L
Well, not exactly, but I did look forward to resolving this. To not having another secret of mine lingering between me and Clark.
I clicked back over to the Strange Skies boards and spotted a lengthy thread titled “More Weirdness in Metropolis” with the flame beside it that indicated it had lots of responses. I clicked and saw the first post was from a regular, KeithB10, asking whether this could be aliens revealing they were among us.
Ha, I thought. More like evil geniuses among us.
Discovering Jenkins’s involvement was a huge break, so why did I feel so far behind the curve?
Maybe it was because, other than me on his doorstep, I still had no idea what he wanted.
CHAPTER 19
I yawned for the fifth time so far on my way to school, and decided I needed a strategy to combat my lack of sleep. A faded coffee mug sign dangled up ahead, the word Radu’s spelled out at the bottom.
Coffee wasn’t something I’d gotten into yet, but this morning was a special case. I pressed open the door and joined the line of patrons waiting for their morning fix. I wondered if anyone here had an excuse like mine.
The night before, I’d sat for far too long watching and waiting, seemingly endlessly, for the little “new PM” indicator to appear on my Strange Skies window, telling me TheInventor had responded. It proved pointless. I finally gave up and went to bed. There was zero chance he hadn’t seen my message. Maybe his play was to torture me.
