by Lucas Flint
I shrugged and took another bite out of my burger. “I agree, but there's not much I can do—”
A hand fell on my shoulder, causing me to look up, burger still in my mouth, and see a tall Asian man in an overcoat standing behind me. It was Triplet, who was getting strange, furtive glances from the other customers, glances he seemed to ignore entirely. He was looking down at me with a comically serious expression.
“Kevin Jason?” said Triplet.
I nodded. “Um, Tr—”
“Shh,” said Triplet, holding up one finger to his lips. He glanced around before looking at me again. “Don't say my name in public.”
I could feel the other people looking at me, but I tried to keep my focus on Triplet, hoping that maybe the other customers would lose interest if I didn't look at them. “Um, okay.”
“I need to speak with you,” said Triplet. He gestured with his head at the entrance. “Outside.”
I put my burger down, not sure if I should accept or reject his request. I glanced at Malcolm, who seemed just as confused about Triplet's appearance as the other customers were.
“What do you want to talk about?” I said, looking at Triplet again.
“Something important,” said Triplet. “Can't be more specific than that.”
I frowned, but then I remembered that Triplet was one of Dad's friends, so I doubted Triplet was up to anything nefarious.
So I nodded and said, “Sure. Will it be for long?”
“Probably not,” said Triplet. “Just need to ask you a few questions.”
I wondered what these questions were, but I didn't ask any questions of my own. I just told Malcolm I'd be back in a bit and followed Triplet out the front entrance. We walked over to the back of the restaurant, hidden from view of the parking lot and the road.
But we were not alone. Triplet was already leaning against the back of the restaurant, his arms folded over his chest. He looked over at us as the Third (which was what I realized this Triplet had to be) and I made our way over to him.
“Ah, there you are,” said Triplet, pushing himself off the back of the building and shoving his hands into the pockets of his overcoat. “Good job, Third.”
The Third didn't say anything. It just walked back into Triplet, causing him to glow blue briefly before his body returned to normal. Triplet patted his chest for a moment before looking at me. “Hello, Kevin. Do you remember me?”
I nodded. “Yes. But did you have to send one of your Thirds to get me?”
“I couldn't risk being caught in there,” said Triplet. He looked around again, like he thought someone might be listening to us nearby, even though we were alone. “My investigation has uncovered some dangerous facts that could put my life at risk if they become common knowledge. Just being out here in the open is dangerous.”
“Why?” I said. I glanced back the way I came. “And what does this have to do with me? I have a burger back in there that I need to finish and I hate letting my food go cold.”
“Because you know some stuff that I don't,” said Triplet. “I saw the news reports on your battle with Firespirit at the Sagan rally.”
I looked at Triplet again. “So? What does that have to do with anything?”
“I have some questions to ask you about it,” said Triplet. “It is related to my investigation.”
“The investigation you can't tell me anything about, right?” I said. “Because you keep your clients' problems confidential?”
“Normally, I don't share my clients' problems with other people, but I trust you enough to let you know what I am investigating,” said Triplet. He looked me in the eye. “But you have to promise me not to share this information with anyone else. Not even with your own father.”
Not even with Dad? That piqued my interest. “Sure. My lips are sealed.”
“Good,” said Triplet. “Honest and trustworthy, just like your father. Anyway, I have been hired to investigate Adam Lucius Plutarch. Do you know who he is?”
“Of course,” I said. “I met him once. But why are you investigating him? And who hired you?”
“I don't know the identity of my client,” Triplet admitted. “He came to me through an intermediary, asking me to investigate Plutarch's background. My client calls himself the Citizen, though I don't know anything else about him beyond that.”
“Is that normal?” I said. “I mean, not knowing your client's identity?”
“No, but I was told that the Citizen was afraid of suffering retaliation if someone found out that he was hiring me to investigate Plutarch, so I didn't ask about it,” said Triplet. “Besides, he pays well, and as long as I get paid, I can put up with a lot of eccentricities I might normally not tolerate.”
I snorted. Eccentricities? That was rich coming from a guy who didn't trust hotels.
Nonetheless, I said, “But why Plutarch? Is he up to anything bad?”
“Possibly,” said Triplet. He looked around again, which seemed to be a habit of his. “Plutarch used to be known as the Billionaire. He gave the NHA a lot of trouble before retiring from crime in 2005 and helping the G-Men arrest many of his former allies and minions. He has not, to my knowledge, been involved in any criminal activities since then.”
“So why are you investigating him if he's reformed?” I said.
“Because the Citizen believes that Plutarch is planning to turn America into a dictatorship,” said Triplet. “He is worried that Plutarch has merely been biding his time since his 'retirement' and is taking advantage of America's disgust with the political establishment to be elected to the presidency and make himself into a dictator.”
“Really?” I said. I gulped. “Do you have any evidence to support that?”
“I've uncovered some troubling facts,” said Triplet. “For example, I discovered that Plutarch apparently made a visit to Ultimate Max in 2010 to speak with the jailed members of the Vile Four. I've also learned that Plutarch paid for their bail and that Steel Skin, Firespirit, and Nail Gun's whereabouts were unknown until their recent attacks at the Plutarch and Sagan rallies.”
“Are you saying that Plutarch hired his old supervillain friends to help him takeover America?” I said.
“It is possible, but I am still investigating,” said Triplet. “That is certainly one conclusion that the facts seem to be pointing toward at the moment. And that is also why I am in Texas; I heard from my sources that Steel Skin was planning to attack the Plutarch rally and I came down here to speak with him.”
“But Steel Skin tried to kill Plutarch,” I pointed out. “He really seemed to hate the guy. Why would he help Plutarch win the election if he hates him?”
“True, but I think it is possible that it was all an act,” said Triplet. “Remember, Plutarch runs on an anti-neohero campaign. What better way to prove his point about the dangerousness of superhumans than by having one attack one of his rallies on live TV?”
“What about Firespirit, then?” I said. “He attacked the Sagan rally.”
“I believe he was also hired by Plutarch to do that,” said Triplet. “But that's why I am talking with you. I've heard rumors that Firespirit was a hired assassin. Is that true?”
I nodded. “Firespirit told me he was hired by someone to kill Sagan. He didn't say who, though.”
“I knew it,” said Triplet. “Prior to joining the Vile Four, Firespirit was a well-known assassin. It's no surprise that he's up to his old tricks and likely still working for Plutarch. I bet Plutarch hired Firespirit to kill Sagan.”
“That's what the other Young Neos thought,” I said. “But we don't have any way to prove that. I know that the police were going to interrogate him, but—”
“They have,” Triplet interrupted me. “And they found out that Firespirit's memory has been wiped.”
“Wiped?” I said. “What? When did this happen?”
“Sometime last night,” said Triplet. He pulled out of his smartphone and started tapping the screen. “There was an article on Neo Ranks that said
that Franklin Burns, which is Firespirit's real name, claimed that he could not remember the identity of the person who had hired him to kill Sagan.”
“What?” I said. “Is he lying?”
“It doesn't look like it,” said Triplet. He looked up at me again. “I suspect that Steel Skin has suffered a similar fate, because recent news reports have stated that Steel Skin doesn't know why he is in Ultimate Max or how he got there.”
“They can't both be suffering from amnesia, can they?” I said.
“Of course not,” said Triplet. “Their memory was obviously wiped by someone who didn't want the police knowing who they are working for.” He looked at his phone again. “Here's the article. See?”
Triplet showed me his phone, which displayed an article on Neo Ranks with the headline 'FRANKLIN 'FIRESPIRIT' BURNS CLAIMS TO HAVE FORGOTTEN IDENTITY OF CLIENT WHO HIRED HIM TO KILL SAGAN.' It showed a picture of a confused-looking Firespirit sitting in the back of a police cruiser with his hands cuffed.
Pulling back, I said, “What's going on, then? Who is doing this?”
“Someone in Plutarch's employ, most likely,” said Triplet as he put his phone back into the pocket of his overcoat. “Likely a superhuman with mind powers. I used to know a guy who could alter and rearrange memories and even delete them outright. Such a person would be useful for any politician seeking to craft a narrative that will help him get elected.”
“Does Plutarch have any known superhumans in his campaign?” I said.
“Just a few, but none of them have any mind powers,” said Triplet. “But telepaths are a tricky bunch. They are extremely good at hiding their real identities and powers from everyone. For example, back in the late nineties I visited a small town in upstate New York that was ruled by a telepath who used his mind powers to alter the memories and perceptions of the town's inhabitants so he could rule without anyone even suspecting that he was there. He was touch to catch.”
I shuddered. “That's a scary thought.”
“But most telepaths are nowhere near that powerful or malicious,” said Triplet. “All you need is just one telepath who is really good at erasing or altering memories and no one could ever link you to any crime you don't want them linking you to.”
“Is there any way I can help in your investigation?” I asked.
“No,” said Triplet. “You've already helped me a great deal by confirming that Firespirit is indeed an assassin. I suspect Plutarch hired him in order to make Sagan supporters more anti-neohero and thus likely to vote for him, considering how Sagan has tried to show himself as the pro-neohero candidate in this election.”
“Well, I hope you figure out what Plutarch is doing,” I said. “It sounds dangerous.”
“That it is,” said Triplet. “Anyway, I'm leaving now.”
“To where?” I said. “Back to New York?”
“Can't tell you,” said Triplet. “It's a secret.”
I rolled my eyes. “Is everything a secret with you?”
“Everything worth knowing is,” Triplet said. “Anyway, good bye. I hope you get your super suit back at some point.”
With that, Triplet turned and walked away down the street, leaving me feeling more confused—and worried—than ever.
Chapter Ten
It was hard to go back to school on Monday after my conversation with Triplet. While I knew that the investigation had nothing to do with me, I was still thinking about it. After all, if what Triplet said was true, then Plutarch needed to be stopped. Here we had an actual supervillain running for President and, according to some of the online polls I looked up, he had a very good chance of winning the entire election.
But what was I supposed to do? Without my super suit, I could hardly fly to Plutarch's campaign headquarters and confront the man there myself. Dad still had my super suit locked away somewhere, which meant that I couldn't do any sort of superheroics on my own. I was forced to go to school, go home, and do my homework every day. It didn't help that I couldn't talk about it with anyone because I had promised to Triplet that I would not tell anyone the details of his investigation. I didn't even tell Malcolm when I went back into the restaurant; I just told him that Triplet had some questions to ask me and that I had promised not to tell anyone about it. Malcolm seemed to understand, but he also seemed frustrated, which I understood.
It didn't help, of course, that the whole 'Plutarch VS Sagan' debate seemed to follow me wherever I went. Malcolm and Tara were still not talking to each other due to the polarization, and whenever they did talk to each other, it was just more pointless political debate that got nowhere fast. I found myself siding with Malcolm more often than not, now that I knew about Triplet's investigation, but I still got annoyed by the debate. It was easier to do, however, knowing that Robert was a big Plutarch supporter and wore Plutarch's MANA hat almost everywhere he went unless a teacher asked him to remove it.
Nor did I talk with my parents about it, either. I was sure that Dad already knew about Triplet's investigation, because that was what I suspected they had been talking about when Triplet came to our house that one time, but I was still too angry with my parents about their taking my super suit away to speak to them much. That didn't seem to bother my parents, probably because they thought I would be over it soon.
When I got home from school on Monday, I just went straight to my room, not even bothering to ask Mom when dinner would be ready. Closing the door to my room, I dropped my backpack on the floor, walked over to my bed, and lay down on it. Maybe I'd take a quick nap, just to forget my troubles for a while, but I doubted I'd wake up any happier.
I wish there was some way I could investigate Plutarch myself; some way I could meet him, maybe get close to his headquarters and see if I could find any clues to find out what he was up to. Yeah, I knew the case really had nothing to do with me, but if there was a way I could help find out the truth, then I would.
Some way to meet him …
Suddenly, I sat up from my bed and dashed over to my backpack. Undoing the flap, I dug through my backpack's various pockets and pouches until I felt some paper, which I fished out of the pack and held up to the light to see better.
It was the card that Plutarch had given me a week ago, when I saved him from Steel Skin. It had all of his contact information on it, which meant that I had direct access to him. I grabbed my phone and was about to put in the number on the card when I caught myself.
Why would Plutarch ever want to meet me? He knew me as Bolt, sure, but he didn't know who Kevin Jason was and I certainly didn't want him knowing my real identity, especially if he was as bad as Triplet believed he was. I needed some way to arrange a meeting with Plutarch but without him knowing who I was.
But Dad still had my suit and I doubted he'd let me have it back long enough to have a meeting with Plutarch, who I knew Dad hated just as much as anybody. I'd have a tough time convincing him to give me my suit back, especially after he told me he was not going to give it back to me until after graduation.
But maybe I didn't need my suit. Maybe I could make my own.
I looked at my closet and at a few boxes of my clothes that were still unpacked from the move. An idea was starting to form, an idea I wasn't sure would work, but I had no choice but to put it into action if I was going to meet Plutarch.
Getting up from my bed, I walked over to my closet, opened the door, and started looking for whatever I could find, anything that would help me make my new costume.
-
Yeah, I knew it looked silly. Yeah, I knew it probably wouldn't hold up well in a fight, if at all. Yeah, I knew it probably looked stupid.
But I was desperate. I needed a costume and I didn't have access to my better one. I couldn't just go flying around in my street clothes, not unless I wanted people to know my secret identity, anyway.
That was why I felt awkward as I flew through the air toward the Texas office of the Plutarch campaign, which was located outside of Fallsville. My suit was simple: A large, black
hoodie, with the hood pulled firmly over my face, and an old blue ski mask from last winter. I wore a pair of faded jeans, plus some old tennis shoes I thought I had gotten rid of but apparently had simply stashed in the further reaches of my closet and forgotten about. I had also found some old, cracked goggles and some fingerless gloves that I wore just to make myself even less recognizable to anyone who might see me.
I must have looked strange to anyone below … well, if anyone could actually see me, anyway. I was flying fast and high, too high for most people to see me. It helped that it was cloudy today, but I kept thinking that the clouds were going to explode and start pouring rain on me, which would suck.
But at least Plutarch had agreed to meet with me. Back on Monday, I called up his office and asked if I could meet with Plutarch sometime. His assistant—who had answered the phone—agreed and we got an in-person meeting scheduled for Friday evening. I was actually surprised at how easily I got the meeting scheduled, but Plutarch's assistant told me that he was a big fan of mine and had given her orders to put me in his schedule if I called. That seemed suspicious to me, but I was never one to question good luck whenever it came my way.
Obviously, I had not told my parents about this. Perhaps it technically wasn't superheroics, but it came too close for my liking. I very much doubted that my parents would approve of me going to meet Plutarch, especially Dad, who didn't like Plutarch at all. I didn't think I'd be in any trouble, given that Plutarch wasn't a superhuman and didn't seem likely to harm me, but I would never be able to convince my parents of that, so I had to leave without them knowing.
Instead, I told them that I was going to hang out with Malcolm and Tara tonight, which they accepted. Even Dad didn't seem suspicious about it, probably because I didn't have my super suit. He probably thought that I wouldn't sneak out of town to meet with an ex-supervillain presidential candidate without my suit. Well, I guess Dad didn't expect me to be so creative. And there was no way for Dad to track me, either, because I didn't bring my earcom with me, mostly because I knew that I couldn't trust Valerie to keep secrets for me anymore.
