The Superhero's Team (The Superhero's Son Book 2)

by Lucas Flint

  Our goal was to stop the assassin before he laid even one finger on Plutarch. I was sitting here in the audience, just in case the assassin was among the people in attendance, while Triplet was somewhere backstage, sneaking around in case the assassin was among the studio staff. I wasn't sure how Triplet was avoiding detection backstage or how he had managed to get me a ticket to the debate, but I supposed he had his ways of doing things and I shouldn't worry about them too much.

  Regardless, I still worried that something would go wrong. Vision had to know that we were going to try to stop them today; Thaumaturge and Incantation, at least, had to expect it. It was entirely possible that they had canceled the assassination of Plutarch or pushed it back to a later date. Maybe nothing of importance was going to happen tonight and we'd just waste our time, but that seemed unlikely. According to Triplet, it was going to be harder and harder to assassinate Plutarch as Election Day drew closer, so if Vision wanted to kill Plutarch, now was the time.

  Speaking of Plutarch, I had called him and told him about our findings. I had expected him to call off the debate, but Plutarch said he wasn't afraid of any assassins, because he had already been the target of multiple assassination attempts, both before and after his supervillain days, and he was not going to let yet another one keep him from debating Sagan. He even said he'd be the bait to lure out the assassin (and, by extension, Vision) so we could catch him, which seemed suicidally reckless to me, but Plutarch had insisted upon it. Considering how he had killed Nail Gun personally, he probably could take care of himself.

  I raised my hand to my earcom and, activating it, whispered, “Dad, have you picked up any communications going out of the building?”

  “Negative,” Dad's voice crackled over the earcom, but it was very quiet so that no one would hear it. “Lots of messages and phone calls being sent by the people in the audience to friends and family outside, but nothing regarding Vision or the assassin. I imagine the assassin is probably not going to be contacting the Visionary this late in the plan, but I'll continue to monitor all communications in and out of the building just the same.”

  “Okay,” I said, glancing around the audience. “I still haven't seen any sign of the assassin, either. Triplet?”

  “Same here,” came Triplet's voice. “I haven't seen anyone or anything very suspicious. It's very quiet backstage.”

  “Think the assassin bailed at the last minute?” I said.

  “Possibly, but it is equally possible that we're dealing with a highly professional assassin who is waiting until the right moment to strike,” said Triplet. “Probably a superhuman, I imagine, perhaps one with either mind powers or the ability to shape shift.”

  “Shape shift?” I said. I looked at my chair. “Are you telling me that I might be sitting on an assassin?”

  “No, but he could be anyone,” said Triplet. “Keep your eyes and ears open. Knowing how Vision operates, we can't afford to let our guard down for any reason. This may be our only chance to stop them, so don't screw it up.”

  I was about to say that of course I wasn't going to screw it up, but then I heard a tiny click, which meant that Triplet was done talking. Not that I needed to talk to him right now, of course, because the debate was about to start any second. The assassin was probably going to make his move once Plutarch and Sagan were out on stage.

  A few minutes later, the moderator—a middle-aged guy whose name I didn't know—walked out onto the stage and announced to the people that Plutarch and Sagan were about to enter and start the debate. Excited murmurs went through the audience, but I took this moment to look for any suspicious behavior in the audience. As usual, I didn't see anything suspicious, so perhaps the assassin was still blending in with everyone else.

  So I sat back and watched as the moderator called out Sagan and Plutarch's names. Sagan came out first, walking slowly onto stage and waving and smiling at the audience like a friendly old grandpa. Half of the audience cheered him, while the other half was silent but obviously annoyed, which helped me figure out who were the Sagan fans and who were the Plutarch fans. I caught a glimpse of Sagan's assistant, the telepath June, standing in the darkness behind the stage. She was watching the Senator walk over to his podium, but she stepped back out of view quickly. I had almost forgotten about her, but I couldn't get up and talk to her and find out if she had picked up thoughts from anyone that might lead to the assassin's identity.

  A second later, Plutarch entered the stage. Unlike Sagan, Plutarch walked with his usual swagger and confidence. He waved at the people, a confident grin on his face, while his fans went crazy, chanting, “Plutarch! Plutarch! Plutarch!” over and over again. I noticed that most of Sagan's supporters were sneering at Plutarch, a few even shouting insults at him, but their insults were drowned out by the cheering and chants of his supporters. But none of Sagan's fans looked like they were about to pull out a gun and shoot Plutarch or anything. Now I was starting to think that maybe the assassin wasn't here at all or at least wasn't in the audience.

  While the moderator opened the debate with an introduction to the audience about the topic of the debate (it was about the US government's relation with neoheroes), I looked around at the edges of the room. The security guards and Secret Service agents were still standing at their positions, hands on their weapons as they looked around for anyone who might try to harm Sagan or Plutarch. I wondered if those guys would be enough to stop the assassin, but if the assassin was a superhuman, as Triplet suspected, then they probably wouldn't be very effective at defending Plutarch and Sagan.

  But that was why we were here. Assuming all went well, soon the entire world would know about Vision and its twisted goals. I felt angry whenever I thought about how Vision had corrupted the Young Neos and other young superheroes, but I still stayed in my seat because there was no reason for me to get up and do anything just yet.

  Then, all of a sudden, my earcom crackled and Triplet's voice said, “Bolt, there's someone backstage here.”

  Glancing at the people around me to make sure no one was paying attention to me (they weren't; all eyes were on Plutarch and Sagan), I put my ear to my earcom and muttered, “Who is it?”

  “Not sure,” said Triplet. “But—”

  Triplet's voice immediately went silent. I tapped my earcom again, saying, “Triplet? Triplet, are you there? Hello? Hello?”

  No answer. Just ominous silence.

  I tapped my earcom again, but this time said, “Dad, I just lost Triplet. Can you hear me?”

  “Yes, but barely,” said Dad. His voice sounded distorted in my ear. “Triplet's earcom has disappeared from the radar. Did he remove it?”

  “I don't know,” I said. “He just said he saw someone backstage, but didn't get a chance to tell me who it was.”

  “That's not good,” said Dad. “Listen, you should stay in your seat while I try to reconnect with Triplet's earcom. If that assassin is nearby, he's probably going to try to attack any minute now. You need to be there so you can stop him.”

  I nodded and said, “Sure. I'll call you again if something else happens.”

  “Affirmative,” said Dad. “Stay safe.”

  My earcom clicked off again, but even though I told Dad I was just going to sit here, I wanted to get up and go look for Triplet. I didn't know if Triplet was dead or harmed or what, and I didn't like not knowing that, either. Yet Dad had a point that I couldn't leave, because if I did, the assassin might attack and I wouldn't be able to protect Plutarch or stop the assassin.

  So I looked back down at the debate stage where Sagan and Plutarch were already in the middle of the debate itself. It was Plutarch's turn to speak now, and as usual, his voice was booming and clear.

  “Hey, I like neoheroes,” Plutarch said, his smile wide, if a bit fake-looking, “but I also think that they should be held responsible for the destruction they cause every time they fight with other freaky losers in tights. What's so wrong about that? Nothing. It's just common sense.”

&nb
sp; Plutarch seemed to be rambling, so I expected to see Sagan roll his eyes, but instead, the Senator was staring at Plutarch with surprising intensity. Maybe Sagan was just listening so he could come up with a good response to Plutarch's point, but I doubted it, because he looked like he was focusing on something else.

  Then I noticed movement in the shadows backstage, from where Sagan and Plutarch had entered. In the next instant, something small and round flew out of the entrance. It looked like a gray metal ball, which clanked on the floor right in between Sagan and Plutarch's podiums. It landed on the floor with a loud clank, drawing the attention of both Sagan and Plutarch to it. And unless my eyes were playing tricks on me, Sagan didn't look surprised when he saw it.

  A split second later, the ball exploded, creating a thick smoke cloud that immediately covered the entire room. People in the audience screamed and shouted while the Secret Service and security guards started shouting and running around, though it sounded like most of them were just as incapacitated as the people were. I looked around, but couldn't see anything with all of this smoke, especially when the people in the audience started getting up from their seats and fleeing for the nearest exits. The woman sitting next to me accidentally hit me in the face with her purse as she and her husband crawled over the seats in an attempt to get away, coughing loudly the whole time.

  But I didn't move from my seat. Noticing that everyone was distracted by the bomb and the thick smoke, I dropped down to the floor of my seat and activated my suit-up watch. In an instant, I was suited up in my costume without being seen by the fleeing and screaming people. So I stood up, but the smoke was just too thick to see through. My goggles protected my eyes, but when I inhaled the smoke, I coughed and hacked for a moment, which made my eyes water.

  Then I heard gun shots go off, along with more screams from the people in the audience. It sounded like a gun had been fired on the debate floor, so I flew through the smoke and landed on the debate stage, but it was still too thick for me to see, so I spun my arms around as fast as I could, generating enough wind to blow away a good chunk of the smoke, which revealed a startling sight to me:

  Adam Plutarch lay slumped against his podium, his right shoulder bloody, while Barnabas Sagan was nowhere to be seen.

  Chapter Sixteen

  I ran up to Plutarch's podium and, shaking his shoulder, said, “Mr. Plutarch, are you okay? Can you hear me? Are you still conscious?”

  To my relief, Plutarch's eyes flickered open and he looked up at me, but he no longer looked as confident as he did before. He looked weak and almost dead, which was no surprise, given his age and injuries.

  “Kid …” Plutarch coughed. “Ow …”

  “Who shot you, Mr. Plutarch?” I said. “Can you remember? Or at least tell me where your assassin fled?”

  Plutarch just pointed a weak finger at the entrance to the backstage.

  “That's where the assassin went?” I said.

  Plutarch nodded weakly. “Y-Yeah …”

  Then he slid off the podium, but I caught him and gently lowered him to the debate floor. Once I was sure he was safe, I stood up and ran off to the backstage, using my super speed to give me a boost.

  Backstage, the air was much clearer due to the lack of smoke, but it was in chaos. Interns and assistants and other members of the studio staff were either running around in fear or hiding under tables or behind other furniture, like they thought someone might try to kill them. I stopped when I saw the confusion, because I couldn't see where the assassin had fled, or who the assassin even was for that matter.

  Then I noticed a young woman, probably only a couple years older than me, lying with a bad bruise on her forehead in front of the curtains. Her glasses were askew and cracked, but she still appeared to be alive, so I knelt down next to her and, shaking her shoulder, said, “Hey, are you all right? Hello?”

  The intern shook her head and looked at me. She seemed dazed, like she was waking from a dream. “Huh? What? Who are you?”

  “Bolt,” I said. “Can you tell me who did this to you?”

  The intern blinked and then groaned, grabbing the bruise on her head. “Oh … I think it was that tall blonde lady, June or whatever. Sagan's assistant.”

  “Why did she hit you?” I said.

  “I don't know,” said the intern. “I just remember the smoke bomb going off and everyone going crazy. Then I heard a gun shot and I went to go see what was going on, but then June and Sagan appeared and June hit me with a pipe, said something about getting Sagan to safety or something.”

  “Where did June and Sagan go?” I said.

  The intern pointed further to the back. “I don't know for sure, but it looked like they were going that way before June knocked me out.”

  “Thanks,” I said.

  I stood up and ran toward the exit. As I made my way through the backstage chaos, I realized that June was the assassin all along. And not only was she the assassin, she was also obviously kidnapping Sagan, using the chaos created by the smoke bomb to get him out of here before anyone could stop her. It made me wonder what Vision wanted with Sagan, but I wasn't going to ponder that. I just needed to stop June before she took the Senator to wherever she planned to take him.

  Bursting through the back exit, I saw June getting Sagan into the back of a limousine. She closed the door behind him as soon as he got in and then jumped into the driver's seat, at which point the limo's engine roared to life and the vehicle started to move.

  I wasn't about to let her escape, however. I soared through the air, easily overtaking the vehicle, and landed directly in front of it. I saw June's startled expression through the windshield, but instead of stopping the car, she increased the speed.

  I jerked out my arms and caught the limo just as it rammed into me. I skidded backwards a few inches, but I held my ground, using my super strength to prevent the limo from going any further. The wheels were starting to screech against the pavement as June increased the vehicle's speed, but I didn't budge at all.

  Instead, I took one hand off the front of the vehicle and then smashed my fist straight down through the hood, smashing apart the engine. The car immediately died, its tires ceasing to screech against the pavement.

  But just as I stepped away from the car, the driver's door opened and June stepped out. I expected her to hit me with some kind of mental attack, but instead she pulled out a gun and started shooting at me. I dodged the bullets easily, however, and then zoomed over to her and knocked the gun out of her hand before she even knew what I was doing.

  Then, still moving fast, I grabbed her arm and twisted it behind her back. June yelled in pain before I hit her on the head, instantly knocking her out. She collapsed into my arms before I lowered her onto the ground. There was a bad bruise on her head where I hit her, but she seemed to be alive, which was good, because we needed her to be alive so we could interrogate her later.

  Then I remembered that Sagan was still in the car, so I ran over to the back passenger's side and ripped open the door. To my relief, Sagan was sitting unharmed in the back, with a seat belt on and everything, though he looked shaken and worried.

  “Senator, are you okay?” I said. “Did June hurt you?”

  Sagan shook his head. “N-No, young man, she did not. But what happened? I remember smoke and gun shots, but it all happened so fast that it feels like a dream.”

  I ripped off Sagan's seat belt and helped him out of the car as I said, “You were almost kidnapped, Senator, by your own assistant. June also tried to assassinate Mr. Plutarch in order to distract the Secret Service from your kidnapping.”

  “What?” said Sagan. He looked at June, who lay unconscious on the ground where I had left her. “Oh my god. Why would June do such a thing? I thought she was loyal to me.”

  “I don't know her exact motives, but I suspect that she's working for a dangerous cult called Vision,” I said. “They hired her to assassinate Plutarch and kidnap you. And she would have gotten away with it, too, if I had
n't been here tonight.”

  “Vision, hmm?” said Sagan. He was recovering rather quickly from his shock, but maybe the old man was tougher than he looked. “Where did you learn about them?”

  I frowned, wondering why Sagan seemed so interested. “From a friend who has been investigating them. Why do you ask?”

  “Oh, no reason,” said Sagan with a shrug. He looked at the unconscious June mournfully. “But I am thankful that you saved me. I thought that my loyal assistant was merely trying to get me to safety, but I guess she was really trying to take me away somewhere no one else could find me. That would have ruined my chances at winning the presidency for sure.”

  “I know,” I said. “Now please come with me, Senator. We need to get you back into the building and let the Secret Service know that you're safe.”

  Sagan nodded, but then, all of a sudden, I heard a chipper ring tone come from the right pocket of his pants. Sagan quickly slipped his hand into the pocket as the ring tone continued playing, though it sounded muffle due to being in his pocket.

  “What's that noise?” I said.

  “Oh, it is just my phone,” said Sagan as he drew his smartphone out of his pocket with shaking hands. “I wonder who—Oh!”

  Sagan accidentally dropped his phone onto the pavement onto its screen. Sagan started to bend over to pick it up, but I said, “Don't worry, Senator. I'll get it for you.”

  Before Sagan could say anything, I bent over, picked up his phone, and was just about to hand it over to him when I noticed who was calling. It showed a picture of a familiar-looking smiling teenage girl with short, green hair. Underneath the picture and its number was a single word: 'Sarah.'