Enemies & Allies (27 page)

O
N THE SECRET ISLAND BASE, LUTHOR HAD SEEN FIT TO
create a secure holding cell inside the tower of the old Spanish fort connected to his headquarters. The stone-walled chamber had a thick double-locked door and bars on a window that overlooked the ocean.

However, since the cell appeared to be rarely—if ever—used, Lois hoped to find a way out. Luthor’s arrogance was his greatest vulnerability, and he wouldn’t dream that a woman could outwit him.

Moments after Luthor’s guards had locked the study door, a noise and a loud eruption of water came from the edge of the island, but tall palm trees blocked her view of the source. From the small cell window, she was astonished to see an enormous alien-looking battleship rise from the construction yards on the far side of the island. Another ship rose, then another, then their engines flared with a dazzling array of bright lights. The “alien invasion fleet” accelerated across the ocean. Within minutes, another group of ships streaked off to follow the first.

Knowing Jimmy Olsen’s interest in flying saucers, Lois was sure the young photographer would fall for the deception, hook, line, and sinker. So would most of the people of the world. But the “spaceships” were decoys. Lex Luthor was nothing more than a con man with expensive toys.

She had to tell the world about it before the great leaders were duped into accepting whatever terms Luthor imposed. She also had to help Superman.

She needed to get out. Now.

But Luthor was never going to let Lois out of this alive; she could see that. Worse, he intended to use her as bait, forcing Superman to submit to all the tests he wanted to perform. And Lois knew the big handsome guy would do practically anything to save her. He was predictable like that. She could not let him sacrifice himself for her.

As if she needed more incentive to get out of here…

She pounded on the thick door, but no sound carried through, and apparently no guards waited outside. Luthor probably didn’t have henchmen to spare at the moment, since he was too busy planning world domination. Even so, she could see no way to pick the heavy locks or pry loose the old iron hinges. She was stuck.

It was going to have to be the window. The bars were slightly above her eye level, but the mortar looked old and crumbling. Maybe she could tug and twist them free. When she reached up to touch the iron bars, though, a powerful electric jolt threw her across the room. She skidded unceremoniously backward on the floor, her nerves jangling and yelling, her whole body twitching. Lois slowly picked herself up, her pride more injured than her body. Now she saw the naked contact wires connected to each iron bar. Time to figure out a plan B.

Lois had no superpowers, of course, but she did have her experience and skills as a reporter. Before meeting Superman, she’d extricated herself from plenty of desperate circumstances, and she could do it again.

Superman needed
her
help now. She had to find some way to circumvent the electrified bars. Luthor had left her nothing but a Paper Mate pen and her notepad. Did he expect her to write a last message? A will?

Standing on a small wooden bench so she could peer through the barred window, Lois considered her options, racking her brain for a solution. She stared once again at the electrified bars, the wires that made them live contacts. All she had was her pen and a notepad.

A metal pen.

Clipping the pen’s shaft to the spiral binding of the notepad, now she had enough metal to stretch from one naked wire on the electrified bars to the next, enough to blow out the circuit—she hoped. The pad of paper should provide adequate insulation for her fingers…maybe.

She had to take the risk. She loved Superman and everything he represented. Unlike many people Lois had met as a reporter, he was a genuinely good and decent person. Though she was somewhat reluctant to dig so deeply into her feelings, she realized that she was willing to do just about anything for him. For once, in so many ways, she had met her match.

Squeezing her eyes shut, Lois jammed the metal pen across the contact wires at the base of two bars. Sparks showered out, accompanied by an oily smell of electrical burning. She jerked her head away but held the metal contact in place. The circuit blew, then nothing—no more sparks, no more sound.

Gingerly, she tapped the cell bars with a fingertip, expecting to flinch from another shock, but she received none. Her notepad was scorched and curling. She used the flat pad to protect her palm as she smashed at the bars, trying to break the mortar loose. The iron rods weren’t overly thick or well anchored; apparently the electricity was supposed to be the primary deterrent. She twisted the bars, then tugged backward, throwing her whole weight into the effort.

Finally, the first bar worked free as gray mortar flaked away. When the end was loose, she bent the short bar upward and worked double time on the adjacent bars. Within minutes, she had created a gap large enough to worm through. Breathing hard and sweating, she pulled herself up to the thick stone sill, then wriggled her head and shoulders out of the gap.

She was at least fifty feet above the ground.

The stone blocks of the headquarters tower had been stacked roughly atop one another, mortared together centuries ago. She would have to work her way around to a ledge, lower herself to the next floor, and hope to find another foothold. Her deck shoes should give her enough traction.

No matter what, it was better than remaining a guest of Lex Luthor.

Now that she had climbed free of her cell, she could see the island’s small harbor and two modern speedboats tied up at the dock. If she reached the ground, she could run out to the dock, power up one of the boats, and race westward into the ocean. She would eventually be rescued, she was sure.

But she couldn’t let Luthor continue with his plans. If the Soviets were still holding Superman prisoner, then
she
had to do something.

Luthor’s main control room was two levels down in the modern portion of the building. With fingertips and toes, she could work her way along the stone blocks of the outer wall and reach one of the lower windows. She would figure out what to do once she got inside.

She had already seen Luthor’s radio transmitters and microphones. If she managed to gain access, she could send a message, broadcast a warning to the world—even call for help. During the supposed alien invasion, her father would certainly be monitoring the airwaves. She hated to rely on General Lane, but even Lois couldn’t do everything herself.

Not looking down, she worked her way precariously along the ledge, ignoring the seagulls that swooped around her. Mountain climbers did this sort of thing every day. Sir Edmund Hillary could have done it with his eyes closed while singing an aria, she told herself.

Lois reached the open window to one of the rooms adjacent to the control center and swung herself inside. By now her calves burned, her arms ached, and her fingertips were raw, but she was very glad to be on a solid floor again, even if it was inside the lair of Lex Luthor. Down the corridor, she could hear the hum of activity, transmitted words from numerous screens and radio speakers. She heard Luthor cursing and drew particular pleasure from the fact that he did not sound happy at all.

Several slithery white cleansuits with hoods hung on wall pegs, and Lois slipped into one as an idea rapidly took shape in her mind. She covered most of her head with the hood, tucking her dark hair out of sight, and obscured her face with a set of lab goggles; a clipboard completed her disguise. Looking intent on her duties, she strode brazenly into the buzzing control room.

Luthor sat in the middle of the controls and screens, watching it all. She had to force herself to keep from staring at the images on the video screens: huge “alien” ships hovering over Metropolis.

And Superman! He flew alongside a sleek black plane, hurtling forward to engage the invading ships directly above Metropolis. Lois drew a quick breath, so overjoyed to see that Superman was free from the Soviet prison camp that she nearly called his name out loud. The weakness that had afflicted him seemed to be gone! No wonder Luthor was cursing.

The radio bands were filled with chatter and outraged transmissions. Luthor’s ploy had been discovered, and the game was up!

“Acquire new targets,” Luthor growled. “Forget the alien ships—there’s a new enemy to destroy.”

A
SQUADRON OF NEW-MODEL WAYNE ENTERPRISES ATTACK
craft came roaring up behind the Batplane, flying in perfect formation over Metropolis. The newly commissioned jets swooped in with amazing maneuverability and opened fire with a suite of targeted rockets.

“The Air Force has been itching to try out these production models,” he transmitted to Superman.

Without revealing his identity, he used the Batplane’s communication system to spread a warning throughout the squadron. “The alien ships are fakes. There is no real attack from outer space. Nevertheless, prepare to take out the remaining strange vessels before they can fire their weapons again.”

Unlike the flying saucers, however, the death-beam projectors atop the LuthorCorp headquarters were indeed real. Now they rotated their dishes and pointed snub-nosed antennae toward the harrying Wayne Enterprises jets that bombarded the faux spacecraft. A barrage of furious heat energy lanced out, striking two of the trailing fighter jets. The pilots didn’t have a chance.

As the pair of aircraft exploded in the air, the squadron commander snapped over his command frequency, “Evasive action—we’re taking fire!” As the fighters peeled away, Luthor’s death beam struck out again and obliterated a third jet.

The Batplane streaked toward LuthorCorp headquarters, arming another set of missiles. Those dishes had to be taken out.

He studied his cockpit targeting cross, adjusted the range, and primed the firing systems. He thought of the dead pilots and their families. How many children had Luthor just made fatherless? Did the man even care? Did he count the cost of human lives as just another one of his business expenses, an entry on his profit-loss statement?

The targeting crosses finally aligned, and he squeezed his black gauntlets around the firing controls, launching the three small rockets. But the rooftop energy beams discharged first.

He yanked his stick violently to one side, sending the Batplane into an evasive spin. The death beam lanced past, missing the aircraft core but vaporizing the aileron and spoiler on the wing along with the tip of the vertical stabilizer.

Alarms shrilled in the cockpit, and he fought to maintain control. The energy-beam projectors tracked him, aiming once more. If the ray hit him again, the Batplane would be vaporized in the air. In a last desperate move, he punched his rocket engine control, but the dark aircraft went into an uncontrolled dive. The flaps still functioned, but the rudder and elevators in the tail section were useless.

The dishes retargeted, pointing directly at him, and this time he knew he was in their path.

But just as another blast struck out, a blue and red blur streaked between the death beam and the Batplane. The energy ray slammed into Superman, crackling all around him like a solar corona. Kal-El reeled in the air but somehow kept himself aloft. Layers of carbon soot covered the bold
S
emblazoned on his chest, and his red cape was singed.

Out of control, the Batplane plunged toward the skyscrapers of Metropolis. Within seconds, he would crash into the populous heart of the city. His only chance was to eject, to blast himself free and hope he landed intact on the streets. But the plane still carried armaments and fuel aboard, and he could not allow it to crash into the office towers and apartment complexes.

Through the cockpit canopy he could see himself careening directly toward the
Daily Planet
building. He ignored the bleating alarms and held on to the controls all the way down as he fought to pull up, managing to veer slightly toward the river. He strained, using every functional system, trying backup controls.

The last engine failed, and all his cockpit systems shut down. The Batplane was now an aerodynamic black rock trailing smoke and fire. Falling.

He simply
stopped
in midair. Fuselage metal groaned, and the engines roared as they struggled to ignite again. But the sleek aircraft simply hung suspended, then began to move away.

Superman had caught him. Holding the Batplane up, he flew away from the streets of downtown Metropolis to a clear landing area. Kal-El looked at Batman through the canopy glass. “My turn to rescue
you.
”

W
HILE LUTHOR WAS BUSY TRYING TO SALVAGE HIS PLAN,
Lois set her sights on a more immediate goal. Inside the crowded control chamber, she had identified a communications array with a dangling headset and microphone plugged into one of the panels.

The rest of the henchmen remained engrossed in the broadcast images of titanic battles against the extraterrestrial ships over Metropolis. She didn’t think Luthor had expected to engage in an actual full-scale war but had meant to cow the world’s leaders by virtue of the threat. The bodyguard Bertram and three companions clomped around the edge of the room, encased in their insectile battlesuits, acting like playground bullies.

No one paid any attention to Lois in her cleansuit, hood, and goggles. She was indistinguishable from the other workers, so long as she kept a low profile. But she wouldn’t accomplish anything if she kept hiding. She had to pull out all the stops and send a warning. The choice seemed obvious to her, even if it was a brash and foolish one.

Clipboard in hand, she pretended to study the readings on various dials and gauges as she worked her way to the communication system. Jotting notes on the clipboard, she flicked the power switches, nodded to herself, and turned the black knobs to adjust the frequency to one of the military emergency bands. No one stopped her.

An angry flush covered Luthor’s face and his smooth head. He was firing deadly energy beams from skyscraper towers, but at real targets now, rather than the empty alien invasion ships. She watched in horror as the brunt of a beam caught Superman and blanketed him with a crackling discharge.

Lois bit back a cry of disbelief, but Superman quickly shook away the effects. She should have known that even Luthor’s worst couldn’t stop the Man of Steel.

On the screens, she saw Superman—in his usual heroic fashion—making fast work of Luthor’s defenses, which elicited a string of particularly foul and furious curses from the bald man.

Good…that meant Luthor was thoroughly preoccupied.

When the radio gear was fully powered up, Lois picked up the headset and placed it clumsily over her cleansuit hood. Years ago, she had used a classified military band to tap into Air Force communications, trying to get a story. Her audacity had backfired, and she’d gotten into a great deal of trouble. Her father had barely managed to keep her out of federal prison for that particular breach of security, and he had warned her
never
to use that particular band again. As a two-star general, he was a fearsome figure; as an angry father, even more so.

Lois didn’t hesitate a moment before dialing to that frequency. She picked up the microphone, hit the transmit button, and spoke in a rush. “This is Lois Lane, daughter of General Sam Lane and reporter for the
Daily Planet,
with an urgent message.”

“Lady, get off this band! This is a classified military frequency.”

Lois snapped back, “Maybe you don’t understand the meaning of the word ‘urgent,’ soldier. I repeat, I am the daughter of
General Sam Lane.
I am being held prisoner by Lex Luthor on an island just east of Cuba.” She gave a quick rundown of the mock alien spacecraft he had launched from his base and how he was controlling the attack with the energy weapons. She embellished his evil schemes a little, but not by much. Lois was so intent on her message that at first she didn’t realize the shouts inside the control room were now directed
at her.

“Bertram, stop her!” Luthor yelled. The bodyguard was already stalking forward, the hydraulic pistons in his battlesuit whirring and humming. Each footfall was the step of a giant. He crashed toward her and raised his purple-encased fist.

“Gotta go, soldier!” she yelled into the microphone, then ripped off the headset as she dodged. The man in the battlesuit swung an armored fist at her with the force of a pile driver.

Lois dodged again, her goggles falling off and hanging around her neck. Bertram moved to intercept, and she hoped the other battlesuited guards didn’t join the fun. Luthor’s main henchman lumbered forward with more speed and power than he seemed able to control.

“Be careful of the equipment!” Luthor shouted. Several technicians in cleansuits dodged out of the way as Bertram stomped after Lois. She threw her clipboard at him, knocked over chairs that spun about on casters. In his suit, Bertram smashed entirely through a rail, making a straight line toward her.

Lois spied a bright red fire extinguisher next to one of the blinking computer banks. She snatched it from its cradle and clanged the cylinder with all her strength against the green armor. It didn’t make a scratch, though her hands and wrists vibrated from the impact.

Luthor yelled, his face red, “Bertram, you lummox! Catch her, but don’t—”

Infuriated, the armored bodyguard swung at her again, his face dark with concentration and effort. He drew back his powered arm and slammed it forward, intending to smash her into a pulp. But Lois dropped to the floor, and Bertram’s armored fist plowed into the control bank and power center. The gauntlet sank deep into the array, destroying the workings.

Luthor roared at the stupidity of his bodyguard, but the background explosions and sizzle drowned out his words.

Blue electric bolts skittered all around the battlesuit until the bright green armor and all its internal power systems were completely short-circuited. Though the burly bodyguard cursed and struggled, he could not move. His high-tech armor was nonfunctional, imprisoning him inside a statue.

“You missed me,” she said.

Luthor stood in a dead control room, as furious as he was helpless. The smell of ozone and burning circuitry filled the air. All the monitor screens in the room went dark, leaving Luthor blind and unable to use his energy beams. Bertram was alive, unharmed, and completely immobilized in his battlesuit.

That was a lot more than Lois had expected to achieve, but when she saw the remaining battlesuited guards advancing quickly toward her, she doubted her celebration would last very long.