Chapter Text
And aren't you wicked enough
to ruin anyone?
With a friend like you
who needs the sky
for an enemy?
From Ghazal, Mirza Asadullah Khan Ghalib
+
Prelude:
Metropolis: 2011.10.15
Senator Lex Luthor had a theory: Most people, while navigating their ordinary lives, didn't really want to pull the curtain back and expose the wizard; did not, in fact, want to destroy the image of their stick-figure heroes, choosing to believe the worst only when given no other choice. The American public, in particular, had turned wearing blinders into an art form. It stood to reason, then, if he could just make the exchange without anything going wrong, no one would even notice that he had, technically, used LuthorCorp to funnel weapons-grade plutonium from a government facility to a suspected terrorist.
No matter how he rationalized the particulars, however, he was well aware that he risked more than just his career this time. Sprawled in his seat as his limousine sped down a deserted road on the threadbare outskirts of Metropolis, he felt almost lethargic. Someone had turned off the moon, and the stars were very bright without the competition, scattered carelessly in the air like wicked shards of glass. He supposed a man, walking upside down and barefooted across the night sky, would be left with nothing more than a weary idealism and two bloody feet. The corners of his lips turned up. Good thing he made it a point never to walk around barefooted.
Lex sat up in his seat as his limousine rolled past a large marble sign on cobblestone pillars that read: SalyBioTech Corporation. "So this is hell," Lex said softly, as he peered out at the large buildings looming on his side of the car.
"Excuse me, Senator?" said his long-time bodyguard, Peters, who was sitting on the other side of the limousine.
"Nothing."
His knee pressed into the door's leather paneling, fingers curled around the handle as he returned his gaze to the window and resumed his contemplation of the night sky. Despite his doubts, Lex was glad that the limo was about to stop, that the game was about to begin. Besides, he was eager to escape the feeling of claustrophobia that sometimes overcame him when he rode in the back seat of a car.
The car coasted slowly into the interior of the SalyBioTech industrial campus and pulled up a short distance from an imposing aluminum structure. Lex, dressed in his customary black ensemble—black overcoat, black gloves, scarf, black shoes as shiny as a mirror made of tinted Venetian glass—exited the vehicle quickly, almost before the car had come to a complete stop.
"Sir!" Williams called out reproachfully from where he stood by the open door to the driver's seat. Williams had been with the Luthor family for over twenty years; he had been his father's driver up until Lionel's untimely death three years ago. Usually Lex had a greater tolerance for the old man's sense of decorum, but not tonight.
Lex held up a gloved hand. "Wait here," he said, forestalling his chauffeur's rush to his side of the vehicle, and precluding his bodyguard from following him, all with one imperial gesture. "I'll be right back." He turned and walked confidently in the direction of the warehouse. Destiny and Fortune were gods; they steered his every step, they scattered rose petals upon his path.
Rose petals. Right. He smirked as he made his way across the cement byway, aiming for a door on the left side of the building. He located the buzzer, took a moment to remove his leather gloves and put his thoughts in order before pressing the bell. Reaching out, he paused. He felt an odd, feathery feeling along the back of his neck, as if eyes were upon him, watching his movements. Lex glanced around the area quickly, but nothing was out of the ordinary. Nothing. The area was deserted. There was clearly no one watching him. Relax, he told himself sternly. He took a deep breath and ran a hand over his most distinguishing feature, his head—a head that was bald and as smooth as marble. It was a habit, an affectation that always soothed his frayed nerves; it was a gesture that served as a reminder of who he was and what it had taken to get to this point in his life.
He was Senator Alexander Luthor. Lex Luthor. Principal shareholder (held in trust, technically) of Luthor Holdings, Ltd., one of the biggest conglomerates of biotechnology companies in the world, with diversified interests in real estate, oil, mineral mining, pharmaceuticals and prospective science; he was a billionaire business mogul who had been the youngest man to successfully run for a seat on the Kansas state senate at the tender age of 25. He was 31 years old now. In fact, today was his birthday.
Lex pressed the buzzer. Twenty seconds later, the door was answered by a young man in gray coveralls. "This way," he said.
The interior of the facility was dark, quiescent. The young man set a brisk pace, heading towards an island of light on the far side of the building. The interior was huge, the approximate size of an airplane hanger. His guide led him past two of the giant vats that took up about half of the main floor, and Lex noticed smugly that the set-up was a copy of the biotechnical system that LuthorCorp had pioneered three years ago; a system that enabled a company to successfully grow food and fiber indoors, in giant bacteria baths, practically eliminating the need for farmers and soil for the first time in history.
There were two men talking in low tones in an illuminated lab area. One man Lex recognized immediately as Martin Pelter. Martin was the facilitator, a swarthy, annoying individual whom Lex had been working through for the past two years. The other man was a stranger, but Lex knew that he had to be the person he was here to meet, the mysterious Salymar, sole owner of the SalyBioTech Corporation, one of LuthorCorp's principal competitors, not so much in the US, but particularly in many countries such as Saudi Arabia and India. Fahid Salymar was practically a myth in international circles. He never granted interviews, never attended a meeting in person, and never allowed pictures to be taken of himself or his entourage. By all accounts, he was a complete recluse. In fact, the only semi-reliable description to be had of the man was straight out of his dossier at the CIA, and even that description was conflicting. Many people thought the Salymar identity was a front, a sham set up by the same international cartel that allegedly used SalyBioTech as a front for the development of a worldwide bioterrorism program. Lex had no current opinion on the subject. Salymar had access to something Lex needed; the man could be from Mars for all he cared.
Salymar broke off his conversation with Martin and waved a manicured hand at Lex's guide. "Thank you, Michael,” he said. You can go home. I'll show the Senator out." The young man nodded, glancing quickly at Lex before walking away.
"Lex Luthor," the man said, holding out a hand adorned with a large, emerald ring that Lex found almost as astonishing as the man himself. "It is a pleasure to finally meet you. I'm Fahid Salymar."
Salymar was somewhat different from what Lex had expected when he had arranged this meeting. He was young, handsome, with dark wavy hair that reached his shoulders and a closely cropped beard that served to accentuate his fine features rather than hide any defect. His skin was a very light mocha color, and he was smartly dressed in an expensive black suit. He was tall; his voice was rich, resonant, accented, his eyes piercing, unforgettable. Salymar attracted and held his attention the way a magnet attracts metal.
"The pleasure is mine," Lex said as he smiled and shook the man's hand.
"You know Martin."
Lex nodded his head slightly in Martin's direction.
"Can I get you something to drink? Believe it or not, we are fully stocked down here on the work floor. I can get you just about anything you desire."
The implicit invitation was not lost on Lex. He raised an eyebrow speculatively and smiled his patented half smile of interest. But all he said was, "No, thank you. I'm fine." Regretfully, this was not the time for playing games.
Salymar's eyes stayed locked on his face for a moment longer before the man turned away and indicated Lex should follow. "I guess we had better get down to business then," he said.
Lex placed his briefcase carefully on top of a lab table while Salymar walked over to a desk and retrieved a folder from one of the drawers. Looking at the folder in his hand speculatively, Salymar said, "I find it odd that you would be willing to risk your career for a set of calculations."
"I guess it would be odd, if I were actually risking my career," Lex replied, cocking a self-assured eyebrow. "Fortunately, I'm in no jeopardy."
"Would that we were all so confident. Might I ask, though, what is the purpose of this...?" Salymar waved the folder for emphasis.
Lex walked over to him and stood, staring. "You could ask. It would be more than I am willing to discuss, however. Suffice to say that one of my companies is working on a new venture. Those calculations are a key component."
"I see." Salymar's voice was soft. "Must be an important project."
Lex did not comment. "If you don't mind," he said instead, "I'd like to take a look at those figures."
"Of course." Salymar motioned for Lex to sit and use the desk.
Lex held his breath as Salymar offered him the manila folder, had to stop his hand from shaking as he grasped it and sat down in the nearest chair. Reverently, he began to flip through the pages, mentally verifying that the calculations seemed accurate, scanning the figures for the key components that had eluded his own scientists. He found them. It was all so clear now that he could see the computations worked out in black and white. His heart started to pound, the blood roared in his ears like a runaway train as he followed the line of analysis. Of course! Lex was enough of a scientist to appreciate the pure genius that was evident in the work.
This is it then, he realized as his grip tightened on the page. This was the start—the fruit of all his machinations. These flimsy sheets of paper that he so casually flipped through his fingers were the culmination of five years of frustrating planning, five years of inept scientific experimentation, of dead ends and a slew of unsavory associations. Finally, he was holding in his hands the justification for his latest deal with the devil. These calculations would allow Remy to complete the Janus Project—the project that would bankrupt LuthorCorp's two closest competitors, which would negate Wayne BioTech's stranglehold on the patents for weather-resistant corn and wheat. Negate. Like those patents had never existed.
These innocuous calculations would usher in a new age of biotechnical engineering, with LuthorCorp firmly ensconced at the forefront. Forever.
Lex let a slow, satisfied smile cross his face as he looked up from the folder and rose to his feet. "Let's finish this," he said as he walked over to the table where he had placed his briefcase.
The briefcase was bio-locked. Salymar watched as Lex entered his passcode into the keypad and pressed his left thumb to the tracker. There was a moment's hesitation as the mini-computer in the case assessed his body heat level and matched code specifications. Salymar stepped forward eagerly as the electronic lock slid open.
"Twenty-four ounces of weapons-grade plutonium, Pu-239 with only three percent Pu-240. Very pure, and exactly as we agreed," Lex said.
Salymar nodded his head as he inspected the sealed lead container that rendered the radiation from the nuclear by-product relatively harmless.
"It is exactly what I said it would be," Lex assured him. "Double-crossing you would be of little benefit to me."
Salymar nodded.
"You can keep the case," Lex said as he took a step backwards. Now that the transaction was complete, he was eager to leave. "It's reprogrammable while it's open and is specially designed to protect the carrier against the radiation from the plutonium," he explained. "Can't be too careful."
Salymar placed the plutonium back in the briefcase and turned toward Lex. "Senator," he began with a wry smile, "you have managed to surprise me. My associates did not think even you would be able to pry so much plutonium from the US military without raising unmanageable suspicions regarding its potential use, jeopardizing your career and your personal freedom." He sighed softly, sounding strangely regretful. His eyes studied Lex's face intently. "Yes. Your project must be very important to you, my friend. Believe me, I am sorry you will not get to see its fruition."
Clearly, something was about to go south on him, and Lex looked around quickly, noted Martin standing quietly off to the side. "What do you mean?" he said.
"I . . . regret . . . that I cannot let you leave here. Although it has been a pleasure meeting you—and under other circumstances," he paused, "I would have liked to get to know you better—it has been decided that your continued involvement in this transaction would not be prudent."
"Wait a minute." Lex raised a hand, pointed at Salymar. "We had an agreement."
"We did," Salymar agreed. "But what if you were suddenly afflicted with an attack of conscience, tried to warn other people in your government about this transaction? That would ruin everything my associates and I have worked so hard to accomplish all of these years. So you see, we can't let you leave here."
Lex backed away. "Son of a bitch--do you think you can just kill a US Senator and get away with it?"
"Don't worry, Senator. We have someone who is going to go to jail for your murder. It has already been arranged. He will be arrested and tried, and will finally confess to committing the act for a reason that has nothing to do with this transaction. I am sure he will be incarcerated for at least ten years, so, in a way, you will be avenged."
Salymar nodded his head and backed away. It was clearly some sort of signal, and Lex just wanted to laugh out loud at the irony of it all. Seemed he had outsmarted himself this time. The very precautions he had taken for his own protection—not wanting to know what the plutonium was going to be used for or who was going to use it, not asking any questions—were the very things that had put him so far out on a limb. He had been so close to his goal! Laughter bubbled up in his chest; it was about to break the surface.
Lex heard the gunshot an eternity before he felt the pressure, actually saw the bullet spiraling towards his head in a sort of cinematic non-time—the action slowed to a crawl, somehow seeming outside of reality. What would it take to stop time? Run it backward? Get on and off of it like a train, at any stop, anywhere, on any day? He had been so close! He felt something slam into his body, knocking him aside, and experienced pain as his eyes widened in shock. Who? Then he was falling, and there was blood. There was blood in his eyes, and everything was tinged a bright, reckless red.
Kent. The reporter? The Daily Planet. What...?
Bemused, miles away from reality, Lex attempted to order his body to move, but the action could not be dredged up out of the quicksand that seemed to be all around him, pulling him down. His arms and legs refused obedience. There was noise, somewhere, angry noise, fading off into the distance. But the noise was not anything that could save him, was not anything that his hands could latch onto, as his head slipped quietly beneath the surface.
***
"Lex." Someone was slapping his face. Slapping— "Senator!"
"Stop." Lex reached a hand out, halting the stinging sensation.
"You have to get up!"
Lex opened his eyes slowly. "Peters?" His bodyguard was leaning over him. Dazedly, Lex realized his head was resting in the man's lap. "What...?" What had happened to him?
"I don't know, sir." Peters looked down at him with concern. "You tell me."
Lex struggled to sit up. He was covered in blood, and it seemed to be his own. He wiped a hand over his eyes, trying to clear his vision. His head was killing him.
"Take it easy," Peters said as he helped Lex prop himself up. "A bullet grazed your temple. There's a lot of blood, but I don't think it's serious."
The memory of recent events flooded his mind. Lex blinked twice, looking around and trying to get his bearings. He and Peters were sitting on the ground by the side of one of the tall vats. Lex could see the illuminated area where he had been talking to Salymar, could see the streak of blood that must have been caused by Peters dragging him to a more secure location. He saw two inert bodies on the floor, but from his position he couldn't tell their identities. Salymar and Martin? He didn’t see his briefcase anywhere in his line of sight.
"Williams is dead," Peters said with a slight pressure on his arm.
His chauffeur. Dead? Lex struggled to process the implications around the knot that formed in his chest. "Tell me," Lex said shortly.
Peters ran a hand through his hair. "I don't know, sir. One minute we were sitting in the car waiting for you, the next we were being attacked. The car was shot up . . . Williams was hit. Somehow I managed to get out of the car in one piece. Just by luck, really." He exhaled harshly. "I got those bastards, though."
Lex nodded his head, glad for at least that much retribution.
"There was nothing I could do," Edward continued, "and I knew you'd need help. A kid was leaving the building. I took him out. When I got in here, you were already down and those two guys over there," he nodded his head in the direction of the two prone bodies, "were out cold. I finished them off and came to see to you. There was blood all over the place." He paused. "I thought you were dead."
Lex didn’t want Peters to know how close he had come to believing the same thing. "Well, at least you're not saying, 'I told you so.'" Lex smiled at the man, attempting to reassure him even though he felt his own equilibrium was at risk. "You saved my life," Lex added quietly. "Thank you. I won't forget it." Peters returned his smile but quickly turned serious when Lex said, "I need to go over there." Lex pointed at the dead bodies. "Then we have to get out of here. The sooner the better, I think."
"Sir," Peters said, shaking his head, "I don't think we can make it out of here by ourselves. We don't know where the shooters are holed up. The car is a no-go. Even if we get out of the building, how are we going to get through the gate? I didn't see anybody else around to raise an alarm, but we really don't know what's going on here." He paused. "Do we?"
"Not exactly." Lex sighed as he felt in his coat pocket for his phone. Damn! He was going to have to call in reinforcements. Discretion would be shot to hell. "Okay," he said as he started dialing, "we won't try to get out. We'll wait here, call for some help, maybe a helicopter." He scowled. He hated helicopters. And there would be questions…. Then again, it wasn't as if there was a person alive whose silence couldn't be bought.
Telephone conversation finished, troops on the way, Lex knew that he and Peters just had to sit tight until the cavalry arrived. There was only one more thing he had to do. "I have to check out those bodies.”
His bodyguard looked at him askance but did not argue. "Take this," he said as he passed Lex a sleek .45 automatic. "I don't think there's anyone else in here but I'll cover you, just in case."
Slipping the gun into the waistband of his slacks, Lex shrugged out of his coat and suit jacket, using the latter to rid his hands and face of residual blood. Taking a deep breath, he set off, keeping to the shadows, moving to and from anything that could provide him cover. Reaching the first dead body, he identified him. Martin. Lex fished in his pockets and retrieved the man's wallet. He moved to the next body. Surprisingly, the second man was not Salymar, and Lex's heart plummeted to his feet at the realization that Salymar was still alive somewhere. Lex did not recognize this dead man. He looked around quickly. It seemed clear to him that this unidentified man had been the shooter. In fact, it looked as if he must have fallen—or been thrown—off of the catwalk that ringed the building. That meant that there was at least one, maybe two more people whose whereabouts were still unknown. Lex retrieved the man's wallet then quickly inspected his surroundings. It was just as he suspected. His briefcase was gone, including the plutonium. His gaze swept the floor in the area where he had been standing, took in the large bloodstain, noticed . . . Was that…?
Amazed, Lex stumbled across the floor, falling onto his hands and knees. He reached under the table and retrieved the folder. The folder with the calculations that would change everything. He couldn't help himself—he started to laugh. Loudly. Uncontrollably. He saw Peters waving at him frantically from across the way, but Lex couldn't stop himself. He hugged the file to his chest and laughed at his good fortune, his sheer, dumb luck. He always seemed to have an angel on his shoulder, or a devil—some supernatural being akin to Destiny and Fortune, the deities who watched over him, made sure that he always landed on his feet, that he always came out on top.
It wasn't until after they had made it out and safely away, in the dark hour right before daybreak—when he was at home, staring into the fireplace, sipping tea and picking through the events of the evening, trying to remember exactly what had happened, what had gone wrong—that he suddenly captured the flittering, forgotten bit that had been teasing the edges of his mind since he had regained consciousness. It was a memory, a pressure. Color—in a world bereft of color. Blue. Shades of blue. Eyes. Eyes that seared. Eyes that seared his soul.
Startled, a sudden tightness gripped the pit of his stomach as he isolated the memory, dissected it; he examined its implications from every remarkable angle. Lex got up slowly from his chair and crossed the room to the telephone. He needed to get in touch with his assistant and the need was a like a quick rush of adrenaline. He briefly considered calling her at home then disregarded the thought as impractical. A glance at the clock confirmed that it was too early; it was five in the morning. "Dammit," he said aloud, frustrated, as he realized that there was nothing she could really do for him until after nine anyway.
After a moment's consideration, he dialed a number at LuthorCorp and left a message on her voicemail. "Althea," he said, "I need a full report on Clark Kent, reporter for The Daily Planet. Background, what he's into—everything. As soon as possible. And cancel all of my morning appointments. I'll be out at the lab all day. Please call Victoria and have her meet me there by ten. I also need to see Jason. Tell him to be in my office on the east campus at four. No excuses."
The phone call had partially relieved the pressure to do something immediately about the fact that Clark Kent—the goddamn reporter!—had not only been a witness to the events at SalyBioTech, but had also effectively saved his life. The ramifications would surely have a staggering effect on his plans, on his career. The thought worried him, made him anxious in a new and uncomfortable way, but Lex took a deep breath and steeled himself to patience. He had a lot of confidence in his people; they were all very good at their jobs and could be relied upon to dig up every piece of dirt in existence on Kent—dirt that could be used to keep the man under wraps, no matter what he had seen or overheard. By the end of the day, he would know exactly what was going on, and as soon as he had the proper information, he would take steps to regain control of a situation that threatened to spiral out of control.
Somewhat mollified and nursing this small feeling of relief, Lex walked over to the large patio doors and opened them. He stepped out into the twilight and studied the slowly brightening sky as the wild, blustery wind blew cold against his face—the icy cold wind that brought with it questions, and a bright, auspicious dawn.