The Death and Life of Superman (38 page)

Far below the surface of Centennial Park, Supergirl carefully picked her way through a maze of caverns, wishing that she’d brought a flashlight.

The steep walk down the shaft had been no problem; the shaft’s glossy sides had diffused remarkably well the lighting from the crypt and its antechamber. But the lower end of the shaft had opened into the caves, and the caves rapidly swallowed up most of the light.
A flashlight? I wish I had a miner’s helmet!

She expanded her eyes to four times their normal size to collect as much as possible of the dim light that still remained. “Are you still reading me, Lex?” In the still of the caverns, Supergirl kept her commentary to a hushed whisper without even being aware that she’d lowered her voice. “I can’t hear you, but I guess that doesn’t necessarily mean that you can’t hear me. The shaft that led down from the crypt was about a hundred yards long, but what’s really surprising is that it was started down here in these caves. I never knew there was anything like this under Metropolis. Wait a minute. I think I hear something.” Supergirl stopped and listened intently. She could definitely hear footsteps behind her not far away, and there was a pale glow coming from just around the bend. Slowly, silently, she glided down the cave, heading toward the sound.

Suddenly a bright light washed over Supergirl, momentarily dazzling her in its brilliance. She whipped up her cape to shield her eyes as they shrank back to their normal dimensions.

From farther down in the cave came a string of colorful expletives, and the voice that gave them breath sounded vaguely familiar.

“Inspector Turpin?”

“What the hell are you?! How do you know me?”

“It’s me—Supergirl.” She lowered her cape and gave the old cop her sweetest smile.

Turpin approached slowly with his pistol drawn and flashlight just slightly lowered now. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph—it
is
you! You gave me quite a scare, li’l lady. For a minute there, I coulda sworn your eyes were as big as dinner plates.”

“Uh, yes, well . . .”

“What’re you doin’ down here?”

“I might ask you the same, Inspector.”

“I came to check out something fishy that happened in the park, and it led me down a hole under Superman’s crypt—which was empty, I might add! I don’t suppose you could tell me anything about that?”

“Not much, Inspector. Sounds like we both answered alarms in the night, but I’m about as much in the dark as you are. I discovered Superman’s body was missing and followed a shaft down to—to wherever it is we are now. Did you know there were caves like this under the city?”

Turpin scratched his chin. “Seems to me I remember hearing something about caves when I was a boy. Something to do with how they screwed up some aqueducts the city was trying to build.”

Turpin’s flashlight began to flicker. “No-good cheap batteries!” He shook the lamp angrily, and it blinked out. “Oh, this is just dandy! Now we’re really in the dark!”

“Not to worry!” Supergirl took him by the hand. “I think I remember the way back.”

From midtown, a black stretch limousine sped northwest across Metropolis, as if racing the dawn. In the back of the limo, Luthor sat silently fuming as Sydney Happersen did his best to reassure his employer.

“Really, Mister L, there’s probably nothing to worry about!”

“Nothing, Happersen? Superman’s body is missing from its tomb!”

Happersen flinched and glanced at the privacy window. It was sealed, of course; their driver hadn’t heard a word. Happersen had checked the window himself, twice, before they’d set out, but he couldn’t stop himself from checking again.
I’ll be checking under my own bed next.

He cleared his throat. “Grave robbers, sir. Some nut cases have stolen the body—that’s the answer, pure and simple! After all, Superman had a lot of enemies. You weren’t the only one who wanted him dead.”

Happersen reached up under his glasses to rub the sleep from his eyes. “You saw the news footage of Superman’s battle with that Doomsday creature. He couldn’t possibly have faked his death!”

“No, Happersen? I faked mine!” Luthor stared out at the city, his city, as it flashed by. “Could Superman have found that out? Could he have set all this up to catch me off guard?”

“Mr. L, that’s highly unlikely—!”

“But not impossible, Happersen! Nothing is impossible for men of power.”

The car phone buzzed, and Luthor switched on the speaker. “Yes?”

“Lex! At last!” The relief in Supergirl’s voice came across loud and clear. “I was afraid my headset had gone completely on the fritz. How much of my report got back to you?”

“Your signal faded out as you descended the tunnel, love. What did you find?”

“Not much. Mainly a series of caves—and Police Inspector Turpin.”

“Turpin?!” Luthor’s face flashed red as he struggled to maintain his calm. “Then the police know of Superman’s disappearance?”

“Yes. In fact, more of them are arriving now. Do you want me to return to the tower?”

“No! No, I’m en route to the tomb now with Doctor Happersen. He has some equipment that should aid in the investigation. Just stay put. We should be there soon.”

Luthor turned to his aide. “Well, the fat’s in the fire now, Sydney.”

Minutes later, at Luthor’s direction, the limousine pulled up to the curb on the edge of the park. Happersen spoke not a word as he pulled a backpack of electronic gear from the trunk, and the two men set off on foot for the tomb. At the east retaining wall, they found two uniformed officers of the Special Crimes Unit standing guard.

One of the officers recognized Luthor and gestured toward the grate. “We were told to expect you, gentlemen. Go on in. You
do
know the way, don’t you?”

Luthor answered the sarcasm with a wry chuckle and his best corporate smile. “I believe the officer’s having a bit of sport with us, Sydney.” As he led the way down the incline, he lowered his voice to a bare whisper. “Did you get his badge number?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good; we’ll deal with him later.”

When Luthor and Happersen finally reached the antechamber, they found Supergirl waiting patiently for them, along with Inspector Turpin, another SCU uniformed officer, and Captain Margaret Sawyer.

Supergirl looked up as they approached. “Lex, there you are!”

“Hello, love . . . Captain Sawyer . . . Inspector Turpin. I believe you all know my senior science advisor, Dr. Sydney Happersen. Beastly night for such a thing, eh?”

“Is there ever a good time to investigate a grave robbery?” Sawyer fixed him with an icy stare. “Mister Luthor, in all my many years in police work, I’d never before seen a tomb with access vents and secret tunnels. I’d like to hear your explanation for this setup!”

Give ’im hell, Maggie!
Turpin tipped his derby forward, trying hard not to show how much he enjoyed hearing her read Luthor the riot act.
I got me a feeling this slippery cuss has been playin’ fast and loose way too long!

Luthor was the picture of humility. “I assure you, Captain Sawyer, I never meant for anything to disturb the integrity of Superman’s final resting place.” He gestured to the walls around them. “This section of Centennial Park, you see, was recently refurbished under a LexCorp grant. Originally, a time capsule was to be buried here, hence this ‘setup,’ as you called it. After Superman’s untimely death, the foundations proved the ideal structural support for his crypt. True, this access corridor wasn’t public knowledge, but there was absolutely no intention of subterfuge! And from what I’ve gathered, this access was not involved in the removal of Superman’s body.” Luthor turned to Supergirl. “That
is
the case, is it not?”

“As far as I can tell, Lex.”

“Well, then, let’s have a closer look, shall we?” He gestured to the open hatchway. “Dr. Happersen, if you would do the honors—?”

Moments later, Happersen looked up from the edge of the hole in the wall. “You were right, Supergirl. From the scoring and the rubble, it’s obvious that this crypt was broken
into,
not out of! Given the amount of rock they had to go through, whoever did this had access to some pretty high-tech gear. You say that the other end of the shaft is an underground cave?”

Supergirl nodded. “More like a series of caves, Doctor. In fact, there are two major branches, splitting off from each other. Between the two of us, the Inspector and I pretty much checked out one fork, and all we found was a dead end.”

Luthor stroked his beard thoughtfully. “Then I’d say it’s incumbent upon us to search the remaining fork at once! Superman’s body must be found. You do agree, Captain?”

“I certainly do.”
I don’t trust you or your flunky any farther than I can throw you
,
but I’m not about to turn down your help—or Supergirl’s.
Sawyer turned to her uniformed officer. “Break out some more flashlights, Ramirez. We’re going back down.”

The Guardian left the monorail dock and sprinted down the Cadmus Project’s huge central corridor. He could feel something tugging at him, as if leading him to where he was most needed.
Dubbilex’s doing, no doubt.
Within minutes he came upon the telepath and the five department heads crowded around a huge security door.

The sight gave him pause.
Yes, they’re all here.
Anthony Rodrigues and Pat Macguire had the lock panel off the door and were fiddling with its internal circuits, while John Gabrielli focused a pocket flash on their work. Tom Tompkins and Walter Johnson stood on the periphery; both men were visibly agitated. The Guardian was so used to being around the young clones of these men that seeing “his boys” all grown up was momentarily disorienting.

“Dubbilex! What in blazes is going on?”

“Our Mr. Westfield has sealed himself off in Lab Seven with an advanced study team in violation of all known protocols!” Dubbilex nervously chewed at the end of one fingernail. The Guardian had never seen the DNAlien in such a lather before.

Tompkins was more forceful in his accusations. “Westfield’s pulling some kind of fast one, Jim! He has to be! He’s even set up psionic buffers around the lab so Dubbilex couldn’t probe it!”

Walt Johnson nervously flipped the button of a ballpoint pen. “It doesn’t look good, Guardian. Pat and Anthony are trying to override the security locks, but—!”

“Success!” Anthony Rodrigues stepped back as the security door began cycling open. “Gentlemen, we have ingress!”

The seven men crowded through the door, Dubbilex at the forefront. Three feet into the lab, they all came to a dead halt. Before them, Paul Westfield and a group of geneticists in surgical greens were clustered around an examination table—upon which lay the body of Superman!

The Guardian exploded. “Westfield, you damned ghoul! No wonder my leave was granted so quickly—you
wanted
me away from the Project, didn’t you? You wanted me out of here, to make sure that I wouldn’t catch on to your infernal scheme!”

Westfield stepped in front of Harper, blocking his path into the lab. “The research under way here is not your concern, Guardian. I suggest that you refrain from any thoughts of interference.”

“Not my concern?! You steal the body of the world’s greatest hero—you commandeer Project facilities and enlist Project personnel for—for God only knows what you plan to do!—and you have the unmitigated gall to tell me it’s not my concern?!”

“Spare me the histrionics, Guardian!” Westfield crossed his arms defiantly. “This is a sensitive scientific operation of the highest possible priority. I have no desire to stand here and listen to a lot of insubordinate moralizing!”

“You don’t want to listen? Fine! I’ll make my point another way!” The Guardian leapt at Westfield, grabbing the Project administrator by his tie and shirt collar, and hoisted him up off the floor with one hand. The security chief balled his other hand up into a fist and was about to let it fly when the others finally grabbed hold of him.

“Guardian, no!” It was all Dubbilex could do to hold back his friend’s arm. “Jim, this isn’t the way—!”

“Maybe not the best way, Dub, but our esteemed administrator here just made it the only way!” The Guardian locked eyes with Westfield. “So I’m insubordinate, am I? The President himself ordered you to cease all attempts to claim Superman’s body—”

“N-n-no. N-not exactly.” Westfield was starting to turn red. “My orders said to allow Metropolis to hold their funeral. I—I interpreted that to mean . . . once the services were over . . . my original authorization to collect and study alien decedents w-would resume.”

Westfield made a strained choking noise as the Guardian tightened his grip.

“So you just took it upon yourself to do a little grave robbing, is that it? You are really some piece of work, Westfield! Just what did you have in mind for Superman? Were you afraid you’d miss your chance to preside over the dissection of the last Kryptonian?”

“No, you fool! Think. We could re-create Superman! Bring him back to life—as you were brought back!”

“Clone a new Superman?!” John Gabrielli’s eyebrows seemed about to leap off his forehead. “You can’t be serious!”

“Hold it, John.” Tom put a hand on his old buddy’s arm. “Maybe he’s on to something!”

That was too much for Pat MacGuire. “Tompkins, you’re as nutty as he is! The procedures you used to save the Guardian were experimental, and we had a living template to work from! Superman is dead—and an alien! Who knows what we’d wind up with if we tried to replicate him?!”

“Who knows, indeed.” Walt Johnson started tapping his chin with his pen. “Still, if there’s a chance, even a slight chance of success . . .”

The Guardian was so shocked that he lost his grip and let Westfield fall, stumbling, to the floor. “I can’t believe I’m hearing this!” He turned to Dr. Rodrigues, looking for a voice of reason. “All questions of ethics aside, you’ve told me how touch and go my rebirth was. My body might just as easily have wound up as twisted and misshapen as—as some of those poor creatures Dabney Donovan created. And Pat’s right! Even if you succeeded in cloning Superman, he wouldn’t
be
Superman. You don’t have his mind to plug into a new body.”