Issue #5

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"Road Trip"
Part 2: Man Hunt!

by Chuck Burke

In the early morning hours of a late-March Sunday, a black Jeep makes its way along the New York State Thruway.

"I've got it!" says a sleepy yet exuberant Benny Jackson. "I knew that semester in Information Science would pay off sometime!" Ted Grant glances over from his seat behind the wheel to see that the laptop computer Benny has been tinkering with is now connected, albeit slowly, to the Internet via a cellular modem.

"Perfect." says Ted. "Here's the address for the maps that Oracle posted." He hands his friend a slip of paper.

"I'll call them up. Who, or what, is this 'Oracle' anyway?" says Benny, typing away at the keyboard.

"Oracle is an information service that us costumed types use. Keeps track of the bad guys, the good guys, useful bits of information like where to find the Secretary General of the United Nations. Little things like that." Despite the hectic day and night they've spent, Ted smiles. "Should be getting back to me any time now about our mysterious host."

Ted is referring, of course, to Kirk Paulie, the owner of the Good Winds Lodge. After a run-in with a pair of murderous poachers the day before, Ted and Benny, along with Toby Barnes and Abby Walker, had been relaxing at the lodge when Kirk mysteriously took off. Ted caught a glimpse of him in a strange, red and white costume just before he leaped from a second floor window and drove off. Now, at the request of Paulie's housekeeper, they are trying to track him down.

"I don't get it, Ted. What's the deal with the UN Secretary?"

"I'm not sure myself, Benny, but that list I found looked like a target list. It was a list of famous people, some by name, and others by office. Each one had an odd phrase associated with it, like some kind of code. I recognized a phrase from that news report on there, and it was next to the phrase "United Nations Secretary General. It smells like a -" Ted stops as his own cell phone rings. He grabs it. "I hope that's you, Oracle. Anyone else calling at this hour is likely to get decked."

"Good morning to you, too, Wildcat." comes the soft voice of Oracle over the phone. "I think I have something for you. Do you have the laptop that you mentioned hooked up yet?"

"Yeah, we're all connected. You have something for me to look at?"

"Jump to www.delphiconsulting.net/mugshots/cat1.jpg. Is that your man?"

"Hang on a sec." Ted relays the address to Benny. "Coming up now, and, yes! That's him! What have you got on him?"

"This could get messy, 'Cat. I know you've got help along on this one. You want to put it in a speaker so you don't have to repeat it?"

Ted drops the phone into a holder on the dashboard. "You're on, Oracle. You guys awake back there?" Ted calls over his shoulder.

From the back seat come sleepy rumbles from Toby and Abby. "Yeah, let's hear what we've got on this guy." says Abby.

"Kirk Paulie is actually Paul Kirk. aka Manhunter."

"Wait a second! He's older than I am. My real age, that is! This guy can't be more than about forty."

"You're proof yourself that people in this business don't age normally, Wildcat. Actually, though, you aren't dealing with the real Paul Kirk. He died in 1946."

"Huh? Then who's this guy?" asks Benny.

"Hang on a moment." says the disembodied voice of Oracle. "Paul Kirk was officially killed by a stampeding elephant in 1946, but his body was recovered before death by an organization called The Council. They were a sort of early think-tank back in the 1940's, who got to thinking that neither side was right in World War II. They set themselves up on an island and set about plotting a world takeover."

"Sounds like a great bunch of guys." says Toby, still rousing himself from sleep.

"From what's been pieced together, they managed to preserve Kirk, eventually healing the injuries that lead to his near death, and they cloned him. Several hundred clones from what's been found. Kirk himself resumed his identity as Manhunter a few years ago, and with the help of Batman he wiped out the Council and the clones. Kirk died during the final confrontation, according to the account I have from Batman."

"Looks like either he survived, or one of the clones did." says Abby.

"Yes. A year after Kirk's death, one of the clones was involved with a secret society of villains, and was destroyed during a battle with, um-"

"Sensitive material?" asks Ted.

"Yeah, let's just say we know this one isn't coming back, according to Captain Comet."

"Hard to dispute that source." says Abby. Ted shoots her a sidelong glance, one eyebrow raised.

"How about that list I gave you? Any idea what that's about?"

"Wildcat, those clones were meant to be an enforcement arm of the Council. Several were trained to act as assassins. A couple more of them have been sighted during the past five years, but none were captured, so there's no telling how many are out there."

"Assassins. Targets tracked with code phrases. Could those be trigger phrases for sleepers?" asks Ted.

"I hate to say it, but yes." says the disembodied voice.

"Okay, then. See what you can find out about the Secretary General. If this guy thinks like the Paul Kirk I knew, we probably won't have much luck tracking him. So we'll try watching his target, instead."

"Sounds like a plan, Wildcat. I'll get back to you as soon as I have something. Be careful, mister." This is followed by the click of a phone line disconnecting.

"Okay, Ted, you wanna fill me in here? What the heck is a 'sleeper'?" asks Benny.

"A sleeper agent is someone who is hypnotized and their mission is planted in their subconscious. A trigger phrase is implanted so that, at the desired time, the agent remembers the mission and is compelled to carry it out." answers Abby from the back seat. Ted glances in the rear-view mirror, and in the dim light from the laptop he can see her smiling.

"I didn't know you were into intelligence work, Lieutenant." he says with a grin.

"I'm not. I just enjoy spy thrillers. And it looks like I'm right in the middle of one now."

"Grant here."

There is a pause as a voice recognition system analyzes the sound of his voice. He recognizes the added security measure, and waits for the voice from the other end.

"Take it off the speaker." The voice is rough, as though the speaker does not normally want his voice heard.

"Just you and me, pal. To what do I owe the honor?" Abby starts to laugh at the expression on his face, but he slices a hand through the air to silence her.

"I can't break away from the Watchtower, or I would meet you in New York. I don't know what this Manhunter clone is up to, but he is dangerous. Paul Kirk was one of the most skilled fighters I've ever known."

"Funny, I thought you would say the same about me. But I do appreciate your concern."

There is a pause at the other end. "I do. But you don't come armed to the teeth. He does." Another pause, and Ted realizes that there is more than the usual brusqueness at work here. "Look, the group that he stands for took a good man, a good friend, and destroyed him. Don't let him get away." One final pause. "Please."

Ted is impressed. Such common courtesies are usually beyond this caller's grasp. "I will. I'll let you know where to pick him up."

"Thank you, Wildcat. Oracle has some information for you, I'll switch you over."

There is a brief crackle of static, then the softer tones of the information broker are on the line.

"'Cat, the Secretary is in New York today, and he has a pretty light schedule. Whenever he's in town, Secretary Tunin spends Sunday afternoons at the home of his cousin Pavel Tunin. That's a penthouse overlooking the east end of Central Park. A map and building diagrams are being uploaded to the web as we speak."

"Okay. And what if this Manhunter doesn't try for him there? Do you know where he'll be later?"

"At six o'clock, he is due at a benefit dinner for the Unite Nations Children's Fund, at the Harcourt Plaza Hotel. That should occupy him until at least nine or ten."

Ted passes the information along to Abby, as well as to Benny in the driver's seat. Benny glances back at him. "Head for Central Park, then?"

"See if you can find a Techno Shack along the way, bud. There's a couple items we might need."

His attention is focused on the sprawling residence that perches atop the four-story apartment building across the road. It is one of the smaller buildings in the district, but that isn't what matters. What matters is that it is the home of elderly international financier Pavel Tunin, who this afternoon plays host to his nephew Oktay Tunin. What matters is that, this day, Oktay Tunin is slated to die.

Like any intelligent predator, the hunter is fully aware of his surroundings. A part of his mind notes the passing of the black Jeep on the street below, and a smaller part notes the similarity it bears to one that he saw just yesterday. The logical part of his mind tells him that the previous sighting took place almost 300 miles away, and rationalizes that it must be a coincidence. He cannot divert his attention from the mission for a mere coincidence.

Wildcat takes the high road, racing up the fire escape of an adjoining building to get an overall view of the situation.

"Wish we coulda contacted the Secretary, but what could we tell him? That the evil clone of a guy who died half a century ago is coming to kill him because of a hypnotic suggestion planted by a bunch of would-be rulers of the world? Sheesh, I don't think even Mammoth Studios would have bought that plot!" he says under his breath as he leans over the cornice and looks down at the penthouse below him. He has chosen this building because it is the only one that overlooks Tunin's residence, but is still low enough to let him leap down there if necessary. He moves from one end of the roof to another, so he can check the side facing Central Park. That is when he spies the flash of red in a place that should be all brown and green.

"Abby, see if you can check out a tree along the street. There's an old green Dodge parked under it." he says into a hand-held radio set. Lacking phones for all of the group, he settled for the cheap consumer radios that families usually buy to keep tabs on the kids. Each of his team has one.

"I see the car. Too open around that tree, I can't get in close, but I think I see something up there." She is quiet, and Wildcat can hear her steps on the cold ground. "Yes, there is someone up there, in red and white. He's rising up on the branch, and looking at something."

"Up my way?" Wildcat instinctively ducks down behind the stonework.

"No, the building on the other side. He's raising a rifle and -"

Wildcat didn't wait for the rest. Thinking he might be lining up for a shot on Oktay Tunin, he vaults over the edge of the building and dives down, over the street and through the trees. It's a risky move, but he isn't aiming directly for Kirk. He sees the branch he wants, and stretches his hands for it. The radio drops from his hand, shattering somewhere below. He imagines that he can see Kirk's finger tightening on the trigger, and thinks he is too late. However, he has not reckoned with the genetic enhancements introduced by the Council; the Manhunter clone hears him coming, and turns just in time to see Wildcat grab the branch and swing his legs down and into the clone's startled face.

"OOMMPPHH!" cries Paul Kirk as they tumble to the ground below. Before either of them recovers, Abby is there, her service revolver held in two steady hands, her eyes locked on them.

"Okay, Kirk Paulie, or Paul Kirk, or whoever you are. Don't move a muscle." He nods a weary assent, and she looks to the black-clad hero. "You okay, Wildcat?"

"I've been better, Lieutenant. You get a make on that other guy?"

"I only got a quick look, but the face was sure familiar. Benny picked him up on the other side when he took off. He's trying to keep up."

Wildcat extricates himself from the tangle and gets to his feet. He offers a hand to Paul Kirk and helps him up.

"You saw him, then." he says, his voice low.

"I did." says Abby. "If I didn't already know about the cloning, I would chalk it up to excitement. But I did see another of you up on that rooftop, didn't I?" Both men nod. "Okay, Wildcat, how did you know?"

"It hit me while I was up on the roof. If I was going to try to shoot someone in the penthouse, I wouldn't be perched in a tree at the second story level. But if I was watching for someone trying to reach that penthouse, and especially if I knew how that person would approach it, sitting below made sense."

Kirk smiles. "Nice detective work. Anything else?"

"Well, if you're carrying around the instructions for your assassination assignment in your head, why would you need a list of the targets and the code phrases lying around?"

Abby's eyes light up with realization and she lowers the pistol. "You wouldn't. But if you were trying to track down a bunch of sleeper agents, such a list would come in handy! You're trying to stop the other clone, aren't you? But why?"

"That's a long story, and every minute we talk is a longer head start for my quarry."

"Never mind." says Abby, her radio to her ear. "Benny says the guy ran down into a subway station, jumped to the top of a train that was pulling out. He's lost him."

Wildcat and Manhunter look at each other. "Not likely to try again here. He'll wait until the big party tonight, don't you think?" The Manhunter nods agreement. "Then what say we sit down, fill each other in on what we know, and rest up for the main event. I know a place nearby where we can grab a bite and catch our breath."

"Okay, let me get this straight. The original Manhunter was a good guy. The clones are bad guys. Except that you are a clone, and you're a good guy?" says Benny Jackson.

"I don't know if most people would think of me as a good guy. But I'm not like the other clones. I never got indoctrinated with the Council's philosophy."

"Why not?" asks Ted, now sans costume.

"First, you have to understand the cloning process used by the Council. Their goal was to create an army with the martial skills of Paul Kirk. To do that, the clones had to have all of his memories and skills. So, they developed a cloning process that completely replicated the brain structure, with all memories and synaptic paths intact, of the original at the time the cloned tissue sample was taken. The cloning process takes about three months, from test tube to a fully generated clone. At that time, the clone is a fully grown exact duplicate of Paul Kirk at the time of his apparent death in 1946."

"So you aren't created with the instinct of a homicidal foot soldier?"

The clone ignores Benny's attempt at humor. "No. After being released from the artificial womb where the clone is generated, it would be subjected to a combination of chemical and traditional hypnosis and behavioral modification techniques. These were used to instill a to-the-death loyalty to the Council, and to 'program' certain clones for their sleeper missions."

"But you didn't get the treatment," says Toby. "or else it didn't take with you."

"I woke up from the generation process on the day that the Council's island headquarters was destroyed. The clone laboratory was in the mountains of Turkiye. When communication from the Council's headquarters was cut off, the staff at the clone lab deserted it. I awoke to find an empty lab, with several clones still in their wombs. Not knowing, at first, that I was a clone, I thought that I might have suffered a head injury and had temporary amnesia. Since it looked like I might have been on a mission at the time, I started searching the place. What I found shocked me. I realized that I had been created as a part of an organization that made the Third Reich look like a Sunday School picnic. I took all of the diskettes and records that I could carry, then blew up the lab. It's buried under a couple tons of rock now. Since then, I've been watching for other clones, and eliminating them." Kirk takes a long drink from his coffee cup.

"Eliminating? Killing them?" Ted asks.

"Look, I understand your feelings about killing. Paul Kirk felt that way once. Then he spent two years behind enemy lines in Europe and the south Pacific, followed by a private war with the Council. You learn that killing certain enemies is the best thing that can be done with them. For yourself, for society, and for your enemy."

Ted Grant lays a hand across Paul's wrist. "I don't have a problem with that. I've been through enough to know what's necessary. I'm curious, though. How many have you killed?"

"Six, in seven years. The base in Turkiye was only for creating and programming the clones, not for tracking their whereabouts. I have no idea how many are out there, or where they are." Another drink from the coffee mug, draining it. "But I expect to take care of another one today. The NYPD is watching Tunin now, but the ball tonight makes him an easy target."

"Then let's go scope out the place, and lay our trap." says Wildcat, standing and tossing a twenty on the table. "Too bad Guy is out at the Las Vegas place, we could use his help. Guess it's up to us."

"Nice work, getting us invitations to this." says one in a low voice.

"All a matter of connections. Working with a group has it's advantages, you know." replies his companion.

"Not in my mission. I admit, it would be useful to have the connections. I'm worried that even your presence, welcome though it is, could alert the clone that I'm tracking him."

"Give the other heros in the world some credit, Paul. Not all of us stumble around, attracting attention like Superman."

"I tried that once, or rather, Paul did. Back in the War, when he worked along side your predecessor and others in the All-Star Squadron. That's when he found out that there was another Manhunter in the mystery man business."

Ted Grant hesitates, as he realizes that this clone does not recognize him as the original Wildcat. "That was Dan Richards, right? But he wasn't just a street-level crimefighter, he was a part of the whole Manhunter cult."

The clone of Paul Kirk turns to look Ted in the eye. "So was Paul. For a while, anyway. And I think that may have led to the genesis of the Council." He turns away, scanning the crowd and the upper reaches of the ballroom for any sign of his test-tube twin. "I suspect that the Council was started by a group of Manhunter cult members, and the clones were eventually meant to add to their ranks."

"Well, from what I hear, the Manhunter cult was pretty much shut down a couple years ago. I wasn't around for that, though." Off fighting creatures from Norse myth, he adds mentally.

"I wonder if such a thing is possible." says Kirk. Changing the subject, he asks "Hear anything from your friends?"

Ted holds one hand to his ear, and presses a switch on a small belt pack with the other. "Hey, gang. Anything stirring?"

"Clear at the washrooms." replies Toby.

"Kitchen's busy, but everything checks out." says Benny.

"Looks like just about everyone on the guest list has arrived. Police have checked everyone coming in, including scans for some of the weapons Kirk told us about." Ted looks up and across the room to spy Abby in the doorway, and nods to her with a smile.

When they had made arrangements to attend the ball undercover, it was no problem getting clothes for the men. Benny had actually hired on as last minute kitchen help,. his two semesters of culinary school coming in handy. Tuxedos for Toby, Kirk and himself had proven easy to come by.

But Abby was a whole different matter.

The New York Police Department was surprisingly happy to cooperate with the Lieutenant from Syracuse. They arranged for her to join the security detail at the door. Ted had expected that she would be clad in her usual plainclothes attire of sensible slacks and jacket. He hadn't reckoned with the protocols of society.

Abby had arrived in the lobby of their hastily secured hotel in a rented gown of deep red. Her unruly tangle of black hair was swept back and held in place with an set of matching red clips. Silver coils dangled from her ears, and an intricately-jeweled winding of silver crept up her wrist, halfway to her elbow.

"Sweet mother of Mary! Abby, you look terrific!" said a startled Ted.

"Why thank you, Ted." He wasn't sure, but Ted thought her saw her blush lightly. "I can't believe it myself. Only in New York could the Police Department have a rack of designer gowns for officers on guard detail! They've even modified them for the work." So saying, she slipped a hand into a slit somewhere along the seam, and came out with her service revolver. "Not what I'd normally choose to wear as a garter, but it works." she quips, a grin on her face. "Sensible, flat shoes, too. I could get used to this."

Ted had taken a long look up and down her petite frame, and nodded in agreement. "So could I, Abby. So could I."

Ted's reverie was brought to a halt as Kirk nudged his arm, jerking his head upward. Ted looked up, spying a previously closed skylight that was now ajar.

"Think he's in? Or planning to shoot from there?"

Kirk nods toward the Secretary General's receiving line, in a lower chamber adjacent to the main ballroom. "He has to come inside to get a shot. Unless he tried bombing the place, and the mission doesn't call for that. However, leaving that open tells me something. He's not worried about getting away undetected. This is a suicide mission."

"Great! So we gotta keep both Tunin and this clone alive?"

"Tunin is the only one that matters."

He had toyed with the idea of entering through the hotel portion of the Harcourt Plaza. The ballroom had originally been a separate building, later purchased and converted by the hotel's owners. To do so, he would have had to retreat all the way down below the sub-basement level. He couldn't count on Tunin remaining that long. Instead, he had made his way to the roof. Once there, he found a skylight, and from that, he was able to cling to the scrollwork that decorated the darkened recesses of the domed ceiling and make his way downward, over the unsuspecting crowd.

"Remember. There's a crowd of innocent people here. No guns, no lethal force." Ted whispered as they slipped between a well-known Senator and the daughter of the French ambassador.

"Don't tell me how to handle this, Ted. I know what I'm doing."

"Close in with us, gang. He's already here, somewhere." Ted whispers via the throat-mike that the New York Police had provided. He briefly sees Abby whispering something to a uniformed officer before the crowd shifts and blocks his view of her. He turns for another look at Oktay Tunin, and is gratified to see the Turkish leader heeding the advice of his security team and starting to make his way toward a doorway that will lead to the main hotel and a room that was earlier prepared for his protection. "Kirk, you see anything? Any opening this guy might get?"

Kirk doesn't get a chance to respond. Seeing his target being hustled toward a far door, the assassin that wears Kirk's face springs from his prone position under the row of seats and fires three rounds from the Mauser pistol in his right hand. They aren't aimed so much as they are meant to inspire panic. In that respect, he is successful. People react to the sound of gunfire with confusion and fear. Security guards shove Tunin and numerous other VIPs to the floor. The sheer number of people being protected distracts the clone for a moment. He locates his target again, and starts to take aim. Just as he is squeezing the trigger, there is the sharp report of another gun, and his weapon is ripped from his grasp.

Ted Grant has just shredded a six hundred dollar tuxedo and pulled his mask up over his head when the shot is fired. He glances first at the rogue Manhunter clone, then his eyes dart to the other shooter. Abby Walker is standing splay-legged, both hands holding the smoking pistol as she brings it back down into the line of fire. Her eyes are hard, like he has never seen them before. "So much for no guns." he mutters to himself. He sees her mouth move, though he cannot hear the words over the cries of the crowd. It doesn't matter, he knows, because the clone isn't going to cease and desist. He springs toward the assassin even as his target is reaching down to pull something up from his boot.

"You cannot stop me, fool! You cannot stop the will of the Council!" The assassin brings his hand up in a sweeping arc, the long, wide blade of the katar moving like an extension of his arm. It cuts a swath with an audible whoosh, and Wildcat checks his leap with a twisting motion that just allows him to avoid the blade's deadly edge.

"Whoa, chump! No slicing, no dicing allowed!" Wildcat hits the ground awkwardly, but launches himself in a low roll at his opponent's feet.

The killer responds with a jump that carries him over the black-clad hero, and draws a throwing knife from its sheath.

"Hold it!" The voice is low in pitch, yet loud enough to carry over all of the other noise. Clad now in the red and white of the heroic Manhunter, Kirk Paulie stands between his double and the guards hastily scrambling to get the Secretary General to safety. He holds his own Mauser in one hand, and a pair of throwing stars in the other. "The only way you reach him is through me."

The blue-uniformed clone replies in a voice dripping with contempt. "What are you doing here? You're one of us, or you are nothing." The knife flies through the air, deflected at the last minute by one of the metal stars hurtling through the air. The second one follows the first, streaking toward a different target. It strikes the assassin's leg, sinking deep and drawing blood. He is pulling another knife when Wildcat's foot strikes the back of his knee. The hero is still on his side, but in position to launch another sidekick at the blue Manhunter's backside as the knee buckles, sending him face first onto the floor. Wildcat clambers to his feet, as does his opponent. They are circling each other warily when Kirk Paulie springs at his evil double. The double anticipates the attack and drops under it, letting Paulie sail over him. He comes up with a doubled fist that strikes Wildcat in the solar plexus. The air is driven from his lungs in an instant, and he is flung back into the retreating crowd.

"SecGen's clear!" comes a cry from Abby. She is still holding her pistol, pointed at the ceiling, as she directs people out of the reception hall. She starts making her way forward, trusting the security detail to handle things beyond the door.

Wildcat recovers his balance and leapfrogs over a sprawled onlooker in pursuit of the would-be assassin. The red-clad Manhunter, having crashed through a table after his last attempt at subduing his double, starts making his way around the crowd, looking for a clear shot.

The blue-clad agent of the Council has not given up. Using the crowd as a shield, he keeps low and slips between people, working his way toward the kitchen doors. From there, he knows, he can either exit the hotel, or make his way into the main tower where the guest rooms are located. There, he believes, he will find his target. He hears gasps of amazement, coupled with chuckles of amusement. Trying to keep his head below the shoulder level of those around him, he turns to spy Wildcat stepping lightly over the shoulders, and in some cases, heads, of the crowd. The hero is quickly catching up. Sensing an impending capture, he grabs the nearest person and wraps his arm around her neck. A knife seemingly appears from nowhere in his free hand.

"Back off, 'Cat! Any closer, and the lady gets a new smile, just under the chin!" Under the half-mask that stretches across his face, the clone's eyes blaze. Slowly, he backs away from the now-still hero. He is almost at the door when he remembers his counterpart, his memory jogged by the fist connecting with his temple.

"Forget about me, 'brother'?" asks Kirk, with a growling emphasis on the last word. He lashes out again, as the rogue Manhunter releases his hostage and tries to bring his knife to bear on his opponent. As Kirk throws another punch, the assassin swiftly raises an arm to block the strike. As he does, one of the small blades attached to his wrist gauntlet catches in the long, flowing sleeve of Kirk's costume. The clothe tears away quickly, but it is enough to throw Kirk off balance and shift the tide of the fight. The assassin slashes upward with his knife, the blade digging a deep furrow in Kirk's chest, and up along one side of his face. He goes down, blood spraying from his chest, as Wildcat springs back into the fray.

"All right, creep! It's about time someone took you down, and down hard!" A right cross staggers the Manhunter agent, and a series of quick left jabs force him back away from his wounded counterpart. A crushing right catches him in the forehead, making him freeze in place long enough for Wildcat to take a half-step back, rear the upper part of his body back, and deliver a side kick just under the killer's rib cage. The assassin flies through the air, landing sprawled across a buffet table.

"That's for the shot to the breadbasket, chump!" says Wildcat, cautiously approaching to make sure the clone is indeed unconscious. Police and security officers move in, surrounding the felon, leaving the hero free to check on his companion. He turns, and is met with a surprising sight.

"Manhunter? What are you doing up? Let's get those wounds taken care of!" he admonishes.

"Nothing to take care of, Wildcat." says Kirk, turning the left side of his face forward so it can be viewed. There is still some blood left on his face, most of it having been wiped away. Where there had been a deep knife wound, there is a bright pink scar, as if the wound had occurred several days ago. Likewise, through his torn costume, new skin is visible where moments before there was flowing blood. "A little gift from the Council. They called it an enhanced healing factor. All the more reason to keep a close eye on that joker." he says, gesturing toward his double.

"Too late." says Abby, kneeling next to the would-be killer. "This one's history."

"What the hell? I know I didn't hit him that hard!" sputters Wildcat, pushing forward to check the pulse of the man he just defeated.

"No, you didn't kill him. A little safeguard against capture. Only way to imprison one of the sleeper agents is to catch him when he's actually sleeping, and use hypno-therapy to overcome the suicide suggestion that the Council implanted." explains Kirk. Otherwise, it's like they flip a switch or something.

"Look, guys. I can handle things with the NYPD here. How about you make yourself scarce?" says Abby, stepping up behind the two costumed heros. "Find Toby and Benny, and get them back to the hotel. I'll meet up with you when I'm done here."

"Sounds like a plan, lady." Wildcat says in a low voice, turning back to smile at her. "Figure we'll grab a couple boxes of Chinese take-out on the way back. Hunan chicken okay with you?"

"A little spice should top things off pretty well. Grab some fried won-ton while you're there." She wraps a hand around Ted's upper arm, and give it a quick squeeze before moving off to join the other officers.

"I could'a dropped you at your place, Abby. You didn't need to see me home."

"Are you trying to get rid of me, Ted?" she says, with a playful punch to his arm. "I couldn't get out of pulling duty tonight, so I figured I might as well stop here for a couple hours rather than going all the way out to my place." Abby flips through the mail she grabbed from Ted's mailbox as the big man fumbles with his keys. "Hey, this looks like it's from your buddy at Warrior's."

Stepping inside, Ted takes the envelope. Inside, he finds another, smaller envelope, and a single sheet with a short note scrawled on it.

Teddy

Sorry I missed you, sounds like a hell of a party last night. This showed up here a while back, and musta slipped behind the cash register. Just found it this morning. Hope the delay ain't caused a problem.

Take care, buddy.

G

Ted passes the note to Abby and looks the envelope over. It is battered and dusty. On the front, his name, with "c/o Warriors" and the bar's address below that. No return address.

He opens it up, Abby looking over his shoulder. He reads it once quickly, then again more slowly to see if he understands the whole thing correctly.

Ted,

I have reason to believe that a man falsely calling himself Dr. Mid-Nite has plans to attack the JSA's new headquarters. Rest assured, this man's connections with Dr. Mid-Nite are thin at best. I suspect he may have learned some tricks of the trade by beating them out of a very old friend of mine. The friend in question was not aware of anyone else's secret lives, so everyone's identity should be safe.

Please take every precaution to warn the JSA against his attack. While I doubt a blackout bomb could wipe out the entire team, (hah!) it may be just one weapon he uses in his attempt to achieve his goal, whatever that may be. He is cold, ruthless, and should be brought to justice quickly.

Regards,

Dr. Charles McNider

P.S. : Any "extra" boxing practice you wish to exercise on this imposter would be with my blessing. My friend is very, very old - in his early 80s - and is near death from the beating he took at this pretender's hands. Were I a younger man still... but that is for you and the others. Thank you.

"Ted, what's the matter?" asks Abby, as he drops the letter and sinks into a chair. "Who is this doctor?"

"He's an old friend, hon. Used to be a member of the JSA. There's just one problem." Ted looks up into her eyes. "He died over a year ago!"

Charles McNider?

Ahhh, you'll just have to hang on for that one, folks.

As promised last issue, next time out Ted will be wrapping up a loose end that goes waaaay back. An old foe, and one not-so-old, will be showing up, and the secrets of one of Wildcat's greatest enemies will be revealed. Guest starring a couple members of the JSA, and two that should have been.

Confusing? Not for long!

It's all a part of "Shadows of the Past".

As always, any questions, comments, complaints, offers of bribes, or other random thoughts can be sent to me at cjburke@lycos.com.