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NOT
The World's Greatest Superheroes.....
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| JLI: The Return of BWA-HAH-HA! #5 - October, Year 1 | by Bertram Gibbs |
Martian Manhunter |
Blue Beetle |
Booster Gold |
Plastic Man |
Luthor stood staring out of the window of his office, his eyes scanning the city below him, his mind at work. After a few minutes, he turned and pressed the intercom on his desk.
"Mercy. Hope. Please come in a second."
Both women entered through the double doors, hair in place and clothes adjusted, as if the 'battle' with Gold and the Beetle never occurred.
"I've made reservations at the Gilmore for the gentlemen," he said absently. "Make sure Phipps at the desk has the security cameras and audio surveillance mechanisms in place."
"You suspect something, Mr. Luthor?" asked Mercy.
Luthor gave the woman a wide grin. "Of course I do, my dear," he replied. "They expect me to buy they were just 'in town' and needed my expertise on obtaining them a hotel and a place to eat? Do they really think I am that dense? Make it happen."
"Yes, Mr. Luthor," Mercy said, turning on her heel and exiting the office.
"And Hope," added Luthor, "Get me all the information and data you can get on Booster Gold and the Blue Beetle."
"Yes, Mr. Luthor," Hope replied and exited as well.
Luthor returned to the window.
"Do I suspect something?" he muttered to himself. "Of course I do. They're spandex."
"To the Red! The Blue! And the Gold!" three voices cried in unison.
In the Presidential Suite of the Swan Arms, Booster, Beetle (now dressed in civilian garb) and Plastic Man clinked glasses of champagne in toast. Meanwhile, Skeets hovered in the center of the room, its sensors watching 'General Hospital' on the television. The sitting room alone was about the size of an auditorium, and the men were sprawled across the Olympic-sized couch. Each man had his own bedroom (one bedroom that could fit a family of four -- comfortably), and had already settled in.
"Okay, Plas," Kord said smiling, wiping his tickled nose with the back of his hand. "Shall we take a look at double-L's database?"
"But of course!" he said grinning, extending his arm across the room to tap Skeets on its shell. Skeets slowly turned.
"You do realize that my show is on, your Rubberness?" it asked in that unmistakable tone of one speaking to an imbecile.
"Yes, I realize your show is on," Plas said in an approximation of the cyborg's haughty voice. "But we have work to do. Let's get to it."
The cyborg sniffed, muted the TV, and moved to the where Kord and Gold sat. A small hum was heard and a five-foot by five-foot three-dimensional hologram of a computer window appeared in front of them, showing the LexCorp logo. A second small hum and next to it appeared a second hologram of a Window was the S.T.A.R. Labs logo.
"Great!" exclaimed Booster, pouring another glass of champagne. "Skeets, baby! Do your stuff!"
Both holograms suddenly went out. The cyborg spun in mid-air to face Gold.
"'Skeets, baby'?" it said incredulously.
"You gonna bust my chops?" Booster said in a warning tone.
"No more baby, your Boostership," it said in an equally warning tone, then spun around and displayed the holograms. "Looking for a match, gentlemen," it said and both screens began to flicker like a strobe. A smaller third screen appeared and it began to display icons of files with directories, sub-directories, and sub-sub-directories. "Making one more pass, sirs," it said in a very bored tone. No further files appeared on the third screen. The larger screens blipped out and the third screen grew to a size that would have encompassed the screens. "Your matched files, sirs."
"Wow," Kord whispered slack jawed.
"Sweet," grinned Plas. "How many files we looking at, Skeets?"
"With, or without sub-directories?"
Plas' smile dropped. His goggles squinted suspiciously under a single raised eyebrow. "Both," he said in a quiet voice. Kord's glass hovered close, but not touching his mouth. Booster sat very straight and very still on the couch.
"Four hundred and seventy-three," it replied.
"Four . . ." Plas said, his jaw literally dropping to the floor. He pulled the loose flesh up and put the lower half of his mouth back into place.
"You're saying that there are four hundred and seventy-three matched files in the combined databases of S-Labs and LexCorp?" asked Ted.
"Yes, Master Kord," Skeets replied.
"Any chance that file A and file Q could have the same information?" asked Gold, his eyes wide behind his goggles.
The cyborg dipped forward slightly. "Redundancies, oh, Boosterness?" it asked, slowly separating the first word by its four syllables.
"Uh, yes," Gold said.
"No."
"No?" he asked.
"Have I been unclear?" it asked.
"How many of these matches show a chemical, or a . . . thingy, that could hurt Big Blue?" asked Plas.
"Two hundred and forty-seven."
"Holy . . ." muttered Booster.
"Skeets," Ted said, his eyes scanning the file icons that filled the screen. "How many of the two hundred and forty-seven files have lethal potential?"
"Actual, or percentage?" it asked.
"Percentage," answered Kord.
"Eighty-two percent lethal," answered Skeets. "Eighteen percent annoying."
"Then this is great!" exclaimed Booster. Both Plas and Ted turned to give their partner a questioning look. Gold looked into each man's face and paled. "No! It's not what you think I mean!" he said, holding up his hands in defense of any oncoming fist (then again, with Plastic Man around, it could be an oncoming big toe). "I mean, we the three of us can do something Superman couldn't!"
Plas and Ted looked at each other, then back to Booster.
"We can put Lex Luthor in jail!" Gold exclaimed.
Plas and Ted's shoulders slumped; each wore a depressed expression. "No we can't," said Plas.
"Well, we have enough evidence to convict him of terrorism," said Booster.
"No we don't," said Ted.
He stood and placed two fists on his hips. "Okay. I'll bite. Why can't we put him in jail? You're telling me we shouldn't put his butt in the slammer? That we should allow him to attack and possibly kill Big Blue?"
Plas's neck quickly stretched, his face very close to Booster's.
"No, Perry Mason," he rasped. "We can't use the evidence, because we lifted it."
"Lift . . .?"
"Stole!" Plas said sharply. "Robbed! Heisted! Fleeced!" His arm snaked around and tapped Booster on the head. "Any of this sinking into that too-blonde skull of yours? We may have been given voluntarily access to Hamilton's itinerary, but we -- I repeat, lifted the rest, and that my friend is a crime."
"As we did the LexCorp files," added Kord. "We represent the JLA! It may have been for a good cause, and the right thing to do, but we stole this information! Think what would happen if the press found out!" he exclaimed.
"Think what would happen if the JLA found out!" gasped Gold.
"Think what would happen if J'onn found out," Plas said in a small voice.
They all looked at each other and turned as one to Skeets, who simply hovered in silence.
"Yes?" it said after a while.
"You are not to tell anyone about this," warned Booster.
"Really?" it said. "I've calculated a 94.9% percent chance the Batman will approve."
Dollar signs appeared in Booster's eyes.
"We could sell it to Bats for a nice bunch'a change?" he suggested. "He's got to be loaded!"
"What gave you that impression?" asked Ted frowning.
"Look at his equipment!" Gold exclaimed. "Look at the car! You think he got those things at a Blue Light Special?"
Plas' eyebrow rose a foot over his head. "Makes sense," he muttered. He suddenly shook his head. "Never happen."
"Why?" Booster asked in a wounded tone.
"Why?" he asked. "I'll tell you why! You two haven't been around the Bat in a couple of years. A lot of stuff happened. Stuff that has not improved his mood. We worked a few cases a while back, but I ain't seen the brother this dark since that Bane mook broke out all the loonies from Arkham!" He stood in front of them. "You're going to walk over to Bats and tell him you got LexCorp AND S.T.A.R. Lab secrets, then you're going to ask some outlandish price, and you know what his reaction is going to be?"
Plastic Man expanded his height, and mass to match the Dark Knight's toned physique. He then stretched the sides and top of his head into Batman's mask and cowl, then finished it off by doing a perfect approximation of Batman's scowling visage. Both Booster and Kord leaned back into the couch.
"And he's going to say nothing," Plas continued. "And at this point, you're going to be stupid enough to ask the same question, but with a lower dollar amount. And he's going to stare at you. And you're going to go for threes, and he is still going to stare you down until you just give it to him, for Bupkiss!"
Plas returned his body to its normal form.
"If you're lucky, he won't kick your butt around the room for asking stupid questions."
"Stupid . . .?" Gold began.
"Stupid questions," Plas said nodding. "Like why's a fellow JLA'r selling information that could help the world, not to mention Big Blue."
"Oh, that would be a serious whuppin'," Ted said nodding at Booster. "Tell me when you're going to ask him. I want to videotape it."
"We'll let this one drop," Plas said. "You see, I understand. I've still got a touch of larceny in my heart . . ." Plas' eyes shot out of their respective sockets, pulling his white goggles askew. He turned to Skeets. "Skeets. Let's narrow the playing field a tad. How many of these matches show a Professor Kingston involved?"
"Where are you going with this?" asked Kord, clearly interested.
A large lump appeared on Plastic Man's back. "Call it a hunch," he said. He snaked his arms around and poured himself another glass of champagne.
"Twenty-four," Skeets replied.
Plas stood up and stared at the hologram. All right, Eel, he said to himself. What would the Bat do? What would the Bat do?
"Chronological order, Skeets," Plas said finally. He stared at the twenty-four files in date order. He smiled. "Skeets," he said. "Separate them by year."
He looked at the five rows of files with the heading for five consecutive years.
"Interesting," he muttered. "Beetle. Booster. Come give this a look-see." Both men joined him by his side. "Look," Plas said pointing at the floating files. "Four per year."
"Four per quarter," Ted amended.
"That's right," Booster agreed. "Each file for each year is dated 'March, June, September and December'."
"Skeets? Think you can get into Kingston's bank account?" Plastic Man asked.
"Quite easily, sir," it said, creating a second screen where a series of numbers appeared. "Just a matter of finding the name, cross reference social security number, age, residential location, and resemblance with a photo identification for a match."
"You took a good look at him?" asked Plas.
The screens flickered, then blipped out. Skeets turned and moved closer to the stretchable detective.
"Sir," it began in its 'meant for the handicap' tone. "When I entered Professor Hamilton's laboratory, my sensors recorded every single inch of the room, and its inhabitants. When we departed the laboratory, I noticed your head remaining behind your body, so I surreptitiously investigated and saw you accosting . . ."
Plas frowned. "Accosting?!?"
". . . this individual, and my sensors recorded that as well. I miss nothing." It spun slowly back to the front of the room and the holographic screens reappeared. Plas made a sour expression and performed that well-known salute to mankind, The Flipping Of The Bird, at the back of the floating cyborg.
"I saw that," it said.
"Continue," requested Ted.
On the bottom of the second screen, a small picture appeared and increased in size by five, showing the smiling face of Henry Kingston.
"Now that we have confirmation," continued the cyborg, "we simply scan for all bank accounts that show his social security number, and/or photographic identification, in the event he is using a alias."
"Good idea," said Booster.
"Yes. It was," answered Skeets.
"I was being rhetorical!" snapped Gold.
"So sorry, Master Gold," it replied showing a definite smile in its voice.
"I spy, with my little eye, Swiss bank accounts!" whispered Ted.
"Okay," Plas began, extending one eye to the screen with the Kingston related files on it, and the other showing the overseas bank accounts for Kingston. "Skeets. Match all deposits to these accounts here, with the dates of these files there."
"Wow!" whispered Booster, dollar figures reflecting off of his goggles.
"Homina-homina-homina," gasped Kord, his eyes bulging in their sockets.
Plas had turned himself into the Cheshire Cat from Wonderland, smiling contentedly on the arm of the couch. "A deposit every quarter," he said. "Skeets," Plastic Man called. "You know what to do next."
"Follow the money, your Suppleness?"
"Do it to it," Plas said pouring off the couch and reforming next to the two men. As the data appeared on the screen, the satisfied smiles on the face of the super-heroes suddenly slipped and fell as their minds absorbed the information.
"Easy come, easy go," said Plas.
Booster had removed his goggles and peered at the screen in disbelief. "This is unreal," he whispered. "Transfer a lot of dough on one day; withdraw it the next. But why?"
"Can't be drugs," Ted said. "S.T.A.R. Labs has a mandatory drug screening policy."
"And you know this, how?" asked Gold.
"Tried to get in before I took up the spandex," answered Ted.
"You didn't get in?" he asked.
"I had a bad cold when I took the tests," Kord explained. "They found the medicine I was taking at the time in my system and they flunked me."
"For cold medication?" Plas queried.
"Talk to Steel," Ted said "and ask him about his flunking out for a minor stomach disorder."
Booster frowned. "What they find? Antacid?"
Ted grinned an evil grin. "Suppositories."
Plas and Gold stared at each other, and all three burst into a chorus of BWAH-HA-HA! BWAH-HA-HA! BWAH-HA-HA!
Wiping his eyes, Booster took another glance at the screen and snapped his fingers. "Gambling debts!" he exclaimed.
"Got to be it," Plas said. "He's into the sharks big, by the looks of it."
"Or he's so much an addict, he can't stop himself," suggested Kord.
"At these prices?" exclaimed Plas, elongating a finger at the screen. "That's crazy!"
"That's addiction," corrected Kord in a very serious tone.
"Question," piped up Booster. "I take it we're going to go for the probability that Luthor is paying Kingston for something, right?"
"Logically," Ted said, not taking his eyes from the screen.
"And that we would only delay things by trying to prove Luthor's involvement?" he continued.
"No problem there," said Plas absently, his face scrunched in thought, as if something was pushing against the tip of his brain.
"So where is the 'why'?" Booster asked.
Plas snapped his finger. "That's it!" he exclaimed. "Skeets! Those . . . thingies in the matched files, file date order and origin."
Plas extended his upper torso close to the screen and snaked his right arm on the date and the left on the origin.
"Look," he said. "S.T.A.R. Labs. LexCorp. S.T.A.R. Labs. LexCorp. S.T.A.R. Labs. LexCorp. And the creation file of the LexCorp files is within two weeks from the last S.T.A.R. Labs entry." His face fell, literally. It stretched back in place. "Skeets," he said slowly. "What info is contained in the last S.T.A.R. Labs entries?"
"The destruction orders of what you refer to as thingies, sir," it replied.
"The thingy is destroyed by S.T.A.R. Labs on one day, and LexCorp manages to get a hold of the same thingy another day?"
"Exactly, sir," it answered.
"And each device is associated with Kingston?" asked Booster.
"What's the date of the last entry on the S.T.A.R. Labs database?" asked Plas.
"This past Friday," Skeets replied.
"Contents?" he asked.
"Destruction of the thingy referred to as the GeneEx Device."
Plas abandoned the thought of slam-dunking the cyborg into the nearest trashcan. "Which can do what?"
"It says it can destroy any disease on a molecular level by sending replicating nanoprobes into human DNA, where it would not only destroy the disease, but modify itself to combat any mutated strain."
"Kooky," Plas said. "Sounds to me like a good thing."
"But," continued Skeets, "the function of the GeneEx Device can be altered to eradicate the individual's immune system. All body functions will soon become inoperative and shut down."
The three men paled and looked at each other.
"D-destruction date?" asked Booster.
"This Friday."
"Well, that explains the significance of this Friday," Plas said swallowing an unpleasant lump in his throat.
"Luthor couldn't be turning into a mass murderer, could he?" asked Ted. "I thought that was the Joker's territory?"
Plas tapped his lower lip. "Skeets? Go back to the LexCorp database. Locate any files containing anything on DNA in the last two weeks."
The screen flickered and sixteen files showed.
"Okay," Plas grinned, rubbing his hands together. "See if you can show me the files with a recurring subject."
"Ten," whispered Gold.
"Now I know I'm gonna hate myself for asking," began Plas, "but what is that subject?"
"Superman's DNA," replied Skeets.
"Yikes," muttered Ted.
"I was afraid of that," frowned Plas. "Mount Baldy is planning on using that thingy on Supes."
"Wait a minute!" interrupted Kord. "Is Luthor investigating Superman's DNA, or does he actually have his DNA?"
"The details of Superman's DNA is in the LexCorp database," replied Skeets. "There is no record of him having an actual sample."
"How the hell did he get that?!?!" Booster asked.
"Table that for another day," Plas said. "The problem here is that he has it. We have to delete those files, and pronto!"
"Skeets," called Kord with urgency, "Access the LexCorp database!"
The cyborg dissolved the two existing screens and created a large one to pull up the files. The LexCorp logo showed on the screen, then blipped out. The cyborg spun to face Kord.
"You do realize that these are read only files, sir?" it asked. "Unless you are within LexCorp itself, you cannot alter or delete these files."
Kord hung his head, his thick brown hair cascading in his face. "That's right," he said. "I can locate Superman's DNA files, but I can't destroy them. That means I have to familiarize myself with the LexCorp files." He looked up, a look of determination on his face. "Boys?" Kord said over his shoulder to Plastic Man and Booster, "This is going to take awhile."
"Take as long as you need," Plas said, walking to the far end of the room, allowing Kord a little privacy. "Skeets? Can you pull up a layout of the building while Teddy is cramming, and project it right here?"
"Of course, sir," it said opening a port on its side and displayed a three-dimensional hologram of the LexCorp building.
"Highlight the areas where security is posted," added Plas. "And add the time schedule for each post." He turned his head completely backwards to face Gold. "Boost. Dig up a notepad and a pen."
Little white squares dotted different sections of the building. Off to the left of each square was schedule for each section.
Booster came back with a spiral notebook and a pen and dragged a chair from the dining area, placing it next to Plas. Booster looked up at the red uniformed man and matched his wide grin.
"Okay, Plas," Gold said. "Fess up. What so funny?"
"Not funny, Boost," he replied. "Ironic, really. When I was Eel O'Brien, pulling a B & E was always a chore trying to get the blueprints of the place we were hitting, and trying to get our hooks into the guy who knew the guard's schedule was a pain in the patoot, lemme tell you! I was just thinking how much dough we could have made if we had Skeets with us."
Skeets groaned audibly.
Plas shrugged and made his finger into a pointer and touched at the white block near the rear service entrance of the LexCorp building.
"Okay, Boost," he said. "This is checkpoint A. The area is guard-less between eight at night and five in the morning. That's going to be our window of opportunity."
"We should get some coffee," Booster suggested.
"Second!" cried Kord from the other side of the room.
"Hang tough, then," Plas said and elongated his arm and head across the room, grabbing the telephone. "Room service? This is Mr. O'Brien in the Presidential Suite. Could you send up three pots of your best coffee?"
"Munchies," called Ted.
"And an assortment of your finest pastries and munchables?" He nodded. "Great! By the way, what time do you close?" Plas nodded again, his smile widening. "Let me get this right," he said, turning his grin to Booster and Ted, who were watching Plas closely. "The Presidential Suite has unlimited room service for how much more? Fifty? Sounds reasonable. Charge it to the room. Thanks." He hung up. "Skeets?" he asked.
"Yes, your Rubberness?"
"You sure Mount Baldy is paying for this?"
Skeets mechanically snickered. "Yes, oh, Stretchmeister. The room is charged to Mr. Luthor's Malaysia account, which will show up on his statement thirty days after we leave this establishment."
"Skeets!" cried Booster. "I love ya!"
"I am under-whelmed at your sincerity, your Boostership," it said.
