Issue 7: "The Great Unknown, Finale: One More Mile

There are those who say, you can look too hard
For your place in the world

Takes some of us a little longer
A few false starts gonna make you stronger
When I'm sure I've finally found it
Gonna wrap these arms all around it

Could be one more mile, or just one step back

Mary Chapin Carpenter, “A Place in the World”

Twenty-eight minutes later, the two met in front of the Alumni Hall for Basic Science. “We may have caught a break,” Barbara said. “Someone spotted a bunch of military types hustling Divakaruni into a minivan at about 5:30 this morning and called campus security. All that bumper-to-bumper traffic we saw on I-10 westbound? It wasn’t due to an accident, like we thought. They’ve had all the roads out of Loma Linda blocked since about twenty to six this morning.”

Dick nodded. He remembered the drive in. There’d been no traffic problems on I-10 east, but they’d both noticed the virtual crawl in the opposite direction. A new thought occurred to him. “Was that normal? Him being up in the lab that early?”

Barbara raised her hands to shoulder height and spread them. “Nobody else seemed surprised by it.”

Dick started forward. “And the abduction happened ten minutes before they set up the roadblocks. Either the kidnappers were driving very fast—”

“Which they wouldn’t have been, if they wanted to avoid causing an accident or getting pulled over for speeding—”

“Right. Which means they’re still in town. Maybe even still on campus.” Dick nodded. “Let’s head back to the lab area. See if the cops missed anything.”

“The C.O.?” Babs repeated, once they were outside again. “I’d expect them to be more interested in biochemical weapons. I mean, even if they wanted Divakaruni to work for them—”

Dick sighed. “I know. Divakaruni deliberately avoided putting his theories into practise. Even if he could be somehow… persuaded otherwise, it’s not like he could deliver a super soldier to them in thirty days. And he’d need state-of-the-art facilities. So far, we haven’t been able to uncover any evidence that shows that the Order is anything other than a bunch of guys with guns, who like to wear combat fatigues, and have some really screwy ideas about how to run a government.”

He continued thinking aloud as they walked. “If someone spotted the kidnapping, and sounded the alarm, the jacket and mask are really the only parts of the uniform that would arouse suspicion. People do wear camouflage pants, and turtlenecks, after all. So, most of the terrorists leave with Divakaruni, and one loses part of his uniform and walks away.”

“Why?” Barbara asked. “Wouldn’t he leave with the others?”

“Maybe, maybe not. If they had access to the labs, then it might make sense that one or more of them would be enrolled here, either as bona fide students, or pretending to be.”

“Makes sense,” Barbara admitted. “So, how do we find them?”

Dick considered. After a moment, his eyes lit up. “Let’s head back to the lot. I think I’ve got an idea.”

The plan was simple: walk around, ask questions and pretend to try to be subtle about it. He’d been right, before. It was a small campus, and faculty and students all seemed to know each other, by sight if not by name. Dick had only to mention that he was planning on a speciality in immunology or molecular genetics and had been hoping to meet with Divakaruni, and it seemed that everyone had a story to tell.

“And nobody knows where they took the guy?” He asked for the fifth time.

“No,” returned a youth about his own age, with a snarl. “Cuz if they knew, he’d be back, right?”

Dick allowed himself a sardonic smile. “Maybe, but somehow, I don’t think the guys that took him got too far. They might even still be on campus.”

The teen squinted suspiciously at him. “How come you seem to know so much about this?” His hands reached out and grasped the lapels of Dick’s plaid jacket. “If you had anything to do with—”

“Ease off, Carlos.” The voice was quiet, but rang with clear authority. “He’s just asking some questions. That’s all.”

Carlos relinquished his hold on the lapels, but not his belligerence. “I just think it’s kind of funny that Dr. Divakaruni vanishes, and then this guy turns up all of a sudden and starts grilling us for info.”

“Which means he probably doesn’t know anything about the kidnapping, right?” The newcomer grinned. He turned to Dick. “Or you’d have all the answers, wouldn’t you?”

He held out his hand. “I’m Alan Hilliker. Doctor Divakaruni’s my honors advisor.”

“Robbie Malone.” Dick grasped the hand firmly. He smirked at Carlos. “Nice to know someone around here’s got a brain.”

Alan drew his brows together. “Let it go. You said you think he’s still around?”

Dick nodded. “All the roads out of town are blocked, see? He’s gotta be somewhere around here.”

Carlos looked sceptical. “Such as?”

Dick spread his hands. “Hey, this is your campus. How’m I s’posed ta know? But I guess it would have to be a place where not a lot of people can get in. Like maybe one of the other labs?”

One of the young women listening shook her head. “They drove off in a van. They’re probably in town somewhere, if they didn’t get through the roadblock.”

“Still,” Alan said thoughtfully, “maybe we could check it out.” He clamped a hand onto Dick’s shoulder. “I’ll give you a tour of the campus, and see if I can get security to open the labs for us. I have access to three of them, myself. Sound good?” He smiled.

Dick grinned back. “Lead on, pal.”

As far as Dick could determine, they’d had the van parked right outside the building. They’d tossed him in, and taken a circuitous route to their destination. Dick suspected that it was still on campus, but he couldn’t be sure.

Once the van stopped, hands took him again, and he was half-dragged, half-carried into another building. They marched him down a flight of stairs, and along what was probably another series of corridors, before his captors hoisted him into mid-air, and then plunked him down hard on a wooden chair. One wrist was freed, and then somebody immediately jerked it back, and re-manacled his hand behind the chair-back. Someone fumbled at the sash that fastened the pillowcase, while two other people bound his ankles securely to the chair legs.

The pillowcase was unceremoniously removed, and one ski-masked figure pulled the wad of packing out of Dick’s mouth. Dick retched, and another of his captors held a cup to his lips. He took a tentative sip, trying to discern whether it might be drugged. It tasted like ordinary water. He quickly gulped the rest of it down, and the soldier took the empty cup away.

“Who are you?” The question was asked without preamble.

He didn’t answer. His interrogator drew back a fist and delivered a punch to his lower lip. Dick tasted salt. Somebody else searched his pockets, and tossed his wallet to the man asking the questions.

“Robert Michael Malone, hmmm?” The soldier held up his driver’s license. The man sniffed. “What’s this? A press card? You’re a long way from Metropolis, aren’t y—” he broke off in mid-word. Three quick steps brought him directly in front of the chair. He pulled roughly at the jacket lapels, ignoring Dick’s angry protest, as the button popped off and fell to the floor. “You little punk!” He shouted, as he delivered another punch, this time to Dick’s abdomen. He turned to his companions.

“He’s wired. The bastard’s wearing a goddamned wire!” The soldier ripped it off with a single savage motion and took another swing.

Dick winced when the blow landed. He was going to have a black eye tomorrow, no question about it.

“Who are you? Who’s on the other end of this thing?”

His silence seemed to infuriate the questioner all the more. The man seized a handful of his captive’s T-shirt and pulled. The chair tipped slightly forward, as the restraints dug into Dick’s wrists and ankles. “Answer me, you little sh—!” His captor backhanded him again.

There was a ripping sound, as the chair rocked back, and the cheap T-shirt tore. Behind the ski-mask, Dick saw brown eyes grow wide.

“That suit,” his interrogator gasped. He leaned forward, took hold of the fabric again, and ripped the shirt asunder. “Well, well. So, Nightwing… is really some punk-kid named Robbie Malone who works for the Daily Planet. Isn’t this interesting?” He straightened, and started barking orders.

“You, you!” He pointed. “Stay in here with the prisoner.” He singled out two more of his men and instructed them to stand guard outside. “The rest of you come with me. And nobody lay another hand on him until I talk to Washington and find out what he has to say about it.”

Whoa. Wait. Dick thought. Washington?

He watched as the other soldiers trooped out, and his two remaining captors took up positions on either side of the door. Then, he worked a lock-pick out of the lining of his jacket, and concentrated on getting the cuffs open.

The man sat on the cot with a scowl. He had no idea how long he had been confined here, in this room. He had not been questioned. He had not been attacked. In point of fact, the only thing that his captors had done was instruct him to ‘sit tight for a little while’.

His son would probably be thrilled, Ram Prasad Divakaruni reflected sourly. The young man was always protesting the long hours that his father spent in the lab. Perhaps he had staged this kidnapping in order to force the elder Divakaruni to relax. The geneticist’s lips twitched at the idea.

Shouts reached him from outside the locked door to his room. He heard a muffled thud. Then, the door opened and a dark-haired young man whom he had never before laid eyes on poked his head in.

“Dr. Divakaruni?”

The doctor rose to his feet. “I am he.”

The youth’s face broke into a smile. “Nightwing. We need to talk, but not here. Feel like leaving?”

Divakaruni took a step forward. His eyes widened. “Behi—”

That was as much warning as he was able to shout. The masked figure looming behind his would-be rescuer suddenly gave ‘Robbie’ a hard shove, which propelled the youth into the room.

The heavy door slammed shut.

Dick sighed. He could probably get the door open and fight his way out alone, but with a civilian in tow, it was too risky. On the other hand, if Barbara’s part in this was going according to plan… “Maybe we could talk in here, after all.”

The cell door opened. Robbie Malone broke off the conversation in mid-word and half-rose. When he saw that the newcomer in the three-piece suit was flanked by a half-dozen rifle-toting members of the Order, he settled back onto the stool.

“You guys just keep multiplying, don’t youse,” he grinned.

Divakaruni met Sewell’s gaze squarely. “Hello, Patrick. It’s been a few years.”

Sewell shifted position, uncomfortably. “I would have wished for better circumstances, Ram.”

Divakaruni’s tone was neutral. “You seem to have engineered the existing ones, haven’t you?” At the younger man’s silence, the doctor rose up to his full five feet five inches. “Well? Did you, or did you not pay one of my students to appropriate my notes? Did you not opt to continue a project that clearly violates scientific and medical ethics to a degree that—”

“Ethics have a way of evolving,” Sewell said, holding out his hands in a placating gesture. “There was a time when organ donation would have been considered an unspeakable violation of a cadaver, and the alarmists were painting horror stories of poorer patients being permitted to die so that their organs might be harvested for the wealthier. Ten years from now, Senator Gerard might well be seen as a visionary.”

“Or a madman,” Divakaruni retorted dryly. “I notice you haven’t attempted to enlighten the general public.”

“Tell the truth, Doctor. Do you really think they have the necessary understanding? How many of them do you seriously think would comprehend what it is that we’re trying to do?”

“Enough of them.” Divakaruni was emphatic. “Or at least enough of them that you’re afraid to divulge the intent of your research.”

Nightwing cleared his throat. Both men turned to look at him. “Ya know,” he began, trying to stay in character as Robbie, “something about this whole set-up stinks. I mean, youse guys are government types, right? So normally, when it comes ta spending other people’s money, ya fill out yer requisitions, ya make it all look kosher, ya remember ta skim a bit off the top for a week in the Caymans.” His expression hardened. “Only something long-term, like this top-secret research, well, it’s kinda like a sinkhole, ain’t it? Ya keep asking fer more and more funding, and it seems ta me the guys handing over yer allowance might start asking more an’ more questions about where it’s all going. And one of these days, they might just call for that A-word.” He smirked. “That’s A like in ‘audit’, not like in ‘annuity’, by the way. And youse can’t have that can youse?”

He sighed, in mock-commiseration. “So where can youse get yer cash? How can youse afford ta set up yer pet scientists in a state-of-the-art lab? Well, youse can always ask fer donations.” He shook his head. “No, youse can’t. Because the first thing the donors would want to know is why they should pay extra on top of their tax dollars. And the second thing they’d want to know is what the project is. They might even investigate on their own. And youse can’t take the chance that they’ll be… um… enlightened enough not ta go ta the press. How’m I doing so far?”

“You’re being extremely entertaining,” Sewell said. “I’m sure you’re much in demand at children’s parties.” He shifted impatiently from one foot to the other. “Is there a point in all of this?”

“I’m getting to that. See, there just aren’t a lot of people or organizations out there that hand over large wads of cash, with about the only question being ‘when do we get it back?’ In fact,” he frowned, and the New Jersey accent vanished, as though it had never existed. “You know something? I can’t think of a single legitimate enterprise that would hand over that kind of money to you on an ongoing basis. It’s also extremely difficult to believe that you would set up your star researcher in a lab in a building owned by one of Metropolis’ more notorious drug czars.” His eyes narrowed. “I guess you could always plead ignorance and admit you didn’t run a background check on the owner. Except that, well, it seems one of your researcher’s pet projects found its way into King Snake’s arsenal. Now, I make it my business to be aware when a new weapon hits the market, and I can pretty much assure you that your scientific team had a virtual monopoly on that strain of coral snake venom… until King Snake got his hands on it.”

He looked at Sewell, who, for the first time, seemed to be a bit rattled.

“So, Patrick,” he continued, “why don’t you explain to me why Fiitawa was so willing to share her results with the Metropolis mob?” He got up, seemingly oblivious to the six rifles now trained in his direction. “See, it’s always possible that the public won’t see the ethical issues surrounding your research. But the ethics of your boss taking money from organized crime, and supplying the mob with biological weapons, the inherent wrongness in a senator collaborating with a known terrorist organisation dedicated to bringing down the government said senator allegedly represents… Oh, I think they could probably get a handle on those. What do you think, Patrick?”

Sewell stood motionless for a moment. Then, slowly, he brought his hands together and applauded. “Very good, Malone. Or do you prefer ‘Nightwing’? I have to admit you’ve put together a thoroughly convincing theory. Unfortunately, there’s not a shred of evidence to place me here, right now. If you persist in accusing me at a later date, I’ll laugh off your allegations as a pitiable attempt to cast aspersions on the senator. Fiitawa’s been reassigned; we have reason to believe that Dorance won’t be a factor in Metropolis, much longer. Naturally the senator and I are both horrified that an illegal organisation would stoop to abduct a prominent scientist of our acquaintance, but to accuse us of being somehow involved in said abduction? That would be a serious accusation. One you’d need quite a bit of proof to back up.”

The way Sewell was talking, Dick thought, it sounded like he planned to keep them both alive. As much as he appreciated the sentiment, Nightwing had to admit that doing so would be an act of sheer stupidity. As the cliché had it, the two captives knew too much to be allowed to go free. Still, he concealed his scepticism as Sewell smiled and held up the wire and transceiver that the Carnelian Order soldiers had confiscated earlier.

“I imagine,” Sewell continued, “that that’s why you brought this in. We’ve already neutralised it, of course.” He opened his hand and let the equipment fall to the floor. Deliberately, he stepped on the transceiver. “Still, why take chances?”

“Oh, I agree,” Nightwing said, making no effort to hide his amusement. “I figured the fastest way to find Doctor Divakaruni was to let your people take me right to him. And, I had to assume that if you guys were smart, you’d search me before you tried locking me up somewhere. So, I gave you something to find.” He held up his left wrist, which sported an ornate wristwatch. “And once you did, you stopped looking.”

He paused. Then, seemingly speaking to the empty air, he added, “Did you get all that?”

Instantly, Barbara’s voice issued forth from a speaker built into the watch. “I got it, the LLU amateur radio club has been broadcasting it, and the local police force picked it up. The cops should be there any second.”

Sewell’s jaw dropped. “But then… I just…” As he realized the full import of the information that he had relayed a moment ago, his face paled. “No.”

At that moment, they heard a voice from outside speaking through a bullhorn. “This is the police. We have you surrounded. Come out with your hands up…”

Heard on radio station WTOP, one day later

“Senator Lloyd Gerard’s political career appears to be over. The senator has not been seen since yesterday, when he was implicated in the kidnapping of geneticist Ram Prasad Divakaruni. A preliminary investigation has found evidence linking the senator with both organized crime and the terrorist Carnelian Order. The Senator’s office could not be reached for comment. For more on the story, we join our correspondent, Rita Andrews in Loma Linda…”

It's Independence Day I'm free
And it's a strange place to be
I'm gonna break these chains
Unleash the changes in me

I see an endless road
I feel the restless wind
I've lost the fear inside
Cause I've got no choice
But to live or die

Suddenly you're in this fight alone
Steppin' out into the great unknown
And the night's the hardest time
When the doubts run through your mind
Cause suddenly you find yourself alone
Suddenly you find yourself

Desmond Child/Andreas Carlsson, “Suddenly”