Masks XXVIII: Old School

by

Rodford Edmiston

Part Four

Vic and her boss were meeting one of the archivists working to examine and conserve the Operators' lair and its contents. The three of them were all currently seated in Drake's small office.

"We finally heard from a family member of one of the Operators," said the archivist. "She's a great-granddaughter of Captain Sticky, and an Internet influencer. She uses the online name Hannah Anna Banana."

"Ow," said Vic, wincing. "It's not even that popular of a song."

"Song?" said the archivist, obviously puzzled. "Never mind. We verified through several means that she - real name Caroline Anders Tomlin - was actually Captain Sticky's descendant. Including by looking at her DNA."

"So what did she say?" said Drake. "About the publication of the journals, I mean."

"That it's ancient history and none of her business."

"Well, I disagree with the first part of that evaluation," said Drake. "However, I'm glad she doesn't care."

"Though I bet that changes if the sales of the journal make money," muttered Vic.

"That is unlikely," said the archivist. "That she would change her mind due to money, I mean. The whole family is very wealthy, thanks to Captain Sticky's inventions and careful investments."

"Well, that's one more hurdle cleared," said Drake, nodding. "Thank you for the information."

* * *

"Another line of storms is supposed to move across this part of North America this weekend," said Vic, looking at the Weather Underground site on her work computer, on a Friday a few mornings later. She sighed, and continued with a sour tone. "The front is supposed to get here late Monday, maybe early Tuesday morning. More work for emergency crews and super teams. Probably for the Bureau, too. Though my abilities aren't suited for that sort of work."

"Well, cleanse your palate with this: They're bringing back Doc Wilson's Whiz-Bang Antifungal Ointment," said Cal, smiling, from where he sat at his desk next to Vic's. "Stuff hasn't been made since a then-new FDA administrator decided to crack down on 'patent cures' in the late Sixties. It took an Act of Congress to get it made legal again. However, you'll now need a prescription for it."

"My farmer grandfather was irate when the government made the parent company take it off the market," said Vic. She gave a short laugh. "He was still complaining about it when I was a kid, decades later. Mainly because _his_ father complained about it. My great-grandfather said it would cure both humans and livestock, so naturally 'they' made it illegal, and my grandfather echoed him."

She gave another short laugh, an ironic one this time.

"About the only thing both my grandfathers agree on is their hatred of 'government overreach.'"

"Yet here you are, working for the federal government," said Cal, with a smirk.

"Ah, but the Bureau of Special Resources is seen as a rogue agency," said Vic, with a matching smirk. "Just ask most Congresscritters. Or either of my grandfathers."

The storms were still coming, but at least her coworker had lifted her mood. A bit.

* * *

The next Monday morning briefing was more interesting - and more pertinent to those in attendance - than usual. Not just due to the oncoming storm, either.

"We have some new information on Conrad Kostinos, probably aka John Mark," said Drake. "He bragged a few times that he was a descendant of Washington McAndless. That he inherited his long life from him."

"The Old Prospector?" said Cal, obviously impressed. "Wow. Isn't he still around?"

"Yeah. What I'm saying is, that if Conrad Kostinos had an ancestor with the genes for some sort of super-type longevity, he could still be around, too."

Drake let them digest this for a while.

"We have managed to contact McAndless and arranged to have a conference call with him. Later today, in fact."

"Well, whatever else you do," said Cal, tone wry, "don't call him 'Wash M'Hands.' He hates that."

* * *

"Not one of mine, that I know of," said McAndless, when asked over the phone about Conrad Kostinos. He sounded crotchety and querulous, as he had for well over a century. "Only kin I know of in that area wuz Louise McAndless Colditz, and she died donkey's years ago."

"Wait. She was the mother of Emil Colditz," said Drake, startled. "The kidnapped boy from 1923."

"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" said Vic, looking at her boss. "That when they didn't get the ransom, instead of killing the boy they handed him over to their boss. Who renamed and adopted him."

"I heard about that mess, but months later," said Washington. "Sad situation. Probably what killed Louise so young. I wuz real sorry about it. Kept thinkin' I could'a done something if'n I'd just heard about it sooner. Couldn't think of what, though. Don't know anything about him being adopted by Kostinos, though."

"Well, thank you for this information," said Drake. "I can't think of any further questions just now, but I'll get in touch if I do."

"Be sure to let me know what you find out, too," said the Prospector. He gave a humorless laugh. "If any of you are left after those storms get through with you. They're supposed to get pretty bad in your area late tonight."

"Do you think he knew?" said Vic, after the old man had rung off. "I mean, did Kostinos know he was actually Colditz? Or maybe still does know..."

"Irrelevant for our purposes," said Drake. "We might be able to ask him, if we can find him."

* * *

Despite being on the job for several years - and having a masters degree - Vic was still learning. Her best teacher turned out to be her boss. Something he proved again before sending those he supervised home that afternoon. Well aware that if the storms that night were particularly bad he might not see any of them for a few days.

"Look for connections," said Drake, speaking in the common office of the employees - most of whom had not worked in crime before starting here - but looking at Vic. "Organized crime must interface in some way with legitimate businesses, or what they take in is worthless."

"So watch for money laundering," said Vic, nodding. She grinned. "Perhaps even literally."

"Laundries have, indeed, been used for that purpose," said Drake, straight-faced. He looked around the office. "Now, everyone go home. Pay attention to the weather reports. Don't worry about coming in tomorrow if things get bad."

* * *

"Sometimes I envy the Dragon's Hand," said Vic, lounging back on their new couch, enjoying a quiet evening with her spouse before the storms hit. "Back when she was active in the Thirties and Forties she did things like punch out tanks and jump off buildings for fun."

"You have definitely punched out supers who were at least as tough as tanks," said Michelle, pointedly. "Also, don't you jump off buildings for fun?"

"Yeah, but I cheat."

"How do you know she didn't cheat?"

"She also convincingly disguised herself as a boy," said Vic.

"Different times," said Michelle, literally waving that point away. "She needed to disguise herself to protect her family and friends - like so many masks today - and people in general were more accepting of males - even boys - as costumed adventurers back then. Even after she retired - in the late Forties - to settle down and raise a family there were still people who insisted the Dragon's Hand must be male. When she published her memoirs people said that Janis was just stealing the real Dragon's Hand's fame for herself."

"You've been studying," said Vic, grinning.

"You talked so much about her that I figured I better. Besides, Dutch and Lawrence write about her a lot in that book. Very favorably, too. I get the feeling both had a crush on her, but were too intimidated by her to act on it."

"I'm only to the second chapter," said Vic, defensively. "I'm just... very busy."

"Well, if the storms are really bad tonight, you should have time for reading over the next few days."

"'If...'"

* * *

Randy and Karen Devon stood with one of their two children in their back yard, watching the lightning illuminating the distant clouds after dusk. The forecast was for strong thunderstorms, and several areas west of them had already been hit. Some with tornados. As often happened, the front was both angled and curved, and was arriving here a bit before places to the north and northwest. The air was still, but they could all sense the storm brewing in the distance.

"It would go through at night," said Karen, sourly. "We won't be able to see anything coming, and have to rely on radio, TV and Internet warnings."

"It's time like these I envy my niece," said Randy, quietly, as he looked at the clouds coming over the horizon, visible thanks to the lights of the city to their west. "She can _feel_ the electricity in storms."

"Yeah, yeah," said Sarah, rolling her eyes. "It's a big storm, yadda-yadda, Energia can feel it, yadda-yadda..."

"Respect your cousin," said Randy, firmly. "She's older than you and a lot more experienced."

"Roy is only a little older than me and not experienced, but you say I have to respect him!"

"Because he's your older brother," said Karen. She looked worried. "I just hope he gets home from his job soon. I don't like him being out driving in this weather."

"Howcum he gets a van?" said Sarah, with all the passion of an eleven year old who perceives an injustice.

"He has a driver's license," said Karen, tiredly, having been over this with her multiple times. "Besides, you can fly. You don't need a van. Just don't fly without wearing a mask, and be careful about people not seeing where you take off from and land at."

"Yeah, yeah..." said the youngest member of the Devon family.

She started to say something snarky, but sirens began sounding, cutting off Sarah's retort.

"Uh-oh," said Randy. "We better get inside and check the radio."

"That's so old-fashioned!" yelled Sarah, as they hurried indoors. "Use the Internet!"

Her parents actually did both, as well as turning on the TV. As it turned out, a tornado had been detected as part of the approaching storm, picked up on infrasound sensors and radar. However, the worst of the storm - the part with the tornado - was supposed to pass north of them. Randy told his wife and daughter to get to the storm shelter in the basement, anyway.

"I'll watch for Roy, and bring..."

He was cut off by his son arriving. Roy seemed completely unconcerned about the storm. He parked the van in their garage, made sure the door was starting down, then wandered in an unhurried manner into the kitchen. Where the rest of the family was waiting impatiently for him.

"What's going on? Why are those sirens..."

"In the shelter! Now!" shouted Randy, ushering the three of them towards the stairway down, at the back of the kitchen. "I'll explain once we're safely underground."

Digging a subterranean storm shelter as an extension to their basement had been trivial for someone with Randy's powers. He'd even let Roy and Sarah help expand it when they got their own powers, partly as training. Concealing the entrance had been only slightly more difficult. The small chamber deep under their back yard had an independent power supply - high-efficiency rechargeable batteries - and air recycling, as well as an Ethernet cable for an Internet connection. As Karen closed and secured the door into their basement shelter Randy booted the laptop kept in there.

"Remember when I developed a reaction to the glue in the masks I was using?" said Karen, mostly to get the children's minds off the situation.

"Yeah," said Randy, absently, as he called up the weather forecast. "Even though it was supposed to be hypoallergenic."

"Have either of you kids had any kind of irritation like that?"

They both responded in the negative.

"So, this storm is actually a big thing?" said Roy, looking surprised. "At work they said it wasn't. They wouldn't even let us go early."

"I'll have to speak with your boss," said Karen, her tone promising much.

"No, don't," said Roy, quickly, now looking worried. "I mean, it kind'a blew up fast, didn't it? He was probably basing that on old data."

"Regardless, now that you're here we're hunkering down and waiting out the storm," said Karen, firmly.

"What about helping people hurt by the storm?" said Sarah, almost whining.

"We start helping _after_ the storm passes," said Randy, as firmly as his wife had made her earlier statement. "We can't do anything about the storm itself, but as soon as it is by us we go out and help. Now, does everyone have their costume, or at least a mask?"

"Uhm, I don't," said Roy, appearing uncomfortable. "All that stuff is in that hidden compartment in my room."

"I do!" shouted Sarah, before her parents could say anything in response to this.

The girl struck a ballerina pose and twirled around rapidly. Suddenly, with no additional drama, her outfit changed. She stopped spinning and struck a pose. She was now fully costumed, including mask.

"See?"

"How did she even _get_ that?!" said Randy, stunned. "It was a gift from the Crystal Oracle! A gift to _me_!"

"Why don't you go ask it?" said Karen, irritated. Actually, she was frightened of the storm, but trying not to show this.

"I'm not sure I could even find it. I drove and walked there and back, but that was... in a different timeline. Though I guess I could ask Tiger, next time he's in the area..."

"Anyway, I keep my main costume and a stack of masks in here," said Karen. She realized that she had raised her voice, because the wind sounds from the storm had increased enough to be loud, even in the shelter. "Assuming you _do_ want to help, Roy, and that the house holds together, you'll have to get your costume and a mask later. Meanwhile, we do the hardest thing we can do. Which is wait."

The wind noise grew even louder.