Part Two

That same evening, in their main meeting room, the Assembly was having a special discussion about a more serious matter: The death - murder, actually - of John Gaughn.

"You don't think Constantine did this, do you?" said Champion, leaning back in her chair and looking thoughtfully at the glow panels in the high ceiling, though addressing the team brain.

"Certainly not personally," said Dr. Gorgeous. "Probably not at all. If he had handled the matter himself he would have used his powers, rather than a gun. For example, by dropping Gaughn from a great height, so he'd have time to reflect on his choices. Alternatively, Constantine might have hired someone to get rid of Gaughn, but that seems too petty for him. Also, there have of late been a few other shootings which match the characteristics of this one."

"So far, there don't seem to have been any actions against the others involved in the theft," said Thunderer, focusing on the immediate topic.

"There probably won't be," said Gorgeous, absently playing with her pen. "Generally, it's considered adequate for the leader of a failed operation to be disciplined, as an example to the troops. We should watch for that, anyway, of course."

"So," said Maciste, "who else might have it in for the people behind the treasure theft?"

"Most likely, it's the people behind those people," said Dr. Gorgeous. She put her pen down and shrugged. "They failed in their task, after all. Sources say that Mr. Gone was on the outs with US organized crime and short on personal resources, after that debacle eight years ago. He probably made a deal with someone like the Russian mob or one of the Mexican drug cartels who are wanting to branch out. Perhaps to get a foothold in Grand Larceny and other non-drug crime in the US."

"Well, that sort of investigation sounds like it's far more suited to conventional law enforcement than super teams," said Champion, actually a bit disappointed.

"Definitely," said Dr. Gorgeous, nodding. "Though we should just as definitely keep our contacts on the alert for more information. However, the fact that someone used a mundane weapon to kill a non-physical super probably indicates that the hit was by a mundane killer. Someone without powers, but who is either very skilled or just got lucky."

"Considering that masterminds like Mr. Gone tend to be complacent about mundane dangers," said Thunderer, "they might not even have needed to be all that lucky."

"A good point. Still, there could be super involvement, if only from Mr. Gone's friends and allies in the super community." Dr. Gorgeous frowned a bit. "Yes, so, use our contacts among them, as well."

"Let's just hope there's not a war between criminal organizations," said Thunderer, with a grimace.

"Is there any other business?" said Champion, sitting up and looking around. "Okay, good. Let's hope for a quiet week."

"I'm glad we finished early," said Maciste, grinning as the team members stirred themselves. "I want to try that new hot tub. The one with zone control, so tough folks like me can actually feel the heat."

"I think I'll join you," said Champion, rising She looked around. "Anyone else?"

In the end, only Sharma and Dr. Gorgeous didn't indulge.

* * *

The Assembly was far from the only group concerned with that murder, in large part due to several others with similar modi operandi. Teams and individual heroes were working on the problem, seeing it as something to worry long-term, like a particularly tough bone. Indeed, even weeks after the event some were still following leads. A few of which took longer to track down than others. As a certain east-coast city settled in for the night, one local was suddenly alert to the approach of a non-local.

The motorcycle was well muffled, but he still heard it coming. He thought about fading away, into the night. However, he knew the vehicle, and the rider; this was someone who would not give up easily. He stayed where he was, just inside the mouth of an alley, waiting to see what she would do. She might not even be coming for him.

She was. The custom modified - actually, this version had been built from scratch by Gadgetive and several gadgeteers and vehicular engineers she knew - motorcycle stopped in the empty parking space nearest the alley. Blue Impact casually put the kickstand down and got off; she even fed the meter. The Black Badge realized she knew he was there and was deliberately presenting a calm presence. Still, he didn't move.

Finally, she walked towards the mouth of the alley. She stopped there, staring at him.

"Where are your friends?" said the Black Badge.

"They dropped me off."

Which meant they were nearby, in that silent flying machine of theirs.

"So, what do you want?"

"Did you have anything to do with the death of Mr. Gone?"

"No."

"Inspector Charles Devine?"

"No."

She asked three more names of people who had recently been murdered, all in very similar ways. He denied any involvement in all of them.

"Those deaths all have the same MO: a single shot to the head from a .357 Magnum, from the front. Some people overheard the killer saying 'You're arrested.' Some people saw a masked man in a generic police uniform on the scene or actually performing the act."

"I changed my costume not long after the last time we spoke. Mainly due to the old one being damaged. This one is similar, but there are differences. I'm also far from the only cop or former cop with grudges against people who abuse the system. This could even be a perp trying to frame a cop."

"The few descriptions of the fake policeman aren't detailed enough for the differences in costume to matter."

"I don't use a gun," said the Black Badge, firmly. "I don't need to."

Blue Impact stared at him for a moment, then relaxed.

"All right."

She turned and walked away.

The Black Badge watched her leave with a sense of relief. Blue Impact on her own might have been more than he could have handled, or even escaped. With her teammates somewhere nearby... He was very glad she had believed him. He hoped she had believed him.

* * *

"I love this place," said Vic, as she paused after collapsing another unloaded box to look around their new home. "I can't believe we got it so quickly. There's a lot of people hunting for apartments in this city. Though I do wish it had been a bit cheaper."

This apartment was not only roomier than their previous two, it was more cheerful and looked almost new. It even still smelled of fresh paint. Apparently, the landlord had made a substantial effort to clean and refurbish it before putting it on the market. The only drawback Vic could see - besides the price - was that it was unfurnished. Their stuff was suitable for just a bit over half the larger space. Well, given time and money, that would be corrected.

"We had a smaller deposit on the last place because that was a scam," said Michelle, pointedly, from where she was organizing the stuff Vic took from the boxes. She smiled. "Oh, and to find this place I was calling multiple times a day for over a month. So, yeah, a bit of luck, but also a lot of work."

Vic leaned over from where she was kneeling and kissed the sitting Michelle.

"Sorry I wasn't more help with that. Things have just been a bit crazy, with school and the Moldarian jewel theft, us getting married, the rush before graduation, and then me starting work for the Bureau full time..."

"Oh, I'm not blaming you for having a career," said Michelle, after a moment of kissing back. "I know..."

They were interrupted by a knock on the door.

"I swear, I'm going to paint that doorbell button fluorescent fuchsia," said Vic, joking, as she rose smoothly from the freshly cleaned carpet to her feet without using her hands. "Maybe that's the Welcome Wagon."

"I don't think that's even a thing, any more," said Michelle, grinning. "Though I guess is could be some of the residents satisfying their curiosity through the pretense of welcoming us to their community."

The person knocking was a very scruffy - even dirty - man. Who was also very angry.

"Hey, bitch, where's Joey?" he said, shifting nervously. He definitely gave the impression of someone who was very on edge.

"I don't know a Joey," said Vic, instantly on full alert but being courteous and appearing relaxed. "If you mean the person who used to live here, the landlord said he left town."

"You gonna tell me where he is, bitch!" the man yelled, shoving Vic in the chest. "He owes me!"

Vic slid one foot behind her and didn't move. The man seemed vaguely surprised.

"Remove your hand."

"Yeah?" he said, grabbing a handful of Vic's t-shirt. "You gonna make..."

By that time he was turned around and heading face-first for the hallway floor, already in a secure arm lock. Vic was merciful and eased him down the last bit, so he didn't lose any teeth or break any bones or even cartilage on touchdown. Once certain he was not going anywhere, Vic looked up at the three other scruffy - and rather startled - men in the hall.

"You with this loser?"

Their answer was to leave. Quickly.

"Michelle, call 911."

"Bitch! You call the cops on me I'll mess you up so bad no man will ever want you!"

"Now how are you going to do that when you can't even get loose?" said Vic, reasonably.

He tried. He tried so hard he dislocated one shoulder and gave himself several contusions. He didn't seem to feel the pain.

"Yeah, he's high," said one of the EMTs who responded.

"No surprise," said one of the uniformed police officers who had preceded the ambulance. He turned to Vic. "This apartment used to belong to a drug dealer."

"Great," said Vic, with a heavy sigh. "So, I assume that's who Joey was."

"Hey, nobody said anything about that when we looked at this apartment!" said Michelle, defensively.

"Something you should definitely take up with the landlord," said the cop, sympathetically. "Who, by the way, is already under investigation for taking payoffs from Joey and a few other less than law-abiding renters. Oh, and since addicts aren't known for keeping up with current events you can expect more visits like this."

"Great," said Michelle, sourly.

* * *

Template met the guest at the main dock for the island the next morning. She looked around with appreciation as the boat pulled towards her; the day was sunny and warm with just enough wind to be interesting. She might have believed the island was showing off if such weather weren't common, here. No wonder Pine had picked this location to make his home. She stayed back while the professionals secured the boat and pushed the gangway across, then stepped forward to greet the visitor as he reached the dock. Mr. Samuel Insmouth was a well but not expensively dressed man, perhaps in his early forties.

"I'm very glad to meet you," he said, smiling as they shook hands, skin to glove. "I know what I'm proposing has little or nothing to do with your school, and we don't really need your permission. The group I work for could just buy up property and move in. However, we want to be on good terms with our neighbors. I also want to make use of your knowledge of the island for picking our site."

"I know some of the people who moved into Elysian Fields," said Template, nodding as they began walking to the parking area on the shore end of the dock. There waited the golf-cart-like vehicle she had borrowed for the tour. It was electric, powered by advanced batteries invented by some previous students at the school. It was also capable of a much higher speed than the typical golf cart, and had a few other interesting features. "I never thought of having a super retirement center here, but it does make sense."

"We're a lot more than that," said Insmouth, nodding, as they climbed into the little vehicle. He noted the way Template made sure to tuck her cape behind her, so it wouldn't flap in the breeze while she drove. "As I mentioned in my call, one of the reasons we want to build here is that super hospital you folks recently opened. I especially appreciate you arranging a meeting with the chief of staff there."

"Many people - including some of Pine's employees - have retired here on their own," said Template, as they set off. She grinned at him. "It's an island paradise, after all, even if it was artificially created. However, I don't think anyone has even thought about putting an official retirement facility here before. Especially one for supers."

"It's not just for retirees," said the man, with the conviction of someone who had seen the concept work. "It's for any supers who can no longer take care of themselves. For whatever reason."

"Hence your interest in the hospital," said Template, now nodding, herself. "That does fit pretty well."

She showed the man briefly around the school, then took him to the hospital. They spent more than a hour there, mostly in a meeting with the head of the facility. Dr. Nief seemed to find the subject of super gerontology fascinating.

After a quick lunch at the hospital's cafeteria, Template showed their guest several areas on the island which were for sale and might be suitable for a "retirement and etc." center for supers. She deliberately saved the best for last.

"This," said Insmouth, as he climbed slowly out of the cart and looked around the hilltop where they had parked.

The little vehicle had barely made the top of this elevation where they now were. The "road" up the slope was little more than a rough track, and the cart's ability to handle such travel was limited. Twice, Template almost got out and carried it. Still, here they were, and Insmouth was obviously taken with the view. Despite the volcano smoldering dourly in the distance.

"It's a bit... isolated," said Template, who was - unusually for her - considering ground access rather than air.

"Perfect. The facility will be self-contained for power and water, so the isolation isn't a problem. I assume they'll buy enough land so that we can build an access drive to the nearest existing road. Or perhaps just acquire an easement. Yes."

He looked around, smiling.

"Yes. Looks like it's mostly rock up here, so we can build without disrupting much plant growth. We'll keep as much of the trees and such as we can, and landscape everything we buy which is not actually used for a building. We'll make sure it looks better than it does now, if admittedly more managed. There's plenty of room for what we have planned, too. It's ideal, or very close."

"There's no other development in this area," said Template. "No plans for anything, either, at least that I know of. You're well away from everything, in fact."

"Well, this island isn't all that big," said Insmouth, smiling and completely undeterred by this information. "Nowhere on it is far from any other part. However, this looks isolated, while still having pretty quick access to the rest of the facilities, including the docks. At least, once we get the access road built. Yes."

He looked towards the west.

"I bet the sunsets are fantastic from here, too."

* * *

The ship was waiting just west of Greenland, but far enough from it that all those aboard could see was ocean. A few minutes after reaching this station, their radar picked up something coming down from orbit. Soon, those outside could see the cargo pod descending on its parachutes.

"Looks like they're right on target," said one of the deck hands, as the pod grew closer.

"I just hope we're not the target," said another, which brought a bit of a laugh.

"They're not that accurate," said the retrieval boss.

The ship wasn't the target, just waiting near the intended landing area. Soon they could see the pod drop into the ocean a safe distance to the north of their ship.

The retrieval ship revved its idling engines and turned towards the radio beacon and radar corner on the cargo pod. Soon they could also see the blinking light beacon on the top of the blunt cone of the entry pod, clearly visible in the growing dark. The ship pulled past the bobbing pod, and with direction from those on the now-open fantail backed carefully towards it. All those working directly on the retrieval were wearing survival suits. Despite the season the water was still dangerously cold.

"Okay, go to station holding mode," said the guy in charge of the retrieval, over his headset. He turned to those working on the pickup. "Get that hook on the parachute lines!"

The lines were hooked, and the pod then winched aboard.

"Any idea what the cargo is this time?" said one of the hands, as they secured the cargo pod to the inner deck. The door started closing. Nobody watched that; it was routine and they were preoccupied with the pod.

"Probably more foamed titanium."

Moments later a scream came over the intercom.