The original Human Torch in…

NOTHING QUITE NEW

Part II

By Derrick Ferguson

“You mean to tell me that he just stood there and took everything this Manslaughter threw at him and he didn’t so much as blink?”

Captain Troy Barksdale was looking through the one-way glass into the interrogation room where Manslaughter sat, nervously nursing a can of Mountain Dew while he listened to Lucille Ballantine as she related her impressions of the fight that had raged between her employer and the man in the room only four short hours ago. Although it couldn’t rightly have been called a fight since The Human Torch had taken out Manslaughter’s armored battle suit with one shot. After that, Troy had been called in. He had been assigned to be The Human Torch’s Official Liaison to the Las Vegas Police Department and this was their first case together. And judging by this one, Troy had the distinct impression that he was going to be kept busy.

“Captain, he zapped that chump with a bolt of flame that…it was like nothing I’ve ever seen before…it was as if it were alive…”

Troy turned as the door of the small observation room opened and Jim Hammond, The Original Human Torch, entered the room. If any other man had been wearing the red bodysuit with its yellow belt and cuffs that Jim Hammond wore, Troy would have burst out laughing. But somehow, the way Jim wore the suit did not invite laughter. His heroic musculature, sky-blue eyes that shone with the intensity and power of an American eagle and unmistakable aura of confidence and competence did not invite laughter. Instead, Troy found himself a little in awe despite the cynicism that came with being a Las Vegas cop for 15 years. Troy did not impress easily but he had to admit, Jim Hammond impressed him.

“I’ve finished making a preliminary statement to the press. I hope I wasn’t being premature, Captain.”

“Certainly not, Mr. Hammond. In fact, I prefer you to handle the press. Frankly, it’ll save me from having to do it and getting into beef with the PR department. As a Special Deputy of the LVPD I think you can give statements and hold press conferences without having to clear it through the PR people. I don’t have that authority.”

“Good. And since we’re going to be working together a lot, why don’t you just call me Jim when we’re alone? I realize that for the sake of protocol you’ll want to call me Mr. Hammond in public and I would certainly extend the same courtesy to you and call you Captain Barskdale.”

Troy shrugged. “Cool with me… but it’s going to be rough calling a living legend by his first name.”

“Practice makes perfect,” Jim said with that engaging, friendly smile that seemed to radiate sunshine. Then his face grew serious as he got down to business. “What have we found out about our friend in there?”

Troy picked up a folder resting on a small table and opened it. “Our friend’s real name is Chester Carneal. Strictly small time. He’s a minor league thug with ties to Maggia operations here in Vegas. We’ve picked him up on a number of minor charges. Nothing major. Like I said, the boy’s a bush leaguer. The only reason he’s working for the Maggia is he has a couple of cousins who are semi-major players out here. Chester’s little more than an errand boy for them.”

“So where does a two-bit wanna-be gangster like Chester get a sophisticated battle suit?” Jim mused. “Have your Tech Teams come up with anything yet?”

Troy shook his head. “They’re waiting on S.H.I.E.L.D. technical advisors to come in and have a look. My Tech Teams say that that suit is way beyond anything they’ve ever seen. We’re talking about HYDRA level weaponry here.”

“We need answers and we need them fast. Whoever is behind this may have more than one of those battle suits or even worse, he may decide to leave Vegas.” Jim looked at Troy and placed a firm hand on his shoulder. “I’m going to have to ask that you trust me. I’m going to try something but for it to work I have to ask that you not come into that room after I go in.”

Troy looked into the room at the young man fidgeting nervously and then back into the clear, honest eyes of Jim Hammond. “Just don’t do anything to cause me to lose my pension, okay?”

Jim squeezed his shoulder. “I won’t. I promise. Lucille? Would you please get me a glass and a pitcher of ice water please?”

Chester Carneal looked up with large, suspicious eyes as Jim walked into the gray walled interrogation room, holding a big glass pitcher of ice water. Ice spheres clinked with an almost musical cadence as Jim placed the pitcher carefully in the middle of the table and the glass in front of Chester. Jim then sat down in the chair across the table and leaned forward, his fingers interlaced, his face friendly and amiable.

“Chester, it’s my hope that you and I can now talk to each other like reasonable men. We can put all that ridiculous posing and such behind us now and discuss exactly what happened to you and who put you in that battle suit. And most importantly, where I can find him or them.”

Chester’s eyes were frightened but determined as he said in a quivering voice he was fighting to keep under control: “I want to speak to a lawyer.”

“That’s certainly your right and if you want one, one will be called for you. But I should inform you that I’ve exercised my Avenger status and invoked Article 10 of The Advanced Technology Act sanctioned by The Commission On Superhuman Activities.”

Chester looked at Jim as if he were speaking Sanskrit. “What sort of legal doubletalk is this?”

Jim shrugged muscular shoulders that rippled easily under the unstable molecular fabric of his red bodysuit. “Oh, it’s no doubletalk I assure you. All that Article 10 says is that since you have used illegal advanced technology in the act of committing public and private property damage and endangered the lives of innocent citizens and attempted to take the life of a legally0recognized agent of law enforcement. I have the right to hold you for questioning for 72 hours before your lawyer can talk to you. So your lawyer can be called but he’ll have to wait his turn. You see, somebody out there is in possession of technology that they shouldn’t be. And I want to know who it is and you’re going to tell me.”

Chester swallowed hard. His hands were gripping the sides of the table so hard Jim could hear the tendons creaking. “You can’t make me talk. I’ll wait you out, damn you!”

Jim again shrugged. “Why don’t you have a glass of water? It’s nice and cool. You’ll find it most refreshing.”

Chester opened his mouth to say something then paused as his eyes fell upon the pitcher. When Jim had set it down, it was half full of ice spheres. Now all the ice was almost all gone and indeed, the water level had risen almost to the rim of the pitcher and threatened to slop over the top.

And was it…was it…getting…warmer in the interrogation room?

Chester looked into Jim’s calm, smiling face with utter terror as he realized what was going on. Jim suddenly looked somewhat dismayed. “Not thirsty?” he asked innocently.

Chester leaped to his feet and dashed to the door and seized the doorknob. He yelped and let go of it, leaping backwards, panting heavily, and looking down at his palm, which was smoking slightly.

“The doorknob’s been fused shut as have the fire sprinklers, son. It’s just you and me in here. I would strongly urge you to drink some water while it’s still relatively cool.”

“How did you DO that?” Chester screamed. “You’re not on fire!”

Jim folded his arms across his broad chest and leaned back in his chair. “Most people get Johnny Storm and I mixed up in a lot of ways. One of those is how our powers differ and I have a significant ability he doesn’t: I can telekinetically control heat and flame…even fires I haven’t created myself. I merely heated the doorknob, air conditioning ducts and sprinklers telekinetically until they fused shut. And now I’m gradually raising the temperature in this room. Surely you’ve noticed by now?”

Chester’s shirt was now soaked with sweat, partly from his own panic and partly from the rapidly warming air inside the already small, confined room. He dashed over to the pitcher of ice water and picked it up, pouring the contents over his head, soaking his shirt. He scrabbled on the floor for the few remaining shards of ice, greedily sucking them down.

“Very good thinking, Chester. But at the rate I’m raising the temperature in this room, you’ll really start to feel the heat in about two minutes. Another two minutes after that…”

Chester ran to the large mirror that he knew was actually a one way observation glass and pounded on it with his fists. “You can’t let him DO this!” Chester screamed. “I want a LAWYER!”

“There’s nobody in there, Chester. I sent them away. You want to get out of here, you talk to me.”

“GET ME A GODDAMN LAWYER!”

Jim sat back, his smiling widening.

Chester looked down in barely controlled terror at the steam rising from his rapidly drying shirt. He howled and continued banging on the glass.

In the observation room, Lucille was standing next to Troy Barksdale, her purple fingernails digging into his arm. “Say, do you think we ought to do something?”

Troy shook his head. “I said I’d let him play it his way and that’s what I’m going to do.”

“But-“

“Look, Miss Ballantine, your boss and I are going to have to trust each other if we’re going to be working together and here’s where it starts. I have to trust he won’t let the situation get out of hand and he has to be able to trust the fact that I trust him. Now, either we’re going to work together or we’re not.”

Lucille swallowed hard and nodded, turning back to look at the drama inside the interrogation room.

“Make a decision, Chester. But make it fast. I get bored easily and I could decide to just flash fry this entire room and you in it. I-“

Chester whirled around and threw himself at Jim, his hands going for Jim’s throat. His fingers wrapped around Jim’s throat with the intention of choking the life out of him. Chester yowled like a scalded cat…or better yet, a scalded human because that’s exactly what he was. The palms of his hands were a deep salmon red. Chester stumbled backwards until he hit the wall and slid to the floor, his burned hands held up in front of his chest, the skin already peeling, tears rolling down his cheeks that dried before they got to his chin.

And so Chester talked.

“Gotta admit I was a little worried there, Mr. Hammond.” Troy said quietly as he watched Chester being helped into a wheelchair that would take him to the police infirmary to care for his burns.

“Call me Jim, please.” Jim was looking through a file folder that Troy had found, based on the information Chester had given Jim. “This is all we have on Professor Marcus White?” Jim looked up, frowning. “This doesn’t even say what he’s a professor of.”

Troy shrugged. “He probably isn’t. This is Vegas, Mr. Ham–Jim. People come here every day from every state in the country looking to re-invent themselves and become somebody or something new. You know how many people come here, change their identities and start new lives that have nothing to do with their old ones? You know how many bored housewives who come here and become showgirls or strippers or hookers? Businessmen, family men who were pillars of the communities back in that respectable little suburb they were born and grew up in drop everything and come here to be gamblers or hustlers or just plain old bums.”

“And you’re saying this is the case with Professor Marcus White? That he’s one of the disenfranchised who emigrate to Vegas to live out a fantasy?”

“What I’m saying is that Professor Marcus White showed up in Las Vegas about 15 months ago and settled down a nice routine of romancing other men’s wives and winning a lot of money in the casinos.”

“Is that why you have a file on him?”

Troy nodded. “Naturally he was accused of cheating and a couple of the casinos had him checked out.”

“How?”

“Most casinos employ low level telepaths who can scan surface thoughts and minor grade mystics who can detect when spells are being used to affect the laws of probability and not much more. They’re legally allowed to use those powers inside the casinos to make sure that there’s no cheating using telepathy or magic. Our boy passed like a champ.”

“Why don’t the casinos simply ban him from gambling, then?”

Troy grinned sheepishly. “Remember the other men’s wives I mentioned? Well, those wives are married to some influential men in this town and more than a few of those wives have got some juice of their own. Enough to get White inside the casinos and continue cleaning up.”

“I see.” Jim closed the folder and handed it back to Troy. “According to Chester, he was brought to White’s private residence in Henderson where he met with three masked men who explained to him that they were scientists wanting to test out their battle suit. They promised to give the suit to Chester if he could kill me or force me to leave Vegas.”

Lucille was sitting on the table, drinking a Diet Pepsi. “This don’t make any sense, Mr. Hammond. Surely these guys must have known that you couldn’t be scared off or that Chester could beat you.”

“Indeed. Which means that Professor White has some other reason for involving me in this. And I intend to find out what it is.” Jim turned to Lucille. “I’d like you to get in touch with The Mayor’s office and inform them of what’s been going on. Troy, can you be at White’s estate in a hour with a clean-up crew?”

“Sure can. I take it you’re going out to White’s now?”

“I most certainly am. I don’t like mysteries and it’s about time I solved this one.”

The flaming form of The Human Torch lit up the Nevada desert sky for miles. During the time he had been in the police station, night had fallen, a deep dark night such as one could only find in the desert. A night so dark that it seemed as if it would never end. Behind him, Las Vegas lit up the night like a bright jewel in all that blackness, throwing off enough light to almost rival the glorious display of stars in the skies. The Torch loved the desert sky. The sky was filled with stars that blazed like a double handful of gorgeously brilliant diamonds tossed onto midnight velvet.

He was streaking like a fiery arrow toward Henderson, a city located five miles to the southeast of Las Vegas. It was one of four neighboring communities in the vicinity of Las Vegas and they were all included in what most people thought of when they mentioned Las Vegas. Being only five miles away a good many people who worked in Las Vegas lived in Henderson. Professor Marcus White occupied a type of house that had become popular in the past 10 years or so called a McMansion, a price-inflated suburban house that imitated a real mansion. The Human Torch had glanced at a map of Henderson before leaving Las Vegas as well as White’s address and it did not take him long to locate the home he was looking for. Like a living meteor he plummeted to earth, flaming off a bare few feet from the ground and he landed with a casual agility that came from literally thousands of landings as the last ribbons of fire dissipated.

Jim looked around him, taking in everything. The grounds were quiet and there were few lights on in the house, most of them on the first floor. Something told Jim that the best way to do this was to boldly walk up to the front door and knock. He remembered many conversations he and Steve had had about instinct and what Steve called as ‘going with your gut’. Jim smiled slightly as he patted his stomach. Well, his gut, synthetic or not, was telling him to face this Professor White head on and so he would. He navigated the winding path to the front door and firmly knocked. It took maybe 60 seconds before it was opened by a tall, slender man of aristocratic bearing. His thick, virile brown hair was swept back from his high forehead and his eyes seemed genuinely pleased and amused upon seeing Jim.

“Professor Marcus White? I have to ask you to excuse my attire. It’s what I wear when I’m working. My name is-“

“My dear man, who in the Las Vegas area would not recognize James Hammond, The Human Torch? Your likeness has been all over the news channels all evening long! You waged a simply awesome battle against that armored fellow who called himself Manslaughter. I hope you didn’t have to kill the fellow?” White held the door open for Jim, who stepped into the spacious foyer, never taking his eyes off of White.

“You seem most cavalier about the situation, White. Chester Carneal has implicated you in this matter. He claims that he was solicited by three men in this very house in regards to the armored battle suit he used to attack me. If you know anything about this you’d be wise to come clean about it now. If you’re being threatened or coerced in anyway, I give you my word you’ll be protected until the ones responsible are brought to justice.”

White chuckled. “Come now, Hammond. We’re both mature men. Don’t you think it’s time you dropped the playacting?”

Jim frowned. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, White.”

“Oh, cease with your unconvincing posturing!” White snapped, dropping his civility. “Did you honestly think that a man of my brilliance could not correctly extrapolate that there was a 73% possibility that the reason you decided to settle in Las Vegas was because you had somehow learned I was here?”

Jim’s eyes opened wide in recognition. The face was still not familiar but it didn’t matter. He recognized who White had to be from the way he was now speaking. “It can’t be! You! Of all people! But how…how…”

White opened his mouth to speak but never got the chance to say anything further due to the tremendous crashing of breaking glass and the horrified scream of a woman coming from the main living room. Jim reacted instinctively. Even though he was convinced that the man at his side was one of his most dangerous enemies, he could not and would not ignore a woman in distress. White was right behind him as they ran into the living room.

The French double doors had been blown into millions of shards that now covered the parquet floor and the furniture and a hot desert wind was blowing inside, billowing the light drapes. A woman dressed in a black evening gown lay on the floor, cowering from the imposing figure that towered over her. A powerfully built man, dressed from head to toe in a steel mesh bodysuit of cobalt blue and battleship gray. A golden bird design covered his entire chest and a wing-like cape flared behind him, lifted by the wind. The woman’s eyes never left the gleaming metal bands the man wore. Curving, razor sharp talons extended from each side of the bracelets.

Jim’s positronic brain scanned thousands of Avenger files he had had committed to memory in a nanosecond as he identified the intruder. “Simon Maddicks! Step away from the woman and place your hands on your head!”

The man’s masked head whipped around, the yellow ponytail attached to the back of his mask flying and his lips twisted in a grin. “The name’s Killer Shrike when I’m workin’, Hammond.”

“I don’t care what you call yourself. Back away from that woman. I won’t tell you again.”

“Good. I don’t intend to listen to you again.” Killer Shrike’s right arm thrust outwards and from the bracelet, a snapping, zigzagging bolt of electricity sizzled through the space separating Killer Shrike from Jim Hammond and Marcus White. Jim leaped aside, easily evading the bolt but White wasn’t as lucky. The bolt caught him square in the chest and he was blown up and backwards to smash into the far wall with enough force to instantly break his back. White slid to the floor like a bag of mud.

Jim’s blue eyes were bright with anger as he charged forward. “FLAME ON!” he shouted as he leaped and burst into flame. Killer Shrike’s eyes opened wide in stunned surprise just before a flaming roundhouse right knocked him out of the house back through where the double doors had been.

The Human Torch turned to look at the woman, who was gazing at him with as much terror as she had looked upon Killer Shrike. “Get out of the house. If you have a cell phone, call the police and get them here immediately.” The Torch flew out of the house, looking for Killer Shrike as he mentally reviewed the man’s powers and abilities.

It was only due to his hearing being far more acute than a human’s that enabled him to hear the discharge of Killer Shrike’s electrical blast that enabled him to dodge it and even then, he barely did so. The electrical blast crackled through the space in the air where The Human Torch had been to strike the ground, exploding with horrifying intensity.

Killer Shrike dived at The Human Torch, slashing with his talons, which were haloed in ribbons of electrical energy. The Torch twisted, putting on a burst of extra speed to spiral out of the way, leaving behind a trail of fire that Killer Shrike harmlessly cut through. The Torch threw a lance of fire at Killer Shrike, forceful enough to disorient him, the fire wasn’t intense enough to melt the steel mesh body suit but it did warm Killer Shrike up enough for him to mutter obscenities as he discharged another electrical burst.

This time it barely grazed The Torch’s left arm but it was enough to numb that side of his body, affecting his flight and throwing him off balance. Killer Shrike swooped in with all the speed and power of his namesake, dived in and up, feinting with his talons. The Torch tried to block but Killer Shrike abruptly twisted, whirled in mid air and one booted foot lashed out to impact with stunning force into the side of The Torch’s head. Completely disoriented, The Torch crashed to earth with bone-jangling impact, his flame going out.

Jim struggled to get his body to obey his commands as Killer Shrike landed. “Look here, Hammond: I’m just a professional doin’ a job. I’d rather not haveta kill you but if you make it an issue, I guess I will.”

Jim shakily got to his feet. He was rapidly recovering from the electrical shock but he needed to buy a few more minutes. “What did Marcus White do to deserve a death at your hands?”

“White?” Killer Shrike shrugged, extended his arms, electrical energy crackling and sparkling long the gleaming curves of his talons. “Not a damn thing. He got in the way of the bolt meant for you. I don’t suppose my employer will bitch about it too much since White was bangin’ his wife. That’s my target. White’s just so much extra gravy. But if you knew who he really was you wouldn’t complain about it either.”

Such cold indifference towards life was one of the few things that totally infuriated Jim Hammond. The horror and atrocities he had witnessed in World War II were memories that he would never forgot and the appalling waste of that most precious of gifts had affected him deeply. And to hear Killer Shrike speak of taking life so easily angered him, sending a rush of renewed vitality through his body as configurable processing secretion glands pumped biosupporter rebuilders throughout his
circulationanoid system. The effect was nearly identical to adrenaline being pumped into a human’s system and once again, Jim Hammond burst into fiery life, streaking through the air to smash into Killer Shrike’s chest, both of them flying backwards to collide with the north wall of White’s McMansion.

The wall burst inwards with a terrific WHOOMP! as Killer Shrike’s electrical energy thundered through the house, seeking to overcome the blazing fury of The Human Torch’s flames. Gleaming talons whistled through the air, trailing coronas of snapping, sizzling sparks as Killer Shrike sought to break through The Torch’s guard as he blocked every one of Killer Shrike’s vicious slashes. Killer Shrike jumped up into the air, both booted feet thrusting up and out into The Human Torch’s chest, sending him somersaulting backwards to smash into what was left of the north wall. The Human Torch tumbled over and over, rolling over bricks that exploded into powder from the sudden intense heat and he got to his feet, zooming into the air bare seconds before the ground exploded from the double handed electrical bolt Killer Shrike threw his way.

The Torch arced upwards, watching as Killer Shrike came flying up at him at top speed. “I got a job to do an’ you’re just getting’ in the way, man!” Killer Shrike yelled. “I think it’s time I retired you permanently!”

The Torch thrust out his right arm and a torrent of flame engulfed Killer Shrike, waves of fire sheeting over him like a living thing, sucking the oxygen right out of his lungs and overwhelming him with intense heat.

The scream of despairing agony echoed through the desert night.

The thump of Killer Shrike’s smoking, unconscious body as it hit the ground was frighteningly loud in the sudden silence that followed the scream.

The Human Torch hovered over the unconscious man, his arms folded across his chest.

“I was thinking the exact same thing, Maddicks.”

The small army of uniformed police officers, forensic scientists, detectives and television reporters that descended on the White house was staggering. Jim Hammond stood in the center of this tornado of activity; calmly answering questions and giving carefully worded statements. Troy Barksdale caught his eye and motioned for Jim to join him over at an ambulance where paramedics were seeing to the woman in the evening gown.

“This is gonna be all over the front pages of every newspaper in town by tomorrow, Jim.” Troy said wearily. “You know who we’ve got here?”

“I have no idea.”

“Jim Hammond, meet Ruth Falconeri. Her husband is Ellsworth Falconeri who is the most powerful defense lawyer in the state. The guy only represents really high profile clients.”

“I know the name. He successfully defended Doctor Octopus and the Owl on a couple of occasions.”

“And those are only two super-villains he’s gotten off. The guy’s got so much money God goes to him for a loan when He needs one. There’s a lot of rumors that Falconeri also buys stolen technology. The guy’s a fanatic about it. Loves technology of any and all kinds.”

Jim was looking thoughtfully at the shaking, still terrified Ruth Falconeri who was looking back at him with undisguised fear and hatred. “So Falconeri hires Killer Shrike to kill his wife. I just happened to get in the way when I arrived here to question White about the battle suit.”

“You never did explain if you found out what White’s connection to the battle suit is.”

Jim gestured at another ambulance that held the body of Marcus White. “Perform an autopsy on White’s body and your questions will be answered. Mine certainly are and the answers are far worse.”

Troy looked confused as Jim turned away. “An autopsy? But why? White died from a broken back didn’t he? You said yourself that Killer Shrike zapped him.”

“Maybe so, but you have to perform an autopsy anyway. And once you do so, you’ll see that the man we knew as Marcus White is an android.”

“WHAT? How do you know that-HEY!” Troy jumped backwards, away from the backwash of heated air that accompanied Jim Hammond bursting into flame and streaking into the sky.

Somewhere deep in the bowels of The Maximum Security Installation For The Incarceration Of Superhuman Criminals a.k.a. The Vault, a man abruptly sat upright on his bed. Dressed in a one-piece dark blue jumpsuit with thick-soled brown boots, the man was short, but powerful built. His thick brown hair was swept back from his high forehead and hung down the back of his neck and flowed like a proud lion’s mane. In fact, this man looked very much like Marcus White if White had been twenty or thirty years older.

The Thinker massaged his temples, waiting for the hellish throbbing in his brain to cease, as he knew it would shortly. The neural annexer that allowed him to experience sensory input from the android Marcus White was remarkable in many ways but experiencing death while still alive wasn’t one of them. Still, this had happened before to his android duplicates and he was used to these little slices of death by now.

Many years ago, The Thinker had the foresight to have a biochemically powered, high-frequency pulse code modulated link implanted in his body. Thanks to the link he could project his consciousness into android duplicates of himself, as he was when he was a young man. His latest android duplicate had been known as Marcus White and in that android body he had set out to accumulate enough wealth so as to finance his latest operations when he was released from The Vault, which his lawyers had assured him would be in another 15 months or so.

The Thinker stood up, working out the kinks in his back and legs. Damn The Human Torch! He thought bitterly. Out of all the Marvels who could have shown up to stop his plans, that damnable android was the last one he expected. And there was a long and bitter history between the two of them, ever since that day years ago when The Thinker, who the world called Mad revived The Human Torch and used him against The Fantastic Four and some time after that, The Thinker brainwashed The Torch’s one-time partner Toro. The Human Torch had foiled both of those schemes since The Thinker had not believed a mere android capable of outwitting him. But he had come to respect the fact that after so many years of self-awareness, Jim Hammond was as far removed from the conventional notion of an android as an android was from a human.

The Thinker mentally reviewed his options, his brain processing the relevant data like an organic computer. His android body would self-destruct as they all did once they ‘died’ so there would be no evidence to link him to Marcus White. Oh, Jim Hammond would most certainly fly out to The Vault to confront him but by then, The Thinker would have his lawyers here. And the bottom line of the situation was this: as long as there was no evidence, there could be no additional time added onto his sentence.

The millions he had won at the gambling tables of Las Vegas were secure in far distant Switzerland banks, just waiting for him to collect them when he was released. And through his encryption system which he had designed himself, of course, there was absolutely no way that anyone else could get their hands on his money or that it could be traced back to himself.

When he had met with the hapless Chester Carneal he had used a hologram projector and a voice caster to make it seem as if three men were meeting with him when it actually was just the Marcus White android. The Human Torch and The Las Vegas police would waste valuable time looking for two men who had never existed. As for the battle suit itself; it also would have self-destructed by now as it was programmed to do so three hours after either Chester’s death or if he was removed from the suit.

Satisfied that he was protected, The Thinker sat back down on his bunk bed, smiling to himself as he remembered the pleasures he had experienced in the Marcus White android body, which had been anatomically correct, naturally. And since an android’s stamina was inexhaustible, Marcus White had found it very easy to seduce and keep on seducing many important women who were more than grateful for the attention. And thanks to the neural annexer, The Thinker had been able to indulge in every sensation as if he had been there. He briefly considered activating another one of the 825 android duplicates he had hidden around the country and sending it to Las Vegas but he dismissed that idea almost as soon as he thought of it. The Human Torch was in Vegas and was going nowhere and sending another android would only keep his guard up. There was only another short 15 months to go and he would be free.

And this business between them was best suited to be handled in person.

And The Mad Thinker laughed.

Ellsworth Falconeri lifted the snifter of brandy to his thin aristocratic lips and sipped with a practiced, careful poise that would have appeared blatantly theatrical if there had been anyone else in the room to watch him. But Falconeri was alone. Dressed in a casual smoking jacket he was in his third floor library, listening to a CD of genuine Atlantean opera that had cost him close to a million dollars to acquire. It was a drop in the bucket to Ellsworth.

He was mentally calculating how much he would have to pay in order to get Killer Shrike smuggled out of the police wing of the hospital he had been taken to after his battle with The Human Torch and out of Vegas. The important thing now was that there be no link back to him. As for his wife, that had already been taken care of. Totally cowed by the horrific events at Marcus White’s house, she had simply disappeared. Falconeri had checked her room and saw that she had taken her jewels and nearly $19,000 dollars from the bedroom safe. She could have it. It was enough that she would not be here as a constant reminder of his disgrace. And the death of Marcus White was an added bonus in itself.

The room was suddenly flooded with strong, yet flickering light, as if a giant bonfire had suddenly started raging right outside his giant picture windows. Falconeri turned and he almost dropped his brandy when he saw where the light was coming from.

The Human Torch floated in mid air just outside his window, arms folded across his chest.

Falconeri quickly regained his composure and walked over to the window and cranked it open, feeling a warm rush of air from The Torch. Despite himself he was amazed. Here was an actual man of fire floating just twelve feet from his window.

Falconeri gave The Human Torch his biggest, friendliest smile. “Mr. Hammond, isn’t it? I suppose it was inevitable that we meet. After all, it’s men like us that make Vegas as exciting as it is, don’t we?”

The Torch said nothing. His eyes burned like two black coals from one of Hell’s furnaces.

“Perhaps you’d like to come in for a drink?” Falconeri held up his snifter of brandy. “You do drink, don’t you?”

The Torch said nothing. The fires that raged around his body hissed and crackled.

Falconeri’s frown faded. “I must say, if you’ve come here simply to be rude then I’m going have to ask that you remove yourself from my property. I’m not a man to be toyed with and your iconic stature doesn’t impress me in the slightest! I’m Ellsworth Falconeri and I crush bigger men than you when I roll over in my sleep!”

The Human Torch said nothing.

“Say SOMETHING, DAMN YOU!” Falconeri bellowed and threw the brandy snifter at The Human Torch who easily caught it in one blazing hand and squeezed. The glass melted as if it had been made of spun sugar, the transparent globules dripping from between the fingers of his fist.

And then The Human Torch spoke only four words. But they were words that carried a world of meaning.

“I’ll be watching you.”

And then The Human Torch was gone, streaking across the sky like a missile, trailing a ribbon of yellow-orange flame.

Flying always did wonders for his mood. Whenever he felt dissatisfied or depressed, flying high above the earth always lifted his spirit and made him feel as if there was no better destiny than to be The Human Torch.

Troy Barksdale had assured him that they wouldn’t be able to touch Ellsworth Falconeri but there was nothing that prevented The Torch from throwing a scare into him. He had wanted Falconeri to know that from now on, there would be at least one eye that would not be intimidated by his money, his power, and his influence.

As for The Mad Thinker, The Human Torch knew that that twisted genius would expect him at The Vault the next day but he wasn’t going. Let The Mad Thinker stew in his juices for a while, wondering when The Human Torch was going to show up. It would frustrate and anger The Mad Thinker even more that an android was able to be unpredictable enough to confound The Mad Thinker’s intellect. And in any case, The Torch had the feeling that he and The Mad Thinker were bound to meet again. There was much unfinished business between them.

But for now he was just going to enjoy the night. He had a new home and new friends and for now, that was more than enough.

The Human Torch flew directly upwards into the night sky above Las Vegas and erupted into a gorgeous sunburst of yellow, orange and gold that lit up the night and in the streets below, people looked up at the fiery spectacle. They broke into thunderous applause and resounding cheers that drifted upwards to mingle with the delighted laughter of The Human Torch.