This is a story I did for another site. Black Panther and Storm stories will continue after.
Story: The First Case
Book One
Chapter One
Boston Medical Center
“This way Mr. Tehaddiga,” said the helpful coroner.
T’Challa noted the layout of the coroner’s office, the type of doors used and the locks-the information would be necessary for the break in later.
The morgue was cold and smelt of the substance that they cleaned the bodies with. The room that held the refrigerated bodies was not very large and it felt like a coffin. The grey steel refrigerated doors were liked closed portals to painful horrors. Who knew what kind of mangled bodies rested inside the confines of the storage or the few that were not marred by violence but died peacefully in their sleep?
T’Challa’s acute sense of smell picked up other things that added color to the otherwise dour environment like the faint scent of a chicken sandwich that had been eaten in the room. There was the crude trace of dried blood. The way the coroner tried to conceal a foreign accent. The way the light bounced off the polished handle bars of the refrigerator doors. Then the morbid excitement that caused the coroner’s heart to race.
T’Challa braced himself for what was to come next. The coroner and the detective escorted him to view the body.
T’Challa was not going by his real name and the deceased was not his kin. He wore a disguise with a voice modifier in the neck.
The coroner pulled the slab from out the refrigerator for the visitors. The body on the slab was that of a woman and she had been decapitated. The woman was identified as Onika Tehaddiga from the driver’s license found on her. T’Challa squeezed the small bag in his right hand that contained the other belongings that were discovered on her person. A bitter taste formed in the back of his mouth.
“Where’s her head?” asked T’Challa, shaken.
“We are still looking for it,” replied detective Harris.
“She was shot through the heart,” said the coroner, and he pointed to the exit wound.
“Shot in the back,” said the detective.
Visible tears welled up in T’Challa’s eyes.
“Why was her head cut off?” asked T’Challa.
“We don’t know,” replied Harris.
The sympathetic coroner rolled the slab back into the refrigerator.
“I’m taking the body back to Wakanda,” said T’Challa.
“Of course,” said the coroner. “We just have some paper work to go through.”
T’Challa followed the coroner’s instructions in order to sign out the body. Afterwards, T’Challa and Harris left the hospital.
T’Challa was twenty-one-years-old with an athletic physique. He wore light clothing for the spring weather.
Harris was a two hundred pound veteran detective. He exuded a quiet confidence in his stride.
“I need to ask you a few questions,” said Harris.
“No problem,” said T’Challa.
“Do you have transport?” asked Harris.
“The embassy has a car waiting for me,” replied T’Challa. He pointed to a blue car in the parking lot. The suited driver stood patiently next to the vehicle.
“It’s better that I take you down to the precinct,” said Harris. “The driver can follow us.”
“Thanks,” said T’Challa. He went over to the embassy’s car and told the driver of the situation. As instructed the driver acted normally with his head of state. Then T’Challa returned to Harris.
The trip to the 64th precinct was short and T’Challa took in as much of the city’s atmosphere as he could.
“Did your sister have any enemies?” asked Harris while he turned his green Ford car onto a new street.
“No,” replied T’Challa.
“Do you have any enemies?” asked Harris.
“No,” replied T’Challa.
“Is this your first time in America?”
“Yes,” answered T’Challa. He understood that the detective wanted to cover all possible angles in the case.
“Was your sister here legally?”
“Yes, as far as I know,” replied T’Challa. He felt that the detective believed him.
“Where are you staying?”
“The embassy has put me in the Emmitt Hotel.”
“I know where it is,” said Harris.
“Who found the body?” asked T’Challa.
“A guy from area, he uses the ship yard as a short cut to get to his work.”
“Will you catch her killer?” asked T’Challa.
Harris paused and then said, “I will.”
T’Challa sensed that the detective was on the level with him. But T’Challa intended to find the killer on his own.
“To be honest I have not heard much about your country,” said Harris.
“We are now slowly branching out to the wider world,” said T’Challa. “I think the embassy was established two years ago.”
At the precinct T’Challa noted the layout of the offices and where Harris kept Onika’s case file. All the while, T’Challa’s hyper senses bombarded him with information on the criminals and the officers in the precinct. He heard murmured swears, smelled fear on some of the criminals that passed in the corridors, and there was a thick foreboding feeling that swelled between the walls.
“Are you all right?” asked Harris. “You look a bit tense.”
“I’m all right,” replied T’Challa. His hyper senses were due to a ceremonial herb that altered his ‘junk’ DNA.
T’Challa signed a few documents and gave a statement to Harris.
“Have a safe trip to the hotel,” said Harris.
“Thank you,” said T’Challa.
Emmitt Hotel was in the medium price range. T’Challa didn’t want to squander Wakanda’s money on a luxury hotel. T’Challa had taken a room on the top floor. His five combination locked briefcases were tucked to the wall in the bedroom. He called the embassy to order the removal and preparation of Onika’s body for the flight to Wakanda.
T’Challa took it upon himself as Wakanda’s leader to find the murderer either with or without the police’s help. He couldn’t enterAmericaas a head of state for his plan to work. The State Department would have tied him up in bureaucracy. He needed to do the job with stealth. He cried in the morgue because of how Onika was butchered. He remembered photographs of Onika that showed a bright twenty six- year- old.
In a way, T’Challa wanted to escape from becoming a king disconnected from the feelings of the common man. As a teenager he once purposefully lived in the violent and poor regions of Africa. He knew what hardship meant and wanted to alleviate it whenever possible.
He never did formal detective work. He planned the undertaking as he would a hunt in the savannahs of Wakanda. Find the prey’s clues and follow them.
T’Challa peeled off the mask and he got ready for the night’s activities. He called the embassy for two janitorial uniforms. He then unpacked the ceremonial and light body armour Black Panther suit. He placed the suit in a travelling bag and headed for the car. Onika’s house was his destination.
An hour later, T’Challa stood in front of the suburban house on24 Hampton Lane. T’Challa looked at the blank two storey structure that had a white porch.
She wanted to escape, thought T’Challa.
He remembered Onika’s father stated that she left Wakanda to see the world. In essence she ran away from Wakanda. She lived in West Africa, the Far East and she then came to theUnited States.
“What did she want to escape from?” muttered T’Challa.
He opened the door with the house key taken from her belongings and entered. He went around the living room and the kitchen twice. There were no signs of forced entry. Then he went to the next floor. There were two bedrooms; one was unoccupied.
T’Challa entered the empty room anyway. He had to be thorough. He searched for hidden contraptions in the walls and in the floor. He found nothing.
The occupied bedroom was also devoid of hidden items. T’Challa went through the closets and anything else that may have contained something of importance to the case. Then he sat on the bed and pondered.
T’Challa noticed an oddity. Onika had no pictures of herself or any other person.
“She was alone,” said T’Challa.
He went downstairs and there weren’t any pictures there either. It was strange to him.
“She was totally cut off,” T’Challa guessed. “But why?”
He went to the telephone and saw the notepad that had the father’s phone number on it. That was how the police were able to trace the family.
Beneath the phone number were notes that dealt with the conversations with her father.
Probably for reference, thought T’Challa.
He went out to the back of the house and did an unsuccessful search. Then T’Challa left for the morgue and the precinct.
Chapter Two
In the soft moonlight of the ship yard, T’Challa used his hyper sense of sight and smell to analyze the scene. The police’s chalk out was still on the area where the body was found. Harris’s case file and the coroner’s report gave T’Challa an idea of how Onika was killed.
The coroner’s report stated that no bullets were recovered from the crime scene. It was believed that Onika was killed in the ship yard and not dumped there.
A possible bullet graze was on her left shoulder and it indicated that Onika ran away from her shooter.
“That’s two missing bullet,” muttered T’Challa.
The ship yard was the size of six football fields, enclosed and off the main road.
“A good place for hunting,” said T’Challa.
Harris speculated that Onika’s head was taken as a trophy and T’Challa concurred.
T’Challa followed the assumed trajectory of the fatal bullet. Harris’s report stated forensics found no shells and they had searched the majority of the ground.
T’Challa went from where the body was found to the very end of the ship yard. His eyes caught the faint glint of an object in a rusty metal beam. He took a pen-like laser from his suit and sliced the object out of the beam.
“Ah,” said T’Challa. He found the bullet.
The bullet was spire pointed and the end was carved out. T’Challa understood the meaning of the carving.
“Custom made,” he said.
A custom made bullet was the same as any custom made weapon. T’Challa knew this intimately due to his exposure to many weapons from swords to guns. And most custom made weapons were created to be admired by the creator and anyone he wished to impress. T’Challa surmised the creator of the bullet would keep his admirers very exclusive.
The fact that bullet still had its original shape meant that it was the non-expanding type, and T’Challa felt that the casing was relatively very light.
He left the shipyard and headed for the embassy. When T’Challa arrived at the embassy he was presented with requested information from a computer analyst in his support team.
There were similar unsolved murders from London to Milan to Japan with the victims shot through the heart and later decapitated, whereas in the United Statesthere were hundreds of such cases. Some of the murders took place on the same night.
“That’s not much of a pattern,” said T’Challa.
He hoped to find a serial killer of some kind or a reason other than that Onika was randomly snuffed out. Her death brought a family grief and changed everything forever. A proper explanation for her death was required for the family to have closure.
The situation reminded T’Challa of his father’s assassination and the wave of change that it brought on him. An environment of emotional security was ripped to shreds and T’Challa faced the daunting task of being the man of the house and heir to the Black Panther clan when he had just entered his teenage years.
He asked the computer analyst to run a picture of the bullet against the products of all the bullet manufacturers in the world in the hope that something may come up. Even so, T’Challa expected better luck on the trace of the metals that constituted the bullet.
After a spectrum analysis on the bullet, T’Challa returned to the hotel with the projectile. He fell asleep with the bullet in his hand, and he dreamt about a headless corpse lying on a slab in a morgue.
He was awakened by instinct. The clock said five-o’clock. He placed the disguise on his face and headed for the embassy.
He was correct about the metals. One of the metals was a rare alloy that was sold to only a few businesses. Avan Arms Manufacturing Company Limited was one of the businesses.
“We’ll start with that one,” T’Challa told the analyst.
Later T’Challa ordered the embassy’s security attaché to place surveillance on the head of Avan and his family. Ironically the family lived in Boston.
Then he went to the airport to accompany Onika’s remains to Wakanda.
Chapter Three
“Good lord,” said David Portman, the newly promoted Chairman and CEO of Avan.
His youngest brother Dave was slumped in the sofa apparently from a drug overdose. The second youngest brother Richard was in a chair.
“Good you came,” said Richard. He lacked sleep and he was nervous.
“What happened here?” asked David, and he closed the front door.
“Dave murdered someone,” replied Richard.
“What?” David asked.
He stared at Dave. The brother was a thick muscled man in his mid thirties. His was hair was short and black. He wore combat body armour and hunting boots.
“Come with me,” said Richard. He walked briskly into the next room. David followed.
David stopped when he saw a woman’s head on a table and next to it was Dave’s samurai sword.
“Oh my God,” said David.
The woman’s eyes were wide open and they looked directly at him. The braided hair was sprawled on the table. David felt sick and saddened at the same time. He managed to walk out of the room.
“What are we going to do?” asked Richard.
“Stop, stop!” said David.
He bent and held his knees; trying to regain control of his senses. He was surprised that he even reacted in such a manner having seen numerous pictures of mutilated bodies due to wars. It was the shock that did him in like a blow to the face.
But he had to recover. This was a family crisis. His thoughts were on his parents. The situation would break their mother’s heart.
Think, thought David. He was a CEO. He managed a mini crisis everyday. The first thing that one needs in crisis management was information.
David inhaled deeply. “All right,” he said. He straightened and turned to Richard. “Tell me everything and don’t leave out the slightest detail.”
Richard cleared his throat and said, “I was calling Dave since the other day and didn’t get any answer so I came up here. I met him just as you see him there. I woke him up and asked him what happened?
“He said that he felt alive for the first time and some other stuff that didn’t make sense. Then he passed out. He has been waking up and falling back asleep since then.”
David rubbed his forehead. At forty one years of age, a father of two and with an international company to run, he didn’t need this kind of stress in his life.
“Did you tell anyone about this?” asked David.
“No. I swear,” replied Richard.
David didn’t have much to go on based on the information.
“Our first priority must be to protect mom and dad. They cannot have anything to do with this,” said David.
“All right,” said Richard.
“Then we’ll get the lawyer,” said David.
“The lawyer, are you serious?” asked Richard.
“This is a murder. For all we know the police might be outside the front door,” said David.
Richard shivered. David saw the panic in his eyes. Murder meant life in prison.
“Just that they know that I had nothing to do with it,” shouted Richard.
“Keep your voice down,” said David.
Richard returned to his chair and buried his head in his hands.
David went to the telephone and called 911.
“Hello I want to report a murder,” said David.
He heard Richard mutter, “Jesus Christ.”
Chapter Four
T’Challa was at the home of Onika’s father when news came of Dave’s arrest. The father’s name was Ngae. He was a bald fifty-five-year-old who spoke in a soft voice.
“I want you to do something for me my king,” said Ngae.
“What is it?” asked T’Challa.
“I want the head of my daughter’s killer on that table. Can you do that for me my king?” asked Ngae, and he pointed to a table that had an assortment of handcrafts on it.
T’Challa looked at him with non committed eyes.
“Depending on what I find then I will,” said T’Challa.
“Thank you,” said Ngae.
As T’Challa left the house he heard a telepathic voice in his head. The voice belonged to the unseen entity that dwelled in Wakanda.
“I don’t like your present course of action,” said the feminine voice.
“Bast one of my people has been murdered. I must avenge her,” said T’Challa.
“The path that you are taking is darkening your spirit,” warned Bast.
“I am the leader. I must ensure that my people are safe and I want to send a message that I can do it,” said T’Challa.
“So this is about your pride,” said Bast. “Your ancestors would not approve.”
“This is not about my pride,” said T’Challa.
“Then it’s political. You are trying to keep in touch with the common man,” said Bast.
“Are you reading my mind?” asked T’Challa.
“Of course,” replied Bast. “T’Challa I have seen retribution after retribution in my long years. The people cry for blood like dogs of war and in the end everyone suffers.”
“What do you want me to do?”
“You have to figure that out yourself young king. I’m just suggesting that you must consider all things thoroughly before charging head first every time a need for vengeance arises,” replied Bast, and her voice disappeared.
T’Challa considered Bast’s warning but the situation required his immediate action. He made arrangements for the preparation of a stealth mini jet for his flight to the United States.
Boston
Harris walked confidently into the interrogation room; he met a shackled Dave and a lawyer. A barely awake Dave leaned back causally in his chair. The high-end lawyer was more formal in body language. He reminded Harris of an eager guard dog.
Harris turned on the tape recorder that was on the table.
“Good evening gentlemen,” said Harris.
“Good evening,” said the lawyer.
Dave said nothing. He was looking blankly at the ceiling. Harris sat down in his chair and he rested his hand heavily on the table to catch Dave’s attention. Slowly Dave’s head craned forward and empty black eyes stared at Harris.
“Do you confess to the murder of Onika Tehaddiga?” asked Harris.
“Who?” Dave asked.
Years of experience made Harris keep his anger in check.
“Onika’s severed head was found in your house. A sword with your fingerprints on it was found and her blood was on the blade,” said Harris. “We pretty much have this case over and done with but the icing would be a sworn confession.”
The guard dog lawyer leapt to defend his client.
“Mr. Portman does not have to give any confession if he doesn’t want to,” said the lawyer. “Also there is the issue that the woman in question may be an illegal alien.”
Harris gave the lawyer an insolent stare. It practically asked how the lawyer could defend such scum?
The lawyer didn’t flinch and took the disrespect in stride.
“I killed her,” said Dave, and he closed his eyes.
The lawyer whispered in Dave’s ear briefly.
“I don’t care,” said Dave to whatever was said.
Harris leaned back in his chair. “How did you get her?” he asked.
Dave opened his eyes, smiled a bit and then placed his hands on the table.
“I was driving around looking for someone and she was on sidewalk,” replied Dave. “I stopped and asked her for directions. I took out a map and she came closer to the window then I zapped her with a taser.
“After that I carried her to the shipyard and setup my rifle. She woke up and I fired a single round at her. She didn’t know where I was. Then she ran and ran. All the while I had her in my sights. I was one with her movements. She was like a deer. Then I shot her through the heart. I cut off her head as a souvenir. Whish.” Dave made a quick arc with his finger.
Harris shot another insolent glance at the lawyer and the same question was asked.
“That would be all,” said Harris.
He took off the recorder and left the room. He met the standing officer at the door.
“I got the confession. Lock up the son of a bitch,” said Harris.
The officer quickly entered the room.
Harris hated psychopaths because justice could never really be served on them. They were too far gone in their little worlds that nothing on the outside could penetrate it. What was even sadder was that Harris didn’t expect Dave to get the maximum sentence. The lawyer would probably get Dave into an asylum.
Harris heard a sound like a scuffle inside the room. Without thinking he opened the door and looked inside. The lawyer was slumped on the table with a bleeding wound to the temple. The officer was passed out on the floor.
A hard hand struck Harris’s throat and knocked the breath out of him. In fleeting seconds he was disarmed and struck down to the floor. He looked around and saw boots. One of which struck him in the mouth. His hair was pulled back and he saw Dave’s empty black eyes.
A moment later Harris’s neck was snapped.
Chapter Five
David was at the home of the parents when he received the news of Dave’s escape from police custody. He went to his father with the news.
“Dave killed two police officers and Jamerson,” said David.
The patriarch folded his arms and took two steps in the bright sunshine that flowed through the window.
“It goes from bad to worse,” said Thomas Portman.
David didn’t want to bring up the past on the issue since it would serve no purpose than to aggravate his father. But the family had foreseen the present trouble. Dave had a secret history that was kept covered by being the son of an important man. There were ‘accidents’ that Dave had caused and he had harmed others. The busy Thomas Portman saw nothing wrong or sought not to do anything about his sick son.
I have to stop Dave, thought David.
There were a handful of places that Dave could find refuge. David knew of one in the New Hampshire Mountains. The brothers had hunted there once.
The telephone rang and David answered it. The police were on the line.
“I was going to call you. I know somewhere he might be going,” said David.
The officer on the other end said something that surprised David. “Okay,” he said in a mellow tone. “But I think you should-“
The officer ended the call. A disheartened David looked up at his father.
“The police have called for a manhunt. They believe based on an eyewitness that Dave may be headed forNew York,” said David.
“Dear lord,” said Thomas.
“It’s best we tell mom,” said David.
“I’ll do it,” said Thomas.
As soon as Thomas left, David made a call to Chase Conrad, a close friend. Conrad ran a private mercenary company out ofMaine. David hoped that he was available. He got through on the line.
“David. What’s going on?” asked Conrad.
“Dave killed a police officer and the whole service is looking for him,” replied David.
“They are going to want blood for losing one of their own,” said Conrad.
“They don’t know how to handle Dave. We do,” said David.
“What do you have in mind?”
“There’s a mountain cabin I think Dave may try to reach. I want you to go there and lay a trap for him,” replied David.
“Not a problem.”
“Then I want you to kill him.”
“Are you serious?”
“You met Dave. You have seen what he is capable of.”
“Yes I recall that encounter,” said Conrad.
“Make the kill clean,” said David.
“But he is your brother there might be another way,” said Conrad.
“I’m doing him a favor by putting him out of his misery,” said David.
“Okay. I’ll do it.”
“Thanks. This is the cabin’s location,” said David.
He found a map in the desk draw and told Conrad the coordinates. By the time Harris rested the receiver down his palms were sweaty and his adrenaline was up. He signed his brother’s death warrant.
Chapter Six
At the embassy, T’Challa read David’s telephone transcripts and made a decision. He was going to Dave’s mountain cabin.
Somewhere in Massachusetts
Dave walked up to the man from behind and fired in two quick punches to the man’s kidneys. The victim slumped to the side. Dave held up the man swiftly as not to draw suspicion in the car lot.
The car door was opened and Dave took the keys. He slipped the man into the backseat and broke his neck. Two quick glances outside the window and then Dave drove off.
He placed Harris’s pistol in the passenger seat and turned on the radio to hear the news. Then he headed on the highway to his destination inNew Hampshire.
Book II
Chapter One
Twenty five years ago
The spring evening was cool in the Eden like forest. The New Hampshire air was fresh and it gave Thomas Portman’s city lungs an ease fromBoston’s air pollution and cigarettes. The atmosphere also gave his mind a reprieve from making business decisions in his arms manufacturing company.
The stillness of the forest posed a challenge for Thomas as he sneaked up to the family cabin. His brother, Michael and son, Dave were inside. They left him and his two other sons to get additional supplies for the camp out.
Thomas’s hunting rifle was slung over his right shoulder; he wore a brown cap and traditional hunting apparel.
He was forty years old, healthy and connected with his war buddies whom had joined the political arena. Life was set and he was ambitious enough to go after his dreams.
He slipped up to the cabin that was in the family for three generations. He and Michael fixed up the cabin the month before in preparation for the visit with the boys.
Thomas loved his bother and they were once soldiers together. Michael dropped out of the army after one tour and had gone into civilian work while Thomas went on for another tour. Both men were different in terms of their outlooks on life. Thomas was married and had three sons. Michael was a bachelor.
Thomas remembered that his wife wanted to introduce Michael to a girlfriend of hers. Thomas laughed at the idea.
Thomas eased up to the door. He was certain that he made no sound on the way to the door. He envisioned shock and surprise on his sibling and son’s faces. Then they would have a good laugh. He swung the door open and came upon a scene of pure horror…
When one commits murder in a fit of passion with your bare hands the emotional release is greater than if the act was done with a weapon.
Such a feeling was wrapped around Thomas Portman. He heaved and huffed over his brother’s dead body. But Thomas no longer viewed the man as his brother. What kind of a brother would try to molest his nephew?
Where was Dave? Thomas pondered. He spun around and saw his son scared stiff on the floor.
Dave was ten years old. His black eyes were fearful.
Thomas imagined the sight that the child had seen. He –Thomas-had walked into the cabin and saw the epitome of betrayal. In the spur of the moment, blood bonds were broken and Thomas raced over to his brother and snapped his neck. Thomas barely heard the crack of the spine.
He bent down to his son. Thomas realized that his next choice of words impacted on the future of the family.
“You’re safe now,” said Thomas. “You will not tell anyone what happened. Do you understand me?”
The boy was still frozen. Thomas held his shoulder firmly. The boy may have been scared but his body was burning up.
“Dave do you understand me?” asked Thomas.
The boy’s teeth chattered. “Yes daddy,” he said.
“Good boy,” said Thomas. “Now stay here. Don’t move. I’ll be right back.”
Thomas lifted up his brother in the fire-man hold and carried him outside. His army service brain ran on automatic. It calmed his nerves and gave him clear thinking. He knew what he was doing and where he was going.
A gentle incline went down from the cabin into the spruce trees. Several years ago, small steps were made on the incline. Thomas rested his brother on the last of the steps to make it appear that Michael had slipped and broken his neck.
Thomas returned to the cabin. His thoughts were on his other sons David and Richard. The boys were camped out a quarter of a mile away. Thomas had spontaneously decided to return to the cabin for an additional item that he thought Michael and Dave might have overlooked.
Thomas got Dave out of the cabin and they headed for the campsite. On the journey Thomas pounded into his son to keep the murder and molestation a secret. What Thomas was unaware of was Dave’s internalization of the incident which would change his life completely.
Chapter Two
The Present
T’Challa groped through the foliage as he steadily headed to the incline. A lightless cabin was on the top of the incline. Above him the spruce trees rustled under the night wind. Crickets chirped in a loud chorus in the damp underbrush.
T’Challa’s lead hand suddenly brushed against a tripwire. The tripwire was at the level of his instep, and it was concealed by a row of plants.
Why would Portman have a tripwire? T’Challa pondered.
The Black Panther’s hyper sensitive eyes scanned the undergrowth for whatever the tripwire was connected to. T’Challa guessed that it was probably an alarm system. His probing eyes finally found the answer. T’Challa eased towards to the contraption that was camouflaged with leaves. On closer inspection T’Challa discovered that the device was an improvised explosive.
The revelation changed T’Challa’s entire perspective of Dave Portman.
“He is not just some insane man,” muttered T’Challa.
It also meant that T’Challa looked at the terrain in front of him differently. Other traps were probably out there and even in the cabin.
T’Challa contemplated his next move. Bringing the mini jet over the cabin was an option, but he wanted it more as a distraction for Portman than anything else.
“I’ll wait here,” said T’Challa.
He thought about climbing into the tress but he believed Portman must have booby trapped them.
“Why did he do this?” muttered T’Challa. “Unless Portman expected to be hunted down. That means he is definitely coming here.”
Conrad was another problem for T’Challa. Conrad was on a mission to kill Portman whereas T’Challa wanted to capture the man alive if possible and take him to Wakanda to face retribution.
T’Challa’s mind was not made up on whether to allow Conrad to complete his mission or to stop him.
Bast’s warning that revenge sent one to extreme darkness weighed on T’Challa’s mind. Vengeance guided him for most of his adolescent years as he prepared his body and mind for the confrontation with his father’s assassin.
The Panther Goddess alluded that T’Challa’s judgment was clouded because of this new thirst for vengeance.
Could she be right? He contemplated.
He could allow Conrad to continue and if the man succeeded then the murderer would be dead. Yet that outcome seemed to cheat Wakanda out of its vengeance.
Wakanda should judge him, thought T’Challa.
Then there was the question of letting the American courts deal with Portman. Would a rich man from an influential family receive the maximum punishment for the murder of a random immigrant? T’Challa didn’t think so.
The murder of the detective crept into T’Challa’s thoughts. The deceased man also had a family whom wanted retribution. Could he deny them their legitimate right?
In order to clear his mind, he ventured cautiously away from the cabin and headed to the trail that led to the abode.
T’Challa’s Black Panther ceremonial uniform blended into the darkness. A mesh of vibranium metal was woven into the suit and acted as light body armour. Claws were sheathed in the tips of the gloves. On the belt were a mini computer called a kimoyo and a pair of manacles to bind Portman. Black rope was wrapped diagonally across T’Challa’s back and chest.
The forest reminded him of the ones in Wakanda. He liked to mediate in those places when he had the time as a teenager. He no longer had the opportunity for such things now.
Chapter Three
Army vet Chase Conrad drove into New Hampshire from his base in Maine. He was a mercenary or CIA contractor for the last eight years. He liked the work, the excitement and the travel. He was born to do nothing else.
He met Dave Portman three years ago when Avan Arms Manufacturing Company showcased their ordinances to the government of a developing nation. Conrad worked with the leaders of the government in a revolt the year prior. That position made him the ‘go between’ guy on the business deal between the country and the company. The Portman brothers came on the business trip with their father.
The group ran into bandits while on a tour of the country. Before Conrad was able to react, Dave ran out of his car, shot the bandits dead and chased after the last one. When the group caught up with them, Dave had peeled the skin off of the dead bandit’s face with his hunting knife.
Conrad was shocked by the barbarity and the look in Dave’s black eyes. As a seasoned professional Conrad knew when a person had completely lost their humanity and lived for the pleasure of murder. Such people were limitless in what carnage they could do and Conrad tried to stay far away from those individuals.
The car’s radio waves burned with news of the manhunt on Dave Portman over in Massachusetts. His murder of a detective in a precinct and his subsequent escape made sensational headlines. Conrad lowered the volume on the radio.
He hoped that killing Dave would be quick-someone had to put the mad dog down.
Conrad stopped in the town of Nakuta for gas and then he headed for the mountains. Based on his map the cabin was high up in the region.
An hour later, Conrad entered the pristine habitats of the New Hampshire forests armed with a silenced handgun, a knife, a map and a flashlight.
Conrad liked the mountains where bobcats and deer ran freely. The Alpine peaks were to the left. Spruce fir-forests resided to the right on the top of the mountains. Conrad heard stories about the numerous caves that dotted the landscape; probably the haven for a multitude of bats. He liked bats.
Hemlock-Hardwood-Pine forests were ubiquitous and Conrad passed through one on his journey. He hoped that visitors were sparse. He didn’t want to deal with witnesses.
The night trip reminded him of time spent in the jungles of South East Asia with various rebel groups. Conrad preferred rebel organizations than government employers. His last job was for a Balkan nation.
Conrad stopped and gazed at the peaks that ran to the horizon. The scene took him back to the beauty of the Balkan mountain range.
I don’t mind taking another job in that country, he thought.
He continued the trek; checking his compass and map on regular intervals to ensure he was on the correct path. He moved with the quietness of a cat in the blackness. He learned the technique in the army. A mountain man consultant conducted the training. The consultant was trained by Native Americans so he knew his stuff. Conrad considered the training that he received in the course was vital to his survival in the field.
He heard a noise and he paused. A young bobcat scurried across his path and ran into the thicket. The beast disappeared like a ghost and made no other sound.
Amazing, thought Conrad.
He went deeper into the forest. The scent of smoke struck him. He followed it and came upon a small campsite. The sight caused him to curse in his mind. He counted three tents.
The cabin was a mile away yet experience told Conrad that people often wandered into places they shouldn’t have.
He left the fate of the campers to chance; it was all that he was able to do. Conrad pushed forward and melted into the forest.
Chapter Four
T’Challa was on the look out for Conrad. T’Challa heard the man’s voice from a taped telephone conversion which meant that he merely needed a voice-recognition to identify Conrad.
T’Challa reflected on how Conrad was so willing to kill Portman based on a request from David Portman, the eldest brother.
Conrad must also believe that Portman cannot be contained, thought T’Challa.
Night crept by slowly as T’Challa settled in a concealed position and waited for anything.
At 3 o’clock a large cloud blocked out the half moon. At the same time, T’Challa sensed movement that approached from the southwest. He smelt the sweaty odor of a human. T’Challa looked around and finally saw the man.
The person was extremely quiet and he searched his path carefully with the dim flashlight to avoid dry twigs and leaves. T’Challa admired the level of skill that was on display.
The lean man practically came towards the crouched T’Challa. Then the person veered into another direction.
T’Challa saw the silenced gun and the knapsack.
Probably Conrad, thought T’Challa. What to do with him?
Whatever it was it had to be fast because Conrad headed for the booby traps. T’Challa erupted from his position and he locked his arm around Conrad’s neck. The mercenary fired the gun repeatedly into T’Challa; the bullets bounced off the uniform.
Patiently T’Challa waited for the oxygen supply to Conrad’s brain to diminish. T’Challa ignored the man’s gasps for air. Conrad’s heart thumped like a drum. T’Challa sensed rage and fear in the man. Rage for being ambushed and fear of death.
Conrad pulled out his knife, but he couldn’t do anything with it. His body became limp and he passed out.
T’Challa carried Conrad further down the trail and tied him to a tree. He placed the manacles on Conrad’s wrists and feet. Then T’Challa disarmed the man and searched for identification. He didn’t find the identity information. T’Challa tore a strip of cloth from Conrad’s clothes to blind fold him.
Then with two quick slaps, T’Challa woke Conrad.
Conrad moved his head side ways and tried to peek over the blind fold. He struggled with the rope and grunted.
“Listen carefully,” said T’Challa, knowing the effect that his stern voice had on the captive. Conrad stopped his struggles and remained still. “There are explosive booby traps around Portman’s cabin. You cannot go there.”
“Who are you?” asked Conrad.
The voice was similar to the one on the taped call so T’Challa knew that he had the right person. He had no need to speak with Conrad further. He struck Conrad hard against the face and the captive was knocked unconscious.
Then T’Challa prepared for Portman’s ambush.
Chapter Five
Dave Portman was a mutant and he was unaware of it. Whenever his adrenaline rose so did his physical strength and senses to a higher than normal level. In puberty he used the strange ability to alleviate the mental torment of the incident in the cabin. Then he became addicted to the ability and did whatever possible to maintain it.
He got into the forest near Nakuta and it took him three hours to run towards the cabin. Portman felt like a wolf as he increased his pace.
The booby traps he laid were for the situation in which he found himself presently in-being hunted. Once he led his pursers to the areas around the cabin he would pick them off and follow his exit strategy.
So far no one was following him in New Hampshire. He drove passed a police car ten minutes after he entered the state fromMassachusetts. He expected a car chase, nothing happened- a pity.
He knew the forests like the back of his hand. He knew the human trails and the animal ones. He even left some weapons in selected areas in case they were needed.
He chose the cabin because his adrenaline was most heightened around it and it provided good therapy. Whenever he went to the cabin, he had flashbacks of the incident. To break free of the mental hold he did dangerous things and pushed his body to its limits.
For the majority of his adolescence and adult life he learnt various martial arts and received military training.
Now he had reached the point where he wanted the constant state of ‘peace’ as he called it-to feel alive. That’s why he murdered the woman. She was the start of the chain reaction that would take him to his ‘nirvana’.
He hated the trappings of wealth. His brothers were different. David the eldest was the business whiz and Richard was a mediocre person. Dave had seen the differences since he was a kid and how the siblings turned out in adulthood did not surprise him.
On the other hand, the relationship with his father was cold. They never spoke. There were moments when Dave wanted to speak about the cabin incident, but it didn’t feel manly to do so. As a teenager he was baffled as to why his father kept the murder a secret. As an adult Dave saw his father’s wisdom. Some things needed to be kept in the dark. Dave’s father saved him and he was grateful for that, but the emotional suppression that happened afterwards he could not forgive.
Dave passed a familiar landmark in the forest and knew that he was within half an hour to the cabin. Suddenly he got the scent of a human. He checked the wind direction and the scent came from the area near the cabin.
Dave dashed to the closes weapons cache. The cache was hidden in the root of an old spruce tree. He dug up the cache with his hands and took out a bag. Inside the bag were three grenades, a large sheathed hunting knife and two tomahawks.
Dave studied the Pennacook Native Americans-the original inhabitants ofNew Hampshire. Due to the studies he became attached to tomahawks. He liked the simplicity and the array of attacks that could be made with the weapons.
Dave got back to his previous path and took up the scent. Then he went hunting for the person.
Chapter Six
Daybreak and streaks of orange light lit up the sky and chased away the darkness. The moon was still visible but had lost its commanding sway to the sun’s arrival.
T’Challa smelt a new person in the midst. Instinctively he went to find out the person’s identity. The person was headed for him as the scent got stronger. The person was silent like Conrad was.
T’Challa stopped as a six feet tall man emerged from the foliage and stood in front of him. He was drenched in sweat and had the build of a Marine. The tomahawks that the man carried and the deadly intent in his black eyes told T’Challa that this was mostly likely Portman.
The man gave a war cry and he charged. T’Challa was a bit surprised by the man’s speed-it reminded him of his peak human ability.
As the man positioned his body to swing the tomahawk, T’Challa took one stride and then somersaulted over the man. On the descent, T’Challa stuck out his legs which struck the man in his back and pushed him forward. The man lost his balance and fell.
T’Challa used his hands to brace his fall and he somersaulted onto his feet. He turned quickly to the man who rose slowly with the tomahawks held in an offensive stance.
“Dave Portman,” said T’Challa to see if the name meant anything to the man.
From the glare in the man’s eyes when the name was said, T’Challa surmised that this was the murderer.
T’Challa activated the claws in his gloves and the weapons shot out. He saw that Portman was puzzled and T’Challa used the moment of indecision to pounce at him.
Portman swung his tomahawks wildly and T’Challa’s claws sliced through them. Dave jumped back to reassess the situation. T’Challa waited and he too was puzzled.
He sensed that Portman was indeed at a peak human level from the rate of his heart beats and overall presence.
How is this possible? T’Challa pondered.
The man was moving. Two grenades were now in his hands and he threw them with venom at T’Challa.
T’Challa’s hyper vision slowed down the movement of the grenades and gave him time to choose where to hit them. He made a high sweeping kick with his right leg at the grenades. The grenades fell to the side and exploded; chewed up dirt and plants splattered into the air.
The force of the explosion knocked T’Challa sideways. In the haze of the confusion, he heard Portman’s accelerated heart beats.
Portman dropped on T’Challa and punched him across the face. Seeing that the punch had no effect, Portman stabbed the knife into T’Challa, but the blade broke on the uniform. Unfazed Portman slashed the broken blade across T’Challa’s eye slits.
Don’t kill him, thought T’Challa since he had the option of stabbing Portman with the claws.
Temporarily blinded, T’Challa pushed up and twisted sharply. He brought his legs together like a scissors around Portman’s neck and locked it.
T’Challa pulled his mask off to view his assailant properly. Portman’s eyes were closed and he gripped T’Challa’s legs. With the strength of a grizzly bear, Portman rose and he lifted T’Challa in the air. Then he lashed T’Challa onto the ground. The impact broke T’Challa’s leg hold.
Portman staggered backwards. T’Challa sprung onto his feet and drove a fierce kick into Portman’s mid section. Portman deflected the attack with his hands and countered with a high kick. T’Challa blocked it; then he dropped low and delivered a roundhouse kick.
To T’Challa’s amazement Portman leapt over the kick. Portman landed and swiftly somersaulted to his left.
He is superhuman, thought T’Challa. Then how do I end this?
Portman attacked him with a combination of kicks and punches at vital points. T’Challa blocked accordingly while he took two strides back. An opening appeared for T’Challa. He took it.
Holding Portman’s arms and falling backwards T’Challa tossed the man over his head. T’Challa turned on his heels and positioned himself at Portman’s side. Then shot a bladed hand into Portman’s throat. The force lifted Portman off his feet and onto the ground. T’Challa tumbled downward with an elbow jab into Portman’s face.
He heard an expulsion of air from Portman’s mouth and nothing afterwards.
T’Challa rose and looked at his handiwork. Portman was unconscious. The chaos was over.
T’Challa stared at Portman for a moment; he remembered Onika’s father distraught over her death.
Let him decide your fate, thought T’Challa.
T’Challa took out the kimoyo and called the plane. Two later minutes, the mini plane hovered over T’Challa’s location. The heads of the trees trembled from the wash of the plane’s hover rotor blades that were on the wings.
T’Challa gave the onboard computer a series of orders. The underside of the plane opened and a rope was lowered. T’Challa lifted Portman onto his shoulder and then he held the rope. The rope retreated into the plane and carried T’Challa with it.
Once inside the plane, T’Challa swung out of the cargo hold and into the cockpit. He got manacles from the emergency kit and bounded Portman’s hands and feet.
Then T’Challa went for Conrad. The rope lowered him down and T’Challa rushed to the captive. Conrad was still unconscious. T’Challa repeated the exercise he had done with Portman.
T’Challa figured that he would drop off Conrad inNew Hampshire’s largest city Manchester since it was on his flight path. He settled at the controls satisfied that he captured Portman.
Chapter Seven
Portman awoke due to the level of adrenaline still present in his body. He realized that his hands were bounded behind his back and his feet were shackled. He calmly looked around and noticed Conrad.
What is he doing here? Portman pondered.
The discovery startled him. He hadn’t seen Conrad in years.
Portman looked up at the pilot seat and he saw T’Challa’s back.
Who is this man? Why is he after me?
The one thing Portman noted was that T’Challa appeared to be African. The thought triggered a memory of the lawyer speaking about the murdered woman’s country. Portman couldn’t remember the name of the country. He didn’t care.
In a relaxed manner, Portman broke his right thumb and slipped his hand out of the manacle.
T’Challa turned sharply around to him. Both men glared at each other. The tension between them charged the small space that they were in.
Portman’s adrenaline rose and he heard T’Challa’s heart beats. The beats quickened and Portman knew that an attack was eminent.
What could he do?
I have a weapon, thought Portman.
He was thinking about the manacle on his left wrist. He could use it to punch T’Challa in a vital point.
T’Challa lunged at him. Portman dodged out of the way. He rolled forward and leapt for the flight controls. In that brief moment, he did as much damage as he could to the system.
The plane shook and went into a nose dive just as Portman intended. T’Challa had to choose between him and the plane. Then Portman could make his move during the state of panic.
T’Challa tackled Portman hard into the cabin wall. Portman punched his ears and bit his face. T’Challa lifted Portman upward and his head banged on the roof of the plane. T’Challa repeated the act three times until Portman released his face. Blood streamed from the wound Portman made.
Portman stared into T’Challa’s eyes and saw no fear of death, just the desire to stop him.
This man is crazy, thought Portman for an instant.
Portman glanced out of the cockpit window and he saw the top of a skyscraper. The plane clipped the skyscraper and the impact separated Portman from T’Challa. The plane turned over and crashed into the side of a building across the street and then skidded down into the street.
Portman scrambled to the cockpit window and he punched his way through the cracked glass. He broke the glass and crawled out of the plane. He tried to break the shackles on his feet but they were too strong.
I need a blow-torch, thought Portman.
A frantic pedestrian came to his aid.
“Are you all right?” the middle age man asked.
Portman looked at the man with disgust at first; then he noticed the man’s spectacles.
“Give me a hand up,” said Portman.
“Okay,” said the man. “What happened? What kind of plane is that?”
Portman punched the man in the stomach and took the spectacles. The Good Samaritan slumped to street and coughed.
Portman broke the arms off the spectacles and then he worked them into the manacle’s key hole. CLICK. The manacle fell off.
Then Portman ran and ran.
Chapter Eight
T’Challa was alerted when he heard Portman’s thumb being broken. Now he had crashed in Manchester. Scores of people were headed to the site. But he couldn’t allow the secrets of Wakanda’s technology to be discovered.
Conrad was awake and in fairly good shape.
“If you want to live then follow me,” said T’Challa. He grabbed Conrad and carried him out of the plane.
Then T’Challa activated the self destruct on the plane via the kimoyo. Acid built in the plane’s structure was released and the airship melted.
T’Challa ripped the bonds off of Conrad.
“You’re on your own,” said T’Challa.
Then he locked onto Portman’s scent and sprinted off.
Conrad was bewildered and curious about T’Challa so he chased after him.
Book III
Chapter One
Manchester City, New Hampshire
The city yawned and stretched its way into a new day. The morning sun crept over the landscape of townhouse apartments, churches, parks and office buildings.
Meanwhile, mission failure loomed for T’Challa. He was stranded in an urban center, chasing after a psychopath and his secret mission was at risk of being exposed. His ego could not stomach the embarrassment and he was certain that his countrymen would frown upon his poor performance.
The people whom T’Challa saw on the street were early morning workers and business owners headed for their offices. He paid little attention to them as he ran at full throttle after his prey, but the denizens of Manchester were curious about him and his quarry.
Vehicles screeched to the side of the one way street to avoid collusions with T’Challa. He in turn leapt over engine hoods and somersaulted over the cars that reacted too slowly.
The eye slits in T’Challa’s mask were damaged and that hampered his sight somewhat. The left side of his face stung from the wound that Portman inflicted on it. A hundred different scents bombarded his hyper sense of smell.
Blaring horns and yelling were ubiquitous. They weren’t all for T’Challa. Some of them were for Portman as he ran from T’Challa.
T’Challa was surprised that even in top gear he was still unable to close the gap between him and Portman. In fact, the gap was gradually widening.
The more I push him the faster he gets, thought T’Challa.
A police siren broke into the city’s cacophony and the black and white of a police car came into T’Challa’s view. The police car stopped across Portman’s path. The sight caused an agony in T’Challa’s heart because he knew what happened next.
Portman didn’t disappoint. The man was built like a marine and he easily subdued the two police officers. He dragged them out of the car and took their guns. Portman got into the driver’s seat; he aimed the guns at T’Challa and fired two shots.
T’Challa’s hyper vision caught the movement of the projectiles and he dodged them without a dip in his pace. Then Portman turned the guns away from T’Challa and he pointed at the sidewalk. T’Challa found that it was an odd move so he glanced at the spot. To his dismay a woman and a man cowered on the sidewalk; Portman was about to fire on them, but why? They were no threat to him.
T’Challa dug deep within himself to find the energy to reach the pedestrians in time. In four strides he was close, but not enough. He dived forward and shielded the pedestrians with his body. He felt slight stings from the bullets that were sent into his Black Panther ceremonial uniform. He skidded a bit on the sidewalk and then he lost momentum.
He looked up at Portman and the two made eye contact. Portman’s black eyes displayed a certain level of satisfaction like he gained valuable insight into T’Challa’s psyche. When T’Challa heard the woman’s screams, he realized what Portman learnt from the incident. That T’Challa had a weakness and it was his concern for the well being of innocent people. Portman now had an advantage over him. That’s the reason Portman had turned the guns on the pedestrians-to see how far T’Challa was prepared to go in order to catch him.
Other police sirens filled the air. Portman settled in the car and sped off.
T’Challa didn’t smell blood from the pedestrians so he assumed that they weren’t shot. He got up sharply and ran after Portman. It was a futile attempt as Portman smashed his way across a two lane street and chaos ensued. Portman’s car swung around a corner and was gone.
I can’t lose him, thought T’Challa.
In desperation he ran to a blue van. The driver was on the outside and he complained to another driver who almost struck him. The driver of the blue van was speechless when he saw T’Challa at first. Then he spoke when he realized T’Challa’s intention.
“Hold on, you can’t take my van,” said the driver in aNew Hampshireaccent.
T’Challa grabbed the driver by the front of his shirt.
“I have to stop the manic who drove through here else he is going to kill more people,” said T’Challa. It pained him to say those words because he blamed himself for Portman running loose in the city.
Still the man protested; T’Challa applied a finger tap to a nerve center in the man’s shoulder and he wilted onto the ground.
“I’m sorry,” said T’Challa, “but I have to do this.”
T’Challa learned something new about himself from the action. It was that even though he cared about the safety of others he was still willing to make compromises to achieve his goals. The realization made him remember the Panther Goddess’s warning about his clouded judgment.
He got into the van and the keys were in the ignition. He was familiar with the operations of non-Wakandan vehicles from his stay inEnglanda short time ago. He accelerated out of the street and followed Portman around the corner.
He saw Portman’s car mount the sidewalk at the far end of the street and it turned onto a west bound street. T’Challa punched the van forward.
Where is he really going? I have to be careful because nothing that this man does is random, thought T’Challa.
T’Challa turned onto the new street and he was distracted by the bloodied body that he saw on the sidewalk.
Then he heard the groan of a large vehicle in front of him. He looked forward and by reflex swerved out of the path of an on rushing garbage truck. The truck nicked the van and sent it into a spin. The van slammed into a street light and the impact shattered the windscreen.
T’Challa was unhurt and he tried to restart the van without success. He got out of the vehicle with the intention of helping the person on the sidewalk. At the same time, the garbage truck slowed and stopped a short distance away. The loud and angry driver alighted from the truck.
At least you are okay, thought T’Challa.
“You there, help that person on the sidewalk,” T’Challa shouted and pointed to the spot.
The irate garbage man was shocked by the body when he saw it. With the man distracted, T’Challa ran off and he accessed his situation.
He required a map, a means of transport and accurate information on Portman’s whereabouts. The blare of police sirens and an ambulance caught his attention.
The police will know his location from their bulletins, T’Challa realized.
He needed access to the police frequency.
A security guard caught his attention. The guard probably came out the nearby office building due to the accident with the garbage truck. T’Challa noticed the walkie-talkie on the guard’s belt and it sparked an idea.
T’Challa charged into the guard. The frightful security officer attempted to flee into the building. T’Challa gained on him like a predator and brought down the chunky guard. Then he took the guard’s walkie-talkie.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” said T’Challa.
The guard said nothing and didn’t struggle.
T’Challa left him on the ground and headed for the alley next to the building. He placed the walkie-talkie in his mouth, and then he unsheathed his claws. He stuck them into the wall of the opposite building and quickly climbed it.
Once on the roof, he opened the walkie-talkie and his mini computer-the kimoyo. He fused the two items together with a mini laser, and he boosted the walkie-talkie’s range with the power from the computer’s battery. His academic passion for physics made him a wizard with gadgets. The skill was also a prerequisite in his preparation to face his father’s assassin who was a physicist.
T’Challa was able to get the police bandwidth from his contraption. A female Dispatcher’s voice came over the air wave from the police control room.
“Suspect’s car has crashed into a building on Suffolk Avenue,” said the Dispatcher. “All units converge on site.”
That must be Portman, thought T’Challa.
“Any word on the next suspect?” asked a police officer over the frequency.
“The other suspect was last seen in a blue van and headed onto Adam Street,” replied the Dispatcher.
“Dispatch, this is Officer Wright on the scene of the crashed suspect. Suspect has crashed into Simon’s Gun Depot and has entered the premises. Repeat suspect is on foot and is inside Simon’s Gun Depot.”
I have to get there, thought T’Challa.
He still needed a map of the city and transport. The idea of a park came to him since most likely city maps were there for visitors.
T’Challa stood and easily located the green trees of a park five city blocks to his left. He fastened the invention to his belt, and then he ran off the building and landed on the brown gabled roof of the next building that was across the street.
He repeated the feat on the next buildings en route to the park. The leaps required a great deal of timing and concentration. The key to the exercise for T’Challa was breath control. T’Challa’s altered DNA granted him the gift of enhanced agility, but his breathing technique refined it. He experienced a sensation of gliding whenever he left one building for the other.
From the roof top of the last building, T’Challa located the park’s entrance. He leapt onto a street light and used it like a parallel bar to swing himself into the park. He ran to the entrance and all the while he encountered curious stares from the people whom were there. The stares turned to alarm when he broke a small city map out of a casing at the entrance.
A motor cycle police officer drove by on the street and then came back when he spotted T’Challa.
That’s my transport, thought T’Challa when he saw the motorcycle.
T’Challa bolted in the officer and high kicked him slightly in the chest. The motorcycle fell on its side as the police officer was launched from it.
T’Challa landed expertly, and he checked on the officer, the person was not hurt that badly. Then T’Challa commandeered the motor cycle. He locatedSuffolk Avenueon the map and headed for it.
Muscle fatigue crossed T’Challa’s mind because his body expended a great deal of energy in the last few minutes.
I have to reserve my strength for the fight with Portman, thought T’Challa.
He focused on the police bandwidth and it indicated that Portman was still in the same location.
Good, thought T’Challa. It hadn’t slipped T’Challa’s mind that Portman was arming himself, and T’Challa hoped that he would be able to get there in time before Portman attacked the police officers.
Chapter Two
The moment Portman realized that he was in Manchester he headed straight for Simon’s Gun Depot. The weapons store was a client of Avan Arms Manufacturing Company, hence Portman knew of the place.
A cool Portman listened to the police radio that he took from the police car. The information he got was that the police made a perimeter around the store. As for T’Challa, the police weren’t aware of his location; Portman wanted it to be kept that way since he relished a rematch with T’Challa.
Mentally, Portman went over the fight with T’Challa. He surmised that T’Challa won because he was better prepared.
His combat prowess was the same as mine. I merely need to break through his body armor or nullify it in order to beat him, thought Portman.
For that reason he required a flamethrower. Portman searched through the weapons racks in the storage room for the item. He found the flamethrower that was made by the family business. The weapon was not bulky and didn’t need a large tank like its predecessors from World War II. This one had everything built in into a large rifle-like machine.
With the flamethrower secured, Portman changed his clothes and he placed himself in kelver body armour along with a tactical face mask and gloves. He took a large bag and filled it with necessary explosives, rope, tape, ammunition, two semi assault rifles, and a few handguns. He strapped a knife to his belt which he intended to strike T’Challa’s eyes with. He placed a leg gun holster on his right leg and a pistol inside of it.
Portman enjoyed every bit of the excitement that the chase generated. He regretted that he needed to kill his pursuer because the person had given him the ‘high’ that he wanted.
But should I really kill him? Maybe I can catch him to find out why he is after me, thought Portman.
He replayed the pursuer’s African accent in his mind and he tried to recall if he ever saw a plane like the one that he crashed in.
He heard a police officer over a bullhorn. The officer wanted him to surrender immediately. Portman grinned because the police were easy pickings. Yet he believed that T’Challa was close by and he should focus his attention on that threat.
“I need a distraction to get out of here,” muttered Portman, and his eyes fell on the police car.
Portman walked over to the front of the car which had smashed through the store’s front door. He opened the hood and damaged the fuel line; the fuel poured into the engine and onto the ground.
Portman headed to the back of the store. With the pistol he fired several shots into the car’s engine when he was a safe distance away. Then he turned away and closed the door behind him. A moment later, the car exploded.
Portman packed up the flamethrower in a bag; then he exited the building from the back. He was ready for the officers in the back street and he threw two grenades to scatter them.
He ran through the carnage and looked a for get-a-way vehicle. The noise from a motor cycle engine caught his attention. He spun around and saw that T’Challa was the rider.
Too soon, thought Portman, because he needed time to think of a proper way to capture T’Challa.
A grey Ford pickup truck raced up to Portman and stopped. Conrad was the driver. He was dressed in black semi combat attire. His sturdy persona and cool eyes gave him a mystique of a general.
“Get in,” shouted Conrad, and he opened the passenger door.
Portman was perplexed. He last saw Conrad bounded in T’Challa’s plane. Why was he there? Portman pondered.
Conrad was a friend of the family. But more specifically, the mercenary was David’s friend.
“He’s coming,” shouted Conrad.
Portman tossed the bags into the pickup truck and he then fired shots into the motor cycle’s tire. T’Challa tried to dodge the shots but was unable to. The motor cycle wobbled and fell to the side.
Portman got into the pickup truck, and Conrad then floored the accelerator.
Portman looked over the mercenary. Can I trust this man? He pondered.
Chapter Three
Conrad lost T’Challa and Portman after the chase up the street. He never encountered humans who moved that fast. Their speed and agility reminded him of the Captain America films that he saw in army training.
The self destruction of the crashed plane did not go unnoticed by Conrad since such a move was a military one and it told him a great deal about T’Challa’s nature.
As much as Conrad was curious about T’Challa he still wanted Portman dead especially after he witnessed what the crazed man did to the pedestrians. In Conrad’s mind the best way to get close to Portman was to befriend him.
Conrad took a portable police radio from one of the officers that Portman had put down, stole the pick up truck and followed the Dispatch Officer’s messages.
He arrived in Suffolk Avenue when the explosion in the store occurred. A hunch told him to go around the back. That’s where he saw Portman and T’Challa.
He picked up Portman to gain his trust. Once inside the vehicle, Portman went on a rampage with a barrage of questions.
“What were you doing on that plane?” asked Portman.
“The guy abducted me,” replied Conrad.
“Who is he?”
“I don’t know.”
Portman stared at him with steely eyes. Conrad remained loose and calm. He kept his focus on the road and stayed within the speed limit to avoid attention.
“You expect me to believe that?” asked Portman.
“Believe whatever you want,” said Conrad. “I saved you because I wanted answers about this guy also.”
“Saved me,” said Portman, and he smiled at the joked.
“Are you part of a government program?” asked Conrad.
“No.”
“Then what is with the speed?” probed Conrad.
Portman turned away and looked out of the window.
“It is just something that I can do,” Portman responded.
“You were born like that?”
“Yes,” replied Portman.
A mutant, thought Conrad. He heard about such people in his travels. He wondered if David and Thomas Portman knew about Dave’s condition. If so then David had set him up to kill someone who was out of his league.
Conrad returned his attention to Portman. He noted the man’s apparel.
“What is with the outfit? You should be looking to blend in,” said Conrad.
“I’m going to deal with this guy,” replied Portman.
“Really, I’m looking to leave the state,” Conrad lied.
“No,” said Portman, his eyes now trained on the road. “You are going to help me capture him that way we can get some answers as to who he is and why he is after us.”
“What do you have in mind?” inquired Conrad.
“The old Maxwell Dam is not too far from here. We’ll set a trap.”
“How will you get him to come?”
“I’ll think of something,” answered Portman, “just get us to the dam. I’ll direct you.”
Conrad complied and bided his time for a clear opportunity to put a bullet into Portman’s head.
Chapter Four
With precious seconds flying away, T’Challa noted the route the pickup truck had taken. He recognised Conrad as the driver.
He has turned on me, thought T’Challa and then placed it to the back of his mind.
The motorcycle was useless and police reinforcements were headed for the back street.
The Black Panther consulted his map and realized that he could in theory intercept the truck since it travelled on a street that had no turn offs except for at the end of it. T’Challa could run along the rooftops to reach the turnoff point before the truck.
In seconds, he nimbly climbed the first building and ran over the various rooftops. Slowly he felt the strain in his legs and arms. The strong north east winds affected him slightly. Still T’Challa powered forward.
He arrived at the last building just as the truck made the turn. T’Challa leapt off the building and landed in the tray of the truck. He unsheathed his claws and smashed the rear window.
Portman spun around and he fired a gun at T’Challa’s head. The truck came to a sudden halt and T’Challa lost his balance.
He scrambled to regain his stance. By that time, Portman had a new weapon in his hand. The weapon was the size and shape of a rifle. A small blue flame hissed from the tip of the nozzle. Then a tongue of fire erupted out of the weapon.
T’Challa dropped to his right but the flame caught his left shoulder. The truck was on the move again, this time at top speed. The vehicle swung violently and halted. The force pitched T’Challa into the street.
Machine gun fire echoed between the buildings. T’Challa felt several sharp pains about his torso from the bullets. He patted out the flames that were on his shoulder.
Two devices were thrown on both sides of him. They were explosives. T’Challa closed his eyes to protect them from shrapnel and he somersaulted out of his position, but it was too late. The massive bombs erupted and they knocked him onto the ground. Three more canisters of the explosives landed next to him.
He looked around for an escape route and he saw the cover to a storm drain. He leapt full stretch to the cover while the bombs exploded. Sharp stones and pieces of the metal covered him.
He lifted the cover to the storm drain and entered it. Once inside, he tried to find a passage way that could lead him to the back of his attackers. He was unable to do so and he turned his objective into getting out of the sewer quickly.
He went a short distance along a tunnel and came upon daylight that filtered through a man-hole cover. He climbed the rungs that were on the wall and lifted the cover slightly. He used his hyper sense of smell to detect any humans and there were none present.
T’Challa emerged from the sewer and he kept the cover since it was needed to counteract the flamethrower.
He surveyed the area that was a narrow alley. The distance between the two buildings that made up the alley was marginal. A large brown padlocked door held his attention and an idea came to him.
I can leave a false trail for Portman, thought T’Challa, as he assumed the man would come after him.
He kicked in the door and it opened with ease. But T’Challa didn’t enter the building.
He looked at the heights of the buildings. They were four storeys tall. T’Challa wanted to reach one of the roofs without leaving claw marks in the walls. Eventually, the means to do so came to him. He leapt at the opposing wall and bounced off it with an outstretched leg. In mid air he turned to the next wall. When he was near enough he kicked out at an angle and bounced off the wall. He went to a higher level and continued the zig-zag pattern to reach the roof.
He walked to the corner of the roof which had a view of the alley. He crouched and waited for Portman.
Chapter Five
Portman blazed the sewer’s entrance with the flamethrower. Once he was satisfied that it was safe to proceed, he jumped into the sewer. He slung the bag that contained the weapons over his left shoulder and carried the flamethrower in his right hand.
He believed that T’Challa was injured and it added to the thrill of the hunt.
“Dave,” said Conrad.
Portman stared up at the mercenary.
“Give me a gun,” said Conrad.
“No,” said Portman. “I don’t trust you.”
Sirens edged closer to the screen.
“Keep the cops off my back,” said Portman and then went further into the tunnel.
He was uncertain of the direction T’Challa went in since the sewer had two passage ways. Then he heard a metallic noise to his right. The sound came from down the tunnel and Portman followed it.
Eventually, Portman saw brilliant day light pouring into the sewer because of the missing man-hole cover. He surmised that T’Challa had returned to the surface. Portman dropped the bag since it would encumber him. He climbed the rungs with one hand and kept the flamethrower in the other.
Portman sprayed the flamethrower around the opening to avoid an ambush. He sniffed the air and listened for a heartbeat. Then he got out of the sewer.
The first thing he noticed was the broken door. That was his mistake.
Chapter Six
T’Challa seized the moment that Portman was distracted. The Black Panther shot from the corner of the roof and he leapt towards Portman.
T’Challa had the man-hole cover ready to block the fire from the flamethrower. A startled Portman fired the weapon instinctively when he sensed T’Challa’s presence above him. As T’Challa descended he placed the cover in front of him like a shield. He felt the heat on his fingers, but ignored the pain.
T’Challa smashed the front of the flamethrower with the covering. The weapon broke into half and an oily fire spilled out of the device, forcing Portman to drop it.
A relentless T’Challa swung the covering into Portman’s ribs, but the man’s quick hand reflex blocked the attack. T’Challa kicked his heel into Portman’s knee and the opponent fell slightly forward.
Portman rebounded and tackled T’Challa. At the same time, T’Challa slammed the rim of the covering into Portman’s back. The attempt had little impact on Portman’s challenge.
Both fighters fell onto the ground and Portman punched T’Challa rapidly in the chest. T’Challa felt as though he was being struck with a sledgehammer. Portman’s strength had doubled since they last fought.
T’Challa managed to throw off Portman and he got onto his feet. Portman rolled to the side and then stood. He leapt into T’Challa.
T’Challa swung the covering into Portman’s face. Then the unimaginable occurred. Portman punched the covering out his path and T’Challa lost his grip of the weapon.
Portman kept up the pressure and fired another punch at T’Challa. T’Challa barely swerved out of the way. He noticed that Portman’s speed had increased. Then T’Challa remembered his earlier observation that Portman grew stronger the more he was pushed.
T’Challa activated his claws and he swiped at Portman, inflicting minimal damage. Portman had sensed the attack and avoided it accordingly. Portman countered attacked with a right hand hook. T’Challa was floored by the punch that was too fast for him to react to.
T’Challa’s vision blurred and Portman kicked him repeatedly in the ribs and kidneys.
“Who are you?” Portman asked vehemently. “Why are you after me?”
He kicked harder as the silence from T’Challa prolonged.
T’Challa desperately tried to regain his focus. He couldn’t die like this. He had to complete his mission.
“Answer me,” said Portman.
T’Challa inhaled and he called up his memory of human arteries so he could slash the ones on Portman to impair him.
Portman went for the knife; suddenly he stopped and he raced down the alley. T’Challa rose sharply and he spotted the reason that Portman had left. A young woman stood frozen in fright at the end of the alley. Portman seized her and placed a hand over her mouth to muffle a scream.
T’Challa ran to them.
“Hold it,” said Portman. “Answer my questions and I’ll let her go.”
T’Challa had no choice. Fear gripped the woman’s brown eyes.
“I’m from Onika Tehaddiga’s country,” replied T’Challa. “Now, let her go and face me like a man.”
“So your country sent you to capture me, then that makes you some kind of secret agent,” said Portman. “Listen well. You will never catch me again. You will be chasing me forever.”
Portman snapped the woman’s arm and dislocated it from the shoulder. Then he threw her onto T’Challa and fled.
T’Challa caught the woman and rested her on the street.
“Please don’t leave me,” pleaded the woman in pain.
T’Challa feared that she would go into shock.
“I’m going to put your shoulder back in,” said T’Challa.
The blood ran from the woman’s face. “No, no,” she cried.
T’Challa ignored her and with a sharp motion he sent the arm into the socket. The woman screamed.
T’Challa left her and went into the street. He looked around for Portman but he had vanished although his scent lingered. The screams from the woman reverberated in T’Challa’s head. Portman had used his weakness. Would it always be like this?
A police car came around the corner and T’Challa ensured that the officers saw him then he returned to the woman.
“The police are on their way, stay calm,” said T’Challa.
He brought the woman onto the sidewalk and then he ran in the direction Portman had gone into.
As T’Challa went along the street he contemplated on whether he should abandon his compassion for innocent people in order to capture Portman. One tenet of being a leader was to look at the bigger picture. If he had ignored the woman then he stood a better chance following Portman and probably saving countless lives.
How much can I compromise to get this killer? The question weighed on him.
Book IV
Chapter One
Manchester City, New Hampshire
The Panther Goddess’ warning and the dark awareness that he could sacrifice a few people to win a battle when his back was against a wall struck like two close keys on a piano and the dissonance rattled T’Challa’s brain. If he kept saving people thrown in his way by Portman then the killer would always escape. If he refused to aid the people then Portman scored a moral victory over him.
The clash of T’Challa’s sense of nobility and the practicality demanded for the situation was new to him. He rationalized that whichever way he chose it should benefit the greatest number of people. Eventually his mind buckled from the weight of the stress.
I cannot let innocent people suffer or die in order for me to win; I cannot do that, were the thoughts that reverberated through his mind.
At that point he considered his father, the late king who was a principled man. What would he have done in such a situation? T’Challa tried to filter through his memory for a wise quote from his father, but nothing came.
I have to make my own decision and live with it, he thought.
Portman was close by and a choice needed to be made immediately.
Apart from the elimination of a weakness, T’Challa still required a plan to deal with Portman’s fighting abilities.
He knows when I’m going to make my first strike, blocks it and counter attacks; I can get around that by feigning an initial move and masking my real intentions. Then I have to make my attacks count, thought T’Challa.
A trailer truck drove across the street; its horn blared like the call of a wild animal. T’Challa scrambled up the side of the trailer and went onto the roof. He spotted Portman just as the murderer bent a corner. T’Challa leapt off the trailer, landed and rolled on the sidewalk. He got up with a sprint and he turned the corner.
Meanwhile, Portman jogged to a parked car and smashed the driver’s side window. T’Challa increased his pace knowing fully well that the decision fast approached. The moment was like a hand that squeezed on his throat. A temptation in his mind yelled that it was for this time only; he could be principled later on, but he had to make this one off compromise.
Another voice told him that there would be no one off. That as king he will be in similar situations in the future and treating people as collateral damage would become the norm if he started here.
The grip tightened and T’Challa was faced with an anxiety.
Portman sensed him and turned around. There was a slight grin on Portman’s face. He took the gun from the leg holster and he aimed at a coffee house that was across the street and milled with people.
T’Challa felt as though his competitive ego was plunged with a knife. He would not be manipulated no matter what. Still part of him wanted to lift the coffee tables outside of the establishment and use them as shields against the bullets to protect the patrons.
Then in that great moment of indecision Fate intervened. The horn from a vehicle bombarded the street and its angry motor came closer. T’Challa didn’t bother to look at the vehicle that headed for his prey; on the other hand Portman glanced down the street. It was enough time for T’Challa to leap into Portman.
Portman was surprised and turned the gun on T’Challa. It was too late. T’Challa slammed into him. Still Portman kept his sense of position and he used the momentum to grab and turn onto the side walk. In that fluid motion T’Challa sank his claws into Portman and dragged the killer with him. They spun again in a death tango and they broke through a store window.
They fell on their sides. Portman broke free and scrambled away. T’Challa kicked the fallen gun to a safe distance. The constant beeps from the tripped security alarm in the store didn’t distract the two opponents. Office desks and equipment were ubiquitous in the store. A fresh minty scent tainted the air. Both warriors sprang to their feet. Portman went into a marital arts posture and T’Challa stood calmly.
“Just when it I thought I had you figured out,” said Portman. “You were going to let me kill those people, weren’t you secret agent? I saw it in your eyes.”
T’Challa felt sickened that he was in such a predicament.
“You’re wrong about that,” said T’Challa in his rich accent.
“Really,” said Portman with satisfaction, and he edged to the side.
“I’m not a secret agent,” said T’Challa. “I’m the leader of my country.”
“That’s a joke right? If you are the leader why are you running around in my country?” asked Portman, slightly amused.
“Because I needed to deal with you personally,” replied T’Challa.
T’Challa moved to his side as he and Portman circled each other. T’Challa heard the rapid heart beats and stable breaths of his opponent. He guessed that Portman sensed the same thing from him.
To say that T’Challa didn’t expect such a challenge would be an understatement. He thought Portman was merely a crazed man not knowing that the killer possessed such a variety of combat skills and cunning.
One thing was clear. T’Challa had to end this now since to do otherwise would allow Portman to test his compassion once more. T’Challa didn’t want to deal with that kind of indecision anytime soon.
Broken glass cracked under the weights of T’Challa and Portman. They pushed aside the desks that impeded them. Concentration was the key factor in this encounter as whoever attacked first would have an advantage.
Portman slid his knife out the sheath with the right hand and held it in the hammer grip.
T’Challa smelt the blood from the man’s wounds in the left arm and right side.
I have to keep him active long enough for the blood loss to take effect, thought T’Challa.
T’Challa held his ground and contemplated a combination of moves.
“So what changed your mind this time about saving the people?” asked Portman. The he shot forward in a flash.
The question was a ruse to catch T’Challa off guard. T’Challa relied on an old lesson he learned at a child- that he didn’t necessarily need to see his opponent rather sense the movements. The Black Panther did that and he blocked a left hook from Portman. Instinctively T’Challa sensed that Portman’s right hand approached his face. The tip of the knife reached for his eye. T’Challa shot up his arm and blocked Portman’s right arm from completing its swing into his face.
The result was that T’Challa had Portman’s arms at bay. Portman relied on his strength and pushed down his right arm; causing the tip of the knife to inch closer to T’Challa’s eye.
Now is my chance, thought T’Challa.
T’Challa lashed out his knee for Portman’s groin, but the killer blocked it with his knee. At that moment, T’Challa dropped his arms, went down, swiveled with his right hand in the air and the claws slashed Portman’s throat. Blood erupted out of the wound and splattered T’Challa.
T’Challa rose, snatched Portman’s head and drove it empathically through a desk and smashed the face into the floor. T’Challa stayed in that position and he listened as Portman’s heartbeats gradually decreased from like the rapid flow of a river to a trickle of a rivulet. He raised the man and sheathed his claws.
The police sirens closed in so T’Challa lifted Portman onto his shoulder. He looked out the broken window and he saw curious people headed for the store.
How am I going to get out of this city? T’Challa pondered, and then he headed for the rear entrance.
T’Challa broke the back door lock and he stepped into an alley. He met Conrad’s scent there. The smell triggered T’Challa’s memory of the horn that distracted Portman.
A confident Conrad stared at T’Challa. The mercenary was just a few steps away from the Black Panther.
“I assumed that you would come out here,” said Conrad.
T’Challa scanned him and noticed that he was weaponless. T’Challa didn’t trust Conrad and it crossed his mind to do something about him. Maybe he could permanently paralyze the mercenary and leave him unable to speak about what he saw.
“Is he dead?” asked Conrad as he coolly leaned against the wall with his arms folded.
T’Challa didn’t answer. He recognized that Conrad was attempting to put his mind at ease with the nonchalant behavior.
“I want to know what you are going to do with the body,” said Conrad.
Still T’Challa was stoic as he would not be lulled into a false sense of safety.
“You are not from America are you? And as much as Portman deserves his fate he has abilities that are beneficial military wise, and I don’t want that falling into the wrong hands,” said Portman. “So just me tell who you are and what do you need him for?”
T’Challa’s perception of Conrad softened a bit when he remarked that Portman deserved what he got.
“Stay out of my way and I will not hurt you,” said T’Challa, and drew his claws.
Conrad didn’t flinch and held his ground.
“I’m going to bury him,” continued T’Challa, “if that eases your mind.”
T’Challa ran towards a dumpster, leapt on it and pushed off onto the wall. He sank his claws in the wall and climbed with the momentum from the jump. He managed to reach the roof and he consulted his map. He spotted a church that was in the vicinity and headed over the rooftops to it.
T’Challa leapt from the last building into the church’s bell tower. There he rested Portman and he hid himself in the corner. Then he listened to his communications device to monitor the movements of the police. He was certain that Conrad was unaware of his location.
T’Challa looked at Portman’s butchered throat and was reminded of Onika’s headless body. Slowly Portman’s heartbeats faded away.
In reflection T’Challa brewed over the probable fall out of his jaunt in the city. He wondered if anyone had taken pictures of him. Diplomatic immunity protected him from the law so he could count on that if required. Basically he hunted down and killed a man in a foreign country. He could never do that again, not as a king.
A strong gust of wind pushed the church bell’s waist slightly and a soft melodic ‘cling’ ‘cling’ oozed from the lips of the hollow instrument.
Despite the risk of losing information on the police, T’Challa dismantled his invention so he could put the kimoyo back to together and get assistance from his embassy. Even though he longed to be at home in Wakanda, in the back of his mind, he was not looking forward to speaking with the Panther Goddess about the mission because she was right about him.
That brought up the issue of his relationship with the entity. Would he consult the Panther Goddess on everything or make his own decisions.
Chapter Two
Conrad slipped away from the alley. He did not return to the pickup truck since it was probably marked by then. He had managed to find Portman as he drove around the area. He blew the horn hard when he spotted Portman and came up the street. That’s was when the stranger grabbed Portman.
Making a phone call to David Portman was the most pressing thing on Conrad’s mind. What will he tell him? That your brother was dead and an unknown person, probably a foreign agent took him. Yes. He would tell him exactly that.
Conrad got to a pay phone and called collect to the Portman mansion. Conrad doubted that no one in the family knew about Dave’s extraordinary abilities.
They were in the arms business for Christ’s sake and they weren’t aware of a living weapon under their very noses, preposterous; even the father should have known about it, thought Conrad.
A house servant answered and Conrad asked for David. Conrad assumed that his friend waited patiently for his call to hear if the mission went as planned.
David’s troubled voice came on the other end.
“Conrad is it done?”
“I didn’t do it, someone else did,” replied Conrad.
There was silence from the Portman for a moment.
“What happened?” David finally asked.
“Your brother and I were ambushed by an unknown. He appeared to be military, he wore body armour and a mask; and he took your brother’s body. Also both he and Dave were superhuman. Did you know that your brother was like that?”
“Superhuman, Dave, I was not unaware of that. Where is the stranger now?”
“I’m not sure. I’m inManchestercity. The plane that the stranger carried your brother and me in crashed here.”
“What? Why did he want with you?”
“I have no idea, but he was at the cabin.”
There was another pause from David.
“Go on,” said the intrigued on the other end.
“I was almost to the cabin; he took me out and warned that the area was booby trapped. He had an African accent. I’m thinking that he was a foreign agent.”
“Well I didn’t tell anyone else about the cabin. The person may have been monitoring Dave.”
“Possible,” said Conrad. “But back to your brother’s superhuman abilities. Would your father have known?”
“I’m not sure. What kind of abilities are we speaking about here?”
“Captain America like,” replied Conrad.
“Dave,” said the astonished voice. “And the stranger was the same?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll have to ask father then,” said David. “Where is my brother?”
“The stranger took him. He said that he’ll bury him.”
“Do you believe him?” asked David.
Conrad introspected for a second and then answered. “Yes,” he responded firmly.
“You have to tell me more,” said David.
“I’m heading back home and I’ll call from there,” said Conrad.
“Okay.”
Conrad ended the call. Then he realized something. David believed that his brother was the one who was monitored when it could have been the other way around. The possibilities were too much for him to wrap his head around. In the end, Conrad went in search for a car to take.
Chapter Three
Thomas Portman studied the customized bullets that he kept in a case. The bullets were apart of a private set. It reminded him of how he failed Dave because he caught his son stealing a few of the items and did nothing about it. He just walked away. It mirrored what had transpired for the last twenty five years.
Thomas barely coped with the fallout of the incident at the cabin and he was unable to deal with Dave when he started to act out.
His train of thoughts was broken when he heard his eldest son close the sliding door and walked out to the patio where he sat.
Thomas was in relatively good shape for his age. Years of taking care of his body had done that. So even though David was the young buck it still seemed as though Thomas could take him down in a fight.
“Dad we need to talk,” said David.
“Is there any news on your brother?” asked Thomas, and he wiped his grey mustache.
David sat and looked his father in the eyes.
“No,” replied David.
“So what is on your mind?”
“Do you remember if he exhibited any extraordinary abilities?”
Thomas knew where the conversation was headed. He knew that his troubled son was different physically with regards to athletic prowess. He kept his insights a secret since he didn’t want to expose Dave to any high degree of attention which might potentially reveal his crime.
“What kind of extraordinary abilities?” asked Thomas.
“Speed, strength, those kinds of things.”
“No. Why ask that?” was Thomas’s response.
“I was curious since he managed to escape from a precinct,” replied David.
He stood and took a step forward to leave. Then he turned back to Thomas and stared at him. It was a daring move. Thomas sensed that it took a great deal of courage .
“Why didn’t you do anything to stop him?” asked David.
Thomas frowned.
“Are you accusing me of something?” countered Thomas.
“I don’t want to anger you dad, but we cannot pretend that this happened over night. There were signs that he was cracking even as a teenager,” said David.
Thomas placed the case next to him.
“You’re saying that I’m culpable for his killings” said Thomas.
“Yes,” said David. “You could have tried treatment, instead you ignored him.”
“So when he is caught, I shouldn’t expect you to be at his trials,” said Thomas.
The statement seemed to have struck David deeply.
“Of course I would not have gone if there were to be any trials. As far as I’m concerned he is dead to me!”
Thomas knew David’s personality well, that’s why he entrusted the company to him. The patriarch picked up on David’s tone of voice and what it tried to conceal.
Thomas rose and approached David.
“What did you do?” asked Thomas softly.
“What are talking about?”
“You said if there were ever going to be trials. How would you know that? So I’m asking what you did.”
“You’re reading too much into it,” said David, but his eyes gave the silent satisfaction that something was rightfully and finally done.
Thomas understood. “Okay,” he said and capitulated.
David walked back to the house. Thomas returned to the chair and took up the case. Life had gone full circle. He got rid of his brother and hid it; now David had done the same.
Chapter Four
It was one in the morning when a stealth Wakandan plane came to the church. The jet plane was invisible to the human eye due to bump-shaped mirrors on its skin. A side door was opened and T’Challa leapt into it with Portman’s body.
The pilot was the only personnel on the plane.
“Good night. Take us to Wakanda immediately,” said T’Challa.
“Yes Your Majesty,” said the pilot.
T’Challa secured Portman and kept an eye on him for the duration of the flight. There would be no more mistakes. Via a communications link, T’Challa made arrangements for an autopsy to be performed on Portman once they arrived. He wanted to know the source of Portman’s superhuman capabilities.
Hours later, the pilot indicated that they were in Wakanda. T’Challa peered out of the cockpit window and he saw the snow capped peaks of the Kanga Mountain Range. T’Challa could almost hear the wolf cries that usually echoed through mountains.
Moments later, the plane passed over theCrystalForestthat was an ecological wonder. The radiation from a vibranium meteor mutated the once normal rain forest in a crystallized form centuries ago. Since that time the every tree and plant in that area grew into the beautiful and haunting crystal sculptures that graced the landscape.
The plane flew over several towns and it came upon the metropolis Central City. There were sky scrappers, parks, and homes in the city. The city bustled with energy in the late afternoon. Two colossal black panthers stood in the center of the city. They appeared to be statues but were actually war robots.
On the outskirts of the city, the plane landed in the subterranean science and military base called the Techno Jungle. The Techno Jungle was a like labyrinth and it that had several levels that went deeper into the earth.
T’Challa alighted from the plane and placed Portman on a waiting medical bed that was brought by three doctors. Then he ordered that Onika’s father be brought to the Techno Jungle after the autopsy was completed.
T’Challa washed up in a private room and then did a mission report for his personal records. He thought about making an anonymous donation toManchestercity for the damages that were done. When he was finished, the autopsy report was ready.
The doctors found the X gene in Portman’s DNA.
That explains it, thought T’Challa and read on.
Portman had a hair line skull fracture, the right hand bones were shattered and his knee was dislocated along with an assortment of other injuries. T’Challa recalled his fights with Portman and looked at some of the injuries listed.
He must have not felt the wounds, probably due to an adrenaline rush, T’Challa speculated.
Thereafter, Tehaddiga arrived and he met with T’Challa.
“I have brought the body of your daughter’s killer,” said T’Challa flatly.
“Can I see it?” asked Tehaddiga.
T’Challa escorted him to the medical room and on a slab table was Portman. T’Challa heard the heightened rate of Tehaddiga’s heart as he approached the body.
“Thank you,” said Tehaddiga. “Her soul can rest now.”
“If there is anything else I can do,” said T’Challa.
“Yes there is, my king,” said Tehaddiga. “Can you please burn his body?”
Venom and steel was in the old man’s voice. The tone represented a generation that was influenced by T’Challa’s father. T’Challa gathered an even deeper meaning. He wanted to slightly open up Wakanda and the new generation under him would be witnessed to that. But how would the older generation respond to such a move.
Tehaddiga left the Techno Jungle, shortly followed by T’Challa. The Black Panther headed for the savanna in a mini jet. He chose a random spot and landed just as the sun transformed the savanna into a golden roll.
T’Challa sat in the shade of the plane and waited. Finally Bast’s voice came and the Panther Goddess spoke gently.
“You finally understand what I warned you about,” said Bast. “That the Dogs of War have no mercy or compassion just the objective of winning.”
“Yes. I found myself having to a make a choice between getting the better of my enemy and keeping my values,” said T’Challa.
“As king you will always be faced with such decisions,” said Bast.
“The sad part though is that I can see myself doing whatever it takes to win even sacrificing those around me.”
“That is unfortunate.”
“How did my father handle such things?”
“Your father belonged to a different time,” replied Bast. “I know in your heart that you want to use your skills to help the world and such a task will bring you into conflict with your values and role as the Black Panther.”
“I understand that,” said T’Challa.
“Do you really?”
Bast’s voice disappeared on the wind, and T’Challa looked up at a column of clouds. He thought about the titans of evil in the world that he had done research on like Dr. Doom, Magneto, Red Skull, A.I.M and HYDRA. What would happen if he met those individuals and groups? Would his values or dark side prevail in order to defeat them? He did not know, only time would tell.
Posted in Story: First Case
Tags: black panther, boston, new hampshire, pulp, serial killer, street, t'challa, urban, wakanda
