The Investigation: 1

A phone rings in a rather nondescript office. "Agent Vega."

"Hey, Lynn. It's Knox.

The 30something Latina in the well-tailored pantsuit smiles. "Hey, Knoxie. Seems I owe you an apology. You were right about the Bat."

"Finally, someone apologizes. Why can't it be, say, my co-workers?"

"Because they work with you and I'm just a friend. What can I do for you today?"

"You know about the Batplane."

"I do read your rag."

"So it's a do-rag?"

"Funny, Knoxie."

"OK, thing is, there's a cordon around the wreckage. Mainly cops, but some suits, too. They say they're MArshalls. I don't buy it. Any of them yours?"

Vega sighs. Why can't he ever ask her something easy to cope with. At least she can be honest, though.

"They aren't FBI. I don't think that there's anything there that fits our mission. Plane crashes are NTSB, EPA sometimes, not us."

"Any idea who?"

"None." A pause. "And off the record, you aren't the first person to ask. We've gotten about 50 calls this week. But it's not us. And we don't think it's ATF or Secret Service. Though your drinking buddy could tell you more."

"I talked to him. He doesn't know anything."

"They never do. And that's probably all I can tell you."

Vega thinks she can hear Knox thinking. That's something she's always liked about him. He's always so obvious.

"Care to speculate? Totally off the record."

"Black ops. NSA. NRA."

"National Rifle Assocation? They jealous of the Batguns?"

"National Reconnaisance Agency. Guys so secret I think that even the President doens't know what they do."

"Over the Batplane?

"It's just a guess. Who knows? Maybe it's the Air Force. That bird seems ahead of its time. A flying batwing."

"Air Force does black ops?"

"Knoxie, everyone does black ops. You're just used to the bludgeon of the police."

"It's what I do, Lynnie. Anyway, thanks for the thoughts. I owe you. Meet for drinks Friday?"

"You're on."

After she hung up, Specail Agent Lynn Vega thought about her old friend. He'd been one of the few people in Gotham who made her exile from Washington palatable. True, they had tried for a while to see if there could be anything more besides a shared distaste for the bureuacrats and a shared taste for beer and football. But even if they were just friends - and he was remarkably mature about it, given his mastery of bad come-ons - he was a good man to have around. And it never hurt to have a friend in the press, just in case you need it.

The Investigation: 2

Gregg Henessey had settled in for a long night of copious analysis. Just him, his Apple, a few new ideas for software, and the samples the boss sent him from Chicago. He didn't expect any visitors.

"What's an 'Omniversal'?" Hennesey was almost startled by the voice, but he was used to sudden breaks, this being a one-man office half the time.

"It's a word that begins with O. Mr. Kord wanted an acronym that spells his name."

"And why doesn't he just use his name? 'Kord Omniversal Research and Development' is a mouthful." The voice now became the face of a man in a rumpled coat, a hat that was once sharp but not just a hat, and a smirk.

"Because he's eccentric and likes acronyms." Henessey puts away the sample he was going to work on. "LEt me guess. You're Knox."

"Guilty as charged."

"You have the parts, and the cash?" The young engineer, dressed in plain blue t-shirt and jeans, took an immediate disinterest in the reporter. But some extra money wasn't a bad thing.

"$500 and the parts." Knox hands Henessey an envelope and a box. "Brooks did give you a really good recommendation, so I'm expecting my money's worth."

"Brooks is just a reporter, same as you. You wouldn't know a good analysis from a bad." At least Brooks, the aircraft industry reporter for the Daily Planet, works for a good paper. This guy? Just another hack.

Henessey opens the envelope, pockets the money. And then opens the box and put on a pair of rubber gloves. He removes first what seems to be an engine part, and then a small, thin jagged edged piece of metal.

"Okay. At first glance, Knox...this engine part could be from anything. Truck, plane, train. Even an old car. I'll run it the run-through, but don't get your hopes up."

"I never do." Knox watches as Henessey unwraps the other piece. Watches as Henessey's eyes seem to light up.

"Oh my."

"What is it?"

"This...no way to be sure it's from the Batman yet. But...this is good stuff."

"Good as in...?"

"Good as in I want to give this some attention. This is obviously airplane skin.

"Obviously."

"Knox, who's the expert?"

"And who's the guy paying you?" Henessey suppresses the urge to give Knox the finger.

"Give me two days. There are some things I can do that will tell me if this is from his plane, or from something else. But it's got a better chance than the engine part to be even remotely authentic."

"Then do your best." Knox has, all the while, been looking all over the place, as if casing the joint. Lousy reporters.

"Anything else?"

"Nope."

"Then if you don't mind, I have some work to wrap up."

"Call me when you have the results. And don't lose them! I need the evidence."

"What do you take me for, Knox?"

"A guy in a messy lab." And with that Knox heads out. A very unpleasant man, thinks Henessey, but a good reporter, it seems.

Henessey forgets his plans for the night. He's ahead of schedule, anyway. And he wants to know just what it is that Knox gave him.