Wonder Woman in Ankara #5

Wonder Woman was created by Dr William Moulton Marston in 1941 and is the © copyright trademark of DC Comics. My Wonder Woman stories are only fan fiction and based, primarily, on the 1970s CBS TV show (albeit, updated to the present time of writing). However, any resources from adaptations and the comics may be utilized. All characters are entirely fictional. Except for any characters found in DC Comics or related adaptations, these stories and characters are my creations, unless otherwise stated. In my stories, Wonder Woman is the only known superhero.

05 Conversations without tea are like a night sky without the moon

Plummeting to earth, head first, Wonder Woman fought through the pain in her shoulder to steady herself. Holding tight to the lasso as it unfurled off the aircraft, Diana used the golden line to steady and turn her dissent onto her chest. An arctic gust swelled underneath her. She rode the air current like a sine wave to land in a secluded street.

The mysterious aeroplane was long gone, taking Bayar with it. There was nothing more that could be done. Diana Prince returned to her discreet hotel on a narrow side street in Cankaya. During a brief shower, she was relieved to see her shoulder wound outwardly healed, if still a little achy.

Slipping on a turquoise nightdress, Diana returned to her modest bedroom. Before retiring for the night, she decided to message Steve Trevor by cell phone. Since the C.I.A. were aware of her activity in Ankara, there was no longer any point in remaining invisible, and she needed some answers, fast. Although, she still used spy speech as a preventive measure:          

“Dear Steve, I’m sorry to inform that you and Ray are missing out on the real fun and games here. I suspect Ray to be as green as the Incredible Hulk, after he got into a hole here last year!

There’s so much more to Turkey than what you see on TV. For a better perspective, I suggest you look for a Washington to Ankara package deal and find out for yourself. But wrap up warm, as I suspect the weather will be as cold as a morgue!”

There was no way of knowing whether Steve Trevor would pick up on all the clues embedded in the text. He was a smart guy, but never came across as the kind to have the slightest interest in comic books.

Diana retired to bed. No more than 45 minutes later, her phone beeped a text message. Hopeful for it to be a reply off Steve, Diana took a look. To her bemusement, the sender was rather unexpected:

“Message for Diana Prince,

Meeting, tomorrow, 12:00, Timboo Café, Atakule. To discuss security concerns pertaining to recent events, including the tragic downfall of your American heroine.

Erol.”

The message certainly raised an eyebrow. Diana recognized the signatory as General Erol whom Steve Trevor had previously forewarned of. Erol was certainly someone Diana was curious about. As a potential lead to Bayar’s whereabouts, she overlooked her own security concerns to confirm the appointment.

In the early hours, the heavy snowfall was replaced by fog. Chunks of frozen snow fell off the roof onto the balcony below. This wasn’t due to a natural occurrence but human disturbance: a svelte female figure in black scrambling down to the balcony of Diana’s room. Dressed as how a cat-burglar would look in a balaclava, she nimbly picked the lock to the veranda doors.

Once inside, the intruder held out a handgun attached to a silencer, creeping quietly up the contours of a human form occupying the bed – but this wasn’t enough – a pro needs to know they’re eliminating the correct target. She could just about see Diana Prince’s face lying away on her side. The hit woman took aim and fired at the ceiling.  

Diana’s calves had wrapped around the back of the assassin’s legs. The intruder toppled backwards as she pulled the trigger. Before she could shoot again, Diana was pinning both her wrists to the floor. She slammed the weapon out of the combatant’s hand and slung it under a chest of drawers.

“Now let’s see who is behind the mask,” Diana said, pulling off the assassin’s balaclava. “Well, well, if isn’t the dutiful secretary, Miss Morgan. I hope you squeal better than you fight, Jean.”   

Angry round-faced Miss Morgan cursed at Diana, “I’ll tell you nothing, Prince!”

“Perhaps you’d prefer to talk to the police? They’ll pass you over to MIT. And something tells me they’re not big on second chances…”  

It was a brilliantly instinctive gambit. Morgan paused for thought. Her mien changing from anger to concern in a split second. The pallor in her cheeks blending with her diamond-white wiry hair.  

“Look, wait, don’t be hasty,” Jean said in a fluster. “This is big, sweetie. It’s real big.”

“Spill!”

“I will, but first, do you mind if we conduct ourselves in a more civilized decorum?” Jean mildly requested. “Like, GET THE HELL OFF ME!”

Jean foisted Diana off by smacking her thighs into her restrainer’s posterior. Diana sprawled on her anterior while Jean reached for her gun under the dresser. Diana caught the danger in time. Both ladies got their hands on the firearm, pulling it outwards, upwards, stretched arms raised to the ceiling.

Although Jean wasn’t nearly as strong as her opponent, her bellicosity was persistent. Diana had only a slight height superiority, and her sore shoulder was hampering her ability to the control situation.

Rising to their feet, Morgan surged Prince onto the bed, the momentum accidentally flipping the firearm over the far side.          

The two women wrestled with one another on the mattress. Neither of them gaining the advantage. Getting a hand under Diana’s left thigh, Jean pushed her back against the pillows. It was a battle of defensive grappling for a moment. Then, cleverly, Diana tucked one hand under the cover and began rolling Morgan into the duvet until she fell off the end of the bed.

Pressing the human roll in place, quick thinking Prince pulled a bottom sheet of the bed to bind it around the Jean’s neck and over her protruding head. She used a handy kettle lead to tie Jean’s feet to the duvet. Diana had turned her adversary into a makeshift mummy – albeit one that yells foul language…

“I’d say that’s a wrap,” said Diana. 

“You ******* bitch!” cursed Jean. “Let me out, ****!”

Fog with a thunderstorm seemed unlikely, yet befuddled under the bedsheet, Jean was sure she saw a flash of lightning accompanied by a noise like thunder. A third bind around her waist left her most disorientated. The mattress cover was untied and pulled off her.

“Wonder Woman!” said Jean. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m helping Diana Prince get the truth out of you.”

“Oh,” Jean sullenly responded.

“How about you start by telling me who you are working for?”

“Ha, ha! I’m working for myself, honey!” she replied freely.

“Then why do you want to kill Diana Prince?”

“Listen, honey, I’d kill my own mother for the gift of eternal youth!”

“Eternal youth?” repeated Wonder Woman, shutting her eyes in disbelief. The paradox of Diana’s own existence temporarily lost on her.

“What every woman dreams about! Imagine never aging another day!”

“You’re not serious?”

“It may be something you don’t need to worry about, honey, but let me tell you, middle age isn’t that far away for some of us.”

“And how do you know that such an eternal youth exists?”

“I’ve read all Lombard’s classified files.”

“He knew about this?”

“Oh, he knew all right. The hasty arranged US shipping depot was a cover up for a Turkish nuclear experiment, which had gotten out of hand. They panicked and brought in American expertise. The two countries didn’t want to scare the public, so, they concocted that phoney international shipping story.”

“And Fadi Fakih suspected it was a cover up,” confirmed Wonder Woman. “That’s why he hated America, right?”

“The kid knew too much. So did Lombard.”

“Then, I’m guessing it was you who let Fadi Fakih into Lombard’s press conference?”

“Correct!” gleefully replied Morgan.

“You must be more than just a secretary to have that kind of power.”

“Correct again! I was Lombard’s personal protection officer. MIT prepped Fakih. I handed the kid the gun. Love the irony, don’t you, honey?” Morgan laughed, manically. Brought on by the power of lasso; her inner soul flooding out.

Wonder Woman was visibly agitated by Jean’s behaviour. The lasso was a reliable tool for eliciting what the subject thought to be the truth. However, people under the lasso’s binds respond differently, depending on their personality. Cunning recipients are forced to give honest answers, but this may still not be the whole truth. It is up to the inquisitor, therefore, to ask the right questions, in the right order, at the right time. In this instance, what frustrated Diana was Jean’s apparent willingness to talk of her wrongdoing without resistance, like a boastful, intoxicated gossip.       

“Who is behind this?” Diana questioned, insistently. “Who assigned you to eliminate Lombard and Prince? Is Brent Mendelson involved?”

“Mendelson is a bore,” dismissed Jean. “He knows little more than diplomatic etiquette about most things.”

“Don’t play games with me, Miss Morgan,” said Wonder Woman. She tugged the golden line to provide a little needed encouragement.

“M–m-my contact is General Erol of the MIT,” Morgan spluttered out in a panting rush of adrenaline.

“You see, that wasn’t so tricky, was it?” said Diana, smiling, thoughtfully.  

For Part 6: click here