Diane Wooters slid out from between the sheets, her sleek naked form an alabaster shadow in the darkness of her bedroom in the District of Columbia suburbs. By now her husband of four years was used to the plaintive whine of her unique sounding alarm and slept through it. Diane gazed at the slumbering form of her handsome husband and for perhaps the thousandth time since she had entered his life, regretted that she could never tell him about her super-heroine identity. National security precluded her from revealing the fact that she was the Blue Bolt, to anyone. Only the president, the Secretary of State and the head of the Joint Chief of Staff of the armed forces, knew that information and the latter two were only informed on a need to know basis.
As far as her husband, Jim, or anyone else knew, she was Secret Service agent. Which she was, in a matter of speaking, but she worked out of the top secret superhero division. With her peers, she battled threats to national and international security and took home an enviable pay stub. Serving her country was something that Diane had never had a second thought about. There was the danger of course, but the lives saved and the adrenaline rush, more than compensated for the risk. Diane told herself that, one day, when either age slowed her reflexes to the point where she needed to retire, or, in the even more unlikely event, when the world no longer required superheroes, Diane would be permitted to reveal her secret life to dear sweet, and oh so handsome husband. "When that day comes," Diane told herself for the umpteenth time, "I will apologize for lying to him by makeup sex so incendiary, it will set him on fire!"
Until that day, secrecy had to rule. Otherwise, their loved ones would be at risk. Villains and terrorists, unable to battle herself or The Sanctum Master, or the Brute Man, Sister Gold, or any of the other crime fighters, would strike at their relatives and loved ones to bring the superheroes to heel. If one other person knew, others would know. No secret was safe if more than one person knew it. In the case of Jim and the other husbands, wives, boyfriends and girlfriends, ignorance truly was bliss.
Diane silenced the incessant alarm and threw on some clothes. She took out the note she long ago had laminated and attached it to the bedroom mirror. "Duty Calls!" it read. Jim understood that a Secret Service agent had to be on call twenty-four seven. He tolerated it because his Diane was the sexiest, most beautiful woman he had ever met. Her long brown hair framed a lovely face with crystal blue eyes and carmine lips. Her model-tall body was finely muscled and intoxicating. Her flawless alabaster skin tanned enticingly when they went on expensive vacations to remote beaches in far off tropical climes. Jim loved the fact that often, Diane, on desolate strands, dispensed with bathing attire completely. Their sex life was more than satisfying to both of them. James Wooters knew full well that he was an extremely lucky bastard.
Jim mumbled something incoherently in his sleep as Diane stroked his curly blonde hair and stole a kiss. Softly she padded down the stair and then out the door to her car. A short time later, her vehicle entered a hidden entrance in a seemingly abandoned building. In her private locker room, Diane changed into her crime fighting attire. A midnight blue bustier of impervious material, A crimson skirt that fell to her upper thighs over a pair of midnight blue panties, long white gloves and thigh-high red boots with blue stripes down the sides, across the entire ensemble, a dusting of white and gold stars. To conceal her identity, Diane donned a high-tech mask that obscured her identity but did not obscure her vision. The mask generated a field which bore a completely different countenance. The Blue Bolt was equally beautiful as Diane Wooters, but not even her own mother would have recognized her features as those of her own flesh and blood.
Her last act of preparation was always the hardest. She slid off her wedding and engagements rings and placed them in the small velvet box. She always dreaded the soft popping sound with which the box closed. Even though their removal was temporary, the sound of the box closing always had the sound of finality in Diane's ears As Diane placed the box on its shelf, she spied the many commendations and medals from the president and other world leaders stored there. Again, she looked forward to the day when she could tell Jim how she had earned every one. With a wistful sigh, Diane forced the thought away. The moment the locker clicked shut, Diane Wooters was forgotten. In her place stood the Blue Bolt.
The super-heroine made her way to the roof of the building. She allowed her super power to flow through her, seconds later, the Blue Bolt was riding the arcs of the lightning her body generated. An aerial surfer, the provocatively dressed crime fighter rode the lightning into the west, her destination, the Pentagon, to determine why she had been summoned.
Deep in the bowels of the world's largest office complex sat the superhero ready room. Full of high tech gear, listening devices and cameras, the warren of activity was a second home to the crime fighting elite. Filled with everything any superhero would need, funded off the books, this sanctum did not officially exist. Oh, the heroes were certainly spied entering the building but the government maintained the fiction that their visits had no official capacity. Already in the room. Sister Gold, the Brute Man, and The Epicenter, all exchanged greetings and took seats around the large table as a high-ranking general strode to the front of the room.
"Welcome heroes. The Sanctum Master is on assignment"
Once all were seated and focused on him the general continued. "There is no way to sugar coat this, The Gecko has gone silent and is long overdue in reporting back."
The Brute Man spoke for all of them in his animal-like growl of a voice. "Perhaps the assignment is taking longer than he planned."
"No," the general replied, "his transponder if offline, as is the backup. He was not on an assignment, in any case, he was making a routine patrol. It was a PR mission as much as it was targeting crime. He seems to have vanished from the streets without a trace."
"That's bad." stated Sister Gold bluntly "Any clues?"
The general activated the screen behind him. "Not exactly. There is some chatter about "The Mind Bender. Whoever he or she is, they have not appeared on our radar before. We believe he is affiliated with the terrorist F.I.S.T. organization, but we have no proof. As all of you are aware F.I.S.T, has sworn revenge after we foiled their plot to level the headquarters of the Central Intelligence Agency. You may recall that was also the operation where Starbuck was injured so badly he had to abandon crime fighting permanently."
The Blue Bolt recalled her old comrade, the shape-shifter had taken shrapnel while suppressing an explosive device, he was just able to return to human form before his superhero abilities vanished utterly. Not even the best doctors in the world could repair the lesion in his brain. It was something of a miracle that he was even able to return to his normal human form. Starbuck had been a valuable member of the team, one whose skills had, even now, not been entirely replaced. The bit of metal had entered Starbuck's skull in the one place where his power originated. It was a million to one odds that his one vulnerable spot would be struck, yet Starbuck had not complained one iota at the hand fate had dealt him. Diane remembered his going away party. Starbuck's words upon that occasion still resonated with her.
"At least now I can tell my mom what I've been up to for the last ten years."
She pushed the musing away and focused once more on the general.
"Until we determine who or what we are up against. I am going to ask all of you to exercise extreme caution. The Gecko can crawl through an opening three centimeters wide, no normal prison can hold him. The fact that he has not escaped yet means either he is injured, dead, or being held in the most secure prison on the planet. Like you, I am hoping it is the latter."
A map of the District of Columbia appeared behind the general. With a laser pointer, he circled the area where The Gecko had vanished
"This is a search mission. Turn up any clues you can. Stay in radio contact at all times. You have the first watch, Blue Bolt. After you, Brute Man, and third watch goes to Sister Gold. With any luck however, the Blue Bolt will hit pay dirt on our first go. I can give you limited under cover support, but with the Kelton Act now in force, we can't send uniformed men into civilian centers without a presidential edict. As valuable as the Gecko is, this does not rate that high an emergency. But as you all know, the job was dangerous when you took it."
A short time later the Blue Bolt was strolling through an area of the District of Columbia in severe need of gentrification. Her lightning bolts could disarm and immobilize any foe, even so, the landscape made her nervous. She had been on patrol for several hours now, off to the east the horizon was beginning to glimmer. Another hour she could go home and get some much-needed sleep. Only her fellow crime-fighters, both civilian and her superhero brethren understood the tedious and mundane work that was so much a part of the job. It certainly all wasn't signing autographs and posing for paparazzi. On nights like this, the boredom became sheer torture.
The Blue Bolt turned a corner and encountered a thin man sprawled out the sidewalk, a huge gash in his forehead pooling blood on the sidewalk. Diane sprinted to man's side.
"Are you O.K., Sir? Hold on a moment, I'll summon help."
