Flying commercial wasn't the thrill it had once been. Leah remembered the thrill of excitement she always got at take-off when the jet finally raced forward, hurtling down the runway, inertia pushing her into her seat. And the moment when the rumble of tires across asphalt ceased and the whole airliner tilted for a steep ascent into the sky. There had been few thrills to match it. Now--it couldn't compare to flying under her own power, with the wind in her hair. It was never going to be the same.

Not even first class, though first class certainly had its own advantages. A wide, deep, comfortable leather seat with adjustable neck and lower back support. She had plenty of room to move around. Her seat even swiveled. The flight attendants were attentive and she never lacked for snacks or drinks. She even had a port to plug her laptop into, though she didn't do much with it. She was preoccupied with thoughts of what lay ahead. She disliked not knowing what would happen next, and the interview with Daniel Lee loomed over her. Her whole life could change--probably would change--as a result, and she had no idea how things would shake out. It made her uneasy.

Worrying over the problem would get her nowhere. She didn't have enough information to make decisions. She'd simply have to wait for enlightenment before she could choose her next step. Never her best thing. Leah closed her eyes, took a calming breath. Recited the mantra Dr. Gershwitz had taught her for situations like this. "I'm not nervous, I'm excited."

Leah's cab stopped in front of the Hearst Building. She paid the driver, then turned to look up at the tower. It was a very dramatic structure. Six stories of brick built before the depression, topped by a modern skyscraper forty-six stories high. Instead of the drab rectangular pattern she saw everywhere else, the steel framework here was triangular. Wikipedia had informed her that it was a very green design, low energy and widely admired as a result. It was certainly a visually appealing structure.

What would it look like from above, she wondered? She expected she'd find out. She already had several maps of the city in her possession, and looked forward to touring the city from above as well as at street level. However the interview went, she planned to spend a few days playing tourist afterward. If worse came to worst, she'd still have had a glorious vacation in the Big Apple.

The interior of the building was as interesting as the exterior. Leah spent a few minutes admiring the atrium that took up nearly the entirety of the original brick structure. When her phone chimed a warning, she made her way to the security desk. Her name was all they needed. The guard glanced at an image on a terminal, a blow-up of the same photo on the driver's license in her hand.

"That isn't necessary, Ms. Wright," the guard said. "Mr. Lee is expecting you." He summoned another security guard to man the desk, then led Leah to an elevator tucked discreetly into an alcove. There was no call button. The guard waved a blank white card near a sensor. The doors parted silently, revealing a gleaming high tech elevator.

The guard gestured for Leah to enter. "This elevator will take you directly to Mr. Lee. Good day, Ms. Wright."

* * *

The elevator doors opened directly into a stunningly large space. The entire top floor of the building was one large room encircled by floor-to-ceiling segmented glass. There was a sunken area to the right that looked as though it was designed for sitting and relaxing complete with couches, padded chairs and a bar. A long conference table off to the left lent the room some small amount of credence as a place of business.

There was a reddish sculpture as large as five men with a fluid abstract shape to it near the center. There seemed no rhyme or reason to the form. It was as if someone stole all of the walls on the floor and the five or six rooms started to melt together, so smoothly and elegantly the decor and architecture blended the space. It worked impressively.

Leah wondered if it concealed another way in--or out--of the room. Or guards. Surely the elevator she'd taken couldn't be the only way to escape in case of emergency? That would violate the building code, she was certain.

Across the cavernous space was a large desk, the largest Leah had ever seen. It was modern style, no doubt. There wasn't a bit of wood to the concave base that flared up from the floor to support a spacious crescent of shiny black. There was no phone, no computer that she could see on it's surface. There wasn't anything at all. Very high tech.

Leah glanced up at the ceiling and around. She didn't see any cameras or microphones. She didn't really expect to, even if they were present. A man of Daniel Lee's means could obtain the very best and most cunningly concealed. The windows might be considerably more durable than they appeared. Probably were. For security, if nothing else. Still, she was sure she could make her way out if it became necessary.

Seated down in the sunken area on a lush antique-style padded chair was a man she recognized from his internet bio as Daniel Lee.  He was fiddling with a china tea service on a low table when she first saw him but he stood up upon her entrance and smiled thinly.

"Good morning," he offered, his voice carrying easily across the space between them.  "Please join me," he requested politely while he gestured to the seat next to his.

"Good morning," Leah said. She crossed the room and stepped down into the sunken area. "Thank you. You must be Mr. Lee." She offered her hand. "Leah Wright."

"A pleasure to meet you, Ms. Wright."  Lee gave a shallow bow and then waited for Leah to sit before doing so himself.

Once they were seated he reached for the teapot.  "May I offer you some tea?  I usually drink green tea, but I came across a lapsang souchong recently that was truly superior."

"That sounds lovely." Leah had no idea what sort of tea lapsang souchong was, but she'd be pleased to try it.

With impressive graceful precision Lee poured out two cups of a darkly-steeped black tea.  The steam that rose to meet her had a smoky aroma reminiscent of burnt pine.  He placed the cup and saucer in front of her on the low table and reclined into his seat with his own.

Lee's demeanor seemed pleasant and welcoming but the smile he offered never touched his eyes.  Those orbs studied her with a gaze that possessed an almost physical intensity. 

"I want to thank you for your time in advance," he said with crisply enunciated diction as precise as his teapot handling.  "I am most grateful that you have chosen to meet with me today.  I trust your flight was pleasant?"

"It was very nice, thank you. I'd never flown first class before." Leah lifted her teacup, careful to handle the china gently. It looked old, perhaps antique, almost certainly expensive. The tea tasted as smoky as it smelled. An unusual flavor, but one she thought she could grow to like. "Very nice."

"Thank you for the invitation. It was most unexpected." Leah met his gaze with her own and held it. I had no idea you knew I existed. And I still don't know for certain that you know my secret. "I'm still not entirely sure why you invited me here."

Lee sipped his tea and then replied, "Well, for starters, I'm a big fan.  You're a very talented author.  Having made a couple of attempts at a book over the years I understand how difficult a discipline it can be."

"Thank you. I'm pleased that you enjoy my work." Pleased and a little surprised. She wouldn't have taken him for a reader of pulp-style fantasy or science fiction, but she didn't think he was simply flattering her either. "I read up on you after receiving your invitation. You're no stranger to discipline yourself. I'm sure that you could write a book if you put your mind to it."

Lee's head gave a little shake.  "I'm my own worst critic, and a perfectionist to boot.  That's good for business but not exactly the best for encouraging writing flow."

He allowed himself a small laugh and leaned forward to set his cup and saucer down.  "As talented an author as you are, I didn't invite you here to talk about your writing career.  I asked you here to talk about your other career.  Tell me, what do you like the most about being a masked vigilante?"

Here it was. Leah felt the adrenaline dump as a burning at the base of her skull and in the tips of her ears. She kept her breathing slow and steady. She placed her teacup on the table again, pleased to see that her hands didn't shake. "If this were a court of law, I'd have to say, 'Objection--assuming facts not in evidence.'"

She smiled and picked up her tea again. Raising the cup to her lips, she spoke before drinking. "We haven't established yet that I am, in fact, a masked vigilante."

"I have," Lee answered with certainty.  His eyes held no doubts.

Returning to a more conversational tone, he said, "It's nothing to be ashamed of, Ms. Wright.  As Iron Maiden you've done a lot of good in your little neck of the woods as have plenty of others before you.  Take the New York Knights, for example.  You're familiar with them, aren't you?"

Was she familiar with the New York Knights? Of course! Who wasn't? The comparison was flattering, but Leah had prepared herself for this conversation. She wasn't about to let the issue go so easily. "With respect, Mr. Lee, knowing something and simply claiming to know it, are two different things. Someone less honest than yourself might be fishing for confirmation of a guess. For all I know, I'm one of many candidates you're interviewing in hopes of unmasking Iron Maiden.

"If I were this Iron Maiden, I'd have to insist on seeing some proof of your claim before I would admit to it."

A long quiet moment passed where Lee retook and sipped his tea while he studied the skeptical woman.  Finally he seemed to come to some kind of decision, for he set the cup back down and turned in his chair towards the floor-to-ceiling windows near their side of the office.

"Window display, subject 'Leah Wright'."

Instantaneously the entire section of glass nearest to them tinted to an opaque almost-black.  Then images began to appear upon it as if it were a giant computer monitor screen.  There was a candid headshot of Leah next to a scrolling column of thumbnails.  Most were pictures of her taken over the past four years but as they scrolled Leah noticed her high school and college yearbook photos as well as several candid shots of her during those years.  One rolled by that must have been taken of her as a child.

Another part of the display contained biographical data.  Her full name, living address history, social security number, birth certificate, high school and college transcripts, credit report, utility bills - you name it, he had it.  Beneath all of that were several sub-folders.  Among them Leah saw one labeled "family". 

There was another one labeled "medical".  Lee pointed at it and then spread his fingers out.  The folder on the screen opened and several images exploded out of it while the biographical data shrunk down to become just another folder on the screen.  Now Leah saw an image that looked like a full-body MRI in minature.  Next to that was a slowly rotating image of a DNA strand.  Lee pointed at the DNA strand and spread his fingers out again.  It became large enough to fill almost the entire display to the occlusion of all else.  

"Display markers for metahuman potential," he ordered, and the DNA strand turned horizontally and lengthened.  When it stopped, there were several superimposed dots along the helix each with a call-out box full of scientific-sounding words.

"See that one on the far left," Lee said sideways to Leah while still looking at the display.  "That's the genome that allows you to fly.  The one just to the right of it is what lets your brain control how much of your power you use at any given time."

He turned to her and asked, "Convinced?"

Leah dragged her gaze away from the intimidating display of information. Daniel Lee had certainly dug deeply into her life. However she had come to his attention, he'd made a very thorough study of her. If the DNA results he was showing her were real, he might know more about the source of her abilities than she did. And yet....

"Convinced? That you've assembled a very extensive dossier on me? Absolutely." She glanced again at the slowly rotating DNA strand on the window display. "But I'm not a geneticist. I can't read a DNA test result, and even if I could I couldn't tell you if this were mine. This could still all be a very elaborate bluff."

Probably not. This was a hell of a lot of trouble to go to if he wasn't sure of his facts. She knew she was Iron Maiden, and it certainly seemed that Mr. Lee knew. But the evidence he'd shown thus far remained circumstantial. Even if she possessed the metahuman markers he claimed she did, they proved nothing in themselves.

"Surely, if you've studied me as closely as this suggests, you have a...smoking gun of some sort?"

Lee sighed, slightly disappointed that this had become a sticking point, but then again it hadn't been completely unexpected.

"You're as stubborn as your psychological profile indicated," he said to her as he opened a drawer in the underside of the low table between them.  He pulled out an automatic pistol.

"One smoking gun, coming up," he asked nonchalantly as he pulled back the slide, checked the chamber, and then released it with a clack before aiming at her chest and pulling the trigger.

The report of the gun echoed loudly around the cavernous office space but Lee never flinched.  He simply stared immobile at Leah for a five count and then placed the gun down on the table before retaking his tea and settling back into his chair.

There was a moment, before the gun came into view, when Leah knew what was going to happen. There was time even to try to fling herself out of the way. She considered it. She strongly considered it. A lifetime of conditioning wasn't easily overcome even when she knew the gun couldn't hurt her. But she didn't. She considered objecting, pointing out that even this act didn't really make the point he was trying to make. It could just as easily be a test of his theory, not a demonstration of knowledge. But she didn't.

She sat quietly and let Daniel Lee shoot her. She felt the impact of the slug like a stiff-fingered poke to the chest, annoying but harmless. The slug dropped into her lap. She picked it up and looked at Mr. Lee. "And people tell me I'm literal minded.

"When I spoke of a smoking gun, I was thinking of a revealing photo or sound recording. Not an actual smoking gun." She leaned forward to place the flattened slug on the table between them. "But I'll concede. I stipulate that I am, in fact, Iron Maiden. I apologize if my intransigence tried your patience, but a girl has to protect her secrets."

"Of course," Lee replied.  "We were talking about the New York Knights."  He appeared to be willing to let it slide.

"The Knights weren't always the Knights, you know.  They all started out just like you.  Their motivations differed, of course, but in the end they were just gifted people willing to put themselves on the line for the good of their fellow man.  It takes a certain strength of character to be willing to do that, don't you think?"

"I suppose it does." Leah knew that it did. She'd thought a great deal about the whys and wherefores of taking on a costumed persona. Her very first appearance as Iron Maiden had been unintentional. She'd seen that idiot Blackguard throw a safe into the street with no regard for the dangers it posed, and felt obliged to stop him. Somebody had to do it, and nobody else present was able. It hadn't gone particularly well, though she'd prevented anyone from getting hurt.

She'd gone home and thought very hard about whether this was a path she wanted to follow. It had never been part of her plan for her life, but then neither had she expected to possess these powers. The powers didn't bring with them an obligation. She hadn't asked for them, there was no bargain to be upheld. The obligation came of simply being a decent human being, powers or no. She had grown up among people whose ambitions had never encompassed decency. Irrational, thoughtless, selfish, they'd made life harder for everyone around them, including themselves. She'd vowed to herself as a child to be smarter. Kinder. Better.

"I like to think that such strength of character isn't as uncommon as the powers the Knights possessed. Plenty of people have what it takes to be heroes, and are heroes, every day."

"Yes, I agree that regular individuals can be heroic," Lee said.  "But that's not what I'm talking about.  Come with me."

Lee stood up and walked with his tea to his desk.

Leah followed. The desk's surface was shiny and black but didn't exactly have the feel of glass.  Lee sat down in his large ergonomic chair and touched the surface, activating the interface. Leah admired the set-up. She was a computer and internet hobbyist, and enjoyed tinkering with systems she could afford and reading about the cutting-edge systems being developed. It must be sweet to be able to afford bleeding-edge systems like this.

"Do you have the smartphone I sent?" he asked Leah.

Leah produced it from an inside pocket of her jacket. "Right here."

"Please place it upon the desk." 

Lee used the desk like a giant touchscreen.  He flipped through several app-looking icons before sliding them over towards the phone.  There was a brief transfer of data animation followed by a chime.  The blue aura around the device flashed green once and then resumed it's normal glow.

While all this went on, Lee talked.  "You may not know this, but one of the many business interests I control is the New York Knights Perpetual Trust.  The trust was set up to ensure the continued upkeep of the Pier and other facilities and properties of the Knights if there was ever a situation where they became unavailable or unreachable."

Having concluded his bit with the phone, Lee looked up at Leah.  "I'm going to exercise my powers as trustee to reconstitute the New York Knights.  I need people who can cut the mustard and who also possess that certain strength of character we spoke of, people like Iron Maiden.  People like you.  Interested?"

Leah stared back at Lee, at a loss for words. He was going to reconstitute the New York Knights, and he wanted her on the team? The New York Knights? They were legends. They were also before her time. Their still-unexplained disappearance was one of those "Where were you when...?" events like the Kennedy Assassination or the moon landing. It was a question Leah couldn't answer. She had been six years old when it happened, too young and too busy trying to survive neglect and abuse to have any personal memory of the event.

But they were part of history, a very colorful part of history. It was impossible for anyone growing up in this media-saturated, celebrity-obsessed culture not to know about them. And now she was being offered a chance to help recreate the Knights. If she accepted, her whole life would change. All her plans would be undone. She'd have to remake her life from the ground up. Again. It was a terrifying, thrilling prospect.

Mr. Lee was still waiting for an answer. Leah found her voice again after a moment. "I--yes. Yes, I am."

Her host smiled for the first time, a real smile this time and leaned back in his chair while steepling his fingers in his lap.. 

"Good.  I'm sure you have questions, so please, fire away."

Leah took a moment to marshal her thoughts. How many others had he approached? Who were they? Had any of them accepted? Which ones? When would she meet them? When would this project become public knowledge? Would they occupy the Knights' Pier? What conditions would be placed on joining the group? How would it be organized and directed?

"Let's start with the basics. Who else has expressed an interest or agreed to join?"

"Nobody's asked because nobody knows," he replied, "and I'd like it to stay that way.  I've sent out several invitations but you're only my second interview.  The first one was a keeper, and he accepted.  I'm not going to share names until everybody's in or out."

"I meant who else you'd approached had expressed an interest, but of course I'll keep this to myself until you're ready to go public." Not knowing who else had accepted was disappointing, but she understood his position. "So, how many folk do you hope to recruit? When do you plan to go public?"

"Over the years, the Knights found six to be ideal, so that's my goal.  We go public only after the team is set.  That's going to be something of a zoo, so I want to make sure everyone's on board and ready."

'Something of a zoo' would be an understatement. The Knights were a legend. A new team would have big shoes to fill, and would attract an ungodly amount of media attention. And criticism, of course. No matter what they did, or how well they did it, there would be those who compared them unfavorably to their predecessors. Well, there was nothing to be done about that, or if there was, it would be done by Mr. Lee's PR team, which Leah didn't doubt existed--or soon would.

"So, what now?" There were countless practical details to be ironed out, though she rather expected Mr. Lee to give her the card of an underling, someone to handle that kind of thing while he focused on the big picture. And more recruiting.

She'd have to see about moving to New York. Would she be staying at the Knight's Pier? Did she want to live there? Or would a place of her own be a better idea, at least when she wasn't being Iron Maiden? Would the Knights cover that? New York was an expensive place to live. She was beginning to make real money from her writing, but it would still be tight for a while if she had to cover her expenses from that. On the other hand, she could write anywhere, which was a plus. Not like a lot professions, where moving to a new city wasn't so simple. And that ten thousand dollar debit card would more than cover her moving expenses plus finding and renting a new place for a few months.

She'd have to resign her office manager position at Jensen Manufacturing. She'd miss working alongside Mrs. Jensen, and trading insults and dirty jokes with the shop guys, but the position was only part-time--and she'd always planned to leave eventually. Leaving Rachel behind was another matter. They'd been best friends since they started high school. Victor--was fun in bed, and a good man to watch your back in a fight, but that was all. That was another relationship she'd known from the beginning was only temporary....

Leah dragged her attention back to the present. Planning the future could wait a few minutes. If Mr. Lee had spoken while she was thinking, she'd missed it.

He was back to that solemn studying look; he'd seen her uncertainty.  "If you're not sure," he started slowly, "I understand.  It's a big deal."

"Oh, no. I'm sure. I'm in." Leah smiled. "There are a lot of details to be worked out, but I can wait to start thinking about that."

"Take the phone with you," he said.  "I uploaded some information for you to review, starter protocols and so on plus the details of our arrangement. There's also a costume designer app. Play around with it and send me something by the end of next week. And by all means reach out if you have any questions. I'm reachable twenty-four-seven."

Leah took the phone back. The touch screen showed several new folders and apps. She suppressed the urge to start playing with them immediately. She put the phone away. "I'll do that," she said. Unless the Knights were going to have matching uniforms like the Incredibles, she didn't plan any changes in her costume. "I'll be sure to reach out if I have any questions. Thank you."

"No, thank you, Ms. Wright.  I haven't had the opportunity to shoot anybody in a long time."

Leah just smiled. "You're welcome, I'm sure."

When the elevator doors had closed, Lee reactivated his desk's interface.  The folder of information he'd downloaded from the phone held a long list of media files; photos, audio, and video.  He flipped through the video file thumbnails until one caught his eye.  He dragged it from the list with a finger and flicked it upwards to the icon for his holographic projector.

Above his desk formed an upper body image of Leah Wright.  It was taken from an odd angle and Lee had to consider it for a moment before he understood that the phone must have been set somewhere below her and slightly on it's side, perhaps in a purse or resting on something uneven like a set of keys.

**Time to go to work,** the image said before lifting a black mask to her face.  Lee paused the playback and leaned back in his desk.

"So much for the smoking gun," he murmured. 

The image of Leah holding the mask to her face floated silently still in the air over his desk as he put his feet up, stared thoughtfully at the ceiling, and began planning his next ten moves.