Flanagan woke up in a hospital bed. He looked around slowly. He had a basin of

water on a table by his bed. Bandages covered his arms from what he could see. He

expected some more wrappings around his legs.

Light through the shades over the window drifted across the room. He seemed to be

alone. How did he get clothes so he could leave?

He sat up. He doubted his clothes that he had been wearing had survived the blast.

Why was he still alive?

That piece of scrap must have been tougher than he thought it could be. It must have

taken the brunt of the blast. Was it still in one piece?

He paused to take stock. He hadn’t thought the treated shirt would protect him. He

had assumed that it would take some of the blow so he could save the factory and his

employees. The fact that it had taken a blast at full power meant it might keep soldiers

alive on any current battlefield.

A big man came into the room. He wore a badge on the front of his jacket. His suit

had seen better days. His hat had a hole in it near the band in the center.

“How you doing?,” the big man said. “Do you know what happened to you?”

“I fell on a stick of dynamite,” said Flanagan.

“Too true,” the detective said. “You lived. Why is that?”

“I don’t know,” said Flanagan.

“Let me introduce myself,” the detective. “I’m Detective Dern. What can you tell

me?”

“I was drilling holes in a test material,” said Flanagan. “I looked at the material.

Drilling didn’t seem the way to go. I was about to take it back to the shop when I saw

the dynamite falling from the skylight. I threw myself on the dynamite to protect my

employees.”

“It looks like this test material saved your life,” said Dern. “We gathered what we

could. The lab boys haven’t seen anything like it.”

“I came up with the formula and mixed it just before the thing with the dynamite,”

said Flanagan. “Do you know who tried to blow up my factory?”

“That’s why I’m here,” said Dern. “Do you have any enemies?”

“Not really,” said Flanagan. “I do have one guy who’s been badgering me to sell the

company to him. I doubt he would try to dynamite it to persuade me to sell.”

“What’s this guy’s name?,” said Dern. “We’ll have to check him out in the course of

things.”

“Arnold Courtland,” said Flanagan. “He says he can pay me money for the company,

but I don’t think he’s acting alone. I think he has some backers for the money.”

“All right,” said Dern. “Did you see the person who used the dynamite?”

“I don’t know,” said Flanagan. He closed his eyes and tried to see the memory. It

appeared in front of his mind’s eye like a photo.

“I was standing beside the drill press. I had the test material in my hands. Bobby

Hatchett, the drill operator, was standing beside me. He was about to take the drill

back and start drilling holes for the parts we build. I saw Frank Detillo, the floor

supervisor, talking to one of our guys on another machine across the floor from me.

I couldn’t see who he was talking to from where I stood. The skylight broke. I looked

up. I saw a hand pulling back from the skylight. The stick of dynamite was already

falling to the floor. I estimated where it would hit and ran toward it. Various

employees were running away. I covered the stick with my experiment and pressed

down on it,” said Flanagan. “That’s all I can remember. There’s a ladder on the side

of the building to get to the roof to service the air-conditioner.”

“The lab boys dusted it, but they didn’t find any prints,” said Dern. “If you remember

anything else, I want you to call me.”

He pulled out a business card and handed it over.

“I’ll look into this Courtland and see what he was doing,” said Dern.

“I doubt he showed up at my factory to blow it up in person,” said Flanagan.

“Right now, he’s the only suspect,” said Dern. “He wants your company. An

explosion in one of your factories might be something that would make you sell. Only

you prevented that explosion from doing any harm except to yourself. He’s viable,

but it will be hard to prove unless we catch whomever he hired to do the dirty work.

Then we can try to flip them, and see if they will rat the guy out.”

“The odds aren’t great,” said Flanagan.

“No, they aren’t,” said Dern. “When the doctors release you, I’ll need you to come

down to the precinct to make your statement. If we find out anything about Courtland,

I might have more questions for you.”

“You aren’t going to be able to protect the factory,” said Flanagan.

“No,” said Dern. He looked down at the floor. “I don’t have any manpower to put

down there as a guard, and you have an extensive list of places that could be attacked.

And if I can’t guard one place, I couldn’t guard most of them for this. My feeling is

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

this guy is going to try again. You’re going to have to hire people for protection until

I can figure out how to link things together. Right now, we just have Courtland as an

obvious suspect. What I can take to court is nothing.”

“I understand,” said Flanagan. “I need to make some calls. Thank you for your

honesty.”

“If the guy comes after you here, I have a man on the door until you leave,” said

Dern. “Once you’re out and about, you’re going to need a bodyguard.”

“Don’t worry,” said Flanagan. “I’m going to take precautions.”

“All right,” Dern said. He started for the door.

“Detective Dern,” said Flanagan.

“Yes?,” said the policeman.

“What if it wasn’t Courtland?,” said Flanagan.

“Then I’ll have to find someone else who wanted to shut down your factory,” said

Dern. “Get well, Mr. Flanagan.”

He left the room, shutting the door behind him.

Flanagan looked around. He smiled when he saw the phone. He needed to get out of

the hospital. Then he could start making arrangements.

Arnold Courtland was going to pay for trying to blow up his factory. He would dig

up the proof somehow. He knew he could do it.

How could he do it?

Flanagan reached for the phone. He needed to call the office. Then he could make

arrangements to get out of the hospital if his secretary was there.

Under no circumstances was Arnold Courtland allowed in any of the properties

Flanagan Solutions owned. This went double for any attempt to buy the company.

Flanagan reached over for the phone. It hurt a little to move, but he put that down to

being caught in an explosion and moved on. The body was a wonderful machine, but

like any machine, it was subject to wear and tear.

He dialed his office’s direct line. He waited for Josephine Rich to pick up the phone.

She handled a lot of the office business. After he had been taken to the hospital, some

decisions still had to be made. Josephine would be making them.

“Mr. Flanagan’s office,” Josephine finally said. “I’m sorry. Mr. Flanagan is not in

right now. Can I take a message?”

“I need you to figure out which hospital I am in, and come down here and get me

out,” said Flanagan.

“Mr. Flanagan?,” said Josephine. “Thank you for calling. I have reporters calling, that

man Courtland has been calling for a meeting, I have people from the board calling.

What am I supposed to do about all this?”

“First things first,” said Flanagan. “I don’t know where I am. I need you to find me,

and come down here and check me out. Better bring a suit and some shoes. I think I

have spares in my office. Anyone from the board calls, tell them I am fine and getting

back to work, tell Courtland I will talk to him eventually but the answer is still no so

he might as well quit calling. Any reporter should be told that everything is okay, and

I will be back behind my desk as soon as possible.”

“All right,” said Josephine. “I doubt the hospital will tell me where you are. I’ll let the

board members know you’re okay.”

A nurse came into the room. She put her hands on her hips as she waited for him to

get off the phone.

“Which hospital am I in?,” asked Flanagan.

“St. Xavier’s,” said the nurse. “I have to check your bandages as soon as you hang

up.”

“It’s St. Xavier’s, Miss Rich,” said Flanagan.

“I’ll be there as soon as I can,” said Josephine.

“Thank you,” said Flanagan. He hung up the phone.

“Excellent,” said the nurse. “I’m Nurse Maybourne. What I am going to be doing is

unwrapping your bandages and putting fresh ones on. It might be a little painful but

it has to be done so we can check on your wounds and see if they are healing.”

“How long have I been in the hospital?,” said Flanagan.

“About thirty five hours,” said Nurse Maybourne. “I’m going to need you to lie still.

This might sting a bit, but I only have to check if things are healing around the

stitches. If they are, you might be able to go home tomorrow.”

“That’s nice of you,” said Flanagan. His hands had some bandages, but not a lot. His

experimental shirt had protected him that much at least.

Nurse Maybourne rolled a cart over beside the bed. She set out wrap, scissors, and

gauze. She pulled down the thin blanket the hospital supplied for their beds. He shook

his head at the wrapping around his lower legs. At least he had all of his toes.

She took the scissors and cut away the wrapping around his shins. He winced at the

sight of the stitches in sight. He counted six wounds, but thought there might be more

that he couldn’t see.

“Looks good,” said Nurse Maybourne. “Looks very good.”

“So my legs won’t fall off?,” said Flanagan.

“No,” said Nurse Maybourne. “Give me a second. I’ll wrap them up and you can get

some rest until the doctor comes to see you.”

She fitted gauze to the wounds, and then wrapped fresh bandages around his legs. She

nodded when the job was done.

“Doctor Hughes is treating you,” said the nurse. “He’ll probably want you to get

plenty of bed rest. This is the first time we have seen someone caught in an explosion

and lived.”

“That makes me feet lots better,” said Flanagan. “When will the doctor come by?”

“It shouldn’t be too long,” said Nurse Maybourne. “I’ll prod him along.”

“Thank you very much,” said Flanagan. The last thing he wanted was rest. He didn’t

know how long he had to live, and he didn’t want to spend what he had left trapped

in a hospital bed.

The nurse left the room.

Miss Rich better be on the way with his clothes so he could get out of there.

He turned on the radio. Big band music played as he watched the shadows from the

shades in the window move about. How long did he have bothered him the most.

At any second, while trying to protect his company and employees, he could just drop

dead. That was the reality he faced. Every second trapped in the hospital meant he

had less time to get things done.

“This is Mike Colter for NBC News,” said the radio. “Top stories are the Mark saves

boat at sea. The musclebound hero brought the USS Armand into port here in New

York City after the cargo ship was struck by a torpedo. There are an unknown number

of dead from the hit. We will update you through the night.

“Barry Nicklaus has set a world record by sailing a balloon to the edge of space. He

has brought back pictures of the Earth.

“The Promethean saved people from a fire earlier today. He vanished without a trace

before the police and fire department could arrive.

“I am going to turn the broadcast over to Dashiel Montauk in London,” said Colter.

“He will give us a brief rundown of stories happening in Europe.”

Flanagan turned off the radio. He looked up at the ceiling. Masked men tended to

work outside of the law to get results. Could he do that?

Did he want to? What did he gain by investigating this attempt to kill him?

Dern couldn’t do anything to gain evidence if Courtland stonewalled him. It would

be Flanagan’s word against the other man about the constant demands to sell the

company.

If he did take on a masked man identity, how did he go about getting evidence? What

would be important to show that Courtland had tried to blow up his factory? How did

he tie Courtland into anything?

Flanagan thought about the problem until the sun went down. His legs hurt. His

stomach protested the lack of food. And the turned on radio had decided to treat him

to Cass Cassidy, Man of Action while he was trapped in his bed.

He had to get out of there before he went crazy.

Josephine showed up with a suit and shoes.

“Hello, Mr. Flanagan,” she said.