“How are the guest rooms?” I ask. We have half a dozen. Almost never used.

  “Why?” asks Margo. “Are we expecting company?”

  “Yes, we are. Party of five.”

  Margo raises her eyebrows. First she’s heard about it. I still keep a lot to myself.

  “Who’s coming?” asks Maddy. I can see she’s excited by the idea of having some new faces around the house. Maybe some younger faces.

  “Work associates,” I say. “People I trust with my life.”

  “Sounds like you know them pretty well,” says Jessica.

  I slice into my pancakes. “Actually, we’ve never met.”

  CHAPTER 2

  “PLEASE! I’M NOT in kindergarten!”

  Maddy’s right, of course. She’s a college freshman, majoring in criminology. And she absolutely hates it when I walk her to school. She’s made that very clear. Many times. But the City College campus in Harlem just reopened. And there are some pretty rough neighborhoods along the route.

  “I’m nineteen, remember?” she says. “And I can throw lightning bolts!”

  She’s right. I know she’s a very capable young woman. But I’m a little overprotective, and I don’t apologize for it. I love this girl so much.

  “I need the exercise,” I tell her. “I’m getting on in years.”

  “Which is why I’m embarrassed to be seen with you!”

  After a while, she gives up and stops arguing. She knows that there’s no stopping me anyway. I’m just happy to have a little extra time with her. Even when she’s doing her best to ignore me.

  As we walk north, we see signs of the city coming back from the repressive Khan years. Shops are reopening. People are walking freely. There’s new construction everywhere. Things have improved a lot in the past year. But there are still plenty of danger zones. Sometimes one good block is followed by three bad ones. And I’ve heard about some problems near Maddy’s school. That’s the real reason why I’m tagging along. The Shadow knows.

  When we start seeing clusters of other students heading toward the campus, Maddy stops and puts her hand on my arm. “Okay,” she says, “I can take it from here. Really.”

  I decide to do a shape-shift. It’s a power I evolved while I was in my long chemical coma. And I have to say, I’m getting pretty good at it. In a second, I’m no longer Lamont Cranston. I’m a doddering old man, white-haired and hunched over.

  “Oh for God’s sake…” Now Maddy’s even more embarrassed.

  “Pay attention now,” I say. “See how harmless and vulnerable I seem?” Even my voice is weaker.

  “You are harmless and vulnerable,” says Maddy. “And you’re even older than you look.”

  CHAPTER 3

  WE’RE A BLOCK from campus. Maddy is trying to outpace me. In fact, she’s pretending I don’t exist. I grab a thin stick of wood from a trash barrel and use it as a cane to push myself along. It always takes a little time to adjust to a new form.

  On the outskirts of the campus, there’s a low wall shaded by tall bushes. A wooden bench sits back from the sidewalk under some overhanging branches. The bench is occupied by three young men. Not exactly college types. This is the corner I heard about. This is where the trouble is.

  The guy sitting in the middle is tall and muscular, with bare arms and a tight-fitting vest. He sits forward and scans his surroundings like a radar dish, looking for threats—and opportunities. His partners lounge back on the bench, legs spread. Macho. Arrogant. Like nobody can touch them.

  Maddy is a few yards ahead of me. She knows the right thing to do, which is to just keep walking. But the men don’t make it easy. I see their eyes tracking her as she gets close.

  “Baby, you make my heart stop,” says one. He slaps his palm across his chest and pretends to slide off the seat. His buddy starts panting like a dog and strokes his crotch. Classy. The big guy tries to catch Maddy’s eye. His right hand taps his pocket. “Whaddaya want, whaddaya need?” he mutters, just loud enough for her to hear. Then again, the same pitch: “Whaddaya want, whaddaya need?” Maddy ignores him. Just keeps going. Smart girl.

  I’m catching up to her. My makeshift cane clicks on the sidewalk. Maddy turns around and glares at me. “Stop!” she says, her voice low and quiet. “I’m fine. Don’t make a scene, okay?”

  Now the two guys on the ends of the bench stand up. They’re lean and fit.

  One of them is wearing a watch cap. The other has a bald head covered in tattoos.

  “We don’t have a chance with this lady,” says the guy in the cap, joking to his buddy. “Can’t you see she already got a boyfriend?”

  “Nah, I don’t think he’s a good match for her,” says his friend. “Gimp can barely walk.”

  Maddy doesn’t look at them. Doesn’t even acknowledge the taunts. I don’t take the insults personally. After all, they’re not seeing the real me.

  Suddenly, I feel my cane being kicked out from under me. I lurch to one side and catch my balance. The cane clatters on the sidewalk a few feet away.

  “See that?” says the guy in the cap. “Old man can’t even stand on his own two feet.” Both guys are cackling like crows.

  Now, for the first time, Maddy turns toward them. “Hey!” she says. “You’re making a mistake.”

  “No mistake, baby,” the bald guy says, lifting his T-shirt to expose a chiseled belly.

  “I got your attention, didn’t I?”

  I stoop down and reach for my cane. A heavy boot comes down on top of it, snapping it in half. I look up. It’s the guy in the vest. The boss man.

  “This is a place of business,” he says. “You’re distracting my associates.” His voice is raspy and threatening.

  “He’s leaving,” says Maddy, calmly. “Right now.”

  All of a sudden, the guy in the cap grabs Maddy around the waist. He pulls her up tight against him, his nose in her hair, his lips near her ear. “The best idea is you hang with me and forget about this fossil!”

  I can feel my blood boiling. It’s a really great feeling.

  I plant my feet and plow into the boss man’s midsection, knocking him off-balance. Then I pick up the two halves of my busted cane, one in each hand. The thugs are surprised at how fast I’m moving. The old fossil. Before they can react, I crack one half of the cane hard against the head of the guy holding Maddy. He rocks backward. She spins away. The third guy comes at me hard. I side-step him and bring the other half of the cane down on the base of his skull. He drops face-first onto the sidewalk.

  When I turn around, the big guy is holding an ice pick. He weaves it in front of my face, then thrusts it at my belly. I see a flash and blur. The ice pick is not in his hand anymore. It’s in Maddy’s. She has the guy on the ground, and the steel point is poking against his throat.

  “I changed my mind,” says Maddy. “I want drugs. All you’ve got.”

  From an early age, Maddy knew she had the power to control the behavior of others. And this guy is in no position to resist anyway. He reaches into his pockets and pulls out small packets of white pills. A bunch of them. Maddy grabs them in her fist and tosses them down a storm drain. Then she stands up and gives the guy a solid kick in the ribs. “Now go! If I see any of you back here again, I’ll have my doddering old boyfriend murder you.”

  The thugs struggle to their feet and hustle down the block, looking back over their shoulders as they go, like they can’t believe what just happened.

  Maddy picks up the two parts of my cane and throws them into the bushes, along with the ice pick. I can see she’s annoyed with me. “For once,” she says. “Can’t you just be normal?”

  “I made pancakes for breakfast, didn’t I?”

  “Yes, you did,” says Maddy. “And now you made me late for class.”

  “Admit it,” I say. “Wasn’t that satisfying? Just a little bit?”

  Maddy doesn’t even smile. She turns and heads through the campus gate. “Don’t get lost on your way home, old-timer.”

  CHAPTER 4

  BY THE TIME I get back to the house, I’m myself again. In my own body. And I’m worn out. Sometimes I forget how much of a drain shape-shifting can be. It really takes a toll, especially in a fight. I have to remind myself that I can only hold another form for short stretches. Just long enough to get the job done. Even my invisibility power is limited now. I used to be able to disappear for hours at a time. Now I can only manage short bursts. I like to pretend that I’m the same Shadow I was in 1937. But I’m not.

  When I walk through the front door, Margo is coming down the main staircase. “They’re here,” she says. “Your mystery guests.”

  “All of them?”

  “Three of them.”

  “Which three?”

  “Not sure. I was in the garden when they arrived. Jessica showed them into the library. She said they seemed confused.”

  “Right. That’s not a surprise.”

  If three are here, that means two are missing. Not good. I need the full team.

  I give Margo a kiss on the cheek. “This can’t wait. I’ll get started.” I walk down the long corridor to the library. The pocket doors are open. I walk in and slide them closed behind me. The three visitors are poking around the room, checking out books and bric-a-brac. When they hear the doors shut, they all turn to face me. They look puzzled—and suspicious.

  For me, the whole scene takes a few seconds to sink in. I can hardly believe my eyes. It’s like going back in time. After all these years, I’m looking at Jericho Druke, Moe Shrevnitz, and Burbank. Actually, their namesakes—the progeny of three of the best associates the Shadow ever had. And I realize that they have no idea who I am.

  “Please sit,” I tell them. “Welcome.”

  They all crowd onto the sofa. Jericho occupies a large percentage of the cushion. Like the original Jericho, he’s a huge Black man with bulging thighs and broad shoulders. The other two guests take what’s left of the real estate on either side of him. Moe is short and pudgy, with a graying crew cut and heavy jowls, like a bulldog. Burbank looks like he just came from teaching a computer class. Slight build. Thinning hair. Wire-frame glasses. Genes are amazing. All three are the spitting images of the men I once knew.

  “Your invite,” says Jericho. “It didn’t say anything about why we’re here. Or who called this little conference.”

  He’s right. I kept the message brief. I wasn’t sure they’d believe me if I told them the truth. And now I have to convince them. I can tell it’s going to take a solid sales pitch. So I get started.

  “I want you to understand that I searched the world to find you guys. I know your talents. I know your skills. I know your reputations. And I know you can be trusted. I assume you’ve all introduced yourselves.”

  “We know who we are,” says Burbank. “Now who the hell are you?”

  I knew this was going to be the hard part. I pull over an armchair and set it in front of the sofa. I sit down and look each of them in the eye. Then I rip off the Band-Aid.

  “I’m Lamont Cranston.”

  Jericho scowls. “Bullshit! Lamont Cranston died in 1937.”

  CHAPTER 5

  I CAN SEE that all three of them are ready to walk out. Time for full disclosure.

  “Jericho’s right,” I say. “I did die in 1937—temporarily.”

  Moe leans forward. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “I was poisoned by Shiwan Khan. A fatal dose. But I was saved by a medical procedure—an experimental technique that I financed myself. It held me in a state of cryogenic suspension until the toxin dissipated. Later, I was revived.”

  “How much later?” asks Burbank.

  “A hundred and fifty years.”

  Jericho stands up. “Right. Okay, Sleeping Beauty, that’s enough for me.”

  I’m losing them. But I can’t lose them. So I plow right ahead.

  “I know it sounds impossible. Listen! I’m telling you the truth. I knew your ancestors. Your great-great-great-grandfathers. The men who passed their names down to you. They all worked for me—for the Shadow—back in the 1930s. You all grew up hearing the family stories. I know you did. You know that Lamont Cranston and the Shadow are one and the same person. And I’m that person.”

  Moe thinks for a second, then cocks his head. “Nah, you’re just some asshole with money to burn.” He turns to the others. “We’ve been pranked, fellas. This is a waste of time.”

  “Hold on,” says Burbank, looking straight at me. “If you’re the Shadow, prove it.”

  Of course, I figured it would come to this. But I didn’t want to spring it on them too soon. But now it’s my only chance of keeping them here.

  “All right,” I say. “Watch.” Then I disappear.

  “Holy shit!” Moe practically jumps off the sofa.

  Burbank adjusts his glasses. “I’ll be damned.”

  Jericho starts waving his thick arms around. “It’s a hologram!” he says. “It’s some kind of trick!” I reach out and grab his shoulder from behind. He whips around, fists up, staring into thin air.

  The doors open behind me. Perfect timing. It’s Margo, carrying a trayful of cold beverages.

  “I thought you gentlemen might be thirsty.”

  I rematerialize and help Margo with the tray. Then I make the intros. “Jericho Druke, Moe Shrevnitz, Burbank—meet my wife, Margo Lane.”

  “Your wife?” says Burbank. “Lamont Cranston got married?”

  “Hard to believe, right?” says Margo. She holds up her left hand and wiggles her ring. “I was as surprised as anybody.”

  Jericho plops down in a chair and starts mumbling to himself. “This cannot be real, this cannot be real…”

  Moe steps forward, squinting hard at Margo. He leans in closer. His face lights up. “Goddamn! It’s true! I recognize you! I’ve seen pictures. From back then. I don’t know how, but—you’re Margo Lane!”

  Margo puts her hand on his arm. “And I haven’t aged a day.”

  CHAPTER 6

  ENOUGH WITH GETTING acquainted. I lead the group over to a table with a simple video player. During the Confiscation early in the Khan regime, all mobile phones were disabled, and citizen access to the internet was shut down. The web is still not working, and computer software updates haven’t been available in years. So this is what passes for technology in the late twenty-first century—a basic 8K monitor with a slot for a video stick.

  I tap the Play button. After a few seconds of static, an image pops on. I wave everybody in closer. “Take a look. This is why you’re here.”

  It’s not a well-organized report, just a collection of short video clips, crudely edited and strung together. Some of the images are from handheld cameras, some from body cams. Most of the footage was taken secretly. It wasn’t meant to be pretty. It was meant to shock.

  It sure as hell shocked me.

  The first shots are from somewhere in Southeast Asia. Lush green mountains fill the background. In the foreground, just a few yards from the lens, men with flamethrowers are igniting rows of tall corn plants while villagers stand screaming and crying at the edge of the field. There’s no sound, which somehow makes it even more eerie and disturbing. After a jump cut, the flames spread across the field. Black smoke swirls all the way to the horizon.

  “What the hell is this?” asks Jericho.

  “Keep watching.”

  After a jerky transition, the next scene shows a large desert oasis surrounded by men on horseback. The men are holding their reins taut, like they’re waiting for a signal.

  A rider in a black headcloth waves his hand in a circle, unleashing the troops. They sweep through the circle of palms and lush grass at a hard gallop, driving the occupants out into the open. Old men. Young children. Mothers with infants. As the oasis-dwellers run, the horsemen chase them down. Leaning from their saddles, the riders hack with sabers and machetes, leaving separated limbs and mutilated bodies in the white sand.

  “Jesus!” Moe is turning pale. Burbank turns away. Jericho is just getting angry.

  “What’s happening?” he demands. “Who are these maniacs?”

  “There’s more,” I say. I’ve watched the whole video dozens of times. It made me angry, too.

  The next scene is grainy, shot at dusk. It shows a ragged line of teenagers, male and female, pale and wasted. Maybe two dozen. They’re standing shivering and naked on a stony beach, clearly terrified. A man with an electric prod walks behind them, stunning kids at random and watching them drop to the ground in grotesque spasms.

  A young boy with an automatic pistol follows behind him. He steps up to the first victim and…

  “That’s enough.” Margo stops the video. The screen goes black.

  Jericho drops down onto a chair. “Looks like two different continents.” He looks up at me. “Are you saying it’s all connected?”

  “That’s exactly what I’m saying. What you’re seeing is the work of a single tightly organized cabal. It’s called the Command. A lot of people risked their lives to get this footage. And a couple more risked their lives getting it to me.”

  “Who runs the Command?” asks Moe. “Who’s behind all this?”

  “One man. Identity unknown. He struck first in Java, six months ago. Leveled ten villages in one night. The survivors gave him a name. Pangrusak Jagad.”

  Burbank and Moe are stumped. But Jericho comes up with the translation.

  “Destroyer of Worlds.”

  Everybody’s quiet for a few moments. Including me. I figure they need time to let it all sink in and make it real in their minds. I glance at Margo. She nods. Time to spill the rest.

  “These actions seem random,” I say. “But there’s a pattern. The disorder is moving from east to west. Very calculated. Destroying crops and water supplies. Stirring ethnic conflicts. Inciting genocide. Violence and social disorder at every level. Pretty soon, the sickness will spread across the world. Like a disease.”