Wonder Woman in Paris #1

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 utilised. All characters are entirely fictional. With the exception of Diana / Wonder Woman and Steve Trevor, the story and characters are my own creation, unless otherwise stated. In my stories there are no other superheroes in the world, except for Wonder Woman.

  
1. Visit Bois de Boulogne

Acrobats can look superhuman; their strength and agility leave people gasping in astonishment over their amazing feats. This is no truer than when the Russian sisters, Anya and Arina, were performing the trapeze, soaring between platforms and bars in the canopy of the big top. Swinging, spinning, flying and catching one another achieved with a seemingly effortless grace. The sisters’ matching white and cyan leotards specifically designed to leave the audience in no doubt of their athletic femininity; but only on close inspection could one notice their bulging biceps working to keep them in the air.

The evening performance in Paris’ scenic Bois de Boulogne was no exception. The sisters slid down the ropes into the arena to take their bows to a standing ovation. The spotlight switched to the big burly ringmaster dressed in a traditional long red blazer with a black bowler hat on his large round cranium. The ringmaster gestured his approval for the sisters by gently stroking the curly whiskers extending from his rugged mutton chops.

“And now ladies and gentleman,” he announced in his booming Russian accent, “I ask you to wait for the apparatus to be erected into position for our next performer, the unstoppable American Trailblazer!”

The ringmaster looked towards a figure in the shadows of the entry, calling him over. 

“What is it?” he asked on meeting the stagehand, named Gregori Egorov.

“I’ve checked twice in the last half-hour – the American Trailblazer is not in her trailer,” replied the smirking stagehand.

The ringmaster wasn’t amused but, then, Boris Sidorov didn’t get to be a field commander in the former Soviet Union’s KGB by taking events lightly. He made his way out of the canvass to a nearby trailer. Inside, the bespectacled head of security sat at a panel of surveillance monitors. 

“The American has gone missing again,” informed Boris. “View the operations chamber.”

At the flick of a switch, multiple screens combined to show infrared footage from within the room. The light of a computer screen glowed bright against the face of a petite young woman with frizzy curls.

“Looks like your suspicions were right, Adamski,” said the Sidorov, “Karen Harris is an American spy. We’ll deal with this traitor, tonight, after her performance – and nobody will ever see the American Trailblazer again...”

A few minutes later, the spotlight was once again on the ringmaster as he announced the next act: “now ladies and gentlemen, our rigors have constructed the Gauntlet of Death. Only one person is brave enough and capable enough to ride this course by motorcycle – and that person is a lady. All the way from New York, I give you the American Trailblazer…”

Backstage, Karen Harris leathered-up in a black and red motorcycle outfit, hopped on her Ducati Monster 695 show bike. She revved the powerful engine and switched on the lights. The front beam stood momentarily still in the big top, until the American Trailblazer came skidding into the ring, throwing up sand into the faces of unlucky members of the audience in the first few rows. Any annoyance was soon forgotten when the arena’s lights lit the towering motorcycle circuit, known as the Gauntlet of Death, spiralling up before them to near the ceiling of the big top.

A few more static revs built the tension. In the zone, Karen pulled her helmet visor down and began the assent up the ramp of the Gauntlet. As she negotiated her way around the first spiralling bend, suddenly, a series of fiery rings erupted before her. The audience gasped, watching the Trailblazer easily ducking underneath the inferno. Climbing steadily, the path got increasingly narrow towards the highest point, but Karen was able to skilfully manoeuvre the Monster’s wheels at just the right angle to reach the top. The crowd clapped in appreciation.

“Quiet, please, ladies and gentleman,” requested the ringmaster, “for now the American Trailblazer will perform her most astounding feat. She’ll attempt to ride the Death Rope from the top of the Gauntlet back to the ring beneath her. Udachi, Trailblazer! “  

The drum roll began. The Monster crept forward; its front wheel meeting the steel meshed rope, diagonally stretching to the bottom of the arena. With the slightest touch on the throttle, Trailblazer went hurling down the slide to the terra firma below. The audience went wild at the triumphant rider circling around the ring one last time.

Gregori stopped Trailblazer on her way out of the big top. “The boss wants you to meet him back in the ring after the show.

Karen took off her helmet, revealing her pretty freckled features. “Fine,” she replied with a sweet smile, “do you know what it’s about?”

“Maybe you’ll get a pay rise after that performance,” suggested the bald headed stagehand, dishonestly.

“I do hope so, there’s a dress on Boulevard Haussmann that I simply must have.” 

“You in a dress? I don’t believe it.”

“You’ll be surprised,” laughed Karen, zooming off back to her trailer.

“You’ll be one who gets the surprise,” whispered Gregori under his breath.

Half-hour before midnight, Karen Harris stood in the empty big top for the ringmaster to arrive. After waiting a while, she was about to try Sidorov’s office when a crackle began to sound out of the loud speakers.

“Karen Harris you are an American spy. You are a traitor to this organisation,” a deep calm voice announced. “Tonight, you will pay for your treachery.”

“What? Who are you?” shouted the startled motorcyclist.

The sound of a latch panging open made Karen look up. To her surprise, not one, but six large Andean condors sat hanging in open cages; the doors had been remotely unlocked. The birds soon nosedived over Karen’s head.

She screamed, and began scrambling through the sand to the exit when one lashed her back with its claws. The petite American was knocked on to her chest. Unfortunately, Karen had changed into a simple blue t-shirt and jeans, leaving her little protection from the vultures’ cutting talons; her back already exposed, seeping blood from the attack. She scrabbled away again; and made it out of the big top.

Running through the darkness, between trailers, she suspected it would be no use seeking help from any of her circus comrades. Rather, Karen set her sights on reaching her beloved motorcycle. With the faithful machine in view, she felt for the keys in her tight jeans. For a moment, as she ignited the engine, Karen wondered whether the birds had lost her in the blackness. However, it soon became clear they were squawking above, watching her every move.

The Ducati Monster skidded away from the camp on to one of Bois de Boulogne’s scenic dirt tracks. In the dark and panic, Karen had no idea which way led out of the park. Although she was moving at some speed, she felt a sudden presence overhead, followed by the digging claws ripping across her left shoulder. The girl yelled out in considerable pain; enough to lose control of the vehicle. The bike horizontally flung itself into some near bushes, whereas its rider was thrown clear.

Clawed, bruised and dazed, Karen still attempted to find sanctuary in the near woodland, yet she found her arms wouldn’t lift her from her position. A foreboding surveillance past overhead, then all six king vultures besieged their helpless prey. The creatures’ large talons rooted themselves firmly into the poor girl’s flesh; their large beaks peeling back the skin on their now unconscious victim. It looked like the predators were to eat Karen alive there and then but, surprisingly, two of the birds began to try and raise the girl from the ground. Appearing to act in accordance with one another, the remaining birds also lifted the limp body in the air and disappeared into the woods.

For Part 2 Click Here