Wonder Woman in Paris #2

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.

2. Visit Disneyland Paris

The Main Street at Disneyland Paris was humming with tourists browsing the glitzy shops and restaurants. Among the elaborate parade with costumed Disney characters brought to life, a tall gent swaggered out of the crowd, combing his hand through his wavy auburn hair.

   

“Hey, Diana, welcome to Disneyland Paris. You haven’t changed a bit, still as hot as a rocket!” he stated.

Diana Prince turned to see a ruggedly handsome face greet her. “Dalton,” she said with a grimace, “You know, you haven’t changed either. I see you’re still using the same old charm routine.”

“Hey, baby, you know that’s what you love about me.”

“I have yet to discover what it is I love about you, Christopher, but right now you’re being outmatched by Micky Mouse,” Diana retorted.

“Mickey Mouse? I think Sleeping Beauty is more your style,” Dalton suggested.

The suggestion wasn’t mere mockery; it was code for something Agent Prince knew about in advance.

“Lead on,” she said, peacefully.

They walked up to the centrepiece of the park, Sleeping Beauty’s gothic castle. Dalton’s ID card accessed an innocuous staff door at the side of the main entry. Inside, laid a short narrow corridor. In the middle of a wall panel was a small black hole which Dalton looked into and, seconds later, the entire panel automatically slid open.

“A hidden eye bio reader, neat,” Diana remarked, stepping into the elevator behind the wall.

The elevator rapidly descended deep underground. “When Walt Disney built this theme park in 1992, Uncle Sam also secretly constructed a nuclear bunker for the president, in Europe, in case all hell broke loose - not even the French Government know about this unofficial embassy,” Dalton informed.

The elevator ground to a halt and its doors flung open, “Welcome to Sleeping Beauty, Diana.”

They stepped into a sophisticated control room, containing rows of computer terminals and screens showing CCTV footage of the theme park, Paris, London, to as far away as the Middle-East. Several intelligence officers manning the terminals glanced over at Diana, though, surprisingly, showed little interest in the attractive stranger.

Dalton led Diana into his office on the near side, “This way, baby, I have an old friend waiting to talk to you.”

“Okay, Chris, but can you kindly refrain from calling me 'baby',” Diana tersely requested, sitting down in the conference room.

“Sure, babe, whatever you say. Does Steve Trevor find you as captivating as I do?”

“Err, unlike you, Steve is a professional who would never let such impulses interfere with his work,” claimed Diana, crossing her long legs; maybe inadvertently pulling her camel skirt up over her knees.

“Let’s hear what the old pro has to say,” Dalton said, flicking a switch to illuminate the giant conference screen.

Steve Trevor was at his desk in I.A.D.C’s Washington headquarters, conversing with Marsha Cross, making the coffee in her clingingly tight green skirt. Diana coughed for attention.

Trevor’s heavy eyes turned to his monitor, “Ah, Diana, what’s the weather like in Paris? I trust you’ve had time to read the file I sent you on the St Petersburg’s Civic Circus?”

“Sure, Steve, run by the former KGB operative, Boris Sidorov, who we suspect is behind the murder of Russian dissident, Djojiki Gabashvili, in Florence, four months ago, when his circus just happened to be in town.”

“Actually, babe, Gabashvili was of Georgian dissent,” Dalton amended, “And wanted the country free of Russian interference. He was writing a book on the subject before he was left hanging…”

“That’s true, Diana,” Trevor continued, “In the days leading up to his death, Gabashvili was seen socializing with the circus’ acrobatic sisters, Anya and Arina Anasenko. A day later, his partner, Nicola Grassi, found him hung in the living room, in what was made to look like an act of autoerotic asphyxiation.”

Diana chipped in, “The same Anasenko sisters who were banned from gymnastics for life, following the Beijing Olympics, where they were tested positive for a whole concoction of performance enhancing drugs.”

  

“The very same,” Trevor acknowledged, as he continued, “Three days later, Grassi, himself, was found dead in the garage, intoxicated by exhaust fumes. The Italian Police concluded he committed suicide, brought on by grief. However, the coroner reported marks found around his wrists could have been made in a struggle to break free from sharp binds, like handcuffs.”

At this point, Dalton, who had taken to slouching into a catnap, sprung back to life, “Yeah, on this information, I sent Karen Harris to join St Petersburg Civic Circus, undercover, to investigate the links. I knew she was one of the best stunt riders in the business, before she joined the service, so she seemed like the perfect choice. One of the worst decision I ever made…”

After a pause, Dalton then announced, “I’m taking Diana to meet a private detective, shortly, in the park, who has been investigating the circus since Karen disappeared.”

“Sure, keep me informed,” Trevor requested, ending the call.

On the way over to the meeting, Dalton said, “I know you think I’m a bombastic guy who doesn’t take his job seriously enough – and you’re right – but when a young agent like Karen Harris is missing, possibly murdered, I step-up. Karen is a good kid, a New Yorker, like me, I’ll move mountains to see her safe return.”

“That’s good to hear, Chris,” Diana replied, tweaking her glasses in the autumn sun.

Shuffling towards them was a slight man in a tweed suit. Dalton introduced him to Diana as Pierre Lavoie.

“Elle es belle! Ah, Chris, you never told me your associate would be as beautiful as Ms Prince,” Lavoie remarked rather creepily.

“How sweet,” replied Diana with a brief on-off smile. Brief, in part, because she found Lavoie’s compliment typically unoriginal, though much more earnestly due to the bullet she witnessed puff into the back of his jacket.

Lavoie hit the ground. Diana’s first reaction was to attend to the fallen man, but not without spotting the gunman first. “A sniper, ten o’clock, the roller-coaster,” she yelled.

“Get Lavoie to some cover,” Dalton responded, racing away in pursuit.    

Gregori Egorov was already making his way down from the roller-coaster when he noticed a man in a turquoise jacket, climbing up the frame beneath him. He hastily fired his AK-74 with one hand at his pursuer. However, Dalton was no stranger to being on the receiving end of rampant gun fire from his time fighting the toughest New York gangs, as a cop. He coolly hid behind a giant metal castor and returned fire.

Diana had heaved Lavoie behind a fast food stall, only to find the Frenchman perfectly fine.

“It’s alright”, he assured, “I was wearing a bullet proof vest.”

“Stay there until help arrives” she said, rushing off.

The ricochet of bullets prompted Egorov to drop to Dalton’s level. Dalton attempted to handle Egorov before he found his bearings on the frame. To his surprise, the Russian slipped a low sliding kick to his opponent’s right ankle as he moved across. Dalton felt his balance go from beneath him, plummeting forty feet to almost certain death.

As brave as he was, Dalton closed his eyes when he witnessed the ground rush towards him. He opened them to the sight of the most magnificent looking woman he had ever seen.

“If this is heaven, it’s a good start,” he cracked.

Then, on closer inspection of her soft milky skin, the deeply hypnotic blue eyes, and the shiny golden tiara residing on top of her dark flowing locks, he realised he was resting in the arms of an earthly angel who he knew of as Wonder Woman.

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