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Description
The voices sounded like they were coming from the end of a long dark tunnel.

"Would you mind telling me which one of you geniuses decided to pick the lock on the front door instead of just ringing the doorbell".

"Aw come on, Doug. Mike wanted to check out the house before he got back just to make sure there wouldn't be any surprises. We didn't know he was home. He sure as Hell didn't come in through the front or back doors. We had them both covered".

"Ok were you asleep at the briefing? The guy uses the old sewer-service tunnels to get around and one just happens to run right under his place. He obviously has access to it which is how he comes and goes in that crazy outfit without causing a stir".

"Fine. But he didn't have to go berserk on us did he".

"He's been prosecuting and putting away the worst scum in this city for years. He gets death threats like Betty Grable gets fan-mail for crying out loud! Three guys turn up unannounced in his living room. What do you THINK his reaction is going to be".

The back of Sam's skull throbbed with pain. His struggle to regain consciousness felt like swimming up through a sea of tar. As his faculties returned he realised he was lying on his back on what felt like some type of cot. Sam had the presence of mind to keep his eyes shut and his breathing regular so as not to give away the fact that he was conscious again. The men's voices continued. A cold feeling began in the pit of Sam's gut. These guys seemed to know that there was a connection between Sam Drummond and the Black Scarab. There were at least two of them watching over him but for now they seemed more interesting in arguing. Sam wondered if he would be able to take both of them out before more arrived. His head wound would probably make him woozy if he tried to get up too quickly. Suddenly Sam heard a door opening closeby. The squabbling voices stopped instantly.

"Sir", said the voice belonging to the one called Doug.

"Doug I'm very disappointed in you my boy", came a third voice. And this particular voice was very familiar to Sam but he couldn't quite place it. "This was definitely NOT the way I wanted to make Mr Drummond's aquaintence."

"I'm very sorry, sir", said the one called Doug. "I'm afraid it didn't all go quite to plan. A few of the men got a little over enthusiastic and things got out of hand."

"So I heard", replied the familar voice. "He downed three highly trained agents single-handed. Seems proof to me that we picked the right man for the job."

"Sir with all due respect I still think it's unwise to involve such a loose cannon..."

"You just let me worry about that Doug. Now why don't you boys just run along so that Mr Drummond and I can have a quiet chat."

Sam knew he had heard this third man's voice somewhere before. It was so familiar it was maddening. If only his head would stop pounding he just might be able to remember where he had heard it before.

"Well he hasn't actually come around yet, sir", said Doug.

"Son you don't get to survive as long as I have in the political arena without knowing when someone is playing possum. Mr Drummond is currently awake and listening to everything we say", said the third man calmly

"Sir? Are you sure? Sonofva....Sir we can't leave you in here with him alone."

"I have nothing to fear from Mr Drummond, Doug. Trust me on that."

Doug raised his voice slightly with an air of someone who was not used to to being corrected. "Sir I really must protest...."

The third man's voice took on a more authoritarian tone. "My boy I think you're starting to forget who you're speaking to."

There was a slight pause before Doug spoke again. All the defiance had left his voice. "Yes sir", he said. "But we'll be right outside the door. If you need us just yell."

"Of course, Doug. I appreciate it."

Sam heard two sets of heavy footfalls and a door open and close.

"Well now Mr Drummond", said the third man. "Now that we are alone we can have that man-to-man talk I mentioned earlier".

After a brief pause the voice continued. "Come, come now. No need for the charade, son. I know I don't have anything to fear from you and I can assure you that you have nothing to fear from me. Please."

Sam did not know why but he seemed to instinctively trust the owner of the voice. There didn't seem to anything else he could do. He had to find out what kind of situation he was in and what adversaries he was up against. He took a deep breath and opened his eyes. He was lying on a cot in a medium sized room with faded blue wallpaper. There were no windows and the light that now stung his eyes came from a fixture in the ceiling. Sam swung his legs over the side of the cot. The throbbing in his head grew worse and he squeezed his eyes shut against the pain.

"Are you alright, son?", came the voice again with what sounded to Sam like genuine concern. He waited a few moments before the pain in his head subsided and opened his eyes to confront the rooms only other occupant.

The owner of the voice was sitting in, of all things, a wheelchair. Sam could see metal braces framing the man's shoes and he was dressed in a conservative dark business suit and tie. It was when Sam saw the figure's face that his jaw dropped and he thought that the blow to his head must have him seeing things. The face was somewhat fleshy but radiated a quiet strength. His receding hair had almost totally gone to grey and he examined Sam with a pair of piercing blue eyes. It was a face that stared out at every American from newpapers and magazines almost daily these days

"Oh my God", gasped Sam.

Franklin Delano Roosevelt regarded Sam with an amused smile. "Not exactly the formal greeting I'm used to, Sam. I *can* call you 'Sam' can't I?"

Sam simply gaped in awe.

"Good', said the President. "I'm sorry about what happened back at your home, Sam. You *were* supposed to be approached politely and escorted here to meet me. Unfortunately from what I've been told some of the boys got a little rambunctious. I guess knowing about your exploits as the Black Scarab made them a tad nervous."

Sam found his voice at last. "The Black Scarab? How did you...?

"Know?, said Mr Roosevelt. "Son, there is one trait that Santa Clause and the Office of the President of the United States share". He smiled and tapped the side of his nose with his fingertip. "We both tend to know what people have been up to."

Sam was still in a state of shock. "Mr President. Sir. This is all so overwhelming. It's an honor to meet you of course but...". He rubbed at the large lump on the back of his head. "What exactly am I doing here?"

"You're here today because we need your help Sam", said the President. "Because *I* need your help."

"I don't understand, sir", said Sam who was now almost completely convinced that he was dreaming. "What could I possibly do to help YOU?"

"Sam I think that you are a man who values honesty so I'll be forthright with you", said Mr Roosevelt. "Son, this country now faces ruthless and deadly foes who are no strangers to the art of warfare. So as much as I would like to tell you otherwise this war that has been thrust upon us is not going to be over quickly. And the longer the fighting drags on...the more the casualties mount...the more disheartened the folks at home are going to become. Unfortunately there are people in positions of influence within society today who will try and take advatage of that to push their own agendas."

The President fixed Sam with a grim look. "Make no mistake my boy, if we fail in our efforts the human race faces an era of darkness the likes of which has never been encountered before. Now more than ever this nation...this world needs symbols. Paragons of courage and integrity to stand against the evils of tyranny and oppression. I want *YOU* to be one of those symbols, Sam. I want you to be a figure that represents everything this country stands for and everthing we are fighting to protect. I know about your application to the Marines, son. And I know that Sam Drummond: US Marine, would fight bravely and be a credit to the Corps. But he would be one man among many. As a symbol you can give hope to countless people across this country and beyond. You can give them the fortitude to face the trials that are to come."

Sam's heart beat faster. His spirit lifted as it always did listening to this man's voice. Even more so now that the words he spoke were meant for him and him alone. Still, he couldn't believe that he was the man to take on this task. He looked at the floor and shook his head.

"Sir I...I don't know what to say", he said. "I'm honoured that you should ask of course but...why me? Wouldn't Statesman be a much better choice for something like that?"

"Statesman is a fine person, my boy", replied the President. "He'll be playing a major role in this war make no mistake. But...well he's more than a man, if you take my meaning. He can do things that you or I can only dream of. And while that makes him a powerful ally it also sets him apart from the average Joe on the street. Sets him apart from the troops as well. I want the people to have a hero that they can look up to AND identify with. A down-to-earth man who exemplifies the American fighting spirit. I think you are that man, Sam. I've seen your record as a district attorney and I know all about your activities as the Black Scarab. I know how much justice means to you. You're a fighter and you've dedicated your life to defending the innocent and that's just the kind of man we need for this job."

Sam frowned. "Sir I...I just don't know. I don't know if that is something I can be. I certainly don't feel like any kind of paragon of virtue."

The President leaned forward and put a hand on the younger man's shoulder.

"Sam I know about what happened to you wife. It was a tragic thing and I can imagine how badly you must feel". He looked down and shook his head. "If I lost my Eleanor...well...I just don't know what I would do".

The President raised his head and looked straight into Sam's eyes. "This is a painful question son but I'm going to ask it anyway", he said. "What would Flora think of how you are spending your nights now? Stalking through the shadows with a death's-head covering your face and guns in your hands."

The question struck Sam like a physical blow. What would she really think? The Black Scarab did good didn't he? He saved lives. He punished the guilty.

Sam recalled an incident that had taken place one night several months ago in Independence Port. A gang of dockside scum had snatched a young woman leaving her job as a secretary at one of the shipping companies. They had dragged her into an alley between two warehouses and Heaven knew what horrors they had in store for her. Luckily, Sam had been in the vicinity as the Black Scarab and had heard the young woman's screams for help. He had leapt off the roof of one of the warehouses and descended on the gang like the wrath of God.

Afterward, Sam stood in the centre of the alley surrounded by the broken and bleeding figures of the gang members. As he had turned to offer his hand to the young woman she had shrieked and fled. At the time he had thought her reaction was simply due to the trauma of the attack. Now he wasn't so sure. Was the Black Scarab so menacing that he terrified the innocent as well as the guilty?

"Ask yourself, Sam", said the President. "What would she want you to do?"

Sam looked up at a window set high in wall. Through it he could make out blue sky and white clouds. He didn't have to think for long before a lop-sided smile crossed his face.

"She would want me to help", he said turning back to the President. "And she'd give me a royal kick in the pants if I didn't". He smiled.

The President's face brightened considerably. "Then you'll do it?"

Sam looked into the older man's eyes with a serious expression. "I just want to get one thing clear, sir. If I do this. If I become what you want me to be. I can't be a empty suit. I don't want to just be posing for posters and leading paper drives. I couldn't do that while brave men and women are putting their lives on the line in Europe and the Pacific"

"Sam my boy, believe me you'd see plenty of action. We have enemies at home as well as abroad. While we fight across the seas we'll have spies, saboteurs and sympathisers doing their damndest to undermine us at home. I'm already receiving some disturbing reports from Hoover. You would of course have access to the latest training and equipment. I know you're a handy investigator in your own right so we'd also supply you with any information resources you might need. We would obviously have work for you to do but there's no reason you can't hunt down your own leads as well. And don't worry son. You'll get your chance in Europe too. Count on it."

The President offered his hand to Sam. As Sam grasped it with his own it seemed that a spark passed between the two men. A spark that would light a fire which would burn brightly for the whole world to see.

"I can't guarantee that we will prevail in this conflict, Sam", said the President. "I can't guarantee that if we do win that either of us will be there to see it. I can't even guarantee that in fifty years time anyone will even remember our names. But I do know that for performing this service you have my most profound thanks."

"I can't wait to begin, sir", said Sam

"Well we'll need to get a few things organised first", said the President. "As far as all official records go, Sam Drummond will be enlisted in the United States Marines and serve with the Corps for the duration of the war. That means you will need to leave your home. But no matter. We have a network of safehouses set up across the country for this project. Now son, no offence but we have some work to do on your image. The Black Scarab certainly strikes terror into the criminal element but what we need is someone who can inspire the population. Someone the youngsters can look up to. My people have a few ideas about names and uniforms..."

Sam smiled. "Thank you Mr President but I don't think that will be necessary. Speaking with you here today...well it's been a tremendous inspiration. I think I know just the name and image that will suit."

The 32nd president of the United States raised an eyebrow with a look of curiosity on his face.

"Really?"

Description
The voices sounded like they were coming from the end of a long dark tunnel.

"Would you mind telling me which one of you geniuses decided to pick the lock on the front door instead of just ringing the doorbell".

"Aw come on, Doug. Mike wanted to check out the house before he got back just to make sure there wouldn't be any surprises. We didn't know he was home. He sure as Hell didn't come in through the front or back doors. We had them both covered".

"Ok were you asleep at the briefing? The guy uses the old sewer-service tunnels to get around and one just happens to run right under his place. He obviously has access to it which is how he comes and goes in that crazy outfit without causing a stir".

"Fine. But he didn't have to go berserk on us did he".

"He's been prosecuting and putting away the worst scum in this city for years. He gets death threats like Betty Grable gets fan-mail for crying out loud! Three guys turn up unannounced in his living room. What do you THINK his reaction is going to be".

The back of Sam's skull throbbed with pain. His struggle to regain consciousness felt like swimming up through a sea of tar. As his faculties returned he realised he was lying on his back on what felt like some type of cot. Sam had the presence of mind to keep his eyes shut and his breathing regular so as not to give away the fact that he was conscious again. The men's voices continued. A cold feeling began in the pit of Sam's gut. These guys seemed to know that there was a connection between Sam Drummond and the Black Scarab. There were at least two of them watching over him but for now they seemed more interesting in arguing. Sam wondered if he would be able to take both of them out before more arrived. His head wound would probably make him woozy if he tried to get up too quickly. Suddenly Sam heard a door opening closeby. The squabbling voices stopped instantly.

"Sir", said the voice belonging to the one called Doug.

"Doug I'm very disappointed in you my boy", came a third voice. And this particular voice was very familiar to Sam but he couldn't quite place it. "This was definitely NOT the way I wanted to make Mr Drummond's aquaintence."

"I'm very sorry, sir", said the one called Doug. "I'm afraid it didn't all go quite to plan. A few of the men got a little over enthusiastic and things got out of hand."

"So I heard", replied the familar voice. "He downed three highly trained agents single-handed. Seems proof to me that we picked the right man for the job."

"Sir with all due respect I still think it's unwise to involve such a loose cannon..."

"You just let me worry about that Doug. Now why don't you boys just run along so that Mr Drummond and I can have a quiet chat."

Sam knew he had heard this third man's voice somewhere before. It was so familiar it was maddening. If only his head would stop pounding he just might be able to remember where he had heard it before.

"Well he hasn't actually come around yet, sir", said Doug.

"Son you don't get to survive as long as I have in the political arena without knowing when someone is playing possum. Mr Drummond is currently awake and listening to everything we say", said the third man calmly

"Sir? Are you sure? Sonofva....Sir we can't leave you in here with him alone."

"I have nothing to fear from Mr Drummond, Doug. Trust me on that."

Doug raised his voice slightly with an air of someone who was not used to to being corrected. "Sir I really must protest...."

The third man's voice took on a more authoritarian tone. "My boy I think you're starting to forget who you're speaking to."

There was a slight pause before Doug spoke again. All the defiance had left his voice. "Yes sir", he said. "But we'll be right outside the door. If you need us just yell."

"Of course, Doug. I appreciate it."

Sam heard two sets of heavy footfalls and a door open and close.

"Well now Mr Drummond", said the third man. "Now that we are alone we can have that man-to-man talk I mentioned earlier".

After a brief pause the voice continued. "Come, come now. No need for the charade, son. I know I don't have anything to fear from you and I can assure you that you have nothing to fear from me. Please."

Sam did not know why but he seemed to instinctively trust the owner of the voice. There didn't seem to anything else he could do. He had to find out what kind of situation he was in and what adversaries he was up against. He took a deep breath and opened his eyes. He was lying on a cot in a medium sized room with faded blue wallpaper. There were no windows and the light that now stung his eyes came from a fixture in the ceiling. Sam swung his legs over the side of the cot. The throbbing in his head grew worse and he squeezed his eyes shut against the pain.

"Are you alright, son?", came the voice again with what sounded to Sam like genuine concern. He waited a few moments before the pain in his head subsided and opened his eyes to confront the rooms only other occupant.

The owner of the voice was sitting in, of all things, a wheelchair. Sam could see metal braces framing the man's shoes and he was dressed in a conservative dark business suit and tie. It was when Sam saw the figure's face that his jaw dropped and he thought that the blow to his head must have him seeing things. The face was somewhat fleshy but radiated a quiet strength. His receding hair had almost totally gone to grey and he examined Sam with a pair of piercing blue eyes. It was a face that stared out at every American from newpapers and magazines almost daily these days

"Oh my God", gasped Sam.

Franklin Delano Roosevelt regarded Sam with an amused smile. "Not exactly the formal greeting I'm used to, Sam. I *can* call you 'Sam' can't I?"

Sam simply gaped in awe.

"Good', said the President. "I'm sorry about what happened back at your home, Sam. You *were* supposed to be approached politely and escorted here to meet me. Unfortunately from what I've been told some of the boys got a little rambunctious. I guess knowing about your exploits as the Black Scarab made them a tad nervous."

Sam found his voice at last. "The Black Scarab? How did you...?

"Know?, said Mr Roosevelt. "Son, there is one trait that Santa Clause and the Office of the President of the United States share". He smiled and tapped the side of his nose with his fingertip. "We both tend to know what people have been up to."

Sam was still in a state of shock. "Mr President. Sir. This is all so overwhelming. It's an honor to meet you of course but...". He rubbed at the large lump on the back of his head. "What exactly am I doing here?"

"You're here today because we need your help Sam", said the President. "Because *I* need your help."

"I don't understand, sir", said Sam who was now almost completely convinced that he was dreaming. "What could I possibly do to help YOU?"

"Sam I think that you are a man who values honesty so I'll be forthright with you", said Mr Roosevelt. "Son, this country now faces ruthless and deadly foes who are no strangers to the art of warfare. So as much as I would like to tell you otherwise this war that has been thrust upon us is not going to be over quickly. And the longer the fighting drags on...the more the casualties mount...the more disheartened the folks at home are going to become. Unfortunately there are people in positions of influence within society today who will try and take advatage of that to push their own agendas."

The President fixed Sam with a grim look. "Make no mistake my boy, if we fail in our efforts the human race faces an era of darkness the likes of which has never been encountered before. Now more than ever this nation...this world needs symbols. Paragons of courage and integrity to stand against the evils of tyranny and oppression. I want *YOU* to be one of those symbols, Sam. I want you to be a figure that represents everything this country stands for and everthing we are fighting to protect. I know about your application to the Marines, son. And I know that Sam Drummond: US Marine, would fight bravely and be a credit to the Corps. But he would be one man among many. As a symbol you can give hope to countless people across this country and beyond. You can give them the fortitude to face the trials that are to come."

Sam's heart beat faster. His spirit lifted as it always did listening to this man's voice. Even more so now that the words he spoke were meant for him and him alone. Still, he couldn't believe that he was the man to take on this task. He looked at the floor and shook his head.

"Sir I...I don't know what to say", he said. "I'm honoured that you should ask of course but...why me? Wouldn't Statesman be a much better choice for something like that?"

"Statesman is a fine person, my boy", replied the President. "He'll be playing a major role in this war make no mistake. But...well he's more than a man, if you take my meaning. He can do things that you or I can only dream of. And while that makes him a powerful ally it also sets him apart from the average Joe on the street. Sets him apart from the troops as well. I want the people to have a hero that they can look up to AND identify with. A down-to-earth man who exemplifies the American fighting spirit. I think you are that man, Sam. I've seen your record as a district attorney and I know all about your activities as the Black Scarab. I know how much justice means to you. You're a fighter and you've dedicated your life to defending the innocent and that's just the kind of man we need for this job."

Sam frowned. "Sir I...I just don't know. I don't know if that is something I can be. I certainly don't feel like any kind of paragon of virtue."

The President leaned forward and put a hand on the younger man's shoulder.

"Sam I know about what happened to you wife. It was a tragic thing and I can imagine how badly you must feel". He looked down and shook his head. "If I lost my Eleanor...well...I just don't know what I would do".

The President raised his head and looked straight into Sam's eyes. "This is a painful question son but I'm going to ask it anyway", he said. "What would Flora think of how you are spending your nights now? Stalking through the shadows with a death's-head covering your face and guns in your hands."

The question struck Sam like a physical blow. What would she really think? The Black Scarab did good didn't he? He saved lives. He punished the guilty.

Sam recalled an incident that had taken place one night several months ago in Independence Port. A gang of dockside scum had snatched a young woman leaving her job as a secretary at one of the shipping companies. They had dragged her into an alley between two warehouses and Heaven knew what horrors they had in store for her. Luckily, Sam had been in the vicinity as the Black Scarab and had heard the young woman's screams for help. He had leapt off the roof of one of the warehouses and descended on the gang like the wrath of God.

Afterward, Sam stood in the centre of the alley surrounded by the broken and bleeding figures of the gang members. As he had turned to offer his hand to the young woman she had shrieked and fled. At the time he had thought her reaction was simply due to the trauma of the attack. Now he wasn't so sure. Was the Black Scarab so menacing that he terrified the innocent as well as the guilty?

"Ask yourself, Sam", said the President. "What would she want you to do?"

Sam looked up at a window set high in wall. Through it he could make out blue sky and white clouds. He didn't have to think for long before a lop-sided smile crossed his face.

"She would want me to help", he said turning back to the President. "And she'd give me a royal kick in the pants if I didn't". He smiled.

The President's face brightened considerably. "Then you'll do it?"

Sam looked into the older man's eyes with a serious expression. "I just want to get one thing clear, sir. If I do this. If I become what you want me to be. I can't be a empty suit. I don't want to just be posing for posters and leading paper drives. I couldn't do that while brave men and women are putting their lives on the line in Europe and the Pacific"

"Sam my boy, believe me you'd see plenty of action. We have enemies at home as well as abroad. While we fight across the seas we'll have spies, saboteurs and sympathisers doing their damndest to undermine us at home. I'm already receiving some disturbing reports from Hoover. You would of course have access to the latest training and equipment. I know you're a handy investigator in your own right so we'd also supply you with any information resources you might need. We would obviously have work for you to do but there's no reason you can't hunt down your own leads as well. And don't worry son. You'll get your chance in Europe too. Count on it."

The President offered his hand to Sam. As Sam grasped it with his own it seemed that a spark passed between the two men. A spark that would light a fire which would burn brightly for the whole world to see.

"I can't guarantee that we will prevail in this conflict, Sam", said the President. "I can't guarantee that if we do win that either of us will be there to see it. I can't even guarantee that in fifty years time anyone will even remember our names. But I do know that for performing this service you have my most profound thanks."

"I can't wait to begin, sir", said Sam

"Well we'll need to get a few things organised first", said the President. "As far as all official records go, Sam Drummond will be enlisted in the United States Marines and serve with the Corps for the duration of the war. That means you will need to leave your home. But no matter. We have a network of safehouses set up across the country for this project. Now son, no offence but we have some work to do on your image. The Black Scarab certainly strikes terror into the criminal element but what we need is someone who can inspire the population. Someone the youngsters can look up to. My people have a few ideas about names and uniforms..."

Sam smiled. "Thank you Mr President but I don't think that will be necessary. Speaking with you here today...well it's been a tremendous inspiration. I think I know just the name and image that will suit."

The 32nd president of the United States raised an eyebrow with a look of curiosity on his face.

"Really?"