The Dark Knight Rises (30 page)

The sound of that awful
crack
had haunted her dreams for months now.

“You came back,” she said. “I thought they’d killed you.”

“Not yet,” he said.

She got her guard up.

“If you’re expecting an apology—” But he shook his head, cutting her off.

“It wouldn’t suit you,” he said. “I just need your help.”

“And why would I help you?” she asked warily.

He pulled a USB drive from the pocket of his jacket.

“For this. The clean slate.”

“You’re gonna trust me with that?” she responded. “After what I did to you?”

Truth to tell, she still felt bad about luring him into Bane’s ambush. He hadn’t deserved that, especially after he had helped her get away from those mercs. So
what
if he was a wealthy do-gooder looking for trouble? At least he wasn’t a monster like Bane.

“I’ll admit I felt a little let down,” he said. “But I still think there’s more to you. In fact, I think for you”—he held up the flash drive—“this isn’t a tool, it’s an escape route. You want to disappear. Start fresh.”

Steal a brand new life,
she thought. Tantalized by the possibility of reinventing herself completely, she greedily plucked the drive from his fingers. She looked it over, almost afraid to believe that it might be real. Then reality set in.

“Start fresh?” she said. “I can’t even get off this island.”

“I can give you a way off,” he promised. “Once you’ve gotten me to Lucius Fox. I need you to find out where they’re holding him. Then take me in.”

Easier said than done,
she thought. “Why do you need Fox?”

“To save this city.”

“Who says it needs saving?” she challenged him. “Maybe I
like
it this way.”

“Maybe you do. But tomorrow that bomb’s going off.”

She felt the blood drain from her face—there was no reason to doubt him. If anyone was capable of nuking an entire city for his own twisted purposes, it was Bane. Suddenly, she saw her future going up in flames, but she tried not to let on how spooked she was.

“So? Get your ‘powerful friend’ on the case.” Saving Gotham was Batman’s job, not hers. She was just a thief, out to survive any way she could.

“I’m trying,” he said. “But I need Fox.”

First we ID the truck,
Gordon reminded himself.
Then we figure out what to do next.

He and Miranda strolled down a snowy street. Nobody seemed to be watching them, but he kept his head down and his coat collar up. Glancing around just to be safe, he discreetly slipped her the Geiger counter. Getting hold of the device had been a challenge in itself. He just hoped it paid off.

“Stay further up the block.” He nodded at a pair of undercover cops loitering at a street corner up ahead. “They’re gonna cross the street and try and slow the truck down. As it approaches, hit this button. If the needle hits two hundred, give me the signal and I mark the truck. Okay?”

She nodded and tucked the Geiger counter under her coat.

“Head’s up,”
Blake’s voice squawked from Gordon’s radio. The rookie detective was playing lookout from atop a nearby building. The commissioner hoped he had good eyes.

“Copy that.” He moved to take his position at the other end of the block, leaving Miranda partway between him and the men on the corner. Moments later, an ominous black truck rumbled into view, right on schedule. It honked its horn angrily, barely slowing down, as the two cops stepped out in front of the truck as if they were crossing the street.

Gordon held his breath as Miranda covertly scanned the vehicle with the Geiger counter. Then she gave him a thumbs-up.

Bingo,
he thought.
Now we just need to keep track of that truck.

He flung a magnetic GPS locator at the vehicle as it lumbered past him, throwing up a spray of wet snow. The locator flew through the air before sticking to the bottom of the truck, where, with any luck, it would go unobserved by Bane or his accomplices.

The truck disappeared around a corner, taking the bomb with it. Gordon regrouped with Miranda and his two men at the corner. He removed a GPS tracking device from his pocket and checked to make sure they still had the locator’s signal. A flashing red dot tracked the truck—and the bomb—along its route.

“Got it,” he said with a touch of elation.
Mission accomplished,
he thought. They knew where the bomb was now. The tricky part was going to be getting it away from Bane—and neutralizing it in time. Gordon wished he had a better idea of how exactly they were going to pull that off, especially since Lucius Fox had been captured by the enemy.

I hope nobody expects me to know how to stabilize a fusion reactor.

He was still worrying when they rounded the corner, and found themselves confronted by a squad of armed mercenaries. Dozens of Bane’s soldiers emerged from doorways and alleys, training their weapons on Gordon and the others. Miranda gasped in shock.

The cops didn’t even have a chance to draw their side arms.

“Commissioner James Gordon,” a gunman barked. “You’re under arrest.”

Gordon bristled.

“On whose authority?”

“The people of Gotham,” the terrorist said smugly. He gestured to his men and they surrounded Gordon and the others, stripping them of their weapons, then leading them away toward the stock exchange.

The commissioner resisted the temptation to glance up at the rooftop where he knew Blake had to be watching. He hoped the hotheaded young detective
would be smart enough to keep his head down and not try something stupid.

Watch yourself, son,
he thought.
It might be all up to you now.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

A hooded prisoner was shoved down the stairs that led into the dungeon beneath the stock exchange. Laughing, the guards kicked him down the last few steps, so that he landed in a heap upon the basement floor. A groan escaped the hood.

Someone moved to help him, and the guards mocked the Good Samaritan from the top of the stairs.

“Find this one a spot,” one of them said. “He’s got a big day tomorrow.”

“We all do,” his crony added. “It’s not every day you bag Bruce Wayne.”

The Good Samaritan gasped at the name. He hastily tugged the bag off the prisoner’s head, exposing the scruffy, unshaven face of Gotham’s most famous son, not seen by anyone in Gotham since before Bane took the city hostage.

Hello, Lucius,
Bruce thought, gazing up at Fox. He exchanged a silent look with the older man before spotting Miranda in a corner, where she appeared to be comforting a worried mother and children. She waited until the guards had departed before rising and coming over to him. Despite her captivity, she looked just as beautiful as she had that night they lay in front of the fire.

“You picked a hell of time to go on vacation, Mr. Wayne,” Fox said.

Not exactly my idea,
Bruce thought, but he didn’t have time for pleasantries. “How long till the core ignites?”

“The bomb goes off in twelve hours,” Fox said.

Just as Bane had planned all along, Bruce knew.

“Unless we can reconnect it to the reactor,” he said.

“If you can get it there,” Fox promised, “I’ll find a way to plug it back in.”

Miranda sat beside them, listening thoughtfully to the discussion. After so many months, Bruce had no idea what to say to her. As far as she knew, he had just disappeared that night months ago, right after they made love.

“Can you get Miranda out?” Fox asked.

I wish I could,
Bruce thought. “Not tonight,” he replied. Then he turned toward her at last, unable to explain all that had happened to him—and all that he still needed to do. “I’m sorry,” he told her. She nodded solemnly.

“Do what’s necessary,” she said, her voice steady.

Bruce appreciated her understanding. There would be time enough to sort things out between them, if and when Gotham survived. For now, he needed to focus on the bomb—and on Lucius.

“Tonight I need you,” he told Fox.

“What for?”

“To get back in the game.”

As if on cue, the door slammed open again. Catwoman sauntered down the stairs in her skintight black outfit and goggles, escorted by a pair of guards. The men treated her with overt respect. Apparently betraying Batman carried some weight under the new regime.

“Sorry to spoil things, boys, but Bane wants these guys himself,” she announced, and she indicated Bruce and Fox. The guards complied by yanking the two men to their feet, cuffing them, and dragging them toward the exit. Bruce looked back at Miranda.

“I won’t forget about you,” he promised.

Their eyes met across the grimy basement. She smiled sadly.

“I know.”

Catwoman rolled her eyes before gesturing to have her prisoners marched from the dungeon. Rifles in hand, the guards prodded the two captives along. Selina fell back between the thugs.

She waited until they were beneath the shadows of the towering marble colonnade before turning on the
two soldiers in an almost balletic display of violence. A spiked heeled disarmed one man, only a split second before she slammed his head into the side of a column while simultaneously laying out the other guard with an open-handed jab to the throat. She moved with the speed and agility of her feline namesake.

A slender pick withdrawn from her belt quickly unlocked Fox’s handcuffs, then Bruce’s. He smiled and rubbed his wrists.

“I like your girlfriend, Mr. Wayne.”

“He should be so lucky,” she said before slipping away into the shadows between the columns. Within seconds, it was as if she was never there.

Fox arched an eyebrow at Bruce, who just shrugged in response.

They were free, and they had work to do.

Bright fluorescent lights flickered on, exposing a stark rectangular chamber hidden deep beneath a shipping yard owned by Wayne Enterprises. The bunker had served as an auxiliary base of operations during the restorations to the mansion, several years back. A bank of computer monitors occupied one wall, while the rest of Batman’s equipment was stored away in hidden compartments.

It had been kept intact for those times when it simply wasn’t convenient to rush all the way back to the manor. That it remained so made it clear that Bane
was unfamiliar with this particular storehouse.

Bruce considered his options.

“Any move I make against Bane or the bomb, the trigger man sets it off.”

“They can’t be using radio or cell,” Fox theorized. “Too much interference. Infrared doesn’t have the range. It could only be micro-burst long wave.”

Bruce concurred with Fox’s assessment.

“Could you block it?”

“Yes, but I need the EMP cannon guidance mount from the Bat.” He gave Bruce a wry look. “You remember where you parked?”

Bruce nodded. He opened a concealed panel in the wall, exposing a well-stocked armory. He took out explosive mini-mines, Batarangs, the grapple gun, his Utility Belt—all his old tools and weapons.

“Mr. Wayne?” Fox interjected. “Might be time for a shave.”

Bruce raised a hand to his chin, feeling the bristling growth there, and conceded that Fox probably had a point. It wouldn’t do for the Dark Knight to go into battle looking like Robinson Crusoe.

Doesn’t really go with the image.

He pressed a button and a wire mesh cage rose from the floor. Inside the cage were a familiar black suit, cowl, and cape. He smiled grimly. Alfred had always encouraged him to buy in bulk. And he couldn’t fault the logic.

It never hurt to have a spare.

* * *

This is a travesty,
Gordon thought grimly. A
joke.

He, Miranda, and the other cops were on “trial” before Jonathan Crane of all people. A mob of hoods, mercs, and escaped prisoners—many of whom Gordon was personally responsible for putting behind bars—crowded the former stock exchange, hooting and hollering at the disgusting spectacle. Bane himself watched from the upper gallery.

Gordon repressed a shudder at the sight of the masked madman who was close to destroying Gotham. The scars from his bullet wounds throbbed at the memory of his first encounter with Bane in the tunnels months ago.

If only we had stopped him then…

“The charges are espionage and attempted sabotage,” Crane declared with an undisguised smirk. He was clearly enjoying this obscene role-reversal. “Do you have anything to say in your defense?”

Gordon thought Crane belonged in straitjacket, not a judge’s robes. He refused to play along.

“No lawyer, no witnesses? What sort of due process is this?”

“More than you gave Harvey’s prisoners, commissioner. Your guilt is determined. This is merely a sentencing hearing.” He peered down from the podium. “What’s it to be—death or exile?”

By now, word of the sadistic ritual down at the docks
had made its way across Gotham. As far as Gordon knew, nobody had ever made it across the frozen river before plunging beneath the ice. Bane and his people hadn’t even bothered to dredge for the bodies.