IN THE CROSS HAIRS

Chapter 1

The six-month-old girl looked up at Bane from where she lay nestled in his massive arms and wriggled in delight when he smiled at her. She smiled back and chortled, revealing two lower incisors, two white squares amidst all that moist pink. Bane chuckled and nuzzled her buttery-soft sternum, causing her to squirm even more, her arms breaking free from the warm towel that he had wrapped her in after her bath. Her tiny hands gently slapped against his head.

"Look at you, my little princess," Bane crooned. "The world has never seen a more beautiful creature…except perhaps your mother."

His bare feet fell silently as he moved about the spacious nursery. He loved these rare moments alone with his daughter, when the world about them lay quiet and peaceful. Sometimes they reminded him of the long-ago day in the pit prison when her mother, Talia, had been born, and he had held her for the first time, washed her and swaddled her. Even amidst the horrors of the prison, those moments had indeed given him peace…and lifelong purpose.

Evening sunlight beckoned him to a nearby window, which looked out over the rolling jade hills that surrounded Chateau Blanc. Row upon row of vines stretched beyond the large, manicured gardens, vines which produced some of the finest wine in France. In the distance, the Pyrenees rose, this time of year green and beckoning, except for the higher elevations farther away, their ragged peaks even now capped with snow. He smiled at the memory of Talia skiing those slopes last winter, her identity concealed by her ski goggles, hat, and ski mask. Though Bane did not share her downward thrill, he had watched from a nearby, private chalet, peering through binoculars so he could see her up close.

"Someday I will take you to those mountains, little one," Bane promised, kissing his daughter's fleshy cheek. She gurgled, and a bubble formed on her lips, popping when she opened her mouth wider. Bane chuckled.

Then he heard their voices. The boys. Henri, raucous and loud, shouting, "C'mon, James. Hurry!"

Bane sighed and murmured to his daughter, "Here comes the tornado, sweetheart. So much for our quiet time."

She made a little frown, one light brown eyebrow deviating from its usual straightness.

Soon the door to the suite opened, and Bane's son—nearly four years old—spilled inward, cheeks flushed, walnut-colored hair damp from a swim in the pool, a towel tied around his neck like a superhero's cape, fluttering in his wake.

"There you are, Papa Baba!" Henri cried. "I found him, James!"

"Henri!" sixteen-month-old James called from beyond the doorway, the name pronounced in toddler-speak as "'enwe."

"Did you leave that poor boy in your dust again, my son?" Bane asked in a chiding tone.

"He too slow," Henri complained before stepping back into the hallway. "C'mon, James." He waited until the toddler caught up to him, held out a hand, which James took. Then he tugged the tottering boy into the nursery with him.

James Barsad had his father's thin, bow-shaped lips, high forehead, and light brown complexion and his mother's chocolate eyes and black hair. He was good-natured like his parents, always with a ready smile and an endearing laugh whereas Henri could be petulant and sulky. The two boys were nearly inseparable ever since James could crawl. Prior to that, the baby had been little more than a curiosity to Henri, who had been greatly disappointed that the boy had not come out of the womb walking and talking so he could have an immediate companion. Henri loved to boss James around, but James took it in stride, happy to wait for one of the adults in their lives to come to his rescue. But Bane had a feeling James would not always be so pliable. His father had the ability to take much from his best friend as well, but Bane always knew John's tipping point and rarely tried to push him beyond it.

"Papa Baba, we caught a frog by the swimming pool," Henri announced. "Come and see. We put him in a bucket."

"I am taking care of your sister right now, Jin," Bane said, using the shortened version of Henri's middle name, Temujin, a name that held far more affection for Bane than the name Henri. "You are both dripping still. You know better than to come into the house that way. Your great-grandmother will be upset with you."

"Come outside," Henri pleaded. "My big towel's there, and I'll show you the frog."

"Henri!" his mother's distant voice called from the lower floor of the grand hall. "Where are you? You were not to leave the pool without me."

"Uh-oh," Henri said near a whisper, exchanging a look with James.

"You are in the soup now, young man," Bane rumbled. "You have displeased your mother, and I will not save you."

"Let's hide, James," Henri urged, starting for the closet.

"There is no hiding from your mother," Bane said, smoothly stepping between his son and the closet.

The baby in his arms began to fuss.

"You are irritating your sister, Jin. Now, go back to your mother while I put Meli to bed. It is time for you and James to clean up for supper."

Little James was staring up at Melisande. The girl had always held a fascination for him. "Baby," he said, reaching toward the infant, trying to raise his other hand, but it was still in Henri's tight grasp.

"We have to hide!" Henri urgently insisted as his mother's calls came up the stairs ahead of her.

"There will be no hiding. Go back to your mother at once, Jin, before you make her even angrier with you."

"But—"

"Go." Bane pointed to the door. "And apologize to your mother and James. He is an unwitting accomplice in your ill-conceived plan."

"But—"

"Your truant son is in here, my love," Bane called. His raised voice made Melisande squirm and whimper, so he hastened to soothe her with whispered words and gentle kisses.

"Hide under the bed!" Henri said to James with sudden inspiration, but again his father blocked his path.

"Baby!" James insisted, paying far more attention to Melisande than to where his companion kept dragging him.

Henri tried to elude his father, side-stepping quickly, but he failed. Just then Talia appeared in the doorway, a scowl on her beautiful oval face. Her long hair spilled about her shoulders, its usual dark brown faded slightly by a summer of sun. She wore a white, gauzy cover-up over her sapphire bikini, the same blue as her large eyes, eyes just like her son's. The curves of her slim body, the lovely roundness of her small breasts distracted Bane long enough for Henri to try to dive under the crib, but James acted like an anchor, still paying attention to Melisande, who began to cry.

"There you are," Talia said. She stepped quickly into the room and dragged Henri from his crouch. "Look what you've done—you've upset your sister, just when she's supposed to be settling down."

"But, Mama—"

At last James was freed, and he went to stand at Bane's feet. "Baby crying."

"I'm so sorry, habibi," Talia said to Bane. "I fell asleep on my lounge."

"No need to apologize, habibati. Our obstinate bear cub knows better than to leave the pool without your permission. Don't you, Jin?"

"Look at all the water you've trailed through the house," Talia scolded. "And dragging poor little James with you."

"But I want Papa Baba to see our frog."

"The frog isn't going anywhere; you could have waited." She lifted Henri onto her hip. "Now apologize to your father and sister."

Sulking, Henri kept his eyes down. "I'm sorry."

Bane turned his daughter away, bouncing her lightly to distract her. "James, go with Talia and Jin." He returned to the window, his back to the others, again speaking softly to the infant whose cries came with a little less stridency now.

"Come along, James," Talia said.

"Baby sad."

"She'll be fine with her papa. Give me your hand, sweetheart."

The threesome left the room.

"Hisham," Talia said to the servant who hurried near to her, no doubt drawn by the commotion. "Henri has made a mess, dripping all the way into the nursery. Could you please see to it?"

"Yes, madam. Right away."

Talia closed the inner door to the nursery then the door to the suite.

Melisande grew quieter now, her eyelids growing heavy as Bane angled the blinds to dim the light. He kissed away the teardrops clinging to her petal-soft lashes.

"There now, little one. Those noisy boys are gone, and it is time for you to sleep. I will read you a story."

Bane settled into a rocking chair in one corner of the room, the furniture groaning under his heavy weight, and took a storybook from an adjacent table. As he quietly read to his daughter, her loving eyes—brown, like her grandmother's—studied him as she sucked on her fingers and made soft sounds of contentment. Within minutes the light began to dim in those eyes as sleep slipped closer. Just as Bane finished the story, Melisande drifted off, her glistening fingers sliding away from her open mouth, her tiny lips pink and perfectly shaped like her mother's.

He remained in the chair several minutes longer, simply enjoying the sight of his daughter. Often, he thought of her grandmother, after whom she was named. Melisande had endured five years in the pit prison with Bane, both helping each other in very different ways to survive and to ensure Talia survived. Bane had loved her deeply, though he had never told her as much, for she was a married woman who dreamed of being reunited with her husband. Now all he had left of their time together was an old blanket, its once-vibrant earthen colors faded with years. He and Talia kept it carefully preserved. They had last used it when their daughter was born, wrapping her in it as Talia had been swaddled in it as an infant in the pit.

Bane frequently told his daughter stories about Talia's mother, and the child seemed to enjoy them, always attentive and never crying as he spoke of her grandmother. Talia would sometimes sit and listen, too, her eyes misting over.

As he rocked in the chair longer, he heard Talia and the boys return from the swimming pool. Somehow Talia kept the two from speaking too loudly as they crept past the nursery on their way to shower and don fresh clothes for dinner. He did, however, hear James ask for his mother and father. Talia reminded him that his parents would return in time for supper, no doubt refreshed from their day together away from Chateau Blanc, a little escape from parenting responsibilities.

At last Bane reluctantly put his child into her crib, swaddled and in deep sleep, never disturbed by his movement. He stood longer, watching over her. The warmth of pure love flowed through him. In this moment he fully understood what people meant when they said something "melted" their hearts. Looking at Melisande, he felt pliable and soft inside, a sensation very foreign to someone who could kill another man with a mere squeeze of his massive fist.

It was sensations like these that made him as unsettled as he was happy, for they caused him to question many things, including his very way of life as second-in-command of the League of Shadows. His duties often took him away from his family, into dangerous situations, and because of the League's international operations he was one of world's most wanted men. He had always been a man of incredible, singular focus, but since the birth of Henri, he had noticed how thoughts of his son broke through his usual wall of purpose when he was in the field or when he traveled to the League's secret headquarters in Saudi Arabia's An Nafud desert. And since Melisande's birth, those mental intrusions had doubled.

He loved his son more than life, and he had thought he would feel the same about his daughter but, looking at her now, he knew his emotions were even more tied up in Melisande. The reason was obvious to him—she was an infant and a girl. Though he knew it was not necessarily true that females were the "weaker" sex—Talia was proof of that—he still felt an overwhelming belief that his daughter required more protection than his son. Perhaps that was because Henri was such a fearless child, and Melisande was small and completely dependent. Or perhaps it simply had to do with her name and his everlasting guilt over the fact that in prison he had been unable to save Talia's mother from a horrible death at the hands of dozens of prisoners. Whatever it was, he sometimes found excuses to remain at Chateau Blanc instead of flying to various theaters of operations for the League. He had a feeling that the League's new commander realized this as well and failed to appreciate his devotion to his children.

"Sir," a soft but deep male voice called to him from the doorway of the nursery, startling him.

Bane cursed himself for being so engulfed in thought that he had not detected Yemi's approach. You are slipping, he told himself ruefully.

Holding up a finger for patience, he approached the big Nigerian, a man who had been in prison with Bane and who had been Talia's personal bodyguard when she had been head of the League. The two left the nursery, Bane closing the door behind him.

"What is it, Yemi?"

"Nyssa called. She said you weren't answering your cell, so she called me. She wants you to call her back."

"Very well. Thank you, Yemi."

A small smile crept over the African. "I didn't tell her you were reading to the little princess."

"And I thank you for that."

Once they stepped outside of the suite, Yemi left him. Before heading to his office, Bane paused for a moment near the low granite railing before him. He stood between two granite pillars, gazing across the grand hall. The ceiling rose above, dominated in the center by an imposing, square skylight which flooded sunlight into the grand hall and its dual, red-carpeted staircase which descended from Bane's floor. The rococo balustrade shimmered golden, topped by highly polished walnut railings. The stairs led to a reception area inside the front portico where antique golden chairs with red cushions that matched the staircase carpet waited for visitors who never came to the secluded chateau.

Bane gave a slight snort of derision at the opulence of this palatial, mid-18th century manor. Though he appreciated the craftsmanship of the architecture and interior design, he could never feel comfortable living amidst such extravagance, having come from a background of utter poverty and believing in the League's ideals of simplicity and social equality. But here he stood, staring at the scagliola on the walls, which matched the pillars, because Talia insisted on comfort and beauty for her children and her grandmother, Maysam. For their sake alone did he remain here. Aside from his scorn for luxury, he felt this location in France lacked the security provided by a more remote location like they had enjoyed in Rajasthan, India, for several years before his daughter's birth.

He could hear the inviting sound of Talia's French-accented voice from behind the suite door. Bane smiled. His son was arguing against the need to take a shower after swimming. How Henri enjoyed sparring with his mother. Too much sometimes. That is when Bane would step in, then the boy would always behave, for he idolized his father and aspired to be just like him.

Remembering his obligation, Bane headed to his office downstairs where he had left his cellphone.

At the bottom of the stairs, he turned right, passed through a small anteroom and entered what was known as the music room. Highly polished oak floors gleamed from light pouring in floor-to-ceiling windows on the outer wall, their heavy, red velvet draperies tied back. A massive Persian rug covered most of the flooring, sharing the same red as the central staircase carpet, with an interlocking golden design, bordered by gold leafing. On the interior wall, facing two matching chandeliers, fireplaces flanked the French doors through which Bane walked. This cavernous room stretched the whole length of the manor, some one hundred, twenty-five feet. At the far end sat a beautiful grand piano, one Talia sometimes played while he hunched over his desk in the recessed area at the opposite end of the room, working.

His bare feet made no sound as he lumbered toward the imposing mahogany desk in the shadows of the recess. Four Corinthian columns rose to the ceiling, two on either side of the desk. This piece of furniture always reminded him of the desk Talia's father had in his quarters at the League's old headquarters in Bhutan. On that desk had been a comely photo of Talia's mother. As a young initiate, Bane had gone into those quarters to view the picture whenever Rā's al Ghūl was away on business. Normally such a place had been off limits to anyone but the League's commander and his daughter, yet Talia was more than happy to take Bane there and see the picture herself.

Settling into the accommodating desk chair which spoke the soft language of high-quality leather beneath his weight, Bane retrieved his cellphone from a top drawer. He hesitated, staring hard at the device. He did not look forward to this conversation, whatever it was, for he was still a bit unsettled by the ascendance of Talia's older sister, Nyssa, to the Demon's Head three months ago.

The phone rang several times on the other end before Nyssa picked up. Bane wondered if she purposefully allowed it to do so to show her displeasure at him not being immediately available earlier.

"Hello, Haris," she said, using the name Maysam called him; too risky to use the notorious name Bane, no matter how secure their communication channels. "I take it Yemi told you of my call." Slight irritation in that voice, so similar sometimes to her sister's voice.

"I was indisposed." Bane felt no obligation to go into detail. Even with his commander, he refused to say anything that sounded like an apology, for he was not sorry for attending to his daughter.

Nyssa paused before continuing. "There is an important matter I need to discuss with you, and I prefer to do so in person."

"Where shall we meet?"

"I will come to you. It'll give me a chance to visit my mother."

"Very well. When should we expect you?"

"In four days. I have matters in Ukraine to attend to first."

She could have simply relayed this brief information to him through Yemi, but Bane knew she had a purpose behind forcing him to return her call after being unavailable. He saw through her efforts at authority. Though she did not quite fear him, he knew she was still intimidated by him and his legacy with the brethren of the League whom he had once commanded after Talia's abdication. Nyssa had worked hard to reach her lofty pinnacle; she would not want to lose all that she had gained.

"We shall look forward to your visit," Bane said.