Master Richard's motorcycle entered the cave's southeast entrance at 10:35, and precisely forty-five seconds later he slid to a stop beside the other cycles. He was wearing a new blue and yellow battle uniform, though I hardly noticed because someone had done something most regrettable to his hair.

"Hi, Dick!" Master Timothy called from the door of the changing room.

"Hey, Tim!" Richard called back. "Evening, Alfred. . . . Bruce."

"Nightwing," said Master Bruce. "We've been waiting."

"For fifty-two minutes. That's exactly how long it's been since you called me in New York." Richard wagged his finger in Bruce's face, and I realized they were going through one of their periods of unfortunate friction.

"Hmph." Bruce turned in a swirl of black fabric and walked toward the giant map of Gotham City that hangs beside the vehicles.

Richard stayed one step behind him. "And remember: I didn't come for your sake, I came for Tim's."

"Fine." Bruce pointed to a spot along the blue line of the Gotham River. "Tim traced the Joker's microwave bursts to the east tower of the Barr Bridge."

Richard gave a thumbs-up to Timothy, who was hurrying down the stairs to the vehicle level. "Good work, kid."

"Thanks, Dick!"

Richard peered at the map. "So our favorite whiteface clown's hiding high above the river?"

"Or he could have that whole tower rigged as a trap."

"Gotcha. What's the plan?"

"In the dark, the two of us climb either side of the inner structure."

Timothy came up short behind the men. "'Two'? Um, what about me?"

Richard swirled one finger around the region of the bridge. "We'd do better with a distraction from above. Since you told me not to bring Kory—" A pause just long enough to annoy. "—does Gotham P.D. have any helicopters to spare?"

Bruce jabbed the gray square symbolizing a supposedly derelict refinery. "I've launched the bat-blimp. It can block the moonlight, and provide the appearance of a threat. And it can be steered by remote, so no one will be in danger if the Joker attacks the ship."

"Great. Which car?"

"Number seven." Bruce started for the small black roadster.

"'Seven'?" said Timothy, back-pedaling out of his way. "But that one has only two seats!"

Bruce finally turned to face the lad, or perhaps he had to turn in order to enter the car. "That's right, Tim. You'll stay here. We don't take any chances with the Joker."

"But I'd keep back! I'd stick to the shadows—"

"That's an order, Robin. Let's go, Nightwing." Bruce folded himself into the car and shut the door.

"Dick? This was my case—"

Richard raised his hands in a shrug. "Sorry, Tim. Like I said, I came tonight for your sake."

"Aw, pusbucket."

Richard paused, one arm hanging over the outside of the passenger door. "You'll get your shot at the clown sooner or later, kid. And tonight, you get to fly the blimp!"

"Ha. Ha."

From inside car number seven came: "Nightwing! Now."

"Keep your cowl on, big guy." The passenger door slammed, and the motor roared. Vehicle number seven sped down the corridor to the north exit.

Timothy stomped back upstairs, peeling off his green mask. "Hmph. I'm still stuck in his shadow, Alfie."

The lad needed both reassurance and reminders, I could see. "Now, Master Timothy," I told him. "You know that Master Bruce makes these decisions to protect—"

"I'm not talking about Bruce." He sat in front of the screen showing three views of and from the blimp, and picked up the deluxe "joy stick" that he had insisted we order.

"Ah. Then I suppose you're concerned about living up to Master Richard's legacy. He'd be the first to say that you have your own—"

"I'm not talking about Dick, either."

"Then?"

"I'm talking about Jason."