Chapter 14

Batman raced down the deserted streets of Gotham at over one hundred miles per hour, his cape flowing behind him and helping to stabilize the Batcycle. Dodging and weaving, in the darkness of the night those few inhabitants still up and about would have no chance to even recognize him as he flashed past. Carefully avoiding all the known police patrol routes, within minutes he was over two miles away from where he had met Gordon. Finding a suitable backalley, he quickly pulled in and parked the Batcycle, covered it with a camouflage netting, then began a rapid climb up the side of the building with the help of his grapple gun. Ten stories up, he rapidly surveyed the area, checking to see if anyone had followed. With no one in pursuit, he now began a slower, methodical search for criminal activity to break up.

Stay out of our way, he thought over and over again. Gordon had not said those exact words, but the implication was clear. The unstated order filled him with conflicting thoughts. First was a deep resentment at being shoved aside—he was risking his life to stop criminals, had helped save Gotham City from Ra's al-Ghul, and this was the thanks he got? But as strong as his anger was, his mind could clearly see the benefit of following Gordon's words: entrenched criminality of the kind that still continued to choke the life out of Gotham was a form of terror every bit as pernicious as the more spectacular horrors of the League and Green Dawn. Indeed, the average citizen was far more likely to die in an auto accident, or by the hands of everyday criminals, than from terrorism.

My parents died due to a robber, he thought grimly. No matter what Ra's may have set in motion, everything comes down to individual choice and action. Saving a person from a mugger was no less worthwhile than from a megalomaniac like his former mentor. If the best way to deal with the problem was to let the police and other law enforcement agencies go after Green Dawn, while he focused on apprehending he scum of Gotham, he could live with that no sweat.

What he could not live with—and what worried him—was the possibility that this new terror was something he was responsible for, too.

Batman leaped from the roof of the building, his cape slowing his descent so that he landed on the next building's exterior stairwell with nary a jolt. Rapidly climbing, within seconds he was on the rooftops, starting his search anew.

Is Green Dawn related in any way to the League of Shadows? From the moment Gordon had contacted him, the possibility had worried him. Had one or more of the League remained behind to renew their war against 'the heart of criminality'? Was it a full-scale retaliation for foiling their plans? Surely it was not coincidence that just a few months after the League had been thwarted, that another, brand-new group was swearing to destroy Gotham? He had the bad feeling that in the near future he'd be put on the spot with respect to this, but a sudden burst of movement down below instantly cleared his mind of these dark musings.

Even without his binoculars, he quickly ascertained five people moving with apparent stealth, three in front, two trailing behind. They were approaching what appeared to be a department store. A quick look with his scope revealed the relevant details: they were clad in black, two of them carrying tools needed to break into buildings, the other two large rifles.

The two men with rifles was a new factor to deal with: his suit had protected him against the submachine guns most mobsters carried these days, but there was a good chance that those heavy assault rifles they carried could pierce his armor, even from the front. However, to his advantage, bigger guns like theirs would be more awkward to use in close quarters. He waited until the five of them had reached the back door of the store. As two of them began working to disarm security and break the locks, the ones with guns were standing back to back, searching around them--and in particular, looking up often. I know what to do.

Taking out a smoke pellet, he flung it at their feet, instantly surrounding them in white smoke.

"What the hell!" The five of them began shouting; the two rifle-bearers switched on some form of search lights, but in the smoke all it did was blind them. One of them began firing blindly into the air, and Batman whistled low as a few bullets hit a chimney not far from where he was. Heavy rounds, very dangerous. But it was the opportune time as well. Hurling himself over the side, this time repelling down a rope, he landed right amid the five of them. Following the lights, he lashed out and connected with the jaw of one of the riflemen, who groaned and fell to the ground. His partner whirled about and began shooting wildly, but Batman had already sidestepped around him and delivered a stinging blow to the back of his head. He went down instantly, and as the smoke began to clear he advanced on the other three.

The three robbers had a look of panic in their eyes, but did not run away. Instead, they drew their metal tools and tried to surround him. One of them feinted towards him as the other two tried to bull rush him, but Batman had anticipated the move, and leaped into the air into a spinning roundhouse kick, using his right hand for balance. His left leg smashed into one and his right the other, sending them tumbling to the ground. The other ran towards one of the fallen riflemen and frantically tugged at the fallen man's belt. Batman got up and leaped towards him, just as the other got up and tried to bring a pistol to bear. Firing a few shots, one of them narrowly missing the right side of his head, he screamed as Batman grabbed both his wrists and twisted brutally. A sharp knee to the groin felled him at last.

Breathing heavily, Batman surveyed the five men lying sprawled on the ground. A little close for comfort, he thought critically. Not saying a word, he took out restraints and immobilized them. It was nearly four in the morning, and for once he did not feel the pressing need to make another patrol. Running quickly to avoid the approach of sirens in the distance, he made his way back to the Batcycle and set course for the Pad.

"Do you think they were expecting you?" Alfred asked.

Bruce Wayne didn't answer right away. Bright sunlight bathed the Pad, and as he read the morning paper he idly stirred the bowl of bean paste that Alfred had made him for breakfast. "It's possible."

"What will you do now?"

He shrugged. "Adapt. Armor alone is never enough—quickness and stealth are just as important."

"Maybe they're no longer afraid," Alfred added.

Bruce's gaze hardened. "Then they're making a mistake."

Alfred appeared taken back by Bruce's hard demeanor. "Anyone underestimating you is making a mistake, Sir."

Bruce took a sip of his green tea, a hard silence in the air. Alfred patiently waited for him to snap out of his moody funk. Finally, Bruce spoke: "Gordon told me last night to stay out of the police's way as they take on Green Dawn."

"Filthy cowards," Alfred spat contemptuously. "One of my old classmates was injured by an IRA bomb fifteen years ago in London. Anarchists, murderous adventurers, criminals, that's all they are."

"Unfortunately, terror can be effective. If only in creating terror," Brice added quickly in response to the dark look Alfred threw at him. "And the environment is under stress, there's no denying that."

"I trust you know there's a difference between being in favor of saving trees, and infecting people with anthrax to save trees," Alfred said crossly.

"Of course there is," Bruce said smoothly. "There is no end that can justify any means."

"Not even fighting crime?" Alfred said with a raised eyebrow.

"Not even that," Bruce said with a smile. Another silence fell between them, each man lost in his thoughts. "It may have just been a one-time thing, but we might have to come up with some new ideas. Maybe we can work on it some more this weekend."

"Very good, sir. And what about them?" Alfred pointed to his paper, the entire front page covered with stories related to the terror attack on Cataldi.

"Hopefully our government can protect us," Bruce said. Far less observant men than Alfred would have had no trouble picking up the doubt in his voice.

"And if they can't?"

Bruce smiled. "We'll see. Unlike before, I don't think I have an inside edge." He said nothing further.

Alfred took the hint. "Yes, sir. We should go, sir, your meeting with the board is at nine."

"Ah yes, my day job," Bruce said wearily as he got up. "Let's go, Alfred."

"Right, sir."

"I hope that answers all your questions for now," Special Agent Moritz of the FBI said to the small assembly of Gotham city officials. The cross looks on their faces suggested he had not, but that was not his concern. "All right, then, you know what you have to do. Let's get to work."

The others began filing out, and Moritz called out: "Miss Dawes, may I speak with you?" He gestured towards the petite dark-haired woman, who approached him.

"What can I do for you, Agent Moritz, and..." Her voice trailed away uncertainly, as she glanced at Mortiz's companion, a slim sallow man who had said nothing during Mortiz's entire briefing.

"This is Special Agent Jones," Moritz said with a smile. Jones said nothing, merely nodding. "I want to thank you for helping clarify the roles your investigators will play. The last thing we want to do is cross jurisdictions as we begin this investigation."

"It's no trouble at all, Agent Moritz," she replied. "Our forensics department is completely overwhelmed by the normal crimes in Gotham, I'm sure the FBI crime labs will help get to the bottom of this."

"They haven't had much luck so far," Moritz replied glumly. "But we'll get them, I promise you."

Nodding, Dawes turned to leave, but suddenly Agent Jones spoke, a cool and brittle voice. "One other thing, Miss Dawes, we would like all your office's information regarding the individual known as 'the Batman'."

Without betraying any emotion, she stroked her chin. "Do you think he's involved?"

"Let's just say we have our suspicions," Moritz added.

"I'll get you his file right away. Now if you'll excuse me?" Nodding, she left.

When the door closed behind her, Moritz said to Jones: "You really think they're hiding something?"

"Wouldn't you if Batman was your very own Agent 007, doing the dirtywork that no one else can—or should?"

Moritz considered. "I don't know, if we could get the police to have this guy do some jobs for us, it might make things go quicker."

Jones shook his head. "If he's an undercover cop, any information about Green Dawn he manages to get will go to the police or worse, the press. That won't help us to turn whatever genius is behind the League of Shadows/Green Dawn to our side."

"Do you really think Green Dawn and the League of Shadows are related?"

"Of course they are, why else would I be here?" Jones snapped. "Somewhere out there is a biochemical genius, able to create a devastating fear-inducing toxin and weaponized anthrax better than anything the Pentagon has. We want to take that person or persons in alive, so we can learn their secrets and employ their talents on behalf of the Agency."

"But this Batman—"

"—is too high-profile even if he were on our side!" Jones drew close to Moritz and said in a low voice: "Nothing, and I mean nothing can jeopardize our mission to capture the brains behind Green Dawn. If the Batman gets in the way, you know what we have to do. Understand?"

Moritz didn't reply right away, and Jones grabbed his collar. "Understand?"

"Yeah, I do!" he said angrily, roughly pushing Jones away.

"Good. You have your orders," Jones said coldly.

"Don't worry, I've already started putting out false flags to get the local yokels out of the way while we get to work," Mortiz replied. "Everything will work out just fine."

"Excellent."

"What do we know?"

"Not much, looks like the Bat got them."

"Even with the guards carrying HK-G5s? There isn't any body armor in the world that can stop their rounds."

"Our cops tell us they never got a clean hit."

"All right, we'll need to think of something new. Dismissed." The man left.

Rupert Thorne was tempted to swear, but did not. Nothing to be gained by useless emoting. That's something you can only get away with when you're on top like the Roman was. He sat back in his plush office seat, considering his impeccably mannered nails and smart black suit. Running a hand through his thick dirty-blond hair, he closed his eyes and tried to think.

Batman is nothing more than a cop in a batsuit... yet no matter how many times I try to impress this on my men, they always panic in the field. Of course, it was one thing to say he was a man, and another to encounter him in person on the streets. Kind of like the lion--not so fearsome in a zoo cage, but terrifying on the savanna.

Thorne was a prideful young lion himself. The fall of Carmine Falcone had created a power vacuum in Gotham's underworld, and he intended to fill it. Not by taking it blatantly—that was far too crude a move for him, a man who considered himself—with forgiveness to mixing fiction and fact—more like Vito Corleone to Falcone's Al Capone. His organization reflected that philosophy: powerful, yet with a near-impenetrable cloak of apparent legitimacy.

Working through intermediaries, he had done much to weaken the Falcone family's holdings on many of Gotham's lucrative illicit businesses. Once merely a distant second in terms of power, he was rapidly rising to the top. Only three things could threaten that: Green Dawn, the other families, and Batman.

The first was a threat in theory only, and really more of an opportunity. What a waste to use violence for ideological ends, when it can be so much more gainfully used for profit. Oh it was possible that these Green Dawn crazies would do something rash, but for now their actions suited his goals. With law enforcement tied down trying to protect city infrastructure and find the terrorists, business was booming for Thorne and others like him. There may be greater opportunities in the future as well.

With regards to the other families, it was time to start breaking heads. With the police distracted, now was the perfect to time to take out those who were still loyal to Falcone. He had been preparing for this opportunity for a long time, and now the moment was at hand. Moreover, all the violence to come would have an additional benefit: it would likely draw the Batman's attention.

Whatever good he had done for Thorne by taking down Falcone, he was now increasingly impinging on his operations, and that could not be tolerated. The question was, what to do about it? He was lucky once, but he has to be lucky all the time, Thorne told himself. More men with more guns, maybe some night-vision goggles—in the end, he would find the right combination, and the Batman would be dead.

"Very good," he said in a satisfied tone of voice. Calling for his men, he drafted the necessary orders, savoring the bright future of a Gotham City under his thumb.

He was waiting for a sign.

The attack on Cataldi Pharmaceuticals, and the manifesto from Green Dawn explaining and justifying it, had been a glorious thing. A signal that there were others willing to pick up the burden of defending Mother Nature from the ravages of man.

On the Net, fierce debates had broken out over whether the attack had discredited the environmental movement. Discredited! Environmentalism's failures are the real discredit, he thought contemptuously. Still, he felt a sense of shame, since he too had abandoned the struggle out of a sense of hopelessness, and a not-so-secret fear of being caught. But Green Dawn had emboldened him, awakened his once-dormant spirit.

He had skills, talents to bear for the Struggle. All he needed was to find the right person.

It would not be easy; no doubt the organs of oppression were on the hunt for those who shared his and Green Dawn's sentiments. Searching far and wide in the Net, he searched for something that might lead him in the right direction. Finally, late that afternoon on a small chat forum in an old environmental BBS, he found what he was looking for:

blueduskFE413W221AVE#$ 0124P

Blue Dusk... the opposite of which was Green Dawn.

It was the signature of a rabidly anti-environmental poster. FE meant EF—Earth First, one of the few groups around that even tried to fight back. The string of characters that followed gave the place and time, but only in opposite: instead of meeting at 413 West 221 Avenue at 1:24PM, the contact was for meeting at 314 East 122 Avenue at 4:21PM. Checking his watch, that was less than an hour from now. He logged off and hurried out the door, looking for a taxi.

The one he took got him to the intersection at 4:22PM. Getting out, he nervously looked around, wondering if the police had deciphered the clue. Only a handful of people in his cell had that code designation, and as he thought it over, it suddenly became clear who his contact had to be.

At the corner stood two women, one much taller than the other. Their contrasting heights did not differ as much as their garb: the shorter woman was dressed in black leather, her spiked blond hair filled with braids, tattoos up and down her bare muscular arms. The tall woman looked like something out of a fashion magazine: creamy white skin and flaming red hair. Khalfa smiled. I should have known it was her!

As he approached, the two women nodded and gave him a chilly smile. Ah Pamela—she's always the opposite of what you think. Hurrying to catch up with them, he said in a low voice: "It's been a long time, Pamela Lillian Isley."

"Same to you, Khalfa el-Rahim," Pamela said brightly.

"Miss Halley Reinhart, the pleasure is all mine." The other woman said nothing, merely grinning ferally. He started walking along Pamela's left side while Halley walked on the right.

"Was that your handiwork at Cataldi, Pamela?" She merely grinned and nodded. "How did you pull that off?"

"There's more to me now than brains and beauty," she said evasively. "I'll fill you in on the details later."

"What do you plan to do next?"

"I've already done it," she said. "In a few hours, all the patrons of Gotham's Hillsdale Public Pool system are going to find themselves with a very nasty case of red tide algae poisoning."

"Fatal?" asked Khalfa.

She shook her head. "No, I wasn't able to create a lethal version in time. It'll serve as a warning, to those would waste groundwater in trivial bathing rituals."

That sounds like Pamela—ruthless to the core. "How did you sneak it in?"

Pamela grinned. "Let's just say the lifeguards and attendants were too busy paying attention to my skimpy little green bikini to notice the bags of algae I was carrying."

"Since when do you wear a bikini?" Halley asked, her voice skeptical yet seemingly eager.

"Since it helps me to carry out my plans to save the world. I'll tell you all about it later. I take it you both still remember how to make things go boom, right?"

"Say the word and it's coming down," Halley said in a hard voice.

"You have something in mind?" Khalfa asked.

"Yep. I'll tell you about it over dinner. Let's go."