INTO THE FIRE
Forty-three
Bane walked through the tunnels in near darkness. Widely-spaced, dim lights provided occasional illumination. They reminded him of the corridors in the pit prison, away from the shaft, where guttering wicks in ancient wall fixtures gave off an eerie, weak glow, making the shadows of passing inmates dance along the cell bars. Though he did not know Gotham's tunnels as intimately as he had known the prison's passageways, he knew them well enough after these several weeks to move with no concern of getting lost in the labyrinth and with no need of a flashlight or lantern.
"When Talia and I were in prison," Bane said to Barsad who walked just behind him, rifle in hand, always vigilant, "she often begged me to take her back into the corridors where the majority of the prisoners dwelled."
"But you didn't?"
"No. There were some things I could not protect her from, like the very environment in which we lived; however, I could protect her from seeing the unsavory things that went on away from the stepwell."
"Yeah, I can imagine," Barsad muttered. "But knowing Talia, I'm sure you had a fight on your hands to keep her from doing what she wanted, eh?"
"Of course." Bane smiled at the memory of Talia's attempts to scurry away from him whenever he was washing at the pool or talking to another inmate. "But once she became aware of her true gender, her fear of suffering the same fate as her mother helped keep her in check."
Talia had been on his mind all day, for tonight—at this very moment, in fact—she was attending a fundraiser at Wayne Manor to commemorate Harvey Dent Day. The celebrated district attorney had died eight years ago this night. Selina Kyle was at the same event, undercover as a maid, in place to acquire a set of Bruce Wayne's fingerprints from one of his safes, if things went according to plan.
Bane imagined Talia dressed in elegant finery, her hair and make-up as flawless as ever. She would turn every man's eye. Would one of those men be Bruce Wayne himself? Talia had plans to seek out the billionaire, to talk to him about reviving his clean energy program, the program that the League had clandestinely invested heavily in, allowing Wayne to develop the fusion reactor that the League planned to acquire and which Doctor Pavel would then convert into a neutron bomb. Bruce Wayne had grown paranoid after the initial publication of Doctor Pavel's paper on the subject of fusion reaction and had subsequently shut down the program, claiming failure in the reactor's early testing. Even after the world believed Pavel had died in that plane crash months ago, Wayne still refused to resurrect the program. Talia had been trying for some time now to meet with Wayne personally, but he remained a recluse. The man must indeed be wounded physically and emotionally to be able to repeatedly deny the alluring Miranda Tate.
"Maybe," Barsad's voice interrupted Bane's thoughts, "after Talia's event tonight, you should talk to her yourself about her findings."
"No," Bane growled, "we will stick to protocol."
While he appreciated Barsad's attempt to provide an excuse for him to talk with the woman he loved, he knew he had to stand firm on this directive. Eventually the time would come when he would see Talia again, but that time, alas, was not now.
Barsad's walkie talkie crackled briefly before Pasha Umarov's voice broke through: "Base to Barsad. Do you read me? Over."
"I read you. Go ahead."
"Those two kids he asked for are here."
Bane halted and turned to Barsad, fingers twitching.
Barsad had a question in his eyes as he answered, "I'll let him know. Out."
Resolutely Bane began to retrace their steps, headed back to their HQ.
"What do you plan to do with them?" Barsad asked.
"I will teach them a lesson in loyalty, one neither they nor their young friends will forget."
###
The two boys jumped to their feet when Bane and Barsad arrived back at headquarters. Umarov, who had escorted the pair here, leaned against the wall nearby, his rifle shouldered, his expression unreadable, but he straightened when he saw Bane. Bane nodded his dismissal, and Umarov seemed relieved to be leaving.
Bane did not look at the teenagers right away, yet he knew their gazes were downward, not only from deference for their mythical commander but from fear. Even the younger one, Davy, who had precipitated this meeting, appeared uneasy, shifting his weight slightly from foot to foot. Of course the boy was wise enough to know just because he had done his unpredictable commander a favor, he was not guaranteed a reward and could in reality end up with something unpleasant. Yet the boy was no doubt trying to remain hopeful that he would indeed be rewarded.
They stood with their backs to the waterfall, Bane now before them, crossing his arms against his protective vest. The teenagers seemed mesmerized by his powerful limbs, both of the boys swallowing hard, their fear heightening; Bane could smell it. The older, taller one named Jimmy, a Hispanic, met his boss's gaze, though Bane could tell it took a mighty effort. There was defiance behind the fear, a bravery that made Bane almost regret that the boy was in this situation.
"Do you know why you are here?" Bane asked Jimmy.
"No, sir."
Always polite and respectful, this one. Yes, growing up at St. Swithin's would have instilled such qualities in Jimmy. Unfortunately the orphanage had also imparted less desirable traits.
"David tells me that you have been sewing some discontent among your comrades. Is this true?"
"Discontent, sir? I don't understand."
Bane glanced at Barsad who stood several feet away, curiously watchful. His lieutenant had shouldered his rifle, and now his fingers played with the jacket pocket where his cigarettes nestled.
Turning back to Jimmy, Bane continued, "Where were you before you started working for us?"
The boy's brow furrowed with deepening confusion. Beside him, Davy had relaxed a bit, enjoying the interrogation and Bane's displeasure with his companion.
"I was on the streets, sir. I had aged out of St. Swithin's."
"Hungry, were you?"
"Yes, sir."
"Cold?"
"Yes, sir."
"Alone except for the company of those who wished only to prey upon you?"
"Yes, sir."
"Worried about your younger brother?"
"Of course, sir."
"And now? Do you lack for food? Warmth? Brotherhood?"
"No, sir."
"Yet you show no gratitude."
"I am grateful, sir. It's just that—"
"You are grateful?" Bane's tone had taken on sarcasm. "Yet your gratitude does not equate to loyalty. Very unfortunate."
Jimmy glanced at his smug-looking companion, reality fully washing over him now like mist from the waterfall. "I was only talking, sir. I am loyal. Who said I wasn't? Him?"
"You are an honest lad," Bane continued. "And because of your St. Swithin's honesty, I'm confident that you will answer without deceit when I ask you what you have been saying to your comrades down here."
Jimmy faltered now, anger tangling his tongue—anger at Davy, anger at the situation and the invocation of St. Swithin's morality. "It's just talk," he stammered. "We all talk."
"And what do you talk about? Surely you aren't trying to put your words into someone else's mouth? An honest boy like yourself."
This stymied the youth even more, and he shifted his weight, wet his lips, eyes flashing toward Barsad, the only direction in which he could flee besides the catwalk behind him, but the latter route would only take him deeper into the underground.
"Come now," Bane crooned. "If you've done nothing wrong, you shouldn't be unwilling to speak the truth."
More hesitation, then Jimmy rallied his courage. "I was just wondering about the work we've been doing, the work your men have been doing. It's not public works, not with all the explosives we've been seeing." He shrugged one shoulder in an attempt at nonchalance. "I'm just curious is all."
"Hmm," Bane nodded, bringing an index finger up to tap the front of his mask. "Surely you know what they say about curiosity and the cat."
Jimmy swallowed again, looked down, but he could not escape Bane's formidable presence. "Please, sir, my brother—"
"Your brother is no concern of yours anymore. He has St. Swithin to look out for him. You, however, do not have the benevolent luxury of a saint's protection. You have only me. And I lack the good saint's forgiveness. I cannot afford that virtue." Now Bane shifted his stare to Davy who wilted beneath it, the arrogance instantly fleeing. "Loyalty above all else is rewarded here. Anything less cannot be tolerated." Fingers twitching, he looked back to Jimmy who was sweating profusely now, regardless of the cool atmosphere. "You have spoken out of more than curiosity. Your seditious words could potentially plant doubt and dissension among our ranks, especially among our younger faction. Your job is not to question our mission but to forward it, to contribute positively to it."
"I'm sorry, sir. It wasn't sedition. If you gimme another chance—"
Bane's right hand flashed out, gripped Jimmy by the neck. "We have no time for second chances here." He met Davy's wide eyes as the boy backed into the railing near the waterfall. "And we have forbearance only for men loyal to our cause."
With one powerful squeeze of his fingers, he crushed the life out of Jimmy. Then he let the body fall to the ground before his boot pushed it into the aqueduct below. Davy wheeled in horror to watch the body of his comrade be carried by the water beyond sight, bound for one of Gotham's many outflows. Then he jerked back around to stare in terror at Bane, still frozen against the railing, appearing as if he considered jumping into the water and following the corpse to freedom.
"You are surprised by what I have done?" Bane stepped uncomfortably closer, his chest plate nearly touching the boy who could not find his voice to respond. "When a man takes action against another, as you did, he must be prepared to follow through on his convictions. If he does not, he is as flawed as the one he gave up. Do you understand, boy?"
"Y—yes, sir."
"The next one you bring to me, you will eliminate here in front of me, if you are as resolute and loyal as you have claimed to be. If not, you will prove yourself nothing but a spineless informer, and I have no tolerance for such weakness. Do I make myself clear?"
"Yes, sir."
"Very well." Bane stepped back. "You are dismissed."
Though he tried to leave at a controlled pace, within three strides Davy was running for his life.
Barsad watched him go, then turned back to Bane, eyebrows raised. "I'd say you made your point."
"Let us hope so. I have little time to babysit."
"Babysit?" Barsad laughed with cold humor. "I've thought of you as a lot of things, brother, but a babysitter ain't one of 'em."
Bane lumbered over to his desk, stared at the battered computer there, felt Barsad's probing gaze. "I took no pleasure in what I did. The boy had good qualities. I would have preferred he stay alive and serve us. But it was not to be. We must cut out any rot before it becomes a cancer."
"I understand, of course." Barsad pulled the pack of cigarettes from his pocket.
"But you are displeased."
"Well, like you said, he wasn't a bad kid." Barsad drew forth a cigarette with his teeth. "But he made the wrong choice, didn't he?"
"Indeed."
"My concern isn't about the kid but about you." Barsad pulled out his lighter but of course did not ignite it. "I understand the pressure you're under, and I know there has to be an outlet." He gestured toward the waterfall. "But it's not just the pressure I see; it's rage. And we both know rage can sometimes blind us. And when we're blind we can go in the wrong direction."
Bane went to light the brazier. "As always, I believe in letting you speak your mind, brother." He tossed an unhappy, dismissing glance over his shoulder. "But I think it's time you go have your cigarette and leave me to my work. Let me know as soon as we hear from Ms. Kyle as to the success of her mission at Wayne Manor tonight."
His lieutenant hesitated. When Bane refused to look at him again, Barsad cleared his throat in irritation and at last obeyed his orders.
