Location: Budapest, Hungary
Date: August 8

He didn't want to watch it again, he truly didn't. But having not laid eyes on them in almost a decade, he was unable to look away as the middle-aged couple made their pleas on live international television. The visibly distraught father was the first to deliver his message to his wayward son as the tearful mother looked on at his side. The only sounds were the man's sober voice and the clicking of the flashbulbs.

"No matter what's happened, you're still our son, and we love and miss you very much. Please come home where we can work this all out. It's not too late, son. Please do the right thing, and come home."

After he concluded the gentleman made way for his wife of thirty-five years, who dried her eyes with a tissue before beginning her heartfelt address.

"I want to say to our son, Noah: Your family loves and misses you so very much. There hasn't been a minute that's gone by in the last nine years that you haven't been in our thoughts and prayers. The pain in our hearts since June 19, 2003 has been constant and is more than anyone should ever have to bear. The past is gone now. What's done is done, and no one change it. But there's always hope as long as we're alive. Please believe that. Please reach out to us. We just want to see you safe. Please come home."

It was not the first time Barsad had watched his parents' emotional appeals for his surrender, and he knew it probably wouldn't be the last. Understandably he did his viewing strictly in the privacy of his room, as he was one of the few members with a television in his quarters. When CNN's coverage cut from the imploration and returned to the analyses of purported disciplinary experts, he flipped it off and again sank back into his modest bunk for some silent reflection.

If he knew only one truth in life, it was that his mother and father were good, salt of the earth people who did not deserve the hand they had been dealt. And unfortunately, he bore sole culpability for it. Nine long years of misery they had endured because of their only child. He'd not planned it that way, needless to say, but all his plans went out the window the night his wife—his one and only soul mate—was brutally slain. Of course he would never have had to take matters into his own hands had the law not so egregiously failed to attain justice for Natalie and their unborn baby. He couldn't have let the ruthless thugs responsible get away with their crimes, not even for his family's sake. His hand had been forced by their failure, that's how he had and always would see it. And he held no regrets about his retribution despite what it had cost him.

In the days following the revelation of his identity, Barsad discerned a change in his mentor. Since Bane's reinstatement as the supreme commander of their decidedly more democratic organization, their relationship had reverted to its previous state which they had forged before Talia had reentered Bane's life and cast her sinister shadow over him and his followers. But their rekindled friendship had evidently stalled in the wake of the news. They'd hardly spoken a word to one another since then, and he had a pretty strong inkling that Bane was intentionally avoiding him. As for the reason, well he had a theory about that too.

Once he completed his daily duties, Bane decided to spend a little quiet time on the roof, which seemed to be his favorite place as of late. He was a nocturnal creature if there ever was one, having loved the night ever since he could remember and always preferred it to daytime. To him the world just seemed to make more sense when it was cloaked in darkness. Given his upbringing, that predilection came as no surprise. He could have achieved solitude in his room, but he relished the sights and sounds of dusk as well as being outside in general. He knew that, thanks to the Gotham disaster, opportunities to enjoy the great outdoors would be few and far between from then on, therefore he would seize each and every chance that presented itself.

To say he had a lot on his mind was an understatement. He felt as if the weight of the entire world was on his shoulders. He couldn't find Alexei or Edmund. He couldn't forget about Katharine. And last but certainly not least, his lieutenant's name and photograph was plastered all over every channel, website, and newspaper in the civilized world. Barsad took the blow in stride as usual, as he was not one to ever complain, but his stoic acceptance of his status as the second most sought fugitive on the planet with a substantial bounty on his head did nothing to ease the guilt Bane was feeling as a result. After all, if he had not pledged himself and his men to Talia's vengeful mission, none of them would have ended up in such a predicament. As he surveyed the evening sky, his muddled musings were disrupted by the sound of advancing footsteps.

"Thought I might find you up here," said Barsad as he approached.

"Have I become so predictable?" Bane asked without diverting his gaze from the horizon.

"Couldn't help but notice your recent scarceness."

"I've merely been busy."

"Come on, this is me you're talking to. I know you better than that. Something's eating at you."

Bane shifted to his comrade.

"In all the time you've known me you've never once pressed me. I suggest you not start now."

"Fair enough. I'll just have to draw my own conclusions then."

"Do as you will."

Taking the hint, Barsad started to head back inside until a brief question halted his stride.

"Are you tempted?"

He then changed course and walked back towards Bane. Though the query was vague, he knew what he was being asked.

"I love my folks. I always will. But going back is not an option."

"If that belief is based on your oath, I assure you've beyond fulfilled it. If you wish to comply with their request, I will not stand in your way."

"You're talking crazy."

"Am I?"

"Yeah, you are. Go back for what? To spend the rest of my life rotting in a cage? Thanks, but no thanks. Look, we knew this was coming. Honestly, I'm surprised it took this long."

"That doesn't make it any less vexing."

"Look on the bright side . . . now you've got some company on the list. It's not so lonely at the top anymore."

"This is not the time for levity."

"I'm not upset about it. Why are you?"

"It is my fault, that's why."

"You are not responsible for my actions. I knew the risks, and I accepted them. Every man walks his own path."

"Do not give me platitudes. I have failed not only you, but every individual on these premises. Why will you not admit it? Is it purely fear that prohibits you?"

"If you're asking me if I think I could best you in combat, the answer is no. But that doesn't make me scared, only smart."

"You haven't answered my question."

"I won't admit it because I don't believe it's true. No, failing would've been blowing up Gotham and dying in the process," he emphasized. "But we didn't. We're still alive, which means we still have hope. That's one thing my mother said that I happen to agree with."

"The situation only stands to deteriorate from here. You do realize that?"

"It seems you've hitched our wagon to a star. If you ask me I think you should put your old man on the backburner for now and focus every last resource on our only chance for asylum. Prioritize, just like you've always said."

As badly as Bane wanted to exterminate his abominable father—and he used that second term loosely—like the insect he was, he knew Barsad's proposed plan was the optimal course of action.

"I shall make the announcement first thing tomorrow morning. I want our scouts back in Moscow by the end of the week. Someone there knows something, I'm sure of it."

"It's good to be back in business."

"Don't speak too soon."

"What can I say? I'm a glass half full kind of guy."

"I suppose that's better than the alternative. Get some sleep."

"Now there's an order I'll be happy to carry out. Buenas noches."

"And you, brother."


August 16

Nearly a week of hard work finally paid off when one of Alexei's associates in Moscow pointed the reconnaissance party to St. Petersburg, Russia's second largest city by population. A surveillance operation was swiftly implemented on the ground there, and once the object of their search was positively identified coming and going from a swank estate, Bane, alongside Barsad and a handful of the League's most elite soldiers, was on a private jet to the land once known as Leningrad the Thursday following the discovery.

The fact that the aircraft chosen for the flight was the very same one that had carried Katharine twice was not lost on him. The vehicle had been recently brought back to their Hungarian headquarters per his request. The League had no shortage of planes, but the motivation behind the directive was not derived from practicality, rather it had been born of the excessive sentimentality that had been afflicting him since her departure. It was very simple—he wanted the Cessna nearby because it was one of the few tangible reminders he had of her. The time when he would get back to his old self could not come soon enough for him. He frequently found himself wondering if the reversion would ever come to pass.

Being a marked man as he was, he could not simply pop in on his former employer in broad daylight while wearing the mask, thus he had to forego his most distinguishing accessory in favor of a drip of his palliative cocktail in a liquefied state. Knowing his patient would not want to be seen dragging a cumbersome pole around wherever he went, Dr. Suresh devised a more discreet mode of transportation for the vital medicine. Via a customized strap attached to Bane's chest, the bag containing the mixture ran an intravenous line to the injection site in his arm, which was relatively concealed by his clothing. It wasn't as streamlined as his primary delivery system, but it did the job adequately enough for his needs. He knew Alexei would probably not immediately recognize him, for the Russian had never seen him sans shroud.

Befitting their impending destination, Bane spent the journey engrossed in War and Peace, one of his most treasured works of literature. He'd sacrificed a substantial portion of his personal library for Katharine's benefit, and his copy of Tolstoy's perennial masterpiece may well have been one of the casualties had it been present during the purge. Although the works he had disemboweled were among his most prized possessions for good reason—there were times when the written word had been his only solace in life—there would never come a time he would regret the deed. No, he would happily eviscerate a thousand books to ensure the long-term security of the only woman who had ever earned his romantic love. It had taken him long enough to determine the depth of his feelings, but now that he had he knew there was nothing he wouldn't do to improve her life even if it ripped out his beating heart. Being apart from her was torture both physically and emotionally, but each time he felt himself slipping into inescapable sorrow he would remind himself that it was for the best. She would be better off. As much as it both pained and pleased him, she probably already was.

Several feet behind him an impromptu card game was underway amongst his compatriots. Mindful of their commander's reading, the participants kept their chatter to a minimum. After answering a call of nature, Barsad sat out the current hand to see how Bane was faring without his vapor. Knowing Bane may become annoyed if asked about his physical comfort outright, Barsad would have to rely exclusively on his powers of observation to evaluate his condition.

"War and Peace. Sounds right up your alley," he remarked and sat in the adjacent row.

"Have you read it?"

"Never got around to it."

Bane had known Barsad long enough to know that he was not big on reading. The two men often seemed different as night and day, but they shared much common ground as well.

"I seem to have lost track of time. What is our ETA?"

"Approximately two hours."

Bane did not look away from his book. He wasn't keen on anyone getting a gander of his face up close and personal without his armor, not even his closest ally.

"So what's the plan?"

"Have you developed a sudden onset of amnesia?"

"I mean logistically speaking. Am I going with you on this little expedition?"

"Of course. You are still my second unless something has changed within the last several hours without my knowledge."

"I take that means this isn't going to be an aggressive operation."

"Whatever made you think it would be?"

"Well, that's usually how we roll, as they say."

"Alexei is not only my one-time benefactor, he is also a friend. And as such he is to be treated with the utmost respect. Do I make myself clear?"

"I'm not daft. Don't worry, I'll be on my best behavior."

He wasn't worried; he never had to when it came to Barsad. His most trusted disciple by far, the American was the perpetual picture of proficiency. He was not infallible, he'd made a few intermittent mistakes, but with his pupil being only human he certainly could not hold those minor stumbles against him. Overall his performance was top-notch and even managed to exceed even Bane's lofty expectations. So impressive were his accomplishments, in fact, that Bane was intent on naming him his official successor. It was something he should have done a long time ago, as the possibility of something calamitous befalling him amid his tenure unfortunately could not be ruled out.

"Forgive my proclivity for condescension, brother. You do not warrant such conduct," he said in a compunctious tone with his head still buried in the thick tome.

Bane's transformation since his stint in Romania could not be ignored. Whereas before he had barked orders, openly ridiculed, and remorselessly dispatched any subordinate he deemed dissatisfactory, his behavior had markedly changed for the better subsequent to his return. Barsad was astounded by the positive effect the hiatus had produced in their fearless leader, and he reckoned he owed at least a portion of his gratitude to Kate, who he suspected played a role in his benefactor's evolution from imperious dictator to clement advisor.

"But Stalin jokes are okay, right?"

Though Bane would not freely admit it, he found the widower's humorous streak endearing more often than not, as it was a welcome contrast to his own austere demeanor.

"Go play," Bane shook his head with a slight smirk.

"Affirmative," Barsad replied and rejoined the game.

Less than three hours later they were en route to the reconnoitered villa. Not wanting their unscheduled visit to be interpreted as some sort of ambush, Bane had insisted that the others remain at the airstrip so as not to arouse alarm in their unwitting host. Being skilled assassins of the highest caliber as they were, he was confident that both he and Barsad could handle most any situation should things go awry, not that he had any reason to expect them to. He knew Alexei would understandably be surprised to see him but doubted his appearance would be construed negatively.

As Barsad steered them ever closer to their objective, he spied Bane idly manipulating a piece of twine in the front passenger seat. It was an activity he had witnessed many times over the years and oft wondered if it was a nervous tick. Of course common sense overrode his curiosity therefore he never asked about it.

"So how are we doing this?" inquired Barsad.

"Quietly."

"Are we just gonna walk up and ring the bell?"

"As opposed to caving the door in?"

"And if he refuses to grant us audience?"

"He will not."

"I don't know how you can be so confident."

"He owes me a favor."

"Yeah, but what you're asking's a pretty tall order for anyone, even a VIP."

"He owes me a big favor."

"Plus you haven't seen the guy in years."

"Which is all the more reason to believe he will be receptive."

"I don't follow."

"I have gained quite an intimidating reputation within that time."

"So you're gonna scare him into helping us?"

Bane was irritated by Barsad's choice of words. He hated the idea of needing anyone's help even when that was the case.

"If it comes to that. I sincerely hope it will not."

"Has he ever seen you without the mask?"

"Any doubts he may have about my identity will be quickly expunged."

There were very few people who had; so small was the number that he could count those who had on one hand. He assumed most of the medical personnel had during his recovery from the shooting, but he didn't know any of their names. His feelings concerning his required camouflage were best described as ambivalent. While he loathed the fact that he needed it, he was also extremely grateful for its existence because he would have no quality of life ever without it. He'd become so accustomed to the unique device that going without it for any prolonged period actually felt unnatural to him. The fluidal form of his painkiller was not as efficient as the gaseous, and he attributed that to the fact that his body was much more adapted to inhaling the remedy rather than absorbing it in his bloodstream.

While Bane yearned for the time when he would be able to reattach his mask, Barsad contemplated how events would unfold with Alexei. Though he did not voice his reservations, he had many. He couldn't help but think that Bane was being rather presumptive about the mysterious man he hadn't seen in half a decade. It was obvious that the Russian was keeping a low profile, and that led Barsad to suspect that he did not want to be found. Perhaps he feared Bane and was hiding from him specifically. It was not an unrealistic scenario. There was not a human being in the modern world who did not know what had transpired in Gotham and that Bane had been the apparent ringleader of the bedlam. The two parties had shared an amiable professional relationship and even a tenuous friendship, but several years had elapsed since then in addition to numerous occurrences in both their lives. Barsad had not known Bane back then, but surely the latter was not the same person Neimov had been acquainted with. He wasn't even the same one Barsad had initially known; Talia al Ghul had put an end to that man. Inexplicably, however, he had observed constructive differences in his brother since his homecoming, and though he was wary of becoming overly optimistic, he hoped the younger version of Bane would reemerge and remain permanently.

Sensing that continuing on that particular subject would be akin to beating a dead horse, Barsad decided to touch on a piece of good news.

"Have you heard about Gordon?"

"Who?"

"Ex-commissioner of Gotham whose fraud you exposed to the world in front of Blackgate?"

"Ah, yes. It seems his fellow schemers have decided to put him on trial."

"To think that he might end up in the joint he helped fill. Poetic justice, wouldn't you say?"

"There is no justice in the world, brother. It is an illusory concept perpetuated by those in power in order to bend the masses to their collective wills."

"Easy there, Nietzsche. No need to preach to the choir."

The only reason Gotham was still on Bane's mind at all was because Katharine was there. She had openly expressed her ardent disdain for the disreputable city, and consequently he was curious as to why she had gone back. Familiarity was one possible explanation, the presence of her friend was another. She hadn't spoken much about the female companion whose name escaped him at the moment, but whoever she was he hoped she was deserving of his flower's friendship.

A second after referring to her as his, he internally admonished himself for the erroneous claim. She was not his. She never had been, and she never would be. He had made sure of that. But he would be eternally hers whether she knew it or not. What he would do for just one more minute with her. Knowing all too well the sheer agony of being without her, he would not squander one single millisecond of the bliss. He would revel in the joy only her embrace could provide. He would rectify the grave error he had made and urge her to speak the words he had denied her, beg her if necessary. And he would profess his undying, unconditional love for her because it was the truest, most wonderful feeling he had ever known.

So utterly devastated was he by their denouement that he could not muster the resolve to see her off at the airport. He could tell she wanted him to simply by the way she asked, but he knew he was liable to crumble before her very eyes, hence he eschewed her for the second time that dreadful day. Yearning to know every last detail of her final moments on their final day, he decided to broach the subject with the only person who could supply the information.

"I wish to speak with you about something."

"All right."

"The last day in Romania."

Of all the topics Barsad anticipated, that one was not on the list. Why would he bring that up nearly a month after the fact?

"As I recall, it was both my first and last. What about it?"

"Did everything go smoothly after you left?"

"Yeah, went off without a hitch."

"Could you elaborate?"

"What do you want to know?"

"Did you see to her nourishment?"

"Yeah, we stopped off despite her protests."

"How was she?"

"You weren't kidding when you said she was upset, I can tell you that."

"Did you talk with her at length?"

"She wasn't up to it. I didn't press."

"Then how did you know she was troubled?"

"The tears were a big tip-off."

She had wept in the privacy of the cabin, but he didn't think she would break down in the company of her chauffer. It repulsed Bane to imagine what kind of disgusting thoughts might be running through Barsad's head. Did he think he had deliberately harmed her? Could he actually have entertained such a repugnant notion? He hesitated asking, for if he received the wrong answer he was apt to explode in a fit of rage and kill them both. After several minutes of thorough consideration, he resumed communication.

"I suppose you have drawn your own conclusions about this as well?"

"I haven't really thought about it to tell you the truth."

"I find that hard to believe. You once told me you felt responsible for her. Wouldn't that have made you at least mildly interested in the cause of her distress?"

Barsad knew why she'd been in pieces, but he wasn't about to let Bane know that.

"I guess I was at first, but she eventually calmed down. Whatever it was I didn't want to make it worse by drudging it up."

"Still, you must have had a theory. I would like to hear it if you don't mind."

"I kind of got the feeling she didn't want to leave."

"And if you were correct?"

"I don't think it matters at this point."

"You're right; it doesn't. I hope you will excuse my inane blathering."

"I didn't mean . . ."

"It does not merit further conversation."

"You brought it up."

"I will speak of it no more, and neither will you," Bane decreed.

"Suit yourself."

The next leg of the trip was marked by tense silence. Barsad concentrated on driving whilst Bane gazed out the window and pondered what Katharine was up to halfway across the world. He had no way of knowing the intricacies of her new life, but at least he could rest easy knowing she had enough money on which to subsist for a considerable period.

"We're almost there. Any last instructions?"

"I will go in alone. If you don't hear from me within ten minutes, return to the plane at once."

"And then?"

"Bring back the others, assess the situation from the outside, and proceed accordingly."

"Do you think we might actually find ourselves in a hostile environment?"

"No, but we must be prepared nonetheless. I am worth $10 million, after all."

"We're not even there, and already I don't like this."

"Have you forgotten that this was your idea in the first place?"

"I was thinking more along the lines of a phone call. Sullivan could've pinged the signals going in and out."

"I prefer to do things face-to-face. Besides, I doubt he would have given credence to my claim over the phone. He would have likely dismissed it as a hoax."

"I guess," Barsad exhaled heavily.

"I have every confidence that all will be well. Relax, brother."

"I'll do that when we're on the plane."

Although he had been the one to terminate the discussion, Bane could not let Barsad think the very worst of him. He had to set the record straight once and for all.

"I didn't terrorize her if that is what you are thinking," Bane said precipitously.

No, you just broke her heart.

"I'm not."

"I am not that kind of man," he added for good measure.

"I know."

Barsad's reassurance generated a moderate sense of relief in Bane. He hoped it was the truth. He may have been a liar, a thief, and a killer, but he was not a tormentor of women. He had grabbed her in the midst of a heated dispute, but he quickly came to his senses. So many good things had happened between them after that isolated incident of ugliness that he had entirely forgotten about it. She averred that he had not injured her, and the evidence had proved as much; his grip hadn't even left a slight blemish on her exquisite skin. He had not hurt her. Had he?

Before he had time to delve further into the matter, the Denali approached the wrought iron gate of the grand manse where their presence was acknowledged via intercom. With not even a minimal grasp of the Slavic language, Barsad deferred to Bane's expertise in that area. After several exchanges the barrier was lifted, and they were permitted entrance.

The sprawling property was the epitome of opulence—impeccable gardening, ornate stone fountains, manmade koi ponds, the whole shebang. Bane had no appreciation for such ostentation. Though he was more well-off than most due to his creative accounting with Daggett's ample funds, a life of privilege had not always been his reality. His formative years had been destitute due to his single-parent upbringing. His saintly mother was smart as a whip, but she had not received a great deal of formal education, which in turn prevented her from acquiring lucrative employment. If only she had survived the pit, he would have given her all the fine things she deserved.

"Are you sure you want me out here?" Barsad asked as they pulled up in front of the residence.

"How long will you wait?"

"Ten minutes."

"Set your watch."

Barsad did as he was bid, and Bane exited the automobile to be met by two men who escorted him to a large office on the second floor. Once there, the ushers took their leave, and their guest was left alone. Like the rest of place, the room was decadent from top to bottom. He frowned on such extravagance and never understood why the wealthy were always so insistent about flaunting their affluence. In his eyes it was nothing more than a waste of money. As he casually inspected the chamber, he called Barsad to let him know all was well.

"Everything okay?"

"So far so good. I am expecting him momentarily. Give me half an hour."

"Copy that."

"And who might you be?" a voice asked in Russian.

Bane concluded the call and slowly turned around to face his host. Time had been kind to Alexei. His hair was grayer, and his face had its fair share of wrinkles, but he still didn't look a day over fifty.

"Don't tell me you do not recognize your former chief of security."

The man before Alexei was bald, but that alone did not mean that he was Bane. His face was also scarred, but that did not prove anything either. He could think of only one way to verify that his guest was who he said he was and not an impostor with a malicious agenda.

"Pardon my skepticism, but I will have to confirm your identity."

"By all means."

"What is the password?"

It was hardly a test for Bane, who remembered many things about his erstwhile boss, including his obsession with the late king of rock and roll.

"Graceland."

"As they say in America . . . I'll be damned," Alexei grinned and made his way towards Bane. "It's been a long time," he extended his hand in a gesture of goodwill.

"Far too long," Bane reciprocated.

"I can't tell you how glad I am to have you here. I'd always hoped for this moment."

"The feeling is mutual. I'm also gratified to find you well."

"Make yourself at home," the host motioned to one of the many crushed velvet chairs. "Care for a drink?"

"No, thank you."

"You never were one for imbibing," he laughed as he lifted a decorative snifter from the cherry desk. "To your survival," he raised his glass in salutation.

Bane nodded in appreciation.

"We have a lot of catching up to do," Alexei said after his first sip of Courvoisier.

"As much as I would like to, I'm afraid I cannot stay long."

"That's unfortunate."

"It cannot be helped. Seeing as time is of the essence, I will be frank. As I am sure you know by now, the U.S. government has staked their claim on me."

"That's putting it lightly. I daresay the President would trade his own mother for you. Are you in urgent danger?"

"That I cannot say, which is why I am here."

"How's that?"

"I require the services of your covert operatives. I take it you are abreast of their identities."

"I'm afraid you have overestimated my reach."

"You are being somewhat specious."

I never said I had spies at my disposal."

"You didn't have to. I am quite capable of reading between the lines."

"Bane . . ."

"Need I remind you of the vow you made thirteen years ago?"

"I said I would help you if you ever needed it, and I will. But . . ."

"I believe 'repay' was the word you used."

"I remember what I said, but I cannot compromise our already shaky relations with the United States."

If Bane's first request left Alexei reluctant, his second—that of political asylum for him and his constituents—was likely to trigger a coronary episode in the middle-ager.

Disconcerted, Alexei arose from his navy, throne-like seat and proceeded to the wide, curtained window to his right.

"I realize the gravity of my appeal, but I assure you that my purpose is strictly observational. All I need is a set of eyes and ears in two organizations."

"And those would be?"

"The FBI and CIA."

After mumbling several select expletives in his native tongue, Alexei gathered himself and returned to his chair.

"I will not lie to you simply because of your maddening ability to detect dishonesty. The identities of our double-agents are known to me, but I hold no influence over them."

"I said nothing of influence. You need only vet them."

"Their dealings are monitored by our President himself. He could hardly be expected to approve of something that would gain his nation nothing except for maybe World War III, which, contrary to the opinions of many westerners, he has no desire to instigate."

"Do not mention it to anyone, especially not your superiors. Just finesse your sources for pertinent intelligence, and inform me of your findings on a routine basis."

"I've never asked for such information. Doing so out of the blue may arouse suspicion. They might even report me. I don't think you grasp how risky this is."

If the man who dared to question his intellect had been anyone other than the one whose assistance Bane was in need of, he would have found himself with a decimated windpipe.

"I am not obtuse," Bane retorted rather sternly in an attempt to relay his complete comprehension of the seriousness of the affair. "I am well-aware of the peril an ordinary official may face, however the last time I checked you were above reproach. Have things changed since then?"

"Things change every day, Bane."

"It is imperative that I become privy to their knowledge. We must remain several steps ahead of the powers-that-be if we are to evade apprehension."

"I sympathize with your dilemma, I do. But what you are asking is too dangerous. Please try to understand it from my perspective."

"You owe a debt. And since you never set the price, I have taken the liberty of doing so. I will not ask again."

Alexei attempted to swallow the substantial lump that had formed in his throat. As powerful a man as he was, Bane had his back to the wall. The reserved, soft-spoken, self-conscious young man he had taken under his wing over fourteen years ago had been succeeded by an adult who exuded pride and commanded respect. He would have admired the evolution were it not for its potential to bring about his undoing.

"Are you threatening me? Has it come to that?"

"I don't make threats."

That assertion was even more unnerving to Alexei.

"I'll make some calls," he conceded. "How can I contact you?"

"Give me your mobile line."

Alexei recorded his number and handed it to Bane, who then pulled out his own phone and called it.

"If you don't trust me when I'm right in front of you, how will you do so when I'm miles away?"

"Trust is to be earned, not bestowed indiscriminately, my friend."

"You don't trust me, yet you call me friend. How ironic."

"You will not disappoint me, Alexei. Of that I am certain."

Although he did not say so, Alexei knew it too.


August 31

Two weeks passed without incident. Alexei came through just as Bane knew he would. Much to his elation, the so-called elite American authorities had no leads whatsoever regarding the whereabouts of their brigade. Though things were going according to plan, he had yet to bring up the prospect of asylum; he thought it would be best to save that conversation for a later date in the event that the imbeciles actually did manage to get on the right path.

Due to the decrease in the League's activity, the compound was quiet for the most part. Bane missed the hubbub that went along with planning and strategizing for missions, but he also appreciated the rare silence that could be ended with one phone call.

On Friday evening, as he was getting ready to touch base with his nervous informant, Bane was flooded by memories of the past, namely those of Talia. Some were good, some bad, and every one of them left him feeling melancholic. He should have gone back to Nepal and rescued her before her crazed father had destroyed her innocence with his insanity. He would have been a better parent to her than Ra's ever was. He would have given her the moon and more. And even if he couldn't have, he had no doubt that she would be alive and well had he intervened when he'd had the chance.

Submitting to his despair was a luxury he could not afford; he needed to stay focused on the big picture, not just for his own welfare but also that of his men. In keeping with that goal he dialed Alexei at their agreed-upon hour with the hope that the incoming report would be similar to its predecessors. After stating the code word known only to the two of them, they got down to business.

"They have something," Alexei proclaimed somberly without giving his standard greeting.

"What?"

"A video of your man at a hotel in Spain back in April."

"That's impossible. The surveillance was disabled."

"You must have missed one. He was recorded in a hallway going into a suite rented by a man named Armando Reyes."

Once the shock wore off and he was able to process the information, Bane's heart sank into his stomach. Katharine had accompanied Barsad. If that infernal camera had captured his heir's image . . .

"Is there a woman on the tape?"

"Yes."

No!

He knew it had to be Katharine. He must have been a glutton for punishment because he continued his inquiry anyway.

"What does she look like?"

"Tall, pretty brunette."

"Black dress?"

As if he needed more.

"Do you know her?"

"What is the quality of this video?" Bane neglected to answer his question.

"Their faces are crystal clear."

Bane shuddered.

"When did it come into their possession?"

"This morning, their local time. They're planning on releasing it to the press tomorrow."

If that happened, Katharine's life would be forever ruined. The FBI would hunt her down. She would be tried, convicted, and thrown in prison for the rest of her life. He could not let that happen. He would not. He would die first.

"Listen to me very carefully, Alexei. That disk must be destroyed immediately."

"Are you out of your mind? The fucking thing's at CIA headquarters!"

"And so is your mole, which will make it easier for him to retrieve it!"

"This is not part of our deal! You said it would be strictly observational!"

"I don't care what I said, I want it gone! The issue is not up for debate!"

"You're absolutely right, it isn't. You listen to me now. I will not jeopardize our national security for anyone, not even you!"

Bane had not felt more helpless since his days in the pit. His rage consumed him, he would have bludgeoned the old man for his refusal had he been within his reach. He breathed deeply and tried to compose himself, but his effort was to no avail.

"I'll pay any price. Whatever you want, name it, and it is yours."

Alexei went silent.

"Tell me what you want!" Bane bellowed.

"It is not a matter of money. There are some things that cannot be bought. I'm sorry."

Bane closed his eyes tightly and wished it was all a nightmare from which he would wake. Horrifying images of the woman he had fallen in love with being arrested and detained for a crime she did not commit bombarded his fragile psyche. Her beautiful body being disgraced by one of those hideous, ill-fitting prison jumpsuits and shackled at the hands and feet as if she were some dangerous offender made him want to retch. So abhorrent were the pictures in his head that when he reopened his eyes a teary stream escaped them. He was a desperate man at the end of his rope, and desperate times called for desperate measures.

"Please, Alexei. I beg you."

Few things stunned the Russian; but most formidable man on the planet—the man who almost did away with an entire city—pleading to him did the trick.

"All right. I'll see what I can do. But I can't make any promises, Bane. Tell me you know that."

"I do. When can I call you?"

"I'll need a few hours."

"Very well."

"I'll speak with you soon."

Bane reluctantly hung up the phone. He would have stomped it to pieces had he not needed it then more than ever. He paced back and forth erratically and wondered how on earth . . .

Sullivan!

That Irish moron was responsible for the possibly irreparable disaster! He was the supervisor of the tech team, which meant the blunder was his. He would pay. Oh how he would pay for endangering the love of his life.

Fueled by fury, Bane marched blindly to the control room where Sullivan and Barsad were engaged in mindless chatter. Before either one of them had a chance to react he seized the transgressor by his puny neck.

"What the hell are you doing?" Barsad yelled.

"You idiot! You fucking cretin! You have one job! One simple job, and you can't even do that right!" he exerted increasing pressure on the transgressor's trachea.

"Stop it! Let him go, God damn it!" Barsad demanded and latched onto Bane in a futile attempt to pull him off his fool of a friend.

Further incensed by Barsad's audacity, he shoved him away and continued his assault on his well-deserving prey. Sullivan's face went red and he choked violently for air, but Bane was not about to show him mercy for such gross negligence.

Barsad was up and on him again in a flash.

"Bane! Bane, stop! You're killing him!"

"Get off of me unless you want to die with him!"

"Let go!" he shouted even louder.

More livid than he had ever been in his life, Bane turned his attention to Barsad while the freed Sullivan plummeted to the floor and gasped for air.

"He botched the Reyes job!" Bane roared. "He missed one of the cameras! The CIA has you on video thanks to his stupidity! And Katharine," he added in a lower, kinder tone.

"Killing him won't undo that," Barsad argued.

"No, but he deserves it," Bane countered and went for Sullivan again. He didn't have to do much, as the pathetic worm was still trying to recuperate.

"Don't do it! You're better than that!"

It was no use. Despite his attempts to intercede, Barsad knew that his friend's fate was sealed. Sullivan was going to be murdered right in front of him, and there was not a thing he could do to stop it. Bane was like a rabid animal no man could tame. No man, but maybe a woman.

"Bane, think of Kate!"

How dare he try to use his beloved as leverage? No matter, it would do him no good regardless.

"She wouldn't want you to do this! You know she wouldn't!"

"This is not your concern!"

"She'd want you to spare him!"

"Shut up now or you will soon join him!"

The life began to fade from Sullivan's eyes. The sight was nothing new to Bane; he had seen it countless times before. The sentence was fair, he would have no guilt over it.

And then he envisioned Katharine's reaction had she been there to witness his vindictive behavior. She would have carried on in protest the same as Barsad, probably to an even greater degree. She would have sought clemency for the jackass despite the damage his oversight had inflicted.

And she would cry.

He had caused her too many tears already. The mere thought of her shedding more was too much to bear. So it was for her and her alone that he reluctantly released the reprehensible dolt and retreated to his quarters to await the moment of truth.


Author's Note: I hope you all like that little cliffhanger. I was happy to see a few new reviewers, faves, and follower last time around. That really made me happy; I always love hearing from you guys. Your enthusiasm helps sustain my zeal for this so thank you all very much for the warm reception you've shown me :)