Three days later
Bruce walked down Jericho Avenue like he did every weekday afternoon. The prestigious academy was set back from the busy street, a tall wrought iron fence keeping a safe perimeter around the entire institution, with a vast array of monitoring equipment and security measures unseen by the average pedestrian. The old, well-established primary school was full of tykes from moneyed families and every precaution was taken.
Inside the borders, children ranging in all sizes and shapes ran around in various games or utilized the play equipment, most waiting for nannies or butlers to pick them up after a long day of learning.
Bruce paused and scanned the energetic horde for a familiar dark headed dervish. Usually she was on the look out for him and would come running immediately upon his arrival, but for some reason she was nowhere to be found.
Frowning, he went into the building and walked to her classroom. The teacher, a young woman named Nina Cambridge, was grading an assignment as he knocked on her door. She looked up and took only a moment to place him, smiling warmly in greeting. "Mr. Wayne, what a surprise! What can I do for you?"
"I'm looking for Isabella. She's not outside."
She frowned and said, "That's weird. She was called to the front office about an hour before class let out. Maybe she's still there."
He thanked her and walked to the far end of the building, a strange feeling of foreboding growing within.
The school secretary's smile was far less welcoming than the teacher's had been. "How can I help you, sir?" she asked with reserved civility.
"I'm Bruce Wayne, I'm looking for my daughter, Isabella. Ms. Cambridge said she was called down here this afternoon. Is there a problem?"
"Problem?" the woman echoed in a way that Bruce did not like at all. She stood up and said, "You'd better speak with Mr. Kilbourn," and went into the office behind her desk.
Bruce had met the man on several occasions. He was tall and slender with thinning ash blonde hair and wire-rimmed spectacles. His long strides brought him to Bruce's side in no time, one hand stretched out in greeting, and a smile perfected from dealing with Gotham's elite for almost quarter of a century. "Mr. Wayne, Donald Kilbourn. How are you doing today?"
"I'll be better once I see my daughter," Bruce replied ignoring the hand entirely.
"Yes, yes I can see how you'd be worried, but her mother picked her up over an hour ago. I'm surprised she didn't mention it to you."
Bruce blinked at him. "So am I," he said wryly, pulling out his cell phone. It rang almost five times before she finally picked up with a haggard greeting. "It's me. Did you pick Isabella up from school today?"
"Oh heavens no!" she panted. "I just barely got back to my desk. The department head meeting went all day. I thought Breckenridge would never shut up--" She stopped for a hard moment. "What do you mean did I pick her up? Where is she?"
"I'll call you back." He hung up the phone. To Kilbourn he said, "What did this woman look like? How did you know it was her?"
The man paled and then turned a beet red. "Well…well," he started. "Mrs. Wayne has only been in a few times, but I remembered that…that…" he gulped.
Bruce repeated slowly, "What did she look like?"
"She was petite, dressed in business attire. Short brown hair. Glasses…"
"Glasses? My wife doesn't wear glasses," he said heatedly as he pulled his billfold out of his jacket, flipping it open to a collection of photos. "Did she look like this?" he asked tapping Mardi's picture.
"Oh, well there are some, you know, similarities, but I…I…"
"Did she look like this, exactly like this?" Bruce pressed.
"No sir, she didn't," Kilbourn finally admitted dejectedly. "Mr. Wayne, I am so sorry. She was very convincing, and from what I recalled of your wife…"
Bruce turned away from the man and started to walk out, when an idea made him go back. He knew what he must look like, imposing, intimidating, the look designed specifically to chill the most cold-hearted criminal. Kilbourn's mouth was slightly agape and his hands took an automatic defensive gesture, palms held out as if to ward off an attack. "Isabella would have known that wasn't her mother. How did she go with her willingly?"
"Oh, well, you see, she said she would wait in her car and I was to bring the child out to her."
"The car, what was it?"
"Uh, red, sir, one of those new red hover cars. The sporty ones." Just like the one he'd gotten for her last birthday.
"Did you notice the plate numbers?"
"No sir," Kilbourn said, almost resolved to his fate of certain career death, if not actual death at Bruce's hands.
This time he did leave, a thousand thoughts and feelings coursing through him. His daughter had been kidnapped. He'd dealt with hundreds of kidnappings and knew the statistics. Forty percent. The figure loomed darkly in his mind. Only forty percent of kidnapped victims were successfully returned after payoff. With their hands tied up in bureaucratic red tape, the police were next to useless in these situations. He'd intervened enough times to know just how it worked.
Once out on the street his phone chirped and a quick glance at the caller ID confirmed his suspicion. "It's going to be okay," he started.
"Okay? Where is she? You just call up and ask me some question about whether or not I picked up Isabella and then hang up on me? What's happening?"
He swallowed and stopped on the street corner while a group of about a dozen people crossed. "Someone came to the school impersonating you and took her away." Where he expected loud vocalizations of anger he received only silence. "Mardi?" he asked gently. Her breathing came in loud gasps and he thought he heard a choked sob. "It's going to be alright," he repeated vehemently.
"She…she…she…Oh god Bruce this can't be happening!"
"It is. I want you to go home."
"Where will you be?"
"I'll be right there." She hyperventilated a bit more. "Mardi? Go home."
"I know, I am." He heard one last sob before disconnecting.
Reactivating the phone, he dialed another number. "We have a situation."
Barbara Gordon and three of the best officers from the Major Crimes Unit waited patiently in the study of Wayne Manor, ready to monitor and track the inevitable ransom call on the state-of-the-art equipment they'd brought with them. Bruce was calm, cool, and collected on the outside as he sat at his office desk, but inside he was on a slow boil. Mardi paced, bit at her fingernails, mumbled incoherently, and in general looked frailer than he'd ever seen her before, as if some vital essence had been sapped from her being, and Bruce supposed that was exactly what had happened.
Outside another early winter storm raged, though this time instead of fluffy white snow, the heavens dropped a merciless freezing rain, coating everything without shelter in a cold icy shell. Trees drooped from the weight and roads had become slick and deadly. The rain tapped at the windows like an insistent visitor and the chill seeped around them unabated by the fire raging in the old stone hearth across the room.
At precisely six o'clock, five hours since Isabella's disappearance, the call came.
He put his hand on the phone and waited for Barb's signal. On the count of three they picked up at the same time. "Yes?" he said.
"Mr. Wayne," a male voice, cultured and slightly accented, greeted him. "By now I'm sure you're missing something very valuable."
"What have you done with her?"
"Your little girl is very safe, I assure you. Shall we skip to the business end of this little ordeal?"
"Let me speak with her."
"No. That's not possible right now."
"Let me speak with her or I'm hanging up the phone." Barb narrowed her eyes in displeasure but stayed silent; Mardi looked about ready to faint.
"You are in no position to make demands," the voice told him, an emotional edge creeping in.
"You want my money, you need my cooperation. You get neither until I'm convinced she's still alive." The cops in the room shot each other looks of skepticism, but they took their cues from their boss and stayed out of it. Mardi collapsed into a chair.
There was silence on the other end of the phone. Bruce counted to twenty before the voice finally spoke up again. "Very well. Here she is."
"Daddy?" the small voice came over the line and never had he been so happy to hear anything.
"It's me, baby," he said softly, trying to keep the tension out of his voice for fear of scaring her. "Have they hurt you?"
"No," she said slowly. "They said if I'm not good, they'll take Minnie away." Minnie was her doll and constant companion. Then suddenly she was crying. "I'm sorry Daddy. I thought it was Mommy. I know never to go with strangers, but it looked like her car and…and…" she fell into incoherent sobs that grew distant as he imagined her being pulled away from the phone.
"Are you satisfied now, Mr. Wayne?" the voice returned.
"Yes. Now what do you want?"
"$250 million. I trust that won't set you back too much?"
"No," he responded flatly. "Where do you want me to bring it?"
"Not you, Mr. Wayne. The currier will be your wife." He frowned and looked at Mardi, who, sensing something was amiss, came forward and placed her head next to the phone. Despite his better judgment, he angled it towards her.
"Why?"
"Quite simple. You might be willing to sacrifice yourself, try some tragically futile heroics that could ruin what would otherwise be a flawless plan, but with your wife involved, I trust you will make sure my instructions are followed to the letter, for fear of losing two things most precious to you. Do you understand?"
"Clearly. When and where?"
"Not just yet. You will be called in exactly twelve hours. All will be revealed then. That should give you sufficient time to get the money – unmarked currency of course – together. And you should both get a good night's sleep, Mr. Wayne. You're going to have a long day tomorrow." The phone went dead in his hand.
He hung up and stood, pulling Mardi against him, but she didn't cry, only sighed very deeply. "It's going to be fine, I promise." He pushed her gently away. "Why don't you go upstairs, try to get some sleep."
"Do you really expect me to sleep at a time like this?"
"Like the man said, tomorrow is going to be very long and very hard. You'll need your rest." He pulled a small medicine bottle out of his shirt pocket. "Sleeping pills," he told her. "Very low dosage. Take one."
"I can't."
"Yes you can. I need you at full capacity. She needs you." That seemed to do the trick. She took the bottle from him.
"What will you be doing?"
"I'm going to call the bank about getting together the funds. It shouldn't take too long. I'll probably be there before you're even asleep." The lie tasted bitter in his mouth, but he gave her a reassuring smile and smoothed her hair lovingly. A final kiss on the lips sealed the deal and she left the room.
With a look to Barbara, she dismissed the officers who were busy collecting the data received from the call. They looked dubious, but did not question their superior as they filed out. Alone she turned to him, "You can't do this."
He had already stripped off his jacket and removed his tie. He sat down at the desk and turned on the computer's monitor. He had already booted up and accessed the Cray's down below before the cops had arrived. "Do what?"
"Let me handle this, Bruce."
"Forty percent," was his only reply.
"It's not as bad as that," she insisted.
"It's unacceptable."
Barbara sighed and returned to the equipment. "They've traced the call to the northern docks, eight hundred block."
"Eight forty seven," he told her, pulling up a map on his own monitor, a pulsing red light pinpointing the call's origination. She looked up, remembering just how powerful the Batcomputer was.
"Well that narrows it down," she smiled. "Now we just have to get a swat team over there."
"No," he said standing up. "That's too dangerous."
"Bruce," she warned harshly. "This is not a good idea."
Ignoring her he removed his dress shirt. Underneath he had on a black T-shirt. He was already wearing black trousers and boots. From a briefcase he'd inconspicuously set next to his desk, he pulled out a black flack jacket and ski mask.
"This is crazy," she tried once again to dissuade him. "Don't you remember what happened the last time you tried something like this? You barely made it home in one piece and had to be rushed to the hospital in cardiac arrest."
"It was the suit. It put too much strain on my body." He zipped up the jacket and placed the cap on his head, not covering his face just yet.
"But without it you're completely defenseless!"
"Not completely," he replied. "Besides, I'm not planning on engaging anyone if I can help it. I'll locate Isabella, get her out, and then you'll send in the troops for clean-up."
"It's too risky." He didn't acknowledge her as he started placing various items from the bottom of the briefcase in the jacket's multitude of pockets. She leaned forward on the desk. "Think about it for a moment. You get in there and all hell breaks loose, what are you going to do?"
"She's my daughter, Barbara," he said looking directly into her eyes. "I'm not going to play the what-if game and I'm not going to leave her fate up to the whims of these people. They took her from me," he said with feeling. "If there was ever a time for me to risk everything for another person, it's now. I will get her back safely and I'd like your help."
Barb sighed. "You have always been a manipulative, stubborn SOB." He held out a hand to her and she noticed the small device lying in the palm. With barely a hesitation she picked it up and put it in her ear.
"I'll stay in contact and let you know when it's safe to go in."
"I'll have a dozen units waiting at a distance of two blocks an any direction."
"Good."
He started to leave and she called out to him. "Bruce. If something does happen to you, what should I tell her?"
He raised his eyes to the ceiling and briefly debated going up to kiss her goodbye. "If something happens, tell her she married an old fool who never knew when to quit." With one foot out the door he added, "And that I love her." He pulled down the mask, now dressed very much like he did during his first attempt at vigilantism, and went to the garage, choosing an all-terrain jeep from the long row of rarely used vehicles, pausing long enough to add chains to the tires.