Batman and the associated characters are owned by DC. James Bond and the associated characters were created by Ian Fleming. With thanks to Cmar for beta reading this for me and thanks to all the reviewers and readers so far! All reviews welcome.

Golden Bat – Chapter Eighteen

Bond cursed to himself. He had been foolish, he should have gunned down Speen as soon as they had killed Alvey.

"As one professional to the other," said Speen. "Where do you want the bullet? I won't draw this out any longer than needed."

There was a shadow behind Speen? Someone was creeping up on him.

"I was thinking of your head?" Bond patted the top of his head.

Speen chuckled to himself. "Choose your next comment wisely, for it will be your last." Speen pointed the gun at Bond's head and then slumped to the ground as Alfred crowned him exactly where Bond had requested. Behind him was a rather satisfied looking Alfred holding the remains of a ming vase.

"Thank you, Alfred," said Bond.

"You look terrible, Mr Bond," said Alfred, holding an umbrella in one hand and the remains of the vase in the other. "We really should get you inside and let's take a look at those injuries."

"I'm fine."

"You sound just like Master Bruce. I will not have you leaving drops of blood about the house, it is so difficult to shift from the Persian carpets." Alfred tutted to himself. "Come on inside, please sir."

Bond dragged Speen up the garden path towards the house.

Alfred looked over at the body of Alvey. "Is that Mr…?"

"Alvey. Yes. Sorry about your garden."

"Don't worry about it, sir," said Alfred. "I've been meaning to get the gardeners in to change the design."

They walked through the wrecked window. Bond dragged Speen to a chair and expertly tied him up to it. Alfred walked out of the room saying something about getting a first aid kit.

Selina slinked up to see him. "James," she lightly touched his sodden suit and placed a finger on his cut lip. "Let's get you out of these wet clothes."

Batman wrenched the Joker to a halt and they looked back at the tunnel. Where they had been was a mass of smoke and dust. Streams of masonry still streamed down from the tunnel where the steel pellets had ricocheted.

The mine was a directional mine and only facing one way. Batman had simply run in the opposite direction to it.

Batman grabbed the Joker's lapels and looked him in the eyes from about three inches away. "One chance. Are there any more traps up ahead?"

"Nope."

"Really?"

"Definitely not."

"Seriously?"

"Well, one or two."

Batman pressed the Joker up, one-handed, against the tunnel wall. His voice was like jagged steel. "How many?"

"One, just the one." The Joker put his one free hand to his mouth while he thought. "Maybe two. Do water pistols count as a trap?"

"No."

"Even if they shoot acid?"

"Yes."

"Four then." He thought for a bit longer. "Maybe five. I mean I don't tend to think of them as traps but as surprises! They are like my babies to me! You wouldn't make me kill my own children, would you?" He looked cherubically at Batman.

"Yes!"

"I like you when you're angry!"

"You're going first. If we trip off one more trap I'll make you eat it."

"You're making me go all goosepimply!"

Batman pushed the Joker in front of him. He stopped. "What now?"

There was a hissing sound and a stream of acid came shooting out of the wall. Judging by the smell it was hydrochloric acid. "Such a shame to waste good acid…" He looked down sorrowfully as the acid started eating through the bottom of the sewer. "Come on, Batso, time's a wastin'" Behind them they could see the nano-droids start to form up again…

Donnington Speen woke up to a splitting headache.

"What was I drinking last night?"

He looked about the room to see James Bond looking clean and fresh and wearing a rather luxuriant bath robe. There was a very attractive lady next to him. She gave Speen a rather studied look. There was another man next to her. A small balding man who nevertheless held himself with a certain quiet dignity. Alfred, of course. His memory was starting to come back to him. A third man was busy getting himself a drink in the corner. Something about him was familiar to him…

"Where am I?"

"Wayne Manor."

"Ah," he said and tried to stand up, then realised he was tied down. "Alfred, apologies about the trying to kill you thing, strictly business. And I don't know the lady's name. I would shake your hand but I'm rather tied up at the moment." He gave a half smile. "Is this how you greet all your guests?"

"Guests carrying guns, yes," said Alfred. "You're lucky Mr Wayne did not find you…"

"Why?"

"You still have all your teeth."

The other man turned around. "Oh no, Felix Leiter, you old fraud. What are you doing here? I thought Langley would have retired you?"

"Hi Donny, nice to see you again," said Leiter. His smile did not touch his eyes.

"Well, this is all very pleasant and a bit like an episode of 'This is your Life'." He looked about anxiously. "You're not going to bring out my parents and old school friends, are you?"

Bond smiled. "No. We just want some information before we turn you over to the GPD for murder."

"Anything to help out the old firm."

Bond's face was like steel. "Where's Blofeld?"

"China." Donnington squinted a bit. "Or is it Italy? It might be Chile, you know… You know what Ernst is like, he does like a holiday."

Leiter got out a hypodermic from a small black case he was carrying.

Donnington chuckled. "Oh, please. What's that: scopolamine or sodium pentothal? I've been trained by British Intelligence to resist all truth drugs."

"Who said it's a truth drug?"

Speen paled slightly. "What is it?"

Leiter grinned. "You're gonna love this, Donny." He raised the hypodermic to eye level. "Pure alcohol!"

On the corner of Third Avenue and Seventh Street a manhole cover was levered off and three rather battered and, above all, smelly-looking people emerged.

"Thank goodness, air!" said the Joker. "I don't want to say that you should change your cologne, but really!" He held a handkerchief under his nose.

In the distance could be heard several sirens. Ambulances, and lots of them. Batman walked to the sidewalk to see several people slumped down. He grabbed the Joker. "Is this your doing?"

"Me? When I send people to the afterlife I at least make sure they have a smile on their face." The Joker looked down at the one of the bodies. The people were still twitching. "It's our new-found friend ghostboy, or whatever his name is. When he killed my gang it started off like this." He looked about the streets of Gotham. "I can only assume it is a lot less concentrated out here. In the tunnel they lasted less than five minutes."

Robin knelt next to one of the people. "They're still alive, just."

Batman pressed a button on his utility belt. In the distance there was the thrum of a V8 engine starting. In seconds a sleek black car pulled in next to them.

"Eeerrrmm, Batty?"

"What?"

"Much as being chained to you is like a dream come true, you couldn't loosen the bracelets a smidgeon, could you, ducky?"

Donnington tried to squirm away from the needle but couldn't. Bond held his one good arm tightly so that a vein would appear and then Leiter injected in the hypodermic. A feeling like ice crept up his arm and his vision suddenly got blurred. Very blurred. In fact everything was in double.

There was a voice. Concentrate on the voice. What was the voice saying?

"Whhhheeerree iiisssss Bbblloooffeeellldd?"

What were they saying? Blofeld? Why didn't they know where Blofeld was? Everyone knows where Blofeld is! It's obvious.

"He's in his sheadqwarterts," he tried to say. Why was he having trouble speaking? What was wrong with him?

"Blllooofffeeeellldddd?" That was Bond, wasn't it? That face in front of him. Alfred was looking very disapproving in the background. Why was he disapproving?

"He'sh in Smolumbia." He shook his head to clear it slightly. "Collfumblia."

"California?"

He shook his head irritably. He was trying to help! Just to clear up this small problem they had. "Colander."

"Canada?"

"No! No! Cam.. Col.. Camerlnonoe."

"Cameroon?"

Why didn't they understand him! "Caslumbia."

"Casablanca?"

"I believe the gentleman is trying to say Colombia, sir."

Donnington shook his head, grateful for the help. That was not a good idea; it made his head spin.

"Where in Colombia?"

"Ciiuiodjalj…"

"We'll untie one arm," said Bond irritably. "Just point to it on the map."

Gotham Police Station was a riot of noise and officers checking in perps. The station front desk was a lime green. Some battered and fading chairs were next to the reception window. The window was bulletproof but someone evidently thought that was not enough and had covered it in a steel mesh and bars. Anyone speaking to the receptionist did so via a microphone. That was installed after the Scarecrow paid a visit one evening with his fear gas.

That was something that the receptionist was rather pleased about when she saw two rather pungent looking vigilantes dragging in a smelly looking Joker.

"Can I help?" came the tinny voice from the other side.

"I'd like to report a missing sense of humour from these two," said the Joker before he was pushed roughly to one side.

"Tell Gordon I want to see him and get someone to book the Joker in."

"Certainly Batman, please take a seat. He'll be down shortly." She gave them a long look, taking in what they were covered in. "Actually, would you mind standing?" She nodded. "Thanks. If you're going to drip please stand on the mat. Thank you."

Two heavily armoured policemen came in to put the Joker into a straitjacket while a third kept a gun trained on him. "Oh, not white again. It's really not my colour; I did ask about a purple straitjacket last time, I know I did. If you're going to take my clothes could you please have them properly laundered and ironed? And last time I stayed here I lost my stiletto comb with the little happy face on it. What day is it, by the way?"

"Thursday," said one of the policemen as he pushed the Joker none too gently down the corridor towards the cells.

"Oh no, it's not pizza night again, is it?"

"Yes."

"Please ask the chef to make the pizza into a smiley face with the salami and cheese this time. Last time it was cold by the time I'd finished doing that."

"No."

"The room service in this place is terrible. The customer is always right!"

Still jabbering away, the Joker was lead off.

The door opened again and a rather harassed looking Gordon walked in. "Geez, Batman you look like…"

"We've got to talk."

"You got the warhead then?"

Batman patted his utility belt. "Got the plutonium for it. The mechanism is in the tunnels under Gotham."

"Let us know where it is and I'll send my boys down to get it."

He shook his head. "No. Not yet. There is something nasty down there. Nano-droids."

"Nano-droids?"

"Judging by the streets of Gotham, there are a lot out there. They are infecting people."

"Geez, that's what it is? There must be a way to stop them?"

"You might be able to shock them out with electricity, but I don't know how much."

"Batman, we've got over 200,000 casualties at the moment and that number is rising quickly."

Batman put a gloved hand over his eyes. "Any deaths?" he whispered.

"Not yet, but the doctors say people will start dying in 48 hours."

"I've got to go." Batman gestured to Robin. "Come on, Robin." He stalked towards the door. "Robin, come on."

He turned around. Robin was looking very pale and staring at the floor. "I don't feel very…"

Batman picked the boy up and walked out of the station. His pulse was weak and fluttering and his skin was pale. He had picked up a dose of nano-droids. Batman pressed a button on his belt and his car purred up next to him.

With a swish sound the door opened and he laid Robin down gently on the seat. He leapt into the driver's seat and the car roared off down the streets. Down either side of the street were ambulances and people lying collapsed and huddled on street corners.

He clenched the steering wheel and glanced at Robin. He was still alive, at least there was that. He pressed the accelerator and roared out of Gotham towards the cave…

Thirty minutes later, a newly clean and changed Bruce Wayne, carrying Tim Drake, walked into his living room to see a rather surprising sight. Apart from the unexpected hole in the wall, that is. There was Speen, tied to a chair, but looking curiously happy with his lot; and a man he did not know.

Felix Leiter walked up to him. "Hi, Mr Wayne." He put out his hand. "My name is Felix Leiter. I work for the…"

"CIA, I assume," said Bruce. He did not return the handshake. "What is going on in my house?"

"Master Bruce," said Alfred. "This gentlemen," he pointed at Speen, "and his colleague Dane, who is currently tied up in the kitchen, entered the house and tried to kill us. If it was not for Mr Bond and Miranda they would have succeeded." Bruce walked to the window and took in the scene of devastation in a second. There was a lightning flash that showed the hunched and battered body of Alvey. He clenched his fist. "There is a body in my garden."

"That is Mr Damian Alvey. Bond and Speen had to kill him…"

His voice was like ice. "Had to? In my garden?"

Felix Leiter grinned at Bruce. "My boys can clear up this mess, don't worry."

"Don't worry? You kill someone in my garden. Half of Gotham is dying and Ro… Tim is as well, and you say don't worry?"

Bond stood up. "Apologies for spoiling your hospitality, Bruce, but we've got some bigger problems."

Bruce put Tim down on the sofa. He was very pale and his skin was starting to go blotchy.

"I know." He looked at Bond. "How do we stop them?"

Leiter spoke. "Speen has been singing like Tweety Pie."

Speen was grinning away on the chair and was singing a song about a lady of rather dubious morals.

"So I hear," grimaced Bruce.

"Blofeld has the controls for the nano-droids in his base. We're going to send in a strike team lead by Bond."

"I want to be in on it."

"I don't think you are qualified…"

Bond interrupted. "Let him come as well. Believe me, he will be useful."

"Okay. Blofeld has issued his proclamation to the UN. They have been keeping it under wraps at the moment, but they are having an emergency summit to discuss his proposals. The doctors in Gotham reckon there is about 47 hours before people start dying. Blofeld wants his answer in 46 hours or he will release his rockets on all the major capitals of the world."

A car purred up outside the manor. It was a black Cadillac with tinted windows. "Okay, Mr Wayne. We will be leaving in ten minutes, so Jim can get changed. We will send a clean-up squad to your place shortly." He started smiling. "You won't know we've been here. Do you want us to look after your boy?"

"No." Bruce shook his head. "I'd rather Alfred looked after him. I'll just collect some equipment."

Ten minutes later they were in a car and being driven at great speed out of the Gotham area. Streams of cars were already leaving Gotham as people were gathering what they could and abandoning the city. After ten minutes the car was stuck in traffic. They had to abandon the car by the side of the road and after a quick phone call they were in a helicopter heading towards the airport.

"Where are we going?"

"Gotham Airport," said Leiter. "We've got a jet plane to Belize. Bond is picking up a team of British Special Air Services there to lead into Colombia."

"Why not our special services?"

"This is just an insurgency force. We are gathering our Marines as we speak. When Bond and his boys find the base we'll storm it. However there are certain political niceties to be involved here. We can't just invade a sovereign country, but if we let the Colombians know Blofeld could find out, and we don't want him pressing that button too soon. That's why we want Bond and his boys to finish off Blofeld quickly and quietly."

Bruce looked at his watch. It showed a countdown of under 46 hours.

"How are we getting in?"

"You scared of heights, Bruce?"

"No."

"Good. You're just going to love that bit."