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Batman 1939: Swimming in the Styx

Chapter 27: Don't Cross the Streams


The woodlands of Maryland.

Batman and Wonder Woman left Amanda Waller behind in the forest clearing. They did nothing to threaten or restrain her before they walked away; she was in no shape to follow. Batman estimated that Waller would wander at least an hour before she found the edge of the forest, and it was anyone's guess when she might reach a home with a telephone. These rustic townships could be awfully simple that way.

Batman had parked the Packard behind a small hill. He drove awhile through a nearby stream to hide tracks of their direction out. Wonder Woman sat tall in the passenger's seat with a determined smile. It was untroubled and defiant. He had never seen her in the light of day.

When they reached the road, Wonder Woman pointed ahead. "I know this land. When we near the city, I can guide us to Virgina."

Batman stopped the car. Her smile didn't waver, but her eyes grew concerned. "Have we exhausted our fuel again?"

Batman said nothing for a time. He stared out the windshield. "You came to me for help in finding your man Trevor. Now you have his address. I'll take you this airport, then we go our separate ways."

"I don't-" Wonder Woman looked at him, then ahead, then back at him again. Her smile collapsed. "I don't understand."

"I'll make do without his confession."

"But what if my path proves false or incomplete? I may need your wisdom further."

"No. We're done."

She struggled to stay composed, "But- But why? Why this?"

Batman said nothing.

She grabbed his arm with both of hers. "Face me and tell me why!"

Batman's free hand moved under the dashboard and rested on a hidden knob. He slowly faced her, but still he said nothing.

She waited wide-eyed for a response. When none returned, she exhaled bitterly but didn't squeeze. "Why this, Batman?"

"Because you're a zealot."

She released him. "What is a zealot?"

"A fanatic. A person who can't weigh consequences, who can't pursue their goals reasonably."

"And who are you to judge my employment of reason?"

"When you sought me out, you were desperate, and that's fine. Desperation is a sane reaction to crisis. But there is a limit."

"I pursue only what I need to-"

"To get what you want, you need to stay alive. And clearly you aren't committed to that."

"I am!"

"Amanda Waller just confessed to murdering you in cold blood, carefully and at enormous expense, and she didn't show a hint of remorse. When you agreed to her plan, I was sure you were setting her up for a trick, but no. It's incredible: you sincerely intend to try."

"You agreed as well!"

"I lied. It scares her to think we work together."

"Then let us scare her to her death!"

"Her confession ought to teach you enough, but let me explain who you're dealing with. I've studied Amanda Waller. She manipulates. She never stops. People are cards in a deck to her. She plays them without a thought.

"How could her proposal be a deception? We caught her asleep in a fire! She could not know we would be there. And how could she plot? She couldn't have been more disoriented or further from safety."

"I agree, it's beyond belief this was set-up from the beginning. She's reacting. Yet even then she read us in minutes. She improvised a story and sold you on it. That's how good she is. There's no reason to believe that if you go where she wants that you won't be greeted by a firing squad, or that your airplane won't have a bomb aboard. Waller prepares for these opportunities. I've seen it."

"But her saga matched so many facts we've found. How could she know what we knew?"

"I don't doubt there's some truth to her pitch. Great manipulators deal in half-truths. Even without a trap, she's sending us alone into the heart of a nascent civil war on the far end of another continent. If she wants to get rid of us, that's a sound strategy."

Wonder Woman considered this. "What does nascent mean?"

"And she wasn't so clever. She had to invent an evil sorceress as the villain."

Wonder Woman shrugged. "What about it?"

Batman paused and looked at her. He took a measured tone. "I don't know what counts as normal in your home, but there's no magic here."

"I'm here. Would your innocent scholars not call me magic?" she asked with a condescension he had never heard from her.

"You are … theory-breaking, but demonstrating the existence of one class of the impossible doesn't confirm every other class of the impossible. Possessing bodies, reading minds; that's altogether different from your thick skin. We have no proof of other anomalies, native or visiting."

Wonder Woman looked away with deep doubt on her face. "You forget. There is another."

Batman narrowed his eyes at her. "I-" Then he remembered; he felt like an imbecile for forgetting.

As one, they looked at the golden cord at her hip. She unwound a length and held it gently between her hands. It glowed.

"We Amazons partake little in magic. We know of such powers: tales of demons and obscene things, and the spirits of the elements and spirits of symbols and wilder forces besides. Most are strange to us, but we treat the stories with great solemnity. Our singular magic lay in the divine tools gifted by our patrons. They are holy to us and precious beyond measure. This lariat is a snare of Truth. Its captives share no falsehoods or omissions of any sort. You know this, I think."

Batman repressed a churning in his stomach. "Yes."

Wonder Woman looked down at the cord, seeming almost regretful. "It is mine to use, as we knew your world was full of lies, but it was issued with the caution that such a sacred tool must not be swung easily or crassly. It is a last resort, and furthermore, I swore to take every pain to keep its power secret."

"You used it on me."

"I believed you one of the demons or obscene things. Or worse, a man who consorted with them."

Much later, Batman would be flattered by this. "You're sharing the secret now."

"Did you not suspect its purpose?" She looked at him with a passion. "But our speech shall not divert. You speak of reason? Do not believe me stupid, Batman. Amanda Waller admitted to seeking my death. She has no honor. I know this. I also know her malice pales next to the Nazi menace as a candle to the sun, and I must marshal my efforts against the true enemy. You speak of reason? it seems unreasonable to me that such a diversity of magic can be known to one lone island and not exist at all in the world beyond. Her story of a magic Nazi sounds reasonable to my ears. But now I challenge you: if I prove it true beyond doubt, is that not a threat worth any effort to confront?"

Batman glanced again at the cord. He considered this. Then he conceded a short nod, put the Packard into gear, and turned back into the forest.

As he drove, Wonder Woman still inspected her golden rope, now with a guilty air. "I must confess, perhaps I have used my vow to excuse a prejudice. I vowed to use this holy weapon to bring the worst of Mankind under loving submission. I never dreamed of using it on a woman. I have been blinded though my journey by my expectation that any woman who has risen to power in your world must be of shining virtue. I had hoped so much of Amanda Waller. Clearly I was wrong. It is most disheartening to say this, but perhaps we are all, Man and Woman, born ready for impiety."

Batman gave no reaction.

Wonder Woman added, "Though Man far moreso, of course."

Batman shot her a dubious glance.

They soon reached the clearing of Waller's interrogation. She was gone, but Wonder Woman studied Waller's prints in the grass. They found her heading and set off deeper into the woods. They found Waller in two minutes.

Waller did a double-take as Batman stepped out of the bushes. "Ugh, what now?"

Batman paced up to her. "I decided I needed more convincing."

"What do you mean convi-ouch!" Waller looked down and saw Batman pulling a syringe out of her shoulder. She jumped back. "The hell was that?"

Batman returned the syringe to his belt. "A tongue loosener. My recipe."

"How the- Hey!"

Batman produced a blindfold and swiftly wrestled it around her head. "The drug makes your eyes sensitive. This will save your retinas."

"Get off me this second!" Waller struggled to pull off the blindfold, but Batman held her by her wrists and pulled them behind her back. "Stop." He nodded into the bushes. Wonder Woman crept silently out and wrapped her golden cord around Waller's wrists, securing them behind her back. She retreated a few paces.

Batman ordered, "Pay attention."

Waller asked, "Where's Diana?" She called out, "Diana! Diana!"

Wonder Woman's lifted an eyebrow but said nothing.

Batman said, "Diana's gone ahead. I told her I forgot something."

Waller snorted and spat. "Finally living down to your reputation."

Batman ignored her. "What's your social security number?"

Waller's expression turned puzzled, then shocked. Her jaw moved like she was chewing. Then she recited a number. Afterward, she looked nauseous. "What have you done to me?"

Batman glanced at Wonder Woman who gave him a meaningful look. Batman asked Waller, "What's your most cherished childhood memory?"

Waller answered, "When I was young, I'd sit with Nana Gloria on this tree swing in the park. She'd buy me a can of pop, even though Mama said it'd rot my teeth to the gums and never kept any in the house. Nana and I'd watch the fireflies come out in the evening, and I'd ask Nana whatever was on my mind, and she'd be the only adult who answered me like I mattered." Waller was quiet for a moment. She looked at the ground. "Batman, stop. Please."

Batman crossed his arms "Your story: the Argentinians and Captain Trevor and Der Wehrwulf. Is it all true?"

"Every word."

"You were possessed by a magical Nazi spymaster who had also possessed Carmine Falcone?"

"Yes."

"And you're confident Der Wehrwulf is heading to Argentina right now to adopt a spy ring by stealing their whereabouts out of Trevor's head?"

"Yes."

"And we're the best option to stop her? There aren't other assets you could use?"

"After I make my report? They'll put me in isolation until they're sure I'm not still being possessed. And that's if I convince them I was possessed. Otherwise I just sent sent forty-some men to their deaths and might have sparked a new war. It'll be a miracle if I don't die in prison."

"Are there any details you neglected to tell us that would affect our survival?"

"We really don't know much." Waller thought for a moment. "The German agents who tried to rescue Trevor. I believe they're subjects of the Peña Duro process."

"No one's ever survived."

"We don't know that. This is only my private suspicion, but whatever they are, they're big and tough and probably collaborating with some fascist general. Watch out for them."

"Was your intent that this mission kill us?"

"Kill you? No. Fine, if you happened to die on the way home, I'd call it a happy coincidence. But no, I want you to go down there and take scalps, understand? A mind much stupider than yours could figure out we have a unique shot at an unparalleled threat. My one concern is taking that shot."

"Then what are your plans for us afterward?"

"Afterward, I'm more focused on myself. You'll recall the aforementioned odds of prison."

"Try."

"Well, Batman, I was begrudgingly content to leave you alone. I'd run into dead ends trying to find you, and you didn't seem about to cause further harm to federal property. If I had my chance, I'd still love to bring you into the fold. About time you used your talents for something useful."

"And Diana?"

Waller rolled her eyes. "Lord knows what we're going to do with her. If Diana removes Der Wehrwulf from the board, that would win her some major attaboys in Washington. Guess we'll have to come to an understanding. Did she tell you what her goal is? Besides rescuing that boyfriend, I mean."

"What?"

"Her queen – her secret little nation has a queen, you understand - wants the military protection of the United States of America. As if the President's going to park an aircraft carrier off an island we can't find on a map. Heh. Poor girl didn't think that one through."

Wonder Woman glared. Waller continued, " All the same, we still don't know how she's alive. My successor will to need some hot countermeasures in case she isn't friendly. But we have a few in the works. Plus, we own her boyfriend. Though I'd bet he's ending up in a cell after what he's done. That one's up the river for a good while."

Wonder Woman kept up a defiant chin, but Batman could see in her eyes that she was distressed. Aiming to divert the conversation, he crossed his arms and asked, "Are working on any projects that you-" he paused, "That a regular, ethical civilian would consider inhumane?"

Waller stiffened but eventually answered. "Yes."

"Where's the worst?"

"Matter of opinion."

"What's your opinion?"

"Terrebonne Parish, Louisiana."

"What are you doing there?"

Waller told him. Batman winced. "What about in Gotham?"

"Now that Operation Underworld is a bust, I don't know any other projects at my level."

"What major public officials do you know to be corrupt and how?"

Waller snorted and chuckled. "How much time do you have?"

Wonder Woman glared at him and made a hurry-up gesture.

"Just the five biggest." Waller gamely listed five as Wonder Woman looked impatient.

When Waller finished, Batman nodded to Wonder Woman who unwrapped the golden rope from Waller's wrists. "Fine. We're done." The costumed pair walked away.

Waller rubbed her wrists and responded to the sudden silence. "Hey. Hey! Forgetting something?"

Batman answered over his shoulder. "Wear the blindfold another hour."

Waller called to him. "I want whatever you doped me with, Batman! You're going to give me that recipe!"

After they were out of earshot, Wonder Woman asked Batman, "What if she removes the cloth now and pursues us?"

Batman shook his head. "I dosed the fabric with a chemical to sting her eyes if she opens them."

"What was in that syringe?"

"Saline solution. Harmless."

They walked in silence for some time. Finally, Wonder Woman stopped and faced him with hands on hips. "Enough. I delay no longer. What is your decision?"

Batman looked at her, his tone driving her mad with its calm. "Why specifically do you want my help?"

"Because you know the ways of spies and aircraft and cameras and treaties and every novel thing. I am a stranger and struggle from ignorance. Ignorance may cause me to err. Yet today I must not err. And you Batman, I see you do not err."

"That's not true."

"It is as close as any mortal I may hope to meet."

"So just because I'm available."

She huffed through clenched teeth. "Yes! Must I say it? Yes. I am desperate. Yes, because I have no one." She held out her hands to plead. "I carry the world in this journey, on my shoulders alone! The laughing Fates offer no one else. Is it not hubris most foul to carry the world alone? Must I beg?" She grasped at the fabric on his chest and shook him. "Mother forgive me, but I will beg if I must."

"No!" Batman interrupted with a voice of apology. "No. Please. I wasn't trying to shame you. I just need to understand your intentions."

She scoffed in anguish. "Are my intentions not plain?"

"What are your exact goals?"

"To rescue Steven Trevor and return him safely, to rout any Nazis and their allies who may hold him, and to understand and slay the magic woman who is journeying to unite them."

He eyed her intensely. "What do you mean by 'rout'?"

"What else? To strike down left and right, sowing dread, repaying their wickedness in a blood fee until those remaining drop their arms and flee. That is a rout, the reward of tyrants and slavers so long as an Amazon draws breath."

He crossed his arms and was silent. She would have this no longer. Stepping forward, Wonder Woman towered over him by several inches, and she drew upon all her regal presence to compel his tongue. "Your choice?"

He finally answered, calm as ever. "I've learned more government dirt in the last five minutes than your Captain Trevor could possibly reveal." Wonder Woman's flushed with disappointment, but he continued. "I was able to do so only because you lent me a sacred treasure to satisfy my doubts. I'm grateful for that. And I'm convinced there might be a danger to the free world who we're in a unique position to assess. I'm-" He hesitated. "-Not unsympathetic."

"You'll join me?"

"If you follow two rules."

"What rules?"

"First, our objective is to bring the Captain home. If that's impossible, our new objective will be to leave. We do nothing that compromises the objective."

"And the second?"

"Second, don't kill."

"What?"

"Don't end a human life. Fascists, for all their crimes, are human. We can study the opposition if it doesn't distract from the objective, we can ruin their equipment and disrupt their plans given the opportunity, but we don't kill."

"But they are the enemy!"

"I subdue my enemies. I don't kill them. That's my sacred rule."

"What of defending yourself?"

"Do you know how many assailants have tried to kill me? I've lost count, but I'm still here. And I haven't killed. It can be done." He paused and aired a trace of a challenge. "Unless you're more fragile than I am."

Wonder Woman resisted glaring at him and bit back her response. Instead, she asked, "What about Der Wehrwulf?"

Batman looked unsure. "She may not be human. She may not be biologically alive. I can't presume an ethical code for a task I don't understand."

"So we need no rule for her?"

"We'll improvise."

Wonder Woman stepped back to provide personal space. "Fine. I concede to your rules." She held out an arm. Batman lifted his hand to shake, but she gripped his forearm. "With this, we are sworn sisters of war until our deed is fulfilled." Batman raised an eyebrow. Wonder Woman let go of his forearm. "The oath does sound odd in translation."

Batman said nothing and headed for the Packard.


GCPD Third Division Headquarters.

Taxpayers were stingy landlords. Police stations, the quintessential government property, were known for rusty locks, broken blinds, old desks, and not much budget left over to clean bloodstains and paper over misfires in the walls. But Third Division Headquarters bucked that trend. The lights were bright and the tiles were clean and all the faucets ran. Perhaps the taxpayers spoiled Third Division; something was certainly spoiled there.

When Third Division's Captain Michael Weems gathered tomorrow's day shift in the briefing room, the first man through the door was Detective Arnold Flass. His face still sported a big cut from his scuffle with the famous Jim Gordon, though at least his coat was new. A line of Flass' cronies shuffled into the briefing room after him, followed by a crowd of other cops. Last was Officer Renee Montoya, arriving from the distant corners of the second sub-basement. Since being assigned to Third Division, Montoya – who had already earned several citations for merit in her brief career – was tasked with organizing the Division's cavernous file room, a chore which seemed to have last been performed during the Battle of Gettysburg.

Once Officer Montoya found a seat, Captain Weems called for attention and announced, "Here's the news, men. I'm sure you've all heard that Arturo Bertinelli is in lock-up downstairs. We are responsible for transporting him to the border tommrow and handing him off to the canuckleheads and whatever pattycake they call a justice system. Now, there's some people in this town would like to see Bertinelli free, and a lot more who'd like to see him dead. With that in mind, the following roles have been delegated to those deemed most loyal and capable. Detective Flass, I'm pulling you off investigations for a day to lead the expedition. Don't let me down. Officers MacKenzie, Nico, Bryant, Gellart, Rose, and Pelt will also be escorting." Several of Flass' goons smiled at each other. Weems pointed sternly at them. "From the moment Bertinelli leaves his cell tomorrow till the moment he steps over that border, no one else but those officers will touch, speak to, or share the same room as our jailbird. Officer DeSalle, you're responsible for checking the van and escort cars tonight. Officer Montoya, you're responsible for sandwiches."

The audience laughed. The Captain chuckled and added, "Got that? Yo soy cooking some tortillas, Carmen Miranda?" Officer Montoya forced a smile. After the laughter died, Captain Weems continued. "Just kidding. If Officer Montoya or anyone else I have not named tries to interfere with any step of this operation, I'll have your badge so quick it'll make your head spin. And that will be the least of your problems. Got it?"

The audience replied, "Yes, sir."

"Good. Then get out of my face."


Northern Virginia.

Wonder Woman knew the roads around the nation's capital well. She and Batman soon crossed the Potomac and neared the military airfield where their promised flight waited. The airfield was outside a busy town on the cusp of a small city. Batman stopped at a vacant lot half a mile from the airfield's entrance gate. There was still some traffic here, but not much. He took the key out of the ignition and handed it to Wonder Woman.

She looked at it. "Am I to drive again?"

He shook his head. "Consider the key a safeguard of my oath."

"What do you mean?"

"Waller may be telling the truth, but I don't trust the military enough to walk through their front door in broad daylight."

"We cannot wait for night."

"We won't. We enter separately. You approach. Tell them the code phrase. If they attack, you can fight your way to safety. If they cooperate, they'll bring you to an aircraft large enough for transcontinental flight. I'll be waiting inside."

"So ... this key is a promise you won't flee after we part."

"It says I'm stuck here. We see this through to the end."

She contemplated this, then contemplated him. "Thank you. But how will you get in the aircraft without permission?"

"Leave that to me."

Wonder Woman nodded, took her bag, and left. Batman watched her cross the road. It had been a hollow gesture, of course. He could easily hot-wire the Packard and leave. Or he could steal a car. Or he could change out of his costume and walk. There were plenty of opportunities for him to renege his oath once she was out of sight, and she had to be aware of a few of them. But he knew the gesture would put her at ease. He had thought often of his last failure at teamwork, and he had learned a little in the process.

He choose not to escape. Instead, he slipped into a longcoat and low hat. Then he removed some incriminating items from the Packard and tossed them down a sewer grate. He picked others and loaded them in his belt. Then he disappeared.

Half a mile away, Wonder Woman soon reached the entrance of the base. A young soldier at the gatehouse watched her approach with sleazy confusion.

He called out to her, "Woah, woah, hold up dollface! Where's the circus, mama?"

Wonder Woman called back loudly, "I have been sent here on a secret mission. Show me to your aircraft."

He laughed. "What's that, honey?"

Wonder Woman declared, "Condition Double Red!"

The soldier gave her an odd look, but he unlocked a drawer in the gatehouse and pulled out a codebook. She watched confidently as he leafed through it. He stopped on a certain page and it gave her no small measure of gratification to see him tremble as his eyes grew wide.

Deep in his book, in the middle of a page, was written:

Condition Double Red: Stand up straight! Treat the code-speaker with deference befitting an acting flag officer. Escort him to your station's wing commander immediately.

After rereading the entry, the soldier snapped the book shut and offered a crisp salute. "S-Sir, welcome to Fort Mazouz. Please come inside." He lifted the arm of the gate and Wonder Woman walked through. The soldier picked up a handset and made a hasty call. In a minute, an open-topped green car sped out the base and stopped nearby. The nervous soldier in the driver's seat also saluted and offered her a ride. Wonder Woman adjusted the bag on her shoulder and accepted.

She was taken to the comfortable office of a Major Young. The Major asked her business, and Wonder Woman repeated, "Condition Double Red."

The Major paused then asked, "Where to?"

She said, "Argentina."

He asked, "When?"

She answered, "Now?"

The Major nodded. In ten minutes, they were standing in front of a Douglas DC-2 as it taxied out of a hanger. She was a sleek, medium-sized twin-engine bird with wings low on the frame. She had a few years on her, one of the first reliable passenger aircraft and a mainstay of VIP travel.

The Major spoke over the low roar of the engines. "We'll get you to Alabama with a connecting flight ready when you land. Godspeed."

Wonder Woman climbed aboard, fully expecting to see Batman waiting to greet her. But the cabin was deserted, and the two pilots who briefly stepped out of the cockpit to introduce themselves were stranger. The cabin held six seats, though it was large enough to fit twice that. The remaining space was a collection of boxes and cabinets, all strapped or welded down for flight. After introducing himself, the head pilot pointed at the boxes and said she could take anything she needed. She nodded blankly and went to buckle in.

As they speed down the runway, Wonder Woman's heart sank with the glum understanding that Batman had broken his oath. It made her angry. She scowled. Shortly after take-off, as the plane began to level, she heard a noise behind her. Still scowling, she turned and saw Batman climbing out of a box, cutting the straps with a short blade. She watched in shock. He nodded at her and took a seat.

She was still watching him as he inspected the plane. He said, "Interesting. There's equipment aboard for any sort of mission. Must be transport for some quick-reaction team. Do you eat?"

Wonder Woman blinked. "Huh?"

He looked at her. "Do you ... consume food? Are you hungry?"

"Oh, yes. Yes, I eat food. I could be hungry."

Batman nodded towards the cabinets and boxes. "Now is our chance to rest. There's food if you want it."

Wonder Woman was still recovering from the shock of his appearance, but she made her way to the rear of the cabin and searched through the containers. Batman was right, there seemed to be gear here for everything: food, clothes, a small arsenal of guns, grenades and sundry other weapons, tents, shop tools, radio parts, fuel, ropes, maps, reference books, and a hundred other things besides.

She took a bag of rations and returned to her seat. The label promised it contained biscuits, sausage, and dried fruit. After eating, she found each of these claims suspicious. Some time into the flight, the co-pilot came to check on her and nearly pulled his weapon when he saw Batman. Wonder Woman hurried to calm him down. He eventually left them alone. Batman didn't move a muscle through the event. Afterward, she whispered to him. "Are you asleep?"

He slowly answered. "Meditating."

"It would be good to sleep, we have been awake since yesterday."

"I'll try not to wake you."

Wonder Woman nodded but thought this a strange comment; she couldn't imagine Batman being loud by accident. The gentle turbulence of the slight was very soothing. The last sight to reach her weary eyes as they fluttered closed was Batman taking a long cloth and wrapping a gag around his mouth.


GCPD Third Division Headquarters.

Officer Dennis Pelt was the most junior member of Detective Arnold Flass' goon squad. He was young, scrawny, had no family in the brass, and was just starting to collect favors and blackmail – the currency of the dark side of the Force. He was Flass' errand boy. At the moment, that errand was packing lunch for the prisoner transport tomorrow. He was alone in the staff kitchen, stuffing food into paper bags with names scribbled in black marker – Flass' crew each had favorite dishes, and he was expected to know them by heart. At least no one cared what the prisoner ate.

When Officer Pelt was nearly finished, he heard a door slam open behind him. A loud voice said, "Where's my chain, Denny?"

Pelt turned and saw his nemesis: Officer Mitch Gellart. If Pelt was the bottom of the goon squad's totem pole, Gellart was one spot above. Both knew the easiest way for Pelt to switch their roles would be to make Gellart look bad. Then Gellart would be the errand boy. Their rivalry was vicious. Flass egged it on for entertainment.

Pelt tried to stare him down. "What are you talking about, chump?"

Gellart stomped up and poked Pelt in the chest. "I said where's my chain? You took it out of my desk."

Pelt shoved Gellart back. "I never touched your chain, dingus."

Gellart's prized possession was a little gold chain with a saint's emblem. He rubbed it for good luck all the time. Pelt had considered stealing it before - they had done far worse to each other - but it seemed too petty for a prank.

Gellart shoved him back. "I say you took it. And I say you better fess up, or you're fixin' for trouble."

Pelt cured his hands into fists. "Let's take this outside."

Gellart cracked his knuckles. "Ladies first."

The two stormed out of the kitchen, leaving it empty.

Moments later, Officer Renee Montoya slipped inside. Gellart's gold chain shifted in her pocket. She quickly found Arturo Bertinelli's lunch.


The rain forests of Chile, just west of the Argentine border.

A fair number of boys joined the service at the suggestion of a judge when their other path led to prison. The courts intended this alternative for minor crimes: stolen cars and black eyes. Floyd Lawton was an exception. He grew up in Hub City, Chicago's demented little brother. Lawton fell in with gangs at a young age, but remarkably, he wasn't arrested until he was twenty-two. Living by the gun in one of the bloodiest zip codes in the country, his prosecutor could only guess what brutalities Lawton had committed over the years, but the police had eventually caught him bleeding in a bar with an empty six-shooter and eight dead bodies that had recently been alive and armed. However, in typical Hub City fashion, the investigators contaminated half the evidence, and while Lawton was no genius, the profits of his profession afforded him a sharp legal team. In the end, the state couldn't explain beyond a reasonable doubt how Lawton could have killed so many armed men alone, nor could it conclusively prove that he had shot any of them. The best the judge could stick him with was possession of an unloaded firearm and trespassing. While the prosecution desperately haggled to maximize the punishment, Amanda Waller swept in and convinced all parties that Lawton should be drafted. The exhausted lawyers found her idea satisfactory: he would be off the street for a few years, and if he had to shoot people, at least it would be foreigners.

Waller's offer proved fateful to many important lives, usually by ending them. Private Floyd Lawton wasn't a good soldier – he had been busted back to private four times thanks to all manner of insubordinate conduct – but he was a Mozart of a marksman, and Waller had no shortage of targets that demanded his talents, so she had managed to keep him out of the stockades so far.

However, Waller's patronage was only useful if Lawton lived to enjoy it. As far as he knew, the First Special Platoon had been wiped out, ambushed by a wave of Argentinian troops and a few others he couldn't recognize. The tall ones with tank plate for a catcher's vest. Wilson had said they were krauts last time. All Lawton knew is they sure ate their Wheaties.

Of course, now Wilson was dead. That was a shock to Lawton. He respected the Lieutenant, never once messed with the old guy and never regretted following him. Heck, Lawton would have voted for him, and Lawton didn't vote.

But he had bigger problems. Private Lawton had run wildly for a few minutes in his retreat. He had been the last GI on the field, mainly by hiding in a tree behind the field, and he wanted to put a safe amount of jungle between his skin and the many men who wanted to replace it with lead. But after Lawton slowed to catch his breath, he focused very quickly on the terrain. Lawton wasn't a good soldier, but his aim wasn't his only saving grace. In boot camp he had discovered a knack for orienteering. As a lifelong city slicker who rarely made trips without neon signs to point the way, this surprised him as much as anyone. As the Platoon sharpshooter, he had been issued a map and compass, and that was enough.

Lawton didn't know why American soldiers had been allowed to land in Chile and raid its peaceful neighbor, and he didn't know who the Chileans running the little airstrip answered to, nor the other Chileans who drove them in trucks to the edge of the forest in the dead of night. Enlisted men weren't told these things. Enlisted men didn't care, not unless something backfired. Lawton wasn't surprised by any of it. He saw the world as full of gangs. Some really big gangs called themselves governments, but gangs did what they did for all sorts of reasons, and usually not the reasons they told their kids.

Now he knew that the whole mission was a set-up, and the Chileans might be in on it. As Lawton hiked, he took stock of his options. He had dropped his rifle, though it was zip on ammo anyway. He had a .45 on his hip with seven rounds. That was nothing to sneer at in his hands, but even his hands were shaky after wearing the finish off that rifle bolt. He didn't like his odds if he ran into anything larger than a bowling team.

A mile of jungle later, Lawton reasoned that it didn't matter. If the Chileans were in on the fix, then their hosts at the airstrip would have made short work of the Platoon's pilots. Lawton didn't know how to fly; he'd need to cross the country on foot. That would be difficult, as Lawton had neither money nor food nor Spanish. He had bullets, and bullets could be used to acquire the first two without much of the third, but he would quickly run out. And if needed more, people who had bullets tended to either horde them or share them too eagerly.

As Lawton felt the weak midday sun on his neck, he found the road where the trucks had deployed them early that morning. He stayed well off the road but traveled beside it, moving gradually from jungle to scrubland. When he finally arrived at the airstrip, their plane was still around, but he was surprised to find a truck parked outside the tower. Eight soldiers in Argentinian uniforms were harassing four men kneeling on the ground. Lawton peered through a break in the bush. He realized that he recognized the men on the ground. They were from the First Special Platoon but stripped of their coats. They had to be freezing.

The soldiers were about forty yards away, standing in the open. They paid no attention to their perimeter. All but two had their rifles slung.

Lawton drew his .45. Excellent light. Little wind. He took a knee and eyed down the sights. He fired carefully – only face or upper torso: he had to be conservative. The first two rounds went as fast as he could pull the trigger. He started with the rifle-ready pair, of course. By then the rest were running for cover, so he took them slowly, waiting two second intervals near at the end. All seven rounds hit true, but that left one survivor returning fire. Lawton flopped down as rounds cut through the bush nearby, and he crawled away. His work was down.

On the airstrip, the four battered men of the First Special Platoon saw the enemy scythed down in seconds. One last foe was hiding behind the plane's landing gear and firing wildly at the treeline. He fired until his rifle was empty. As he struggled to reload, the four rushed him. Their hands were numb, so the process took a few moments. But only a few.

Lawton soon came out to join them, and after looting fresh weapons and coats from the deceased, they moved into the relative shelter of the tower. Their four's story was simple. In the initial battle for the Rio Apiculata garrison, the Platoon had suffered five causalities. As the fighting ended, these five were sent back on makeshift stretchers with two carriers each. They were well into the jungle when the Argentinians ambushed the main force at the garrison. They could hear the mayhem behind them. Some returned to help the fight. The rest continued their orders to withdraw the wounded. Soon, Argentinean patrols started appearing in the forest flanking them. Crossfire grew heavy. These four survivors were two carrier pairs who had abandoned their stretchers and ran. They made it to the airstrip, only to be intercepted and captured by an Argentinian squad waiting there. The pilots and their Chilean hosts were nowhere to be found.

Once they shared stories, they pulled together a plan. The five knew there was a powerful radio on their plane. They ripped it out along with some supplies and brought them into the Argentinians' abandoned truck. Then they drove west. One of them knew a little Spanish. Hopefully, they could find a friendly town with a phone. Failing that, they could reach a nice mountaintop and try the radio. One of them might figure out how to work it by then.

Lawton, at least, was able to relax. Now he had plenty of bullets.


Farm country, west of Gotham City.

Agent King Faraday and Carmine Falcone cruised through the countryside smoking cigars. Faraday drove. Falcone was handcuffed in the passenger seat. They made occasional small talk, but very little. Faraday had a pistol on his hip. There was no doubt of their destination.

Falcone puffed on his cigar. "This is funny. When I was much younger, and the world was large and wild, I often assumed I would die in the clink, or at some cop's gun. But as I aged, and the world grew small and orderly, that seemed such an empty concern. Fate delivers a mighty punchline, no?"

Agent Faraday shrugged. "I guess."

"I'm glad they sent you."

"Yeah?"

"You are interesting. You've fought for convictions. A man is no man without scars."

"Not sure I agree."

Falcone tapped his cigar out the window. "The most depressing thing about the average person is that half the people are even worse."

Faraday chuckled.

Falcone said, "You know who I really disdain? Bankers. They are bloodless men. Clever, but little true vision. No steel in their back. A useful cretin is still a cretin, eh? I don't trust any bank I don't own."

"What a nice problem to have."

"Before I started owning banks, I found other places to put my money. Many years ago, I had made my first fortune. I was young, and being poor was all I knew. So, like a poor child, I stashed the money. Well, most poor children would spend it, but the smart ones, they stash it. That's what I did: three hundred thousand dollars in greenbacks, another two hundred thousand in bearer bonds, and ten thousand in gold jewelry. I didn't talk to a broker, no. I hid that treasure with all the suspicion of a little boy with his first nickel. Didn't tell a soul. If everything fell apart, I could dig up the money and start fresh. Everything transpired to not fall apart, and I made many fortunes afterward. But I never touched that first one."

"That's … nice."

"Here's what I propose, Agent Faraday. Go to this treasure. It will fit in the trunk of this car. You can pick it up at no risk to yourself, then disappear. I see no ring on your finger; nothing to tie you down. Take the money and go live the life of your dreams."

Faraday thought of this and asked, "And let you free, I imagine?"

"I would consider that a fair favor."

"I could take the money and shoot you."

Falcone nodded. "You could."

"Wouldn't you?"

Falcone shook his head. "Some of my colleagues would. Not me."

"Because you deal straight."

"Because I deal straight."

"Might be dangerous leaving you alive. You might decide you don't like me and hunt me down."

"I've never been angry at a man for doing his job. And I'll certainly never begrudge someone for not doing his job on my behalf."

"Maybe. What if I want to keep my job? You showing your face above the dirt would make me look bad. I might end up in your shoes"

"Then keep your job if you like it so much. Do you really think I'd show my head in public when the G-men want it on a platter? I have many friends. They'll help me act as a ghost. If you tell them I'm dead, I have no reason to ruin the masquerade. You'll recall that I'm in the vocation of avoiding scrutiny. I'm very good at it."

Agent Faraday drove in silence for half an hour. Finally, in a too-casual tone, he asked, "Where's this treasure?"

Falcone was lighting a new cigar. "So we understand each other?"

Faraday took a drag of his own and blew a long trail of smoke. "We'll see."


The woodlands of Maryland.

It was well past noon and Amanda Waller hadn't eaten since the previous evening. Her wine headache had become a hunger headache, which was less sharp but more frightening as it would only get worse. She was too tired and pained to process what had happened to her. There was a real working truth serum? And the Batman had it? On most days she would kill to get her hands on a truth serum, but today she had bigger problems.

She stumbled forward for who knew how long, catching every brier, until eventually the forest ended. She found a road. And in time she found a house. This house had a Confederate battle flag hanging from the porch rail, so she found another house. The residents welcomed her with warm hospitality. They shared an early supper and drove her to a post office which had its own phone. She made a mental note that she owed them a favor.

At the post office, Waller called the Admiral. He answered with great relief. Her peers in the clandestine services had been in a panic all day after news spread of a fire at her hotel room and witness reports of her being carried away. Waller kept the details to a minimum, but she explained that she had been kidnapped and released. She could hear the Admiral shouting orders. Men were coming to pick her up. She would be confined for debriefing on the potential security leak of the kidnapping alone, and that was before she admitted she was the victim of possession and later a truth serum. She wouldn't lie to them. She had become a genuine risk, and they needed her cooperation to plug the enormous hole she had torn in national security. That was all that mattered now.

Still, she would be out of the game indefinitely, perhaps forever. That stung. She would share her opinions, suggesting what the enemy had planned and what countermeasures to take, and they would listen to her, eventually. And they might trust her. But she wouldn't be in command. She wouldn't even learn how the story ended; that would be classified.

As Waller waited on a bench in a humble post office, she considered the doomed men she had sent to Argentina. She knew their fates with nigh-prophetic confidence, having designed both sides of the battle. But war was messy; there was always a chance for an upset. This was her last opportunity to hear a report from the front, before her clearance was shredded. She wanted to know. She deserved to know.

Waller called a secret switchboard operator. The operator connected her to a radio-telephone service to South America. At that point Waller wasn't sure how the system worked but it was a modern marvel. The call was routed by hand several times until somewhere the signal was broadcast via radio at a frequency used by the First Special Platoon's transport plane by towers along its route. If the radio user on the plane caught the broadcast, he could then respond, causing the process to happen in reverse. She would hear his answer about two minutes after she spoke, and the call would be established.

Waller expected silence. She sat in dull resignation for two minutes.

Then a voice came through, "Uh, what was that?"

Waller almost dropped the handset. "I said, this is Amanda Waller. Who am I speaking with?"

"This is Private Floyd Lawton, ma'am."

"Lawton! What's happened? Report."

Waller thought she heard muttering through the line. Lawton finally responded. "That's a bit of a story, ma'am."

"Let's hear it, Lawton!"

Lawton quickly recounted the day's events, from their assault on the garrison to the overwhelming counterattack and how five of the Platoon escaped. Waller asked the whereabouts of Captain Trevor. Lawton admitted that he wasn't sure. Lieutenant Wilson had gone to retrieve Trevor, but Lawton lost track of them in the counterattack. He told Waller that he really doubted anyone else made it out. Anyone inside the camp was dead meat walking when the first mortar landed.

Waller took this news with cold acceptance. She asked Lawton if his band of survivors were armed. He confirmed that they were. Then she asked if they were willing to take one more mission.

Lawton discussed this with his four comrades. Then he got back on the line. "We all want promotions, got it? I want to be a sergeant."

Waller answered. "Private, pull this off, and I'll make you a major."


Somewhere in Argentina.

Captain Steven Trevor woke up in a poor man's impression of a hospital bed. He was alone in a dim room he didn't recognize. That was familiar and didn't bother him. He also woke up with a long, painful cough that shook his guts. That bothered him.

At least he was alive. He liked any day when he woke up on the right side of the dirt. Though pneumonia would be a pretty dismal end for a fighter pilot. He hoped whoever dragged him to safety this time kept a decent medic around.

He took a deep breath and croaked, "Help! Doctor!"

There were voices and footsteps outside. The door opened. A tall, grave Argentine officer walked in carrying a bag.

Steve weakly raised a hand. "Hola."

The officer closed the door and slid a chair under the knob. "The American is awake. Finally."

Steve nodded. "Can I have a little water? Una agua, por favor?"

The officer opened a bag and took out a small towel and a roll of tape. Steve watched transfixed as the man stuffed the towel in his own mouth, packing it tightly, then sealing it in by wrapping tape around his head. Then the officer removed a set of handcuffs. There was a iron ring in the wall near Steve's bed. The officer cuffed his own wrist, fit the open cuff through the ring, then cuffed his other wrist.

Steve wondered whether this was a fever dream. The officer looked calmly at him, standing there after gagging and cuffing himself. He was sure it was a fever dream when the officer began to fade into a mist.

The mist drifted off and coalesced into the shape of a woman. She was small, blonde, and densely tattooed, and she was looking at him like he was a pot roast and she missed dinner.

Steve tried to shift to the far side of the mattress. "Uh, hello." He noticed that the officer hadn't disappeared. He was still standing there. Loud moans were coming out of him; without the gag they would have been screams. His eyes bugged, and the veins on his neck pulsed.

Steve only had a moment to glance at the officer before the lady with the tattoos leaned over him and cupped his chin. She faded again to mist.

Steve's mind was too weak to process what came next except that it was a nightmare.

Eventually, his mind returned and he saw the woman appear from mist again. Now she looked furious.

"Nein!" She slapped Steve across the face.

Steve groggily rubbed his cheek. "Ow."

"How are you so stupid!" The lady fumed and paced beside his bed. "You must know more. Ja, I will try later. Try deeper."

"I don't know what you want, lady, but I'm probably just stupid."

The lady didn't respond. She took a key out of the agonized officer's pocket and opened his handcuffs. Then she faded to mist once again and entered him. His moaning stopped instantly, and his face turned calm. Then he ripped off the tape without a flinch and spat out the towel. He put all his items in his bag and straightened his shirt. The officer moved the chair from the door then exited the room.

Steve heard the door lock from the other side.

"So that's a negative on the water?"