A/N: Thanks to Kathy and Debbie for the beta!

A/N: "Naughty" written by Tim Minchin and performed by Sophia Gennusa on the Matilda the Musical Original Broadway Cast Album (Broadway/Yellow Sound, 2013); "Woke Up This Morning" written by Jake Black and Rob Spragg. Recorded by Alabama 3 on their Exile on Coldharbour Lane album (One Little Indian, 1997).

In the slip of a bolt, there's a tiny revolt.
The seeds of a war in the creak of a floorboard.
A storm can begin, with the flap of a wing.
The tiniest mite packs the mightiest sting!

—Tim Minchin, "Naughty"

Chapter 50—Seeds of a War

Tough Tony Bressi had not survived the last mob war by flying off the handle at the drop of a hat. In his day, he had faced down rival crimelords, police, and vigilante law enforcers. While his hands were far from clean, he at least tried to avoid gratuitous deaths. Removing a rival before they could remove him was pure self defense. Arranging the disappearance of someone who double-crossed him was a useful deterrent for others with the same idea. But such decisions were generally reached after careful consideration and a cool appraisal of the consequences of his proposed actions.

Right now, he was wishing for the Atom's ability to travel through the phone lines, so that he could reach out and throttle someone. "You're saying," he almost snarled, "that the Mandragoras have my niece."

"I'm saying," Penguin clarified, "that my security footage shows your niece being denied access to my establishment and subsequently leaving in the company of Benito Mandragora. That is the only thing I saw. I'd assumed that he was returning the girl to you. It wasn't until earlier this evening that I was notified that she was missing—and then, naturally, I felt that I should contact you with my information."

Bressi's hand tightened on the phone. "So, you've decided," he snapped.

"I beg your pardon?"

Bressi sighed in exasperation. "You never give away anything, Penguin. The fact that you are tells me, more than anything, that the rival Families are in disarray. What is it you want?"

"I?" Penguin asked innocently. "I want to see a family reunited."

"Of course," Bressi drawled. "But what do you want in exchange for your keeping quiet about what you've just told me? I'd really hate to think that Benny Mandragora got wind that people were looking for him and decided to lie low for a while."

"Surely, you don't think that I would discuss such sensitive matters with—"

"No," Bressi cut him off. "You wouldn't. Not to another soul. Because if Benny goes underground, I'll have to send my people out to look for him. And naturally, they're going to want to talk to the person who saw him last. Repeatedly. At great length. Probably during your establishment's business hours." He let that sink in. "A lot of your regulars are probably going to speculate on why Tony Bressi's boys are spending so much time shooting the breeze with you in your back office." He smiled and his tone warmed. "But if you'll accept a small token of my thanks and continue to earn my goodwill with your silence, I don't see why anything… unpleasant should have to happen. So. How much is my privacy worth to you?"

Penguin named a figure, all traces of sycophancy wiped clean from his voice.

Bressi accepted it without hesitation. "You'll have it within the hour."

"And," Penguin added, a note of servility creeping back into his tone, "I can rely on your discretion, as well?"

"This phone call never happened."

The voices no longer sounded in the darkness. The footsteps had moved on. Clara still lay in the ditch under her leafy camouflage and tried not to tremble. It wasn't just fear. The leaves were wet, the night was chilly, and she hadn't had time to put her jacket on after she'd used it to protect her hands when she'd scaled the low barbed wire fence that separated the highway from the farmlands and uncleared trees. She was lying on top of it now, her arms partly thrust through the sleeves so that she was almost wearing it backwards. She was glad that her cotton button-down was dark blue; a white shirt might be seen in the headlights of a passing car. Maybe even by moonlight; the crescent overhead wasn't giving off a lot of light, but there was some.

She wished she had her cell phone.

A shrill croaking sound startled her. It was quickly answered by another croak and another. Almost immediately, a whole chorus started up. Clara was a city girl. Even life in the suburbs had been far more urban than rural. But even though she couldn't be positive, she guessed that she was hearing frogs. The sound was not unpleasant. It almost seemed to be a song, though not one that a bird might sing. She shook herself. She needed to get moving. At any time, those Mandragora goons might return and they might bring reinforcements. She had to get out of here.

She wondered about Luka. What if Mandragora had been telling the truth about having a guy at her uncle's? What if he'd already given the order to kill her brother when she'd run off?

"Luka…" she whispered.

The frogs stopped singing.

Clara closed her eyes and hugged herself. If Mandragora had given that order, there was nothing she could do about it now. But if he hadn't… Oh, she had to get help, find a phone, call home and tell them what was going on. Didn't the bad guys always want to have the hero standing in the background to witness it when they did something evil? Grand Moff Tarkin could have destroyed Alderaan when Leia was locked up in the brig, but he'd wanted her to watch her home planet get destroyed. Syndrome had forced Mr. Incredible to listen to the radio transmission of his wife and kids being targeted by missiles. Nero had made Spock see Vulcan get blown to smithereens. Maybe Mandragora wasn't going to give the 'kill' order unless his goons recaptured her and brought her back, so she could be in the room when he made the call.

She had to find a phone.

She waited until she heard the frog chorus start up again before she slowly got up, put her jacket on the right way, and got ready to move on. She resolved to head away from the frogs. If she was remembering right, they liked swamps. And if she was cold now, taking a wrong step and landing in stinky mucky water was going to make things worse.

She scanned her surroundings as best she could, searching for some lights that weren't coming from the truck stop behind her. She wasn't about to go anywhere near the highway. It would be the first place Mandragora's creeps would look.

In the distance, she thought she could make out a house, or maybe a barn, but it was dark. She zipped up her jacket and started walking.

Batman and Huntress walked out the front door of the Bressi mansion and went immediately to the side of the circular drive, where a motorcycle with a bat-insignia awaited.

"You know," Huntress said, "tonight, I could almost believe you're the original Bat." He'd been reaching for his helmet, but he stopped to look at her. "Your face looks like grim death," she said.

Dick sighed. "I should be more upbeat, I guess," he admitted. "We've finally got a lead on the girl. She's in real danger and we can get her out of it. Tony's been playing by our rules for weeks, and all of his people have been exercising more restraint than I would have believed before Metropolis."

"But…"

He put on the helmet and handed a second one to Helena. "I ever thank you for getting me out of trouble with Tevis?"

"On three separate occasions. Going for a fourth?"

He sighed again. "Just checking. Because, as much as I know that we're doing the right thing, there's a part of me that just registers that we're following a mobster's orders to take down a rival family and," he swung onto the 'cycle, "the last time that happened… physically, mentally, emotionally… I was not in a good place. I guess I'm feeling the sting of a few old memories."

Instead of jumping onto the seat behind him, Huntress placed her hand in the crook of his elbow. "It's not the same thing," she reassured him. "I mean, I know you probably know that, but seriously? It's not. Right now, Tony's not being a crime boss. He's being a father. His daughter's gone missing, probably kidnapped, and he's asking for our help to get her back. We both know how I feel about the Families," she added, "and even I've got no problem with what he wants."

She mounted the cycle and wrapped her arms about his waist. "And hey," she added, "you got past most of that dark crap. The little bit you're still stuck with? When it tries to hold you back, just focus on the kid. Because we both know that if the Joker randomly developed a conscience for a second and screamed at you to save a child, you'd be jumping before he finished his sentence. Granted, you'd probably assume he was pointing you toward a mannequin stuffed with Smilex," she admitted, "but I think you'd still take a chance on his steering you in the right direction. Well," she wriggled a bit on the seat, settling into her position, "I'm pretty confident Bressi's not sending us into a trap. At least, not deliberately."

Dick nodded. "Doesn't mean the Mandragoras haven't got something planned, though."

"Right. So, you think you can stop dwelling on the past, long enough to focus on the current scenario?"

Batman glanced over his shoulder and grinned. "Guess I'd better. Clara's counting on us. Even if she doesn't know it yet."

Huntress smiled back. "Now, that sounds more like the Batman 2.0 I've gotten used to working with."

"Up for a game of 'Good Vigilante, Bad Vigilante'?"

She laughed then. "Who says one of us has to be the good one?"

The office was located on the second floor of a historic red-brick building in Tricorner. At one time, when the Old Naval Shipyards had been in operation, the building had been the residence of the shipyard commander. Since that time, the it had become home to three charitable foundations, five not-for-profits, and Stefano Mandragora's import/export office.

Stefano was at his desk, reviewing his ledgers, when he realized that all sounds from the outer office had ceased.

"Working late?" a woman's cold voice demanded.

The mobster's head jerked up and his eyes widened in fear. "You!" he gasped, scraping his chair back as he half-rose and tried to draw his gun.

A batarang embedded itself in his desk and Mandragora swiveled to see Batman step out of the shadows to join Huntress before him.

"Me, too," the second vigilante said. "Hate to drop in unannounced, but we've just happened on a disturbing bit of news and we were hoping you could fill in some of the details."

Mandragora's expression hardened. "I got nothing to say to either of you," he blustered. "Now, you're trespassing here. Get out."

For answer, Huntress leveled her crossbow. "Clara Bressi," she snarled. "Where is she?"

"Who?" Mandragora replied. "Wh-what makes you think I know anything about her?"

"Last chance," Huntress said, adjusting her aim.

"Huntress, wait," Batman ordered.

She turned to him furiously, as the mobster heaved a sigh of relief. "Oh, come on! You know who he is and what he's done. I can't believe you're—"

Batman shook his head. "This building is a designated historic landmark. The Gotham Heritage Society is going to be ticked if they have to spring for repairs. I mean, at point-blank range, that crossbow bolt would probably propel him backwards and pin him to the wall. And you know how hard it is to get bloodstains out of wood."

Huntress sighed. "I guess I could pin a note to his corpse asking them to send the cleaning bill to a PO box. I can probably afford to reimburse them."

Batman tried not to smile when he heard Mandragora swallow. "Or…" he said, "we can take him up to the roof."

"Y-you're bluffing!" Mandragora stammered. "Everyone knows you Bats don't kill!"

Now it was time for Batman to smile. "Not in front of witnesses," he corrected.

"And anyway," Huntress said, smiling as well, "I'm not a Bat. I just work with them every now and again. When I do, I play by their rules, of course. But, see, a twelve-year-old girl is missing and she was last seen getting into your son's car."

"Y-you can't prove Benny did anything to her!"

Batman spoke again. "You have three sons, Stefano. Who said anything about Benny? Now, where is she?"

"I don't know!"

Huntress sighed. "Right. Batman, our alliance is over. He's mine." She pointed her crossbow behind her at the door. "Get up."

Batman sighed. "You remember how to remove any evidence that you were in the area? I've got other places to be and I don't know if I'll get back here in time to clean up after you."

"Don't worry about me. I'm not the one with a semi-public identity." She grinned. "But you should leave the area, so you'll have an alibi if the cops come around asking where you were at the time of death."

Now on his feet, Mandragora was visibly pale. Batman struggled not to laugh. "You'll give me a thirty-minute head start?"

"Sure." She reached out, grabbed Mandragora's arm, and twisted it into a hammerlock. "I'd say thirty minutes is the least amount of time I'll spend encouraging Steve here to be more cooperative."

Batman shrugged. "Sounds good to me." He leaned in close to Mandragora. "Frankly, if I were you, I'd tell her what she wants to know. Even if I wanted to, I don't think I could stop her from shooting you at this range."

"I don't know," Mandragora repeated, starting to shake. "Y-you don't understand. I really don't know!" He gripped the edge of the desk for support with his free hand. "My men were taking her."

"Where?" Batman demanded.

Mandragora took a shuddering breath. "It was too dangerous keeping her in the city. Benny hasn't always had the best judgment about who to trust. I didn't want word to get back to Bressi. I've got a cabin four hours upstate. Secluded. I figured it'd be a better place for her."

"Where's the cabin?" Huntress snapped, pressing the point of her bolt against Mandragora's Adam's apple.

"That won't do you any good. I heard from my people a couple of hours ago. She got away when they pulled in at a truck stop about an hour past Darby on the Interstate." As Huntress lowered her crossbow, his knees buckled slightly. "I really don't know where she is, now," he said. "Please, you have to believe me."

Batman and Huntress exchanged a look over the mobster's head. Huntress nodded slowly. "We do," she said.

Mandragora breathed a sigh of relief, which was immediately followed by a gasp, as he felt cold metal encircle his wrist. "NO!" he exclaimed. "You said you—"

"We do believe you," Batman said. "And we've just heard you confess to kidnapping, aiding and abetting, accessory after the fact…" He glanced at Huntress. "Am I leaving anything out?"

Huntress shrugged. "Maybe a civil charge for unjust confinement? You can ask the original Batman. I think he's studying that stuff."

"Maybe I will," Batman said. "After we turn this guy over to the cops."

Mandragora started to protest anew. Huntress closed the second cuff on his other wrist. "We could turn you over to Bressi instead," she suggested. Mandragora fell silent. "I thought you'd feel that way," she said smiling.

As they made their way out of the building, Mandragora couldn't help but wince, as he spotted his guards cuffed to support pillars with duct tape over their mouths.

Bressi heard them out in silence. When they were done, he regarded them impassively for a long moment. "You should have brought him back here," he said finally. "Him and that son of his."

No need to ask him which son he meant. Batman shook his head. "I told you, no killing."

"And I told you there was a lot we could make people live through." He closed his eyes. "If anything's happened to her… She's twelve, Batman. A kid. Wasn't so long ago her mama, rest her soul, had her in frilly party dresses and hair ribbons. Now, she's somewhere in the countryside alone… scared…"

One of the hulking men standing inside the office cleared his throat. "Don Bressi," he said slowly, "that might not be entirely true."

Bressi turned to face him. "What?"

The enforcer nodded. "When she first came here, Don Bressi, she was scared. I thought that if I taught her a few things, things any of us would have taught her brother if he'd asked us, it might give her more confidence."

Huntress's eyes narrowed. "What kinds of things might those be?" she demanded sharply.

The enforcer hesitated.

"Tell her, Bruno," Bressi said. "I'd like to hear for myself."

Bruno swallowed. "Some kicks and blocks. A bit of street-fighting. Disarming techniques. Camouflage. Um… let's say, ways to escape if you're caught and ways to not get caught again; I'm not sure the fancy word for it. I'd just started on krav-maga, when I found out that she'd been sneaking out at night. I meant for her to know that stuff to use as a last resort. A defense, if anyone tried to grab her. She was using it to try to find Intergang."

Bressi's face reddened. "And you didn't tell me?" he snapped.

"I knew how you'd react," Bruno said. He swallowed hard once more. "I told her what she was doing was dangerous and it had to stop. When I caught her trying to sneak out again, I practically tore her a new one and told her I wasn't teaching her anything else until I was convinced she wasn't going to run off looking for trouble."

At a signal from Bressi, one of the other men in the room drew his revolver.

"Hang on," Batman said. "Think about it. Thanks to…" he tilted his head, "Bruno?" at the other man's nod, he turned back to Bressi. "Bruno, here, your great-niece's chances at survival might have just shot through the roof. We already know that she gave Mandragora's guys the slip. I'm guessing that they would have done a pretty thorough search of the area before they reported back that she'd escaped, yes?"

Bruno nodded. "If I'd had a job like that and the mark escaped, especially if the mark were a kid? I think I'd probably ditch my phone, toss my wallet, and try to put a few states between me and my old life." He glanced at Bressi. "Not that Don Bressi's ever ordered a hit on a kid," he added hastily.

"Clara would have been on foot. She's too young to drive and bikes aren't allowed on the Interstate, so there wouldn't have been any at the truck stop for her to borrow." He turned to Bruno. "You teach her how to hotwire a car or motorcycle?"

Bruno gaped at him. "No way!"

"And you were the only one teaching her stuff?"

"As far as I know."

Batman nodded. "So, she'd have been on foot. She evaded at least two, maybe three guys—I figure there'd be a driver and at least one other man guarding her, maybe two. When she doesn't know the territory. And four hours later, she's still in the wind." He smiled tightly. "You ask me, Tony, your man Bruno here probably saved her life."

Bressi mulled that over. Then he gestured to the other enforcer, who slowly slid his gun back into its holster. "An hour past Darby?" he queried.

Huntress nodded. "So Stefano told us."

The phone rang then, startling them. Batman tried hard not to smile when he recognized the ring-tone:

I woke up this morning

Got myself a gun…

Bressi snatched it up. "Bressi he—Clara? Where are you?" He listened briefly. "Stay there. I'm sending a car." He listened again. "I'll take care of it. You sit tight. Love you, too, Claretta."

He returned the phone to its charging base. "She's all right. She's at a Burger Barn in Bolland. Not on the Interstate. It's by a train station; probably one that isn't operating no more; she said it looked deserted." He motioned to Bruno. "You go."

Bruno nodded. Bressi wasn't finished talking.

"You go," he repeated, "because at this moment, you and the Bats are the only people I think I can trust. Clara told me something else, too, you see." His expression hardened. "It seems Mandragora's got a spy in our midst."

For a moment, nobody spoke. They scarcely dared to breathe. Then, they heard the sound of running feet coming from the other side of the wall behind them.

The enforcer who had pulled the gun earlier glanced at his boss.

Bressi nodded. "Alive and conscious," he said. "I'm going to want a couple of words with him."

Batman wondered whether they'd be printable.

Nicky DePalma had discovered the passage in the basement by chance. He'd seen Bressi's grandniece disappear down it one day when he'd gone into the games room to play a bit of pinball. After he'd finished, he'd gone into the wine cellar across the hall, leaving its door slightly open, and waited for the girl to emerge. Then he'd checked out the passage for himself.

In the three weeks since that day, Nicky had eavesdropped on many of Bressi's private meetings and telephone conversations and he'd dutifully reported back his findings to Benny Mandragora, hoping to finally convince Don Stefano's son that he, Nicky, had the right stuff to be accepted into the Family.

His reasons were twofold: he envied the Mandragoras their designer suits and fast cars, and he'd been head over heels in love with Nina Mandragora since his senior year of high school. She'd been a sophomore then and their relationship had lasted two months before her cousin Danny had drawn him aside and warned him off.

"You two may love each other," Danny had said seriously, "but it won't work. Her family won't accept you and she'll never go against them."

Nicky hadn't believed him at first. "I'll win them over," he'd said confidently. "When I meet them, I'll be on my best behavior and—"

"—and it won't make a bit of difference. The guy Nina ends up with is going to be well-connected. Practically part of the family already. You hearing me?"

He hadn't understood then. Not until he'd seen the small article in the front section of the newspaper that stated that the racketeering charges filed against Don Stefano had been dismissed due to insufficient evidence. It was the first time he'd realized that his girlfriend was from a mob family. He hadn't cared about that. He'd just wanted to be with her—and if it meant winning over one of her brothers, then he was prepared to do just that.

Over the next five years, he'd picked up gambling receipts, driven cars, and made deliveries, all on behalf of Benny Mandragora. When Benny had told him that he meant to plant him at Bressi's, it was the first time that he'd been frightened. He knew that if Bressi suspected that he was a spy, his life expectancy would be measurable in moments. But he'd been sure that doing this would finally convince Benny that he was brother-in-law material and get him to put in a good word for him and Nina with Don Stefano.

But now that Bressi knew there was a spy in the house, Nicky knew that he was sure to be discovered. He had to get out of here!

He raced to his car and tore down the gravel path. Ahead of him, the wrought-iron gates were closing, but he accelerated and made it through before they could come together. Unfortunately, when he tried to turn onto the road, he found that he was going far too fast and he barrelled into two parked cars on the opposite side of the street. In his rearview mirror, he could see several men in black suits running down the path to the gates. He opened his door and took off on foot.

All at once, a car honked behind him, then pulled up next to him. He heard the click of an automatic door release and a harsh voice yelled, "Get in!"

Nicky didn't argue. He jerked open the rear driver-side door and almost tumbled inside. As soon as he'd pulled it shut, before he even had the chance to fasten his seatbelt, the driver took off again. "Thanks," Nicky said. "Did Benny send you?"

The driver chuckled. "No, but I've been watching this place for a little while. I figured, sooner or later, something—or someone—interesting might turn up."

"In-interesting?" Nicky repeated.

The driver nodded. "I'd say anyone tearing out of the Bressi estate at close to ninety miles an hour probably has one hell of a story to tell. My employer and I would very much like to hear it."

"Who's your employer?" Nicky stammered. "Who are you?"

In the rearview mirror, Nicky saw the driver's smile. "You may call me, Mr. Fixx."

Inzerillo was watching the first season finale of The Sopranos on DVD and starting to think about turning in for the night, when his phone rang. He picked it up, wondering who could be calling at this hour and bracing himself for more bad news. "Yeah?"

"It's Forrester," the voice on the other end whispered tersely. "I think I might have a way to get you inside the Academy campus."

Clara sat at a table in a corner of the Burger Barn and nursed her ice water while peering anxiously out the window. Her first move, even before asking to use their phone, had been to visit the ladies room and scrub as much of the mud off her face as possible. She had her jacket zipped up, hiding her blouse, though there wasn't much she could do about her jeans beyond be thankful that they were black and didn't show as much dirt. Now, she was waiting for one of Uncle Tony's people to drive up and take her home.

She was trying not to think about what would happen next. They had to know that she'd sneaked out, right when Batman had got through talking about how the streets weren't safe.

Maybe they'd be so relieved that she was back home that they'd forget about that part of it.

She didn't believe it either.

It didn't matter, she told herself. She'd be on her way home, soon. That was the important thing. She smiled as she watched a sedan pull into the parking lot. Then her heart lurched. Those weren't Uncle Tony's people—they were the creeps she'd escaped from!

Her eyes darted around the dining room. Could she ask one of the cashiers to hide her? She decided against it. She'd seen how quickly they'd caved about twenty minutes ago, when a customer had started screaming about overcooked fries. The supervisor had apologized right, left, and center, comped the meal, and tossed in a voucher for half off the next purchase. If one of these guys pulled a gun, they'd probably escort him to her hiding place and give him a free Jolly Meal. She ran for the ladies' room.

There was a shout from behind that turned her blood to ice. They'd spotted her! She raced for the back door and pushed it open. Another one of the goons sprang forward, gripped her arm, and twisted it behind her back. Without pausing a beat, she turned into the hold and kicked, her foot striking her captor's kneecap. It was a move that Bruno had drilled her on, but warned her never to use without good reason. When she heard a sickening crunch that was quickly dwarfed by a howl of pain, she knew he'd been right; she'd just broken the guy's knee. He let go of her arm and fell to the pavement. Clara wasn't about to wait around. She bit her lip to hold back her tears—her arm hurt—and ran. She had no idea where she was going, but she had to get away from the Burger Barn and she had to stick to fields and pastures, where the goons couldn't drive after her.

She had no idea when she'd be able to call Uncle Tony to explain what had happened and she only hoped he wouldn't be too upset at having to send someone after her again when she finally did.

Batman was not pleased to return to Bressi's mansion several hours later. "We've been over this," he snapped. "That signal is for police use only."

"Then get a burner phone and give me the number," Bressi shot back. "If that spotlight is the only way to reach out to you, you're damned right I'm going to use it! She wasn't at the Burger Barn."

Batman felt his anger dissipate. "Do you have any idea—?"

Bressi shook his head. "My guys are going to hang around the area until mid-morning. Maybe something spooked her and she'll be back when she feels safe. I was," he closed his eyes and brought a hand to his forehead, "I was wondering. You know people. The League. The Titans. The Society. Maybe some outfits whose names escape me. Is there anyone you can put on this? My guys…" His voice broke. "They… they aren't detectives. They could miss stuff, ya know?"

Dick pressed his lips together tightly. "I do know," he admitted. "Here." He pulled out a small ruled notebook with a pen secured to the wire binding by a length of narrow steel chain. "This is for you alone," he said, jotting down ten numerals. "Under no circumstance do you give this to anybody else, no matter how much you trust them. You call that number, you leave a message, and one of us will get back to you. Usually within the hour." He ripped the page out of the notebook and slapped it down on the desk blotter in front of Bressi. "I'll put some feelers out."

Bressi took the paper and examined it. "Batman? Thanks. I—" He blinked. He was alone in his office.

Derek Powers had just logged into his office computer and taken his first sip of morning coffee, when his cell phone vibrated in his pocket. The number on the caller ID was familiar and the text was short: Call me. Now.

His email pinged softly and he gave a mental sigh when he saw the subject line. This was probably going to keep him busy past lunch. He texted back: At work. Can this wait?

This time the text was even shorter: NO.

He sighed once more, aloud this time. He got up from his desk. One of the last things Paxton had arranged for him before the scandal broke had been to get him an office with a door. He locked it now. Then he called. "What's so urgent?"

Fixx chuckled on the other end. "I've been having a long conversation with a dead man."

"Pardon?"

"I've granted him a temporary stay of execution. It remains in effect, so long as he keeps talking. So far, the guy's been a regular chatterbox. Eventually, I'll probably let Bressi and Mandragora place bids for the privilege of deciding the hour of his demise, but the demise is likely a foregone conclusion."

"Well, I'm glad you've been amusing yourself," Powers said slowly. But what has that got to do with me?"

"The man in question is a spy for the Mandragoras. I picked him up fleeing the Bressi mansion—right after Clara Bressi called her great uncle from Bolland to let him know that she was free and he had a spy under his roof. Guy made the mistake of running, so now, they know who he is. Tony may hate spies, but Stefano Mandragora? Has a special loathing for idiots. So now, they'd both like a piece of him. Meanwhile, the kid wasn't waiting where she was supposed to be for a lift back to Gotham. Seems Mandragora's goons were still in the area and she split. So now, you get to play hero."

Powers blinked. "Come again?"

"You're an outdoorsman, Derek, right? They did a profile piece on you in the PMWE Monthly Magazine?"

"That's in-house," Derek said, sounding worried. "How would you even know about that?"

"I do my homework. When the article said that you enjoy hiking in State Parks, was that accurate? Or just hyperbole?"

"No, it's accurate," Derek replied. "I still don't see—"

"Let's just say you've got a better chance of finding the kid than a bunch of city guys in luxury sedans. I admit I don't have much to base this on; I'm not up there myself and the spy hasn't got a clue. But the kid escaped from Mandragora's people about fifteen hours ago. In that time, she's managed to call home, avoid recapture—with prejudice; she broke one guy's kneecap with a kick—"

"How do you know that?"

"Mandragora's not the only person who can place a spy in a prime location. They called in to report. My guy relayed the intel my way. But here's the thing: their method of investigation is to cruise through the town—because a strange car going up and down every street in a small farming community don't look any kind of suspicious—and hope they catch a glimpse of the kid. It seems to me, though, that if the kid is smart—which she seems to be—she'll be avoiding the streets as much as possible. Especially since waiting around for her uncle's people almost got her nabbed again. She'll be keeping to the outskirts; a Giggle search tells me that there's a decent amount of forested land in those parts. There's also an old silver mine close by. They give tours during the summer, but it's a cave, it's dry, and it's maybe twenty minute's walk from the Burger Barn where the kid was last seen. In other words, there are plenty of places where a resourceful person can hide and someone who doesn't know the outdoors won't think to look."

"Hiking and spelunking aren't exactly the same thing," Derek said, thinking out loud. "But I might still know a thing or two."

"Get out there," Fixx said. "Find her. And if you should find Bressi's people while you're looking, it's not really a terrible thing if they hear that you're trying to help."

"They're going to wonder how I even know about her being missing."

Fixx chuckled. "You've got a two-hour drive to come up with a plausible story. I'm sure you'll think of something."

"I do have work to do," Powers said, his eyes straying to his computer monitor and the rapidly growing number of emails in his inbox.

"Yes. You do. You just need to prioritize better. Think of the big picture."

Derek took a deep breath. "I'll get my coat."

Dick slept in that morning, grateful that work allowed him the flexibility to come and go when he wanted to, for the most part—so long as he worked the requisite number of hours and made it in for departmental meetings. He woke slightly before eleven, was at the office before noon, and returned home a bit after half-past eight, glad that tonight was Tim and Cass's turn to patrol the city. As much as he insisted on the two-nights-on, one-night-off rule to keep stress and overwork at bay, it was usually no more than a sensible precaution. With everything going on in the city right now, however, Dick had to admit he needed it.

Barbara was in the foyer of their apartment, waiting for him when he pushed the door open. She tilted her head upwards for his kiss, but the worry in her eyes told him something was wrong. "Trouble?" he asked.

She let out an audible sigh. "That's one way to put it. Bressi called."

Dick shook his head. "I take it there's no word on his great-niece?"

Barbara replied with a head-shake of her own. "It gets worse, though," she said. "Bressi said to tell you that if she doesn't turn up within the next…" she looked at her watch. "…Twenty-one and a half hours, now," she continued, "he's going to deal with the Mandragoras himself."

Dick sucked in his breath. "That's going to be the spark that sets off this whole powder keg," he managed.

Barbara nodded. "I know."