A/N: Thanks to Kathy and Debbie for the beta.
A/N: "Home by Now" written by Andrew Lloyd Webber and Jim Steinman. Performed on the Whistle Down the Wind original London cast album by the ensemble (Verve, 1999).
A/N: During Batman: No Man's Land, it was established that Barbara possessed a rifle and knew how to use it.
The locusts are singing
The sky is red
It's gotten so late somehow
There's gonna be trouble
You know what they said
[I] should have been home by now
—Jim Steinman, "Home by Now"
Chapter 51—Gonna Be Trouble
"I knew things were working out too well," Dick muttered, as he pulled one of his gauntlets out from behind the false back in their walk-in closet. He reached behind the barrier again for the second glove, and then a third time for the aluminum attaché case he kept on one of the long wooden shelves lining the small room beyond.
"Too well?" Barbara asked, wheeling backwards a bit to get out of his way. "You mean, with a middle-school mafia princess playing vigilante, Scarecrow kidnapping Wayne Enterprises execs and staging a zombie outbreak, Hatter's vendetta against the Tweed brothers…"
Dick shook his head and carried the case and gauntlets over to the bed. Then he flipped open the case, popped one of the wrist compartments on the left glove, and started transferring nightarangs from case to costume. They clinked faintly as they went in. "This is Gotham," he pointed out. "That's par for the course and if I wanted a quiet life, I'd probably move to the Quad Cities. Or Blue Valley. Wally tells me living there is about as exciting as watching wallpaper fade. No, a new player on the streets and a couple of Arkham's worst breaking loose is just something I like to call 'Thursday'." He closed the compartment with an audible snap and reached for the right gauntlet. "They're skirmishes, Babs. Messy, sure. But nobody wants an all-out war, not even Bressi and Mandragora."
"I know," Barbara sighed. "This is forcing his hand. I mean, if you look at it from his perspective, it took a lot for him to work with you. Now, his grand niece's gone missing and he's probably worried sick. Not just about her. About how this makes him look to the other Families. He's allied himself with you—with us—for protection. This… makes him look weak and the alliance look useless."
"I know." He closed his eyes and exhaled noisily. "I should head up there, join in the search. But I can't justify taking time away from Gotham now. Not with things this tense."
"You're not shouldering all of this alone."
Dick nodded. "I know. You think Cass might jump at a road trip? Clara knows her. They've talked. It might make a difference."
Barbara considered. "It's not a bad idea, but I should probably point out that she's going to have one major disadvantage in getting up there: she still can't read very fast. If she's trying to make sense of the road signs while her Batcycle is going 65, she's either going to take a wrong turn or slow down and cause an accident." She brightened. "But if she and Helena went together…"
Dick smiled. "You don't think philosophical differences are going to come into play?"
"Philosoph…" Barbara's voice trailed off. "You mean, Helena's views on more permanent solutions to certain crime problems."
"That's one way to put it. Most of us are okay with working with Huntress, just so long as she avoids lethal force on the mission. Cass… might have some issues."
"She might," Barbara nodded. "Bruce did. Still does, I bet, but he can stick them on a shelf if he has to." She paused, thinking. "I'll talk to Cass about it. If she ever does decide to expand her activities beyond Gotham, whether with the Titans, the League, or some other outfit, she's going to have to work with people whose outlooks won't necessarily jibe with hers. She might as well rack up some experience. And Helena might be able to bond with the kid over mutual acquaintances or something. Plus, she's a teacher. She's got experience with kids. Cass doesn't. Not really."
"True," Dick agreed. "All right. I guess it's settled. I'll talk to Cass, you talk to Helena and, with any luck, they'll be on their way north within the hour."
Inzerillo was relieved that they weren't meeting in the Iceberg. After his last appearance there, he knew that Penguin had probably given his bouncers orders to turn him away at the door. That situation wasn't likely to change until he did something to prove that he was back on top. Once that happened, he'd enjoy seeing the monocled little toad grovel before him before he administered some well-deserved payback. Perhaps, he'd take over the restaurant himself and force Cobblepot to bus tables for him. That would be amusing…
From down the street, he heard the faint stirrings of Satin Doll, a sure sign that he was nearing his destination. The Paradise Club was one of Gotham's best-known jazz clubs and had a well-deserved reputation for both its music and its Cajun menu. While Inzerillo liked jazz, he normally wasn't big on Cajun food, but even he had to admit that the Paradise's boudin balls and rice and gravy were worth coming back for. Sergeant Forrester had asked to meet there and he was running late, but finding parking in this part of the city wasn't easy. Inzerillo picked up the pace.
The hostess smiled and nodded when he gave his name. "Mr. Forrester has already arrived, sir," she said. "Let me just point you to his table. It's over in the corner by the cypress trees. After you've had your meal, feel free to move into the lounge if you'd like to hear the band. There'll be live entertainment until midnight."
Inzerillo nodded absently and headed off in the direction she'd indicated. The fronds from the artificial trees gave the table some measure of privacy and it was far enough from the kitchen, restrooms, and lounge to ensure that they were unlikely to be disturbed by anyone save their waiter.
Forrester saw him and waved him over. "Enrico," he said, "it's good to see you. I've been mulling over your dilemma for the last couple of days, and I believe that this gentleman here can help you solve it." He motioned to his table companion, who leaned forward. In the candlelight, his face was half in shadow, but still familiar. "Please. Let me introduce you to Councillor Neal Jandt. He believes that he has a way to get you where you'd like to go with no one the wiser…"
"At least," Jandt interjected with a hearty chuckle, "not until it's too late."
Batgirl kept her eyes on the woman in purple on the 'cycle ahead, keeping a respectful distance behind. The last time she'd slowed to try to read some of the road signs, an eighteen-wheeler had moved into the gap and she'd had several moments of near-panic when she realized that she'd passed two exits before the van had changed lanes and she'd once again seen Huntress's cape billowing ahead.
She thought that, with a bit of practice and a guide, she could probably learn to make sense out of some of these signs. The ones that had pictures, instead of words, for example. While some of them were gibberish, she had a pretty good idea of what a drawing of a picnic table signified, or one of a tent.
Huntress signaled a turn and Batgirl spied an exit up ahead. She followed her companion off the Interstate. They pulled over at a nearby gas station. Huntress doffed her helmet and smiled. "Well, we're almost there. I figured we should fill up first so we can make it back to Gotham on one tank. Welcome to Nolan." When Batgirl dismounted and looked around, trying to get her bearings, the older woman's smile broadened. "First road trip?" she asked.
Batgirl shrugged. She wasn't entirely sure how to answer the question. She'd lived almost a decade roaming from place to place. Maybe that counted as one long trip, and roads had been involved. She'd ridden to Bludhaven on several occasions, too.
After a moment, Huntress reached for the pump nozzle. Batgirl tilted her head in disbelief. "Here?" she asked.
"I'm down about three quarters of a tank," Huntress pointed out. "I'm not getting back to Gotham without refuelling. You're probably in the same situation."
"Here?" Batgirl repeated. "But… they'll see."
Huntress sighed. "We're paying customers, too. And the attendant will have a nice story to tell his or her family tonight. You have money on you?"
Batgirl nodded.
"Then let's pay inside and fill up." She broke off. "You're okay with numbers, right?"
Batgirl nodded again. "Numbers, yes. Algebra… maybe?"
Huntress grinned at that. "Math wasn't my best subject in high school. Once we started getting into polynomials and functions, I kind of hit a wall."
"A wall?"
Huntress let out a sigh and her smile turned a bit rueful. "I mean, it was like there was a wall between me and the right answers and, no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't break through it."
Behind her mask, Batgirl felt her eyebrows shoot up. "You?" she asked, not sure that she was understanding correctly.
"Hey," Huntress shrugged, "some people are good at math. I wasn't one of them. I got by," she continued. "But it wasn't fun and it wasn't easy. And… let's just say that there are reasons I don't teach high school math."
Cass pondered that for a moment. Then she pulled her 'cycle closer to another pump and opened the gas tank.
"Hang on. We've got to pay first," Huntress laughed. "Oh. You do have cash on you, right? I'm not sure using a credit card is a good idea in costume."
Cass nodded. "No credit cards. No bank account."
"Right," Huntress nodded back. "I just thought that maybe Batman had given you a card on his account for expenses or…"
Cass shook her head. "No."
"Got it. Okay, then." Huntress pulled her cape around her and pulled a wallet out of the lining. "You want to go in, or should I?"
Batgirl hesitated. "You," she said. "Here." She pulled out her own money and counted out the exact change. She didn't want Huntress to think that she couldn't manage money. "I don't… Your costume isn't… scary. Mine is."
Huntress laughed. "Yeah, maybe it's not just the crooks who are a superstitious, cowardly lot. I'll be right back."
Once the other woman had gone inside the gas station to pay, Batgirl took another look at her surroundings. If I were twelve… scared… in danger… then where…?
She shook her head. Then she pulled out her smartphone and called up the area map that Oracle had sent her. She'd want cover… shelter… water… All at once she smiled.
Old Silver Mine. There was no guarantee that Clara would find her way there. She didn't know the area, and she might not have struck out in that direction. But Cass had been in enough small towns to know that outsiders were conspicuous and if Clara didn't want attract attention, it would make sense that she'd strike out for someplace off the beaten track. The mine was a good place to start looking. And they were only about ten miles away from it.
She glanced impatiently at the gas station office, wondering how long Huntress was going to take.
Tony Bressi waited by his telephone projecting an imposing façade, one which affected strength and power. Today, it was a thin veneer. He had called the Bat's answering service—or whatever the hell that number was—only twenty minutes earlier. He was resolved to wait at least another forty before he called for another update. He should probably give it longer. His own people might be growing uneasy. His worry was natural, but displaying it so openly could be interpreted as a sign of weakness. He could not afford to appear weak.
He reached for the phone and called a different number. "Georgie," he spoke into the handset, "You find out for me when Mandragora's next wine shipment is due in port; date, time, pier, the works. And get me a crew with an explosives expert in it."
He hung up and called another number. "Mando, I want two guys keeping tabs on each of Stefano's grandkids. Don't let 'em do anything, yet. Don't let 'em be spotted. But make sure you know where they are twenty-four-seven." As he replaced the phone on its base, one of his enforcers glanced at him with a worried expression.
"Don Bressi…" he began.
Tony shook his head. "I don't want to," he said. "They shouldn't be part of this. But if Stefano does anything to Clara, we're going to have to send him a message. Or, in this case," he added without a hint of levity, "five messages."
Hopefully, it wouldn't come to that. If the Bats brought Clara back, safe and sound, then the only action he'd take would be against that wine shipment. But there was no way that he was going to sit back and let the law—or any high-priced mouthpiece—rule on Mandragora's guilt and probably let him off with a slap on the wrist or toss the case for lack of evidence. If anything happened to Clara, one way or another, it was going to be a capital case… and if the courts didn't see it that way, Tony Bressi didn't much care.
Clara hugged herself in the dark and tried to pretend she wasn't in a hopeless situation. The cave had seemed like such a good idea at the time. It had been dry. It had been cool, but not uncomfortably so. And it had been huge. She'd figured it would be a good place to lose the creeps who were chasing her, and she'd be able to get back into town later to try her uncle.
Until she'd rounded a corner and found herself in near-total blackness. At first, she'd thought she could just stay right here, out of sight, until morning. Then she'd heard something. It might have been the wind, or a shower of sand. It might have been footsteps. And Clara realized that she might have left tracks behind her and she needed to get further in. It wasn't easy getting around in the dark, but light meant danger and she knew she had to keep moving. With her eyes closed, and one hand pressed against the wall, it wasn't so bad. When the wall turned, she turned with it, moving down a side passage. She didn't know how long she went on, only that she lost all sense of direction. It didn't matter. So long as she held onto the wall, she knew she could find her way back.
That was when she'd started to take a step and almost tumbled when her foot encountered empty air. She'd crouched down and tried to feel how deep or how wide the hole was. It might be two feet down or twenty. And it was farther than she wanted to stretch when, if she overbalanced, she might fall. She'd scuttled back, gotten to her feet and tried to retrace her steps. She stretched out her hand for the wall and found that it wasn't there! When she'd stumbled, she must have moved away from it. Well, it had to be somewhere. She took a cautious step to her left and almost screamed when the ground tilted sharply and she slid several feet down. When she stopped, she stretched her arms out in all directions. She couldn't see anything. She had no idea where the wall was now. She was dirty and scraped up and even if she somehow manage to get back up there in the dark, she had no idea how she would find the wall when she couldn't even find a safe place to step.
She was lost. And there was a very good chance that she was going to die here.
Clara hugged herself in the dark and tried not to cry.
Derek Powers tensed as he saw the black sedan in his rear-view mirror. Such a vehicle was as out of place in a town like this as his own Jaguar. Once they saw it, they'd have to know he wasn't local. And, despite Fixx's apparent faith in him, Derek still hadn't come up with a plausible explanation for how he was supposed to know that Clara Bressi was in the vicinity. He turned into a service station and stopped by the pumps. The sedan drove past and Derek breathed again.
He looked around. From here, he had a good view of the cave that marked the entrance to the silver mine. He hoped the Bressi kid was there. He'd much rather explore a cave than comb the forest. When he hiked, he stuck to established trails and he filed his route with the proper people, so that if he ran into difficulty, they knew where to send a search party. He didn't feel like trying to track a kid in the great outdoors, who was probably avoiding all marked paths. At least with the caves, there were only so many passages she could have taken.
Yes, he'd start with the mine.
Derek peeled out of the service station and took the main road north.
Clara wondered how long she'd been sitting here. She was thirsty and dusty and wanted to sleep, but she wasn't sure if it was safe to. Wasn't there something about how just before you froze to death, you started feeling warm and sleepy? It had been cold earlier. Maybe not cold enough to freeze, but what if the temperature had been dropping so slowly she hadn't realized it? More to the point, if she was asleep, she might not hear a search party coming to look for her.
She told herself that she was being silly. Nobody knew where she was. Except that Uncle Tony did know that she was in Boland. He'd have people looking for her and they might come here.
Mandragora might also know that she was in Boland by now; his goons would have to report to him eventually.
"Clara…?"
Her ears pricked up.
"Clara…?"
It wasn't her imagination. Someone was looking for her. But was it a friend or a foe?
"Clara…?"
If she answered and it was Mandragora's people, then she was as good as dead. But if she didn't answer and they went away, then she was also as good as dead.
"Clara…?"
She crossed her fingers and rose painfully to her feet, trying to ignore her stiff muscles. "Here!" she coughed. Then, a bit louder, "Here! I'm here!"
Derek Powers heard the faint call and smiled. So, Fixx's suggestion had been right. The girl had come here. "Clara," he said calmly, I need you to sit tight. I'm coming to find you." He shone his flashlight and found that he was in a large chamber with three passageways branching off. "I'm going to call your name and I need you to respond." He forced himself to chuckle. "Or, we can play 'Marco Polo,' if you like. What's important is that you keep responding to me so I know I'm on the right track. And when you see the light from my flashlight tell me, okay?"
There was a moment's silence. "Polo."
"Good girl. Hang in there." He removed the backing from a piece of reflective tape and affixed it to the right hand side of the passage he was about to take. Then he stuck his hand in his jacket pocket again to reassure himself that the rest of the markers he'd cut were still there. He didn't know much about caves, but he did know the importance of marking a trail. And while there was a trail already marked off for spelunkers to take, there was no guarantee that Clara had chosen that route, so following it might not lead him in the right direction.
Several yards ahead, the passage forked again. "Marco?"
"Polo."
He smiled and affixed another piece of reflective tape. He wondered whether Bressi was offering a reward for the girl's safe return. If he wasn't, Derek reflected, maybe he could contrive to hold onto the girl a bit longer. Or perhaps, it would be best to bring her back now and trade on the mobster's goodwill. Bressi would probably open a lot of doors for the man who reunited him with his grand-niece. And that kind of networking might offer more dividends down the road than a lump cash sum, no matter how attractive…
Turning the possibilities over in his mind, he was smiling as he came to the next branch-off. "Marco?"
"Polo."
Oh, yes. Derek Powers was definitely on the right path…
Batgirl had never realized how much roadwork got done in the spring. Detours and closed lanes meant that they were arriving almost an hour later than they'd anticipated when they'd struck out from Gotham, but at last, they'd reached Boland. Huntress's face fell when she spied the foot path leading toward the mine entrance. "We'll have to leave the cycles here," she said, waving toward one of the two empty parking areas—one on each side of the mine. The path up to then entrance formed a rough chevron, with the cave mouth situated at the 'point'. "Is there any sign that she came this way?"
Batgirl shrugged. "Wait."
They walked out of the lot and approached the steep access path. Batgirl bent down. "Here," she said. When Huntress stooped over her, Batgirl indicated the footprints. "Sneaker," she said. "I think… not adult. Or short. Not heavy. Also… didn't know path." She indicated where the wearer of the sneakers had skidded and slipped.
"A twelve-year-old girl, maybe?" Huntress asked, smiling. "If she came here at night, it must have been almost pitch-black. Maybe the moonlight would have given her something to see by, but it wouldn't have been much."
"Possible." The path proved to be steep and in some places, quite narrow. There was a guardrail, but it was in poor repair and Huntress was surprised that their quarry had made it up here in one piece when she couldn't have seen the trail clearly. It took about fifteen minutes to reach the mine entrance. When they did, Batgirl sucked in her breath.
"Problem?"
Cass nodded. "Two tracks leaving. One… we followed. But here… This is from… boot. For hiking. Probably man. A man," she added belatedly. "Strong. Used to hikes. Sure of way. I think… he came..." She gestured toward the path that led to the second parking area.
"Mandragora's people, d'you think?" Huntress asked. Before Batgirl could respond, she was already answering her own question. "No. The goons who lost her wouldn't be wearing hiking boots. I guess it's possible they could have sent in a professional tracker, but given how sensitive this whole thing is, they'd be more likely to keep things inside the family. The Mandragora boys don't hike, they don't hunt… I think a couple of them fish, but that's on a private lake up north." She sighed when Batgirl tilted her head quizzically. "I dated Frankie Mandragora for a while. I thought I might pick up some intel that way. He took me up to the cottage for a couple of weekends. There are some nice nature walks up there, but nothing where you'd need special gear."
"Local?" Batgirl asked. When Huntress frowned, she elaborated. "I mean… someone from town?" She smiled under her mask. Just last week, Dr. Arkham had told her that she was getting better at using more words when she spoke, as well as when she wrote. Of course, his revelation had made her self-conscious and she'd barely uttered five words during the rest of the session. Now, working with Huntress, she realized that Dr. Arkham was right. While she'd never rival Dick in what Tim called 'the chatter department,' when she had to make herself understood, she did have the extra words to allow her to do so.
"Maybe," Huntress said, oblivious to her companion's newfound elation. "The mine's open for tours later in the year. It could be someone come to inspect before the season starts." She frowned. "I guess we'll never know if we don't follow."
"Right."
The tracks led into the second lot and stopped. Batgirl pointed to the tire treads, their imprint still clear in sand. "Left together," she said. "We're… too late."
"Thanks, Helena," Dick said, his shoulders slumping. "I'll see what we can turn up on the boot and tire treads. Yeah, that's an idea. Let me know what you find out." He ended the call and turned to Barbara.
"She's going back to the Burger Barn Clara called from last night. Maybe someone saw something." He punched the wall. "Damn it!"
"If you want to put on the gloves and go a few rounds with the heavy bag, I'll understand," Barbara replied. "Probably better for your knuckles." A tone sounded from one of her many computer consoles and she looked quickly back to its monitor.
"Just got the digital imaging files from Cass. Let me route them to the 3D scanner so I can get the models started." She smiled. "Bet you wished you could do this kind of thing back in your short-pants days."
"We did," Dick said, his irritation already fading. "Only we had to use dental stone. Or ask your dad nicely to lend us the casts that his CSI unit had already made." He smirked. "Did you know that puppy dog eyes are visible even through a domino mask?"
Barbara laughed. "Yes… I do believe I've had some first-hand experience with that, Current Bat-wonder." Another tone sounded. "Scan's complete," she said, bantering tone replaced with crisp professionalism. "The 3D printing is going to take a bit longer, though."
Dick nodded. "I guess I'll head off to work, then. Sal's a great guy to work for, and the last thing I'd want is for him to think I'm taking too much advantage of flexible scheduling. Better give him my eight hours. Meanwhile…" he sighed. "I think we might need reinforcements in case things escalate. Can you send out some feelers and see how many of our colleagues might be able to swing a Gotham spring break getaway?"
"Now there's something I'd never hear Bruce ask."
"True," Dick admitted, stooping down to give her a quick peck on the cheek. "But then, I'm not Bruce."
She kissed him back. "Thankfully," she replied. "I'm on it."
"Stay safe."
"You too," she said, flashing him a quick grin. Then he was off.
Barbara pulled up a video chat session, her smile giving way to the worry she was feeling. It was all well and good to joke and banter, but somewhere out there was a lost twelve-year-old and they just might be her only hope. "Come on, Clara," she whispered, even as she scanned her contact list. "Give us a clue."
At first, Clara wasn't concerned that Mr. Powers hadn't called Uncle Tony to let him know she was safe, nor offered to let her make the call. She knew that rates could be higher for long distance and she figured he might want to wait until they were closer to Gotham. When she saw the sign for Bristol Township come into view though, she asked about it.
"There'll be plenty of time for that once we get back to my place," Powers replied genially. Then he added ruefully, "Assuming we ever get out of this traffic. I can't believe we're down to one lane in rush hour."
Clara frowned. "I thought you'd take me right to my uncle's," she said. "He's got to be worried sick."
Powers nodded, still smiling. "Your uncle's a very powerful man, Clara. I'm not sure if it would be safe to turn up on his doorstep unexpected. I'll call him to make the arrangements from my house."
"Oh," Clara said. "Okay, then. Hey, could you put some music on, please? WBAH should be in the middle of the Top 40 Countdown."
Powers smiled. "Sure thing." As his fingers moved to the radio dial, Clara unfastened her seatbelt, pushed her door open and rolled out, eluding Powers' frantic grip. She didn't know who this guy was, but she did know that he wasn't a friend. She made it onto the grassy verge that bordered the highway and quickly ran back in the direction they'd come, trying not to get freaked out by the blaring horns and shouts from car windows. There was no way that Powers was going to be able to back up to grab her, not bumper-to-bumper in a single lane. He'd have to get off at the next exit and double back.
All the same, she knew she needed to get off the road. The last thing she wanted was to run from Powers right into the arms of Mandragora's goons. Maybe there was a service station or an information center or…
Her eyes lit up as she realized that she was running past a pickup truck with a canvas tarp covering the truck bed. The rope tying it down had come loose and one corner flapped in the breeze. She was on the passenger side. The driver and the other cars behind him might not notice if she jumped in the back. And even if he did… if he called the cops on her, she just had to say who she was and she'd be back with her uncle almost before she could blink.
She was on the tailgate and under the canvas in record time. There was enough light to see the crates and cylinders that made up the cargo, but not enough for her to read the shipping labels. It didn't matter. At this point, it could be geometry textbooks and she wouldn't care.
She scuttled into a corner at the front end and tried to relax.
Barbara had been having a rough twenty-four hours. Clara's disappearance was occupying much of her focus, and whatever attention she had left over was being directed toward the mob situation. Things were tense. Everyone was on edge. In situations like this, any stupid little thing could set off the war they were trying to avoid. Someone might be checking their gun before storing it away and, not realizing that there was still a round left in the magazine or chamber, squeeze off a shot. It happened. That was exactly why one was supposed to check a gun before storing it. She remembered as much from her own firearms safety training course. But at a time like this, someone hearing the gun go off might mistake it for an opening salvo.
The shot heard round the city, she thought, shaking her head.
She sighed. Then she typed some instructions into one of her computers and pulled up a list of reports. She sighed once more. Ever since Metropolis, she'd been keeping a close eye on organized crime expenditures. It was a big job. The funds circumnavigated the globe, resting at times in offshore accounts in the Caymans, in Swiss and South American banks, and at times, completely off of the radar for months. She suspected that there were currently several briefcases stuffed with hundred-dollar bills reposing in some mobsters' offices in case ready cash was needed in a hurry.
Right now, she was mostly focused on recent transactions to both the Bressi and Mandragora accounts. There had been some unusual fluctuations, but not unsurprising ones. Both factions were stockpiling munitions, as were some of the other families that had aligned themselves with one faction or the other. It was worrying, if understandable.
Barbara frowned. She felt like she was overlooking something potentially serious. Or someone. Who was she…? She smiled to herself. Most of the mob families of any significance had fallen into line between the two major factions, but there were a couple of players who hadn't and she'd been paying them less attention than, perhaps, she should have.
Penguin was still trying to play all sides in this conflict. No surprises there. So long as he wasn't putting all of his clout behind one family, he wasn't an immediate concern, though his activities would bear closer scrutiny. When this crisis was averted, she didn't want to discover that, behind the scenes, he'd been quietly amassing greater power and resources. If she didn't watch out, organized crime in Gotham might just wind up a monopoly under his direction. As if they didn't have enough problems already.
She hadn't heard much from Inzerillo lately. Not since he'd become something of a laughingstock anyway. It was possible that he was laying low and trying to stay out of the action. Possible, but she doubted it. "What have you been up to, Enrico?" she muttered, as she called up the data. Her eyebrows shot up. She should have known he'd throw in his lot with Intergang if nobody else would have him. That was trouble, but Intergang was too smart to give him any sort of carte blanche until he proved himself. Her eyes dipped several lines down. That was a large funds transfer deposit, and it was going to a numbered account she recognized. But where had it come from?
She sucked in her breath when the trace results came back. "Why is Neal Jandt getting involved with the mob?" she wondered aloud. "And why with you, of all people?"
With some trepidation, she checked the numbered account, trying to see where the money had gone. She frowned. "And just what do you plan on doing with a truckload of ammo and explosives?"
Enrico Inzerillo opened his office door and checked the hallway to make sure that he wasn't being observed. Next, he examined his phone. He had no idea what he was looking for, but he still pried off the casing and looked at the innards, trying to remember if they looked exactly as they had last week when he'd performed this inspection. Truthfully, he had no idea how to tell if his phone was bugged, but it still made him feel better if he went through this. He sometimes made a show of doing so when there was someone in his office. If word got around that he was so paranoid he checked his phone for bugs, perhaps the people who really wanted to know his secrets would think twice before trying to put him under surveillance.
He tried to squelch the thought that at present, nobody cared about his secrets. That would change soon. Once he was back on top, he'd need to be on his guard again, so there was no point in lowering it now.
He called a number he'd been given and, when a voice came on the line, he announced tersely, "It's set."
"You got someone onto the academy grounds?" the voice demanded.
Inzerillo chuckled. "As good as. I found out through a certain municipal councillor who's keeping a careful watch on the GCPD in general—and the academy specifically—that they're currently doing some hiring. Now, funnily enough, I own a few cops in this city. I've had a couple of them apply and they're going to be interviewed. One later today, in fact. He knows a thing or two about explosives."
"And you seriously believe that he's going to bomb the academy?"
"Oh, yes," Inzerillo said. "At this point, he's been with me too long and he's in too deep. He'll do what needs done."
"Where is he going to plant his device? We'd prefer not to have to kill a whole class of cadets; Intergang might be able to use some of them."
"I wouldn't worry too much about that," Inzerillo said. "Wayne's one of four cadets learning mounted drills. And he's on the academy grounds early every morning, grooming his horse, mucking out his stall… I figure we plant the device in the stable and set it to go off around six AM and… they might even finish mopping up what's left of him before the other cadets show up for their first class. And if they don't…" he said, "That's just the opening salvo. There's a campground on the land adjacent to the academy. Not open now, but I've arranged to use it. As we speak, a truckload of munitions is on its way over to that site. When the bomb goes off, there's going to be a certain amount of panic and confusion. That's when my men go in and… secure the perimeter. And if the Bat isn't down, I think they'll be able to finish the job…"
The truck finally slowed and came to a halt. Clara remained in her corner, trying to figure out how she was going to explain herself when she was discovered. She heard the cab door open and shoes, maybe boots, crunching on something. Gravel, she thought, or perhaps dead leaves.
"You're late," a voice said, making her start involuntarily. She hadn't realized that anyone else was there.
"Hit some traffic on the Interstate," another voice—almost definitely the truck driver's—snapped back.
There was a grunt. Then the first voice said, "It's here?"
"Check it," the driver said, and Clara heard something rustle. "Got your manifest right here."
"Later," the first voice said. "The game's coming on in five minutes. Those bombs and bullets aren't going anywhere. Just lock up and come on in. We can go over the list after."
The footsteps receded. Clara heard a wooden door slam shut and then the sound of a bolt sliding into place. She waited a few minutes, before she peered out from under the canvas cover. She was in a large wooden building—probably a barn. It sure smelled like one. She could see sunlight coming in through the cracks between the planks.
She eased herself out of the truck bed and onto the canvas. Getting down was a bit harder than getting up had been; although she wasn't really that high off the ground, it felt like a much more significant drop. She tried to climb down slowly, but her foot slipped and she fell about four feet to a packed-dirt floor, bruising her tailbone in the process. She sat up with a groan and rubbed the spot.
Even though she'd heard the bolt, she tried the door, hoping she'd been wrong. She hadn't been. A quick look around told her that there was no other door.
She was locked in a barn with a truckload of bombs and bullets. Clara groaned. How was she going to get out of this one?