Stupid, Bruce. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
He sat in the Batcave, scowling at the large monitor in front of him, more mad at himself than Diana Prince. How the hell did this keep happening? After all those times with Selina Kyle and Talia al Ghul, he ought to know better than to let his guard down around beautiful women. Every time it happened, he swore that he'd learned his lesson, that he'd be careful next time.
Yet Diana Prince nicked the USB drive right out of his pocket.
He snorted and shook his head. That's how he was going to go out. Not from a bullet, a bomb, or poison gas courtesy of Joker, Penguin, or Riddler. No, some femme fatale would slit his throat while they were in bed. Why? Because no matter how smart he prided himself in being, he was still a man. A man who let his carnal needs get the best of him, again and again.
He slid forward in his chair, eyes narrowed. Self-recrimination wouldn't get that USB drive back. Hard work and determination would.
He'd memorized the license plate on Diana's car and ran it through state DMV records. It was registered to a rental car company in Metropolis. He hacked into the business's computer system and found Diana's credit card information. Bruce scanned her recent purchases, and saw she had reserved a room at the Sheraton near Metropolis International Airport yesterday.
And checked out less than two hours ago.
Bruce didn't see a new hotel on her statement. Maybe she left town. Or maybe she checked into another hotel and paid in cash.
He hacked into the Metropolis Transit Authority and ran an algorithm through its traffic cam system, hoping to get a hit on Diana's car. The cameras picked her up heading to the Sheraton, then away from it. The system last spotted her on Butler Street heading for the Hobbs Bay section of the city.
Then nothing.
None of the cameras on the bridges or interstates caught her car. So Diana was still in Metropolis. And she could be staying at any one of its two hundred hotels. Or she could be staying with a friend. Or she ditched her rental car for a new one. Or hopped on a bus and got out of town.
He snorted. Whatever the case, Diana's trail had gone cold.
XXXXX
Bruce awoke minutes after the sun came up and went through his morning routine. Push-ups, crunches, pull-ups, lifting, and a run. He showered and headed to the kitchen, where Alfred already had breakfast waiting for him.
He polished off his oatmeal and started on his eggs when his phone beeped. The screen showed an image from a traffic cam near the Metropolis Museum. Diana's car pulled up to the curb. She got out and strode up the stairs.
Gotcha. Bruce wiped his mouth with a cloth napkin and got out of his seat. He passed Alfred in the living room.
"Sorry, Alfred. Have to cut breakfast short."
"Eggs not to your liking."
"No. I have an impromptu meeting with someone."
"Who?"
Bruce turned, his hand on the doorknob. He gave the butler a sly grin. "A woman."
Alfred huffed. "Of course."
XXXXX
Bruce arrived at the Metropolis Museum a half-hour later and found Diana's car still parked in front. He went inside and grabbed a map of the museum. In tourist attractions like this, visitors started at the front, made their way to the rear, or in this case, the fourth floor, then returned to the front, filing through the gift shop before leaving. He stared through the glass windows to his left, into a room with t-shirts, ballcaps, DVDs, and other souvenirs.
Including a poster of Superman.
He sneered, then looked back at the map, calculating the amount of time needed for the average tourist to make their way around the museum. Four floors, well over a hundred exhibits and displays. Say an average of thirty seconds to view each one, longer the more interesting it seemed. An additional ten minutes or so if they attended a video presentation or two. An hour-and-a-half would be a good estimate.
Unless she's meeting with some museum official. Except it was Saturday. Business like that usually took place on weekdays.
Diana had been here well over half-an-hour. If she behaved like the average tourist, she should be finishing up on the second floor and about to head up to the third floor.
Bruce jogged up the stone steps. He reached the third floor and strode down the left concourse. His eyes swept around the exhibition halls. Diana wasn't in the Native American Exhibit. Nor the Bronze Age Exhibit.
He halted at the entrance to the Ancient Greece Exhibit. Diana stood in front of a window displaying swords and shields, a white dress hugging her trim frame.
The woman had a great body.
Bruce. Not again. He beat down his desire and slowly walked toward her. His reflection showed on the glass. Diana glanced up. She spotted it, but didn't move, didn't say anything.
Bruce sidled up next to Diana and followed her gaze to a rust-colored blade. "The Sword of Eris," he said. "Goddess of strife and discord. I bet she spread a lot of it with that sword."
"She didn't." Diana kept her gaze on the sword.
"How do you know?"
"Because it's a fake."
"Are you sure?" asked Bruce.
She turned to him. "Trust me."
Bruce chuckled. "Trust? It's not easy for me to trust thieves."
Diana shot him an elfish grin. "So you're upset because I stole something from you that you initially stole from Lex Luthor."
"Touché." Bruce gave an innocent shrug of the shoulders.
"So what were you after?" she asked. "Corporate secrets? Do you hope to have an advantage over a competitor?"
"Actually, what I wanted from Luthor is more personal in nature."
"If you say so." She exhaled, her smile widening. "Just so you know, I did not steal the drive from you. I borrowed it, and now I'm done with it."
Diana reached into her purse and pulled out the USB drive. Bruce held out his hand, and she dropped it in his palm.
"It's almost like you were expecting me to show up." He clenched a fist around the drive. No way would he put it in any of his pockets with this woman around.
Diana emitted a soft laugh. "You are Bruce Wayne, one of the richest men in the world. I'm sure you have the resources to find an antiquities dealer, especially one not trying very hard to hide from you."
She nodded to him. "Good day . . . Bruce."
Diana took three steps, paused, and turned. "By the way, there is something of a personal nature concerning you on that drive, and it's something you might want to share with a certain nocturnal friend of yours."
Bruce's eyes widened. He held his breath as Diana gave him a parting smile and left the exhibition hall.
XXXXX
Diana's words stuck with Bruce the entire drive back to Gotham City. Did she know his secret identity? Worse, did Lex Luthor know?
She said my "nocturnal friend." Diana or Lex may not realize he was the Batman, but they might think he had some connection to him.
When he returned to the mansion, he went straight to the Batcave and uploaded the USB drive. Dozens of files appeared on the monitor. He scanned for anything having to do with his alter ego, but his gaze settled on a file labeled SUPERMAN DETERRENTS.
His finger hovered over the touch mouse. That had been the reason he broke into Luthor's mainframe room. But if the son-of-a-bitch knew he was Batman, that took priority.
If he did know, wouldn't he have used that information by now?
Biting his lip, he clicked on the Superman file.
The first document to appear concerned something called PROJECT DOOMSDAY. Rather ominous. It had something to do with General Zod's body, but didn't go into specifics.
Work in progress, I guess.
Next came an image of a large bright green rock, identified as a fragment from Superman's home planet. Tests done by USAMRIID, the Army's version of the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, showed that this Kryptonite killed cells taken from Zod's body.
Bruce sucked in a breath, staring at the file with unblinking eyes. This was it. Humanity finally had something to give them the edge over this god-like alien.
And Luthor was getting twenty pounds of Kryptonite, courtesy of Anatoli Knyazev. The rock had been put on a cargo ship scheduled to arrive at the Queensland Docks in Metropolis Friday night.
I know where I'll be Friday night.
Thoughts of shoving Kryptonite into the face of the damn alien got pushed aside by his other concern. What did Luthor know about him and Batman?
He scanned the files again. Another caught his attention. DEMON ATTACKS.
"What the hell is this?" He clicked on it. Several articles appeared, including one that read, "DEMONS DESTROY CHINESE VILLAGE." They all came from various conspiracy websites, the kind that crackpot The Question would love. A couple of crude drawings of winged, deformed creatures with sharp teeth accompanied the stories, along with a photo of an omega symbol burned into a wall.
"When did Luthor become interested in the occult?" He would have dismissed it as a hobby, but most people wouldn't hide their hobbies on a secure mainframe.
Unless Luthor thought it would hurt his public image.
Bruce closed the file and scanned the rest until he came to one labeled META-HUMANS/COSTUMED VIGILANTES. He clicked on it.
Several documents popped up. Bruce straightened in his chair, curiosity and concern colliding as he read the titles.
GREEN ARROW. NIGHTWING. THE ATOM. BLACK CANARY. THE QUESTION.
BATMAN.
His chest tightened as he moved the cursor onto that last document. Jaw clenched, he opened it.
Newspaper articles, news reports, photos, and videos cluttered the monitor. All about Batman. Toward the bottom, he saw a page titled, "Identity of Batman."
A trickle of sweat rolled down his temple as he read the opening paragraph.
While there are many viable suspects, we cannot confirm with one hundred percent certainty the true identity of Batman.
Bruce let out a relieved breath, sagging in his chair. Luthor had listed several possible candidates, along with those who could be funding Batman's activities. His name fell into the latter category. He still didn't like his name linked to Batman in any way, but better to be part of a multiple-choice list than the only suspect.
I'm going to have to be more mindful of my comings and going from now on. He'd also have to beef up security around the mansion in case Luthor had anyone running surveillance on him.
Other documents caught his attention. He clicked one titled SPEEDSTER. It showed security cam footage of a person in a hooded sweatshirt – a young man, given his size, build, and posture. Some thug at the counter of the convenience store pulled a gun on the clerk.
Bruce's head jerked back when the hooded boy vanished in a blur. The next instant, the thug lay on the floor, rolling from side-to-side, the gun and the boy gone.
Notes appeared below the video.
Speed and reaction time estimated at 500 times that of normal human. Possible counters to this power include coating floors or roadways with ice or stringing near-invisible garrote wire at neck level for decapitation.
Another video appeared to come from an underwater ROV and showed a bearded man with long hair and a trident, which he used to smash the camera.
Subject tentatively codenamed Aquaman has ability to breath underwater, move at great speeds through water, and possesses superhuman strength. Obvious counter would be to lure him away from any body of water. This may weaken him.
Bruce clicked on another document. CYBORNETIC TEEN. A video taken from some lab showed a tall black man standing next to a desk with an undulating dark substance. Tendrils leapt from it and surged over a teen – the man's son? – standing a few feet away.
The notes below the video read, As a cyborg, a computer virus is one possible way to render it inoperable.
Gut tightening, Bruce looked back at the other documents. He was sure he'd find the same notes regarding countermeasures in all of them, including his.
Luthor was not only collecting information about costumed heroes, but how to defeat them.
As if Superman wasn't a big enough worry.
He was about to read the other documents, starting with Nightwing – he definitely had to let Dick know Luthor had him in his sights – when another caught his eye. AMAZON.
Curious, he opened it.
Mouth agape, Bruce fell back in his seat. "You've got to be kidding me."
He gawked at the grainy black and white photo of two soldiers in thick wool tunics and soup bowl helmets. Obviously World War I. That wasn't what astounded him. It was the woman standing between them. She wore some sort of chain mail dress with an American flag design and carried a shield. Her curled, dark hair fell past her shoulders. And her face, he knew that face damn well.
Bruce checked the information. Luthor had run tests on the photo and determined it had not been faked in any way.
Somehow, Diana Prince had taken a picture with two soldiers a hundred years ago, and had not aged a day since.
TO BE CONTINUED