That morning he didn't wear the suit that was customary and in fashion in Gotham City. Henri Ducard wore what he felt most comfortable in, his sleek black martial arts outfit that was both simple and elegant. He had worn such dress in the Himalayas for so long that wearing Western clothing, as he had to do during his visits to Gotham City, felt odd and even uncomfortable. It was a welcome relief to abandon the suit jacket and stiff, confining trousers to the beautiful, yet practical Asian styles again.
Ducard watched almost in paternal pride as he watched his ninja going through their warm ups before engaging in deadly combat to keep their skills fresh and their minds keen. The "courtyard" the ninja practiced wasn't the beautiful oriental setting Ducard had enjoyed in the Himalayas – the home Bruce had so arrogantly destroyed. The ninja now practiced in an expansive concrete court flanked by equally thick stone walls. He was thankful that he had found this compound, an old military base located forty miles outside Gotham City that no longer was in use. It eagerly was sold at a trifling sum to pay for the military's ongoing and never ending wars.
Such fools. So busy fighting on foreign soil they wouldn't know a threat if it was right beneath their noses, Ducard thought in amusement.
Ducard heard a slight rustle in fabric and the faint footsteps of a black clad ninja approaching along with the easily heard, long-strided footsteps of another man. Ducard turned away from the view of the enclosed courtyard toward the claustrophobic hallway with few windows and even less decoration – stark in all its features.
Well, that should make Jonathan feel at home then, very much like Arkham.
The ninja gave a quick, reverent bow to Ducard.
"As you requested, Dr. Crane is here to see you at 0800 hours."
"Very good. Thank you, Tiao."
Tiao bowed and just as quickly and silently was gone, vanishing down the narrow, poorly lit hallway. Ducard gazed at Jonathan, who looked very different from when he first saw him. Jonathan looked markedly pale this morning and tired, weariness showing in his eyes and something else Ducard noted, desperation perhaps – or fear. Perhaps he was imagining things, but despite his circumstances, Ducard noted that Dr. Crane did clean up nicely. Ducard was more than happy to give him a new, clean suit that he believed was close enough to the young man's lanky frame and it seemed to fit him well enough.
"Jonathan, so good to see you. I trust you are feeling better?"
"Better than yesterday, thanks to you. You have quite an establishment here – one I was not aware of. I believed you were located solely within Asia and would visit here only briefly."
"So it was, Jonathan, but circumstances, as you imagine, have changed. Truth be told, I always had a few of my colleagues throughout the world, but only of late have I needed this base."
Jonathan gazed at Ducard a moment, studying him with those cool blue eyes, but no warmth or friendship dwelt within in them.
"And how long have you been here at this base – before that night when my toxin was released on Gotham?"
"Is that what is troubling you, the toxin? Ah, Jonathan, that was beyond my control and that was not my doing."
"If it wasn't who was it? Only you knew the extent the toxin ran through the water supply."
Ducard heavily sighed as Jonathan's icy stare pierced into him.
"Let's walk. Clearly you have some misinformation, spread by my enemies. Many things happened on that terrible night, Jonathan."
"Call me, Dr. Crane."
"Very well. The ransom began as planned, initiated by the anonymous league as I told you, but something went wrong, there was a leak. We think it might have been Falcone's men, dressed as policemen, who raided your asylum and caused the destruction."
Jonathan was silent a moment, his face unreadable as they passed through the narrow hallways with no windows and door after locked door concealing secrets but revealing none.
"You seriously don't expect me to believe that," Jonathan said.
"I do, because it is the truth. Should I tell you lies to make you feel better," Ducard asked.
"No, I do not wish that, but your explanation leaves much to be desired. I trust there is no money – none of the money you were so eager to promise me?"
"I fear you are correct in your assumption. The ransom fell through and with it the millions not only you anticipated but I and my colleagues so desperately had hoped for."
"Of course," Jonathan murmured almost to himself in disgust. "Then tell me, why need me now, Ducard? If indeed your plan is shattered and everything is ruin, why not leave before the police find you?"
"You think too small, which probably is why you still are in Gotham," Ducard said. "No, all is not lost as I told you, but to salvage what is left, I need help and that includes your help, but I still am not assured of your cooperation. That is why I brought you here, so you can see what I am doing and what I will do."
Jonathan suddenly stopped walking and Ducard, who was maintaining a swift, purposeful stride, his mind flooded with his future vision, at first nearly left Jonathan behind. Ducard turned, gazing at Jonathan who stared coldly at the older man.
"What is it? Something wrong," Ducard asked. "Perhaps what I have told you hasn't convinced you of yet or is there something you are in need of?"
"There are many things I am in need of, Ducard. Many things I have not been provided with from our first 'deal' to be convinced to enter into a new devil's bargain. But answer me this – when you found me, I had with me a certain possession, which I did not find on me this morning."
Ducard frowned, but a glimmer of curiosity or amusement dwelt within his eyes as he slowly approached Jonathan.
"What is it you are missing? Perhaps I may be of service if I know specifically what it is you have lost."
Jonathan's lips pursed and his eyes clouded with inner turmoil. If he told Ducard of the medication he was taking, he'd reveal to him his weakness, the schizophrenia and possibly Scarecrow, and this in turn might be used against him. But if he didn't take his medication soon, Scarecrow was sure to emerge unbidden and beyond Jonathan's control, and even worse, taking over his life and mind. It was a terrible choice one way or the other and already he could feel Scarecrow, like a growing cancer crowding out his healthy thoughts and pressing against his own identity.
"It's of no matter – a trivial thing – it can easily be replaced when I return to Gotham to retrieve some of my work, which I'm sure can benefit you here," said Jonathan. "I am no prisoner here, correct?"
"Of course not, you never were. Although there will be some precautions taken, you are quite valuable to us as you know. A few ninja will escort you."
"No, just provide the transportation and I will go alone," Jonathan said. "I am able to take care of myself."
"Even against Batman?"
"The Bat-man … what do you know of him?"
"Only that he is a very dangerous adversary, one I would not want you to face alone," Ducard said. "I realize that you are more than capable, but I have faced Batman before and almost did not escape with my life."
"Was this the night of the ransom?"
Ducard slightly smiled.
"Oh, yes – yes it was."
Batman loomed over him and Ducard realized the bitterness of defeat as he lay upon the dirty, shivering metal floor of the monorail train. He gazed at Batman and saw beyond the rippling cape and menacing black mask to see who was hidden beyond it, the young man he once rescued from the filthy damp Asian jail so long ago. He had hopes for Bruce then, a bright future in the League of Shadows. He had dreamed this night Bruce would be at his side, his right hand man as Gotham fell into ruin, not that they would be adversaries.
Yes, all Ducard had taught Bruce, about turning fear on one's enemy, on stealth, speed, cunning and of course theatricality had been turned against him until now the student was ready to be deal his teacher the death stroke.
But I don't fear death, Bruce. No, that is not what I fear. I am ready for death. I have been ready since my dear wife died and I am ready to join her.
Ducard gazed at the sharp weapon gripped in Batman's hand, then into his former protégée's eyes.
"Have you finally learned to do what is necessary," Ducard asked.
"I won't kill you," Batman said with finality. "But I don't have to save you."
In the same awful second Ducard expected the merciful, killing blow, Batman hurled the weapon and he felt a burst of heat from the explosion and the shattering of glass as a whole wall of the train broke apart. Just as quickly, Batman opened his wings and was gone, swept up on a hot updraft of wind and Ducard suddenly was alone, alone with Death as the train hurtled out of control with seconds until it met its fiery doom.
For a fraction of a second Ducard closed his eyes, welcoming his fate, the image of his lovely wife flashing before him, but then his heart stopped and time froze. His hand reached toward his belt and the wind whistled shrill and harsh at his face. When he opened his gray eyes again they were steely with firm determination and unshakable will. Nothing would stop Henri Ducard, the powerful Ra's al Ghul! Before him he saw the twisted rail reaching an abrupt and lethal end. Ducard, without thinking or feeling, ran to the train's brink, where the wind was howling and Death waited before him with its black shrouded wings.
As his feet left the edge of the floor, he leapt powerfully into the air just seconds before the train plummeted to its fiery death. While the train bloomed below him like a lethal crimson fire flower, Ducard shot a metal grapple through window. For a few terrifying seconds the grapple did not grasp anything as he began to plummet as quickly downward toward the inferno that awaited him, but then the grapple held fast to the concrete at the window's edge and he slammed hard and painfully into the brick as his boots scraped against the wall. He heard the fires burn and crackle hungrily below him as he climbed upon the wire, reaching at last the shattered window and the empty and darkened room inside – a place of refuge and safety.
Batman had left him for dead a second time, but Ra's al Ghul, like the phoenix, had emerged alive from his own funeral pyre.
"I warn you Batman is more dangerous an adversary than you realize," Ducard said to Jonathan. "It nearly cost me my life in my confrontation with him. It would be advisable you have the ninja to protect you."
"You may have fought with the Bat-man, but I don't want your ninja spying on me in Gotham," Jonathan said emphatically.
Ducard gazed at Dr. Crane, whom he needed to enlist for his new plan. He turned to the younger man, the man with the cold blue eyes, strong will and enigmatic personality.
"It is for your own protection. They will keep their distance and you may carry on in your own affairs unhindered by them – agreed?"
Jonathan heavily sighed and pursed his lips.
"Very well, then."
A ninja stealthily passed them through the narrow hall in his sleek black tunic and pants. Barely a whisper of sound or breath passed between them.
A man in black. He took her.
"Were they there – at Arkham that night," Jonathan asked.
"Ninja? And why would they be? I told you Falcone's men were there."
"I just noticed the ninja was wearing black."
"All ninja do, Jonathan. It helps conceal them, conceal their identity."
Jonathan's eyes turned to ice as he gazed at the retreating ninja, then at Ducard and it almost made Ducard fear Jonathan – almost.
"Come. This line of thought is clearly upsetting you," Ducard said. "Let's continue walking. We have far more pressing matters to discuss."
"Such as?"
"Such as the burning question you must be wondering about – why exactly you are here. Well that will be answered soon enough."
Ducard turned the corner and a pair of ninja guarded a set of doors. At their master's presence, the ninja bowed their heads and stepped aside, allowing Ducard and Jonathan to enter the room. For all the secrecy, the guarded room seemed a huge disappointment in Jonathan's eyes. The small room held little more than a few padded chairs and a large walnut table. From what Jonathan could see the file cabinets seemed empty and the great display case on the wall was quite bare. As far as Jonathan was concerned there seemed nothing to guard and nothing to hide within the confines of this room, but he also knew looks could be deceiving.
Ducard invited him to sit down and then made himself comfortable in a chair opposite him in almost a bizarre reenactment of their familiar ritual back at Arkham where their secret negotiations would take place.
"I know you have suffered much," Ducard said. "And have lost much because of what has happened and I partly am to blame for this. I am not surprised you hate me, but I ask that you not let personal feelings and judgments influence what I am about to tell you … Jonathan, I know you love Gotham City, but I also know that much cruelty and injustice has been visited upon you."
Jonathan suddenly froze to his chair while Ducard gazed at him in all seriousness. Although Jonathan revealed nothing in his eyes and face, suddenly terror struck within his heart. Just what did Ducard know about him?
"I don't know what you are talking about," Jonathan said flatly.
"Your mother, Mrs. Crane – what happened to her was the epitome of injustice, but sadly it is but one case in many in this city. It is rotting on the inside out, like a house infested by termites, and eventually it will crumble and fall from its own corruption."
"Then what do you suggest? Overhaul the court system? Rehire a new police force? Run for politics? This is all very amusing, but quite pointless, Ducard. I fear this is all a waste of my time."
"Again thinking on too small a scale and too mundane a solution. No, I ask you what must be done to a house so badly infested by termites it no longer is fit to live in?"
"It is condemned," Jonathan said.
"Exactly, but what else happens to the condemned house?"
"The house, most likely, is destroyed."
"So it is," Ducard said.
Jonathan frowned as he watched Ducard leave his seat and move to the empty display case and unlock the plate of glass. Ducard popped out the back panel and retrieved a steel box, which he brought with him to the table.
"And I also ask you, who shall destroy the house, Jonathan? Who will protect the rest of humanity from such a treacherous place so they are not hurt when it finally collapses from its own decadence?"
Ducard withdrew a key and snapped open the box, then gazed at Jonathan with his steely gray eyes.
"Remember what I am about to show you and that you are not to repeat what I am to tell you."
"If you think this is impressing me," Jonathan said. "You are mistaken!"
"Ah, finally some fire in the ice. That can be more useful still."
"Whatever games you are playing, Ducard –"
Jonathan felt his teeth grating and anger rising within him. In his mind he felt Scarecrow growing and pressing against the boundaries of his mind, scratching at his skull, longing to be free. Jonathan gazed down and saw his hand slightly shaking – early signs of withdrawal from his medication – and the effects would worsen and Scarecrow's power would strengthen the longer he went without it.
Ducard withdrew a map and carefully unfolded it upon the table. For a moment Jonathan was disinterested in whatever Ducard wanted to show him, but as he turned his gaze to the map, he realized it was one of the oddest maps he had seen. There were no street names, no landmarks, no buildings, no parks and no lakes upon it, just a complex network of pipe work that seemed like a labyrinth. Ducard pressed his finger upon the fine paper of the expansive and detailed map that seemed like some plumber's guide to the largest water complex in history.
"This you should be familiar with, although you dealt with it indirectly," Ducard said. "It is the Gotham City sewer system – the water main where your toxin ran. Now it is the location of something more specific and more deadly."
Jonathan gazed at Ducard as though he surely was ready to be admitted to Arkham.
"The time for subtlety is over. You must understand this," said Ducard. "The ransom has failed. The corrupt and evil men of society have refused this. Now we must take further action – action that will destroy this seat of corruption!"
Ducard pressed his finger to the map and pointed at a small red circle at one point of the pipeline's junctures.
"Do you see that, Jonathan?"
"Yes."
"That is an explosive."
Jonathan's blood suddenly froze and he felt as if suddenly he breathed his own Fear Toxin.
Oh no, please God no.
"As you see, Jonathan, the ransom is over. The toxin proved a poor measure of persuasion, so we must eliminate them – all of them. We must destroy Gotham City."
Jonathan frantically was gazing at the map, at every red circle littered in the pipe lines and there were many, more than he realized now. How could he have been so blind to them before? And there was a huge red circle with a marking like an "S" at the center of the labyrinthine pipe network. Jonathan swallowed hard, trying to ease his breathing, but his heart was pounding and he could feel his hand trembling again. Scarecrow screamed in rage within his skull.
With great effort, Jonathan steadied his hand and pointed to the large circle.
"And that certainly is no ordinary explosive," Jonathan said.
"No, it isn't," Ducard said. "That one is the master explosive, so powerful it will trigger all the others. The very foundation of Gotham City will collapse and burn beneath their very feet. Even Batman will be unable to stop it or prevent me in this."
Jonathan gazed upon the map in shock and sorrow, looking at the Map of Death laid out before him, feeling powerless and hopeless.
"Why are you doing this, Ducard? Gotham City is corrupt, yes, but so many innocent people will die."
"Innocent? Who is innocent, Jonathan? Women, children, your dear mother who has been languishing at your asylum for how many years? No, no one is innocent. There are only those who fight for what is just – and those who stand in the way. Are you with me or against me?"
"No! I can't – I can't –"
"Then your choice is indeed simple," Ducard said. "I one time made a mistake with a student of mine. I gave him my trust – and yes my love – and he turned against me when I least expected it. But I will not make that mistake again."
Ducard reached into the opened steel box and withdrew from it an 8mm pistol. Its harsh, cold steel gleamed in the sickly room light. Jonathan's heart seemed to stop as he stared point blank down the muzzle while Ducard casually pointed the weapon at him.
"I said you have a choice and the choice is quite simple," Ducard said. "It is this: Either choose your death – or the death of Gotham City."