"You realize what must be done now," Ducard said, staring fixedly at Jonathan.
Jonathan had been escorted back by the ninja to their military compound base outside the city limits with his papers and books still in hand to disguise his true purpose of the visit to the city. Ducard seemed unaware still of Jonathan's true intension as he sat across from him at the table now in the heavily guarded meeting room they met before. The books on psychiatry and chemistry were stacked neatly on one side of the table along with his piles of notes. Ducard briefly gazed at books and papers and said:
"I see your visit to Gotham was not wasted and reason indeed has returned to you," Ducard said. "The time is soon at hand. You did not disappoint me with the Fear Toxin and I do not expect you will disappoint me now."
"I might have agreed to have helped to you, but as you know I didn't have much choice," Jonathan said bitterly. "Poor friends and allies are made at gunpoint."
Ducard slightly smiled, but he seemed amused at the remark.
"Quite true, but I don't need you as a friend. Just do this job to the best of your ability and you will not be disappointed, I assure you."
"And what would you have me do this time?" Jonathan felt his heart sink, realizing full well the true plan of Ducard.
"Now that I see you have all your affairs in order from Gotham, let's use some of the compounds you've synthesized with the Fear Toxin."
"The Fear Toxin? You mean plant it in the water supply again?"
"No, this will take weeks, it only needs to be airborne, correct," asked Ducard.
"Yes, that is correct."
"We shall plant some of the toxin near the surface, away from the explosion. This will be released into the air with the explosion's force. The toxin will be necessary, as the explosion won't kill everyone."
Jonathan frowned, gazing into the eyes of the madman.
"The toxin is not designed to kill," Jonathan said flatly.
"It is in concentrated doses," Ducard said. "You can do this – and I expect you to."
Several days had passed since their meeting and Ducard was busy making the final arrangements before the death of Gotham City could be set into action. Already operations had moved from the military compound to the scene of Zero Hour – the Gotham City Water Works, an intricate complex of pipes that wound its way underground throughout the city. It was a city onto itself, some with huge concrete pipes you could drive a small van through.
Ducard came with the ninja and saw the detonating explosives were in their places, each at key junctures under some of the most influential business structures and most densely populated regions of the city. But this all was nothing compared to the master bomb, situated at the center of the water main – beneath the now infamous Wayne Tower for Ducard, which also was in the key downtown business hub. This bomb would deliver an explosion so powerful it'd have the power and force of a megaton nuclear blast. This, in turn, would cause the chain reaction on all the other explosives, tearing Gotham City to pieces as the ground collapsed beneath itself.
Since Ducard's last meeting with Crane, he had hoped he'd inspire the young psychiatrist with his grand vision and that Crane would immediately set to work on his deadly toxin as he once did. But damn Crane, he was being notoriously slow with upping the potency of his toxin and synthesizing the drug in mass, arguing he didn't have the time or the equipment at his disposal when Ducard knew he had both! No matter, Gotham City's death would go as planned with or without the toxin and Crane still might be of use, Ducard thought, even without his drug.
His boots splashed through the water as Ducard made his way through the dimly lit tunnel – the ninja shining their flashlights to light his way as he walked to a steel door with green paint chipped and peeling from it. He took out a key and swiftly unlocked it and inside was a cramped, damp guardhouse with concrete walls – one of the few stations throughout the Water Works. The ninja already were waiting there for him.
"Yu-chung and Pai-chi, secure weapon S-75408," Ducard said.
Two ninja bowed and left the guard house. As the door opened, Ducard heard a sudden splashing noise and a voice, "Don't you touch me!" Ducard gazed at the door in surprise as someone who wasn't a ninja barged into the door before him. The ninja tensed at the visitor's intrusion and even reached for their weapons.
"A most unexpected surprise," Ducard gasped. "I must confess I didn't expect to see you so soon, at least not after the full report you gave me the other night from Gotham City."
"You know we both have no time for this," said the visitor. "Where's Crane? Is he here?"
"No, he should be back at the military compound working on the toxin."
"You are wrong, Ducard. He is here and if you don't do something fast, everything you worked for will be destroyed here, tonight!"
"What," cried Ducard. "He's here? Where is he?"
"Look for him yourself." The visitor pointed out the open door. "That is not my job. As you know I am just the messenger. That has always been my job."
"Qi-lao, Suo-wé, follow me," growled Ducard. "The rest stay here." He turned to the brunette woman standing before him. "You have proved to be far more useful than I ever imagined. You will be greatly rewarded after this is all over, Emily Andrews."
A warm breeze blew through the streets of Gotham City in mid-September. It was unseasonably warm, Indian summer, and restaurants and cafés were taking advantage of the beautiful evening as patrons and couples dined outdoors and sipped wine while gazing at the clear waxing moon. Flyers fluttered upon telephone posts and bulletin boards unnoticed as they often are. They were the usual – apartment for rent, handyman for hire, furniture for sale and the black and white mug shot photos of missing children, staring blankly at the viewer, perhaps never to be seen again by their families.
Emily Andrews walked into her now empty daycare, with just a few flyers left in her hand. She had gone to every street corner and post she could find it seemed all night, posting the photos of the two missing children Ted Davis and Susie Watson – both children from her daycare.
Susie first disappeared a week ago, taken as Susie played outdoors on the weekend. It was a shock and heartbreaking when Susie's mother came, sobbing, asking for Emily's help. Ted was abducted three days later on the playground. It was amazing such a horrifying kidnapping had occurred when all the parents were on edge from Susie's recent disappearance, but quite simply Ted's hysterical mother said one moment he was there and then he was gone. It was a parent's worst nightmare and an irrational fear swept through all the parents, many of them temporarily pulling their children out of her daycare – as though that was the connection for the kidnappings.
Emily didn't begrudge the parents for this, she might even do the same if she too was a terrified parent afraid for the life and the safety of her child, and in some odd way she felt responsible. So on a beautiful, warm autumn night she was out posting Have You Seen Me? flyers of the missing children, hoping in some way this would help. But as she flicked on the lights at the daycare, she was startled to see a man sitting in one of the few adult chairs – and it was not one of the distraught parents.
He was a rather large, muscular looking man who was quite attractive with his gray eyes and rugged good looks. He slightly smiled at her and for a moment Emily's terror and thoughts of running for the door were replaced by a sudden attraction to this mysterious man. But she quickly shook off this feeling and said:
"I'm sorry, sir, the daycare is closed. I suggest you leave and return tomorrow if you wish to register your child."
The man's smile persisted and now he seemed amused.
"Seriously, Miss Andrews, do I appear the sort of man to have a child?"
"Then if you do not, you have the wrong facility and I suggest you leave."
They stood for a moment in silence, Emily standing straight, almost statuesque in her terror and persistence, and the man relaxed and enjoying the tension.
"I do not have the wrong facility or the wrong person. No Miss Andrews, it is you I wish to speak with and I will not come back in the morning to do so."
Emily realized she no longer could play it safe or act as though this was a normal situation. She threw down the flyers, hoping the flurry of paper would block his pursuit if he tried to chase her and she turned to the door to run.
"If you leave now, the parents will never see their children again," the man said with terrible calmness and finality.
This was the worst thing he could have said to her. If she stopped, she risked being kidnapped herself – but if she fled the children might be lost forever. She stood still, then turned to face the man, who never moved an inch from the chair.
"You – it was you who kidnapped them?"
"Both children and they are quite safe. Neither has been harmed in any way."
"I don't believe you," Emily spat.
"That may be, but it is the truth. Please sit."
The man gestured for her to sit opposite him in the other adult chair. Emily knew she shouldn't, that her gut was telling her to flee and she was in danger. But if the man was telling the truth and he truly kidnapped these children, she had to know what did he want with her and could she bring those children back? With great hesitation and fear swelling within her, she slowly crossed the room to the man sitting in the chair and sat down. There was a low table between them, one little girls often used for their tea parties.
"Good. Now that we are both are comfortable, we will talk business." The man smiled charmingly, but it gave Emily no warmth or comfort. "Your persistence to help these children is admirable, but by helping me now you will bring them back to their loving families."
"By helping you? And what might that be? Kill for you," Emily said.
"Nothing so dramatic or dire. I assure you it will be something simpler than that. You knew of a man once long ago. You might not remember him but he is of importance to me now – and from what I heard – he once cared about you."
"I have no idea what you're talking about. Here you've kidnapped two innocent children and you're talking about one of my old boyfriends!"
"Fire – I do admire that. Perhaps your fire will melt some of his ice," the man said. "But what you will do for me regarding your old friend will bring these children back to their loving parents. I do not ask much, simply get – reacquainted with him."
"And why is this important to you," Emily demanded.
"The details are not necessary, but let's say it's important that he fulfill his end of the bargain. For this reason, I will need you to periodically call me and give a report. Tell me his state of mind, his mood – his place of work, how he's dealing with the stress. You can even help ease his stress if you so choose," the man added slyly.
"I will do nothing of the sort!"
"Oh, but you will – you will do this if you want those children returned alive. And if you won't, their blood will be on your hands, not mine. You alone have the power to save their lives."
"Who is this man you want me to see," Emily demanded.
"Glad you are finally coming around to reason."
From his breast pocket, he removed several photos of a man Emily somehow felt she knew, almost in another life or a long time ago. But she was certain now it was not one of her previous ill-fated boyfriends, which on some level, she was relieved. She picked up one of the photos and for a brief moment she almost forgot her anger and fear, and studied those icy blue eyes, the sensuous lips, the defined cheekbones – a face so beautiful yet so cold – as though he was guarding his own secrets.
"Do you recognize him," asked the man.
"I feel like I've seen him before, yet I can't remember."
"His name is Jonathan Crane. Do you remember now?"
Jonathan Crane – again it seemed familiar, but didn't jog instant recognition. Then she looked not at the face but at the eyes and instead of the iciness she saw before she instead saw something else – loneliness, even sadness behind them. Yes, Jonathan Crane, how could she forget? The lonely, outcast boy of Gotham City High School she befriended just a short while in their psychology class before graduation. But it was such a brief moment in her life and although Jonathan's intelligence was impressive, their time together was more frustrating during the behavioral study than anything else.
"Yes, I remember him," Emily said. "And now you wish me to spy on him. So much for old friendship. You're not one for nostalgia and loyalty, are you Mister –"
"One so beautiful shouldn't stand on formality as last names," said the man. "Call me Henri."
"Very well. If I do this for you, when will you release the children?"
"After Crane has finished his job for me and no more reports are required of you."
"No! No deal, Henri!"
He seemed shocked by her outright refusal and his smile vanished on his face.
"Miss Andrews, I don't think you're in the position to make demands. I'm the one with the children."
"And I'm the one you want to spy on Crane for you. If I'm to do something so base and low, let me say I won't do it cheaply!"
"I see fire is not always such a good attribute. Fine, name your price."
"That the children are returned to their parents immediately – as soon as I begin work for you."
"And what other demands?"
"That after this is finished I am not obligated to have anymore 'ties' or do anymore 'jobs' for you."
"And?"
"That is all," Emily said with finality.
"No greed. I'm amazed. No mention of money at all," Henri said with some surprise.
"Some things are more valuable than money," Emily said with venom in her dark eyes.
"I couldn't agree with you more." Henri replied quietly. "Fine. All your demands are agreed to. The children will be returned to their parents the first day you rendezvous with Crane. You will meet him at the Psychiatry Symposium – and I trust it will be a delightful meeting for both of you. After your meeting you will call me and I will tell you when you will meet him again. Is this understood?"
Emily still was clutching the picture of Jonathan, gazing at it, her hands beginning to tremble.
"Do we have an agreement, Miss Andrews?"
"Yes – yes we do," she said, with sadness and resignation in her voice. "But I must ask, why me? Why not choose someone else? If you have people to kidnap others surely you must have people to spy on Crane for you as well."
"Ah yes, I do have people to do this, but none that could get close to him – at least without arousing suspicion. You, on the other hand, he once loved and might appreciate seeing again."
Emily seemed shocked to hear this.
"Why so startled at the news, Miss Andrews? For a woman you are strangely imperceptive, but this perception – or need I say jealousy? – was not lost on your ex-boyfriend, Kevin Smithson. He knew of Crane's feelings towards you and I'm happy to say the cost of that information wasn't high indeed."
"Damn him! Damn that shit for what he's done!"
"Miss Andrews, for whatever your feelings are, we now have an agreement and I have answered your question. You now have your orders. The Psychiatry Symposium and remember, if all does not go well or I am not satisfied with your performance, I can kidnap more children at any time. I have the means to do so. Remember this."
Henri threw down a piece of paper with the date, time and address of the symposium as well as a contact number. Emily held tight to the picture, waiting for Henri to leave his chair and the door to slam shut before the tears began to fall from her eyes and stream down her cheeks.
Emily now sat at the shoddy folding table that had rusted from the damp and was scratched and worn from its long use in its many years in the guard room. She gazed at the two ninja who remained, their faces hidden by their black masks, only their dark eyes revealed as they gazed back at her with suspicion. Every now and then they would mumble something under their breaths in Chinese or Mandarin. Honestly Emily was never good with distinguishing one Asian language from another. She didn't know how much time she had left now before Ducard would return and Crane would be caught.
In those moments, as she waited in that lonely room deep in the dank bowels of the Gotham City Water Works, Emily thought back to all the times she had with Jonathan. At first she had to think of it as a job so she wouldn't think too horribly of herself and what she was doing. She was doing it for the children, to save the children and yes, even her own career. If more children were kidnapped from her daycare surely she would have to close.
But then she saw Jonathan Crane in person after so many years. Gone was the gawky teenage boy wearing poor, mismatched clothes. Now he looked like a successful professional, with his high-priced suit, designer glasses and Italian leather briefcase. But these all were superficial, even as Emily had to work past her nervousness at their first meeting. He was looking at her with those some striking blue eyes – the same ones that gazed at her with such admiration and even love so many years ago. And like the photo, they had grown so distant, cool and guarded over the years.
Dear God, Jonathan, what has happened to you over that time. Who has wounded you?
But then Emily realized as she sat sipping wine with him at the restaurant after their meeting that she soon would wound him playing the spy, pretending to befriend him, even love him when all the while it was a lie, a fiction and she was doing this all for Ducard … Or was she?
That question was troubling to Emily and she pushed it aside, reasoning that Jonathan really wasn't her "type" and never was. But Jonathan displayed a quality her past boyfriends never showed – caring, he wanted to protect her from harm, almost to the point of aggravating her. And when he saved her from Fessanti at Arkham Asylum even at risk to himself, something changed within her mind and heart.
No, I can't work for Ducard, not anymore, she thought to herself.
She kept this secret and funneled Ducard half-truths laced with a few veiled lies that would seem almost impossible to detect. Emily would no longer act as Ducard's spy but he need not know this, hoping she could protect more children while helping Jonathan in some small way. And on that terrible night, when Gotham City seemed to crumble into ruin and Emily felt her life was at an end – she thought of Jonathan and wished for more, hoped for more, dreamed of more. And wished she could have loved him more.
Now Emily sat waiting in the dank cell of the guard room, not knowing how much time she had left, not knowing if Jonathan had been caught or was dead already – or even if she would join him in death this night. She felt the betrayal keenly in her heart, what she had done giving that valuable knowledge to Ducard, but she had to buy time and empty this location and it was the only way she knew how.
Please forgive me Jonathan. Forgive me and I love you.
A heavy sadness sunk into her heart she couldn't say this to Jonathan now, but she no longer could have time for regrets. Now was the moment she must act and if she had to die for it so be it. God knows she'd be dead woman soon anyhow if she failed.
Beneath the table, she very gently opened her purse with one hand and slipped out from it a slender metal canister. One of the ninja eyed her, then went back to pacing impatiently about the room. Her sweat was cold about the canister and she took a deep breath from her diaphragm so it wouldn't be as noticeable. Suddenly, with both hands she twisted the canister and threw it into the center of the room.
The canister sputtered and hissed, and in an instant the room was blinded was thick smoke. The ninja coughed and then dropped to the floor unconscious. Emily grabbed from her purse a small gas mask supplied by the Gotham City Police, which bought her a minute or two to get out the door into fresh air. Once she was out of the room and away from the gas, she flicked open a cell phone, a special issue by Gotham P.D., and called.
"Zone 174G is clear," Emily said.
"We're one step ahead of you," Commissioner Gordon said. "The SWAT Team should be there in less than a minute."
From the darkness a beam of sunlight shined a few paces ahead of Emily broken by a few shadows. Men swathed in black uniforms with GC SWAT emblazoned upon their bulletproof vests slipped silently down from their ropes
Help had finally arrived.