4
ESCALATION
TWO WEEKS LATER
THE PLAZA HOTEL TERRACE ROOM
MANHATTAN
Just beyond the French doors of the Plaza's famed Palm Court lies the Terrace Room, a setting rich with its own history and charm. Meticulously restored to its original grandeur, the Terrace Room boasts some of the most impressive historical detailing within the Plaza. Figural paintings created in the spirit of the Italian Renaissance adorn the ceiling. The original crystal chandeliers were made by Charles Winston (brother of jeweler Harry), copies of those that hung in the Palace of Versailles. The room was striking and elegant, considered a jewel of The Plaza Hotel.
The room was being used to hold the annual conference for the top one hundred sellers of Masque beauty products for men. Masque used the direct-to-consumer dual marketing system made famous by Mary Kay Cosmetics. In nineteen ninety an entrepreneur named John Coker was among the first to notice the trend of more demand for men's grooming products. The result was Masque. For the first decade the company did relatively well, especially in major metropolitan areas. After the metrosexual fad hit in the 2000's the company exponentially increased. Masque now did over a half billion dollars every fiscal year.
Much of that money came from three friends who had defected to the United States from the Soviet Union with help from the CIA. Along with the rest of the defectors they had done what the American government had asked of them, and then were released to find their fame and fortune in America. They found it.
The trio used their ties to the old country to sell their products to immigrants from Russia and all the former Soviet satellites. They cornered the market and became rich men. Now they were being honored for their success.
John Coker himself was presenting them with an award for their achievement. He called the three men up, shook each of their hands, and gave them an etched crystal plaque to display in their office.
Watching from the back, Anatoli felt sickened by the opulent display of greed. These men, like the others, had turned their back on everything they had stood for. They had been seduced by western culture and it's trinkets and baubles. Communism had been vilified by America while it's own people lied, stole, raped and murdered each other. All for more money. They cared nothing for their fellow man. The only thing that was important was what they could take from him. Sociopaths!
Anatoli wished he could personally put a bullet in all three of their heads. But all three dying at once would be suspicious. Getting all three in a room at once and rigging an accident had proven too hard logistically. He had wanted to arrange for a car wreck in their expensive vehicles but he needed to get the next name from one of them first. Anatoli was fortunate that all three were in the room together. It was time.
He was standing next to the open bar that the hotel had provided. Four out of the five bartenders had taken their break while the awards and speeches were being made. Anatoli looked around to make sure no one was looking in his direction. Satisfied, he intentionally dropped the glass of scotch he was holding, letting it shatter on the ground.
"Sorry," he said to the bartender. "I'll clean it up."
"I'll take care of it, sir," the bartender replied. "Please, I don't want you to cut yourself."
He went around to the other side of the bar and bent down to pick up the broken glass. As soon as he bent over Anatoli bent down and wrapped his right arm around the man's neck. He wrapped his left forearm around his right and squeezed. The bartender passed out within seconds. Anatoli dragged the man behind the bar and laid him down. He turned to the display of liquor behind him, grabbed onto the highest shelf, and violently jerked, bringing the entire shelf and the ones below it crashing to the ground. Bottles shattered and alcohol covered the bar and floor. Guests turned to see the commotion as Anatoli casually grabbed a candle from the top of the bar and tossed it onto the ground. He jumped back over the bar as flames erupted. The guest started to scream as the decorations from the event began to catch flame. Anatoli raced into the middle of the panicked crowd.
The bar was along the wall that led to the rest of the hotel so naturally they ran for the fire exits. Anatoli had made sure they were locked before the conference started. The room was quickly filling with smoke and Anatoli placed the mask from his miniature oxygen tank on. He had kept an eye on the three men and punched and kicked his way through the crowd as they bunched up towards the exit, screaming to get out. He found the target farthest from the exit and grabbed him from behind, pulling him away from the crowd.
"Help me!" the man screamed as he choked on the thick smoke. He had been on the phone with 911 when he was grabbed and dropped his cell phone. Anatoli threw him to the ground and pinned him down. Anatoli placed the oxygen mask on the terrified man for three seconds and removed it.
"I will give you more oxygen when you tell me what I want to know."
The man stared wide eyed at Anatoli, recognizing him immediately. He nodded his head vigorously.
"Who is the next contact from Project BEAST?" he asked. He placed the mask back on the man and let him breathe.
"Bob! Robert Beals! He lives in Gotham City!"
Anatoli removed the oxygen mask and stood up.
"Please! Get me out of here!" the man pleaded. Anatoli raised his foot up and brought it down as hard as he could on the man's throat. He raised it again and stomped on his chest and arms. It would look like the man had been trampled to death.
Anatoli ran to the exit, stepping over bodies of people who had already died from smoke inhalation or trampling. He smashed his body as hard as he could into the door, knocking it down. The remaining crowd ran out with him. He simply walked away in the confusion and hysteria. Investigators concluded the bartender had accidentally broken the shelf when reaching for a bottle. Ninety eight people died in the fire.
GOTHAM CITY
Jose Mendez lowered the front loader on his Mack MRU613 garbage truck and aligned with the dumpster in front of him. His partner Bobby sat in the passenger seat smoking his third cigarette of the morning. Jose loved the early morning shift, Bobby hated it.
Jose knew that residents hated trash day because of the early hour. He imagined he woke up at least ten people with every pickup. That was fine with him. Most people treated the garbage man like, well, garbage. Most had no clue he probably made more than they did and had a pretty comfortable life. It was one of the better paying jobs in the city.
Jose started to lift the dumpster and hit the stop button when it got to eye level with his cab. Oh, shit... There was a hand sticking out of the lid.
"Bobby!" he exclaimed as he pointed. "Bobby, look!"
An hour later the police were swarming the scene. Jose and Bobby spent a few minutes talking to the two detectives. No, they didn't notice the hand before they started to lift the dumpster. No, they didn't notice or see anyone suspicious. Yes, this was their normal route and normal time for pickup. The detectives thanked them for their time and walked away. Jose wished they had asked a few more questions. He thought the white guy's partner, the Hispanic lady, was pretty cute.
"Well?" Detective Ed Ryan asked his junior partner.
"COD looks to be multiple stab wounds to the abdomen. She looks in her mid to late twenties," Detective Sergeant Montoya replied. "No decomp, wearing running gear, no ID. I'd say she was killed this morning, probably while out on a morning jog. No ring, no tan line from a ring. We'll see if we can get a warrant for her LUDs and check her phone. Speaking of, she doesn't have her cell on her. Doubt she'd go running without it. Probably standard RobHom. We need to check the vagrants, see if it turns up. Maybe the murder weapon too."
"Sounds about right," Ed concurred. "Good job, Renee."
The Cave
Bruce Wayne finished his daily stretching, hand-to-hand exercises, and strength training. He went over to one of the Cave treadmills and finished his workout with twenty minutes of interval training. Sweaty and exhausted, he went to the Cave's locker room and took a shower. He got out ten minutes later, toweled off, and threw on his standard black running pants and dark grey t-shirt. He walked out of the shower room and towards the computer hub. Alfred was waiting with a recovery shake.
"Thanks," Bruce said as he took it. He sat down in front of the main monitor and pulled up the online version of Gotham's news stations. From there he spent the next two hours speed reading local, state, national, and international stories from all the major news organizations as well as Gotham Police reports.
A message flashed on his screen. He had an email. Bruce opened the inbox. Unknown sender? Not possible. Less than ten people on the planet knew of the Team's email system. All had been verified and registered. Emails supposedly couldn't even come through without verification.
"Alfred, come see this," Bruce shouted. Alfred came over from the armory where he had been doing a weapons check. "Look," Bruce said. "Someone sent a file over. Unknown sender."
"I didn't know that was possible."
"It's not supposed to be," Bruce replied.
"Cyber attack?"
"That's my first thought." He sat back in his chair and thought for a minute. "Grab a tablet. Do a full scrub and transfer the file to the tablet. We'll open it on that."
Alfred left to follow his orders. Ten minutes later he brought an iPad to Bruce.
"Okay, let's see what this is about," Bruce said. He opened the file.
The first thing he saw was a story from CNN about a man in Simi Valley, California who had drugged, shot, and killed his entire family before turning the gun on himself. Bruce and Alfred both remembered the story. It was followed by the police reports from the crime.
The second was a local news story about a woman from Burbank, California who had killed her cheating husband. Again a police report accompanied the story.
The third was another news story from CNN. This story had made international headlines. Ninety eight people had died in a fire at the famous Plaza Hotel in New York City. The fire had been ruled accidental. Police reports accompanied this as well. There also were two audio files attached. It had come from a 911 call from the cell phone of one of the victims of the fire. Bruce played it. All he and Alfred heard was garbled speech and loud screams.
"Why send you an unintelligible mess?" Alfred asked.
"Don't know." Bruce played the second file.
Initially it sounded the same as the first. Then the volume on the screams lowered and what had been garbled speech before became clearer. Two voices were on the tape.
Help me!
I will give you more oxygen when you tell me what I want to know. A second of silence. Who is the next contact from Project BEAST?
Bob! Robert Beals! He lives in Gotham City!
The audio file ended. The last item in the message was a file on a Robert L. Beals who lived in Gotham. Financial records, address, phone numbers, place of employment, traffic tickets, bills, Facebook account, and email were all included. Bruce set the tablet down and turned to Alfred.
"Thoughts?" Bruce asked.
"I don't know what to make of it. It might be a challenge. It might be a plea for help. It might be bait for the Batman. The fire and other deaths are connected. Probably to cover up the true objective. We might be looking at an accomplished assassin."
"I agree. Could be any of those. Whoever sent this has good resources. And the technical know how to send it to me unauthorized. It's obvious they want the Batman's involvement."
"What do you want to do, sir?"
"Task whatever sats you can on his office and home. Prep a standard surveillance and observation kit for civilian clothing. I'll use one of the satellite caves if I need to change to Batman. I'll review all the files and leave when the loadout is ready."