CHAPTER 13

BATMAN'S JOURNAL

It's been 8 hours since Dick was taken and there has been no ransom demand. I have taken this opportunity to bring my log up to date.

When we realized that Dick was truly kidnapped, Gordon and his men stuck to me like glue until I was safely inside the limo with Alfred. Unfortunately, protocol required them to go to my home and tap the telephone lines. Alfred escorted them to the telephone in the kitchen, where they got to work; Gordon and I went into my study, where he questioned me about anything I could remember.

I'm embarrassed to say that there was absolutely nothing about that evening that raised any red flags for me. I am normally much more on guard than that, I probably let myself relax because this was intended to be recreation with my son. It was, in fact, his first trip outside the manor, barring hospital and doctor visits, since Harvey Dent.

Gordon continued the questions while I quietly fumed that anyone could take my son from under my nose. More than anything else, I longed to be in the batcave working on this, but I was forced to continue the act that is Bruce Wayne while Dick was taken farther and farther away from me.

Gordon finally noted that my eyes kept straying to the old grandfather clock in my study that doubles as the entrance to the batcave.

"Bruce?...Bruce!" he said.

I jerked and returned my gaze back to him. "I'm sorry, Jim," I said, scrubbing my face with my hands. "What was it you were saying?"

"I think it's time I left you to rest. The officers in kitchen will keep watch on the phone. They'll call you if it rings. In the meantime," he looked at me kindly. "Why don't you get some shut-eye?" He got up and headed for the door. "You know that we'll do everything possible to get Dick back for you."

I remained sitting in my easy chair beside the fire. "I know, Jim. Thank you."

He nodded and let himself out. Once his footsteps faded, I rose, locked the door and opened up the clock. I ran down the steps to the batcave faster than I ever have before and started working on my son's case.

The Gotham P.D. were interviewing those who had attended the opera and so far, nobody had seen anything. I understood, because I hadn't seen anything either and was kicking myself roundly for it.

I used one of Dick's own programs and accessed the closed circuit security cameras in the opera house and surrounding it, beginning to scan from an hour before the opera began. An hour later, I found it. A buff colored van was parked outside the loading dock when the opera began. At the intermission, I saw two men dressed in uniforms come through the door with a janitor's cart. They carried a large bag, one at each end, and threw it into the van. I saw lettering on the side of the vehicle as it sped away but couldn't read the license plate or the lettering.

To my frustration, I was simply unable to bring the lettering into a readable resolution, no matter how hard or long I tried. I came close to putting my fist through the computer screen more than once. Not for the first time, I regretted that Robin was better at the computer systems than I was.

I was overwrought, and this surprised me. Robin has been kidnapped before. Dick has been kidnapped before and I've always gone directly into investigative mode. So why was this time different? I think it was Dick's blindness. Before, both as Robin and himself, I was worried but I knew that he had basic self-defense skills. This time, he was so vulnerable and I'd left him alone and unguarded in that theater balcony. Now, wherever he was, he couldn't defend himself, couldn't get himself out of a dangerous situation. I had made him a sitting duck.

"Not precisely, sir." A tired voice came over my shoulder. Alfred had read that last paragraph from behind me. "You have been training him to fight in the darkness, to enhance his other senses. He is not entirely helpless. And besides, he is still Dick Grayson, whose mind you have been training for seven years. As you are so fond of pointing out, the brain is a man's greatest weapon."

I felt comforted at Alfred's words, the more so when I felt his hand gently resting on my shoulder. I turned to see his wise gray eyes finding mine. "We'll get the lad back. Never doubt it."

At that, I let out a long sigh and felt myself slump in my chair. It had been too long since I'd slept or taken anything in besides coffee. I let Alfred lead me downstairs to the kitchen, feed me, then guide me to my bedroom.

REPORT OF: Wally West

CODE NAME: KID FLASH

We had to find out about Rob's kidnapping on the news. And yes, I'm mad. I'm mad at you, Batman! Rob is my best friend and I've got a right to know when he's in trouble. You should have called us, right away!

So, anyway, I was watching t.v. when Artie took the remote away from me and switched it to the Channel 52 news. They were doing a great big news flash thing about how the son of billionaire Bruce Wayne had been kidnapped in the middle of an opera house, of all things. And there were no leads. AND I didn't hear a thing about Batman knocking any heads together to get him back.

"That's Rob...Dick...that's been kidnapped," Artemis said and tossed the remote back to me. "We've got to go help."

"You've got that right," I said. "News says he was taken two hours ago. Why hasn't Batman called us? Get the team. We're going to Gotham!"

So we got together everyone who was at the mountain. It was a small group. I'd forgotten that Rocket and Zatanna were at the movies and Kaldur was visiting Atlantis, but the rest of us took the zeta tube to the batcave.

We must have set off some kind of alarm, because just after we arrived in the empty batcave, we were met by Alfred with a shotgun and Bruce Wayne in bathroom with a pair of batarangs and a really scary expression.

PHOENIX'S JOURNAL

I woke up with a dry mouth, but the rag was gone. Couldn't see, of course, but I smelled cardboard, old cardboard. Boxes, maybe? My hands and feet were tied and I was lying on what felt like burlap. Old sacks, probably. I decided to play possum and try to learn something about my situation if I could.

"Hey, Dickie! I know you're awake, so it's no use pretending!" The toe of a boot nudged me in one of my bad ribs and made me yelp despite myself.

"Ow!" I said, rolling away from the offending foot. "That hurt!" I wished I weren't tied and I'd show him a thing or two.

"So, I was right and you are awake. I was told me to watch you and make sure you didn't get into trouble or something." The voice sounded young and male. A kid? Why was a kid working with kidnappers? This was getting weird.

"All right," I tried a friendly voice. "You know who I am. So who are you?"

"You don't need to know my name, Dickie. Just realize that you're here because you're the favored son of bazillionaire Bruce Wayne and you're worth money to us. We'll kill, rich kid, you if we don't get it!" The kid sounded arrogant, which ticked me off a little bit.

"Well," I said, struggling to sit up without much luck. The rib was still killing me. To my surprise, a pair of strong hands helped me sit. "I'm only an adopted son, when you think about it. And I'm not rich, Bruce is. Me? I'm just the child of a pair of circus carnies. I got nothin'."

"Yeah, right," the kid said. "That suit you're wearing costs more than my entire Goodwill wardrobe!" His voice changed a little. "So, it's true you're blind?" I felt a breeze in front of my face. I thought he was waving a hand in front of my nose and forced myself not to flinch.

"Yeah, I'm blind all right," I said, unable to keep the depression out of my tone. "Hit my head when I fell, rock climbing. They're saying it's permanent. So a billionaire adopted me. So what? I can't see and I can't do any of the stuff I used to do."

I heard him sit down next to me. "So what did you like to do?"

"I worked out on the trapeze," I said. "And I did martial arts, like karate."

"Wish I could learn that," the kid said thoughtfully. "Though I'm learning boxing and I'm good at street fighting, especially with a knife. Nobody can take me."

"I studied a little bit of knife throwing," I said. "When I was with the circus, one of the acts was a knife throwing team. I'm not as accurate as they were, but I'm good enough." And I bet I could beat your knife with my birdarang, I added silently. "So, you got any water? I'm thirsty from that rag you stuffed in my mouth."

"Oh, I'll get you some. Can't let you die of thirst," the boy said. I thought it was a boy because of the way he talked and his voice was deeper than a girl's.

When he got back, he tipped a bottle of water to my lips and let me drink. "You know, this would be easier if you untied my hands," I said.

He backed away. "Nothin' doin'! Jake told me to keep you tied. Oop..." Well, at least I knew the name of one of the kidnappers now. I'd keep trying for more information. I wondered what Bruce was doing right now. If I knew him, he'd be in the batcave, running leads. I hoped he'd come for me soon.

"How much are they going to ask for me?" I asked. Maybe, just maybe I could negotiate a better offer.

"I dunno," he said. "The Boss hasn't decided yet. Once he does, you can bet we'll all be rich." He sounded confident, almost arrogant.

"So, why is a kid working for a gang like this?" I asked. Find out more about him. What does he want? What does he need?

"How do you know I'm a kid?" He demanded.

"Your voice. You sound young," I said. "I may be blind, but I'm not stupid. So if I'm worth so much, why are you the one here watching me?"

"My Dad works for the Boss and I've been helping for about a year now. I get my cut," he said proudly. Money. Good. I could work with that and in the meantime, I'd try to get loose.

"So, how old are you, anyway?" I had started to work on the ropes around my wrists. Maybe I could loosen them and slip a hand out. I needed to keep the kid talking and distracted.

"I'm twelve," he said. "And you're fifteen. We found out all about you before the guys took you."

"Whatever your cut is going to be, I can top it," I said with desperate confidence. I knew that Bruce would back me. "One million? Two? Bruce will pay it to get me back."

"He loves you that much?" His voice sounded wistful.

"Well, yeah. Doesn't your Dad love you?" Still working and the rope isn't loosening. Gotta keep trying.

"Yeah. I guess." He definitely sounded wistful. I heard the sound of a door open and felt a cold breeze.

"Jason? C'mon, we gotta go. The Boss wants to see me."

"Okay, Dad," the kid shouted and I heard him scramble to his feet, then the sound of his footsteps as he ran towards the source of the breeze. The door slammed shut and I was alone.