Thanks to Kathy and Debbie for the beta!

Chapter 13

It was all about to come crashing down around him. Elias Baron had known that staying involved with Wilson Fisk was a risky venture. Other firms had cut their losses and prospered. He'd thought that if Baron and Baron made sure to deal only with Fisk's legitimate holdings, they could keep their profits up and their association with an alleged criminal safely under wraps. For over a year, everything had been fine. They'd removed Fisk's endorsements from their brochures and other corporate literature. They'd handled his investments. And they'd watched their bottom line grow.

And then, he'd gone over some reports and realized that Fisk had been using them to funnel money from illegal casinos, racketeering, and a score of other questionable activities into legitimate investments. He'd thought about notifying the proper authorities, but it would have raised questions about how Baron and Baron could have dealt with Fisk and been oblivious to his criminal activities. The press would have ruined them. Ruined a financial empire four generations in the making. Even if they'd believe him when he protested that he hadn't realized, it would, at best, make him appear a naïve fool. It would destroy his reputation. It would cost him their clients' faith. It would cost him everything. No, he couldn't allow the Baron name to go down in disgrace.

He couldn't destroy the incriminating files. Once Fisk found out about it, he'd be a dead man. Instead, Baron had done some research and learned who some of the other players were on that side of the law. Word got around when a person seriously wanted to know such things. He thought he'd been clever, getting in touch with H.I.V.E., arranging for one of their operatives to steal the incriminating files. Fisk wouldn't pour out his anger on Baron and Baron if a rival organization got through their security. If he was especially lucky, then Fisk and H.I.V.E would annihilate each other. It had been perfect.

And then, it had all gone wrong. Wayne caught on camera. Daredevil, Batman, and Nightwing involved. His own grandson caught on the security footage welcoming Fisk into the building after hours some nights ago (and then, all security footage for the next several hours conveniently erased). He should have a talk with Lewis soon, but he was more than a little nervous about doing so. If his grandson was working with Fisk, then sounding him out might be dangerous. If Lewis's meeting with Fisk had been for something innocuous, then he wouldn't have been ushering the man into the building in the dead of night. And, if there was something shady going on, then presenting Lewis with the evidence might be signing his own death warrant. Better to hold off on a confrontation for now.

He chewed on the end of his pen—a nervous habit he thought he'd broken years ago—and the worry lines on his face deepened.

If Fisk and H.I.V.E put aside their animosity long enough to sit down to compare notes…

Elias Baron pulled the brandy bottle out of his bottom desk drawer and poured himself a glass.

If that happened, then just as in the other scenario, he'd be a dead man.

Dick heard Matt out and gave a heavy sigh. "So, either we take down Baron and Baron and blow whatever they've got cooking wide open now, or we resign ourselves to a long court battle," he summarized.

"Well, they might settle out of court," Matt said, "but from what Bruce told me earlier, there were enough people watching him get hauled off by security that anything short of exoneration could cause significant damage to his reputation." He shook his head. "I'm aware that his being generally perceived as a playboy dilettante carries a certain level of notoriety, but that kind of thing plays out on the gossip pages and disappears as soon as the next scandal comes along. This… it's not enough to have the charges dismissed due to insufficient evidence or get him off on a technicality. I mean," Matt continued, "it's enough to settle the legal aspects. But I'd imagine that the embarrassment to his company would be…"

Dick sighed again. "Bruce and I were discussing that. We were hoping we were wrong. Fine. I was hoping. Bruce never wants to be wrong, even when it would be for the best. So…"

Matt smiled grimly. "So, we keep at it. Foggy's researching precedents, trying to find some way that what we've already found could possibly be admissible. It's not looking good on that front, but there still could be a chance. I'm working on Bruce's case as-is. I'm pretty sure I can get him off, but that doesn't do a thing for the possible repercussions."

"So, we keep up the pressure with Kingpin and Baron and Baron and hope something breaks," Nightwing finished.

"Agreed. And that's partly where you come in. Because my usual MO is to go in swinging and busting heads. Fine as far as it goes, but we'll accomplish a lot more if we're sure they're the right heads. Now, while I'm a fair detective, I think I'm wise to defer to your expertise in that area. I trust that your 'second only to Batman' reputation is come by honestly?"

Dick ducked his head. "I…uh…" He sounded more than a bit embarrassed. "Yeah, probably," he admitted. "But why settle for second best, when the top expert is probably getting a bad case of cabin fever a few blocks away? Bad enough he has to sit out the physical action. If he thinks we're deliberately trying to keep him away from the mental exercise, then neither of us is ever going to hear the end of it!"

Bruce was waiting with an impatient expression when Dick got back to the hotel. "I was just about to leave without you," he snapped, reaching for a ratty brown jacket that Dick was positive he hadn't packed. Dick saw a creased broad-brimmed hat lying on the coffee table as well.

"Where are you going that you need a disguise?" Dick asked. "And should I change, too?"

"I've laid out the appropriate clothing on your bed. If Baron and Baron has someone following me to see if I'll lead them to the stolen data, I'd rather not be overconfident. I don't know this city anywhere near as well as I'd like. That'll make it harder for me to lose a tail."

It was on the tip of Dick's tongue to point out that he knew New York fairly well himself, but he also knew that Bruce hated following anyone else's lead. More to the point, he figured that Bruce still had to be stinging from the setbacks and defeats he'd been suffering recently. Under those circumstances, taking charge was more or less a way of proving to himself that he was still in the game. "Fine," he said with a sigh. "Where are we going?"

"You invited me to a spar at Titans Tower, didn't you?" Bruce asked. "I think we can dispense with unexpected media photographers wondering why Bruce Wayne and Dick Grayson are borrowing a T-Barge. And we don't need Kingpin wondering the same thing."

"You know, it's not like the Bat-suit melts in direct sunlight."

Bruce glowered. "No," he said, "but since you've been followed as Nightwing before, and since Kingpin is still trying to retrieve what we took from him, I'd rather not dress like that during the day. Non-descript clothes, wigs, and some way of disguising our faces, should keep us sufficiently inconspicuous. And if not," he added mildly, "I suppose the sort of people Kingpin's likely to have watching for us will serve as a light warmup for that practice spar."

"Your ribs…"

Bruce's glower deepened. "Let me worry about that aspect. You get changed."

Dick shook his head in resignation. "Whatever you say," he sighed, rolling his eyes. "Whatever you say."

When Lewis Baron had been eight years old, he'd sent in five Flakies Cereal box-tops, plus $4.95 shipping and handling to receive a pair of X-ray vision sunglasses. At fourteen, he'd installed a hidden camera behind a swimming safety poster in the girls' locker room. At eighteen, when he finally gained control of the money that he'd been earning for product endorsements, he'd set aside a portion of the total to spend on various spy gadgets and hi-tech gizmos. It gave him something to talk about besides gymnastics. He'd even thought that some of the technology would be of interest to his grandfather and great uncle for improving corporate security. They'd smiled at him indulgently when he'd broached the subject, but continued with their existing arrangements.

Lewis had taken the disappointment in stride. Grandpa and Uncle Samuel wouldn't be running the company forever. He'd already started sounding his father out; Dad had evinced slightly more interest. Perhaps when the old order changed, Dad might implement some of his ideas. If not, Lewis knew that, in time, it would be his turn to call the shots. Meanwhile, he still had his gadgets.

He was glad of the rear-view sunglasses, which allowed him to see behind him and alert him should anyone be tailing him. If anybody was, it would put him in a rather delicate position. He'd received the text late last night, instructing him to come to a certain address alone and tell nobody where he was going. That kind of cloak-and-dagger intrigue would have brought him here, even if the message hadn't come from Wilson Fisk.

In truth, however, Lewis knew that he had no choice in the matter.

Nobody said 'no' to Wilson Fisk.

But he had a feeling that Grandpa and Uncle Samuel would be horrified, should a photographer for the sports or society pages capture him on film in this part of the city. And if his carelessness were to cause a situation for Fisk…

Involuntarily, Lewis shuddered. He could live with himself if he embarrassed his family. He would not live with anyone—including himself—if he did the same to Fisk.

Of that, he had no doubt whatsoever.

"Take it easy, will ya?" Dick protested, only half-joking. "I'm not Kingpin."

Bruce charged toward him again and Dick almost didn't veer away in time. "No," he replied. "But you should be able to counter my moves easily enough. And might I remind you," he added, aiming a sweeping kick to the back of Dick's knee, "that this spar was your idea?"

Dick flipped out of the way and surged forward to lash out with his escrima, directing the majority of his blows to Bruce's shoulders and knees. "That was before I knew you were going to ask Raven to heal you," he said. "Seriously. I thought we'd have a friendly little workout, a lighter change of pace from what's been going on for the last few days—"

Bruce's hand snaked out and caught hold of one of Dick's wrists, immobilizing that arm and pulling him sufficiently off-balance that the blow from the stick in Dick's other hand only glanced off his arm. A slight widening of his eyes was Dick's only indication that the strike still stung. "Had I realized that she was in town," Bruce said, "I would have asked you to bring me here in the first place instead of trusting Murdock's back-alley clinic." He slid Dick neatly over one shoulder and tossed him to the mat.

"Are you still sulking because you couldn't intimidate the nurse?" Dick demanded, as he pulled Bruce after him. "Sheesh, it's not like Leslie would have backed down."

"I can talk her around," Bruce snapped, as he tried to pin Dick to the mat.

Had Dick not been a top-level acrobat, that move might well have ended the spar. Instead, Dick brought his legs up and hooked them around Bruce's waist, unbalancing his mentor enough so that he could break free. "Only because she knows Alfred will drug your tea if you're really in bad shape," he bantered, slamming Bruce into the mat.

Bruce growled.

Dick grinned. "Fine. You can join Matt and me tonight."

"Don't you mean," Bruce huffed, as he broke loose once more, "to say that you'd like to tag along with me this evening? I'm not totally against the idea of backup."

Dick's eyebrows shot up. "I'm not sure whether that means you're still hurting worse than you're letting on, or whether between Kingpin and yours truly, someone actually slammed some sense into you."

"You don't have to tag along, you know."

"Right," Dick grinned. "I turn you down and from now until the end of time you'll use that to justify not asking for backup again. 'The last time I asked, you weren't having any of it. I've learned my lesson,' right?"

Bruce snorted. "I think you're exaggerating by a significant margin."

"What's the new code for the Batmobile?"

Bruce tried to maintain his glower, but a slight chuckle betrayed him. "Nice try." He lunged forward.

"That's what I thought," Dick grinned back, sliding into a defensive posture.

The spar continued.

Fisk was facing the window when Lewis walked into the office. He didn't turn around. "Have a seat, Mr. Baron," he said, in a voice that wasn't loud, but seemed to fill the entire room. It was a rumble, rather than a boom, but it was still thunder. And unlike the natural order, Lewis suspected that this thunder served as a prelude to a lightning strike. He sat down in the padded armchair before the massive mahogany desk. "I'd like to thank you for responding positively to my invitation."

"Of…" to Lewis's horror, his voice emerged as a squeak. He tried again. "Of course, Mr. Fisk. And I'd like to take advantage of this opportunity to express my apologies to you for my performance that night. I'm working to improve—"

Fisk waved him to silence. "No doubt. At any rate, I'd hardly have expected you to emerge triumphant over three masked vigilantes, though I would have hoped you'd have lasted longer. No, I summoned you here for a different matter. I realize, of course, that I could go directly to the elder Barons with this question, but I suspect that, given their track record, they'll merely attempt to disavow any knowledge of the subject." He turned slowly from the window and crossed the three steps to sit behind the desk, across from Lewis. "Those tactics may work well for the general public—perhaps even for the shareholders. But I need to know facts. So," he steepled his fingers and smiled benignly, "tell me, Lewis. How long has your firm been dealing with H.I.V.E.?"

Lewis swallowed. "I don't actually know, Mr. Fisk," he admitted. "I don't handle corporate customers—only individuals."

"For individuals with over two million dollars liquidity."

"Yes. It's certainly possible that some of those accounts belong to high-ranking H.I.V.E. members, but you understand, of course, that such individuals—should they exist—would hardly declare their membership in that organization."

"Of course, of course," Fisk replied, a gentle smile gracing his face. "I've reviewed your qualifications, Lewis. You pursued a double major in Business and Computer Science at Caltech, correct?"

Lewis nodded. "Yes, sir, that's right."

"If I could provide you with the data that my organization has accumulated on H.I.V.E., would you be able to cross-reference that against Baron and Baron's client databases and discover how many of those individuals are serviced by your institution?"

Lewis frowned. "I could probably come up with an algorithm along those lines, yes."

Fisk's smile widened. "I shall have the information couriered to your home this evening. It will arrive between seven and nine. You will be there to sign for it." It was a statement, not a query. Lewis nodded.

"Excellent. And Lewis?" Outside the window, the sun dropped behind a cloud and the resulting shadow gave Fisk's smile a slightly sinister cast. "Should you find that those accounts have all been assigned to a single manager or management team… you will inform me?"

"Of… of course, sir," Lewis said, swallowing hard.

"Lewis," Fisk warned, his expression suddenly serious, "if it does turn out that there's a single person responsible for those accounts, I imagine that I'll be having my people set up a meeting with that individual. Nothing especially formal, you understand; just a nice quiet conversation. It's been my experience that such dialogues are at their most productive when the other party attends with no expectations or preconceived notions. I mention this only because I'm well aware that your firm is, at its core, a family business. The account manager might be some sibling, cousin, or other relation of yours. If so, I'm sure that you might want to allay any concerns by telling them the subject matter to be discussed at the meeting." He shook his head. "I'll take it as a courtesy if you would not." He nodded slowly for emphasis. "Do not reassure. Do not warn. Do not inform. You will provide me with a name, and I will take matters from there. Do we have an understanding?"

A now-pale Lewis closed his eyes and nodded twice. "Y-yes, Mr. Fisk. Of course."

Fisk smiled in satisfaction. "Good."

"When Nightwing said you were joining us tonight," Daredevil said to Batman, "I had my doubts, but I'm glad you're sounding better than you were a couple of days ago." He turned to Nightwing. "Why didn't you tell me Raven was a healer?"

Nightwing shrugged. "Raven gets around a lot," he said. "I didn't know she was in town until she reported to the Tower during the blackout. Is it such a big deal?"

"Sometimes I need to get back into action a little sooner than my body would like, too, you know."

"I hear that," Nightwing grinned. "I'll mention it to the team. I'm pretty sure they'll be cool with my giving you a direct line to the Monitor Room. If you need her, whoever's on duty will try to reach Raven. Understanding, of course," he added, "that Raven can't always be reached. Sometimes, she's away. Sometimes she's off doing the same stuff we all do." In an undertone, he added, "Sometimes her interdimensional demon father decides he wants some family bonding time and won't take 'no' for an answer."

Daredevil started to laugh. Then he realized that, despite his jocular tone, Nightwing was dead serious. "Right. Continue to rely on the Night Nurse unless it's a real emergency. Got it."

"You've fought Infomorph before," Batman cut in testily. "Do you have any means of tracking her location?"

"Vic and Oracle are doing that," Nightwing protested.

"No," Daredevil said. "He's right. They can follow her activity and narrow it down, but an IP address can include a lot of territory."

"And many times, it just points to the location of the service provider, not the user." Batman turned a bit more of his face toward Daredevil. "Well?"

Daredevil sighed. "Not really, but once they've got her whereabouts localized, I can pinpoint. See, she's pretty much a living program. Sophisticated, but she has… gaps in her mimicry when you know what to look for."

"I can turn on the automatic sprinklers in every building we burst into," Nightwing offered.

"Please, don't," Daredevil replied. "Besides, that only works if she's imitating me. There are other ways. Ways that won't make me feel like I just fought the Hulk if I'm in the target area. For example, if we crash a typical gathering, I'll notice heartbeats speeding up, increases in sweat and adrenaline, changes in breathing patterns… typical panic responses in most people. Infomorph can mimic the…" he struggled to find the right word. "…The um… surface characteristics perfectly. She'll make sure that her body language apes that of those around her. I've got it on good authority that she'll assume the correct facial expressions. However, her heart rate will stay steady; her adrenaline won't increase… physiologically, there'll be no changes to her vital stats."

Batman sounded skeptical. "She can acquire her target's abilities and memories, but she can't perfect a panic attack?"

"She acquires data," Daredevil said. "Facts aren't colored by emotion; they just are. She can relate to that. But when it comes to emotions, I don't think she has a reference point. I'm a little outside my expertise, but I think it's more… if she acquires a memory, she'll break it down into 'who, what, where, when, why, and how'. And she'll note the emotions that go along with that memory. But she can only understand those emotions in the abstract; she doesn't experience them herself." He hesitated, remembering her cry of panic the other night. "Or, at least, not fully," he amended.

"So," Nightwing ventured, "it's like… 'That person bumped into me without apologizing. I should demonstrate anger by raising my voice and expressing threats and insults'?" He laughed. "Wasn't there a Star Trek: The Next Generation episode like that?"

"Probably." Daredevil sighed. "Sorry I can't be more helpful."

Batman nodded. "It's a start anyway. We'll find her."

"I know." He frowned and leaned unconsciously to one side, listening intently for a moment. His frown deepened. "Mugging in Central Park. Five attackers, two scared victims. Not sure what kinds of weapons they've got."

"Guess we'll figure that out when we get there," Nightwing grinned. "Shall we?"

Returning to the scene of the crime was a dangerous prospect, but Infomorph had little choice. The data that Batman had removed from Baron and Baron was still at Titans Tower—at least, she fervently hoped so. If it wasn't, she could only pray that it had been electronically transmitted elsewhere; if it was downloaded to a portable data storage device instead, she might never be able to retrieve it. H.I.V.E had made it clear that they would not tolerate failure. They needed that data or she had little doubt that her contact would make good on his threat. She had no choice but to return to the building where she had so recently been captured and do her best not to run afoul of any of the costumed vigilantes, this time out.

Infomorph took her work seriously. She had a professional reputation to maintain and it was certain to be downgraded should she be unable to rectify the situation.

And if Fisk should discover her involvement…

For a moment, she paused in her analysis of the Tower's improved cybernetic defenses, as a glitch rippled through her, causing her body to flicker. All of the data she had compiled on Wilson Fisk told her that he was at least as dangerous and implacable a foe as was her current employer. If he joined H.I.V.E and the vigilantes in their hunt for her, then perhaps allowing herself to be encoded on a series of floppy disks would be the most merciful fate she could expect to meet...

The H.I.V.E. Commander sat at his desk and weighed his options. His organization had extensive experience with the Teen Titans and he forced himself to accept that Infomorph might well be unable to rectify her earlier failure. Were that to transpire, as much as he knew he'd enjoy making the AI suffer, he would still need to find some other way to acquire the data.

He called up a folder on his desktop, opened it, and clicked on one of the subfolders. As he went over the files within, he found himself nodding and smiling. He brought the first page back up:

Screen Name: Ms Terious

Real Name: Amelia "Amy" Beddoes

Age: 16

Occupation: High School Student

Location: Terrebonne Parish, LA

Criminal Record: Clean

Criminal Charges Filed: Juvenile

Details: 2 counts cyber-piracy; 1 count cyber-hacking (theft of municipal records).

Disposition: Acquittal for LoE

The commander's smile broadened. Those charges were relatively recent; filed within the last two years. It was much easier for a prosecutor to get a conviction now than it would have been a decade ago. Either the girl was innocent, or she covered her tracks well. She'd visited one of their sites, played some of their games-that-were-really-assessment-tests-in-disguise. He scrolled down to read how she'd scored on those and let out a low whistle. Beddoes had ranked in the top percentile on each of the fifteen tests. In four of them, she'd done so in less time than anyone else they had on file.

The real question though, was whether this whiz kid could hack her way into Titans Tower to retrieve that data.

He called up her psych profile and chuckled to himself. She liked a challenge and she enjoyed showing off, though not so much that she let herself get sloppy. She'd probably do it for the thrill. And if things went wrong, well, the Titans were hardly likely to use excessive force on a high school student. She'd get away without physical harm. And if the charges stuck this time, it wasn't as though H.I.V.E would hold it against her. He nodded to himself. If her profile was anything to go by, if the Titans caught her, she'd probably want to go up against their security again, just to prove that she could beat it. If so, particularly if she was able to transmit the data before the Titans caught up with her, H.I.V.E. could certainly find ample opportunities for her to do so in the future.

And the best part was that, by the time Amy Beddoes realized who it was she was working for, she'd be in so deep that it would be too late for her to walk away from them and virtually impossible for her to turn them in without implicating herself. The moment she consented to their proposal, she would be theirs for life.

The commander brought up a list of dummy corporations and scrolled through it. There should be a couple that were already dangling the proper bait to hook this fish. It only took him a moment to find one. He went back to the profiles, located Beddoes' email address, copied it, and pasted it into a new message.

Hello, Amy, he typed. This is Jim Crenshaw of DataMine Inc. Recently, we sent you a series of computer games and puzzles. I am pleased to advise you that you have achieved one of the top scores in your state and have qualified for an advanced challenge. Should you successfully complete this challenge within the allotted timeframe, you will qualify to receive a $25,000 scholarship to the college of your choice! For more details, please reply to this email within the next seven days. And don't forget to check out our website at the link below. I look forward to hearing from you.

He hit 'Send' and settled back to wait for a response.

There were moments when Foggy actually believed Matt had the easier job. They were always fleeting and followed by exponential feelings of guilt and disbelief that he could ever think along those lines, but there were still moments. After all, when playing by the rules became too stifling, Matt could slip on a costume and go pound a few heads. Or torsos. Or whatever it took to put the bad guys temporarily out of commission.

To put them away for longer, though? That was where Foggy came in. Matt was brilliant in a courtroom. He could have a jury eating out of his hand. He knew all the right things to say. He had undeniable charisma. And if someone said something unexpected on the witness stand, Matt was able to roll with it, shift strategies, and carry the day, all while barely working up a sweat. (Which was probably for the best, since when that happened, Foggy usually sweated enough for both of them.)

When it came to planning and strategy, though, it was Foggy's turn to shine. Matt seldom had the patience to sit sifting through law books and old cases, looking for precedents that would work to their advantage. He might be able to figure out the most effective way to subdue a dozen ninja in a dark alley on the spur of the moment, but old-fashioned, plodding research was right up Foggy's alley. That wasn't to say that Foggy couldn't hold his own in court. He absolutely could. But he didn't have Matt's good looks, or easy charm to smooth the road. If he won a case, it was because he was able to convince a jury or judge on the strength of his arguments, not his silver tongue. It meant that he had to try that much harder.

And, of course, he usually had to try that much harder because Matt wasn't always in court when he planned to be—one of the many side effects of being Daredevil. Actually, it was good that Matt could think fast on his feet, because there were too many times when he had to leave the office in the middle of a brainstorming session to deal with a mugging-in-progress, or a Skrull invasion, or Stilt-Man trying to strike fear into the hearts of New Yorkers for the umpteenth time (and failing miserably, but sometimes you had to grudgingly respect a guy who refused to give up on his dreams of… municipal domination).

Sometimes, Foggy really did believe that Matt had the easier job. Like now, when he was off with Batman and Nightwing trying to put a dent in a couple of criminal empires, leaving Foggy to find some way to make patently inadmissible evidence admissible in a court of law. Maybe it was just that every time those guys felt like beating their heads against a wall, they decided to do it to some other guy instead.

Maybe, Foggy thought, he ought to look into wearing a costume…

He snorted, shook his head in wry amusement, and reached for another law tome.

All in all, it was a decent night out. While they were no closer to taking down Kingpin or finding a way out of Bruce's legal issues, they did get the satisfaction of knowing that the streets were going to be a bit safer for the next little while.

It was only an hour or so before sunrise and they were about to go their separate ways—Bruce and Dick to the Ritz and Matt, most likely, to the office—when a number of alarms went off close by, startling the three of them and causing Matt to slap his hands against his ears with a barely-stifled cry.

"It figures," Nightwing sighed. "New York is the City that Never Sleeps—and that goes for the art thieves, too. That alarm's coming from over there." He gestured toward the imposing castle across the street. "I mean, if it were Catwoman, she would've been out of the Met by nine pm and spent the rest of the evening leading you on a rooftop chase. Not like these guys," he added, pointing toward a door that was even then closing shut.

"The sooner we take them down, the sooner we head back," Batman snapped, already aiming his grapnel. A moment later, the three vigilantes sailed across Fifth Avenue.

Once inside, they took a moment to get their bearings. "Any idea which way they went?" Batman demanded tersely, projecting so as to be heard over the still-ringing alarm.

Daredevil shook his head. "Can't hear much apart from that noise," he admitted.

"Can you manage?" Nightwing asked.

"Oh, yeah," Daredevil reassured him. "It'll just take some time before my ears stop ringing." He took a deep breath. "Let's split up. I'll cover the ground floor. And, when the police show up, I'll probably be the first person they encounter and they won't shoot me on sight. Once I bring them up to speed, they'll extend the same courtesy to you."

"They'd recognize Nightwing, too," Batman snapped.

"Maybe not," Nightwing admitted. "I've changed my costume a couple of times since I was last active here."

"Noted," Batman said, dropping the matter. "Nightwing, start on the first floor in Greek and Roman art and work your way clockwise. I'll work counter-clockwise and we'll meet outside the American Art Café. Daredevil, after you've spoken with the authorities, meet us there and we'll plan our next move."

"Got it."

It was true what they said, Nightwing thought with a certain ruefulness: a person could get used to just about anything. After about five minutes, the alarm klaxon no longer made his head hurt and he was able to concentrate on sweeping the rooms, looking quickly for anything out of place. So far, the exhibits were undisturbed, meaning that the thieves were probably here for something specific and knew exactly where to look for it. That wasn't something that thrilled him. People who knew what they were doing were less likely to make careless mistakes or take wrong turns.

He slowed down and scanned more intently, hoping to find some sort of clue.

Because the alarm was still ringing in his ears when he stepped into the hallway, he missed the sound of the rubber-soled boot tread behind him and didn't realize that there was a thing amiss until he felt the jab of a needle in his unprotected neck. He whirled immediately, trying to raise his escrima, but his arms had gone leaden and his knees were already buckling. He caught a hazy yellow blur before his world went dark and he slumped to the ground.

His assailant bent down and carefully peeled back an eyelid. "He's out," he announced.

Another H.I.V.E. operative nodded. "Get him into the elevator," he said. "Base cautions that our delaying tactics have just about run their course and the police will be here in five minutes. Our extraction team is in place on the roof."

"Roger that. Help me secure the package and let's get out of here." He chuckled darkly. "Let's find out whether the information on that hard drive is worth more to Batman than his partner's life..."