Chapter 15
"Someone's coming," Tim said as his mask alerted him to approaching heat signatures. He turned towards the double doors that the earlier Shadow agent had disappeared through. Sure enough, three bodies of varying sizes were approaching… quickly. He jerked his head back to Jason."I probably shouldn't have assumed, but you took care of the cams before we jumped down, right?"
"Do you take me for an amateur?" Jason grunted as he resealed the wooden crate by slamming down on the lid with his upper arm. With his other hand, he gestured to a small black device that hung off his waist, no bigger than his thumb.
The device was familiar to Tim, though maybe a slightly older model. A single tap of the lone button in the center scrambled all cameras in the vicinity, replaying selected footage on a loop. It wasn't a perfect device and required some prep work by recording the footage for replay in advance. But for someone like Jason, who'd clearly snuck through the League on multiple occasions, it didn't surprise Tim that the man would have one ready to use in his arsenal.
But it did impress him a bit.
"That should do it," Jason muttered as he sealed the final corner, "Let's go."
Tim was just about to turn and follow him when a slip of white on one of the crates caught his attention. It could have been easily missed, only a scrap of a sticker at the very base crate of the stack. He crouched down to get a closer look and saw it was a barcode, scratched out and frayed at the edges. A shipping label, maybe?
None of the other crates had one, and it might have been just a remnant of the container's prior (more legal) use for produce transport. But Tim took a picture of it anyways, tapping the domino mask at his temple, saving the image so that he could look into it later. Once he was out of this current mess.
"Tim!" Jason's voice in his ear was hushed but urgent. Tim turned around, surprised to realize that Jason was only a couple of feet behind him. He'd waited.
"Let's go," Tim echoed as he started to run. His head turned to the still-approaching signatures. They had maybe twenty seconds to get the hell out of there.
Together, the two sprinted across the warehouse. Jason's tall stature gave him the advantage of a longer stride, but Tim was quick and kept pace. Jason reached the rope only seconds before Tim when he turned around and squatted, interlocking his fingers over his knee. Tim recalled this little trick well and jumped, planting his foot squarely over Jason's fingers before being launched upwards.
Jason was strong, and his boost covered most of the distance to the vent. Tim grabbed hold of the dangling rope and scrambled the last remaining meter upward, disappearing into the vent before he turned his attention to his companion. Jason had already started climbing, covering the distance with impressive speed. Tim grabbed hold of the rope and started to pull, his assistance shortening Jason's remaining ascent by nearly half. Once in, Jason immediately began sliding the grille closed just as Tim pulled up the last of the rope.
The grille slid shut just as the large double doors whirred open.
"There anything else wrong with them?" a menacing voice echoed throughout the warehouse, setting Tim on high alert. Across from the vent opening, Jason also went still.
Tim could pin that voice anywhere, the man having been a thorn in The Team's side since its earliest inception. Sure enough, a man cloaked in orange and black stepped into view.
Deathstroke.
Tim had to scoff at how cocky the man was. Apparently, within the confines of his own League, Slade Wilson didn't feel the need to disguise himself. His mask was off, his face only covered by the black eyepatch over his right eye. What a luxury. His well-muscled body was covered in armor, primarily black but accented with orange metal shoulder pads and gauntlets. His white hair was cropped short, and his beard full over pale cheeks, which he stroked pensively as he surveyed the stacks of crates.
"Nothings wrong with them, sir," replied the earlier agent, his ledger clasped tightly in his hands. Tim could tell he was shaking. "The count's just off."
The statement was met with no answer, the quiet weighing heavier and heavier with each passing second. Even at a distance, Tim felt suffocated by the silence.
"And why wasn't that caught during the drop-off?" Deathstroke finally spoke. His tone was even and emotionless, but Tim could pick up on the deadliness behind his words even at a distance.
"S-sir, if I'm going based off of daily recordings. The count was right at the drop-off, and then for two days after, the number's remained consistent. I-it's just today that," the agent's voice was timid and unsure, wilting underneath the bigger man's looming presence. "I can't know for sure if the counts been recorded wrong all this time o-or if inventory was taken last night."
"And you did a recount?" a new voice asked, cool and calculating. "I'd hate for all this fuss to be stirred up over… human error."
Tim was also familiar with this individual, though only peripherally, through debriefs. He cringed at how close he was to the speaker, having preferred to go his entire life without a run-in with one of the world's greatest martial artists and assassins.
Lady Shiva.
She looked no different than how Tim had seen her so many times on the Bat Computer, though perhaps slightly taller than he'd imagined. She, too, was well muscled but slenderer in frame like Tim. She also didn't wear a mask, preferring to have her dark black cropped hair fall freely below her chin. Her lips were bathed in a black matte lipstick, expressionless if not for the tilt of her brows.
"My Lady, I… I counted twice," the agent's voice was thoroughly weakened now, more of a squeak than anything else. His shoulders were crumpled inward as if in an attempt to shrink himself, already humbled even before the inevitable reprimand.
"Well… perhaps a third would be appropriate."
"Enough," Slade cut in, holding his hand up to hush Lady Shiva. Behind him, she went silent, her eyebrow quirked up, a betrayal of her annoyance. "So, what you're telling me is that we seem to have a thief problem. Someone within the League."
"Y-yes sir," the agent replied, visibly relieved to have the attention back of Deathstroke as opposed to Lady Shiva. Though Tim couldn't imagine how that could be much better.
Slade crossed his arms over his chest, his eyes surveying the stacks as he thought. "Do as Shiva says and count again. But also get me a list of anyone who's clocked in and out of here," at this, he sighed, "I want records from the last week on my desk within the hour."
"Yes, sir!" All too happy to escape his superiors, the agent scurried away. Shiva and Slade were quiet as the agent disappeared behind the double doors.
"If word gets out that we have an inside problem, our seller's going back out." Slade weighed in heavily, crossing his arms across his chest as he did so.
"That's not saying much," Shiva responded, "That pathetic little man's ready to tuck tail and run at the sign of any conflict. We already knew he'd back out once we make our move." Shiva walked amongst the stacks, her arms clasped behind her back and unconcerned.
"If we act too quickly, we'll lose our only supplier outside The Light. I will not have us dependent on Lex Luthor. We will stand on our own two feet." Deathstroke snarled, watching Shiva saunter back toward him.
"We are The Light, Slade," her voice calm but icy, "But sometimes I believe you forget that we are Shadow's first. There will be other suppliers. If we act too late and risk invasion. Ta—"
"Enough," Slade interrupted. "We're holding off. You are the Shadow's Sensei, and I value your insight. But as leader of the League of Shadows, my decision is final."
Shiva's expression was complicated, clearly warring with the desire to say more but ultimately deciding against it. This was clearly a conversation they'd already had. Her movements were minute, a subtle twitch of her lip, a lift of the corner of her eyebrow. Tim marveled at the woman's ability to say nothing and yet speak volumes. For an ordinary person, her simmering anger would have been undetectable. But Tim was no ordinary person.
Deathstroke was no ordinary person either, and yet… he didn't seem to register Shiva's resentment, already shifting to other topics. Tim found it slightly odd. Deathstroke was by no means oblivious. As one of the world's most accomplished hitmen, he should have instantly picked up on Shiva's behavior, that that interaction could not be chalked up to a simple difference of opinion. But perhaps with the added responsibility of Leader of the League of Shadows, a now-confirmed member of The Light, and still an assassin on his own, he was spread too thin. Distracted. Slipping.
The conversation shifted to Shiva's duties as Sensei. Slade inquired about the new recruits.
"They're… adequate. The young ones show a fresh enthusiasm that their predecessors lacked."
"You must be pleased," Deathstroke commented, now turning towards the warehouse exit, the tow walking alongside each other again.
"Yes," Shiva replied with an upward twitch of her lip, "Very pleased." She turned to follow Slade out the double doors.
Both Tim and Jason stayed still, probably longer than strictly necessary. Once there was a considerable distance between them and the deadly duo's receding heat signatures, Tim breathed a sigh of relief.
"Well, that was suspicious," Jason stated dryly.
"Yeah…" Tim replied, still thinking. "How long do you think they'll take?" he asked, looking directly into the bright red glare of Jason's mask.
"Long enough. Slade likes to scout out new talent. I think he's looking for a new protégé now that you've taken that Markovian princess from him."
"To his office then?"
"This way," Jason jerked his head towards the dark of the long vent system.
Together they crawled, crouched, and climbed down two stories through a vent shaft to get to the level where Slade's office resided. Jason guided them efficiently and without delay, hardly stopping to think as they navigated the endless dark maze.
They didn't talk during this time. Now that they were deep in the bowels of the League of Shadows conversing was an unnecessary risk. They hardly spoke, instead communicating via gestures and jerks of their heads. They were surprisingly fluent in each other's body language when on a mission, almost as if they'd been raised speaking the same one… which, of course, they had.
Finally, just as Tim started to worry that they might be cutting it close with time, Jason gestured that their destination was just ahead.
"Through here," he said, undoing the screws of a vent grille overlooking a long hallway. He turned to Tim in a silent question, to which Tim shook his head in response. No heat signatures in the hallway; they were safe, for now. Satisfied with Tim's response, Jason undid the last of the screws. The grille was significantly smaller than the one in the warehouse, and Tim raised his eyebrow, somewhat skeptical that he'd be able to fit, much less Jason.
"You first," Jason said, seeming totally unconcerned with the size of the opening.
It was a tight squeeze, and Tim was just able to fit feet first. His body shimmied uncomfortably through the grille, his cheeks slightly burning with embarrassment at the maneuvering, essential though it was. Finally, his shoulders squeezed through, and he lowered himself from the ceiling vent using his biceps before dropping quietly.
Jason was much faster than he'd been. Well practiced apparently. His legs were out in seconds without the embarrassing shimmying.
"Okay, now stand there and let me use your shoulders."
"What?" Tim asked, looking up and then quickly down again, narrowly avoiding a boot to the face. Jason was heavy, but he seemed to care little as he firmly planted one foot on Tim's shoulder and then one on the other. Rolling his eyes, Tim reached his hands up behind Jason's calves, steadying the man while Jason attempted to jimmy the vent closed.
"We still all good down there?" Jason grunted, his movements jerky above Tim.
"All good," Tim replied, his voice strained from Jason's weight. "How the hell do you manage this when you're by yourself?"
"Very. Carefully." Jason finally moved the vent into place, just enough that they'd be able to pop it open quickly if needed but secure enough that nothing would appear awry to any hallway passerby.
Jason hopped down from Tim's shoulders, his boots landing hard on the tiled floor. "See? That was easy," he ignored Tim's protesting scoff, "Slade's office is this way."
It would have been too easy for Slade's office to be unattended and unlocked. The door was on the far end of the dead-end hallway. Tim surveyed the keypad on the doorway. Small blue lights glowed from the pin pad, armed to alarm with the slightest bit of tampering or even one failed entry attempt. It was a highly efficient, unassuming computer security system and nearly impossible to manipulate.
But it was a good thing that Tim learned from the best.
Barbara Gordon, The Team's Oracle, was a computer whiz, and her hacking and tech skills neared Batman's genius. Of course, Tim had his own talents, but it would be idiotic to not recognize when he was outmatched. Barbara Gordon was the best, and he absorbed the lessons she imparted to him with eagerness.
So, this little obstacle? Not an issue.
Tim quickly went to work dismantling the tricky little piece. The device was set to alarm if there were any tampering attempts, but Bab's had discovered a flaw in her tinkering. It turns out there was a pressure point in the upper left corner, a weakness that caused the system to temporarily hiccup, so to speak. Holding it down while simultaneously entering a code that Babs uncovered issued a hard reboot.
"These days all techy things are just mini-computers, Tim," Barbara had told him with a smile, "And all computers are hackable."
Sure enough, the keypad beeped three times, and the sliding door wheezed open.
Deathstroke would know someone had been there. He'd know when his prior password and fingerprint no longer worked. But hopefully, he'd chalk it up to the internal problem they seemed to be having rather than intruders.
Slade's office was about what Tim had pictured based on his many profile analyses of the man. More suited for an assassin than a businessman, the walls were adorned with handguns, swords, and many more weapons that Deathstroke was known to have in his collection. All were neatly displayed and clearly well-tended. They shined in the room's low light, illuminated by a single standing lamp placed by a well-worn sofa chair in the corner.
That, however, was where the neatness ended. Tim surveyed the stacks of files that were haphazardly strewn over Slade's desk. He rolled his eyes. This was going to be tricky.
"You go see if you can hack into that computer," Tim gestured to the precariously balanced monitor at the far end of the desk. Clearly, it had been pushed aside to make room for the towering papers that consumed the rest of the space, a blanket of manila files. "I'm going to have a look through these." He frowned with distaste at the disorganization.
"On it," Jason nodded, all too happy to plop down in the massive office chair. "Oh, this is nice," he sighed as he stretched his legs like a king, groaning in comfort as he melted into the leather. Tim had to marvel at Jason's audacity. His mouth hung slightly open. Suddenly an image of Deathstroke, his face twisted in horror and rage at the site of this little shithead sitting in his chair, flashed across Tim's mind.
Tim chuckled briefly, surprising himself. He turned it into a cough when Jason looked up from his task.
Focus.
The files were, in a single word, a mess. With no rhyme or reason, various folders on the precarious towers ranged from recruitment dossiers, menial inventory logs regarding food stores, designs for new uniform outfitting, and recruitment profiles, all mixed in one heaping mess. It would be a headache and a half to sort through it all. Not to mention they were shifting dangerously low on time. Tim knew a lost cause when he saw one, and he silently cursed Deathstroke's disorganization for the inconvenience.
"The files are a dead end," Tim stated somewhat reluctantly. He was sure that among those files were some of the answers to his increasing number of questions.
Where was the weapon? Why'd it been stolen? Who was the League going to war with? And who was this new arms dealer making a quite literally explosive emergence… But no. There wasn't enough time. Tim had to prioritize. He turned to Jason, still seated in front of the large computer, fingers flying across the keyboard.
"Cake," Jason responded, his wolfish grin evident even behind his mask. Quickly he got out of the seat to stand behind it. "We're in. Do your thing, detective."
Tim's eyebrow shot up as he sat down. "I didn't think an old-fashioned guy like Ra's would allow things like computers on Infinity Island," Tim shot a sly smile over his shoulder, "Figured you'd be out of practice, and I'd need to step in to help."
"We have fucking computers, Tim," Jason's voice was both wry and exasperated.
Tim shrugged his shoulders, but his attention was already on the screen. Even still, for some reason, he couldn't peel off the small smile that had settled between his cheeks, his own personal tell that he might just be having… fun?
Navigating Deathstroke's computer was tricky but much less messy. At his heart, Slade Wilson was an assassin who organized his digital files like he would for a hired mission. Tim's eyes scanned across the screen, quickly sifting between the worthless and worthwhile leads.
Tim knew that Deathstroke had to be gearing up for war. The sudden accumulation of weapons and the theft of the weapon hidden on Infinity Island all pointed toward the same unknown motivation. Now he just had to figure out what that was…
"Wait," he paused his mad search and went back to the last file he'd opened, sifting through it until he found the hyperlink he was searching for. He clicked.
Suddenly a blown-up photo of Talia al Ghul lit up on the monitor alongside dozens of files, spilling open on the screen like a virus.
Tim stilled. Behind him, Jason sucked in a breath between his teeth.
The reports were, in a word, damning; every file detailing evidence of Talia al Ghul's most recent whereabouts and, more insidious, her plans to reclaim The League of Shadows. Here, a photo of Talia shaking hands with a Verhoyansk government representative, linked with a detailed report on Talia's acquisition of a supply of arms. Here, stolen information on Talia's most recent financial logs, with evidence of Talia siphoning money to for-hire small arms mercenary organizations. And here, written correspondence from Talia to an unknown recipient, stating that the invasion of Santa Prisca was imminent.
And most damning of all, drone footage of a red hooded ninja sneaking around the southern shore docks before disappearing. Along with that footage was a report of sabotage; three of the Shadow's ships had been drowned in the harbor.
Suddenly it all made sense. Tim sat back in his chair, his mind whirring through his most recent memories.
Back in Gotham's shipyard, the night he and Jason had their second duel, Tim had noticed the hired muscle. He remembered thinking then that the henchmen seemed off from Ra's al Ghul's ordinary mercenaries. And that was because they weren't Ra's' at all. They were Talia's, ones she'd hired right under her father's nose for personal gain.
And the cargo! The mysterious cargo he'd seen being transported in that same shipyard but ignored in his search for Jason fucking Todd. Perhaps those arms had been obtained from Verhoyansk, smuggled through Gotham's notoriously shady harbor before their final shipping to Infinity Island.
And last but not least, the theft of the mysterious weapon. Tim had been searching for the motive, and it was all right here. Of course, Deathstroke would steal a known threat from Infinity Island. He would seek to have it for himself because the only alternative was it being used against him.
The League of Shadows weren't inciting a war; they were answering a declaration of one.
"This isn't right," Jason spoke over Tim's shoulder. He crowded in, placing his hand on the desk and leaning over Tim as if to get a better look.
"Jason, enough." Tim sighed as he leaned back in the chair. "There's no point in hiding it anymore."
He couldn't even be mad. Tim hadn't been under any illusion that Talia wasn't using him for her own gain. That had been apparent from the start. More so, he was just exhausted… and frustrated. This whole thing could have been so much easier to figure out if Jason had just told him.
"No, Tim. Seriously, I know what this looks like but none of this is right." Jason said, appearing legitimately confused, as he gestured towards the screen.
"Could Talia just not have told you?" Tim asked, surprising himself with the question. Part of him was suspicious of the sheer amount of evidence compiled. Talia al Ghul was many things, but Tim had never known her to be sloppy. But more than any of that… Tim realized that he just genuinely wanted to believe Jason. He turned to Jason to look at him directly.
"Talia would tell me." Jason snapped, resolute in his answer.
"Then explain all this," Tim gestured to the glowing computer behind him.
Jason stared at him for a moment, seeming to consider his options before he finally sighed. "Look… Yes. Talia wants the League of Shadows back. She was the rightful heir, and Ra's gave it up, her birthright, to Deathstroke. All without consulting her."
"So this is all true."
"Only to an extent," Jason argued back. "Yes, Talia fully intends on making a play for a takeover. But we're talkin' years down the road. She has… other priorities right now."
"What about the hired goons?" Tim asked as he crossed his arms over his chest.
"When Ra's gave up the League, most of our agents went with Deathstroke. Talia has been hiring men, sure, but not for any imminent attack. We're just trying to replenish our forces."
"And the weapons—the cargo at the dock?" Tim clarified.
"Same story," Jason shrugged. "Ra's decision severely weakened us. He's on a whole new ideology about how the world's problems are 'shades of grey' and can't be solved with Shadows—"
"Sounds reasonable. Maybe Talia should swallow her pride and listen to him."
"Watch your mouth." Jason snapped, the red eyes of his mask glaring at him. "But look, I know this whole file is bullshit anyways because they got that report on me all wrong. I go poking around the docks from time to time, same as I do here. But I didn't sink any of the Shadow's boats. Maybe it's related to that thief problem they're having." He waved his hand noncommittally.
Huh. Now that was interesting.
Tim swiveled back in his chair to the screen, now taking a closer look at all the dates of the reports. Sure enough, they were all strung close together, painting a convincing picture of the building momentum of an insurrection. But if what Jason was saying was true, then all these dates and events were accelerated, if not totally fabricated. And there, the video of Jason, the purported sabotage. That had been recent. It was dated March 29th.
Jason had been in LA that day, meeting Tim for the first time in seven years.
This all begged the question... was someone trying to frame Talia?
Tim thought about who might have a personal vendetta against her. Talia was ambitious, intelligent, confident, a born leader… To have someone like Slade Wilson be chosen as the Shadow's successor. Someone who, sure, was unparalleled in his role as the Light's enforcer. But a leader? Of a mass organization at that? It had to be painful to watch the League crumble under his command. It was probably infuriating even.
And furthermore, it wasn't even as if Deathstroke had been the only option apart from Talia. Like them, there'd been others raised by the Shadows. Hell, he could have given the League to… oh.
Oh.
"Tell me about Talia's relationship with Shiva."
Jason shrugged, not yet picking up the direction that Tim was going with this, "I mean, they both grew up in the League of Shadows. They're both expert martial artists, and Shiva's only a few years older than Talia, so I'm sure there was probably a rivalry there—" He paused, suddenly pulling Tim's chair around to face him head-on.
He got it. He had to.
Tim could have kicked himself for being so blind. All this time, he'd been so sure that The League of Shadows had been behind the theft. And he'd been right. He knew it now. But how could he have so easily narrowed in on Deathstroke and totally ignore the other deadly human that lurked within the shadows? The only other individual who had ties to Ra's al Ghul's regime acting as the League's leader. The only other individual with stakes in its future.
Shiva would have been watching Talia. They'd been raised alongside each other, after all. How could Tim not have considered the possible rivalry that burned between those two remarkably gifted assassins while here he was in the presence of his very own childhood rival?
Tim suddenly understood Shiva's attention to Talia as profoundly as he understood himself. As soon as Tim received even a whiff of a chance that Jason might've been alive, had he not dropped everything to pursue him? How could he not have considered that Lady Shiva would have been watching Talia al Ghul with the very same fixation?
And worse, Lady Shiva lived and breathed for League of Shadows. It was the basis for her identity. Now that she was finally the Sensei of the organization, how would she react to a threat to her position, no matter how slight? Wouldn't she seize the opportunity to cut Talia's legs out from underneath her, fatally weaken her coup attempt before it even started, and steal a weapon that was apparently essential to Talia's success?
Tim spoke aloud as he thought, some of it in incoherent mumbles and other times outright sentences. Regardless, Jason followed along, his body rigid with a surprising intensity.
"If Shiva has the weapon, then we need to get it back now," he said through gritted teeth. "Where is it?"
"I don't know," Tim said honestly, "but I'll bet I can figure it out if we go to Shiva's quarters."
Jason paused, considering this. His body was taught like a rubber band that was ready to snap. His arms were folded across his chest as he stared at the screen. "There's no vent system to Shiva's side of the headquarters. We'll have to take the hallways."
Ah. So combat, then.
"We can knock agents out as we go along," Jason continued. "But as soon as they wake up, they'll alarm the whole place, and we'll have a city of assassins on our asses. We will be on a time limit from the moment we take someone out. Unless…" He tipped his head in silent question.
"No killing," Tim answered, knowing exactly what he was asking.
Jason sighed loudly as if Tim were the unreasonable one. "Alright. But once we get to Shiva's, you'd better be fucking quick about it. I'm not letting the weapon be in her clutches for a second longer than it already has," he snapped.
Jason's voice was just concerned enough that Tim refrained from snapping back. He nodded.
The two left Slade's office quickly after that. Coming from the dark room into the brightly lit hallway, Tim suddenly felt very exposed. He tapped his fingers against his retracted bo staff at his waist out of habit and found comfort in its smooth surface.
Jason had also taken his saber, which had previously been strapped to his back, and snapped it to his waistband. Thankfully the sheath was still on as promised. Preparations made, he turned to Tim.
"Shiva's room by the training yards. She likes to live by the recruits to sink her claws into them early on."
And the two took off.
Jason was still injured, and his prior sprint out of the warehouse seemed to have only exacerbated his hip injury, but still, he ran without complaint. Tim could only tell that he was in pain by the slight hop he did every time he picked up his right leg. Tim had to slightly admire him for his grit as he ran alongside him.
They weren't alone for long.
"Hold up," Tim whispered as he slowed down, holding his arm in front of Jason to slow him. Sure enough, around the corner of one of the corridors, he spotted three heat signatures headed their way. He looked up at Jason, who nodded his head in silent understanding.
The countdown had begun.
A/N: Holy dang! This chapter was... a lot! But here we have it folks, the big reveal! Or one of the big reveals at least, haha! But I'm pretty sure the upcoming one won't be a surprise. I truly hope you enjoyed this chapter, I seriously had a blast writing it. (Editing... not so much bleh.) But what do you think? Aren't Jason and Tim a total -unit- when they work together? I love writing about them because I think their styles are so different that they compliment each other uncannily well. If only they realized already they compliment each other in other ways too... *big author sigh* ; )
Well, until next time friends. As always, please feel welcome to leave a comment. Big or small they always make me super happy!
