The Dark Knight Rises (19 page)

A smarter strategy was needed. He flipped a switch
on his belt, triggering an EMP that knocked out all the lights, throwing them all into total darkness. Then he retreated into the sheltering blackness. Night-vision lenses in his cowl allowed him to keep an eye on his adversary, who seemed to take the blackout in his stride.

Bane turned slowly, addressing the all-encompassing shadows. He didn’t seem worried.

“You think darkness is your ally,” Bane said. “But you merely adopted the dark. I was
born
in it. Formed by it…”

Moving as silently as a ghost, Batman circled, looking for an opening. There had to be some way to bring the other man down. He just needed to strike when and where Bane least expected. And he needed to make it count.

This could be my last chance.

“I didn’t see light until I was already a man. And by then it was nothing to me but
blinding.”

Without warning, Bane lunged backward into the darkness and caught Batman’s throat in his grasp. Only the reinforced neckpiece kept his windpipe from being crushed in an instant.

“The shadows betray you, because they belong to
me
…”

He slammed Batman into the concrete floor, hard enough to dash any other man’s brains out. His bare fists pounded on Batman’s cowl with unbelievable force, blow after blow smashing down like a jackhammer. Concussed and breathless, Batman couldn’t fight back as Bane hammered on the cowl until finally, incredibly, the hard graphite shell
cracked.

No,
Batman thought.
That’s not possible.

One final blow put him down for the count. Bane rose, towering above his battered foe. He gestured upward at the vaulted ceiling high above the vast subterranean chamber. Through blood-streaked eyes, Batman saw that a series of holes had been drilled into the ceiling. Explosive charges had been placed in each of them.

But why?
he wondered through the pain.
To what purpose?

“I will show you,” Bane said, “where I’ve made my home while preparing to bring justice to Gotham.
Then
…I will break you.”

A mercenary tossed a detonator to Bane. His men backed away, seeking shelter in side tunnels and alcoves. Catwoman watched anxiously from the other side of the grate. She covered her ears.

Bane pressed the button.

The charges went off, causing a controlled implosion high above their heads. Thunderous echoes rocked the chamber, hurting Batman’s ears. The ceiling caved in and rubble rained down into the sewers, splashing water everywhere.

Artificial light poured down from above, revealing the lower levels of Applied Sciences.

It can’t be
, Batman thought in horror. Then
realization struck home.
We were under Wayne Tower all this time.

The bottom had dropped out of Lucius Fox’s secret weapons storehouse. Dangerous prototypes lay scattered about like treats from some deadly, high-tech piñata. A tumbler, its desert camouflage of little use in these dismal catacombs, landed atop a pile of rubble. Loose papers and bits of ash wafted down through the jagged gap in the ceiling.

“No,” Batman murmured weakly.

“Your precious armory,” Bane confirmed. “Gratefully accepted.” He swept his gaze over the fallen spoils. “We will need it.”

To wage war on Gotham?

Bane’s men clambered up into the violated bunker. They moved efficiently, ransacking Applied Sciences even as security alarms blared stridently. The mercenaries set up a bucket brigade to hand the stolen goods from each man to the next, down into the tunnels. The other tumblers were hauled toward the gap.

I can’t let this happen,
Batman thought.
I can’t…
He staggered to his feet, swaying unsteadily. His cracked cowl slipped, and he tasted blood in his mouth. His head was swimming. The entire chamber seemed be spinning around him, and he felt sick to his stomach. Through the fog, he recognized the symptoms of a serious concussion.

Nevertheless, he raised his fists.

Bane turned back toward him.

“I wondered which would break first—your spirit…”

Batman threw a punch, but didn’t come close to connecting. Bane lunged forward and lifted his foe high above his head. Batman tried to twist free of the grasp, but could not get away.

He had nothing left.

“…or your body,” Bane concluded.

Savagely, Bane brought Batman down onto his knee, forcibly bending the Dark Knight’s spine backward. A horrific
crack
echoed throughout the lair.

Catwoman gasped out loud.

At that, Bane dumped Batman onto the ground, to lie helplessly in the puddles. He crouched and tugged the cracked cowl off his victim, exposing the battered and bloody face of Bruce Wayne. Then he beckoned to his men, who picked up the limp, unresisting body and carried it off into the tunnels. Bane held onto the cowl as a trophy.

Standing triumphant beneath Wayne Tower, he contemplated the hollow, empty eyes of the Dark Knight’s cowl.

Forgotten for the moment, Catwoman slunk away into the shadows.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Blake knocked impatiently at the door of Wayne Manor. It was the middle of the afternoon, but no one answered, not even the butler. Worried, he nosed around the windows, yet couldn’t spot any signs of life inside the mansion.

A pair of French windows showed evidence of having been forced open.

Not a good sign
, he thought. He considered calling it in, only to decide against it. Bruce Wayne had important secrets to protect. Blake didn’t want to risk blowing them on a false alarm.
Maybe Wayne just forgot his keys.

Troubled, he returned to an unmarked police cruiser that was parked out front. Despite repeated attempts to contact Wayne, he hadn’t heard from the bankrupt billionaire since dropping him off in Old Town the day
before. He was half-tempted to invest in a Bat-Signal.

Or perhaps there was someplace else he ought to check out first.

He drove straight to the same scuzzy street where he had last seen Wayne. Parking himself across from the dilapidated townhouse, he settled back and waited. It felt strange not to be wearing his uniform anymore. A new coat and suit marked his promotion to detective. He wondered what his old partner was up to now.

Ross had taken the news like a champ. No jealousy, no envy, just sincere congratulations. Blake already missed working with him.

Not that he wanted to go back…

He didn’t have to wait long before an attractive woman—who seemed far too elegantly attired for this part of town—exited the building. A stylish wide-brimmed hat shaded her striking features. It was the same dark hue as her fashionable black dress and matching gloves. A small collection of luggage suggested that she was going on a trip.

Something about her struck him as familiar, but it took him a moment to place her. A memory—of a frightened young woman bumping into him on her way out of that sleazy underworld bar—flashed through his brain. That had been the night Gordon was shot.

He took a closer look at the woman on the sidewalk.

Holy crap,
he thought.
It’s her.

It all fell into place. Congressman Gilly had claimed
he’d been abducted by a woman—a woman matching her description. The congressman had been a bit vague, no doubt to protect his own reputation—and marriage. But now it made sense.

What had Gordon said again? That he wasn’t allowed to believe in coincidence anymore.

The woman hailed a cab, and climbed into the back seat. As it pulled into traffic, he followed suit, and got on the radio.

“Get Commissioner Gordon,” he said. “Tell him I’ve got a line on the congressman’s kidnapping.”

Selina made it through airport security without a hitch. Her boarding pass in her purse, she walked briskly through the international terminal, trying not to attract the wrong kind of attention.

According to the departures monitor, her flight was on-time and leaving soon. With any luck, she would be an ocean away from Gotham before the day was over.

Or perhaps it wouldn’t be that easy.

Heading toward her gate, she spotted a uniformed police officer checking her out. Judging from his expression, he wasn’t just appreciating her figure. Was there an all-points bulletin out on her already?

Time to improvise
, she thought.

Veering away from the main concourse, she ducked into a secluded service corridor, ignoring the signs that said it was for authorized personnel only. As
she expected, the cop followed her. He rounded the corner, only to find her applying a fresh layer of ruby-red lipstick.

“Excuse me, miss,” he said sternly. “I need to see your ticket and identification, please.”

Acting surprised, she fumbled in her purse.

“Would you mind?” she asked, handing him her hat. He accepted it without thinking.
Big mistake,
she thought. Her fist punched right through the crown of the hat, delivering a sharp blow to his chin. She grabbed him before his limp body hit the floor.

A janitor’s closet provided a convenient hiding spot. She crammed the unconscious cop into it and placed the mangled hat on his head. It didn’t exactly go with his uniform, but she liked to think it made a statement.

Better you than me
, she thought.

Her brown hair neatly tied up in a bun, she closed the closet door and slipped back onto the concourse. Her flight was already boarding by the time she reached her gate. She trotted confidently down the jetway—only to spot two scowling airport security guys waiting at the end, right before the entrance to the plane.

Changing her mind, she turned around and started to head back the way she’d come. But a clean-cut young man in a cheap suit stood waiting at the other end of the jetway, blocking her exit. She quickly recognized him as the helpful cop she had ditched during the police raid on the bar.

He smiled and held up his badge. It looked brand-new.

So much for the French Riviera.

She looked up as Blake entered the interrogation room, carrying a thick file. A pair of cuffs had replaced the elbow-length black gloves she had been wearing earlier.

Harsh fluorescent lights illuminated a stark white chamber. Soundproof ceramic tiles cut the room off from the outside world, isolating the suspect. One-way mirrors, mounted on the wall, captured their reflections. A closed-circuit camera monitored the proceedings.

He sat down at the steel table across from her and started the tape recorder. This was his first formal interrogation as a detective, and he wanted to do it by the book.

“I showed your picture to the congressman,” he told her. “And guess what?”

“Don’t tell me,” she guessed. “Still in love?”

“Head over heels,” he acknowledged. “Pressing charges, though.” He smacked the file down onto the table. “You’ve made some mistakes, Ms. Kyle.”

She shrugged.

“Girl’s gotta eat.”

“You have an appetite,” he observed, flipping through the file’s contents. He glanced up from a list of her greatest hits to look her directly in the eyes. “Why run? You can’t hide from us with this record.”

She met his gaze without evasion.

“Maybe it’s not you I’m running from.”

“Who then?” He took a shot. “Bane? What do you know about him?”

Her cocky attitude went away.

“That you should be as afraid of him as I am.”

She means it
, Blake realized, hearing genuine fear in her hushed tone. “We can offer you protection…”

She shot him an incredulous look, like they both knew it was a joke. Then she looked away from him, idly checking her reflection in one of the mirrors. Blake got the distinct impression that she’d given him as much as he was going to get for the time being—at least on the record.

He switched off the tape and stood up from the table.

“When I spotted you,” he said, “I was looking for a friend. Bruce Wayne.”

The name got her attention. She didn’t say anything, but he could tell she was hiding something, and it seemed to bother her. He stepped between her and the mirror. His eyes entreated her.

“Did they kill him?”

For the first time since he’d entered the room, she couldn’t meet his gaze.

“I’m not sure,” she confessed.

Blake’s heart sank.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO