"Stop it, both of you!" Whisper shouted. She dived for the falling book, but got there too late. The Book landed with a thump upon the carpet. "In Cain's name—"
Her eyes widened as she gazed at the Crime Bible, which had fallen open to that symbolic representation of Mannheim ripping Batwoman's heart from her chest. Could there be any clearer omen than that? She gasped out loud as inspiration struck her like a blast of hellfire rising up from the abyss.
"Cain," she whispered. "It's her name."
Snatching up the Book from the floor, she rushed between Mannheim and Abbot. By now, Abbot had completed his lycanthropic transformation. Mannheim's tailored suit had been rent by the wolf-man's claws. Heedless of the danger in getting between the murderous combatants, she thrust out her arm to separate them.
"Don't you see?" she exclaimed. "It's her name! Cain! We focused on the illustration and saw only the Batwoman! But the true meaning is in the words. 'The Twice-Named Daughter of Cain!' One name is Batwoman, the other is Cain."
Mannheim instantly grasped what she was saying. His beef with Abbot forgotten, he shoved himself away from the growling werewolf. Excitement deepened his voice. "We find the woman with the name of Cain...."
"Exactly." Whisper nodded eagerly. "There can't be many women in Gotham with the name, the resources, and the training to become Batwoman. And once we know who she really is, it will be a simple matter to place her heart in your hands!"
BIALYA.
The entire country was a graveyard. The capital lay in ruins. Emergency relief units from around the world swarmed over the corpse-strewn rubble, assisted by the Justice Society of America. Jay Garrick, the original Flash, searched the devastated landscape at superspeed, resembling a blurry red streak until he finally skidded to a stop in front of Green Lantern. His winged silver helmet made him look like a middle-aged Mercury, straight out of classical mythology. His weathered face held a grim expression. He shook his head soberly
"I haven't found a single survivor," he reported.
"Neither has my ring," Green Lantern said. Emerald flames emanated from his power ring, forming an enormous green fist that lifted a collapsed building from the surrounding debris. To his dismay, he found only corpses beneath the toppled high-rise. The dead bodies were everywhere, lying atop the rubble or buried beneath pulverized steel and timber. Equally horrific vistas, he knew, could be found all across the murdered nation. "Over two million dead."
Shaken by the carnage, he let the flaming hand evaporate. The fractured skyscraper crashed to earth, raising a cloud of dust. Not far away, Mister Terrific, Power Girl, and the rest of the team did what they could to uncover more bodies. Doctor Mid-Nite, the Society's resident physician, treated overstressed aid workers for exhaustion and dehydration.
Wildcat tossed a mangled metal street sign aside. The grizzled former heavyweight boxing champion wore a furry black cat costume, complete with whiskers, that would have looked ridiculous on anyone else. "Ya really think Black Adam did this on his own?" he asked gruffly.
"I've never seen him unleash anything like this," Green Lantern said, "but the satellite images Amanda Waller gathered ..."
Wildcat snorted in derision. "You're not seriously listenin' to Waller, are ya?"
"I may not always agree with her methods," Green Lantern said, "but her footage matches what info we've received from other sources." The veteran hero had deep connections to the American intelligence community. "If Black Adam has truly gone berserk, we're going to need all the allies we can get."
"I'm glad you feel that way, Alan," a new voice said. An anonymous figure on the horizon suddenly increased in size and height, until he towered over the other heroes and relief workers. A dark blue cowl concealed the giant's face, but Green Lantern recognized him instantly.
"Atom-Smasher?" .
"I want back on the JSA," Al Rothstein declared. He had once been a member in good standing of the Justice Society, before he helped Black Adam liberate Kahndaq from its former dictator. Now the young hero had blood on his hands. "Waller issued me a pardon." His determined voice boomed over the ruins. "I want to help you find Black Adam."
GOTHAM CITY.
When Renee had last left Gotham, nearly three months ago, the city had been blanketed in snow. Now March was exiting like the proverbial lamb, bringing a hint of spring to the air. Vic's trench coat hung open as she took the elevator up to Kate's penthouse apartment. Her duffel bag was slung over her shoulder. She counted the floors impatiently, looking forward to a warmer reception here than the one she had recently received in Kahndaq.
I'm lucky I got out of there alive, she realized. Especially after what Black Adam did next.
The old Renee would have blamed herself for the slaughter in Bialya, but her current self refused to wallow in guilt over her failure to console Black Adam. The vengeful superman had been a stone-cold killer for over three thousand years; it was doubtful that anyone could have gotten through to him after Isis was killed. At least I tried, Renee thought. I can live with that.
The elevator door slid open and she hurried out into the hallway. She couldn't wait to see Kate again. Her steps quickened as she approached the door to the penthouse. It was dark out, but maybe Batwoman was not on the prowl yet. She reached the door, then froze when she realized it was already ajar.
"Kate?" she called out apprehensively. A cop's instincts put her on alert. Pushing open the door with her foot, she cautiously entered the apartment. Her ray gun was tucked away in her duffel, but Renee didn't have the patience to dig it out right now. Her right hand found the light switch, but the overhead lights failed to come on. Another bad sign.
As her eyes adjusted to the gloom, streetlights from outside exposed a ghastly scene. The penthouse had been totaled. Broken glass and timbers were strewn about the living room. Expensive furniture had been overturned. Leather upholstery was slashed and torn. A stiff breeze rustled the curtains over the shattered windows. Tufts of fur and feathers blew about the suite. A broken tusk was embedded in a fallen bookshelf, not far from a piece of severed tentacle. Blood splattered the walls and ceiling, and pooled upon the carpet. The gory stains still looked wet.
Renee gasped out loud. Her duffel bag dropped onto the floor.
This was more than mere evidence of a struggle. From the look of things, Kate had fought hard against a small army of beast-men before they had finally beaten her into submission. "Kate," Renee whispered hollowly. The fact that no body was visible provided meager comfort. She knelt beside the nearest puddle of blood. There seemed to be an awful lot of it....
"They took her," a male voice confirmed. Renee looked up to see Nightwing standing on the sill of the broken picture window. The curtains flapped around Batman's protege, whom Renee had met on occasion back during her days on the force. "We're going to get her back."
If she's still alive, Renee thought. And Mannheim hasn't yanked her heart out yet.
WEEK 48.
«
GOTHAM CITY.
Gotham had way too many warehouses, at least as far as Renee was concerned. Heavy crates were piled high on wooden pallets as she and Nightwing invaded yet another murky storage facility in search of a lead on Kate's current whereabouts. The masked vigilante machined across the floor like an acrobat, letting his lightning-fast hands and feet put the fear of the Bat into a gang of motley beast-men. Renee was right behind him, watching his back.
"Where is Mannheim?" she demanded. "Where?" .
A warning shot from Renee's ray gun drove back a snarling pack of were-creatures. The futuristic firearm matched the black-market ordnance being unloaded by the shape-shifting Intergang thugs. Renee couldn't help remembering her first battle with the beast-men, in a shadowy warehouse much like this one. Then she had fought beside the Question instead of Nightwing, but that wasn't all that had changed over the last ten months or so. Now Vic was dead, and Kate might be, too. Renee wore Vic's hat and trench coat in memory of her friend, but her face was still her own. Sh
e wasn't ready to put on the Question's mask just yet.
Maybe she never would be.
This is taking too long, she thought impatiently She and Nightwing had spent the last several days combing the city for Kate, hitting everything from swanky mob-controlled nightclubs to skeezy strip joints in the worst parts of town. This dockside warehouse was only the latest stop on their whirlwind tour of Intergang hangouts, but Renee prayed that it wouldn't turn out to be another dead end. For all they knew, Mannheim was going to sacrifice Kate any night now, if he hadn't already....
All because of that damn prophesy, she thought. Renee still wasn't sure she actually believed in any of that Crime Bible mumbo jumbo, but that didn't matter. What counts is that Mannheim and his creepy cult believe it.
A few feet ahead of Renee, Nightwing slammed a puma-man's whiskered snout into the lid of a large wooden crate, which splintered loudly. Renee spotted a minotaur trying to pry open another crate to get at the weapons inside, so she squeezed off another blast from her ray gun, disintegrating both the crate and its lethal contents. Another burst sent the bull-headed monster and his cronies scrambling for the exits.
Not so fast, Renee thought. Not until one of you tells me where Kate is.
Katherine Kane was not looking her best.
After nearly a week in captivity, her Batwoman costume was tom and filthy. Heavy iron shackles weighed down her chafed wrists and ankles. Her utility belt had been stripped from her. A split lip testified to her rough treatment at the hands of her captors. Scabs and bruises, many of them left over from her losing battle at the penthouse, formed a black-and-blue mosaic over her battered flesh. Her long red hair was matted and badly in need of a shampoo. The rough stone floor of her cell was cold and unyielding. Her stomach growled piteously; she had been served nothing but water and gruel for days now. Still, she would have gladly traded a three-course meal for one good Batarang.
How long have 1 been here anyway? she wondered. Locked away from the sun, starved and beaten, it was hard to keep track of the time. Has it been five days already? Six?
Whisper A'Daire leered at her with the sort of salacious delight usually reserved for female wardens in women-in-prison movies. Her feral associate, Abbot, looked on with a scowl on his face as Whisper delicately fingered the red inner lining of Kate's soiled cape.
"No, this just won't do, not for such a special occasion. The garb is fine, but the condition ..." Her nose wrinkled in distaste. She peeled away Batwoman's mask, exposing Kate's face. Two swollen black eyes offered further evidence of abuse. Whisper ran her gaze over the other woman's tight black costume. "Of course, white is traditional for virgin sacrifices, but that hardly matters in your case." ’
Bitch! Kate lunged at the other woman, determined to wipe the smirk off her face. But her reflexes were slowed by too little food and too much brutality. Whisper deftly stepped out of the prisoner's reach, while Abbot bludgeoned Kate from behind. She collapsed onto the floor. She swore out loud, infuriated by her own weakness. Abbot dug his heel into her back to keep her from getting back up again.
"No more of that," Whisper declared. She knelt down beside Kate, who caught a glimpse of a hypodermic needle in Whisper's hands. No! Kate thought. Get that away from me! She tried to wriggle out from beneath Abbot's foot, but
Whisper surged forward with the speed of a striking rattlesnake. The hypo jabbed into Kate's neck.
A narcotic numbness spread quickly through her veins. Kate struggled to resist the drug's effect, but within seconds she was too groggy to even remember why she was, fighting back. Her bones seemed to dissolve as she melted limply against the floor. Her eyes rolled back until only the whites were visible. The last thing she was aware of, before succumbing completely, were Whisper's cool fingers stroking her cheek.
"That's more like it," she said. "Let's clean her up."
The slimy tentacles of an enraged human octopus reached out for Nightwing's head. Suckers the size of silver dollars glistened upon the underside of the tentacles, wTiile the creature's chitinous beak clacked angrily. Gripping a hard plastic escrima stick in each hand, Nightwing batted the aggressive tentacles away, but the crazed cephalopod had eight limbs to the hero's two, putting Nightwing at a severe disadvantage. A pair of tentacles caught hold of Nightwing's right arm and flung him into the side of a large steel cargo container. Dozens of surplus pallets were stacked precariously on top of the container. Renee winced in sympathy as Nightwing hit the container hard enough to leave a dent. The upper tentacles grabbed onto his face and pulled at his skin. He let out a pained grunt.
"Hey, Squid-Face!" Renee called out. "Heads up!"
A golden beam shot from her stolen ray gun. The bottommost pallet atop the damaged container vanished in a burst of light. An avalanche of wooden planks cascaded down onto the octo-man. A loud squish turned Renee's stomach as the creature's trunk and tentacles were trapped beneath a heap of heavy timbers. Hot plasma rose like smoke from the muzzle of her high-tech pistol.
I never did like calamari, she thought. Nightwing yanked a limp tentacle away from his face. The suckers left angry red rings on the skin around his batshaped mask. He gazed down at the defeated octopus-man, who whimpered beneath the fallen pallets. "Thanks for the save," he said to Renee.
She glanced around the warehouse. The fight appeared to be over. The few beast-men who were still conscious had evidently chosen to make tracks rather than risk ending up like the squashed were-octopus. She hoped the trapped monster wasn't injured too badly to answer any questions. What was the point of trashing this place if it doesn't get us any closer to Kate? .
Blinking lights caught her attention, and she looked up at the dented shipping container, whose door was now ajar. Inside the container was some sort of high-tech device that looked like a cross between a neutron bomb and a large industrial drill, big enough to drill straight through to China. Lighted panels and gauges flickered over the surface of the device. It hummed softly.
Uh-oh, she thought. I don't like the looks of this.
Blood and brains dripped from Bruno Mannheim's hands. He wiped them off with a towel, then angrily hurled the towel onto the carpet. A framed blowup of the Fire Pit drawing from the Crime Bible now adorned the wall of his office. His eyes held a manic gleam as he stared at the sacred illustration. He ground his teeth in agitation. An angry vein pulsed against his temple.
"Every single word as the Book commands us, Whisper! All for tonight, to spill the holy blood tonight!" Instead of his usual tailored suits, a scarlet robe, with golden trim, clothed his stocky frame. The vivid hue of the ceremonial garment hid the spattered bloodstains. The sacred dagger was tucked into the sash around his waist. "This wasn't supposed to happen."
The body of a dead frog-man lay at Mannheim's feet. His skull had been pulped beyond recognition by the mob boss's bare hands, just because the unfortunate amphibian had been the bearer of bad news. Typical, Abbot thought. He regarded the volatile ganglord with barely concealed contempt. I've had about enough of this lunatic's tantrums.
Abbot waited by the office door, which was guarded by a pair of smelly ape-men. He kept his distance from Mannheim, but Whisper hurried forward to mollify their leader. A flash of jealousy added to Abbot's sour mood. He was starting to wish that he and Whisper had never gotten involved with this insane cult. Bruno Mannheim was no Ra's al Ghul, that was for sure.
Why couldn't Whisper see that?
"Calmly, Brother Bruno," she purred into Mannheim's ear. Like him, she had already donned her priestly regalia. Her slinky black gown rustled as she moved, like a serpent in the grass. She gracefully stepped over the mess on the carpet. "The sacrifice awaits you even now."
"What does that matter now?" Mannheim ranted. According to the frogman, a key element in their grand design may have already fallen into the hands of their enemies. "I should've carved the Twice-Named's heart from her breast the moment she was in our power!"
"And defied the Word by doing so," Whisper reminded hi
m. In theory, the sacrifice could only be performed under the right conditions and circumstances. They had already missed one such opportunity months ago, when Batwoman escaped them.
At least that's what we thought, Abbot thought bitterly. His doubts had started then, the first time the Book's so-called prophesies had turned out to be about as reliable as a cheap fortune cookie. Now, of course, Whisper claimed that they had simply misinterpreted the prophesy. Abbot's lip curled into a
sneer. Yeah, right.
"We were not ready to unleash the Fires, Brother." She rested her chin on Mannheim's shoulder as she pressed her sinuous body against his back. Fler arm draped itself around his bull-like neck. "It is tonight that you are destined to welcome the rule of Rage with the Twice-Named's heart in your hand. Her death will mark the dawn of Intergang's dominion over the world. A world devoid of virtue, devoted to the worst of humanity. A world much like Gotham City itself, before the coming of the Bat."
Her seductive blandishments failed to appease him. "How am I gonna do that when one of the Keys is lost?"
"Brother Abbot will recover the Key," she promised him, "and all shall come to pass as written."
Speak for yourself, Abbot thought. He was tired of keeping his mouth shut. "And if it doesn't? If, once again, the Book is wrong? What then?"
"Blasphemy!" Mannheim raved, his face turning purple. Whisper tried to restrain him, but he tore himself away from her arms and lunged at Abbot. He backhanded the other man across the face. "The Book is hot wrong! The Book is never wrong!" •
"Bruno," Whisper pleaded.
"No! Send others to recover the Key." He nodded at the ape-men, who took hold of Abbot from both sides. Alarmed, Abbot struggled to break free from the simians' powerful grip. "Your dog's time is done here." Mannheim rammed his fist into Abbot's gut. "I'll see him carved apart for his heresies!"