“You’re pretty good at that,” he commented.
She stirred the burning logs, the glow of the fire burnishing her bare skin.
“When I was a child we had almost nothing,” she said, and her voice sounded distant. “But on the nights when we had a fire, we felt very rich, indeed.”
She returned and snuggled beside him once more, drawing the covers over them. It warmed him more than any fire, he thought. It had been a long time since he had rested in the arms of a beautiful woman, let alone one as remarkable as Miranda Tate.
She might be worth losing a fortune for.
“I assumed your family was wealthy,” he said. It dawned on him how little he had cared to learn about her—and what a mistake that may have been.
“Not always. Not when I was young.”
A pale scar marred the otherwise flawless perfection of her shoulder. He gently traced it with his finger.
“An old mistake,” she said.
“I’ve made a few of those,” he confessed.
His own chest bore a complicated tapestry of such marks, left over from the years of arduous physical training, and his career as the Batman. A burn from the fire that had engulfed Rā’s al Ghūl’s temple. An old scar where the Joker had once stabbed him.
She explored them by the firelight.
“More than a few.” Then she treated him to an enticing smile. “We could leave. Tonight. Take my plane. Go anywhere we wanted.”
It was tempting, he mused, especially after eight lonely years. But then he remembered Gordon in that hospital bed—and Officer Blake counting on him for help against Bane.
“Someday, perhaps. Not tonight.”
She pulled him close, inviting his kisses. They folded into each other, forming a warm, beating heart at the center of the cold, empty house. Bruce lost himself in the moment—and in her.
For the first time in years, he didn’t think about Rachel.
CHAPTER TWENTY
She slept like an angel, wrapped up in a blanket near the dying fire. Bruce studied her sleeping form, grateful for the warmth she had brought back into his life.
Then he silently slipped away.
Sorry, Miranda, he said silently. It can’t be helped.
Part of him—a part that had been dormant for eight long years—wanted to stay with her. But that wasn’t possible. A grandfather clock tolled midnight out in the hall, reminding him that he had an appointment to keep—with another woman. He crept quietly into the study and took the hidden elevator down to the Batcave. His working clothes waited for him in their locked closet. He took the cowl from the shelf.
If all went well, he might get back before Miranda woke up. If not…well, he would have some explaining to do. It wouldn’t be the first time.
Minutes later, the Bat was roaring toward downtown Gotham. The lights of the city were spread out beneath the aircraft like glittering jewels just waiting to be stolen by the thieves and murderers who were his quarry. Late-night traffic cruised the streets hundreds of feet below.
Nearing the rendezvous spot, Batman killed the headlights and main engines. The Bat went into stealth mode as it quietly auto-rotated down into the city’s sleeping concrete canyons. He checked the digital chronometer.
It was a quarter past midnight.
Right on time, he thought.
As arranged, Catwoman was waiting in a subway tunnel, just beyond the lit passenger platform. She paced impatiently along a service walkway, watching the trains go by. Her sleek black costume allowed her to blend in with the shadows. Night-vision goggles let her scan the tunnel in both directions.
All at once, she stopped pacing.
“Don’t be shy,” she said playfully.
He was impressed. There weren’t many people he couldn’t sneak up on when he wanted to do so. He didn’t know what sort of training she might have received, but his own had been extensive.
Batman emerged from the darkness, joining her in the tunnel.
“Wayne says you can get me the ‘Clean Slate,’” she said without preamble.
“That depends,” he said gruffly. She eyed him warily.
“On what?”
“On what you want it for,” he replied. “I acquired it to keep it out of the wrong hands.”
Or claws, he thought.
“Still don’t trust me, huh?” She didn’t sound particularly surprised. “How can we change that?”
“Start by taking me to Bane.”
Selina had stolen the fingerprints Bane had used to wipe out Bruce Wayne’s fortune. With Daggett dead, she was now Batman’s only link to the master terrorist. He hoped she could lead him to Bane’s underground lair—the one Gordon had stumbled onto nights ago. He was certain the cops hadn’t found it yet.
For a second, she looked as if she might try to talk him out of it, then she shrugged.
“You asked,” she said, and without a warning she sprang down onto the tracks, making not a sound. Batman followed closely behind her as she led him into a murky service tunnel.
They descended deeper beneath the city, leaving the subway system behind as they treaded through a labyrinth of forgotten utility tunnels. Cobwebs hung from the ceiling. Rats scurried away. Water dripped down the walls. The noisome tunnels made the Batcave seem like a luxury resort.
Catwoman seemed to know where she was going. She stopped, peered around, and spoke, her voice low. Even so, there were hints of echoes.
“From here, Bane’s men patrol the tunnels,” she said, “and they are not your average brawlers.”
“Neither am I,” he replied.
Footsteps echoed up ahead. She signaled Batman before grabbing onto a hanging pipe and swinging up and out of sight. Following her lead, he blended into the darkness.
Moments later, a squad of mercenaries came through, patrolling the tunnel. Leather jackets, military fatigues, and automatic weapons made it clear that these weren’t maintenance workers, nor were they ordinary thugs. They methodically scanned the dimly-lit tunnel, but he could tell they didn’t expect to find anything. Their guns were slung toward the floor.
Catwoman dropped nimbly behind them.
“He’s behind you,” she warned.
The lead mercenary spun around in surprise. His eyes widened at the sight of the feline intruder. Confusion was written over his face.
“Who?” he demanded.
Batman dropped from the ceiling, hanging upside-down like the creature that was his namesake.
“Me,” he growled.
The startled soldier of fortune didn’t even have time to raise his weapon before the hanging wraith slammed into him like a wave of darkness, and then vanished back into the shadows. Caught by surprise, the other gunmen opened fire. Muzzle flares lit up the murky tunnel, and bullets blasted away at the ceiling.
The echoes were deafening now.
Catwoman darted around a corner, pursued by a shouting mercenary. He tried to keep the elusive female figure in his sights, only to feel powerful hands grab onto his shoulders and yank him up into the dark. His terrified scream was cut off abruptly and his weapon clattered to the floor.
Two down, Batman thought.
He picked off the rest of the patrol, one by one. A grappling line yanked one man off his feet, so that his head smacked against the hard stone floor. Skulls were slammed together by hands that struck silently from the shadows. An expert jab to a crucial nerve center dropped another man to the floor. The guns went silent, replaced by echoing shouts and bone-crunching thuds.
Disposing of the last of the men, Batman caught up with Catwoman. He followed her down a dark tunnel and onto a long metal catwalk. The shadows were too deep for him to find details in his surroundings, but he heard run-off water rushing beneath them like an underground river. The lack of odor indicated that the water had been purified.
“Just a little further,” she promised.
A heavy steel grate slammed down between them, like a portcullis in a medieval fortress. Bright halogen l
ights flared overhead, exposing a lair hidden deep within the sewers. A small army of mercenaries glared down from various elevated gantries and platforms. The catwalk led between twin waterfalls that poured into a foaming channel one level below. There was some kind of headquarters located beyond the waterfalls—much like in the Batcave.
“Sorry,” Catwoman said from the other side of the grate. “I had to find a way to stop them trying to kill me.”
Batman realized then that she had deliberately lured him into a trap. He was disappointed by her betrayal.
“You’ve made a serious mistake,” he growled.
“Not as serious as yours, I fear,” a deep voice interjected.
Batman turned to see a masked figure emerge from behind the falling curtains of water. He recognized the man’s elaborate mask and powerful physique from the grisly security footage Alfred had shown him before. Muscles rippled upon the killer’s bare chest.
“Bane.”
The infamous mercenary approached him.
“Let’s not stand on ceremony here, Mr. Wayne.”
Batman wasn’t surprised that Bane knew his true identity. The man was connected to the League of Shadows, after all—he likely had heard of Bruce Wayne’s tangled history with Rā’s al Ghūl.
Catwoman, on the other hand, was visibly taken aback by the revelation. A look of regret came over her face, as though she was having second thoughts about betraying him.
Too late now, he thought. Selina Kyle was the least of his concerns at the moment. Bane was the real threat to Gotham. He murdered those people at the stock exchange—and nearly killed Jim Gordon.
I can’t let him hurt anyone else.
Without hesitation he launched himself toward his enemy. His cloak spreading out behind him, he swooped at Bane, drawing back his fist to deliver a knockout blow. His clenched knuckles flew at Bane, who caught it easily with his bare hand, squeezing it until the bones ground together.
Grunting, Batman attempted a gut punch with his other fist, but the mercenary effortlessly blocked the blow. He had, indeed, been trained by Rā’s al Ghūl and the League of Shadows.
“Peace has cost you your strength,” Bane declared. “Victory has defeated you.”
Stronger and faster than anyone Batman had ever fought before—even in his prime—Bane slammed into Batman, knocking him backward. A roundhouse kick swept his legs out from under him, sending him tumbling off the catwalk toward the raging sewers below. Batman hastily extended his cape, using it to glide down on to a concrete ledge located near the base of the waterfalls. He winced in pain, bruised even beneath his protective armor.
This wasn’t going well…
Bane clambered after him, swinging down on a chain, while his men watched in disciplined silence, enjoying the duel. Hoping to buy some time, Batman plucked a handful of miniature flash-bangs from his Utility Belt and flung them at his pursuer. The charges went off like firecrackers, producing a disorienting barrage of sparks, noise, and smoke.
Yet Bane didn’t even flinch.
“Theatricality and deception are powerful agents,” he acknowledged, quoting the timeless wisdom of Rā’s al Ghūl. “To the uninitiated.”
Alfred was right, Batman realized. This man was not to be underestimated. It’s going to take everything I have to beat him—if it’s even possible.
Determined to put Bane on the defensive, Batman lunged at him again, striking out with his fists and boots. Bane effortlessly countered his moves. It was like fighting Rā’s again, except that Bane was younger and stronger than their shared mentor. He targeted the weak spots in Batman’s body armor, inflicting the maximum pain possible, while seeming to possess no weaknesses of his own.
They broke apart, facing off between the flowing channels. Bane looked like he was just warming up.
“But we are the initiated, aren’t we, Bruce? The League of Shadows.” He glared at Batman over the bizarre mask that hid the bottom half of his face. Scorn dripped from his voice. Air hissed from the mask. “And you betrayed us…”
“Us?” Batman echoed. “You were excommun-icated—from a gang of psychopaths.”
Bane rejected the accusation.
“Now I am the League of Shadows,” he said, “here to fulfill Rā’s al Ghūl’s destiny…”
By destroying Gotham?
Never, Batman thought. Too many good people— including Rachel and his parents—had worked too hard to make the city a decent place to live. This masked lunatic needed to be stopped—just like the Joker and Rā’s al Ghūl.
He hurled himself at his opponent, knocking him onto his back beneath the foaming waterfall, where Batman hammered his masked face again and again. Clear water cascaded over them, making the Dark Knight’s black armor gleam slickly. Any normal thug would already be out cold, but Bane just absorbed the blows until Batman took a moment to catch his breath.
He let up, just for a moment, and Bane’s brawny arms shot out like rockets, smashing Batman aside.
The mercenary rose to his feet.
“You fight like a younger man,” he said, his voice betraying no hint of the punishment he had received. “Nothing held back. No reserves.” He flexed his own muscles as he advanced. “Admirable. But mistaken.”
Batman was breathing hard. He realized Bane was right. Eight years of retirement had taken its toll on his endurance and reflexes. He wasn’t the same man who had defeated Rā’s al Ghūl nearly a decade ago. That Batman had just begun his career.
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, re
vealing 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.