The Dark Knight Rises (14 page)

He shouted at his prisoner.

“What were you stealing?”

McGarrity gulped, but held his tongue. He owed his allegiance to another masked man, one even more dreadful than the infamous Batman.

I do not fear you,
he thought defiantly.
I fear only Bane.

There was no time to try to sweat the truth out of the thief. He smacked the man’s head into a concrete divider, knocking him out so the police could pick him up. An electronic chirp caught Batman’s ear and he turned his attention to a gym bag that had been thrown clear of the crash. A battered laptop rested inside the bag, a message on its screen.

APPLICATION COMPLETE

In the next moment a blinding light from above left him exposed on the highway. A police chopper descended from the sky. Glancing around, Batman saw a veritable host of cops closing in on him from
all directions. Thousands of cars, vans, bikes, and dogs. Multiple sirens screamed along, adding to the din caused by the whirr of the helicopter rotors. Bloodhounds bayed and strained at their leashes.

The Bat-Pod rolled to a stop nearby, just as Batman had programmed it to do.

The freed hostage, dropped off by the side of the road, ran toward the oncoming police presence. The hapless trader was safe enough now.

Time to go
, Batman realized.

A USB drive was plugged into the laptop. He plucked it out of the slot and placed it into a pouch in his Utility Belt, even as a loudspeaker boomed overhead.

“STEP AWAY FROM THE BIKE!”

He scanned the vicinity, mindful as ever of his surroundings. Rā’s al Ghūl had taught him that. Stopped traffic packed the highway. A large car transporter, its racks empty, idled below a nearby onramp.

Jumping back onto the Bat-Pod, he activated the cycle’s twin 40mm blast cannons. The front-mounted weapons unleashed their firepower, and a well-aimed blast struck the back of the transporter, causing its rear ramp to crash onto the concrete.

The Bat-Pod raced toward the truck, mounted the ramp, and used it to jump directly to the onramp above.

Weaving through the stalled traffic, Batman fled his pursuers. But the GCPD remained hot on his heels.

* * *

“Eight years!” Daggett exclaimed angrily. He tossed down a drink from the bar. The fifty-year-old Scotch did little to calm him. He paced back and forth in his apartment. “After eight years, he has to pick
tonight
to come back!”

Stryver pointed out the bright side.

“He’s drawing the cops off Bane.”

That’s true,
Daggett conceded.
What do I care about Batman? He’s not connected to me. Unlike Bane.

Maybe things were actually working out in his favor.
That
calmed him down.

“How did you let him go?” Foley demanded.

The radio squawked in his grip.

“He’s got a lot of firepower.”

“And you don’t?” Foley wasn’t accepting any excuses. “We’re not letting one nut with a bad attitude and some fancy gadgets run this town again, you hear me?”

“He’s heading back downtown.”

Foley grinned.

“Then he’s as dumb as he dresses.” SWAT teams were already in place downtown following the attack on the stock exchange. He got on the horn to Allen. “Close it down, gentlemen.”

Blake turned the cruiser around, joining the thousands of other cops converging on the downtown
area. He’d never seen this many units chasing after a single suspect. Jockeying for position amidst the swarm of vehicles, he managed to get out ahead of the other patrol cars.

His eyes widened as he spotted Batman up ahead. He recognized the vigilante’s one-of-a-kind cycle from grainy news footage of Batman’s confrontation with the Joker years ago. Batman had once flipped over a speeding semi-trailer using the vehicle’s built-in grappling hook and cable. Despite his visit to Wayne Manor, Blake had never really expected to see it with his own eyes.

Is this my fault?
he wondered.
Did I drag him out of hiding?

Batman zoomed down a wide boulevard, only to find another wave of cop cars charging at him from the other end of the street. Soaring choppers caught him in their searchlights, exposing him to the world. He was trapped in a vise made up of two oncoming walls of cars.

But he didn’t slow down. His cycle did a sharp ninety-degree turn, flipping over in the process, and darted into the sheltering darkness of large blind alley. Cops cars squealed to a halt, blocking the entrance. The choppers hovered above them, providing air support. It looked like Batman had nowhere left to go.

Blake hit the brakes at the perimeter of the police lines, sealing the bottleneck. Foley jumped out of
the cruiser and stalked toward the narrow opening between the buildings.

The young cop hurried after him.

“Like a rat in a trap,” Foley said confidently. He reached out for a bullhorn which was thrust into his hand. He started to raise it to his lips.

VAROOOOM.

A deafening roar, coming from the alley, drowned out whatever the deputy commissioner intended to say. The assembled cops exchanged puzzled looks. None of them, including Blake, knew what sort of machine could produce such a roar.

That’s no motorcycle
, Blake realized.

“You may have the wrong animal there, sir,” a nearby cop said aloud.

The copters’ spotlights blew out and a massive dark cyclone roared out of the narrow roadway, high above the street level, spinning the choppers sideways. Blake stared in awe at an intimidating matte-black aircraft like nothing he had ever seen before. Overlapping wings caught the air, while shielding grilled metal vents. A transparent windshield offered a glimpse of Batman seated inside a heavily armored cockpit. Dual rotors produced a powerful downdraft, forcing the cops to the ground. Flying dirt and litter were whipped about by artificial winds.

The craft thundered over the assemblage of GCPD, taking off into the sky.

Blake couldn’t resist.

“You sure it was him?” he asked.

Foley glared at him, and thrust the bullhorn into his hands.

Gordon sat up in his hospital bed, still hooked up to machines. The TV in his room was tiny and had lousy sound, but he could make out the aircraft rocketing out of the alley. His heart soared with it.

For the first time in days, he smiled.

“—police are keeping quiet about the prospect of a return by the Batman, but eyewitnesses accounts seem to clearly suggest the type of—”

Daggett watched the huge flatscreen TV intently. Stryver put down his cell phone.

“Bane says the Batman interfered, but the task was accomplished.”

Nevertheless, Daggett was still worried.

“What about the men they arrested?”

“He says, and I quote, ‘they would die before talking.’”

At that, Daggett relaxed a little. Bane could probably be trusted where his men were concerned. Lord knows they had pulled off that operation in West Africa without a hitch.

“Where does he find these guys?” he wondered aloud.

Stryver just shrugged. Daggett figured they didn’t want to know.

“Open the champagne,” he instructed, his spirits continuing to rise. After all, a celebration was in order. He headed for his office to click off the TV in there. He’d had enough of Batman tonight. He was in the mood for a different kind of entertainment. “And can we get some girls up here?”

“Careful what you wish for.”

A woman in tight black leather leapt through the doorway. Grabbing him, she threw him across the living room, slamming his back into a wall. He reached for the gun he kept holstered under his jacket, but she threw up her leg, impossibly high, and used her heel to trap his wrist to the wall at shoulder height. He whimpered in pain as she leaned in toward him, her face hidden behind a mask.

“Cat got your tongue?” she purred.

Startled, it took him a moment to recognize Selina Kyle. Or as she was known in some circles, the Catwoman. He had never seen her in full gear before. It was a sight to savor—unless she had you pinned against a wall…and not in a good way. Her taut leg kept his wrist pinned at an uncomfortable angle.

She plucked the gun from his trembling hand and flung it across the room.

“You dumb bitch,” he muttered. He couldn’t believe her nerve, confronting him here on his own turf. Did she really think he didn’t have protection? His bodyguards would be here in minutes.

“Nobody ever accused me of being dumb,” she replied.

“Dumb to show up here tonight.”

She dug her heel in, grinding his wrist against the wall.

“I want what you owe me.”

Stryver finally got around to earning his paycheck. He placed a gun against her head.

Daggett smirked. He could see that his henchman was enjoying the view, keeping his gun in place as his eyes traced the contours of her leather-clad figure.

“‘I want’ never gets—” Daggett began, and then he stopped as she began to lower her leg.

“Nice outfit,” Stryver commented. “Those heels make it tough to walk?”

“I don’t know,” she replied. “Do they?” Without warning, she drove a six-inch steel stiletto heel into his calf. He let out an agonized scream even as she spun around and twisted his wrist, forcing him to release his gun. Stryver staggered backwards, clutching his leg. Selina stuck the gun in her belt and threw Daggett up against the wall again, with even more force than before.

“Where is it?” she demanded.

“Where is what?” Daggett replied, playing dumb.

“The program. The ‘Clean Slate.’”

“Oh, yeah,” he said. “The ultimate tool for a master thief with a record.” He shrugged. “I don’t have it.”

Catwoman hissed, but before she could lash out at him again, there was a commotion in the hallway and more bodyguards rushed into the room, guns drawn.

About time they got here!
Daggett fumed.

Catwoman spun Daggett around, using him as a human shield, and kicked at the plate glass window behind her. The serrated steel heel made contact, and the glass shattered loudly, spilling out onto the rooftops below. Then she tumbled backwards, dragging Daggett with her. The terrified tycoon shrieked in terror.

Ohmigod, the crazy bitch is going to kill us both!

They fell through the night—landing on a suspended window cleaning platform ten feet below. Without missing a beat, she sliced through a knot with her heel, releasing the platform, which plunged down the side of the building.

Daggett started screaming again, until the platform halted just above the flat rooftop of an adjacent building. She tossed him there, and then sprang nimbly onto the roof herself.

Catwoman towered over Daggett, who lay sprawled on the rough, tar-papered surface. Furious brown eyes flashed menacingly, and when she lifted her hands, he saw claws. Unbidden, the thought occurred to Daggett that some men would pay good money to be in his position right now. All she needed was a whip.

“Where is it?” she repeated.

“The ‘Clean Slate?’” he said, trying to make it sound derisive. His heart was still going a mile a minute, but
he wasn’t going to let this crazy woman get the better of him. “Type in a name and date of birth, and within a couple of hours that person ceases to exist in any database.” He snickered at the tantalizing notion. “Little too good to be true.”

“You’re lying,” she hissed. “Rykin Data took it to beta-testing.”

“That’s why I bought them,” he admitted. “But they had nothing. It was just a gangland myth.”

She stepped back, mulling it over. He could tell she was troubled by the idea that she’d been chasing a mirage.

Chew on it,
he thought acidly.
You get what you deserve, you psycho bitch.

Just wait ’til I sic Bane on you.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Selina was taken aback by Daggett’s claim.

Was he telling the truth?

Before she could react, armed men joined them on the rooftop, coming from several directions. Sporting guns, military fatigues, and surly expressions, they dropped down on bungee cables and came scrambling up the fire escapes. She was impressed by the speed of their response. She couldn’t fault Daggett’s goons for their persistence.

Let’s hope they’re just as concerned for his safety,
she thought, yanking the tycoon up onto his feet. She held onto his throat, her claws digging into his flesh.

“Stay back!” she warned the newcomers. But to her surprise, they kept on coming. A scowling gunman, who had the stone-cold eyes of a professional, screwed a silencer onto his Glock. She tightened her grip,
eliciting a gasp of pain from the shaking tycoon.

Blood trickled onto his collar.

“I’m not bluffing,” she insisted.

“They know.” A gravelly voice came from the shadows. “They just don’t care.”

All eyes moved to the source. Selina spotted a cloaked figure crouching atop the roof of a luxury apartment complex, one building away. The unmistakable silhouette of bat-like ears rose from the newcomer’s ebony cowl. A winged emblem was embossed upon his chest.