CHAPTER 37
Three weeks later…
The committee hearing room was huge and domed. The large, elevated benches behind which the seven city councilors sat encircled the room. In front of them, one wide, oak table was set up with two attorneys and a myriad of microphones. Behind that oak table was a wooden banister, and behind that were fifteen rows of benches where the audience sat. Half of the benches were packed full of reporters, and all around the room were cameras and microphones from a dozen different news stations.
Commissioner James W. Gordon had walked up to the oak table limping, as cameras snapped shots of him wincingly taking his seat. He said a few brief words to the attorneys on either side of him.
All around the room, GCPD officers lined the walls, as well as a couple of National Guard troops who’d been called in to shore up the ranks of law enforcement officials. Technically, martial law still hadn’t been lifted from Gotham City.
Councilwoman Lauren Hurley had the floor to formally open the proceedings. “This hearing has been called by this committee to hear the statements of Police Commissioner James Worthington Gordon, concerning the accusations made by former Mayor Walden, those accusations supported by witnesses, and by taped conversations. The original intent of this hearing was to ascertain the truth behind these claims—those being the issue of effectiveness or ineffectiveness, willful or unwillful, whichever the case may be, in James Gordon’s time in the office of police commissioner. However, in light of recent events, and the multiple tragedies that befell this city three weeks ago, this committee’s purpose has been broadened to determine what actions were taken by James Gordon during that time, and to determine whether or not they were appropriate. We will also be addressing claims that the commissioner has been in constant contact with the vigilante known as Batman and has been working in collusion with him on many investigations.” The councilwoman finished reading from the paper in front of her. “Commissioner Gordon, you may make an opening statement, if you like.”
Gordon cleared his throat, and leaned forward slightly to speak into the multiple mics. “Thank you, Councilor. It’ll try to be brief,” he said. Gordon glanced over his shoulder at his wife, who smiled encouragingly at him. Beside her, Sarah sat in the aisle in her wheelchair. Gordon turned back to face the councilors. He looked down at his prepared statement, and then pushed it aside. “I’m going to ignore my previous deposition and speak now from the heart,” he said. “I’m not going to read off of any prepared statement that my advisors have suggested, because I think it’s important in this time to be as transparent as possible.”
This brought a few murmurs from the packed room, and he waited for them all to die down before proceeding.
“My name is James Gordon,” he said, “and I have lived in Gotham City my entire life. Was raised on Eighty-fifth and Main, right beside Mary's Pie Shop, which is still there. I can still smell her apple pie. I can also see what the streets were like back then. In my time here, I’ve seen many terrible things, and not just as a police officer walking the street, but as a boy myself, as a teenager in school, and now, as a father and a husband. The terrible things I’ve seen…well, they haven’t really gone away. In fact, by the time I entered the police academy, it was pretty clear to me that corruption was about as rampant as in any Third World country, it only learned how to dress itself better, it had learned the lingo of authority, and it had become something far more frightening—it had become us.
“We all denied it at first, sure. We denied it because it was easy. When human trafficking saw an increase with the advent of the Internet, we said to ourselves, ‘These things come and go, it’s a phase.’ When drug smugglers started holding parties out on Dixon Dock and Rogers Yacht Basin, we said, ‘Other cities deal with the same things, and they’re still doing fine.’ And when we had a madman like Jonathan Crane attempt to destroy the entire city by inducing the population with a fear drug, we said, ‘Well, ain’t that crazy? Oh well, it’s probably just a fluke.’ And even still, when the Batman first came onto the scene, we said, ‘Well now, there’s someone we can count on.’ It wasn’t until the Joker arrived and created his havoc that we all started pointing fingers.
“First, we blamed the Batman. We also did that because it was easy. It was easy because he was the new guy, the weirdo, the strange kid that wanted to play with nobody and nobody played with him. I’ll save this committee time in asking about my relationship with him—the Batman approached me when I was a lieutenant because, the way he put it, I was the only one he could completely trust. When I told him I was just one man, he said to me, ‘Now we are two.’ From that day forward, I’ve helped him. I supplied him with information even as he supplied me with the same. I gave him the word in the precinct, and he gave me the word in the street.
“I’ll say this now, at the risk of it further destroying my reputation—the Batman is my friend. He has always been my friend, and I will never abandon him. Not now, not ever. As has become known, the Batman raced to the aid of myself, my wife, and Special Agent Sarah Essen, as they can testify. It is now becoming clear that he most likely saved millions of lives by preventing nuclear disaster at ANGS, and perhaps rescued Gotham City from becoming the largest Zone of Alienation in the entire world, surpassing Chernobyl and not likely to ever be matched. Exposure to the radiation levels that might’ve been leaked could’ve killed anyone within a hundred miles within forty-eight hours, with tens of thousands likely to die within a week from exposure, thousands more dead in the coming years from the exposure, and of course countless birth deformities, or the outright death of unborn infants.
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“It is also clear that the Batman lent support to quell riots and even the Joker and Harleen Quinzel when there was such a scarcity of law enforcement officers during those terrible times three weeks ago that you spoke of, Councilor Hurley. There is a terrific amount of evidence to support the claim that, had we not utilized the resources of the Batman, we—including GCPD, city officials, and the FBI—would not have had as much success in rescuing Theresa Fuller, or in capturing Edward Nygma, Oswald Cobblepot, members of Parasyte, or any other criminal organizations associated with them that have fallen in the subsequent weeks. In fact, without the Batman, my children would be without both parents right now, Agent Essen would surely be dead, and this city would be none the wiser about his efforts, or of the insidious plot that Nygma and Cobblepot hatched. It is clear now that they were targeting members of city council, perhaps yourselves included.
“The last thing I’m going to say is that no good police work was ever done without an informant—without an informant, you’re searching blindly in the dark, hoping for a lot of luck to come your way. The Batman has been invaluable to me and the Gotham City Police Department. He is a highly-trained, highly-skilled professional who, though we don’t know who he is, has sacrificed his entire life to the task of rescuing Gotham City from its worst enemy—itself. And I don’t think you can call that empty hyperbole, as the behavior of our citizens three weeks ago clearly showed.” At this point, Gordon reached for a glass of water and took a sip.
The audience had remained silent, as did the seven city council members sitting judge in front of him. Gordon looked up at them. “I say all this, so that you’ll understand why I will not be answering any questions about the Batman, or my relationship with him, or anything else concerning him. As an ex-police officer, I know the importance of keeping an informant’s secrets, and I will not jeopardize any of his investigations, or any investigations the GCPD currently has going that involves him. I apologize for any inconvenience this may cause this committee. Thank you.”
Gordon leaned back in his seat, and waited. For a moment, no one seemed to know what to say, and Councilwoman Hurley merely drummed her fingers, rolled her eyes.
* * *
FROM THE TOP floor of Wayne Enterprises headquarters, Bruce and Lucius both stood watching the proceedings on an elevated TV screen. Bruce wished he could be there for his friend, but Gordon had specifically requested that Batman make no appearance because he couldn’t be sure what, if anything, the council would do if they saw him there. Neither of them could be certain if Agent Essen’s arrangement with the Batman could be guaranteed now that the National Guard was involved. Gordon had said that Essen advised him to stay low for a while, until she could talk with this General Kinnear, who would in turn need to speak with the POTUS.
Lucius sat across from him at the conference table. They were alone in the conference room, neither one speaking while Gordon gave his proclamation of solidarity with the Batman. When it was over, and the question-and-answer phase began, Bruce reached out with the remote to switch it off.
“Well,” said Lucius, “it looks like the Batman still has friends in high places.”
“Maybe not high enough,” Bruce said, standing up and wincing.
“You think the hunt for him could actually intensify?”
He shrugged. “Hard to say. But, with Homeland Security now so deeply involved with this event, and with them now pounding the drum of war against homegrown terrorists while championing the notion of law and order, I can see how they would be upset with a vigilante still on the loose.”
Lucius started to say something else, but was interrupted when a buzz came at the phone on the conference table. Bruce answered it, “Yes?”
It was Margery at the front desk. “Ms. Abigail Swanson here to see you.”
“Send her in.”
Lucius raised an eyebrow. “You invited Ms. Swanson back?”
“I did.”
“What for?”
Bruce smiled, and decided to let it be a surprise. When the silver-haired woman entered, she walked softly in and said, “Mr. Wayne, I’m glad to see you up and around. I heard about what happened. Are you all right?”
“I’m fine, Ms. Swanson. Thanks for asking.” They shook hands briefly.
Swanson looked over at Lucius. “Mr. Fox, so good to see you again.”
“Same here. This is a surprise. Though, a pleasant one.”
“I was a bit surprised myself to get a call from Mr. Wayne’s office,” she said, turning to Bruce. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“A few weeks ago, you spoke to Mr. Fox and myself about your company. Champion Avionics has ambitions to get to the moon before anyone else so that we can mine it for helium-3. I was wondering, have you found many other supporters or investors?”
Swanson shrugged. “A few, but none very serious,” she said.
Bruce smiled. “Consider me interested, and very, very serious. More serious than ever.”
She looked between them. “Well, that’s good to hear. Can I ask why?”
“The Anglo Nuclear Generating Station was an ambitious project when it was first built,” Bruce said. “It was originally meant to feed off of the massive amounts of treated sewage, rather than above-ground water like most other nuclear power plants. In its day, it was an ingenious tactic that helped Gotham with both its growing power and sewage problems. But it’s too close to Gotham, and I think that’s obvious now. We need an alternative power source for not just Gotham City, but for the whole world—one look at Chernobyl, or Japan’s reactor problems after the tsunami, is enough proof. I believe your method of providing energy would be safer, and it would also open a new vital market for us.” He patted her on the shoulder. “I’m giving Champion Avionics the full backing of Wayne Enterprises, and we’ll be offering incentives to get other companies on board, as well, though you’ll still be leading the effort.”
Lucius looked at him, surprise written on his face. Ms. Swanson tried to hide her excitement, but just couldn’t. She beamed, and when they shook hands, it was as good as putting it in ink.