CHAPTER 38

One week later…

“And under Title 10 of U.S. code, you wouldn’t have to report anything you do from here on out,” Sarah was saying. Gordon had warned her that Batman might not go for it. They stood now in the alley behind Glen’s Bakery. It was midnight, and the bat signal had flashed two hours earlier. “You’d be a part of our special new unit—unofficially, of course, but all the best operatives work that way. Title 10 also means that we’ll have access to proprietary information, and that we won’t have to report our annual budget to Congress, or to anyone else for that matter.” She looked at the bat, who was as statuesque as ever. “Well, what do you think?”

Batman glanced at Gordon, then back at Sarah. “I would work for you?” he asked. “Not the government?”

“Well, not really. You still do your thing on your own, just as you’ve always done. This would just make you more…officially unofficial, if that makes sense. I’ve spoken with General Kinnear, and he anticipates the National Guard will remain in Gotham for at least another year or two, at least until the mayoral election is completed. At first, he was reluctant to allow you to remain in your informant capacity, but after I explained to him about Walden, and he and his people had time to interrogate Nygma and Cobblepot concerning what you’d done, well—let’s just say he’s a man who doesn’t argue with results.”

Gordon cleared his throat. “Some other things also panned out from information you gave us,” he said. “We found the narcotics storage out on Rogers Yacht Basin. You were right, the Shukurs were using it as a major port. Something else came out of it, though. Some of the Shukurs that the FBI busted talked, and it turns out that, with all connections to the Penguin and the Riddler gone, they’ve moved on to other movers and shakers. Their new major business partner in Gotham is Anthony Zucco, who’s already filled in the power vacuum they left behind.”

Sarah nodded. “He’s extended his hand to the Juarezes, the Calabrias, everybody. They call him ‘Boss’ Zucco now.”

Gordon snorted. “Can you believe that? The guy was in control of a few pimps and drug dealers a few weeks ago, and now he’s boss.”

“Pimps?” Batman asked, suddenly looking very curious.

Gordon nodded. “Yeah, a bunch of pimps out in the Bowery had their hookers peddling drugs on the street for Zucca a year back. At least, that’s what we thought, but we could never prove it.” He shrugged. “There’s also a rumor we heard from a couple of Molehill Mobsters we brought in yesterday that the Joker’s looking for Tony Zucca, too.”

Batman looked at him sharply. “What for?”

“They didn’t know. They just said that that was the word on the street right now.”

Batman seemed to mull that over. Gordon had known him for a few years now, had been through a lot with him, from the Scarecrow madness to the Joker killings, and now through mind-numbing insanity of the Riddler and the Penguin, and so he knew when the bat was already making a move. It was the look of a careful chess player. “Pimps…” he said, thoughtfully.

Sarah pressed on, “I made sure General Kinnear knew that this information is only known to us now because of your involvement, because of the intel you supplied.” Suddenly, she winced, and touched her side.

“How are you holding up?” Batman asked.

“Not bad. At least I’m outta that damn wheelchair and on my feet.”

There was a lull in the conversation then. Gordon took the opportunity to say, “I guess we’ve never formally thanked you for what you did for us. For all of us.”

“I told you before, Jim, that you never would have to thank me.”

“If you boys are finished being all mushy,” Sarah chuckled, reaching into her jacket pocket, “there’s still a bit more to discuss.” She pulled out a manila envelope, and handed it over to the bat.

Batman accepted it and looked inside. There was a CD there, and a small booklet. “What’s this?”

Gordon answered. “You remember Officer Mason? The sharp fellow who answered the last riddle that saved Theresa Fuller,” he supplied. “I’ve had him interrogating a few of the Suns and a couple members of the Molehill Mob. We also bugged their prison cells and I’ve had Mason listening in on their conversations when they didn’t know it. Mason likes puzzles, so I gave him the task of unriddling some of their secret language—it’s a cant language, similar to Fenya, the language that the vory v zakone use. You can bet the Riddler helped to create it. Those recordings there, and that booklet, are what Officer Mason believes is an accurate interpretation of the cant language they use amongst themselves.”

“Even the gangs are becoming sophisticated,” Batman said. The envelope disappeared inside his cape. To Gordon, it was so fast and so smooth that it looked like a magician’s sleight-of-hand trick. “Mason’s a smart man. I’ll study these closely. It’ll be useful in breaking the gangs down the rest of the way.” He looked at Sarah. “What about the Iceberg Lounge? Have any of your people found anything else useful there?”

Sarah smiled and looked at Gordon. “You tell ’im.”

Batman looked at Gordon, who said, “You’re not gonna believe this…but you know all the drugs that the Juarezes and the other gangs have been moving through the city, and how we couldn’t find where it was stashed?” He chuckled mirthlessly. “We found cocaine and heroin frozen in the bellies of various fish and rare sharks that were brought in to be part of the menu. And you know the rotating ice floor? Yeah, well, turns out it was a kind of cocaine that’s easily frozen when combined with a special freezing agent we’ve never seen before—we don’t know where Cobblepot got it from. Everyone who visited the Iceberg Lounge was literally dancing on all the ice we’ve been looking for.”

Batman either didn’t get the pun or (most likely) didn’t care for it. “So that’s the real reason he kept the place so cold,” he said. “Clever.”

“It gets better,” Gordon said. “Cobblepot had heroin and cocaine placed into small, plastic containers that aren’t digestible but move easily through the intestines of most animals. He put these into the fish that he fed the penguins and the seals on the top floor. The animals could hold them in their stomachs for weeks, and when they defecated, the feces was collected in a special area by the animal handlers. Now, you tell me, what cop is gonna think to go rooting through penguin and seal feces looking for any drugs?”

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Sarah chimed in, “The point is, we’ve got a lot of their drugs. A lot of the gangs and syndicates will be hurting now.” She touched her abdomen again, wincing. “So, what do you think about all of this? You’ve done a lot of good here. If you agree to work more closely with us and the National Guard in the coming year, I think we can get even more done.”

“What would I have to do to be ‘officially unofficially’ on board?” Batman asked. “Would I have to reveal myself, or sign anything?”

“Nope. All you gotta do is shake my hand, and we’ll call it a deal.”

For a moment, the bat seemed reluctant, and Gordon thought he might just turn away right that instant, preferring his lone crusade. However, the bat finally took Sarah’s hand, and shook it. Little did any of them know that it was the second time in a week that he had shaken a woman’s hand with the intent to reshape Gotham, and the world.

* * *

DEEP IN THE cave, Bruce stood by himself, hands in his pockets, looking up at the millions of bats asleep all around him. Every so often, they fluttered around him, shooting from one stalactite to another. Many times, Bruce had watched them fly around, chasing one another or fighting over prey they had caught in the night. He admired their elegance in flight, how they trusted their senses to allow them see in the dark, and of course their survival instincts.

Another one of the bats had died, and Bruce picked it up with a degree of reverence. After all, these creatures had been here from his inception, they were a part of the Wayne family legacy, having first taught him fear, and then taught him how to conquer fear. He was now one of them, in a way. He was a cave dweller like them, he counted on the darkness to get his work done, and, as always, after a night’s hunt, he retreated back into the cave to rest and consider the next night’s hunt.

He placed the body of the dead bat in the bin with the others he and Alfred scooped up regularly. Just as he was closing the bin, he heard the approaching footsteps of the butler. “I just heard on the news, sir, that with the announcement of Wayne Enterprises backing Champion Avionics, WE’s market share is expected to increase eight-point-six percent.”

“Yeah,” Bruce said. “Lucius called a minute ago with the good news.”

“How was your first night back out?” Alfred asked. Bruce turned to him. The butler had a vacuum cleaner and a mop in hand, no doubt ready to clean up the dais and Bruce’s main workstation. Like Bruce, he never stopped working.

“Fine,” he said. “I met up with Gordon and Essen.”

“And how are they?”

“Gordon seems fine, but Sarah still looks like she’s in some pain.”

“I’m sure she’ll bounce back,” Alfred said, laying his cleaning tools down on the floor at the foot of the dais. “From what you’ve told me of her, she seems like a survivor.”

“She is,” Bruce said, nodding. “But the times are changing. I’m not sure she or Gordon can keep up, or myself for that matter.”

"How do you mean, sir?”

Bruce sighed, and folded his arms. “I read an article today that says hackers can now hack into a person’s pacemaker,” he said. “They use a powerful radio antenna, and they hijack a pacemaker’s wireless signal, which is supposed to allow doctors to make adjustments without surgery. Hackers have attacked this vulnerability, which was supposed to make life better for some, and they’ve twisted it.” Bruce shook his head. “Everything’s changing. The game is changing.”

“Well, you’ve always adapted, sir. I have faith in your abilities.”

“It’s not just that, Alfred,” he said. “The relationship between the CIA, FBI, and civilian police forces are continually blurring the lines between foreign and domestic spying. I agreed to help Agent Essen and General Kinnear, but I did it reluctantly. I’m not sure this is the best course for us. In time, I’m almost certain I’ll be used to spy against ordinary American citizens.”

“What makes you think that, sir?”

Bruce took a few steps deeper into the darkness, looking up at a pair of bats that circled one another in the air in a figure-eight. “Ever since 9/11, the CIA has been bringing in NYPD officers to train at the Farm—that’s their main training headquarters in Virginia—and teaching them to use spy tactics in Muslim communities. They’re called ‘rakers’, and they go into minority neighborhoods as part of a human mapping program. They have informants called ‘mosque crawlers’ who go in to monitor sermons, even when there’s no evidence of wrongdoing by anyone at that mosque. City council isn’t told what’s going on, they’re kept completely in the dark about these operations, just like Agent Essen promised me all of my actions would be.

“The CIA is prohibited from spying on U.S. citizens, but with Batman’s help, and the help of other special informants like me, they can get around that. Nygma was born in the U.S., even if he did work for the vory v zakone. Cobblepot is all-American, too, and the Joker…he’s still out there somewhere. The threat used to be from overseas, and now…now the new buzzword is ‘homegrown’ and just can’t see…” He trailed off, thinking for a moment. “This could validate the nightmares of those who are proponents of private, violent militias here in the U.S. If that happens…”

Alfred asked, “If that happens, sir?”

“More escalation,” he said.

Alfred put his hands in his pockets and cast his gaze up at the bats hanging from their stalactites, where Bruce was now looking. “Are you having second thoughts, then, Master Bruce?”

“No,” he said. “I’m saying I’m going to have to work these people the same way that I work my informants in the street, the same way I’ve always worked with the police since Gordon’s time as lieutenant. I trust Gordon, and as long as he’s included in a liaison capacity—which, I’m assured, he will be—then I have no reason to panic.” Bruce had been toying with these notions in his mind, just as a tongue will continually play with the empty socket where a tooth had been removed. “But, if the office of city mayor can be compromised, then so can any other office of political power.”

“I see. So, Batman has a few major decisions to make in the coming years.”

Bruce nodded. “Yes. The National Guard came in to assist Gotham City, which was the right choice, I think. It was too big of a problem to be handled by the local police forces alone,” he said. “But the Riddler and his people showed the dangerous capabilities of the new world we’re in, where technology is accelerating and anyone can be monitored, anything can be hacked.” He shook his head. “If things got out of hand—truly out of hand—and the escalation on both sides were to create a battle between citizens and government, then Batman would have to make a decision. Security for all, or personal freedoms.”

“Well, I’m sure Batman will make the wisest choice,” Alfred said, with as much aplomb as ever. He picked up his cleaning tools, leaving Bruce to his own thoughts. He was halfway up the steps of the dais when he turned and said, “Oh, I almost forgot to tell you, sir. Commissioner Gordon called. He said he’d like to speak with you.”

That took Bruce by surprise. “He called on the secure line? That’s not like him. Is it an emergency?”

“No, sir. He didn’t call for Batman, he called the Manor looking for Bruce Wayne.”

That was even more surprising. “He did? What for?”

“He said he had to speak to you about something rather important. He didn’t say what it was, just that you should contact him at his offices at your earliest convenience.” Alfred went on up the dais and started cleaning.

Bruce turned back to the bats. Probably wants to talk to me about the Riddler, and assure me that I’m safe now. Then, all at once, something disturbed the bats. It was Alfred’s activation of the vacuum cleaner. They suddenly screamed and fled deeper into the cave, a massive, swirling miasma retreating into the greater darkness of the large, western branch of the cave.

Bruce watched that swirling mass move, and in it he imagined he saw eddies of time and space. It was mesmerizing.

When the vacuum cleaner was finally shut off and the bats had retreated enough that their screeching was barely audible, Alfred said, “What’s this written here on your computer monitor, sir?”

Bruce turned and looked. It’s the thing that’s put me in this somber mood, he thought. “It’s his last riddle to me,” he told Alfred. “I just figured it out. I can’t believe I never worked it out until now. Maybe he was right. Maybe I’m not as smart as he thought.”

He turned back to the darkness, and lost himself in thought, thinking on Nygma’s last riddle. What does it mean?