Batman Arkham Knight (17 page)

“We have a lead. I’m following it now. I’m going to find her.”

“I know you will, sir. But I was ruminating over your previous conversation concerning Commissioner Gordon, and I wanted to reiterate that, despite what he might have indicated, you are not responsible for her kidnapping.”

“The Knight is definitely targeting me. He knows everything about me. He knows secrets nobody should know. So how do I skirt the idea that if he’s also targeting my friends, it’s not because he has some kind of vendetta against me?”

“We cannot know why he chose to kidnap Ms. Gordon, but it seems just as likely that the source of his vendetta may be her father. He may be intending to punish the commissioner for any number of reasons.”

“But I’m the one who hunts evils like him and punishes them.”

“No, to many criminals you’re an annoyance, a vigilante run amuck, yet operating outside the law as they do. The commissioner symbolizes the law. He’s the one with whom they ultimately have to deal. It might be difficult for you to understand, but it’s not always about you, sir.”

“Maybe so, but that still doesn’t help. I may have led my parents to their death. I’m certainly the reason why the Joker paralyzed Barbara. And don’t forget Jason.”

“Once again, sir, young master Todd was killed by the Joker. Maybe in reaction to you, but he chose his target. You did not. He made the decision to brutalize and kill him.”

“Yes, but to get back at me,” Batman said. “To punish me. And now the enemy is after Barbara… again.”

“Sir, I must remind you that Oracle has many enemies of her own. The underworld knew before this that she existed. They knew she had eyes on them.”

“They didn’t know who she was.”

“True, but secrets have a way of leaking out. As you say, the Knight knows too many of yours. What I’m saying, sir, is that Barbara Gordon
chose
to become Oracle. She chose her life. And if I remember correctly, sir, you tried to talk her out of it.”

“Once Barbara gets her mind set she’s impossible to dissuade.”

“So similar to you. Nevertheless, you have to consider the possibility that the Knight targeted her because of what she might have done to him. Again, you’re not necessarily the center of all universes.”
Alfred paused, then continued.
“Besides, sir, in the grand scheme of life, you’ve done far more good for this city than anyone else… with the possible exception of your own father and mother.”

“It’s never enough, Alfred,” Batman replied, a hot anger beginning to appear at his core. “Crime’s gone crazy. I arrest one mastermind and five more pop up to replace him. Hell, I’m looking at the computer scroll and the Knight’s soldiers are moving through the city with an armada of tanks that will make short work of anyone who tries to get in their way.

“Watch the news, Alfred. Even the cops are surrendering to him. What good am I doing here? In fact, my presence in Gotham City may be exactly what draws them here.”

But Alfred refused to give ground.

“At worst, you’re making it very difficult for the miscreants to win. At best, you’re showing people that sometimes resistance can work. Bruce Wayne is only a man, sir. But Batman, he’s an ideal toward which one strives. You need to—”

Batman shut off the comm.

He didn’t want any more lectures, and he didn’t want anything to assuage the guilt he felt growing out of control. Guilt that might be exacerbated by the Joker’s tainted blood, or Scarecrow’s fear toxin. And he didn’t want to lash out against Alfred, the one man left who might still be on his side.

So instead of arguing, he settled back in his seat and let the Batmobile follow the tire tracks. Soon, Batman knew, he’d find Barbara and rescue her, and once she was safe he’d confront the Arkham Knight. If the Knight had done anything to hurt Barbara, Batman would make certain that he would never be a threat to anyone else again.

Then, with the Knight gone, he’ll find and stop Scarecrow.

I will find them, and they will die, and I won’t give a damn about—

Startled by the thought, Batman glanced at the mirror. For a moment it looked as if his eyes were sparkling green. Then he looked again, and they were normal.

Normal.

Good.
Something
about him was normal.

The truck had crashed on the highway, about nine miles north of the Gotham Bridge. Its front cabin was smashed in, leaving a tangle of twisted plastic, steel, aluminum, and torn cushions. The front airbags had deployed, but now hung limp from the dashboard, sliced through to remove the driver and passenger.

Batman tore open the rear compartment, but there was nobody back there, either. He checked the tires to make certain this was the correct truck, and it was. He leaned in close and smelled traces of pepper spray. Outside he saw scratch marks and other impressions made in the dirt alongside the road.

After the Joker had attacked and crippled her, Barbara habitually kept a small canister of pepper spray with her at all times. She could no longer fight like Batgirl, but she could still lay low an attacker.

In his mind’s eye he replayed the scenario…

* * *

Barbara slowly and carefully took out the hidden canister. Perhaps the Arkham Knight had been driving, but the Knight wore a full mask, so there’d be no way to effectively use the spray on him. Yet if Batman’s assumption was correct, she’d have sprayed it at the driver in order to disorient him, which meant one of the thugs was driving.

The Knight himself likely took the front passenger seat.

She’d need to check her seat belt, keep it buckled for her plan to work. The others might have been belted, too, but that wouldn’t affect her. She probably leaned forward several times, making it seem like an involuntary nervous reaction. In doing so, she’d create a movement that would become commonplace.

When her captors became complacent, she would lean forward again—this time with the canister in her hand. Then when she shot the pepper spray in the driver’s face, he would react instinctively. His eyes would burn, and he’d be nearly blind in less than five seconds.

The truck would bank and crash. Barbara, knowing what was going to happen, would brace herself for the crash. If all went as she hoped, the others would be incapacitated.

Immediately afterward, she’d free herself from the belt and pull herself from the back. Being unable to walk, she’d try to crawl to freedom—that would explain the marks he saw.

Unfortunately, there were boot prints in the dirt. The Knight may have been disoriented by the crash, but it had been brief. He’d made it out of the truck, too, and most likely recaptured Barbara as she tried to crawl away.

* * *

He scoured the area and found more scratch marks near a medium-sized rock, a few feet further from the truck. He pushed the rock aside and found a small mechanical device—it was a voice scrambler not unlike the one he had used to disguise his own identity.

Barbara must have grabbed it in the confusion, and hid it as she crawled away, certain that Batman would find it. He’d deliver it to Lucius Fox to scan for fingerprints or DNA residue.

There had to be
some
clue that would lead to the Arkham Knight’s identity.

* * *

“Well, I’m certainly familiar with the underlying electronics,” Lucius Fox said, examining the scrambler’s schematics, slowly rotating them on the screen. “
More
than familiar, considering the identical device I put together for you several months ago.

“Without the advancements I’ve made since then, however, this one’s at least a generation behind the times. Still it’s… quite impressive. Do you know where your old unit is? If you lost it, that would have given someone the chance to clone it.”

“I think you know me better than that, Lucius,” Batman said. “If it’s so much like yours, though, does it include the same GPS capability?”

“Good thinking, and yes,” Fox replied. “The same to your next question, as well—I’ve already accessed its data files, but they’re encrypted. Which means the Knight doesn’t want to make this easy. Even so, it shouldn’t take long to break through.”

“What would I do without you, Lucius?” Batman said.

“Not nearly as well as I’d do without you, Mr. Wayne.”

“How are you coming with a cure for Scarecrow’s toxin? We’ve managed to identify the core elements, but that doesn’t tell us how to combat them. I’m definitely experiencing more and more moments where its effects are disturbingly apparent.” As he spoke, Lucius Fox seemed to peer at him a bit more intently, as if trying to read something into his words.

“I wish I had better news for you,” Fox said, “but I’m nowhere near understanding how the toxin works, let alone finding a way to reverse it. I’ve contacted several A-list chemical specialists and supplied them with the data, but so far they haven’t had any more success than I. Let me assure you, sir, that I’m not giving up.”

“I never doubted that, Lucius. But I have to be at the top of my game if I’m going to stand a chance of stopping Scarecrow and the Knight, and discovering what’s happened to Barbara.”

“You fear that she may already be dead?”

Batman shook his head. “No, but you’re asking that for a reason, aren’t you?” To his surprise, the CEO looked… pleased.

“You see right through me,” Fox replied. “I was hoping that your answer would give me some hints as to how the toxin might be affecting you. Had your reaction been more severe, I’d be much more concerned.”

Well, there’s no real reason for them to kill her. Not yet, at least. Scarecrow wants me to feel fear—he wants me to fall apart emotionally. Killing Barbara would get a one-time reaction. And it wouldn’t be fear, but overwhelming anger. The desire for revenge would trump any other feelings I might experience. So on an intellectual level, I believe she’s alive.”

“But emotionally?”

“That’s a different story. A part of me worries that he’s killed her just to prove he can—that he’s so insane he’d do anything to get to me, even if it doesn’t advance his cause. As with my parents’ death, and Jason’s murder, and the Joker’s attack on Barbara, my greatest fear is that because of me another good person—a person I deeply care about—will also die.”

“I have a tough question then,” Fox responded, “one you might not want to answer. Is your fear so great you might let yourself die, if you knew your death would save Barbara?”

“Why do you ask? I always put my life on the line, and not only to save people I care about.”

“I wasn’t speaking in theoretical terms,” Fox explained. “I’m asking specifically. Would you put a bullet through your own head, if you were guaranteed that it would save her.”

Batman thought about that for a long moment before responding.

“I don’t know,” he said. “I can’t answer that. Does that tell you anything?”

“It does. You didn’t answer with a firm no, and that degree of fatalism confirms that you’ve been affected. But you also didn’t say yes, which means the toxin isn’t yet controlling you—driving you by pure emotion.

“You’re still in charge, Mr. Wayne.”

The computer chimed, and Lucius removed a sheath of papers from the printer bin. He gave them to Batman.

“The scrambler’s last one hundred GPS destinations,” he announced. “I can go back even further, if you want, but this will likely produce the results you want. The data has been uploaded to your computer, as well.”

Batman read over the list.

“Miagani Island,” he said.

If Gotham City was hell, Miagani festered in its innermost circle.

* * *

The roads were all but deserted. Gotham City had become a ghost city—there were shattered facades everywhere. Few businesses had been spared. Any car that remained was a burned-out hulk, as were far too many of the buildings.

The few big chain stores and most of the shops on Jewelry Row employed automatic shutters to prevent late-night looting, and for the most part the high-tech defenses had done the job, but the smaller outfits relied on the last person out to pull down the protective grating. In the rush to escape Gotham City, few had done so.

As the Batmobile sped along, there began to be sporadic resistance. Here and there goons wearing gas masks and armed with big guns thought they’d have some fun shooting at his car. When their bullets ricocheted off its promethium-coated body, more often than not returning the bullets to the sender, the humor of the moment quickly disappeared.

Chaos of this sort was what the Joker had spread during his infamous career. He thrived on insanity, killing hundreds for no reason other than to torment the sane. He’d put into motion one brutal scheme after another, but never showed any overriding goal or objective.

What made it all the more delicious for him was that his enemies kept trying to figure out his endgame, but they never came close. When he died, he left in his wake chaos and unanswerable questions.

For much of their one-on-one combat, Batman believed the Joker fostered his insanity for a reason, even if he couldn’t figure out what that reason might be. In the end, however, he was forced to accept that the Joker’s madness was impossible to understand.

More than once Batman had wondered, despite all the limitations he’d put on himself, if he should have hunted the Joker down and put a bullet through his head, thereby sparing scores of innocents from becoming victims of his incoherent crimes.

Sanity could be dealt with through reason. True insanity could not.

“Some bugs need to be stepped on, Bats,” The Joker laughed, grinning widely and playing with a cat’s cradle. “They exist for no other reason.”

Batman’s eyes burned bright green.

“I’ve narrowed the signal to Miagani’s southernmost tunnels.”
Lucius Fox’s voice brought Batman back to the here and now.
“If you want, I can guide you there.”

Idiot
. Batman’s first instinct was to snap back.
I was born in Gotham City—it’s my city. I know its every twist and turn and tunnel, and I don’t need your goddam directions.