The Dark Knight Rises: The Official Novelization (13 page)

He glanced back.

“What’s going on with the lights?”

A wave of darkness seemed to be advancing through the tunnel, extinguishing every light it encountered. Not just the overhead lights, but also the headlights of every oncoming vehicle blinked out abruptly. A chill ran down the rookie’s spine as the encroaching darkness—which instilled an almost superstitious dread—caught up with the speeding cruiser. Their headlights burned out, the gumball blacked out, and the siren went silent.

The car’s engine sputtered and died.

What the—?

Out of the inky blackness, a shadowy shape roared past at high speed. An ebony cape flapped behind it.

Kelly’s jaw dropped.

“It can’t be…”

“The hell was that?” Jansen exclaimed. He had no idea what was happening.

“Oh, boy,” the veteran cop said. “You’re in for a show tonight.”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

The bikes shot out of the tunnel onto the highway. Bane led the way while the sandwich guy, Petrov, took up the rear.

Looking back over his shoulder, past his squirming hostage, the mercenary saw the streetlights exploding behind him, one by one, throwing the highway into darkness. The night was cloudy and starless—Petrov couldn’t see what was chasing them.

He frowned. This wasn’t part of the plan.

All at once, the bike’s engine choked and died. Swearing, he worked the throttle, but it was no good. Though he still sped forward, through sheer momentum, he was falling behind the rest of his team. Seeing a chance, the hostage behind him undid his straps and leapt from the back of the bike. Hitting the concrete, the capitalist parasite rolled to the side of the
highway and clambered to his feet.

“Help!” he shouted. “Somebody, help me!”

As he continued to glide forward on the silent machine, Petrov drew his pistol. He wouldn’t be taken without a fight.

Show yourself,
he thought.
I am ready for you.

The darkness swept over him like a tidal wave. Something grabbed onto his collar and yanked him off the seat. He was thrown to the ground hard enough to be knocked senseless. His gun slipped from his grasp. His bike toppled over, throwing up sparks as it skidded across the lanes.

Petrov lifted his head, on the verge of passing out. His blurry eyes widened.

Speeding away from him, in pursuit of Bane and the others, was an armored figure leaning low atop a customized black motorcycle. His midnight cloak spread out behind him, flapping in the wind like the wings of an enormous bat.

“Let’s roll,” Foley shouted. “They’ve spotted Batman!”

Abandoning the armored SWAT van, which was too heavy for a high-speed pursuit, he piled into the back of Blake’s patrol car. The young officer couldn’t believe his ears.

Is he really back?
he wondered.
After all these years?

He hit the accelerator, and the cruiser sped away from the stock exchange.

* * *

The bikes, one short now, split up as they reached a highway intersection. Two of them stuck together, while the third veered off in a different direction. A high overpass loomed above the crossing—as did Batman.

The Bat-Pod rumbled beneath him as he pulled up to the guardrail. He was stretched out belly down atop the cycle, steering it with his shoulders instead of his hands. The prototype’s unique design kept his head low and his gloved hands free. Bulletproof shields protected his arms.

Grappling hooks, mini-cannons, and machine-gun muzzles protruded from the chassis. High-performance, single-cylinder engines were embedded in the hubs of both of the cycle’s huge twenty-inch wheels. The cycle had once been built into a larger four-wheeled tumbler as an emergency escape pod, but functioned perfectly well on its own. Batman hadn’t ridden it in years.

He sat up and drew out a futuristic-looking rifle. The muzzle glowed a luminous shade of blue as he took aim at one of the fleeing bikes on the roadway below.

An electronic tone sounded.

The glowing muzzle pulsed.

The janitor had traded his mop for a pistol and sports bike. Breaking away from Bane and the others, he
thought he had a good chance of eluding the police— until his engine suddenly sparked and died.

Instinctively he hit the brake, and then cursed himself for doing so. The speeding bike slowed dramatically even as a slew of police cars, their sirens blaring, closed in on him. A frightened trader jumped from the bike, choosing a nasty tumble over the prospect of being caught in a crossfire.

Enjoy what little time you have left,
the janitor thought. He did not bother chasing after the hostage.
Your days are almost over.

He brought his bike to a full halt, stoically resigned to being captured by the authorities. His own freedom was of no consequence—not as long Bane got away. The cause was all that mattered.

The fire rises,
he thought.

Batman frowned as the last two bikes disappeared under another overpass, out of range. He holstered the electromagnetic pulse rifle, which had taken out the first two fugitives. Then he gunned the engine. He would have to eliminate the remaining criminals the old-fashioned way.

Works for me,
he thought grimly.
I’m coming for you, Bane.

The Bat-Pod hurled down the highway.

* * *

“Call everyone in,” Foley barked into the radio, turning the back of Blake’s patrol car into a mobile command center. The cord was stretched taut between the dashboard and the back seat. “Every patrol car, beat cop—off-duty, too. Call ’em all them in. Close every street. Now!”

The city rushed past them as Blake pushed the patrol car to its limits. The speedometer crept toward three digits. Foley stared out the windows impatiently. He drummed his fingers against the seat cover.

“I’m gonna do what Gordon never could,” he predicted.

“What’s that?” Blake asked.

“I’m going to take down the Batman.”

Blake just remained silent. Batman wasn’t a danger to Gotham, no matter what people said. He was more worried about the felons who had just pulled off such an ambitious strike on the stock exchange.

“Sir, what about the armed robbers?” he asked.

Foley ignored the question.

Reports poured in over the radio. All around the city, the GCPD was mobilizing in force. Police cars, vans, and motorbikes flooded the streets, joining the chase. Choppers whirred overhead, their spotlights sweeping the highways below. Even the canine units were being activated.

But to capture whom?

* * *

The highway stretched in front of Bane. He pulled up alongside McGarrity’s bike. The computer hacker glanced inside his bag, which was stowed up by the handlebars. He held up his fingers to signal that the program still had two minutes to run.

His was the only bike not weighed down with a hostage.

Bane glanced behind him, seeing the spreading darkness that had already brought down two of his men. He recognized the effects of a localized EMP generator. He could think of only one individual in Gotham who might employ such a device.

The Batman.

So he made a decision. He reached back and plucked a whimpering hostage off his own bike and swung him over onto McGarrity’s. The hacker’s vehicle wobbled under the increased load, losing speed. The displaced trader clung desperately to its driver.

No longer saddled with a worthless waste of flesh, Bane’s bike accelerated. He peeled away from the other rider, making his escape. He glanced back once more. As he had anticipated, Batman chose to pursue the bike with the hostage. Compassion had always been his weakness.

Bane smiled behind his mask. The time would come when he would face Rā’s al Ghūl’s greatest mistake— but not tonight. He had other business to address.

Another day, betrayer.

A police chopper reported in to Foley.

“One bike’s veered off, no hostage.”

Foley listened without responding.

“Should we pursue?”
the spotter asked via the radio.

“Negative,” Foley ordered. “Stay on Batman.”

Blake spoke up.

“But the perp’s getting away!”

“Who do you want to catch?” Foley scoffed at Blake as if the young rookie was an idiot. “Some robber, or the son of a bitch who killed Harvey Dent?”

Ross kept his mouth shut.

Blake bit down on his tongue.

John Daggett’s luxury penthouse occupied the top floor of a skyscraper in a ritzy uptown neighborhood overlooking the park. Flashy gold trim and black leather furniture advertised his wealth. He paced restlessly back and forth across the king-sized living room while Stryver stood nearby, in case his boss needed him. Every television in the penthouse was tuned to the breaking news story.

“—police aren’t saying much,” a blonde anchorwoman reported. “Frankly, they’re too busy. But all signs suggest that what we’re seeing is in, in fact, the return of the Batman.”

Daggett glared at the screen.

* * *

Only a room away, behind the closed door to Daggett’s home office, Catwoman crouched in front of a safe, working the combination lock. Her lithe figure was wrapped tightly inside a sleek black body suit designed for stealth. Avid brown eyes gazed out from behind a thin black mask. High-tech goggles, raised away from her eyes, cast a shadow that bore a distinct resemblance to the ears of a cat. A black Utility Belt hung low on her hips. Knee-high boots boasted serrated steel heels.

The glow from a spare television set lit up the dark room. She glanced up from her labors in time to catch an aerial shot of a cloaked figure racing down the highway astride the coolest motorcycle she had ever seen. A news copter briefly captured the cycle with its searchlight. The masked cyclist was crouched low upon the wheels, tearing up the highway at high speed. Even from a distance, the rider looked an awful lot like a certain legendary Dark Knight.

“Well, well,” she whispered. “What do you know?”

Ordinarily, she would have enjoyed watching the live coverage herself, but unfortunately she had urgent business to attend to. Assuming that Daggett and his slimy second-in-command were busy watching the news, she cracked the lock and opened the safe. A thick steel door swung open. She reached inside.

There was nothing there.

She frowned, glaring angrily at the empty safe.

It’s not fair
, she thought.
It was supposed to be here!

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Lights flashing, sirens blaring, two black-and-white police cruisers zipped past Bane as he rode between them, racing in the opposite direction. Intent on joining the chase for Batman, the patrol cars paid no heed, and he appreciated the unexpected diversion. The Dark Knight’s return had only made his own escape easier.

Welcome back,
Bane thought.
I’ve been waiting for you to emerge from hiding.

Jumping onto a concrete barrier, Bane sped down the rail, leaving the increasingly hectic highway behind. An open drainage tunnel waited at the bottom of the slope. Bane glanced behind him, where it appeared that the entire Gotham City Police Department was closing in. Fleets of police cars screamed down the highway. Choppers tilted across the night sky. Searchlights and sirens disturbed the darkness.

Bane chuckled inwardly. He would have to remember to thank Batman later. When the time came.

Without bothering to decelerate, he disappeared into the tunnel.

McGarrity was on his own now. He accelerated down the highway, trying to stay ahead of the Batman. The laptop in his bag beeped, and a quick glance confirmed that the program had finished running. He sighed in relief. His mission was complete.

Now he just needed to get away…if possible.

The sobbing hostage, bouncing on the rear of the bike, slowed him down. Gleaming skyscrapers rose on either side of the highway, the light from the buildings allowing McGarrity to glimpse the Dark Knight’s own cycle gaining on him. Remembering what had happened to his comrades, he ducked his head as the Bat-Pod came along beside him, but, to his surprise, the vehicle appeared to be missing its rider.