Gotham. Gordon could be anywhere now.
Maybe even…
An idea occurred to him. He ran for his patrol car.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Dazed from the blow, Gordon struggled to hang on to consciousness. Rough hands took his gun and rolled him over onto his back. Playing possum, he cracked his eyelids open just enough to make out two blurry figures leaning over him. The rank odor of unwashed hair and clothing invaded his nostrils. A foot kicked him in the ribs, eliciting a gasp of pain.
“This one’s alive,” a raspy voice pronounced. The man bent over to take a closer look. “Jesus, it’s the police commissioner!”
His accomplice scratched his head.
“What do we do?”
They stood there for a moment, uncertainty flickering across their faces. Then the first one spoke again.
“Take him to Bane.”
They half-carried, half-dragged Gordon through a bewildering maze of tunnels. Despite his groggy state, he tried to note the route, but soon lost track of the numerous twists and turns. They moved deeper beneath the city, the temperature dropping noticeably as they traveled lower and lower.
Hanging lanterns and glowing naked bulbs provided just enough light by which to navigate. He was surprised—and troubled—to glimpse all sorts of activity going on in the tunnels. Beefy men, their bodies gleaming with sweat, attacked the walls and ceiling with drills and jackhammers. Scowling guards equipped with automatic weapons stood watch over the workers. Ragged street kids who looked like they still belonged in school hauled away buckets of loose debris, squeezing through narrow cracks. Bags of powdered cement were piled high in the corridor.
A major excavation appeared to be underway, but Gordon suspected that the city’s planning department hadn’t authorized any of this. He doubted they even knew about it.
This is bigger than just a kidnapping, he realized. Much bigger.
The workers stopped briefly to watch as Gordon was dragged past, only to resume their labors after a moment. The din of the jackhammers echoed off the dripping stone walls of the tunnels before receding into the distance. Gordon wondered where his captors were taking him—and just who this “Bane” was.
Another level below twin cataracts of clear runoff water gushed down into an underground river. A catwalk led between the spraying waterfalls, and his ambushers hauled Gordon across the walkway onto a recessed platform hidden behind curtains of falling water. The cavernous space appeared to have been converted into an ad hoc command center, complete with living quarters. Desks and file cabinets were crammed into the corners. Maps and blueprints papered the desks. A faded quilt of exotic design, spread out atop a large cot, provided an incongruously homey touch.
Armed guards in military fatigues eyed the new arrivals suspiciously, but let them pass. An imposing, bare-chested figure, the size of a professional wrestler, stood before an open furnace, his broad back turned toward Gordon and his captors. Firelight cast a hellish glow over his muscular frame. A jagged line of rough scar tissue ran down his spine. A dark rubber headpiece was strapped to his skull.
“Why are you here?” the man asked. Gordon guessed this was Bane.
The thugs tossed Gordon at his feet.
“Answer him!” one of them demanded.
Bane turned toward them. Gordon’s eyes widened at the sight of the elaborate apparatus concealing the giant’s nose and mouth. Some sort of gas mask? The commissioner sniffed the air, but detected only the stale atmosphere of the tunnels.
“I’m asking you,” Bane said, turning toward the two men.
“It’s the police commissioner,” one of them volunteered. Hearing this, Bane did not look pleased.
“And you brought him down here?” he asked.
“We didn’t know what to do,” the other man said, trying to explain. “We—”
“You panicked,” Bane said, cutting him off. “And your weakness cost three lives.”
The flunky looked around in
Maybe even…
An idea occurred to him. He ran for his patrol car.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Dazed from the blow, Gordon struggled to hang on to consciousness. Rough hands took his gun and rolled him over onto his back. Playing possum, he cracked his eyelids open just enough to make out two blurry figures leaning over him. The rank odor of unwashed hair and clothing invaded his nostrils. A foot kicked him in the ribs, eliciting a gasp of pain.
“This one’s alive,” a raspy voice pronounced. The man bent over to take a closer look. “Jesus, it’s the police commissioner!”
His accomplice scratched his head.
“What do we do?”
They stood there for a moment, uncertainty flickering across their faces. Then the first one spoke again.
“Take him to Bane.”
They half-carried, half-dragged Gordon through a bewildering maze of tunnels. Despite his groggy state, he tried to note the route, but soon lost track of the numerous twists and turns. They moved deeper beneath the city, the temperature dropping noticeably as they traveled lower and lower.
Hanging lanterns and glowing naked bulbs provided just enough light by which to navigate. He was surprised—and troubled—to glimpse all sorts of activity going on in the tunnels. Beefy men, their bodies gleaming with sweat, attacked the walls and ceiling with drills and jackhammers. Scowling guards equipped with automatic weapons stood watch over the workers. Ragged street kids who looked like they still belonged in school hauled away buckets of loose debris, squeezing through narrow cracks. Bags of powdered cement were piled high in the corridor.
A major excavation appeared to be underway, but Gordon suspected that the city’s planning department hadn’t authorized any of this. He doubted they even knew about it.
This is bigger than just a kidnapping, he realized. Much bigger.
The workers stopped briefly to watch as Gordon was dragged past, only to resume their labors after a moment. The din of the jackhammers echoed off the dripping stone walls of the tunnels before receding into the distance. Gordon wondered where his captors were taking him—and just who this “Bane” was.
Another level below twin cataracts of clear runoff water gushed down into an underground river. A catwalk led between the spraying waterfalls, and his ambushers hauled Gordon across the walkway onto a recessed platform hidden behind curtains of falling water. The cavernous space appeared to have been converted into an ad hoc command center, complete with living quarters. Desks and file cabinets were crammed into the corners. Maps and blueprints papered the desks. A faded quilt of exotic design, spread out atop a large cot, provided an incongruously homey touch.
Armed guards in military fatigues eyed the new arrivals suspiciously, but let them pass. An imposing, bare-chested figure, the size of a professional wrestler, stood before an open furnace, his broad back turned toward Gordon and his captors. Firelight cast a hellish glow over his muscular frame. A jagged line of rough scar tissue ran down his spine. A dark rubber headpiece was strapped to his skull.
“Why are you here?” the man asked. Gordon guessed this was Bane.
The thugs tossed Gordon at his feet.
“Answer him!” one of them demanded.
Bane turned toward them. Gordon’s eyes widened at the sight of the elaborate apparatus concealing the giant’s nose and mouth. Some sort of gas mask? The commissioner sniffed the air, but detected only the stale atmosphere of the tunnels.
“I’m asking you,” Bane said, turning toward the two men.
“It’s the police commissioner,” one of them volunteered. Hearing this, Bane did not look pleased.
“And you brought him down here?” he asked.
“We didn’t know what to do,” the other man said, trying to explain. “We—”
“You panicked,” Bane said, cutting him off. “And your weakness cost three lives.”
The flunky looked around in
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