The Further Adventures of Batman by Martin H. Greenberg Page A

drove another five miles down the highway. No cars passed him in either direction. That was just as well; your average cowboy might become curious if he passed a new red pickup driven by a man over six feet tall dressed as a bat. Not that that was likely. Batman had taken the precaution of spraying the windshield and windows of the pickup with a glare-resistant compound that did not impede vision from inside the vehicle but rendered it opaque from the outside. He had neglected to tell Murphy that the compound washed off with soap and water—an uncustomary lapse, but no doubt Murphy could figure that out for himself.
    Batman stopped the pickup on a turnout and quickly changed to the sober and well-tailored suit of Charlie Morrison. He packed up the Batman gear in the folding valise he had brought along for that purpose, and went on to the airport.
    Bruce decided not to take a commercial aircraft, since none were scheduled at a suitable hour. He quickly arranged to charter a plane for the trip to Washington. Although he was an experienced pilot, he also hired a pilot. It was simply easier that way.
    The Batman gear, the two suitcases of special equipment, and the utility belt fit nicely into the Lear jet he had rented.
    He had time for a quick brunch while the pilot fueled up and made out a flight plan. He had a small green salad and a side dish of guacamole, accompanied by plenty of strong black coffee. He had just paid his bill when he remembered a phone call he had to make. He telephoned Commissioner James Gordon in Gotham City and told him briefly where he was going. That was necessary in case anything happened to him. If Robin could be killed, then Batman could be killed, too. But crime fighting had to go on.
    Then he went to the Personal Services Booth and arranged for a chauffeur to take Red Murphy’s pickup to where he was waiting, reading a newspaper under the cottonwoods. And then it was plane time.

    It was early evening when the quick little Lear jet flew into Washington’s Reagan airport. The evening lights were on in the city; twinkling little fairy lights belying the skullduggery that went on in the nation’s capital.
    In the airport, taking a private booth in the first-class lounge’s men’s room, Bruce dressed again in the Batman outfit. This time he left off the mask and cowl, concealing his costume under a long camel’s hair overcoat. He was going to need both of his identities if he hoped to get this job done.
    When he emerged, he looked like any well-dressed young man.
    The overcoat was loose enough to conceal the bulky utility belt. It was difficult to know in advance exactly which piece of equipment he would need.
    He caught a taxi into Washington proper, directing the driver to take him to Old Edward’s Chop House on Fifth and Ohio. It was a popular dining place for Washingtonians. It also was just across the street from the Gaudi Building, where, in the General Procurement offices on the fortieth floor, the contracts for ARDC were to be signed.

    The Gaudi Building was not a simple glass tower like so much of the recent construction in Washington. It had been done in a florid neo-Baroque style, with pediments and gargoyles and odd curves and unexpected angles. The architect, Nino de Talaveres of Barcelona, the eccentric Spanish mystic who had won the Prix de Rome for architecture two years running, had predicted, accurately, as it turned out, that the Gaudi Building would introduce a new and popular style into the sterile skyline of the nation’s capital.
    This unique and unexpected building was liked by many.
    Batman was not one of them.
    Batman’s judgment was not aesthetic, however. It was purely functional. He had worked out long ago a system and the necessary equipment to scale glass towers with great speed and sureness. Now, faced with a brand new version of an outmoded architectural schema, he saw that he would have to improvise.
    The porous Carrara granite offered unreliable purchase