Sorry, captain, Blake thought. I wish your mission had ended differently. You and your men deserved better than this. But he couldn’t worry about the murdered soldiers now. Fox and the others were still in danger. They needed to get out of there, pronto!

The elevator hit the top floor. Blake rushed out into the corridor.

“Fox!” he hollered. “Somebody sold us out!”

* * *

Fox and Miranda were already in the hall, trying to herd everyone toward the fire exits. They had all heard the gunfire downstairs. Terrified refugees screamed and shouted. Pandemonium spread through the corridors and offices.

“Take Miranda,” Fox urged Blake, putting her safety first. Blake grabbed the woman by the wrist and hurried toward the back stairs, even as the elevators chimed once more.

Mercenaries burst out, firing high. Overhead lights exploded. Sparks and broken glass rained down on the crowded hallway. More screams came from the cornered refugees. People scurried into the nearest offices or threw themselves flat.

Blake dragged Miranda down the stairs.

“Down on the floor!” a gunman shouted.

Fox froze in place. Realizing there was no escape, he raised his hands above his head and lowered himself to the floor.

Jones lay gasping upon the blood-stained floor of the lobby, surrounded by the bodies of his unlucky brothers-in-arms. A crimson pool spread beneath him, his shattered limbs twitched uselessly. An awful cold swept over him, chilling him to the bone. He felt his life slipping away.

No, he thought desperately. Not yet. I need to warn Washington about that nuke.

Heavy footsteps approached. He looked up to see a huge man crossing the lobby toward him. Bane. The terrorist leader nudged Jones with the toe of his boot, eliciting an agonized gasp. He bent to examine the dying soldier. His bizarre mask, which now figured prominently in the nightmares of the entire world, concealed his intentions. Yet cold black eyes held not a hint of sympathy or compassion.

Jones glared at him defiantly.

“I’ll die before I talk.”

Bane nodded. “I’m on your schedule, captain.”

A powerful hand clasped itself over Jones’s mouth and nose, cutting off his air. The soldier tried to breathe, fighting for even a few more minutes of life, but Bane’s grip was too strong. He convulsed upon the floor, then stopped struggling…forever.

“There were people upstairs,” a mercenary reported as Bane rose from the dead captain’s body.

“Give them over for judgment.” He gestured at the lifeless remains of the American soldiers. “Hang them where the world will see.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

Barbaric images flickered upon the television screen. A headline crawled along the bottom of the report.

SPECIAL FORCES BODIES HANG IN THE CABLES OF GOTHAM BRIDGE

Bruce stared in horror at the corpses strung up on the bridge as a warning. Bloody flags were wrapped around their bodies, looking like shrouds. It was something out of the Dark Ages—not a modern American city. Not Gotham.