Watch yourself, son, he thought. It might be all up to you now.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

A hooded prisoner was shoved down the stairs that led into the dungeon beneath the stock exchange. Laughing, the guards kicked him down the last few steps, so that he landed in a heap upon the basement floor. A groan escaped the hood.

Someone moved to help him, and the guards mocked the Good Samaritan from the top of the stairs.

“Find this one a spot,” one of them said. “He’s got a big day tomorrow.”

“We all do,” his crony added. “It’s not every day you bag Bruce Wayne.”

The Good Samaritan gasped at the name. He hastily tugged the bag off the prisoner’s head, exposing the scruffy, unshaven face of Gotham’s most famous son, not seen by anyone in Gotham since before Bane took the city hostage.

Hello, Lucius, Bruce thought, gazing up at Fox. He exchanged a silent look with the older man before spotting Miranda in a corner, where she appeared to be comforting a worried mother and children. She waited until the guards had departed before rising and coming over to him. Despite her captivity, she looked just as beautiful as she had that night they lay in front of the fire.

“You picked a hell of time to go on vacation, Mr. Wayne,” Fox said.

Not exactly my idea, Bruce thought, but he didn’t have time for pleasantries. “How long till the core ignites?”

“The bomb goes off in twelve hours,” Fox said.

Just as Bane had planned all along, Bruce knew.

“Unless we can reconnect it to the reactor,” he said.

“If you can get it there,” Fox promised, “I’ll find a way to plug it back in.”

Miranda sat beside them, listening thoughtfully to the discussion. After so many months, Bruce had no idea what to say to her. As far as she knew, he had just disappeared that night months ago, right after they made love.

“Can you get Miranda out?” Fox asked.

I wish I could, Bruce thought. “Not tonight,” he replied. Then he turned toward her at last, unable to explain all that had happened to him—and all that he still needed to do. “I’m sorry,” he told her. She nodded solemnly.

“Do what’s necessary,” she said, her voice steady.

Bruce appreciated her understanding. There would be time enough to sort things out between them, if and when Gotham survived. For now, he needed to focus on the bomb—and on Lucius.

“Tonight I need you,” he told Fox.

“What for?”

“To get back in the game.”

As if on cue, the door slammed open again. Catwoman sauntered down the stairs in her skintight black outfit and goggles, escorted by a pair of guards. The men treated her with overt respect. Apparently betraying Batman carried some weight under the new regime.

“Sorry to spoil things, boys, but Bane wants these guys himself,” she announced, and she indicated Bruce and Fox. The guards complied by yanking the two men to their feet, cuffing them, and dragging them toward the exit. Bruce looked back at Miranda.