It’s been a good life, he thought. All in all.

But he wasn’t ready for it to end yet.

A frosted white tarp was draped over a large object parked inconspicuously on the helipad. A no-fly zone was in force above Gotham, as part of the terrorists’ demands. All aircraft, private and otherwise, had been grounded.

Until now.

Bruce grabbed the edge of the tarp, shook loose the snow, and yanked it away, revealing the Bat, just as Fox remembered it. The formidable aircraft looked none the worse for wear since its maiden flight. He couldn’t wait to see it take to the night sky once again.

But first he needed to “borrow” that EMP cannon.

Doing his best to ignore the cold, he hurried forward and started taking apart the forward gun mount. The sleek black metal was freezing to the touch, but it couldn’t be helped. Better a touch of frostbite, Fox reasoned, than death by atomic blast.

“She fly pretty well?” he asked.

Bruce nodded, coming over to assist him. Freshly shaved, he looked much more like his old self.

“Even without the autopilot.”

“Autopilot?” Fox gave Bruce a puzzled look. “That’s what you’re there for.”

Bruce smiled cryptically.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

Darkness shrouded the frozen surface of the river, making it all-but-invisible. Pitch-black shadows lurked beneath the decapitated pylons of the bridge. Empty skyscrapers loomed on the other shore, long since evacuated by the US Armed Forces that were surrounding the island.

Standing at the Gotham edge of the river with his men, Gordon tried to calculate the distance across. Half a mile? Three-quarters? How wide was the Gotham River anyway?

Too wide, probably.

“Get going,” a mercenary snarled. He fired his gun into the air for emphasis. At least a half-dozen mercs and escaped prisoners clustered on the docks and riverfront, waiting to see how far the prisoners got. Somebody tried to get a wager going, but nobody was willing to bet on the cops. The only question was who fell through the ice first.

The heavy betting was on Gordon.

Might as well get this over with, he thought.

Giving his men an encouraging look, he led them out onto the ice, which creaked and groaned alarmingly beneath their feet. He was grateful that Miranda Tate hadn’t been forced to undergo this ordeal, as well, although he wasn’t sure she was much better off in Bane’s hands. Gordon hadn’t known her long, but she had struck him as a smart, courageous woman.

He hoped she came out of this okay.

They made their way cautiously across the ice, fanning out to avoid placing too much weight on any one section. For the first time, Gordon was thankful for the weight he’d lost during his hospital stay and the lean times afterwards. A few extra pounds might be the difference between life and death.

If we have any chance at all.

When they were less than a hundred feet from their starting point, a peculiar odor caught Gordon’s attention. He stopped and sniffed the air.