Gordon and his men gratefully fled the melting ice, returning to the shore, which by that time was littered with unconscious mercs and hoodlums. Batman stood among them, his cape flapping in the wind. Gordon had never been so glad to see someone in his entire life.

The Dark Knight handed Gordon a compact metal box.

“This blocks the remote detonator signal to the bomb,” Batman said. “Get it onto the truck by sunrise. They might hit the button when it starts.”

Gordon didn’t bother asking how Batman knew about the truck. He accepted the box gratefully.

“When what starts?”

Batman growled his answer.

“War.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

The fiery bat could even be seen from the outskirts of Ackerman Park, where a large concrete outflow pipe drained into a shallow stream. A metal grate covered the mouth of the pipe, which emerged from a rocky hillside.

Skyscrapers rose on all sides of the park, enclosing the unlit woods and meadows. A pair of mercenaries was posted in front of the pipe, which was one of the few entrances to the underground that wasn’t entirely sealed off. Ice coated the metal grate. Snow covered the ground.

The guards gasped at the sight of the bat-symbol. One of them stepped away from his post to get a better look. He marched toward an open clearing, out of view of his comrade, only to be waylaid by a dark figure that lunged out from behind a tree. A sharp blow dropped the guard to the ground with a minimum of fuss.

The attacker quietly dragged the unconscious merc into the shadows.

One down, Blake thought. Let’s hope his buddy didn’t hear me.

He crept around quietly, sneaking up on the second guard, who was peering into the darkness, searching for his compatriot. The man called out uncertainly.

Blake jumped him from behind, slamming his head into the ground. The guard went limp, but the detective kicked the man’s rifle away just to be safe. He checked to make sure the merc was really out cold. The last thing he needed was to get suckered by a terrorist who was playing possum.

Was that all of them? Blake glanced around, but didn’t see any other guards. Moving quickly—before any unwanted company could show up—he rushed to the tunnel entrance and shot apart the lock on the grate, allowing it to swing open.

“Ross?” he asked anxiously.

“Right here, pal,” his old partner answered, squeezing up through the pipe exactly as planned. His gaunt, bearded face was that of a man who had been trapped underground, living on scraps, for months. His blue uniform was tattered and filthy. He reeked like someone who hadn’t had a shower since those explosions back in the fall, but his gun looked clean and well cared-for.

Blake was glad to see that his partner had kept his priorities straight. He heard more men climbing up from the sewers. He hoped there were plenty of them.