Not in my town, Batman thought. Not any more.

He slammed into his foe, smashing him backward through the doors and into the building’s elegant lobby. He landed on top as they crashed to the floor. Without letting up for a minute, he pounded Bane against the marble tiles, all the while remaining aware of his surroundings.

Batman spotted Miranda standing a few yards away, surrounded by a small cadre of mercenaries. She appeared unharmed, at least for the moment. But no one would be safe until Bane was put down—and the bomb was disabled.

Miranda’s captors surged forward, coming to Bane’s aid. There were too many of them, all heavily armed.

“Stay back,” Bane ordered. “He is mine—’’

Gathering himself, he threw his opponent off and sprang to his feet. Closing in, he hammered away at Batman’s head with his fists, as though determined to shatter the cowl once more. Given time, he might even have succeeded, but Batman went after Bane’s own mask first. The blades on his forearm ripped across the breathing tubes that connected it to the tanks. The medicinal odor of the anesthetic spilled into the air.

The effect was immediate. Without the gas to keep his pain at bay, Bane bellowed in agony. He reached for the mask, but Batman dropped him to the floor, where the anguished terrorist thrashed violently, unable to defend himself against the excruciating torment. Batman clamped a hand around his throat, holding him down, while using his free hand to search Bane’s vest and pockets.

“Give me the trigger!” Batman growled. He knew it had to be on Bane’s person somewhere. “You’d never give it to an ordinary citizen—’’

Bane stared up at him through pain-soaked eyes. His wild convulsions calmed as he seemed to surrender to the pain. He gasped through his broken mask.

“I broke you,” he said. “How have you come back?”

Batman remembered the pit.

“You thought you were the only one who could learn the strength to escape?”

“I never escaped,” Bane rasped. “Rā’s al Ghūl rescued me. That is why I must fulfill his plan. That is why I must avenge his murder.”

Batman blinked in surprise. He didn’t understand.

“The child of Rā’s al Ghūl made the climb—” he began.

“But he is not the child of Rā’s al Ghūl,” a familiar voice whispered in his ear. Batman flinched, then froze in shock as Miranda leaned in closer. Her exotic accent colored her words. “I am.”

A knife expertly penetrated a joint in his suit, slicing into his ribs. It hurt, but not as much as the mocking humor in her voice.

“And though I am not ‘ordinary,’ I am a citizen.…” Her free hand removed the trigger from beneath her tunic.

Let’s try this again, Gordon thought.

Another unmarked black truck rolled down the street, several blocks from where he and his officers had waylaid the empty decoy. Gordon still wasn’t sure what had gone wrong there—that had definitely been the truck Miranda had tagged as carrying the bomb—