Perspiration drenched his face. The glow was bright enough to hurt his eyes.

Guess this is the right truck after all, he thought. A digital timer was attached to the bomb.

Nine minutes.

“Your orders are out of date!” Blake argued. “The situation’s changed.”

“Listen, I’m a cop like you,” he continued. “And I’m walking out there. Please don’t shoot me.” He stepped toward the barricade.

Shots rang out at his feet, sending chips of pavement flying. Blake flinched at the gunfire, but did not turn away. No way was he taking those boys back to Gotham to die.

He kept walking.

The convoy rolled through downtown with its deadly cargo. The Bat caught up with it first, swooping down from the wintry grey sky. They reached an intersection and the Bat swung in low, trying to force the truck and its escorts east toward the river. The truck turned quickly to avoid the menacing aircraft, which darted back and forth above it, careful to avoid the tumblers’ cannons. Seated in the cockpit, Batman worked the controls. His side still burned where “Miranda” had stabbed him, even as his heart stung at her betrayal. But he could deal with that later. If there was a later.

Another intersection was coming up fast. The Bat dived to force the convoy further east. The rear tumbler accelerated to protect the truck, only to be blasted from behind.

Catwoman and her Bat-Pod joined the rolling battle at high speed as she veered past the damaged vehicle, which crashed into the sidewalk, taking out a line of parked cars. Metal crumpled and tore. Burning fuel polluted the air.

Her arrival didn’t go unnoticed. Gun turrets swung in her direction, unleashing heavy fire. She swerved to dodge the blasts. The Bat-Pod lacked armored plating, but it was faster and more maneuverable. Catwoman worked that advantage for all it was worth. Weaving, she closed in on the truck, even as Batman harried it from above. The convoy couldn’t shake either of them.

They made a good team, he mused, but would that be enough?

Blake walked closer to the barricade. Gunfire tore apart the pavement in front of him, but he still hadn’t been hit. He hoped that was a good sign—for the boys’ sake.

“Son of a bitch!” the uniformed guard exclaimed. Panic could be heard in his voice. “Blow it! Before he reaches the line—” His partner armed a detonator. “Get down!” the first cop shouted. “We’re blowing the bridge!”

No! Blake shouted inwardly. Don’t do it!

The ground lurched, and he gaped in disbelief as the bridge blew apart in front of him. A tremendous fireball erupted beyond the barricade, and a roaring drowned out all other sound. He dived for cover as tons of steel and concrete crashed down into the river. Smoke billowed into the sky.

Oh my God, he thought. They really did it. They blew up the bridge.

Now there was no way out.

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR