“You’ve gotta get in there,” the man pleaded. But Foley was reluctant to charge in with guns blazing.

“This is a hostage situation.”

“No!” the security chief exclaimed. “It’s a robbery. They’ve got direct access to the online trading desk!”

Foley sounded unimpressed.

“I’m not risking my men for your money,” he insisted.

“It’s not our money,” the other man countered. “It’s everyone’s!”

Allen snickered.

“Really?” he said. “Mine’s in my mattress.”

Frustrated, the security chief struggled to make the cops understand.

“If you don’t shut these guys down, the stuffing in that mattress might be worth a whole lot less, pal!”

Foley got the message.

“Cut the fiber line, shut down the cell tower.” He scowled at the looming building, which was the nerve center of Gotham’s booming economy. Blake wondered if he was thinking of his 401K. “That’ll slow them down.”

Blake hoped it would be enough.

McGarrity looked up from his laptop.

“They cut the fiber,” he reported, “but the cell’s still working—”

“For now,” Bane said. “How much longer does the program need?”

McGarrity consulted the progress bar on his screen.

“Eight minutes.”

Bane glanced up at a clock on the wall. Under ordinary circumstances, the closing bell would have rung minutes ago.

“Time to go mobile.”

McGarrity nodded and stuffed the laptop into his bag.

“Get the barriers up!” Allen shouted. “No more in and out on this street!”

Wedge-shaped metal barricades, installed after the Joker’s reign of terror, rose up at the mouth of the street. The barricades were intended to stop any truck bombs from crashing into the stock exchange. SWAT teams fanned out around the building’s front entrance. A police sniper peered through a thermal scope, watching the door. Four large heat signatures bloomed, too large to be people.

“I’ve got something!” the sniper called out.

A ferocious roar came from inside the stock exchange. The front door blew open, causing the nearest SWAT troopers to duck from the blast, as four high-speed motorcycles leapt from inside the building, jumping the front steps to touch down on the pavement in front of Allen and his men.

Terrified hostages could be seen strapped to the rear of the bikes, their silk ties blowing in the wind. Revving their engines, the bikes zoomed straight for the raised barricades—which, designed to stop vehicles speeding toward the stock exchange, proved to be highly effective ramps for bikes heading in the opposite direction.

The bikes vaulted over the heads of the surrounding police officers before speeding away into the night. Flustered cops scrambled into their cars to give chase, even as the failed barriers retracted back into the pavement.

Allen swore loudly.

Breaking every speed limit in the book, the bikes wove through the packed evening traffic. Horns honked angrily as they ran red lights with abandon, causing startled drivers to slam on the brakes and get rear-ended for their trouble. A taxi swerved onto the sidewalk to avoid being hit, knocking over an outdoor pretzel stand. Pedestrians scrambled for safety. A city bus pulled to the side to let a speeding patrol car race by.