Blake hit the brakes at the perimeter of the police lines, sealing the bottleneck. Foley jumped out of the cruiser and stalked toward the narrow opening between the buildings.

The young cop hurried after him.

“Like a rat in a trap,” Foley said confidently. He reached out for a bullhorn which was thrust into his hand. He started to raise it to his lips.

VAROOOOM.

A deafening roar, coming from the alley, drowned out whatever the deputy commissioner intended to say. The assembled cops exchanged puzzled looks. None of them, including Blake, knew what sort of machine could produce such a roar.

That’s no motorcycle, Blake realized.

“You may have the wrong animal there, sir,” a nearby cop said aloud.

The copters’ spotlights blew out and a massive dark cyclone roared out of the narrow roadway, high above the street level, spinning the choppers sideways. Blake stared in awe at an intimidating matte-black aircraft like nothing he had ever seen before. Overlapping wings caught the air, while shielding grilled metal vents. A transparent windshield offered a glimpse of Batman seated inside a heavily armored cockpit. Dual rotors produced a powerful downdraft, forcing the cops to the ground. Flying dirt and litter were whipped about by artificial winds.

The craft thundered over the assemblage of GCPD, taking off into the sky.

Blake couldn’t resist.

“You sure it was him?” he asked.

Foley glared at him, and thrust the bullhorn into his hands.

Gordon sat up in his hospital bed, still hooked up to machines. The TV in his room was tiny and had lousy sound, but he could make out the aircraft rocketing out of the alley. His heart soared with it.

For the first time in days, he smiled.

“—police are keeping quiet about the prospect of a return by the Batman, but eyewitnesses accounts seem to clearly suggest the type of—”

Daggett watched the huge flatscreen TV intently. Stryver put down his cell phone.

“Bane says the Batman interfered, but the task was accomplished.”

Nevertheless, Daggett was still worried.

“What about the men they arrested?”

“He says, and I quote, ‘they would die before talking.’”

At that, Daggett relaxed a little. Bane could probably be trusted where his men were concerned. Lord knows they had pulled off that operation in West Africa without a hitch.

“Where does he find these guys?” he wondered aloud.

Stryver just shrugged. Daggett figured they didn’t want to know.

“Open the champagne,” he instructed, his spirits continuing to rise. After all, a celebration was in order. He headed for his office to click off the TV in there. He’d had enough of Batman tonight. He was in the mood for a different kind of entertainment. “And can we get some girls up here?”

“Careful what you wish for.”

A woman in tight black leather leapt through the doorway. Grabbing him, she threw him across the living room, slamming his back into a wall. He reached for the gun he kept holstered under his jacket, but she threw up her leg, impossibly high, and used her heel to trap his wrist to the wall at shoulder height. He whimpered in pain as she leaned in toward him, her face hidden behind a mask.