Fox was way ahead of him.

“We’re meeting her in thirty-five minutes,” he said. “You better get dressed.”

The recycling plant was located across the river from Gotham. Acres of abandoned scrap metal, surrounded by a barbed-wire fence, enjoyed a scenic view of the city’s imposing skyline. Gulls and pigeons scavenged in the garbage. Bins of discarded car batteries and electronics equipment waited to be disposed of. Rust ate away at the accumulated refuse.

Miranda Tate glanced around dubiously as Fox led her from the car. She stepped lightly amidst the piles of junk, avoiding a greasy puddle.

“You brought me out here to show me a rubbish dump, Mr. Fox?” she said as he unlocked the front gate. Then he turned.

“Bear with me, Miss Tate.”

A derelict-looking portacabin was hidden deep within the junkyard, behind towering heaps of scrap metal. Nothing but a glorified aluminum shed, with poorly maintained siding, the one-story building hardly seemed worth her time.

Wearing a cryptic smile, Fox invited her inside.

“Keep your hands and feet inside the car at all times,” he commented.

An empty office was tucked away inside the cabin. Dust covered the desk and file cabinets. A pinup calendar on the wall was more than a year out-ofdate. Beat-up office equipment looked as if it belonged in the heaps of recyclables outside. Fox flipped a concealed switch beneath the desk and, all at once, the entire office turned into an elevator, sinking into the floor. The room tilted like a funhouse ride as it slid diagonally into a massive concrete tunnel that angled beneath the junkyard and toward the river.

Miranda gasped out loud. Her eyes widened in excitement.

“This is it, isn’t it?” he asked. Fox nodded.

“The reactor is beneath the river, so it can be instantly flooded in the event of a security breach.”

“Is Bruce Wayne really that paranoid?” she asked.

Fox chuckled.

“I’m going to plead the Fifth on that one,” he said.

The elevator came to a stop deep beneath the river. Marveling at the elaborate security, she stepped out of the “office,” only to find Bruce Wayne waiting for them in a cavernous underground complex that was as large and impressive as the ugly junkyard was not. She noted that he was no longer using his cane.

“I thought you might like to see what your investment built,” he said.

At the center of the hangar-sized complex was a black steel sphere, at least five feet in diameter, girded by segmented steel rings that she quickly identified as powerful electromagnets. Blinking green lights and gauges were embedded in the surface of the sphere. Diagonal steel trusses supported the core assembly, suspending it several feet above the floor. An instrument panel was located at the base of the left-hand buttress.

Drainage from the river flowed through wide concrete troughs in the floor.

At last, Miranda thought. She savored the sight of the revolutionary fusion reactor. “No radiation, no fossil fuels,” she said. “Free, clean energy for an entire city.”