Nearing the rendezvous spot, Batman killed the headlights and main engines. The Bat went into stealth mode as it quietly auto-rotated down into the city’s sleeping concrete canyons. He checked the digital chronometer.

It was a quarter past midnight.

Right on time, he thought.

As arranged, Catwoman was waiting in a subway tunnel, just beyond the lit passenger platform. She paced impatiently along a service walkway, watching the trains go by. Her sleek black costume allowed her to blend in with the shadows. Night-vision goggles let her scan the tunnel in both directions.

All at once, she stopped pacing.

“Don’t be shy,” she said playfully.

He was impressed. There weren’t many people he couldn’t sneak up on when he wanted to do so. He didn’t know what sort of training she might have received, but his own had been extensive.

Batman emerged from the darkness, joining her in the tunnel.

“Wayne says you can get me the ‘Clean Slate,’” she said without preamble.

“That depends,” he said gruffly. She eyed him warily.

“On what?”

“On what you want it for,” he replied. “I acquired it to keep it out of the wrong hands.”

Or claws, he thought.

“Still don’t trust me, huh?” She didn’t sound particularly surprised. “How can we change that?”

“Start by taking me to Bane.”

Selina had stolen the fingerprints Bane had used to wipe out Bruce Wayne’s fortune. With Daggett dead, she was now Batman’s only link to the master terrorist. He hoped she could lead him to Bane’s underground lair—the one Gordon had stumbled onto nights ago. He was certain the cops hadn’t found it yet.

For a second, she looked as if she might try to talk him out of it, then she shrugged.

“You asked,” she said, and without a warning she sprang down onto the tracks, making not a sound. Batman followed closely behind her as she led him into a murky service tunnel.

They descended deeper beneath the city, leaving the subway system behind as they treaded through a labyrinth of forgotten utility tunnels. Cobwebs hung from the ceiling. Rats scurried away. Water dripped down the walls. The noisome tunnels made the Batcave seem like a luxury resort.

Catwoman seemed to know where she was going. She stopped, peered around, and spoke, her voice low. Even so, there were hints of echoes.

“From here, Bane’s men patrol the tunnels,” she said, “and they are not your average brawlers.”

“Neither am I,” he replied.

Footsteps echoed up ahead. She signaled Batman before grabbing onto a hanging pipe and swinging up and out of sight. Following her lead, he blended into the darkness.

Moments later, a squad of mercenaries came through, patrolling the tunnel. Leather jackets, military fatigues, and automatic weapons made it clear that these weren’t maintenance workers, nor were they ordinary thugs. They methodically scanned the dimly-lit tunnel, but he could tell they didn’t expect to find anything. Their guns were slung toward the floor.

Catwoman dropped nimbly behind them.

“He’s behind you,” she warned.