“This meeting is called to order,” the man said.

Fox and Miranda froze, staring aghast at the masked man and his gunmen. Lucius stepped protectively in front of Miranda.

“Chair and president,” Bane said, addressing them. He was dressed for combat, wearing a khaki utility harness with plenty of pouches, and rugged gray trousers and boots. He crossed his beefy arms. A pistol was stuck in his belt. He glanced around the conference table. “I also need one ordinary member. Mr. Fox, would you care to nominate?”

For what? Lucius wondered. Bane’s mockery of business protocol left him speechless and confused.

“No,” Douglas Fredericks said, speaking up. The dignified older man rose to his feet. “I volunteer.”

Fox was impressed by his colleague’s courage. He hoped it wouldn’t cost him too dearly as the mercenaries rounded up the three of them. Helpless against the armed soldiers, he couldn’t help wishing that Wayne was still a member of the board. Bruce would know how to handle a situation like this.

But no one had seen Bruce Wayne in days.

Or his nocturnal alter ego.

“Where are you taking us?” Fox asked cautiously.

“Where you buried your resources,” Bane answered. “The bowels of Gotham.”

Fox shivered involuntarily at the killer’s words.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

A nurse helped Gordon pull himself up to a sitting position. It hurt, but maybe not as much as before. A dog-eared copy of A Tale of Two Cities sat on a bedside table. Detective Blake stood by the hospital bed, waiting patiently for the nurse to depart.

He closed the door behind her when she left.

“So you think our friend is gone again?” Gordon asked him.

The young detective nodded gravely.

“This time he might not be coming back.”

Gordon’s face fell. The whole time he’d been stuck in this damn bed, the one thing that had kept him going was the knowledge that Gotham’s Dark Knight had returned. But it seemed as if that hope had been short-lived.

Where is he? Gordon wondered. What’s happened to him?

The door swung open again, and Foley barged into the room, visibly agitated. He was short of breath, as though he had run all the way up the stairs. Beads of perspiration dotted his brow.

“Okay, Commissioner,” he said, gasping, “you were right!”

Gordon sat up straight, his pains forgotten.

“What’s happened?”

“Your masked man kidnapped the Wayne Enterprises board,” Foley reported. “He let most of them go, but took three down into the sewers.”

Gordon winced at the thought. Memories of the tunnels, of his own blood spilling into the chilling waters, sent a chill through his entire body.

This is it, he realized. Bane is making his move.

“No more patrols,” he ordered. “No more hide and seek. Send every available cop down there to smoke him out.”

Foley hesitated.

“The mayor won’t want panic—”

“So it’s a training exercise,” Blake suggested.

For once, Foley seemed to welcome the younger man’s input. He looked guiltily at Gordon.