A lizard scurried over his boot and he kicked it away in disgust. Garbage floated past him on a greasy river of muck. A cobweb brushed across his face. He felt as if he was hiking through the world’s biggest latrine. His feet were wet and cold and he wanted a hot shower more than he had ever wanted anything in his life.

This sucked, big time.

Blake got promoted just in time, he decided, more than a little envious of his old partner. Wonder what they’ve got him doing now?

John Blake cruised through an ugly industrial district, checking in with Gordon via his cell phone. His butt was sore and he would have killed for a cup of coffee—or maybe a few hours’ sleep.

“I’ve been to half of Daggett’s cement plants,” he reported. “Logged locations they’ve poured for underground construction.”

“Anything strange about the pourings?” Gordon asked from his hospital room. Static added to the hoarseness of his voice.

Blake pulled the car over to consult his notes. A crumpled map was spread out across the passenger seat next to him. Red dots, scribbled on the map, indicated all the pouring sites his research had identified. He tried—and failed—to find any clues on the map.

“Honestly, commissioner, I don’t know anything about civil engineering—”

“But you know about patterns,” Gordon insisted. “Keep looking.”

If you say so, Blake thought, signing off. He checked the address of the next cement plant on his list. I just hope this isn’t a wild goose chase.

He couldn’t help wishing that he was underground, taking part in the manhunt for Bane instead. That was where the real action was.

He hoped that Ross and the others were okay.

Sweating, Dr. Pavel stepped away from the reactor. His sleeves were rolled up and he was breathing hard. Much of his task had involved reprogramming the reactor’s safety parameters and neutron flux allowances, but he had also needed to tinker with the magnetic coils and plasma containment units.

A case of sophisticated tools lay at his feet, along with discarded bits of shielding. Essential baffles and dampeners had been replaced with more volatile materials. The sphere’s access panels were once again closed.

“It is done,” he announced dolefully. “This is now a four megaton nuclear bomb.” That was roughly two hundred times more powerful than the bombs that had devastated Hiroshima and Nagasaki during World War Two.

Bane nodded in approval. He called to his men.

“Pull the core out of the reactor.”

“You can’t!” Pavel blurted, his face draining of color. “This is the only power source capable of sustaining it. If you move it, the core will decay in a matter of months—”

“Five, by my calculations,” Bane replied calmly.

Pavel was confused. Did Bane not appreciate the danger? He tried desperately to explain.

“And then it will go off!”

“For the sake of your family, Dr. Pavel, I hope so.”

Stunned, the scientist watched as the men began to disconnect the core. He wrung his hands anxiously. Not for the first time, he found himself wishing that he had died in that plane crash, after all.