“This is the instrument of your liberation,” Bane declared. CIA analysts had already identified the masked madman as the same terrorist who had staged the attack on the Gotham Stock Exchange last week. Apparently, that had just been his opening number.

“Satellite shows a radiation spike,” an analyst reported. “Whatever it is, it’s nuclear.”

The tension in the room shot up another notch. All eyes remained glued to the monitors, where the terrorists dragged a bedraggled, middle-aged man onto the field and thrust him to his knees before Bane.

“Identify yourself to the world,” the terrorist leader ordered.

“Dr. Leonid Pavel,” the man said, his voice shaking. “Nuclear physicist—”

Bane turned the scientist’s face toward the cameras, even as intelligence experts scrambled to verify the man’s identity.

“Pavel is confirmed dead,” a CIA analyst reported, calling up the data from a computer. “Plane crash on an agency pull out of Uzbekistan.” She compared the man on the monitor to a photo from their database. “But it certainly looks like him—”

The general had to agree. He rubbed his chin, pondering the situation. This was getting more serious by the moment. He stared up at an illuminated screen tracking their response.

A squadron of F-22 fighter jets was already streaking toward Gotham.

On the TV monitors, Bane placed a hand on Pavel’s shoulder. The kneeling scientist shuddered visibly.

“Tell the world what this is,” Bane instructed.

“A fully primed neutron bomb. With a blast radius of six miles.”

Bane nodded.

“And who can disarm this device?”

“Only me.”

“Thank you, doctor.”

With the whole world watching, Bane effortlessly snapped the scientist’s neck. Pavel’s body dropped onto the grass. Screams erupted from the bleachers. People gasped in the war room.

“The bomb is armed,” Bane said, ignoring the screams. “The bomb is mobile, the identity of the triggerman is a mystery. One of you holds the detonator. We come not as conquerors, but as liberators to return control of this city to the people. At the first sign of interference from the outside world, or of people attempting to flee, this anonymous Gothamite—this unsung hero—will trigger the bomb.

“For now, martial law is in effect. Return to your homes, hold your families close, and wait.” He threw out his arms. “Tomorrow you claim what is rightfully yours.”

Bane turned and left the field. His men rolled the bomb after him, leaving Dr. Pavel’s body behind on the desecrated turf.

A hush fell over the war room.

“Pull back the fighters,” the general said finally, breaking the silence. “Start high-level reconnaissance flights. And get the President on the line.”

God help us all, he thought.

Gotham Bridge was the only one left standing. By sunset, tanks and troops were already advancing on the city. Captain Willis Parker, in charge of the operation, just wished he had a clearer sense of their mission strategy. How did one recapture a city being held hostage?

A squad of mercenaries held the bridge. There was no sign of Bane, but one of his men stepped forward, holding a bullhorn. An amplified voice challenged the approaching army.