Batman: Revenge Chapters 33 - 35

BATMAN: REVENGE

Chapter 33

Nine years later, wearing gray Dockers and a white sleeveless top, Vicki stood n a hill enjoying the unusual warmth of an “Indian summer” day in early November. She called out to Thomas, as he ran, laughing, in his striped T-shirt and shorts, down the hill and into the forest where the foliage had turned a beautiful red and gold, making a picturesque frame for the lake.

        “Thomas Wayne, you listen to your Mother and get back up here right now! Your birthday party is going to start in less than an hour, and I don’t want you to get your clothes dirty until we take some pictures. Do you hear me? Thomas?  She began to walk down the hill, yelling as she went, “Listen here mister, you know I can have your Dad cancel those …”

        From the forest she heard a scream and knew instantly something
horrible had happened. She turned back towards the house, shouted for Bruce and broke into a frantic run down the side of the hill, calling out for her eight year old son.

    “Thomas, Thomas, where are you?” She ran at full speed into the forest, branches and brush scratching her bare arms while the patches of light, filtering through the towering trees, created a surreal strobe effect. She began to cry as her fear rose to the point of hysteria, then, up ahead in a clearing she saw her son lying face down in a pile of dry, fallen leaves. Terrified of what she might see, she was trembling as she reached his side and dropped to her knees. Fighting the dizziness and nausea produced by her panicked state, she rolled him over and felt the hair rise on the back of her neck as she
saw his face.

      Shock and revulsion replaced the motherly urge to scoop him up in her arms and she gasped at the sight of the deathly, bone white complexion that had inexplicably replaced the remainder of the healthy tan produced by a summer’s worth of playing outdoors.  Her beautiful, blonde hair, blue-eyed boy had been transformed into a wraith-like creature with grassy green locks. The dark, dilated pupils of his glazed, opened eyes were encircled by an eerily emerald green iris. Worse still, his mouth stretched into a wide, hideous grin outlined by thin, unnaturally red lips. Unable to deal any longer with the horror, she reached up, clasping her head with both hands and opened her mouth to scream.

    Vicki sat up in her bed, drenched in a cold sweat. In the dim light, magnified by the multitude of surrounding mirrors, she could barely make out the clown-faced clock on the wall, which showed the time to be four in the morning. She tossed her covers aside and got up to go splash water on her face. She noticed Appleby wasn't in his bed. That aroused her curiosity, because to her knowledge this made the first time he’d been up since they started drugging him.

      As she walked barefoot on the cold wood floor towards the hall that led to the rest rooms, she saw the Joker's office light and noticed the door ajar. She tiptoed to the door and peeked in. Harley seemed to be asleep on the bed, but at the desk the Joker flipped pages on a legal pad, stopping occasionally to write something in. He mumbled to himself, seeing how the changes sounded.

      When she turned to go back to the bathroom, the floor creaked. Vicki cringed at the sound and willed herself to be as light as possible as she began tiptoeing again, hoping she hadn’t been heard, but behind her the door opened.

    “Ahhh, Ms. Vale, how good of you to look in on me.” She turned to see a dark figure at the end of the hall, silhouetted by the light emanating from the room behind him. The Joker bowed and said, “Checking to see how I’m holding up, no doubt?”

    “Appleby’s missing. I figured you would either know where he went, or would want to know.” She shuddered slightly as the self-proclaimed God approached her.

    “Well, aren’t you the little watchdog? He’s in the studio with Lawrence, getting ready for his starring role in tomorrow’s worldwide broadcast.” the Joker’s green eyebrows arched as he asked, “Would you like to be one of the featured guests, as well?”

    “That’s not the end of the camera I prefer to be on,” she answered. “Besides, I need to be taking still shots of the whole affair, right? I mean, you didn’t get that camera for nothing, did you?”

    The Joker extended his hand to Vicki in a gentlemanly way, and said, “Let me escort you to the Ladies room, my dear, we can’t take a chance on you getting lost, or abused, or anything.” It was obvious by the tone of his voice when he said, abused, that he no longer believed  Lawrence had been guilty of Vicki’s accusations. She allowed him to lead her, and then, when she came out of the restroom, went back to get the camera, which lay on the floor by her bed.

    “May I take a few more pictures in the studio?” she asked, slipping into her shoes.

    “If you’re fully awake and ready to begin what will be a very exciting day, then yes, by all means, you may begin photographing the day immortality becomes a reality. Oooh, I like the way that sounds. Immortality becomes a reality, I need to write that down!” He turned quickly and headed back to his office as Vicki followed. He grabbed the legal pad he had been working on, flipped to the appropriate page and began to write.

    Vicki took a picture and looked around the room seeing what there was to see. She spied the metal door on the wall, which looked like a fuse box, and strolled in that direction trying not to seem too interested. She glanced at the list of things that the switches controlled and glanced back at The Joker to see if he might be watching. He wasn’t. He seemed to be completely absorbed in his writing, occasionally mumbling a phrase or two. She took another step closer and was in the process of focusing the camera when Harley blurted out, “Joker, why not just teach Snoopy how to run the damn security system? Take her around the compound and show her everything.”

    Vicki turned, with total surprise on her face and looked at Harley. A perrenially light sleeper, Harley had been awakened by the camera flash and the small amount of motion and noise. She lay on her side, raised up on one arm, calmly watching Vicki survey the room.

    “Yeah, you’re a real secret agent there, Wonder Woman. Hey, Joker, let’s have Lawrence pat her down. I’ll bet she’d enjoy that!”

    The Joker turned his attention from the legal pad to Harley, and said, “Will you please shut up? I’m trying to get some last minute work done here.”

      Next, he looked at Vicki and said, “Sugar, you said you wanted to take some more pictures of the broadcast studio, right? So, have you forgotten where it is?” He pointed, accentuating his suggestion that she vacate the room, and then returned to his legal pad.

    Vicki had heard it was going to happen, but was not prepared for the emotional impact of actually seeing it. Stepping into the studio she saw Lawrence bent over the white cross, which lay backwards across the rim of the vat. In the otherwise darkened studio, two spotlights illuminated the still groggy F.B.I. agent, who lay on the cross, head turning from side to side as he attempted to comprehend what was happening.

      He wore a white, full length robe. His legs, arms, and waist were secured to the cross, tied with white cord so he could not escape, and would not fall into the pool when the cross tilted forward. Lawrence turned and acknowledged Vicki as he heard someone entering the studio. He even posed next to Appleby as she prepared to snap a picture. In a scene that would have been humorous, were it not so horribly pathetic, Lawrence actually tried to get Appleby to waive, although, with his arms tied to the cross all he could do was flap his hands and wrists.

    The plan, as Lawrence knew it, was for Appleby and the entire cross to be immersed for a period of three minutes and then raised back out of the Holy Waters. After that, The Joker planned to shoot Appleby repeatedly in the chest with a large gun while the cameras took close up pictures of the wounds healing themselves.

    Vicki seemed horrified. “Is it terribly painful?” she asked.

    “Well, the first time it happens, you really think you’re going to die, so you’re scared almost as much as you’re hurt. The panic is a big part of the pain. But by the second or third time it starts to get kind of like been there, done that. Oh, the breath gets knocked out of you and there is a jolt of pain, but it goes away real fast and then you feel fine, just some tingling in the areas that aren’t quite healed yet.”

    Vicki walked around the perimeter of the vat, taking pictures from different angles and distances. Her camera and her eyes focused on the macabre scene unfolding in front of her, yet her mind was across town with Bruce, who at that very moment looked intently into a large, full length mirror at Wayne Manor, near the bottom of the main stairway. He silently prayed, first, that he would find his fiancée unharmed, and then for the recovery of Barbara. As the occasional groan and creak of strained timbers reminded him of the catastrophic damage the mansion had sustained, he questioned the wisdom of anyone remaining in the mansion, even on a limited basis, and wondered if Wayne Manor might actually collapse into the abyss beneath it.

    Focusing on the image of Batman, who stared back from the mirror, he spoke out loud, “I’m coming for you, Vicki. Today’s the day, honey, just hang in there a little longer.” Then he narrowed his eyes and added, “Mr. Napier, I’m coming for you, too.”

    The stillness of the mansion was shattered by Nightwing, who came sliding down the stairway’s banisters, leaping off as he reached the end, adroitly landing on his feet. As if in appreciation of an imaginary audience's applause, he spread his arms and bowed, much as an Olympic gymnast would do after performing a perfect routine. With an air of exuberance, he exclaimed, “God, I love doing that! Hey, Batman, it’s show time! Next stop, City of Tomorrow!”

    Before they left, Richards vigorously shook hands with both of them and wished them the best. Andre tried in vain to get them both to eat something, but food was about the furthest thing from their minds. “He chased after them both as they walked out of the mansion, waiving a large bunch of fat, purple grapes, shouting, “Take thees weeth you! You’ll be hungry later! I’ll prepare sometheeng special, a victory banquet for thees evening!”

      In the rear view mirror Batman saw Andre, still waving the grapes in the air. As they disappeared from his view, Andre stopped waving, plucked off one of the grapes from the bunch, popped it into his mouth and trudged back across the gravel drive. He turned one last time towards the sound of the Batmobile’s powerful engine fading in the distance, before stepping back into the condemned mansion.

~      ~      ~

    The chop, chop, chop, of the helicopter’s whirling blades were only audible over the audio system inside the sound-proofed compound as the Gotham Police SWAT team prepared to drop by ropes onto the roof of the main building. Inside, as he watched his monitor screens the Joker calmly puffed on an imported cigar and regarded the flashing red and blue lights of the whirlybird, hanging stationary in the sky above. “Harley,” he called out, “let’s play a little word game. What’s the opposite of a Life flight helicopter?”

    “What the hell are you talking about?” she asked.

    “Watch,” he said, as he pointed at his middle monitor and tapped his cigar ashes into the tray beside his desk. A fiery plume of smoke rose in the pre dawn sky towards the helicopter, which exploded in a ball of fire, sending twisted, burning pieces of metal, and the brave crew to the ground below. He pointed with his cigar and said, “There, now, that was the opposite of a Life Flight Helicopter!” Additional explosions occurred on the back side of the compound as several large pieces of metal fell onto some of the land mines. Watching with satisfaction as the wreckage burned, he said, “Harley, when
you told me what we paid for those rocket launchers, I actually questioned your business sense and thought Mr. Hussein had ripped us off, but it seems as if they are worth every penny.”

    On the streets surrounding the City of Tomorrow, military transport vehicles began to Arrive. By six, over one thousand National Guard volunteers were prepared to storm the Joker’s hideout. The Joker called his whole team into his office to watch the charge, saying, “For those of you who might be squeamish, this is going to be more violent than hockey, but just barely.” The pitiful cries coming from the studio, of agent Appleby, who was regaining his senses, began to bother The Joker to the point that he got up and kicked the door closed. “If he continues to make that much noise, I may have to kill him before the show and just use Lawrence as our immortal example.”

    He sat back down, picked his cigar back up out of the tray, puffed on it a couple of times, and said, “Looks like it’s about time for kickoff, boys and girls.”

    Deployed in groups of 200, in five different areas, the troops shouted in unison and began the attack. The Joker turned to Carl and asked, “You did start the recorders, didn’t you, because I’m definitely gonn’a want to watch this again, later!” He turned back to the monitors just in time to see a body catapulted into the air by an exploding mine. The unfortunate soldier turned a complete somersault in the air and landed on his back, on another mine. The result wasn’t a pretty sight.

      The Joker howled with delight, and shouted, “I’d give that a perfect ten, how about the rest of you judges?” Explosions, and the chatter of the automated machine guns filled the monitor screens as the remote cameras and microphones recorded the carnage in grisly detail, which occurred in a 360 degree circle around the compound. Two more helicopters approached the scene with the same disappointing results as the first. Both erupted in a spray of fire that lit the sky and in a matter of seconds both lay burning on the ground, bringing the bloody, unsuccessful, offensive to a halt. The ensuing retreat proved to be as gory and inhumane as the charge, and perhaps was psychologically more deflating, if such a thing were possible. Those few who had been fortunate enough to avoid any land mines on the way in, failed to be so lucky now. Of the 1,000 that began the charge, only twelve survived unscathed.

      Seven others lay wounded in the field, screaming for help. The medics that would normally have rushed in to bear them away on stretchers cried in frustration, knowing that any attempt to rescue their fallen comrades would almost certainly lead to their own deaths. They were spared from their potentially suicidal endeavors, which they actually begged to attempt, by their commanding officer, a man big enough to play tackle in the NFL, who sat on the ground shaking uncontrollably. Tears of rage streamed from his eyes as he held his head between his hands, and said, “Those men are lost, we can’t let you go in there. That’s an order.”

    The Joker slapped his thigh and exclaimed, “Well, maybe it wasn’t quite as violent as an NHL hockey game, but it was still a pretty good show, eh, kids?” Then he asked, “Carl, do those recorders have slow motion replay?”

    As Batman and Nightwing arrived along with the fire department’s specially prepared trucks, it seemed for a moment they had been sent back in time, perhaps to the slaughter that took place on the beaches at Normandy, on D-Day.

      Everywhere they looked, they saw blue and red lights flashing on the tops of police and fire department vehicles. Fires continued to burn from the downed helicopters and a couple of Army transports that were hit with machine gun fire. After jumping out of the Batmobile and activating the shields they located the commanding officer of the troops.

    “Who gave the order to attack?” was the first thing Batman asked. The commanding officer, a Colonel David Lamensky said that he had given the order based on information provided by the F.B.I. and the C.I.A. He said he had no prior information that would have indicated the existence of the minefield, machine guns, or the rocket launchers.

    “If we had only had more time to test the defenses of this compound, we would never have used this method of attack. I knew most of the men that just died. I knew most of their families. We had trained together…”

    Batman put a hand on the Colonel’s shoulder, and said, “I understand Colonel, you can’t blame yourself for acting on misleading intelligence reports. But be advised, depending on how long our adversaries have been preparing for this day, this could be a layered field. As one mine explodes, another planted beneath it could rise up to replace it. We can’t assume it’s safe to mount another charge, unless we send in non-manned, automated vehicles. We also need to figure out what trigger mechanism these mines use. Are they pressure sensitive, or do they go off when an infra red or electronic signal is disrupted?”


    Batman turned and ran back to the Batmobile, deactivated the shields and jumped in. Nightwing asked, as the caped crusader came running up, “So, what’s the plan?”

    “The C.I.A. and F.B.I. supplied the military with schematics of the buildings and made recommendations on the method of attack, but they hadn’t swept the grounds to detect the presence of mines.” Batman called the Wayne Research and Development Department and got a very tired sounding Denise Ferguson on the phone. Denise had never met Batman and had no idea that her boss was, in fact, the caped crusader.

    “Wayne Research, Ferguson here.”

    “Denise, this is Ba…err, Bruce.” He couldn’t believe he had almost said Batman, the thought entered his mind briefly, that he might not have gotten enough sleep. Well, if so, he had better wake up, fast!

    As soon as she recognized the caller’s voice, she interrupted and never even noticed the spoken beginning of a name, other than Bruce Wayne, “Mr. Wayne, did it work? Was there enough of the formula? Were the hostages okay?”

    “They haven’t had a chance to use the formula yet, Denise. Batman called me and asked me if we had anything that might interrupt electrical signals, and I told him I would  get  you guys to deploy the electronic field disrupters that are still in development. There’s a minefield and a large group of automated weapons, which may be powered by electricity or activated by some kind of wireless electronic signals. This just might be the right application for…”

    “We’ll get right on it,” she answered before he could finish. “Mr. Wayne, you understand it’s going to take about an hour or more to tear it down, get it out there  and then at least an hour and a half to set it up and calibrate it properly?”

    “So what are you waiting for? Get started now!” Batman hung up and turned to Nightwing. “Well, I almost blew my secret identity, right there! Maybe I am getting to old for this after all.”

    “Oh ease up on yourself,” Nightwing advised, “You’re under a lot of pressure. Hell, I’ve almost called myself Robin two or three times since I’ve been back.”

    Batman accepted that and it made him feel a little better. “You know,” he said, “we may find that those mines are pressure activated, but I bet some part of their defense system will be affected by those electronic disrupters. They should be here by seven thirty, and ready to roll by eight thirty.”

    “What about our weapons,” Nightwing asked? Aren’t the formula backpacks electrically powered, and what about the fire trucks?”

    “Our backpacks are double shielded and should be okay, and the fire trucks will stay outside of the disrupters range, but if we can’t get at the Joker, we won’t need either the backpacks or the fire trucks. We have to get inside the compound, somehow. Then we can locate their controls and shut down their defense system.”

BATMAN: REVENGE

Chapter 34

      Inside, The Joker watched carefully, attempting to analyze why the attacks had halted and what would be the next move his adversaries might make. “Look, there they are!” He pointed at one of the monitors and leaned forward to get a closer look. “The brash Bird and bastardly Bat have joined the fray!” The Joker spoke to the monitor as if his enemies could hear him. “I know you’re not the Brainiest bat in the belfry, but it’s not that difficult! You gotta come in here to get her! I’m not going to bring her out to you!” While he looked intently into the monitor, the Joker crooked his index finger, and said, “Come a little closer, said the spider to the fly. What are you waiting for?  You know I’ve got your little lady friend! Don’t tell me my little defense system has made you lose your bat balls!” He cackled menacingly and drummed his fingers on the desk.

    Carl said, “Hey, don’t get impatient, boss. Everything is going just as we planned. You don’t need him in order to achieve what we’ve all worked for.”

    “No, Carl, you’re wrong. I have to get him. I’ve waited fourteen years to get him. I made him what he is today, and he in turn has made me what I am. I robbed him of his parents and he robbed me of my life. Neither of us can just let it go. In either of our minds there can be no forgiveness, no act of contrition, no amount of heartfelt penitence will pay the debt that is owed. I must have and I shall have my vengeance upon him. I cannot continue the existence he has forced upon me without the sweet,  satisfying tastes of revenge and victory to sustain me.”

    “So, then, we are all here just to carry out your…”

      The Joker interrupted, saying, “Yes, Carl, I’ll say it for you. You’re all here to cater to my every wish and whim. And in return, you may become fabulously wealthy and live forever. Gee, now is that so awful?”

    Listening from the studio with her ear to the door, Vicki worried about Carl.
She thought to herself. “He needs to back off a little. If he gets himself killed I won’t have anyone else that might help me.” She turned away and went back to where Appleby lay on the cross.

    The drugs that had left him stupefied over the past couple of days had, for the most part worn off, and he asked, nervously, “What time is it? How much time do we have left?”


    Vicki looked at her watch and said, “It’s five minutes before seven.”

    “What do you think the chances are that we’ll get rescued before they drop me in the vat?”

    “There was an attempt already this morning. From what I heard being said, I think it was the National Guard, but they weren’t successful. It sounded pretty bad. I think a lot of people got killed.”

    “Do you think they’ll try again?” Appleby asked.

    “Yes. I do.” Vicki thought of Bruce and how hard he must be trying to save her. “I think they’ll keep trying. I know they will.”

    Back in the Joker's office, Harley asked, “Does anyone else, other than Carl, have a problem with catering to the bosses wishes?”

    The Joker rose from his chair and asked, “How about you, Cody, do you think I’m asking too much?”

      Cody very quickly let it be known where he stood on this issue. “Carl’s full of shit, Joker. You write the checks. You call the shots.”

    Pleased with the answer Cody gave, the Joker nodded with satisfaction and sneered at Grissom. “Now Carl, you may be feeling, as your revered father
once said to me, that all of a sudden your life isn’t worth spit. Well, in your case that may or may not be true, but since Bruce Segelski and Andy Anderson are already on the Riviera spending their hard earned money, and since we’ve evidently lost Jamal, Charlie, Benny and Emille, and Tina is in police custody, I’ve decided I’m not going to shoot you, at least not yet. We’re getting a little too short-handed around here.”

    Carl breathed a sigh of relief, but still didn’t like the way things were going. Marty patted Carl on the back, sympathetically, an act which did not escape the Joker’s attention, but he said nothing about it at that moment.

    At eight twenty-five the Wayne Foundation trucks arrived and the group of scientists went to work setting up the electronic disrupters, which were still in the developmental stage and had never yet been tested “in the field.” The network of thin, nine foot tall poles with tripod stands had a strange ball on the top of each with an elliptical shape, which seemed opaque and glowed when turned on with an incandescent raspberry red.

    The Wayne Foundation scientists circled the entire City of Tomorrow complex, being careful to stay far enough away to avoid activating the Joker’s automated defense systems. Gotham Lighting and Power arrived at about nine and connected the city’s power lines directly into the experimental system, which required far more power than a couple of generators could produce.

      The foreman in charge of the hookup asked Denise, “If this thing is supposed to disrupt electrical energy, then how can it be run by electricity?”

    Denise looked at him as if he were a little kid, who just asked why the sky was blue, and said, “It’s unidirectional, silly. Everything inside the circle will be affected, but nothing outside should be bothered at all.” As she walked away, to check the connections on the nearest pole she muttered under her breath, “I hope.”

    The Joker sat back down at his desk, grabbed a new cigar from the humidor and clipped it while he watched with growing interest as the poles were erected one by one.

      “What are those things?” he wondered out loud. “I hate it when they bring in new toys without me knowing in advance what they can do. Harley, have you any idea what those poles do?”

    Harley shook her head and said, “No, all I can tell is they all have some kind of weird light bulb on the top and the power company is out there, so I would imagine they’re going to cut our power supply pretty soon.” Within five minutes of her having said it, it happened, but the back up generators kicked in long before the battery backups were drained and the power surge protectors kept all of the expensive computerized equipment working just as it was supposed to work. The Joker leaned back in his chair and said, “If the battery backups or backup generators had failed, we’d be in deep trouble boys and girls, but since they worked just fine, I’d say we are… what did they used to say at NASA, let’s see, A-O.K. Yeah, that’s it. Everything is A-O.K.”

    Carl Grissom, Jr. was getting worried and wasn’t nearly as confident as his fearless leader. “I hope you realize they’re gonna use missiles, man. They’re gonna get tired of trying to get in here, and they’re gonna decide it ain’t worth the loss of lives to get two hostages out. They’ll flatten us. They’ll blow this complex to kingdom come.” Carl’s voice rose as he pointed his finger at the Joker and said, “You sit here, totally isolated, completely unafraid and unconcerned about what’s happening around you, acting like there’s nobody else in the world but you, and that’s just not right! You may be immortal, but the rest of us aren’t. It looks to me like you’re some demented Captain
Ahab trying to get back at Moby Dick, or Khan going up against Captain Kirk, because your obsession is about to get us all killed!”

    Even before Carl had finished speaking, everyone began to back away from him, anticipating the Joker's reaction. Carl had already rubbed the Joker’s fur the wrong way just a short while ago. People didn’t speak like that to the boss. Not if they wanted to live to talk about it.

    Listening again, on the other side of the door, Vicki also began to back away. With the distinct possibility of stray bullets coming through the door at any moment, she headed back to the other side of the studio where Appleby lay, helplessly twisting, struggling against the white cord that bound him to the cross. Lawrence watched them both with a disinterested look on his face while sitting on the floor, his right elbow resting on his bent knee and chin propped on his fist. Oh no, Vicki thought. This is all my fault. I built Carl’s courage up and now he’s crossed the line for a second time.

      Shots rang out from the office and the unmistakable heavy thud of a body against the door told her she had lost her last chance to form an alliance with one of the key elements of the Joker’s inner sanctum. It was too late to try to get anywhere with Cody or Marty, and Harley would just as soon shoot her as look at her.

    On the other side of the door, the Joker stood in front of his intimidated audience, wispy tendrils of smoke still rose from the barrel of the derringer he held, while he lectured, “I don’t mind people disagreeing with me. If someone wants to be exposed as a fool, then they should speak their mind and voice their own ideas without fear of retribution.” He began to pace back and forth, reloading the derringer as he continued, “What kind of God would I be if I couldn’t stand a differing opinion now and then? The flock shall inevitably stray from the shepherd, led by one in search of greener pastures, but the good shepherd must understand that it is their nature to do so. I want to encourage
original thinking, but gee whiz guys, I just can’t stand fence sitters and mindless, mutton headed, followers who jump on the latest bandwagon, not knowing where it may lead.”

      Pointing the derringer at the pale, yet still defiant face in front of him, he said, “That’s why you’re still alive, Carl. You were simply expressing an original, although horribly misguided idea, based on ridiculously flawed assumptions, but Marty, on the other hand, was just going along with you. No originality there. He was just trying to back you up. Marty was a good driver. Now he’s dead and you're responsible.”

      The Joker turned back towards Marty and bent down to look at him more closely. He lifted the head, which was slumped forward against the chest and looked into the now expressionless eyes.

    “Remember, original thoughts are like the apple Eve gave Adam, tantalizing but dangerous. The meaning of this little parable, boys and girls, is think before you speak. Others may die as a result of what you believe, so be very sure of yourself, or keep quiet. Your beliefs can lead others to their demise.”

    Carl was sick of this hypocritical lecture and once again, without thinking, voiced his opinion to everyone’s, including his own surprise, saying, “You ought to look in a mirror when you say that, Joker.”

    The Joker sighed, tired of putting up with Carl’s insobordination. He winked and nodded his head reassuringly to Harley and Cody, letting them know everything was okay, and then looked around at the thirty or more mirrors in his office before turning his attention back to Carl. He smiled grandly. Spreading his arms out wide, his green eyebrows arched as he asked, “Which one?”

    Outside, Denise was informed that all of the poles had been connected and everything was ready. She pulled out her cell phone, clicked the company communicator button and announced, “Power up, repeat, power up.” The bulbs on the top of the silver poles began to change color, from their original milky white to a pulsing raspberry red. At first, a high pitched whine accompanied the gradual change in color, but as the red color became darker and more pronounced, the frequency of the sound dropped to a low, throbbing
vibration, which was felt more than it was heard.

      All three LCD monitors went blank simultaneously and the Joker, who had not yet settled down after the incident with Carl and Marty, screamed in anger, pulling his freshly reloaded derringer from his coat pocket. Harley jumped up immediately and said, “Whoa there big fella! No shooting the TV screens or monitors, or any more mortals, please. You’ve got your own personal pincushion now, so use him if you must.”

    The Joker shrugged and opened the door to the studio. “Lawrence,” he called out, “could you come here for a few minutes? I could really use you right now.”

    Lawrence shouted back, “Be right there, boss!”

    Within two minutes, Lawrence appeared in the doorway, and asked, “What’s up?”

    The JOKER pointed to the blank screens. “Would you by any chance know what could be causing this?”

      Lawrence saw the screens, filled with what the cable or satellite people called “snow” and rubbed his chin for a minute in thought before saying, “looks to me like we need to check signal strength, boss. Maybe all we need to do is just reset the receiver. I can do that in the studio, and besides, I need to keep an eye on Ms. Vale, she’s liable to try to cut agent Appleby’s bonds so they can try to get away.”

      Lawrence turned to leave, but as he did he heard the Joker say, “Oh, Lawrence, before you go, I have something for you. Lawrence turned back around to see the derringer looking him in the face.

    “What’d I do?” Lawrence asked.

    “The Joker nonchalantly waved the small gun around in the air, and said, “I just need to shoot someone, or something, Lawrence. It’s a therapy kind of thing and you’re just so darned accommodating.”

    The trigger was pulled and Lawrence stumbled back through the doorway, tumbling into the studio, almost scaring the wits out of Vicki, who was just beginning to try to loosen Appleby’s bonds. Lawrence lay on the ground for about thirty seconds before grunting with the effort it took to sit up. He turned around and looked at Vicki, who wrung her hands nervously, with the guiltiest look on her face he'd ever seen.

      He took a ragged breath and coughed once as the hole in his right lung finished healing and the bullet was expelled, falling forward onto the floor. “Ms. Vale,” he inquired, with an annoyed look on his face, “have you been doing something you shouldn’t have?”

    Denise looked at a meter on the sound and video mixing board, and said, “Okay guys, we’ve reached the optimum electrical impedance. Let’s run someone out there for a test.”

    “Hold on there, Ms. Ferguson,” Colonel Lamensky cautioned, “We still don’t know if those mines were activated electronically or pressure detonated. And there could be a combination of both out there, so I wouldn’t recommend sending anyone out there until we roll something big and unmanned over the ground you’re planning to walk on.”

    “Yeah, I guess your right,” Denise replied, feeling somewhat embarrassed. “What would you recommend?” she asked.

    Colonel Lamensky turned and shouted, “Let’s unload that portable bunker and get it over here right away!” Turning back to Denise he explained, “This is similar to what the police bomb squad would use, but it has an extendible pole so that three soldiers, wearing heavily padded protective suits can advance the unit and still actually stay 15 feet behind it in case of an explosion. If we had only known the place was mined we would have used  completely different tactics and would have employed two or three of these babies. Three soldiers pushed the bunker up to the perimeter of the disrupters and waited for the order to proceed.

    Further back from the activity, standing by the Batmobile, Nightwing became too impatient to keep quiet. “Batman, are we going to get involved here, or not? Let’s do something!”

    “Like what?” Batman asked. “Rush in and get killed? That place is a fortress with a formidable defense system that can be turned on and off. That’s why the C.I.A. and F.B.I. turned in erroneous information. The exterior system was off when they patrolled the area. There wasn’t any indication of mines or of the concealed machine guns and rocket launchers. We can’t bomb the place without taking the chance of killing Vicki. And the military just proved how futile it was to storm the compound using conventional methods. Let’s see how the disrupters work and how the soldiers do with the portable bunker before we make our next move.”

    Nightwing rolled his eyes in frustration, and said, “Whatever.”

    Colonel Lamensky bit into a fingernail as he nervously watched the painfully slow progress of his bomb specialists. Everybody outside the City of Tomorrow winced in anticipation of a possible explosion with each measured step. Inch by inch they moved forward, crouching low behind the heavy blast barrier, their hearts literally in their throats, their breath rapid and shallow.

      From time to time along the way, their will was severely tested, as they had to push the broken, twisted bodies of their fallen comrades aside in order to continue.  Finally, they reached the front door, still safe, and turned to their fellow soldiers to wave with relief and pride at the successful completion of the
dangerous task they had been assigned. Cheers broke out all around the compound, especially from the members of the Wayne Foundation team as it seemed their equipment had performed as desired and had probably been responsible for the successful outcome of this mission.

    The return trip for the three soldiers proved to be much faster and far less stressful, as they knew the ground they had already traveled was safe. After safely crossing the perimeter of the electrical disrupters Denise Ferguson greeted them, giving each one of them a big hug. Now another group of soldiers could storm the complex with far more positive results.

    Colonel Lamensky immediately called for reinforcements, while Denise and her crew congratulated each other on the overwhelmingly successful application of their new technology. Nightwing turned to Batman, said “High five,” and held his hand up to slap his companion’s outstretched, gloved palm.

      Batman felt good about the safe return of the three soldiers, but remained uncomfortably suspicious of how easy it all had been. Somebody from the Wayne Foundation had even thought to bring a bottle of champagne, which they popped open and shook, before spraying everyone as if they had just won the world series, or a grand prix race.

    Helicopters and military troop transport vehicles converged on the scene, en masse, over the next hour and by nine thirty a force of five hundred ground troops, along with three helicopters full of special unit commandos, were ready to begin the second assault on the City of Tomorrow. Nightwing literally bounced with anticipation. “Are we going in with this group? Tell me we are, man.”

    Batman replied, “If they get inside the complex, we go in. But we aren’t going in, until we see them get in.”

    Nightwing seemed psyched up and ready for action as he pumped his fist in the air and shouted,  “Well, get ready to go, ‘cause I feel good about this!”

    Colonel David Lamensky picked up a bullhorn so that the large group could hear his words of encouragement. “I want you men to know how much I appreciate the courage that you are about to display in this assault on the most evil person in American history, and his gang of thugs. Almost one thousand of our finest young men have given their lives this morning, in an attempt to gain entrance to that complex and rescue the hostages. Thanks to the Wayne Foundation team, we believe we now have the superior technology to overcome the weaponry that repelled our first attempt, earlier today. Thanks to you, we know we have the superior personnel! Here’s to success, and may God go with you!” The cheering was loud enough to rival a super bowl crowd.

~        ~        ~

    Denise Ferguson hugged soldier after soldier, wishing them luck and telling them, “When you get back, we’ll all go party tonight! Come back safe!” She wondered about Bruce Wayne's absence. This should be such a triumphant moment for him as the head of the Wayne Foundation and for the rescue of his fiancee. He had been so busy, and had done so much in motivating everyone and getting everything ready, why wasn’t he here? One last soldier passed her now, and she called out, “Hey, soldier, what’s your name?”

    “Jimmy Wilson, ma’am,” he replied.

    “Good luck, Jimmy,” she said, and gave him a hug, “You stay safe now, and when you get back we’ll all go out and party tonight.” Denise had hugged a lot of guys today, but this one was really cute. She liked his smile and he had a special twinkle in his eyes. She noticed he wasn’t wearing a wedding ring.

    “What’s your name?” Jimmy asked. “How about a phone number?”

    Impulsively Denise reached into her vest pocket and found one of her Wayne Foundation cards, which listed her cell phone number as well as her work phone. She handed it to him and said, “Call me.”

    He winked and said, “I will.” He smiled a heart-melting smile before turning to go.

    Moments later, Colonel Lamensky gave the command to charge. Again, a tremendous shout arose from the confident, attacking soldiers, sure that victory would be theirs. Less than one second later the first mine exploded, virtually at the point where the charge began. The unlucky soldier stumbled backwards, minus his right arm, with a portion of his right leg, above the ankle, stripped of cloth and skin, exposing blood spattered, white bone. He fell less than ten feet from where Denise stood. Instinctively she ran to the dying man’s side. As he lay there shaking, blood pouring from the mangled socket which once held his arm, she saw that the right side of his face had been almost completely blown away. She gagged at the grotesque sight of his tongue hanging out of what used to be the side of his face. In a fit of pain the soldier jerked and rolled over onto his back.

      That was when she realized it was Jimmy. She stood up in shock, screamed, and turned away. She wanted to escape from the horrible sight, from the horrible sounds, she was a scientist, not a soldier. She ran, blinded by tears until she was stopped by a man who didn’t try to do anything other than just hold her. With her head down, she pounded her fists against his chest, which seemed incredibly hard, almost like a bullet proof vest. She looked up into the face of Batman. Through the blurred vision caused by her tears she thought he looked vaguely familiar. He reminded her of someone, but she was too shook up to try to figure it out.

    Nightwing pointed and shouted, “The machine guns, look at the machine guns, sparks are shooting out from them!” The Guns had come up out of the ground, but instead of firing as they had earlier in the morning, they tilted at odd angles back towards the ground and began to shake. Sparks flew from the areas where the wiring connected the guns to the electrical power which controlled them. While the land mines continued to explode, causing catastrophic casualties among the soldiers, the electronic disrupters were seemingly deactivating all of the weapons above ground, while those below ground remained unaffected.

    Batman had seen enough. While the troops retreated for a second time he turned to Nightwing and said “This is it, let’s get our backpacks on and hitch a ride.” He  yelled to Colonel Lamensky, “Since the machine guns and rocket launchers are off line, this would be a good time to send in the helicopters, Colonel!”

    Nightwing walked up to Denise, who had walked away from Batman and stood alone, watching the wounded being loaded onto ambulances. “Ms. Ferguson, Batman and I have been told that you have two backpacks ready for us to use, is that correct? She did not respond, so this time Nightwing tapped her on the shoulder to get her attention, and said, “Ms. Ferguson, the backpacks with the cellular acceleration formula…we need to put them on, and you need to get with the fire chief and make sure the two fire trucks with the formula are positioned in front of the park entrance. Are you okay…Ms. Ferguson?”

    Denise wiped her eyes and replied, “Yeah, I think I’m all right. The backpacks are in the Wayne Foundation truck. Come with me.”

BATMAN: REVENGE

Chapter 35

    “This is just great,” the Joker complained, pointing to the 60 inch plasma TV on the wall that had also lost it’s picture, “What good is all this technology if I can’t even watch the news reports to get an accurate body count? I could just barely hear the mines exploding, but I didn’t hear any of our machine guns firing.” He looked around the room, and asked, “did any of you hear our machine guns?” Everyone shook their heads no, they had not. “Well, I’m not surprised with all the steel reinforcements in this building they could probably land a whole platoon on our roof and we’d never hear it. But of course, it wouldn’t matter, because they’d never get in. Not even with a jackhammer! The only way they’ll ever get in here, is if we decide to let them in.”

    The body count had grown during the latest attack by another 247 brave soldiers. Colonel Lamensky couldn’t understand what had happened. The portable bunker had not encountered a single land mine, but when his men had attacked, the mines had exploded everywhere, again.

    “It’s a good thing I played that little trick on our friends,” The Joker bragged, hooking his thumbs under his suspenders and stretching them out before letting them snap back. “Cutting off the defense system when they tested the grounds with their portable bomb barrier was sheer genius on my part, wouldn’t you agree, Carl?”

    “Boss,” Carl thought quickly, not wanting to get himself or anyone else shot, “if you had been in charge of the 7th Cavalry, the battle at the Little Bighorn would have sure come out different! It would’ve been known as Sitting Bull’s last stand, instead of Custer’s!”

    The Joker appeared impressed with Carl’s impromptu, ad-libbed ass kissing. “Why Carl, that’s not bad, not bad at all. You may live to make a fine high priest after all.”

    Harley made kissing noises and said, “Why Carl, what happened to all that
independent thinking? Your nose is turning brown.”

    The feeling, as the last of the wounded were being retrieved, expressed by the armed forces top brass, was that the cost of human lives had been far too high to save two people, no matter who they were. If there were to be another attack, it would have to be carefully thought out and conducted in a far different manner than the frontal assaults, that had failed so miserably. The fading hopes to free the hostages before they were harmed, and to stop the Joker, now rode with Batman, Nightwing, and the special units commandos in the three helicopters. If their efforts failed, then the air force
stood by, ready to level the entire compound with smart missiles. They knew the hostages would be lost, but they were reasonably sure the Joker and his crew would be stopped once and for all. They would wait until around noon to hear that the local efforts had been successful, but after that they were going to have to take this thing more seriously and use the missiles.

    Above the noise of the whirling blades, the helicopter pilot yelled, “We’ll have to stay a little higher than I’d like to when we drop the ropes for you guys. If we get too low, The Wayne Foundation people said that the controls and the engine could be fried by that electronic disrupter. You’ll have a drop of about 25 feet onto the roof.”

    The backpacks that the Dark Knight and his companion each wore, added slightly over one hundred pounds to their weight, due to the 12 gallons of fluid they carried. Batman looked at Nightwing and said, “Oh, my knees are going to love this.” He remembered he forgot to pull on the support bandage over his right knee this morning, but the time to worry about that had come and gone.

    Nightwing seemed more than a little concerned for his senior partner, and tried to give some helpful advice, saying, “Remember your parachute training, drop and roll. Don’t try to land standing up or you’ll hurt yourself, for sure. Damn, I just remembered something we should have brought!”

    “What’s that?” Batman asked, genuinely concerned.

    “Your walker,” Nightwing replied, grinning, “you know, like the ones you see the old folks using at the cafeteria. Remind me, next time we go, to have one of the employees carry your tray for you.”

    “Oh, you think that’s funny, do you?” Batman’s feathers were a little ruffled. “You’ll end up like that if you’re lucky enough to live that long. But as reckless as you are, that’s not real likely.”

    The pilot yelled back, “Okay, get ready to go. Remember; go down the ropes as far as you can, because you have about a 25 foot fall to the roof.”  The five commandos that were in the copter with them slid the safety door open and hit the ropes quickly, going down hand over hand before free falling to the roof.

    After seeing the commandos land safely below, Nightwing made a sweeping motion with his arm, bowed to Batman, and said, “After you… age before beauty, you know.”   

    Batman swung out of the helicopter, the cold wind from the whirling blades whipping him about as he lowered himself to the end of the 30 foot long, dangling rope, where he hung momentarily, looking down at the rooftop and the commandos, spinning slowly, below him. His last thought before letting go was, “Let’s try and take it easy on that right knee, and don’t forget to drop and roll.”

    He knew the impact was going to be far more severe than usual, because of the extra hundred pounds he carried, but as he hit the roof he was sure he heard something snap. He had intended to drop and roll, but there was almost no roll after the drop. The wind was knocked out of him, and he lay there, gasping, for a moment. Nightwing and the commandos were at his side, asking him if he was all right, had he broken anything and did he want any help. One commando made a remark about the fact this wasn’t the kind of thing an old guy should try. Nightwing defended his partner, saying, “Hey guys, give him a break, he’s close to fifty, okay, and he had a hundred pound pack on his back, so let’s cut him some slack, here. I’d like to see any of you do something like this at that age!”

    There were a few snickers, as Batman rolled over and groaned, “Will you shut up with that almost fifty nonsense. I am not almost fifty!” He sat up and decided that rather than a bone breaking when he landed, he had heard part of the plastic housing for the backpack snapping. Upon further inspection, he found one of the buckles holding the straps in place around him had pulled loose from it’s slot in the plastic, but it wasn’t in a critical place, and other than that the entire unit was okay. When he stood up he was pleased to find his knees were seemingly in no worse shape than before the jump. “Don’t just stand there worrying about the old man, he said, “Let’s get this show on the road!”

    Two of the commandos slung canvas bags to the ground and pulled out small shovels and pickaxes. “Where’s the jackhammer?” Nightwing asked.

    “We were going to bring one and have your old buddy strap it on before he jumped. They only weigh another hundred and fifty, or so, pounds.” The commando pounded Batman on the back, and said, “No problem for you, though, eh Gramps?”

    “No, sonny,” Batman replied, “no problem at all, now, hand me my cane and my teeth and  let’s get busy!” Everybody laughed, except Batman. He was so close to Vicki he could feel it; he could feel her presence! She was somewhere under this roof! He had to find her before it was too late.

    His thoughts were interrupted when one of the commandos at the northwest corner of the roof shouted, “Hey, look at this! There’s some sort of panel here that might lead to a way in!” He immediately bent down and began to try to pry the panel open.

    Batman shouted, “No, wait, it could be rigged with…”


    An explosion, followed by an ear splitting scream, drowned out the words of caution he had tried to relay. “Oh, my God,” Nightwing shouted, whipping out his cell phone, and then realizing it was fried by the electronic disrupters. He ran to the other side of the roof, spotted Denise near the disrupter control console and waived to get her attention, crossing both arms back and forth over his head. When he noticed that she saw him, he yelled, cupping his hands to his mouth in an attempt to better direct and focus the sound, “ We need a medical emergency helicopter, up here, fast! One of the commando’s
just got his hand blown off!”

    Denise shrugged her shoulders, indicating she couldn’t hear him. Neither she, nor anyone else could get closer because of the still active land mines, so, for the next few, frustrating minutes, Batman and Nightwing played charades, trying desperately to get Denise, or someone to understand their need for a helicopter that could lower a rescue basket. At last, Batman decided to write down the information on the back of a sheet of paper that came with the medical kit one of the commandos carried. They tied the paper around one of the rocks on the roof and after making sure that Denise saw they were going to be throwing something towards her and waiting for her to get everyone out of the way, Nightwing threw the message, doing his best to make sure he cleared the area where land mines could still be waiting to explode. It was a throw worthy of a big league outfielder, as it bounced to a halt less than three feet to the right of  the disrupter console. Denise ran to it, grabbed it, read it and seemed to fully understand, as she waved and signaled, thumbs up, with both hands. Batman and Nightwing watched
hopefully as she dialed her cell phone.

      While Nightwing and Batman worked on getting a rescue helicopter, the commando with the rudimentary medical supplies in his backpack proceeded to wrap the mutilated soldier’s charred stub and administered a pain killing shot of morphine. The effect of the injection was not nearly as immediate as the movies frequently portray. The wounded soldier lay on the roof, alternately moaning and gritting his teeth, sounding more like a wounded forest animal that had stepped into a trap than a human being, until the sound of an approaching helicopter shifted his attention slightly away from his pain,
and gave him a reason for hope.

      As the red Helicopter hovered overhead, creating a blinding whirlwind filled with flying gravel and debris, the rescue basket was slowly and carefully lowered by the hydraulic winch. The commandos had to duck several times as it swung with enough force at the end of a 50 foot long rope to knock a single soldier, or perhaps two, off of the roof.  Five commandos finally tackled and stabilized it so that the injured soldier could be lifted into it. Thankfully, now, the morphine seemed to be having the desired effect, as the transfer from the roof to the basket was evidently not as excruciatingly painful as it might have been without the old standard painkiller.

      After waving to the winch operator, indicating they could begin to retrieve the basket, everyone stood back and watched. Each man on the roof knew he was fortunate, indeed, that he was not the one who had been injured. As the basket disappeared into the side of the helicopter, each man felt an increased resolve to stop the man responsible for all of this pain and death.

    Batman turned to Nightwing as the helicopter banked and headed towards Gotham Memorial, “My readout shows everything is still fully charged and ready to go. How about yours?”

    Nightwing checked his backpack monitor and nodded, saying, “Mine’s good to go. It’s a good thing the Wayne Foundation team double shielded the electronic components of these backpacks, otherwise they’d be useless by now. You know if any of the Joker's defense system was working up here, we’d all be dead.”

    Batman shook his head in agreement, and said, “We still have to find a way to get in without getting blown up, and that may not be so easy. I think we may need some acetylene torches, or some kind of welding equipment to cut through this roof. Let’s find some more paper, throw another message to Denise, and see if she can’t come up with something for us.”

    Twenty five minutes after Nightwing tossed their second airmail message to Denise, another helicopter showed up and lowered a propane tank and a torch, along with a welder’s mask and gloves. One of the commandos, a burly guy named Mike, claimed to be an expert welder and volunteered to be the one to try to cut into the roof.

      After connecting the torch and tank, he donned the gloves, pulled the mask down over his face and got to work. The high expectations for speedy progress collapsed, as forty five minutes later the first tank of propane was exhausted. Only half of what was intended to be a three foot wide circle had been cut into the roof, which was reinforced with two inch thick steel. NIGHTWING shook his head in disbelief, “This place is virtually impregnable! I wonder how long they had been preparing this place?”

    “A long time,” Batman replied, “maybe ten years if Harley Quinn started on it right after getting out of college. She’s brilliant and evidently as deadly as can be; the perfect person to put it all together while they waited for the gang to get out of prison and the mercenaries to be hand picked. With the Joker’s money, which was stolen from Grissom, Sr. and Max Shrek, not to mention a number of other sources, she had all the resources at her disposal to accomplish anything she desired. And by using subsidiaries and affiliated companies, she kept the paper trail from being traceable directly to her or the Joker.”

    Another air mail note later, Denise was back on the phone ordering another propane tank. It took another twenty minutes before it was lowered and Mike had resumed his efforts. NIGHTWING mused, “If we only had the acid blood from one of those aliens that was always chasing Sigourney Weaver, we’d be inside in no time at all.”

    BATMAN gave NIGHTWING a disgusted look, and said, “Let’s focus here, partner. Hey, wait a minute; maybe that isn’t such a bad idea after all. Maybe the Wayne Foundation has been working on some kind of acid that would penetrate this steel faster than a torch. Have we got any more paper?”

    Rubbing his arm, NIGHTWING replied, “I don’t know, but if this keeps up, were going to need a relief pitcher, my arm’s starting to get a little sore.”

    One more note and forty-five minutes later, the final few inches of steel were penetrated, and Mike, along with the rest of the commandos, raised his arm in celebration and cheered lustily. The impenetrable fortress had finally been defeated. And there was still an hour left before the Air Force was due to step in. BATMAN and NIGHTWING watched with a certain amount of trepidation as Mike triumphantly brought his boot down, hard, on the metal and it broke free, falling roughly three inches, onto the top of another plate of steel, which lay beneath.

    “I can’t believe it,” NIGHTWING moaned.

    “I can,” BATMAN responded. “At least this time there wasn’t an explosion.”


      The clank of metal falling against metal was heard coming from directly above the broadcast studio, causing everyone to look in that direction and then at each other. “We still have one hour before air time,” Harley stated. I wonder if they’ll make it in before we can do the show?”

    The JOKER waved his hand, dismissing the fears of his disciples, “Fear not, ye of little faith. Pay no heed to the futile efforts of the evil surrounding us. God is with you, and with me, all things are possible.”

    “Oh, please,” Carl complained.

    “I heard that, Carl,” THE JOKER turned and stared him in the face. “You have so much potential. Don’t throw it all away, my boy. I believe education and training can overcome genetics. You don’t have to turn against me and force me to kill you, just because your father did. You don’t have to die like him; in fact you don’t have to die at all. We’ve come this far together, and although there have been a few bumps in the road, I can assure you, the road from here on out is a lot smoother. Now, if you’ll all excuse me for just a few minutes, I’m going to change into my robes for the infomercial.” The JOKER entered his private restroom and shut the door behind him.

    Harley looked at Carl, shaking her head, and said, “I thought you were a dead man for sure.”

    Carl glanced down at Marty and then back at Harley, “So did I. But I had to say those things. He has to be reminded of the fact we aren’t immortal.”

    Harley cocked her head to the right and stared Carl in the eyes. “The question is, are we going to become immortal? What do you say, Carl? Are you going to take a dip in the pool? Are you willing to serve as the High Priest to our God, for all eternity?”

    Carl looked down to avoid her gaze, and said, “I was confident, at one time, that I was going to do it, in fact I was looking forward to it, but I’m not so positive now.”

    “Why not?”

      Carl turned away and shook his head. “You’ve seen him. He’s too quick to pull that trigger.” He glanced down at Marty again. “That was wrong. I can’t support that kind of shit. What do you think?”

    “I think I’m going to serve as his High Priestess. I think I’m going to live forever. And I think, if I were you, I’d rededicate myself to the will of the almighty. The alternative is,” she turned and glanced down at the dead getaway driver, “death, Carl, the alternative is death. Now if you want us to be saying, yeah, Carl sure was brave, too bad he’s dead, then you just keep up your independent thinking, because I don’t think the JOKER will put up with it much longer.” 

    Carl had turned his back to Harley with his hands on his hips. He didn’t like what he was hearing, but he knew she was right. He turned around and said, “Harley, you know the police or the F. B. I., or C. I. A., or the National Guard, or somebody is going to break in sooner or later, and no matter how many we kill, they are still going to get us. If they don’t kill us, or if they can’t kill us, they will at least arrest us and throw away the key.”

    “Remember, we’re offering the world a chance at immortality, Carl. That’s the big bargaining chip in the poker game the boss is playing. All we have to do is make sure the world knows what we have to offer. Then, when we are arrested, we simply withhold the formula until they let us go with the right to market it. If they break in, we have several lethal chemicals that will be released into the pool so they won’t be able to recreate the right formula. The same thing will happen at Axis with just a phone call; 555-5678, and they’ll never know what the right formula was. That phone call changes the computerized mix and deletes the old formula from the hard drive. Only two people have committed it to memory, me and the JOKER.”

    Immediately, when Vicki heard the metallic clang above her, she felt rejuvenated. There was the proof she had needed. They were coming! She just knew BATMAN was on that roof. “Appleby,” she called out, “Everything is going to be just fine! Lawrence, you better get ready to spend a few hundred years in the pen with your boss!”

    Lawrence didn’t seem too worried, as he simply shifted his position on the floor and said, “I wouldn’t get my hopes up too high if I were you, Ms. Vale.”

    For the next thirty minutes Lawrence was subjected to Vicki’s ideas of what the immediate future held for each of them. She would be married to a wonderful man, who was rich and successful and loved her more than anything else in the world. She would have one or two children. She would live high on a hill overlooking a beautiful lake and would have delightful picnics in the warm sun, while he would be breaking rocks at a federal penitentiary alongside his boss. After listening to her incessant rambling for as long as he could, Lawrence told her prison could not possibly be as much torture as listening to her ramble on, and if he were still mortal she would have put him to sleep or possibly killed him with her nonsense, for sure.

    At eleven thirty, the door to the studio swung open and there, dressed in a royal purple and gold robe, stood the self proclaimed, soon to be savior of mankind, accompanied by his High Priestess, Harley Quinn, wearing a dramatically low cut, white dress, accented by a stunning gold, ruby encrusted necklace.   

    Vicki looked down at the floor as she began to lose hope, believing Carl had been shot and that she no longer had anyone she could turn to for help. She told herself that Carl had never really told her he would help her, so she hadn’t really lost anything, but he had been the closest thing she had to a potential ally. Cody Turner was the next one through the door. The short guy, with the spiky punk blonde hair was quite a contrast, in his khaki shorts and tan T-shirt, to the elegance that Harley and the JOKER portrayed.

      Stepping through the door, there he was, he was alive! It was Carl, dressed in some kind of white Roman Senatorial looking toga, with a garland of leaves around his head and sandals on his feet. It looked as if a statue of Caesar had come to life.

    Carl and Cody went behind the plexi-glass to the audio-video control console, while the JOKER and Harley walked over to where Appleby lay, still tied securely to the white cross. Lawrence stood up and greeted his boss. “Gee, you sure look good, boss. You too, Harley. Want me to go ahead and get the cross standing up straight?”

    “In just a minute, Lawrence,” the JOKER replied, “First I want to visit with the good agent for a moment.” He looked down into the face of Appleby, patted him on the chest lightly and said, “I know your nervous about this. I know you didn’t exactly volunteer to do this on worldwide TV, but take heart agent Appleby, we aren’t going to kill you. You will feel as if you are drowning. There will be a short period, say thirty seconds of panic, as your lungs fill with the Holy Waters instead of the oxygen they are accustomed to, then you will lose consciousness momentarily. The next thing you know you will reawaken, underwater, still secured to the cross. Your eyes will begin to see again and you will feel a tickle in your lungs, which will increase to the point that it will cause you to want to cough, the coughing will cause you to choke and gag, while the tickle flows throughout your body like tiny ants in your bloodstream. It can be quite disconcerting, especially when it reaches your brain, but it will begin to subside after about two minutes. Strength will begin to flow back into your limbs as the tickling subsides and your thoughts will once again become clear. You will remember who you are and what is happening.  Now, we will keep you under for approximately three minutes, so that the viewers will not see the boring panic, choking and gagging routine that you will go through. We want to present an altogether pleasant experience that would seem to be no more uncomfortable than perhaps a root canal, or some other kind of dental surgery. And, although I know you really aren’t looking forward to this, and
probably don’t want to cooperate at all, I would like to offer you a little, shall we say, incentive. Harley, tell agent Appleby what he can win.”

    Harley approached Appleby from the other side of the cross, and said, “If you could manage to do just one small thing for us, we will deposit two million dollars in a Swiss bank account for you. That should help you adjust to the shock of joining, what we call the ‘new breed’ of mankind.”

    “What do you want me to do?” Appleby asked. “I don’t intend to help you in any way, but I am curious as to what you would have me do.”

    “Keep quiet and smile,” Harley replied, “that’s all,” smoothing Appleby’s hair back.

“Just keep quiet and smile.”

    The JOKER leaned over Appleby and said, “I bet the F.B.I. never made that good of an offer to you. Theirs is usually more like keep quiet and die. Follow orders, do your duty and don’t ask questions. It’s all about honor and serving your country, right? And, in the end, what do you get to show for it? Tell him what he can win, Harley.”

    “A twenty-one gun salute and a neatly folded flag at your funeral; how nice for the surviving members of your family.” Harley patted Appleby’s chest and walked around the top of the cross, to the side where the JOKER stood.

    “And what if I don’t keep quiet?” Appleby asked, “What can you do?” You won’t be able to kill me!”

    “No,” the JOKER replied, his smile faded and was replaced by a scowl as he stared coldly into Appleby’s eyes, “we couldn’t harm you, but we could harm your family. Your mother, father, sister and her husband and three children all live within 200 miles of Gotham City. Agent Appleby, I’m sure you have figured out that we didn’t just start planning this whole thing a week ago. We have a network of friends who would be only to glad to accept the two million we would have paid you. Here’s how it works. We pay them and then they pay a visit to your loved ones. You might think there’s no way we could do that and get away with it. Well, we won’t need to get away with it, agent Appleby. We don’t care if they take us to jail. They can’t execute us and the public will demand the formula for immortality that only Harley and I know.”

    Harley spoke up again, and said, “Now you might think the world would refuse to do business with people like us, especially if we’re caught having ordered your family’s deaths. But think again, Appleby. The world won’t care what we’ve done, they will let us walk for any crime we commit as long as we can offer them immortality.”

    The Joker nodded to Lawrence, who walked over to a green, steel, floor to ceiling roof support post. Attached to the painted beam, about four feet off the ground was a shiny metallic box, housing large red and green buttons that controlled the hydraulic engine that lifted or lowered the cross. A two way toggle switch, located just above the box, determined whether the cross would move forward, towards the Holy Waters, or back away from them. Lawrence flipped the toggle switch to the forward position and then punched the green button for the hydraulic engine. Humming and vibrating slightly, the white cross began to rise smoothly from the rim of the vat on which it had been resting. Appleby turned his head to the right and left, nervously viewing the progress as his weight began to shift to the small platform under his feet.

    When the cross reached a fully upright position, Lawrence punched the red, stop button and smiled with satisfaction as the cross stopped moving. “That thing sure is working good now,” Lawrence said, “just a couple of days ago it wouldn’t stop. It just kept going forward and would collapse into the vat, but me and Carl fixed it.”

    “That’s very reassuring,” Appleby replied, as Vicki snapped a picture.

    Lawrence walked up to the edge of the vat, looked up at Appleby and said, “The platform was my idea, too. I figured it would be more comfortable with the cross upright, than hanging by the cords.

    “Well then, I guess I should thank you,” Appleby said. “Do I get a last cigarette?”

    Lawrence scratched his head and replied, “The boss smokes cigars, want me to see if he’ll let you have one?”

    “Not really,” Appleby answered, “I don’t smoke, but I thought, what the heck, it can’t kill me now.”

    Lawrence laughed, and said, “Hey, you know what else you’re gonn’a like?”

    Looking down from his perch on the cross, Appleby was mildly curious, “No, what?”

    “You’re gonn’a be a love machine!” Lawrence giggled, an embarrassed, silly
sounding, laugh. He would have blushed, if his new, molecular, composition allowed such a thing. He continued, sounding excited about his sexual revelations, “The boss told me, I won’t have to take a nap to recharge my batteries! That’s pretty neat, huh? And green and white are going to be the sexiest colors in the world! So you and me are gonna be real ladies men, but,” he hung his head, not sure of what Appleby’s reaction might be, “you won’t be able to have any babies.”

    Vicki walked over to the video console, where Harley and the Joker were going over some last minute details with Cody and Carl. “Smile,” she said, and pushed the button which froze another moment in history. Above her, she heard a hissing sound, coming from the roof, directly above the vat. “What’s that?” Vicki asked.

    “What’s what?” Harley asked.

    “That noise, coming from over the vat.”

    “I didn’t hear anything,” Harley said.

    Above, on the roof, Mike continued his attempts to cut through the second layer of Steel. “How much longer?” Nightwing asked, as sparks flew like a giant, fourth of July sparkler.

    Mike flipped his welding mask up and looked at Nightwing in a way that
indicated he didn’t appreciate the question. “You just asked me that five minutes ago. I told you twenty five minutes then, so I’m guessing it will be about twenty minutes from now. It could be more, however, if I keep getting interrupted.”

    Nightwing looked at his watch. It was eleven fifty five. He turned to Batman who stood near a corner of the roof and asked, “Does the Air Force know we’re almost in?”

    At Gotham Memorial, Barbara held the hand of her husband and watched, along with Andre and Richards, the channel six coverage of the events unfolding at the old amusement park. Barbara had been moved from the trauma intensive care unit to a lower priority floor, due to the large number of badly injured national guard troops being admitted. On the screen a channel six helicopter was being maneuvered to a position roughly fifty, to seventy five feet above the roof, allowing the cameraman inside to get a good view of the two crime fighters and the commandos, while staying just out of reach of the electronic disrupters effects.

    The cameraman zoomed in on Batman, as a voice boomed from the helicopter, “Batman, this is Chuck Martin with channel six public affairs. How much longer before you can get through the roof?” BATMAN flashed two handfuls of fingers on both hands, indicating twenty minutes.

    “Twenty minutes?” the voice from the copter asked.

    Batman, Nightwing and most of the commandos looked up and nodded, yes.

    “Why is it taking so long?” the voice boomed again. Batman thought it was a stupid question, and made no attempt to answer. He didn’t know how to make them understand via sign language that there were two layers of two, or more, inch thick steel. Just because the first layer had been two inches thick, didn’t mean this one would be the same.

    Mike flipped his mask up and said “Let’s hook up that last tank of propane. This piece of steel is thicker than the last one, for sure. In case you guys were wondering, that’s why it’s taking longer,” he looked directly at NIGHTWING when he said that. “But we’re almost in, so everybody be ready to go.”

    In the corner of the roof, where the explosion had occurred earlier, a panel suddenly slid open and a satellite dish popped up. It rotated, automatically tilted into position towards some pre-designated point in the sky, and then began to shake for about ten seconds before collapsing back into the hole from which it had emerged. Green and blue sparks shot out from where the wiring disappeared through the roof.

    Nightwing turned, looked at Batman and shrugged. “Well, no HBO for them tonight.”