Chapter Text
Was there ever any question on how much I could take?
You kept feeding me your bullshit hoping I would break
Is there anybody out there? Is there anyone who cares?
Is there anybody listening? Will the hear my final prayer?
Step away from the ledge, I’m coming down.
(Coming Down – Five Finger Death Punch)
…02:35pm…
CRACK!
The loose molar finally gave beneath the brass knuckles that struck Dick viciously across the jaw again. He’d lost count not long after they’d reached the double digits, but he’d been hoping the tooth would have lasted a little bit longer. He already had far too many false teeth for a man his age.
A hand threaded through his blood matted hair and yanked his head back straight from where it had slumped to the side against his shoulder. His mouth filled with blood, yet Dick kept his lips pressed together as he pushed at the broken tooth with his tongue. Eyes glaring militantly at the man standing right in front of him, Dick spat both blood and tooth into his face.
Leaning a few yards away against the platform’s railing, Niko chuckled his amusement as his man sputtered and took a few steps back. “That’s enough for now.”
The gangster pushed off the rail, the sea-soaked wood creaking in warning, and walked over to the old chalkboard the map from Dick’s office was tacked to. On a table nearby, another of Niko’s thugs was clacking futilely at the keyboard of Dick’s laptop with a couple more trying to make sense of his coded handwritten notes. It may have been more than six years since he’d donned the mask, but years of Batman’s and then Spyral’s teachings had the habit ingrained so deeply it was second nature to encode everything. Half the time he had to remember to not code his grocery list.
There wasn’t a chance in hell they were going to figure it out.
The hand holding his head up released its grip and Dick was grateful for the momentary reprieve from the abuse he’d been subjected to since their arrival. He’d been worried when they’d moved him from the truck onto a boat, but the trip hadn’t lasted long. He had still heard the familiar sounds of Gotham wherever they had put to port.
The dock they’d dragged him onto had been wooden, warped and rickety, and left his bare feet with several splinters that were uncomfortable to walk on. He’d been taken into a passageway of stone that echoed closely around them and smelt of sea water and wet soil. A short elevator ride, the pullies and mechanics creaking menacingly, and he had been taken down a flight of unsteady stairs. He was then forced across a rocky sand covered floor with water that crept up over his ankles. Another flight of stairs, this one going up, and he was manhandled into a chair. Loops of coarse rope around his waist kept him in place.
The hood had been removed, not that it mattered. Wherever they were was underground and, despite the evidence of past occupation, it was obvious it had been a very long time since anyone else had been there. Battery operated lanterns lined the walls but there were still too many deep shadowed areas for Dick to get a clue on where he’d been taken. There was some type of large, brass contraption in the centre of the cavern right next to the raised platform Niko and some of his people had been setting up on. On the ground beneath them, nearly a dozen more armed men working with crates and barrels containing things Dick couldn’t see.
And then the gag had been carelessly removed, tearing layers of skin from his lips, and the interrogation had begun.
“Which factions run the largest sex trade?”
“What is the name of your contact in the DEA?”
“Who’s running the Triads now that Ekin Tzu is dead?”
“What is the Sullivan’s connection to the Falcones?”
“When was the last time you worked with Homeland Security?
“Which Family is suspected of ordering the hit on Sean Riley?”
“How present is the Justice League in Gotham?
“Tell me about the Batman.”
Dick hadn’t said a word and paid for his silence in blood and bruises.
There was not an inch of him that didn’t hurt. His right eye was too swollen to open and the vision in his left was blurred, tinted red by the blood that flowed into it from a cut on his forehead. His nose had been broken early on, blood spilling over his lips and onto his exposed chest that was added to with every subsequent blow to his face. His right cheek was swollen and felt hot, blood seeping from a split to the skin over what was likely a broken zygomatic bone.
The open fabric of his shirt was torn and stained, the blood of a half dozen deep cuts from a serrated blade carved across his chest. It had been done slowly, meticulously, and he had felt every millimetre of the knife across his skin and through the muscle fibres beneath. He’d bit his tongue hard enough it bled while keeping from making a sound through it all. He only screamed when the legs of his slacks had been cut open and they started to flay the skin from his shins with a knotted, multi-tailed whip.
“You’ve impressed me, Detective Grayson.” Niko said genuinely, dragging a second chair to sit across from his captive. “Most men would have given me something by now.”
The quiet that settled between them implied he wanted a response, but Dick refused to give it to him. He closed his good eye and let his chin drop to his chest. He felt the blood trickle from his mouth and down his chin, but at this point it didn’t matter anymore.
“It’s almost like this isn’t your first experience with – what is it you American’s say?” Niko prompted, and suddenly there was a hand on Dick’s knee. No pain, no pressure, just a light rub that made a mockery of a soothing touch. “Ah! Enhanced Interrogation Techniques, that’s it. Polite words to contrast the brutality of the reality.”
It wasn’t the first. He’d had far too many experiences with torture, either for information or just the sick joy of it. And by people who were far better at this than the man in front of him. But Niko didn’t know, could never know, that despite the screams he’d elicited, Dick was far from broken.
The hand crept beneath the tattered fragments of his pants, stretching up his leg and to the inside of his thigh. He swallowed hard with unease when fingers wormed beneath the leg band of his boxer-briefs, choking on the fear that rose with the knowledge, both theoretical and first hand, of what was going to happen next. He’d known it since Niko had first looked at him this morning.
In what he knew would be his last act of defiance, Dick hooked his foot around the leg of Niko’s chair and yanked. The frail wood snapped, and the chair tottered, sending the gangster to the floor. A solid metal tonfa slammed into Dick’s left knee a second later and he just barely managed to bite back his scream when the joint dislocated with agonizing pain. The weapon was reared back for a second blow and Dick braced himself for it.
“Stop.” Niko was still grinning at Dick when one of his men helped him back to his feet. He laughed lightly and brushed at the dirt and bloodied mud that clung to his clothes. “I think I would have liked it had we met in different circumstance, Detective Grayson. You are as intriguing as you are handsome.”
There were so many words Dick would have liked to spit at the man, but he would not give the man the satisfaction. He settled on a second mouthful of blood that splattered across the tips of Niko’s shoes.
Hands on his hips, Niko was smiling at Dick like it was all a game. With another chuckle, Niko looked back to the map then the men working on Dick’s belongings. “How long until the first bomb is defused?” The Japanese rolled off the man’s tongue.
One of the men looked at a tablet in his hand before answering. “An hour at most.”
“It’ll take too long to break him, time we do not have. How unfortunate, it was just getting to the good part.” Sighing in disappointment, Niko motioned to everything around him. “Do what you must, see if you can get anything from him in the half hour, but I want him awake and alive when you put him in the cage. Don’t bother taking anything with you when you’re done, the landscape of Gotham City’s organized crime will be changed one way or the other by tomorrow morning.”
The gangster returned his attention to Dick, stepping into his space and grabbing his chin. The thumb and fingers pried his jaw open and was the only warning he had before Niko’s mouth was covering his. Unable to do more but wrench against his restraints and growl his protests, Dick clenched his eyes shut to the feel of the unwelcome tongue plunging past his bloodied lips.
The violation was over a few seconds later and he pulled his face away from Niko’s bruising fingers the instant they lessened their grip. He turned his head, spitting blood and saliva onto the stained wood beneath him, and glared at Niko as the man took pleasure in wiping Dick’s blood from his lips.
“Perhaps in the next life we’ll meet again, Detective Grayson.” Niko had the gall to suck the blood from his fingers and lascivious grin. “Richard.”
“Kutabare, manko!”1 He rasped, meeting the man’s gaze with a glare, the one Dick had perfected beneath when he wore the cowl, which succeeded in wiping the amusement from Niko’s face.
The Japanese expletives hung in stunned silence for a moment before Niko pulled a pistol from the holster on the nearest man’s hip and pulled the trigger. Dick’s scream echoed in the cavern; his body curling around the pain of the bullet tearing into his abdomen.
“Forget it, he’s not going to give you anything. Get him in place then get back to the ship. He’ll either bleed out or he gets to burn at midnight. Either way, we’re done here.”
…03:27pm…
The woman was glaring furiously as she stalked out the port master’s office. Behind her, two uniformed members of the GCPD were escorting the man toward the patrol car in cuffs. High above them on one of the large cranes of Dixon Docks, Red Hood scowled behind his helmet as he watched Montoya slam her fist against the passenger side window of her unmarked sedan. Shaking out the sting she likely felt, she turned to watch the patrol car head out of the shipyard. A moment later, he was stepping off the crane and letting his grapple slow his descent.
“No news then?” He asked her, the modulation to his helmet turned off as the Detective had been in the know for a few years now.
“Not good news anyway.” She griped, massaging the reddened knuckles of her left hand. “Stupid bastard was paid to look the other way when the truck came through this morning.” Her hand reached into the pocket of her jacket and pulled out an evidence bag that had not been sealed yet. Inside was a USB drive which she offered to Hood. “Lucky for us, he was too stupid to turn off the cameras.”
He accepted the drive and took a device from his belt that would copy the information on it in just a few seconds. “I’ll get this over to Oracle.”
“This was the last lead I had on where they’d taken him.” Montoya’s genuine worry for his brother her partner was plain and raised his estimation of her that much more. “I’d hoped they were keeping him here, maybe in one of the warehouses or even on one of the docked ships, but they’re not. Video shows the truck being dumped off Berth 28. Niko wasn’t there, but his men can be seen just before loading Dick onto an unregistered speedboat less than a half hour after they took him. If I had just followed them–”
“The other hostage and the bombs came first.” He ejected the drive and gave it back to the detective, watching as she dropped it in the bag and sealed it. “Dick wouldn’t have wanted it any other way.”
“I know.” The bag was tucked back into her pocket. “Doesn’t change the fact that now we have no idea where they took him. The boat headed east but cameras lost it seconds after it left dock. That boat could have gone to any of the other ports or marinas in the city, anywhere up or down the coast, one of the dozens of ships moored off the coast. Or they could have taken him out into deeper waters where we’ll never find his body.”
The thought had the lingering remnants of the pit casting a pale green haze over Jason’s vision, only for it to be banished back into the recesses of his mind by shame and guilt.
He’d been hurt, and maybe rightly so, when he found out Dick had lied to him and faked his death. Jason had thought they’d been in a good place back then, had almost been like the brothers they were supposed to be. But then there was the Syndicate, and the lying, and making Jason think Dick had been gone for good. It had made his heart hurt in a way he hadn’t allowed since his mother had died.
In true Jason Todd fashion, he masked his pain and grief with rage and anger. He had punched his older brother, knocked him off his feet, when all he wanted to do was grab him and never let go. Dick had been alive, and it shouldn’t have matter if it was faked for one of Bruce’s self-serving missions. He should have just hugged the man, told him he was glad he wasn’t dead, and gone back to how it had been before the Syndicate took Dick from them.
Except he hadn’t and his pride had kept him from reaching out to the man when Bruce, the asshole, kicked Dick to the curb. And now Jason may lose any chance he had to fix things between them.
Despite the helmet hiding his face, Montoya could read his silence far too accurately. “When was the last time you spoke to him?”
“A year ago, maybe a little more.” He admitted, unable to mask the guilt in his voice. “Was with a mutual friend of ours when he picked up his kid from Dick’s place in Blüdhaven after a mission. We’d been gone about a week, and Dick had helped Lian cook a meal for us. Said he remembered how much it sucked to survive that long on MREs and wanted to give us something homemade to come back to. Except I was an ass and wouldn’t let us stay. Roy was pissed, so was his daughter, but Dick just smiled and told us to take it with us. Like it didn’t kill something inside him that I wouldn’t even be in the same room as him long enough to eat.”
“He likes to take care of his people.” Montoya said with a sad smile, as if that wasn’t something Jason had always known about his big brother. “I’ve been his partner for three months and it seems like Katie and I have spent more time at his place than ours. Mind you, he’s got a view to di–”
The cut off sentiment left the air between them heavy and uncomfortable.
He cleared his throat. “My people got a bead on the guns Niko’s running with.”
“Mercs?” She accepted the change in subject gracefully.
“A crew out of Atlantic City.” Red Hood answered with a nod. “Nearly thirty men. Whatever Niko’s play is, its bigger than what we’re seeing. I’ve got feelers out for their handler, see what else may have been supplied.”
“Oracle to all points,” Barbara’s voice was steady through the comm built into his helmet, but after this many years there was no missing the stress in her words. “GCPD has located the third device at Prinsen Towing & Recovery Service, corner of Dillon Avenue and Rotterdam Street. The bomb specialist on loan from Metropolis PD is on route. Officers on scene are requesting our help evacuating the area.”
“This is Spoiler: I’m a few blocks out. ETA two minutes.”
“Red Robin: I’m still at the 8Bit Club overseeing the Regulators diffusing these bombs. One perimeter bomb left then the hostages. I should be clear in less than an hour.”
“This is Black Canary: I may have a lead on another device; I’ll keep you posted.”
“Batwoman coming up from the Financial District; ETA seven minutes.”
“Signal here: I’m on Tricorner Island, it’ll take me a while to get there.”
“Batman to Signal: Doctor Thompkins contacted me about an unknown device one of her volunteers found on the roof of her clinic on Sheldon Hill Road. You’re closest.”
“Copy that, Batman. Let her know I’m four minutes out.”
Pressing the switch in his glove to activate the mike of his comm, Jason IDed himself more out of habit than necessity. They all knew what each other sounded like. “I’m at Dixon Docks with Montoya. She got the location of the truck that took Dick, but it looks like he’s been taken out of the city by boat. I’m heading for the Belfry with a copy of the security footage for analysis.”
“Ten-four, Red Hood.” Agent A acknowledge after several seconds of aching silence. “Belfry out.”
“They’ve found a third device.” Montoya told him, motioning to her window where he could just make out the crackle of her police radio.
He nodded and tapped the side of his helmet. “I heard, but that’s not my job today.”
“Mine neither.” The detective patted her pocket containing the USB drive. “I’m going to get this over to Major Crimes and a description of the boat to the Harbour Patrol and Coast Guard. Niko didn’t seem like the kind of guy who’d want to miss the production he’s got going on here. My gut’s telling me they’re still in Gotham.”
“Douche like that?” He pressed the sequence that reinstated the modulator of his helmet. “Yeah, he’s still here and he’ll have Dick close. I’ll get the information to Oracle and Agent A, see if one of our cameras can find where they put to shore again. Let us know if you get anything and I’ll do the same.”
“Hood.” She stopped him with a hand on his arm before he could even aim his grapple. “As long as he’s breathing it’ll never be too late. Not with him.”
“Let’s just hope he’s still breathing when we find him then.”
…04:52pm…
The clouds had moved in not long ago, casting the large clockfaces of the Belfry in foreboding shadows. Between his hands, Tim stared down at the mug of tea Alfred had sat in front of him before the older man descended the stairs back to the main area of the Belfry. As much as he enjoyed the man’s calming presence, he was grateful for the space.
The girl hadn’t made it.
As soon as the last perimeter bomb had been disarmed, Tim had headed straight for her. Except, once he had reached her side, he could see they were too late. Her chest wasn’t moving, eyes closed, her skin pale and lips blue. He hadn’t needed to feel for the pulse at her neck to know she was gone. Techyn, the gang’s hacker that had helped Red Robin through it all, had been inconsolable and had vanished into the Cauldron with his crew as soon as the last bomb had been disarmed.
Regardless of what happened with the rest of the bombs, a war was coming to Gotham.
“Cassandra’s flight will land at Haneda Airport in about an hour.” Barbara was talking to Bruce and Stephanie down near the computers. “Her informant in Tokyo got back to us, though, and confirmed there’s a major shakeup in the American arms of the Yakuza.”
Feeling numb, Tim tried to focus on the words that were being carried up into the upper area, but he found himself watching Alfred as the butler ignored the trio and returned to the small kitchenette in the corner. He set about preparing coffee, tea, and a tray of light snacks for anyone who might answer Batman’s call to regroup. Tim had been in the Belfry, needing a few minutes to collect himself after he turned the scene at the 8Bit club over to the FSD officers. Stephanie had shown up a few minutes after Bruce, but it didn’t appear as if anyone else was coming. Had he not already been there, he likely wouldn’t have either.
“The ‘Niko’ we’re dealing with, his real name is Yamato Itō, a lieutenant out of Sapporo.” Oracle pulled up a mugshot from Japan’s National Police Agency. “The BPD’s arrests and seizures of the gang in the city was a death sentence for the previous ‘Niko’. Apparently, Itō has promised to retrieve everything, excluding the people arrested, tenfold. If he does, he’ll become the new head of the East Coast Yakuza, not just New Jersey.”
“Since early this morning, his people have been masking themselves as members of other gangs.” Batman picked up for the woman. “He’s assaulted crews and strongholds across the city, killing everyone and taking the drugs, weapons, and cash for himself. If he’s aiming for control of the entire eastern seaboard, he likely has no real interest in Gotham. We’re just the location chosen for his culling.”
“Then why kidnap Dick?” Spoiler asked, her confusion and weariness evident in her tone. “If it’s not about revenge for the bust in Blüdhaven…?”
“Information.” Batman explained and the man motioned to a screen that was running a decryption program and the desk beside it covered in papers. “Everything in Dick’s private office had been taken. But this is all the backup copies he kept that Batwoman and I found in the hidden compartment in his closet.”
“I’m trying to decode everything,” Oracle admitted, and Tim could hear her frustration. “But Dick’s had more than six years to improve on the last encryption I knew he used to use. This one is far more sophisticated that I was expecting.”
Six years.
It felt like hardly any time had passed since Nightwing had been taken by the Syndicate and Tim had been forced to watch his brother unmasked to the world. Six years since the failed attempt to rescue Dick from the fallen Watchtower. Six years since he thought the man dead, five years since he found out the truth.
Dick was alive and had hidden from them to run off and play spy.
That uncharitable thought was accompanied by a swell of guilt that was getting harder to push back. Tim was a creature of logic and facts. The facts were, as much as they may hurt, Dick had a damn good reason for going undercover as deep as he had. By faking his death, no one asked questions. No one was looking for him. And the organization he had infiltrated was a credible threat to every masked hero across the globe. It was only because of his brother’s intervention that Red Robin’s civilian ID, and the ID of everyone he cared for, wasn’t auctioned off to the governments of the world. How many meta-human lives had been saved when Dick shut Spyral down?
So, why was Tim so angry? Dick wasn’t the first of them to fake his death and disappear. Bruce had done it. Steph had done it. Half the Justice League had done it. Jason had honestly been dead, so not a good example, and yet Tim couldn’t help but compare the way in which both his older brothers had returned. Red Hood came back wanting and attempting to kill them all and Tim’s body would forever carry the man’s scars. Dick had just wanted to come home.
Tim wanted him to come home.
But that was emotions.
Red Robin had to deal with logic and facts.
Leaving the untouched mug on the table he had been sitting at, Red Robin made his way down the stairs to the others.
“In Blüdhaven Dick worked with both BPD Detectives and every State agency from the DEA to Homeland Security for three years before making the move back to Gotham.” Oracle stated. “And now, a Detective in his own right, he’s going to know a lot about the inner workings of organized crime in the state. The information in those files and on those drives is going to be dangerous in the wrong hands.”
“And why Niko’s put on the big production.” Red Robin said levelly. “Batman called it a distraction and he’s right. But right now, the bombs, the hostages, the countdown, that’s the priority. There are still two devices, and we have no idea where they are.”
“Canary and Batwoman are working with Seargent Davies from the anti-terrorism unit to narrow down the location of the fifth bomb.” Batman told them. “They think they may have it somewhere on Barr Street near the Elliot Centre.”
“And the last one?” Red Robin asked. “There is only seven hours until midnight and if its anything like the rest of the scenes it’s going to be at least two hours to disarm everything. Dick can wait. We need to reassign Red Hood. His connections would be better spent looking for the last bomb rather than one man.”
There was a sudden, loud clatter from the kitchenette as the knife Alfred had been utilizing was slammed down hard on the cutting board. Tim looked at the man and flinched at the expression of disappointed fury that was directed at him.
“That ‘one man’ is your brother, Master Timothy.” Alfred snapped. “Though I can see how you may have forgotten that given how you, how all of you, have been treating him these past years. But whether you acknowledge it or not, a member of your family is being held at the mercy of a man with obvious ill intent toward him. Would you truly condemn Master Richard to further trauma and harm after everything he has already experienced?”
“Dick has been through this before, Alfred.” Barbara said gently. “He can handle himself for a few hours while we look for the other hostages.”
“I shall remember that the next time you are shot, Miss Gordon.” Alfred snarked primly, turning his stare to the older woman who had recoiled at the callousness of the words. With a shake of his head, the oldest of them looked back at Batman. “The clock is running out. It is time to call for aid.”
“There’s still time.” Batman said flatly.
“If not now, then when!?” He bellowed, the tray he’d been meticulously filling swept off the counter and to the floor. “When, Batman? When will you finally admit that you are simply a man and cannot do everything? When there’s four hours left? Two? When the seconds tick away on the innocent lives you are gambling with for the sake of your foolish pride? When Richard’s life is once again snuffed out like the candle you had him naively swear his servitude to you and your damnable crusade? When? WHEN! When will you finally put aside your goddamned ego and see what it is about to cost you?”
Tim knew his eyes were just as wide as Barbara’s and Stephanie’s. He had never heard the typically unflappable man shout at any of them like that before. But it was the man’s words that were echoing worryingly inside his head.
Richard’s life.
Snuffed out.
Again.
“You have surrounded yourself with a veritable army of men and women with the powers of gods and yet you insist on flailing impotently against an enemy that seeks to take one of your children from you. How many times, Batman, must that boy scream before you hear him?”
Bruce balked beneath the cowl. “It’s not that simple, Alfred.”
“It has never been simpler, Sir.” He stalked around the table toward the computers, only for his path to be blocked by the wall that was the Batman armour. “Step aside, Mister Wayne.”
“Alfred, I know your worried, I am too.” The man tried to placate him. “And we’ll find him, we’ll bring him ho–”
“MISTER KENT, IF YOU WILL PLEASE!” Alfred’s shout echoed through the Belfry, and only a second later the heavy ‘clang’ signalled the door to the upper stairs closing. Turning to the footsteps descending the same stairs Tim had only come down moments prior, the unhappy scowl of the Man of Steel and his clone was more than enough to silence any protests the Bats may have had.
“Kon?” Tim exclaimed in surprise at seeing his best friend and teammate. “What are–”
“We heard every word.” Kon-El interrupted him with a scowl. “‘Dick can wait’? That’s cold, RR, even for you.”
“Wonder Woman is on her way to meet with Deputy-Chief Sawyer.” The head of the Justice League informed them, saving Tim the indignity of trying to justify himself. “I’m taking point with the League members that are spreading out through the city to assist in the search for the final devices and hostages.” The steely glare the man levelled at Batman was a grim reminder why villains feared the man. “All of the hostages. Agent A, Oracle, get us caught up.”
Stunned by what just happened, not that Tim could blame her, Barbara motioned Superman over to the computers and started going over everything with him as quickly and thoroughly as possible. Tim could only stand there, watching them, until he heard Alfred hissing under his breath at Batman.
“It may be your name on the adoption papers, but I have never needed legalities to call him my son. And I will not allow him to die because of you again.”
…06:23pm…
Standing on the peak of a water tower across from the Gotham City Cabaret, Robin’s lips were pursed into a thin line as he watched Signal on the opposite roof. The device the older teen had found was similar to the ones he had traced in nearly every borough of the city with one notable difference.
“There’s a transmitter,” Duke muttered over the private line he had opened when Robin had joined him a little over an hour ago. “But it’s just not transmitting. And of the receivers, only two are actively receiving anything. I can try to trace them back to point of origin, but they both head back into the city.”
“Likely the two bombs the others are trying to disarm.” Robin glanced at the figure that floated down and settled on the tower beside him. “Anything?”
Jonathan Kent crossed his arms over the symbol on his chest and shook his head, a slight blush colouring his cheeks. “Nothing. I scanned the entire building and through both subbasements. The building has a major rat infestation, but there’s no bomb or hostages.”
“Damn it.” Damian muttered and scowled while looking across the rooftops in the immediate area. From his vantage point he could see one hundred and eighty degrees of the coastline and somewhere along there was where they had hoped the device would lead them to. Arkham to the north in the Upper Bay, Tricorner Island to the south on the other side of Sprang River, and between them hundreds of locations where the last bomb could be hidden.
“Signal to Red Hood.” Duke kept the line with Damian open even as he reached out to the older man. “Did your contacts find the supplier for these devices? If I had an idea of how many I was looking for I might be able to narrow it down more.”
“There might have been something on the manifest they found,” Hood answered immediately. “There was a hell of a lot more explosives than what we’ve seen so far on that list, so the Arrows and Speedsters are focussing on those. I think Cyborg and Oracle were narrowing in on the smugglers that brought it all in.”
“Copy that, thanks.”
Damian tapped the comm piece in his ear. “Robin to Red Hood. Has there been any progress on locating Richard?”
“One of Dick’s CIs contacted Montoya.” His older brother told him. “We’ve got a lead on the ship we think Niko’s got Dick on. It’s nothing concrete, but more than what we had a couple hours ago.”
“Please keep me informed of any developments.”
“You and everyone else. Hood out.”
The heavy quiet that blanketed him and his best friend lasted for several seconds before Jon broke it. “Are you all right, Robin?”
Watching the yellow shape of the newest Bat, Damian found he couldn’t answer that question as he normally would. “I haven’t spoken to him in almost eleven weeks. It has been much longer since I last saw him. I cannot help but feel that I made the wrong choice when I acquiesced to Richard’s request to limit my contact with him.”
“Dad said the same thing to Mom when we heard what happened.” Jon said with a disquieted frown on his lips. “They were so mad while we were watching the news. This is a League level event, but Batman’s agreement with the JLA keeps us out of Gotham unless we’re requested directly. Why weren’t we called in sooner?”
All too familiar anger bubbled up inside him at the mention of his father. “Likely the same reason I was instructed to remain on the other side of the country. Reasons that are flimsy and have no true value other than to appease Batman’s foolish pride. And now, even with the involvement of heroes from across the globe, we are racing against a clock that could devastate Gotham.”
And if they were to lose Richard again, for real this time, it would shatter what remained of his family.
“Watchtower to all points,” Cyborg’s steady voice cut into their comm line. “Bomb specialists have successfully disarmed all explosives in the West End location, reporting no casualties.”
“Signal to Watchtower: the transmitter of the device in front of me gave off a zero-point-six second burst when the third receiver deactivated. It was too quick for me to pinpoint a direction. Did you happen to catch it?”
“Copy that Signal.” Cyborg paused for a few seconds before continuing. “Got it. Eight degrees north of east from your current coordinates.”
“Ten-four, I’ll let you know what we find. Signal out.”
Damian’s eyes drifted past Signal who was now standing on the opposite roof, and to the largest landmark he could see. “Cape Carmine Lighthouse.”
Jonathan sped through the sky to the towering structure as Signal and Robin fired their grapples and leapt from the roofs. “There’s another one of those devices up here.” The half-Kryptonian informed them over the comm link before he was suddenly plucking them both out of the air. He carried them to the gallery outside the uppermost room that housed the massive light.
“This one’s different.” Signal muttered to them as he knelt next to the brick-size device. He held his wrist computer to it, scanning the components within. “I’m reading only one receiver and one transmitter, both currently inactive. Signal to Cyborg: device confirmed. I’m uploading the initial scans to the Watchtower servers. Device is located one hundred twelve feet above sea level atop Carmine Lighthouse approximately two hundred fifty yards from previous coordinates.”
“I got them, Signal. Give me a minute…”
While the older bat worked, Damian walked around the small balcony that encircled the structure. The door from the lightroom had been broken open, only a thin zip-tie keeping it from swinging in the wind. He snapped it easily and stepped inside. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Jon drifting out over the water, his eyes likely scanning the immediate area.
“I’m not seeing anything above ground, Robin.” Superboy reported in Damian’s earpiece as he floated northward around the outcropping the lighthouse resided on. “But there are minerals in the rocks and soil that make it hard to see anything deeper than a few feet.”
“Superman mentioned the same to Batman early in their careers.” Robin told him. “Some areas of the city are worse than others.”
“Cyborg to Signal: From what I can tell, it looks like when the last bomb is disarmed it sends a signal through the relays that deactivates one of the receivers on the previous device. That deactivation then sends a transmission burst to this one. In turn, it sends another transmission to… somewhere. But it’s close, within a hundred yards.”
Robin stepped back outside and looked out over the ocean, Signal rising to his feet and standing next to him. “There is nothing here.”
“But there should be.” Duke grumbled.
In a sudden blur of red and blue, Superboy flew to the southern side of the small peninsula. “Got the remains of a set of stairs on this side of the rockface.”
Both bats anchored their grapple lines and descended quickly, running as soon as their feet were on the ground. Wordlessly they followed the direction Superboy hovered, running down a short flight of stairs and behind a workman’s shed.
Jonathan was waiting for them at the cliff’s edge. “Half of it’s missing, but there’s a dock and a tunnel leading beneath the lighthouse.”
“Lighthouses used to use liquid fuel and flames,” Duke told them as he leapt effortlessly over a gap in the stairs, Damian following a second later. “The fuel tanks were typically kept in a separate building away from the lighthouse itself in case of an explosion.”
“Or buried.” Damian shifted his balance when he made the next jump onto the precariously held together dock, rotten slats of wood shaking beneath his added weight. He stepped off quickly to the stone of the tunnel, stopping as he stared down the short passage. At the end, a heavy metal rolling door stopped them from continuing.
“Door’s old.” Jon walked the few feet forward, Damian and Duke right behind him. He pointed at the mechanism at the top. “But that lock’s brand new.”
“Can you see what’s on the other side?” Robin flexed his hands into fists at his side anxiously.
His friend shook his head. “The door’s easy enough, and there’s definitely something past a wooden structure, but I can’t get a clear look. Maybe if I was inside.”
Duke stepped forward and scanned the area around the door before moving back again. “I’m not reading anything on the door.”
“Bring it down, Superboy.” Robin commanded needlessly. Fingers tore through the metal as if it were paper, pulling and widening the hole Jon made until they could pass through.
Signal grabbed onto Damian’s shoulder before he could move to walk inside. “Wait!”
Except it was too late, and Superboy had drifted through the nearly imperceptible web of light that had covered the entire height and width of the tunnel on the other side of the door. It vanished the instant his body disrupted the web and a single red bead of light started flashing a few feet into the cavern.
“Don’t move!” Robin snapped at the half-Kryptonian who froze in place.
The area inside suddenly brightened as Signal’s meta-ability strengthened the light.
Robin almost wished he hadn’t.
Dozens of crates of explosives, stacks of barrels, a yellow tinge to the window into the tank in the centre of the cavern, the same terrifying liquid dripping nerve-rackingly from the rusted seams, wires criss-crossing the expanse and connecting them all to the mine that lay now activated in front of the three boys.
Tapping at the receiver in his ear to open all active comms, Duke spoke with a noticeable tremor in his voice. “Signal to all points: We have located the final bomb. In the old fuel chamber beneath the Cape Carmine Lighthouse. It’s- it’s a hell of a lot bigger than the others.”
“Superman to Signal: what about hostages?”
“One.” Robin answered, the word practically choking him as he swallowed. His eyes locked on the sole figure slumped and unmoving inside a cage carved into the far wall of stone. “It’s Detective Grayson.”