Madeleine led him out of the dressing room toward the concert floor. Bruce analyzed their surroundings. There were at least a dozen Nightwalkers up along the balconies, each one dressed in full military-grade gear, their backs turned to the floor below.
How many had taken the hall? How were the police doing, working on breaking in? Bruce scanned the space, searching for a way out. His eyes settled on the door leading back into the stairwell. He hadn’t taken the outer stairwell all the way up—if he had, it would have led to the concert hall’s flat roof.
He turned his eyes away as they continued on, but his thoughts lingered on it, ideas spinning rapidly.
Madeleine led them up a flight of curving stairs, where they stepped through a balcony door. The light here was much dimmer, a warm hue that Bruce associated with the moments when the orchestra was still tuning. Crowds of people were seated in the rows, their backs turned to Bruce and Madeleine, almost as if they were show attendees—except each one of them sat tensely, unspeaking, their faces turning occasionally to look at the armed Nightwalkers standing at each section.
Bruce’s gaze scanned the hostages, searching for Dianne and Lucius. Some were crying. Others looked deathly pale, on the verge of fainting. Still others had bound hands, perhaps from struggling. He recognized the deputy mayor, then several of the city council members who had attended his last charity banquet.
And Richard. Bruce saw him guarding one aisle. It must be surreal for him, standing here overlooking all the black drapes in mourning for his father, Bruce thought, while knowing he was responsible for what had happened. With every movement that anyone near him made, he startled like a rabbit.
Madeleine kept her face turned stiffly away from the hostages, as if it helped her continue by not looking at them. Bruce kept searching the faces, a knot in his throat.
There. Lucius was seated in the front row, stone-faced, staring out toward where the balcony overlooked the main stage.
And Dianne.
She was seated at the edge of the very last row, right next to where a Nightwalker stood guard. It took every inch of Bruce’s discipline to not rush over to her right now. Beyond her was the aisle leading out to the exit door. She looked scared, but alert. Most of all, unharmed. If they had to move quickly, he knew she would be able to do it.
His attention returned to Madeleine. She seemed more shaken than usual, lost in thought.
Madeleine finally led them to where a network of laptops had been set up on the floor near the top of the carpeted aisle. She motioned for Bruce to sit in front of them, and then joined him. The Nightwalkers who had escorted them moved forward, setting up guard in front of them.
The laptops displayed long chains of numbers and letters against a black screen. Bruce picked out a couple of strings of code—mentions of the Ada drones. This was the makeshift command center Madeleine had set up to take over the robots. Bruce looked at the other computers. On the farthest screen from him was a window showing one of his accounts. The second screen showed another. Both were accounts that had recently been installed with Lucius’s new security.
This is my chance.
“Let’s make this quick, Bruce,” Madeleine said stiffly as she began typing. “Give me access to your remaining accounts, and we can be done.”
“And then what?” Bruce countered. “Your brother puts a bullet in my head? Makes me an example?”
Madeleine remained silent, her delicate face a mixture of pain and determination. “Just do it, Bruce,” she whispered.
If your accounts are opened with the wrong code, Lucius had told him, it’ll send our security network an alert and remotely disable the offending computer in an instant.
These laptops were also what Madeleine was using to control the Ada drones, and based on the way Cameron had talked about the drones, they were the only things keeping the Nightwalkers in charge of this situation. If he could disable the laptops, it might disable Madeleine’s control over the drones.
“Let the hostages go,” Bruce said to her, holding her gaze with his own. “The people in here aren’t all corrupt officials. They’re decent people. Some of them are my friends. If you let them go, I’ll open my accounts.”
Madeleine stared back at him. Then, finally, she nodded. “You have my word. Hand over your accounts, and I will send some of the hostages out of here.”
Some was better than none; Bruce would have to think of something fast to free the rest. In the meantime, he said, “Make sure Lucius Fox and Dianne Garcia are among them.” He hesitated. “And Richard Price, the mayor’s son.”
“Done.”
Taking a deep breath, Bruce steadied himself, and looked back at the screens displaying his accounts. This was the money that his parents had left him, that they had worked their whole lives for and put carefully away for their son.
Bruce was about to make sure the Nightwalkers regretted ever targeting it.
He leaned over and typed the code out for Madeleine on each one.
It looked as though he’d logged in.
Madeleine didn’t seem pleased or satisfied. Instead, she seemed disappointed. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.
“Me too.”
Even as they stared at each other, he knew the security system was kicking into gear, and that soon the commandeered drones would hopefully reset back to their original purpose. He had little time to get the hostages out of here.
“Time to keep your end of the bargain,” he said to her in a bitter tone.
Madeleine looked away from him and rose. “Cameron,” she called to her brother. “We’re releasing some of the hostages.”
Cameron gave her an incredulous look. “Why the hell would I want to do that?”
“I want to. We’ve made a deal with Bruce Wayne over here. He’s given us access to the rest of his funds. We’re in.” She looked down at the laptops for an instant. “So we’re releasing some of the hostages. It’ll make the police linger back a bit longer, if there are civilians coming out.”
Cameron shot Bruce an ugly look. For an instant, Bruce thought he might not acquiesce to his sister’s demands—but then he let out a loud sigh and waved his gun at several of the Nightwalkers, including Richard. Madeleine called out for Dianne, Lucius, and a dozen other hostages to step forward. Lucius went with a grim face, and Dianne moved warily, her eyes flickering in Bruce’s direction. As they did, two guards shoved them forward, forcing them to stumble, and ushered them out through the balcony doors. Richard tried to imitate the other Nightwalkers’ actions, but his expression was uncertain and vulnerable.
Bruce watched them go. Faster, he thought, looking back at Madeleine’s screens.
Cameron wandered back toward them. He still had his gun slung across his shoulder, and he paused to look Bruce up and down. At a glance from Madeleine, Bruce stood up, too.
“Apparently this one’s now calling the shots for you,” Cameron said.
“Well, we’re done with him now,” Madeleine said, dusting off her hands and stretching her back.
“I suppose we are,” Cameron replied, his eyes still on Bruce. Bruce stared quietly back at him, even as his muscles tensed. Some sixth sense screamed at him.
Madeleine suddenly stiffened, too. She glanced at her brother with widened eyes. Cameron swung his gun off his shoulder, then pointed it straight at Bruce. “We’re done,” he said.
Bruce threw himself down at the same time Madeleine swung her arm up at her brother, knocking his aim off as he fired. Bruce felt the heat from the blast as the bullet narrowly missed his head. It exploded against the wall behind him.
“What the hell, Cam!” Madeleine yelled. She hit her brother again, this time squarely on his chin—Cameron staggered backward, dazed for a split second.
Bruce snatched his helmet, which Madeleine had brought with them. He yanked it on, then leaped to his feet and ran. Screams came from the hostages as he tackled the nearest Nightwalker. Before the others could react, he hit the guard hard in the head, knocking him out cold, and used his body to kick off at the next closest guard. His boot connected with the man’s neck. He yanked the guns from each of the fallen guards’ hands, and in the same move, ejected the cartridges from them before throwing them over the balcony. There were only three other guards left in the room—they all swung their guns toward Bruce.
“Kill a hostage!” Cameron shouted at them.
“Stand down!” Madeleine yelled at the same time.
Confused, the Nightwalkers hesitated—giving Bruce just enough time to kick a gun out of one guard’s hands and throw his weight hard at another. A gunshot rang out near him, ricocheting off one of the seats. Bruce glanced over to see Cameron shooting at him. Bruce gritted his teeth, then made a dash past the seats.
Madeleine launched a ferocious kick at her brother’s head, catching him in the neck—and as he stumbled, she kicked the gun out of his grasp, sending it spinning across the carpet.
Cameron bared his teeth at her—but a commotion from the halls on the floor below them made them all pause. It was the sound of what seemed like a thousand boots, and shouts suddenly filled the air.
“Police!” came the shouts. “Police! Get down on the ground, now! Hands behind your backs!”
The police. They’d broken past the drone barricade and gotten in. Bruce turned his head toward Cameron and Madeleine, both of whom appeared stunned for a moment. Then Madeleine glanced down at the laptops. She knows. The drones had all been disabled. Her laptops had been destroyed, wiped out by Lucius’s security virus.
Cameron shouted a retreat order to the rest of his men. The three other Nightwalkers finally lost their nerve. One of them grabbed the nearest hostage, sending others screaming and running for cover. Bruce ducked as another fired a wild shot, the bullet clipping the balcony railing. Then he raced after them. They burst through the balcony doors and back into the hall, where a few police had already made their way to the top of the stairs. Cameron glanced from one end of the hall to the other. GCPD was swarming up from both ends, sealing off any chance of escape. Madeleine looked back at Bruce with a look of shock and betrayal.
“You unlocked the drones,” she said.
“Now we’re even,” Bruce replied.
To his surprise, a tiny smile touched the edge of her lips.
She took off running with Cameron toward the nearest stairwell door. Bruce sprinted after them—then halted for a split second. Near the door stood Richard, frozen in panic at the chaos unraveling around him. He held his gun out in front of him, his arms trembling. He stared at Bruce’s helmet with wide eyes and cringed, bracing himself for an attack.
Bruce just stood for an instant, watching his old friend shake. “Get out of here,” he said in a low rumble.
Richard needed no second bidding. With everything unraveling around him, he dropped the gun on the floor and ran in the same direction as the hostages.
Bruce had no time to watch Richard go. He bolted through the stairwell door before the police could reach them. Half a flight of stairs ahead of him was Cameron, who seemed to move with a speed and agility that belied everyone else. Cameron had scarcely reached the next step before he was five steps up and sprinting along the second set of stairs. Bruce pushed himself to go faster. All of his concentration, all the skills he had practiced endlessly at the gym and in simulations, now zeroed in on this moment, on the possibility that Cameron might still escape after all of this was over. No. Bruce flew up the steps after them.
Cameron paused one flight of stairs above Bruce, giving him enough warning to dodge as Cameron fired down at him. They sprinted up another flight. Cameron stumbled on one of the steps, slowing him down for a couple of precious seconds. Madeleine darted back to help him up. Bruce took advantage of the moment to hop effortlessly up onto the metal railing of the stairs, then leaped up and grabbed the next set of railings above him. He used his momentum to kick off against the railings and swing over them.
Cameron whirled, but Bruce anticipated his reaction. Bruce lunged forward and seized Cameron’s arm, feeling the cold metal of his joints. He slammed the gun and Cameron’s hand against the wall. The gun dropped and Bruce kicked it away. Several flights below them came the sounds of police as they headed up. They weren’t going to catch up in time, Bruce thought. Cameron pulled out one of WayneTech’s smoke bombs.
All Bruce could do was shout out a warning to the police below. “Incoming!”
Cameron threw the bomb down the stairwell, and an explosion of smoke engulfed the police.
Cameron struck out again at Bruce. This time, Bruce failed to dodge the hit. The blow was so strong that it sent him careening to one side, his back hitting the railings hard. Cameron fought to grab his neck with both hands. Bruce leaned back as far as he could go without falling over—he lashed out with fists, connecting again, and then barreled into Cameron, sending both of them crashing against the wall.
A click and a cold barrel nudged Bruce in the head. “Let him go,” Madeleine said.
She won’t shoot me, Bruce thought. But her act was so sudden that it made him freeze. And a moment was all Cameron needed. He shoved Bruce off him, then sprinted up the final flight of stairs and out through the door leading to the roof.
Madeleine stared at Bruce for an instant. The smoke from the bomb had reached them now, shrouding them in haze. “I should’ve known,” she finally said. He knew she was referring to the code that had disabled the drones.
“Turn yourself in,” Bruce replied. The helmet deepened his words. “Please.”
She held her position for a second longer, then turned away. “They’ll have to catch me first,” she called back at him. Bruce tried to seize her ankle, but she darted out of the way too quickly and vanished into the smoke. He cursed and ran after her.
The cold night air hit Bruce as he burst out onto the roof. Smoke poured out behind him. For an instant, the space was empty, almost desolate—were it not for the flashing lights coming from the street below, and the shouts of police. Somewhere in the distance came the sound of an approaching helicopter. Bruce turned in a quick circle. Where had they gone?
“You’re dead.”
Cameron’s voice came from behind him. An instant later, Bruce felt an arm lock tightly around his neck right beneath his helmet, both skin and metal pressing hard against his throat. He gasped, fighting for air. One arm rocketed back as he tried to strike Cameron’s face with his elbow, but Cameron tightened his grip, choking off more air.
A click. Through the haze, Bruce saw a gun pointed straight at him. At the other end of it was Madeleine, her face grim and determined.
“What are you waiting for?” Cameron growled behind Bruce. “Shoot him. We don’t have time to stick around.”
Madeleine’s dark eyes met Bruce’s. He saw her fingers tighten around the gun. “Madeleine,” Bruce managed to choke out.
She shifted the gun slightly—so that it pointed at Cameron. “He’s not our enemy, Cam,” she said calmly. The sound of a helicopter grew louder. “Let him go.”
“What?” Cameron’s voice turned incredulous. “He just ruined our whole operation! He just—”
“He ruined your operation,” Madeleine interrupted. “My mission was always to seek justice. Bruce Wayne is not corrupt. He is not the person who killed our mother, who cheated you of your treatments when you were dying. And killing him is not justice. Let him go, Cam.”
“Traitor,” Cameron sneered, even as Bruce felt the strength in his arm waver. “What happened to you, sis?”
At that, Madeleine narrowed her eyes in anger. “We don’t have time,” she said. And as if to emphasize her point, the glare of a helicopter’s spotlight quavered between the buildings beyond the concert hall, sweeping its way toward them.
Cameron loosened his grip and shoved Bruce forward into Madeleine, who lost her balance. In a blind rage, Cameron lunged at her and yanked the gun from her grasp. He swung it toward Bruce and fired.
He missed.
Bruce felt Madeleine shudder once, violently, against him. She was hit.
He choked out a hoarse cry. The scene before him went scarlet as every ounce of fury and adrenaline rushed from his head to his limbs. He threw himself at Cameron.
Cameron hit Bruce hard in his side—he collapsed down onto one knee, gasping, and a split second later, another fist came out of the darkness toward him. Even with his helmet’s protection, Cameron’s metal joints struck him so hard that his head rocketed backward. Everything blurred. Rough hands grabbed him by the collar and dragged him across the roof as he kicked. His instincts flared up. He’s going to throw me off the roof.
In one move, Bruce reached up and seized both of Cameron’s wrists. He twisted around, then yanked Cameron forward as hard as he could. Cameron staggered and lost his balance. Behind them stood the concrete walls around the stairwell door. Strike now. Don’t hold back. Bruce let out a wrenching yell as he swung at Cameron’s head.
The blow landed perfectly. Cameron slammed into the concrete wall. His limbs sagged, and he collapsed. As Bruce stood there, gasping, the light of an approaching helicopter illuminated his silhouette. The police are coming. I have to get out of here.
He whirled back to see Madeleine stumbling toward her brother. Her hands were pressed to her stomach, and pain had turned her as white as winter. A rush of wind hit them as the helicopter neared. For the first time, he saw a hint of real fear in her eyes. No. He ran toward her.
Behind them, a loudspeaker blared from the helicopter. “Hands up! We will shoot! I repeat—we will shoot!” Squinting, Bruce saw the glint of metal—a rifle—from a military helicopter’s open doors. The sound of blades chopping through the air was deafening. The soldier holding the rifle took aim. Bruce’s eyes widened.
Sparks lit up the ground near them. Bruce grabbed Madeleine’s hand and started to run with her for the safety of the concrete wall. Madeleine resisted for an instant, her boots still turning toward her brother in an attempt to defend him, but her movements were weak, unsteady. Bruce was about to shout something at her, when he saw her eyes widen in shock.
Cameron was throwing up his arms in surrender. And he was pointing a finger in Madeleine’s direction.
He was telling the police to target her first. His own sister. To save himself.
Madeleine only had time to look up at the helicopter. The rifle shifted toward her.
No, not her.
Everything seemed to happen in a slow series of snapshots. Bruce let out a hoarse scream and reached for her, pulling them both behind the concrete wall to safety.
“Drop your weapons!” voices shouted at Cameron from the helicopter. Then the sound of shots fired.
Bruce lowered Madeleine carefully to the ground. Over his shoulder, he saw Cameron’s body crumpled against the ledge. Blood pooled underneath him. The police had not been distracted for long.
Bruce turned back to Madeleine. Blood blossomed across her shirt, and she struggled for air in his arms. No. He pulled off his helmet so that he could see her face without the barrier of glass that always seemed to separate them. “They’re going to take you to the hospital, Madeleine. You hear me? You’re going to be okay.”
Tears left trails down the sides of her face. She trembled uncontrollably, but her eyes—deep, dark, endless—stayed fixed on Bruce.
“So damn noble,” she managed to say, the ghost of a smile appearing on her lips. They were stained red.
Bruce’s arms tightened as he pulled her closer. “Save your breath,” he replied. Madeleine trembled, and it took him a moment to realize that his vision was blurring from unshed tears. “But keep breathing. You got that? Keep breathing.”
“It’s…too bad,” she said, her voice quieting so that Bruce had to lean closer in order to hear her, “that we met like this.”
She was saying her goodbyes. Bruce started to reply, but she shook her head. “You’re fighting for the wrong side,” she said.
As Bruce crouched over her, he found himself wishing that he could convince her, that there was some magic word he could say to her that would show her the sideways view of her world, that perhaps what she had been taught all her life wasn’t true, that there was true justice out there. He wished there was a magic word he could say to keep her alive. But instead, he found himself staring back into her eyes as the light slowly faded from them.
“I’m so sorry,” he finally said.
She tried to focus on him. “Me too.”
He put a hand gently against her face, then leaned down and touched her lips with his. Somehow, he thought that perhaps he would feel her kiss him back, that this gesture could keep the breath in her body long enough to save her. But when he pulled back to look again at her face, her eyes were closed.
The sounds of the helicopter still roared above them, and the spotlight was sweeping in their direction. Bruce could hear police kicking at the locked stairwell door, ready to burst onto the rooftop.
He kept his head down and buried his face against Madeleine’s, letting himself linger for a final second. Then he forced himself to step away from her body. He pulled his helmet back on and, shrouded in shadows by the concrete wall, ran toward the edge of the rooftop. He hooked a cable to the ledge, flung himself over, and dropped out of view before the light could reach him. The line blurred by in his hands. As he reached the ground, he could hear the police finally break through the stairwell door above. He pictured them flooding the roof. Their attention was fixed on the two bodies. Bruce could hear them shouting Madeleine’s name. He forced himself to unclip the cable and blend in with the night.
There was absolutely no reason to weep, Bruce thought as he ran. Madeleine had been a criminal, a thief, a fugitive, and a liar. He told himself this over and over again.
And yet, the tears still came.