working—”
“For now,” Bane said. “How much longer does the program need?”
McGarrity consulted the progress bar on his screen.
“Eight minutes.”
Bane glanced up at a clock on the wall. Under ordinary circumstances, the closing bell would have rung minutes ago.
“Time to go mobile.”
McGarrity nodded and stuffed the laptop into his bag.
“Get the barriers up!” Allen shouted. “No more in and out on this street!”
Wedge-shaped metal barricades, installed after the Joker’s reign of terror, rose up at the mouth of the street. The barricades were intended to stop any truck bombs from crashing into the stock exchange. SWAT teams fanned out around the building’s front entrance. A police sniper peered through a thermal scope, watching the door. Four large heat signatures bloomed, too large to be people.
“I’ve got something!” the sniper called out.
A ferocious roar came from inside the stock exchange. The front door blew open, causing the nearest SWAT troopers to duck from the blast, as four high-speed motorcycles leapt from inside the building, jumping the front steps to touch down on the pavement in front of Allen and his men.
Terrified hostages could be seen strapped to the rear of the bikes, their silk ties blowing in the wind. Revving their engines, the bikes zoomed straight for the raised barricades—which, designed to stop vehicles speeding toward the stock exchange, proved to be highly effective ramps for bikes heading in the opposite direction.
The bikes vaulted over the heads of the surrounding police officers before speeding away into the night. Flustered cops scrambled into their cars to give chase, even as the failed barriers retracted back into the pavement.
Allen swore loudly.
Breaking every speed limit in the book, the bikes wove through the packed evening traffic. Horns honked angrily as they ran red lights with abandon,causing startled drivers to slam on the brakes and get rear-ended for their trouble. A taxi swerved onto the sidewalk to avoid being hit, knocking over an outdoor pretzel stand. Pedestrians scrambled for safety. A city bus pulled to the side to let a speeding patrol car race by.
A black-and-white cruiser fell in behind the fleeing bikes. A gumball light flashed atop the car. Its siren screamed like a banshee.
A rookie, Officer Simon Jansen had never been in a high-speed chase before. He gripped the steering wheel tightly while flooring the gas pedal. As far as he could tell, he and his partner were leading the chase. His heart pounded with excitement. If they were lucky, they might even be the ones to capture the fugitives.
“Shoot the tires!” he shouted.
His partner, a twenty-year veteran named Kelly, drew his gun and leaned out the passenger-side window. He tried to get a bike in his sights, but balked at the expression of the petrified trader clinging to the rear of the bike. The terrified hostage, who was wearing wide suspenders, stared back at him. Kelly shook his head.
“No shot!”
The deputy commissioner’s voice blared from the cruiser’s radio.
“Back off,” he ordered. “They’ve got hostages.”
The bikes vanished into a midtown tunnel. The cruiser followed them into the tunnel, maintaining a safe distance. Fluorescent lights, mounted in the ceiling, lit up the tunnel—at least at first. To his surprise, Jansen saw his rear-view mirror go dark.
He glanced back.
“What’s going on with the lights?”
A wave of darkness seemed to be advancing through the tunnel, extinguishing every light it encountered. Not just the overhead lights, but also the headlights of every oncoming vehicle blinked out abruptly. A chill ran down the rookie’s spine as the encroaching darkness—which instilled an almost superstitious dread—caught up with the speeding cruiser. Their headlights burned out, the gumball blacked out, and the siren went silent.
The car’s engine sputtered and died.
What the—?
Out of the inky blackness, a shadowy
“For now,” Bane said. “How much longer does the program need?”
McGarrity consulted the progress bar on his screen.
“Eight minutes.”
Bane glanced up at a clock on the wall. Under ordinary circumstances, the closing bell would have rung minutes ago.
“Time to go mobile.”
McGarrity nodded and stuffed the laptop into his bag.
“Get the barriers up!” Allen shouted. “No more in and out on this street!”
Wedge-shaped metal barricades, installed after the Joker’s reign of terror, rose up at the mouth of the street. The barricades were intended to stop any truck bombs from crashing into the stock exchange. SWAT teams fanned out around the building’s front entrance. A police sniper peered through a thermal scope, watching the door. Four large heat signatures bloomed, too large to be people.
“I’ve got something!” the sniper called out.
A ferocious roar came from inside the stock exchange. The front door blew open, causing the nearest SWAT troopers to duck from the blast, as four high-speed motorcycles leapt from inside the building, jumping the front steps to touch down on the pavement in front of Allen and his men.
Terrified hostages could be seen strapped to the rear of the bikes, their silk ties blowing in the wind. Revving their engines, the bikes zoomed straight for the raised barricades—which, designed to stop vehicles speeding toward the stock exchange, proved to be highly effective ramps for bikes heading in the opposite direction.
The bikes vaulted over the heads of the surrounding police officers before speeding away into the night. Flustered cops scrambled into their cars to give chase, even as the failed barriers retracted back into the pavement.
Allen swore loudly.
Breaking every speed limit in the book, the bikes wove through the packed evening traffic. Horns honked angrily as they ran red lights with abandon,causing startled drivers to slam on the brakes and get rear-ended for their trouble. A taxi swerved onto the sidewalk to avoid being hit, knocking over an outdoor pretzel stand. Pedestrians scrambled for safety. A city bus pulled to the side to let a speeding patrol car race by.
A black-and-white cruiser fell in behind the fleeing bikes. A gumball light flashed atop the car. Its siren screamed like a banshee.
A rookie, Officer Simon Jansen had never been in a high-speed chase before. He gripped the steering wheel tightly while flooring the gas pedal. As far as he could tell, he and his partner were leading the chase. His heart pounded with excitement. If they were lucky, they might even be the ones to capture the fugitives.
“Shoot the tires!” he shouted.
His partner, a twenty-year veteran named Kelly, drew his gun and leaned out the passenger-side window. He tried to get a bike in his sights, but balked at the expression of the petrified trader clinging to the rear of the bike. The terrified hostage, who was wearing wide suspenders, stared back at him. Kelly shook his head.
“No shot!”
The deputy commissioner’s voice blared from the cruiser’s radio.
“Back off,” he ordered. “They’ve got hostages.”
The bikes vanished into a midtown tunnel. The cruiser followed them into the tunnel, maintaining a safe distance. Fluorescent lights, mounted in the ceiling, lit up the tunnel—at least at first. To his surprise, Jansen saw his rear-view mirror go dark.
He glanced back.
“What’s going on with the lights?”
A wave of darkness seemed to be advancing through the tunnel, extinguishing every light it encountered. Not just the overhead lights, but also the headlights of every oncoming vehicle blinked out abruptly. A chill ran down the rookie’s spine as the encroaching darkness—which instilled an almost superstitious dread—caught up with the speeding cruiser. Their headlights burned out, the gumball blacked out, and the siren went silent.
The car’s engine sputtered and died.
What the—?
Out of the inky blackness, a shadowy
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