Ladies and
gentlemen, East End Charters welcomes you to Grand Cayman. The local time is
approximately 10:47 am. Please keep your seatbelts fastened and carry
on items stowed until the seat belt sign is turned off. Bruce noted the time, but before dismissing the
coincidence, he allowed Selina’s words from the auction house to float back
to him. ‘It’s hunting, Tommy. Hunting involves luck: good if you’re
the predator, bad for the prey.’ He considered
his prey: Bratsie
Drammen, Luthor’s personal money manager, rising to get his carry-on from
the overhead bin of the chartered 737. The flight into “everyone’s
second favorite tax haven” (as Selina put it) was slightly over half full;
there was no need to rush this or to follow too close. Bratsie
certainly wasn’t in a hurry, helping a short woman with her carry-on after
he’d got his own. The Caribbean plinking of a steel drum played on the
short walk from the plane into the airport. All but one passenger had
made the turn for visitors and he proceeded alone through the doorway for
simpler processing. All but two puddled in the ground transportation
bay after presenting their passports, queuing for the shuttles to the big
resorts or the well-known car rentals. Only Bratsie Drammen and Thomas
Pearl left the airport on foot. They didn’t speak on the short walk to
the strip mall down the road, there was just a moment of acknowledgment as
they separated from the amateurs who stayed at the Ritz. Tommy went into a mom and pop called Palms Car Rental
without bothering to notice the name on the door Bratsie disappeared into.
The clerk had an envelope waiting along with the car he’d reserved, and in
that envelope were the keys to a house he’d rented on the Internet and a map
with handwritten directions. Unsurprisingly, Bratsie’s pick-up was
accomplished in the same span of eight minutes, and Tommy was able to spot
the white Jeep pulling out of the parking lot while he was loading his own
suitcase into a sporty convertible. While not following the Jeep, he
spotted it twice on the winding drive through pleasant suburban
neighborhoods to a cinematic cliff-road that twisted as it rose above the
coastline. When the Jeep finally turned, he noted the spot with a
predatory lip-twitch. He continued
another three miles to the very edge of the dramatically rocky coastline and
the modest villa poised over it, “hawk like” as its name implied, that was
to be his home for the next two days. The house was called Séaghdha, an old
Gaelic word, and was built by an Irish privateer at the turn of the 19th
Century. None of the original structure remained but the name stuck,
and though the 3-bedroom villa was thoroughly modernized, the online reviews
were dreadful—to those who didn’t know the code. Feeling no need to unpack beyond tossing his bag into
the bedroom, Tommy noted all the features that made the house seem so
unattractive to those who didn’t understand what was really being offered:
The pool was indeed ‘slime green,’ meaning no pool cleaner was around to see
who you were. The breeze was blocked by the trees when the wind came
from the East, meaning no one could see onto the deck or through the
windows. There were ‘treacherous’ stairs down to a thin strip of beach
that was far too rocky for sunbathing (though there was evidently delightful
snorkeling if you really had come for some sort of a Caribbean sea-based
experience.) The wi-fi was poor, the cable limited and there was no
housekeeping. That did mean if you wanted fresh towels, you’d have to
wash them yourself—hardly an issue if you were only there for a night or
two, and again there was no maid to see who you were. You dropped off
the keys at the car rental where you picked them up, completing the “overall
poor service” which the cognoscenti understood to be secured anonymity. The purchased privacy confirmed, he pulled a slim
tool from his wallet to deliver the enhancements Batman’s interests
demanded. After a scan confirming there were no bugs or hidden
cameras, he set up a perimeter of small discs to enhance and encrypt his
uplink to the Wayne Tech satellite. Telephone and internet
arrangements seen to, he checked in with Clark (this was a LexCorp
investigation, after all) and then made his way to the Veles Property Bank. His first order of business was the Thomas
Pearl cover and setting up the real off-shore accounts to mirror the sham
ones created for appearances in Gotham. A world-class thief needed the
proper type of bank for an employer or fence to wire payments, and those set
up through Ilya’s man in Little Odessa really didn’t put him on Catwoman’s
level. So he began at Veles and the polished Caymanian accounts
manager who could not have made a more striking contrast to the oily Mr.
Sadik at the Ottoman Bank. In her mid-twenties, possibly mixed race,
her hair in a tight chignon, her smile was gracious rather than hungry.
Her business attire, while probably less expensive and certainly of lighter
fabric, fit impeccably. She introduced herself as Binta Watler, and
walked him back to an office that was airy and welcoming rather than stuffy.
There were no precious ornaments or exotic brick-a-brac, only a potted plant
that was clearly benefiting from the floor-to-ceiling windows and the
sunlight that had bleached most of her binders. And while her Ottoman
counterpart hit the Excellents
with such greedy gusto, the cadence of her strong Caymanian accent
emphasized Service,
Exclusivity,
Anonymity,
and Security.
She also managed to convey that the actual service they were selling was
ultra-secure mailboxes. “In order to secure the type of banking services
you’re looking for, an individual must establish residency on the island or
maintain offices in the case of a company…” And then, without
connecting any dots, she merely stated “Veles, as one of the leading
corporate archives in the world, offers a number of services to protect
sensitive documents and materials for some of the most powerful businesses
in the world, including ultra-secure corporate vaults as well as executive
safes for smaller accounts. Those are mostly held by executives from
the client companies, of course, though select individuals have also been
approved…” It was clear the ‘executive safes’ were the
mailboxes, whether they were held by a company or a person, while the
corporate vaults also designated the size of the space rather than the type
of owner. They were actually ‘container vaults’ like shipping
containers in a secured underground storage facility beneath the building. “Access is the predictable state-of-the-art
nightmare,” he related when he called Selina later. “EVX-40 Rotating
Encryption System. The network can only be tapped directly from a
terminal inside the facility, and there’s a ten minute window before the
encryption program resets and locks us out again. Visiting the safes
or the vaults is by appointment only. That’s when they use the
terminal, and the system is programmed to accept only that client’s
individualized keycard within the ten minutes following their appointment
time. Their key—and only their key—will then disable the automated
security inside the vault: infrareds, sentries, pressure sensitive floor,
thermal detectors, you name it.” ..::Well, nightmare by some standards, I suppose, but
not like a LexCorp facility. I mean, no laser turrets, no robot
sentries that shoot kryptonite-radiation beams out of their eyes, no—.::.. “Correct, nothing lethal,” he agreed. “Not even
a floor pad that delivers 80,000 volts if it doesn’t detect an employee
badge. Hard to believe Lex lets his man do business with such
pacifists.” ..:: So it’s the usual Menu A and Menu B: cameras,
thermals, PIRs, etc. and the keycard switches it all off, meow. I told you
once, every lock ultimately has the same flaw. They’re meant to be
opened. Everybody has to go home at night and that means opening the
door. ::.. “Well unfortunately this
doesn’t open the
door,” Tommy growled. “All the keycard really buys is the ability to
walk into the executive safe room or up to the door of your specific
container vault without all the sentries going wild and the cameras
recording. Getting in still require a biometric: a fingerprint.” ..::Not a problem, you got Bratsie’s prints when you
got mine, right?::.. “It’s not that simple. Veles doesn’t use an
ordinary optic fingerprint pad. It’s what’s called a capacitive
sensor, what I use for the cave elevator at the penthouse. It measures
the change in voltage across the micro-ridges of a fingerprint. It
can’t be fooled with a copied print.” ..::Yeah, it can. I wasn’t going to tell you
because I know how you get, but um… Gummy cats.::.. “Excuse me?” ..::Gummy cats have the same resistance as human
skin. Instead of latex or cellophane, transfer the print onto a
gummy cat and press lightly.::.. “I use this tech to secure the satellite cave and
you’re telling me it can be beaten with…” ..::With a gummy cat, yes. But it’s not the
kind of thing even thieves on our level stumble on unless they happen to
have a cat theme, so don’t worry about it. Your elevator is as secure
as—::.. “We’ll talk about this later.” ..::Joy.::.. “What about your mission?” ..:: LexCorp jet landed at the airstrip as scheduled,
Montrasante’s checked into the Intercontinental, his usual suite, and unless
feline instinct is letting me down—and it rarely does on something like
this—he’ll be having drinks with Barry tonight at the Pegu. ::.. Bruce grunted, and she mused: ..:: Vitam regit fortuna, non sapientia. ::.. “Fortune, not wisdom, rules lives. Cicero.
That’s what you need him to say?” ..:: Those are the syllables. Shouldn’t be
hard.::.. “Blaine would be better. It would be… neater.” ..:: Too neat and tidy isn’t a virtue. Isn’t
that the sort of thing that sets off a great detective? I say Matt is
who the Fates sent us; it would be rude to ignore him. Besides, a
clean data trail in Metropolis isn’t everything. I can put Matt to
better use against Barry.::.. “I trust you,” Bruce said simply. There was no
one more adept at pushing a man’s buttons and a part of him wished he had
recruited her a long time ago to help with the boys’ clubs that clustered
under adversaries like Luthor. He finished the paperwork registering Tommy’s shield
companies, visited two regular banks and got the paperwork he needed there,
and then made his way to a non-descript restaurant in a non-descript
shopping center. He found a comfortable reassurance in the sun
dropping below the horizon as he pulled into the parking lot, noting the
white Jeep with rental plates a few stalls away. So far from Gotham in
an identity so different from Bruce Wayne and on a mission so different from
Batman’s, the real work still began at nightfall. The place was busy, but Tommy waved past the hostess
giving discouraging estimates of the wait time and headed into the bar where
Bratsie Drammen stood with a beer and a basket of something fried. He
had the look of an aging golden boy who wore his success like a comfortable
old sweater. There was none of Luthor’s strutting aggression, just the
easy confidence of one born to privilege, raised to expect success and given
the advantages to bring it about, but whose hard work and genius had brought
wealth that dwarfed that of his grandfathers. The havoc and
destruction his genius enabled through the Luthors of the world simply
didn’t occur to him, so he was able to enjoy the lifestyle untroubled by the
specter of human misery and ruined lives. “Best conch fritters on the island,” he said as Tommy
approached him, recognizing an obvious member of the club. “Conch,” Tommy said, sampling one. “Those are
the big shells? Mm, spicy.” He ordered a basket and a beer,
introduced himself as “Tom Althorp, Greenwich,” and they chatted. Bratsie mentioned a sailing school in Greenwich and
Althorp mentioned the upcoming America’s Cup in Metropolis. Then
Bratsie mentioned the folder of papers Althorp had with him, and the
conversation shifted naturally into their respective business on Grand
Cayman. Drawing on Tommy Pearl’s interest in fine spirits, Bruce had
devised a very particular type of hedge fund Pearl would come up with for
his cover. “Getting $10 million together for a very simple
private equity fund investing in rare, limited-edition scotch whiskies.
The supply strategies in the ‘80s didn’t anticipate the growth we’re seeing
in Asia.” “Simply put: running out of the rare vintages?”
Bratsie said with a twinkle. “According to indices produced by Whisky Highland UK,
sales of the top 100 single malts are up 230% over the past three years.” Bratsie let out a low whistle, and somewhere
deep in Bruce’s psyche where his various mindsets coexisted, he realized
that if Pearl was a con man instead of a cat burglar, he might have a mark.
Psychobat snarled not to give the newcomer any ideas, while the more
reasoning aspects of Batman pointed out that Catwoman had dipped her toes
into those waters once or twice. Grifters might like to believe they
were different from thieves, but there was considerable overlap… It was
probably Psychobat which then prompted a healthy swig of beer, while Pearl
quietly noted that he was not a moron. Drammen was tight with
Lex Luthor and
that’s not
somebody you mess with for pocket change or in any way that leaves a
contrail. Psychobat drank again, noting the pun—a contrail? A
con trail?—while
the more reasoning Batman again noted that Selina deliberately baited Luthor
after the quake, preying on his interests in Gotham and signing her name to
every act in order to provoke him. It might not be a
pun but
nevertheless… Psychobat and Pearl then roared together that he was not—was
not—a theme criminal. There would be no puns, there would be no
costume, there would be no gimmicks, and… At that moment, Psychobat and
Pearl realized they were in complete agreement and peace was achieved. After a pleasant hour chatting, Althorp and Bratsie
went their separate ways, the former with a recommendation for the best
lionfish tacos on the island, the latter with a Wayne Tech DB83-nano
attached to his watch. Tommy meant to test that little gem of cat
burglar tech before pulling out of the parking lot. He sat in his car
watching the black screen on his phone and holding his breath. Was the
feed from the micro-camera dark or was it simply not sending? He
thought about checking its homing signal, even though it wouldn’t be nearly
precise enough to be effective. It was made to track a target driving
at high speed to a particular building; he would need to pinpoint Bratsie’s
location within inches. If the camera didn’t work, that would leave
him with the crapshoot of Plan B and only… The gnawing question became moot. The feed from
Bratsie’s wrist suddenly brightened, clearly showing the speedometer of the
Jeep and a portion of the windshield. It was working. Tommy took a deep breath and headed home where,
ironically, his online purchase of gummy cats had been delivered by a Global
LEXpress drone.
… … … … :: Duty Log: Oracle :: … … … So I told her we’re already tracking, and she didn’t
bite. So then I came right out and offered to check for her, keep an
eye on Metropolis and let her know when something happens—and she said no,
she’s rather do it herself. Rather do it herself, how is that for a she-Bruce?
I mean, yeah sure, Flight Aware, Jet Charter, anybody with internet access
can track a plane. But if the All-Seeing Oracle offers, who besides
Bruce says ‘Grunt, no, I’ll do it myself.’ Needless to say, I decided to keep an eye on those
planes anyway and some others she didn’t ask for. Unlike Bruce, Luthor
doesn’t have any personal craft; they’re all technically owned by LexCorp.
But a few of his friends (technically he doesn’t have those either, but,
y’know, the neighbors one mansion over) have a plane, so I added them to my
list. Other rich people at the country club he’s willing to be
photographed with, some of them own planes… on the list. And I just happened to check the Watchtower schedule
and saw when Superman had monitor duty. It is LexCorp, Metropolis,
planes fly, he flies; you never know what might casually come up in casual
conversation. So I called to pass the time, since it was a slow night.
He didn’t mention anything about an investigation with Batman or anything
related to Gotham. Or anything about Luthor or LexCorp. Or
Selina apart from unsealing a Justice League file so she had access to
Mxyzlptk Blackout Dates and something called The Camelopardalis Alignment.
That’s, like, some kind of Lemon Nebula Mardi Gras the Green Lanterns keep
an eye on. I started to feel bad. I hadn’t realized it,
but I’ve been a little “been there-done that” about the wedding. I’ve
been a Wayne Manor bride, and… I just hadn’t realized how much more
complicated it is for Selina. Becoming Mrs. Wayne is a bit more
involved than Mrs. Grayson, just on its own. Add in Batman as the
groom and Superman as the best man, I can’t even imagine what she’s trying
to juggle. If she wants to be a little mysterious about some LexCorp
investigation, I could be less territorial. So I had backed off tracking LexCorp planes and I
didn’t think anything more about it until I fired up the OraCom to three
alerts. There was the reminder that B was going out of town again and
Nightwing would cover his patrol. It’s been on the schedule for days,
nothing unexpected there: One night for certain, 20% projection it would
extend to two, 5% projection it could extend to three. There was also an alert that B would be cutting his
patrol short—also not unexpected if he was leaving early in the morning. And then there was a third notice that Cassie was
cutting her patrol short. She wasn’t flying out with B, there’s no
indication she won’t be back on the job tonight. It’s not like her to
put up an alert that way. Normally she’d just tell me on the com at
some point during the night, or even right before she takes off, and I’d
find out then what it’s all about. But an alert—an alert that (I
checked) was entered into the system around four in the afternoon-it’s so
formal.
So once she logged into the com, I asked what it
was all about and she said she was cutting out early because she too had an
early start in the morning, just like B but totally unrelated.
Selina called
her this afternoon and told her to get a good night’s rest for an early
start. Now, Cassie isn’t the best for details so I figured I’d get the
story from Selina when she logged in. It was a busy night with this
and that, I wasn’t paying too much attention, but around one I realized I
hadn’t seen any action at all on Cat’s channel. So I asked Cassie and
she said Selina had gone to Metropolis.
She hadn’t taken Wayne One, obviously, or I would’ve gotten the ding when it
filed a flight plan. Selina’s credit cards are locked up now same as
Bruce’s. I don’t know how they do it but I can’t seem to track them.
Luckily they can’t lock me out of commercial airline manifests. Since
I knew where she was going and she booked under her own name, I found her
flight and nailed down that she booked it this afternoon approximately 40
minutes before Cassie entered the alert. Then I remembered the LexCorp tail numbers and
checked. Sure enough, one of the Lex fleet filed a flight plan at 3:49
for a flight to Gotham today. So I pulled out a spreadsheet and made a
timeline.
-LexCorp pilot files the flight plan Metrop to
Gotham So like I said: Mrs. Batman.
The East End of Grand Cayman is not a figurative
name. The day began with the intense rays of a peach and purple
sunrise streaming through the bedroom window and muttered curses from a man
who didn’t like mornings as Bruce, as Matches, or as Thomas Pearl. Since the one thing he hadn’t managed the previous
day was equipping the kitchen with breakfast staples, he had to forego
Tommy’s breakfast ritual and set out to find a juice bar. Sustenance
accomplished, he made an appointment to visit his new box at Veles Property
Bank and found a central but inconspicuous location to monitor Bratsie’s
video feed. With considerable envy, Tommy realized Bratsie
was enjoying the holiday lie-in that he would have liked himself. The
watch remained untouched on the nightstand until 9:41 when it jostled
briefly and showed Bratsie moving towards (presumably) his bathroom.
It didn’t actually move to his wrist until 10:05, when Bratsie drove to the
marina and had a leisurely breakfast at the yacht club. Tommy’s
bitterness calcified as he who had been (grudgingly) up at dawn watched this
late-sleeper tucking into eggs benedict and blueberry pancakes at 10:26.
Selina’s admonitions about resenting the rich or speaking ill of bankers
went out the window. He was going to
enjoy Bratsie Drammen’s executive safe laid
bare before him. Grunt. Eventually, Bratsie finished his meal and visited the
First Caribbean National Bank, Scotiabank and Grand Cayman National… then he
had lunch at Camana Bay overlooking the marina, and finally—finally—at the
point when Psychobat and Thomas Pearl had again achieved perfect
synchronicity in contempt and the words they used to expressed it, Bratsie
drove to the Veles Property Bank. Tommy sat up, focused intently on the screen as the
BankerCam on Bratsie’s wrist gave a jerky oblique angle of the Veles
exterior, of the door opening, the lobby floor, the lobby fern, the
receptionist, and finally a green plastic basket. Tommy’s heart
stopped as a minute passed, imagining worst case scenarios. What if it
was more than passing through a metal detector, what if items like the watch
were removed before entering the vault? Not only would the watch cam
be useless, he would have to stow his own valuables when he went in and Plan
B would be nullified too. He began thinking through ways to smuggle his phone
in, when the question was again made moot as the camera’s still image came
to life. Lifted from the basket, blocked momentarily by Bratsie’s
fingers as he put it back on, and offering a picture-perfect close-up of
Bratsie’s keycard sliding into the reader. Tommy scrutinized the
movements as Bratsie walked through the vault to the executive safe room…
Even from the watch’s oblique angle, it was an impressive sight coming into
view. Dark, polished slate floors, cream colored walls trimmed in
silver metal forming an open doorway… It didn’t look like “a vault” but some
ultra-rich space station. Through the doorway, what looked like space
age ceiling art camouflaged the multi-tier security that had all been
switched off. Boxes were visible to the left and right in a series of
recessed, angular bays that tilted hopelessly out of focus as Bratsie
reached the doorway. Tommy watched fixedly… Three steps down… Right hand
set of four bays A01, A02, A03, with signage on the sides that were probably
instructions… a better view of the boxes then… the third bay from the door…
Tommy could see now that the “signs” were really recessed flatscreens
displaying, not instructions but the capacity, humidity, and more he
couldn’t make out as Bratsie moved past… Bottom row… the first box in,
though his hand obscured the number… Placed his finger on the pad… And that
was that; Pearl’s lip twitched into that unique hungry-deliberate curl that
wasn’t quite a smile. The smile didn’t last, but Selina did say there’s
always a snag. It was almost two hours later when he was the one
retrieving his watch, keys and phone from the little green basket. He
slid his keycard into the reader and seemed jaded enough as the row of LEDs
lit their approval and the door before him clicked like an ordinary lock
unlatching. It then slid open like an elevator, and only then did
Tommy betray himself as a first timer, turning to the guard and confirming
all the security measures inside were disabled, most especially the cameras.
The guard gave a patronizing nod. It was the usual concern. Tommy walked first to the same box Bratsie had,
Batman’s perception easily taking in the flatscreens at a glance now that he
had an unobstructed view: Capacity, Humidity, Temperature and Pressure
on the top left. Below that, a window full of machine code, probably
related to the EVX-40 and the various systems it monitored. In the
middle, a narrow window displayed three colored graphs charting the
second-by-second fluctuations in something. And on the far right,
circular meters of global usage and memory. Tommy’s brow crinkled and
he turned back for a longer look. Displays like this weren’t usual on
EVX units. It could be something Veles rigged up to impress the
clients in their vault, that was the likely explanation. It wasn’t
using a Wayne Tech visualization matrix; it
might be a
LexCorp and that would be worth a closer look. He recorded a few
seconds video of the display to study later. He continued to Bratsie’s box, opening a false
compartment in his phone and extracting the prepared gummy cat.
Psychobat seethed for a silent moment as the light around the scanner turned
green. It was the technology he used in Wayne Tower – the tech that
protected its Batcave – active capacitance, 20 milliohms, minimum error
threshold – and Pearl could now beat it – because Selina could beat it –
with a gummy cat. He glanced through Bratsie’s papers: the
expected bank statements and passbooks, a few deeds… He took what snapshots
he needed and then fingered the real items of interest: two USBs and a
portable hard drive. The last was almost an inch thick with the
footprint of three credit cards, quite bulky for a mere terabyte of storage.
The current Wayne Tech models would pack five times that into a unit this
size with
a resident power supply. Tech snobbery aside, it is what he hoped to
find. An older unit should mean older data, and a few years of
historical data was a priority for the mission objective Selina didn’t know
about. The one flash drive copied almost instantly, but the
portable drive would take some time and the second USB held a nasty
surprise. He connected the portable drive to his “phone” and would
leave it to run inside Bratsie’s safe while he took his gummy cat to the
second destination... As he did, he tried to think if there was any
solution to the second USB besides taking it with him, working on it
overnight and bringing it back. He had time to decide. Closing Bratsie’s safe,
he followed the path he’d seen the other man take to the elevator that led
to the container vaults. Lacking a keycard authorized to use the
elevator, he had planned to hack the controls but decided to check a vent
he’d noticed on Bratsie’s watch cam. It would be faster if it was big
enough to crawl through… And it was... For all the imposing security,
Veles had vents a man his size could crawl into. Even the vent cover
came off quickly, and for a moment he paused, considering if it might be a
trap. He glanced around the rim looking for tells… and found none.
More importantly, the instinct that sniffed out the silent ways into Demon
bases and Joker hideouts said that this vent was exactly what it seemed. He
crawled in and crawled down— right— forward— He did have to stop and remove grates every few feet,
so the Veles wasn’t completely oblivious about the uses a man-size vent
could be put to… The grates didn’t take long to open, however…
Certainly not for Batman… And while he considered that all those silent
infiltrations of criminal dens made him faster than a typical thief, it
really didn’t seem likely. The grates simply weren’t the impediment
the designers thought. He crawled out into the underground complex where the
container vaults were housed… nothing to impress a client from this view.
It was like a sprawling multi-layered warehouse, all grungy efficiency.
He was on a kind of cramped stairwell, climbed over the railing and down a
shadowy, non-foot-friendly route to a keypad. Though Veles claimed all
the vault security was switched off when a client was admitted, he had his
doubts. An area like where a client had no reason to be… Sure enough,
the keypad was active, though it was an easy hack… LexCorp’s container vault was on the second floor,
and it wasn’t difficult finding his way to the elevator. From there,
he followed the path Bratsie had taken from the elevator… He entered
the narrow corridor consisting of a concrete wall on his left, the long wall
of the container vault on his right, and the access panel directly ahead.
The fingerprint reader was identical to the one on the executive safe and
the gummy key was just as effective, but unfortunately, after that he was on
his own. The corporate vaults
were shipping
containers just as he’d been told—extremely clean, posh, space age looking
containers, but shipping containers all the same. But either those
slick, pristine walls were treated with something that had messed with the
camera feed, or else... or else, he was screwed. All Tommy knew
for sure was that the camera feed had become a jolting wall of static once
Bratsie stepped through the door. If the interference came from the
something in the walls blocking the signal, Plan B should let him track
Bratsie’s movements in the cavern of archived documents. The DB83-nano
had a thermal signature and it was less than two hours since it moved
through the space. Once he was within the same walls, he should have
no trouble picking up the trace signature. Even Bratsie’s wrist
might have picked
up enough residual radiation that if he had removed the watch, Pearl could
still track his movement through an insulated vault where the air hadn’t
been disturbed. If the
interference came from the walls. That was the crucial point. If it
didn’t, if Lex had Kryptonite stored in there and the radiation from
that created the
interference, it would more than blot out the miniscule signature from the
watch… Tommy pressed the gummy onto the reader and an entire section
of the wall slid out just as it had for Bratsie, revealing a keypad.
The keypad didn’t look like it required a fingerprint, but he used the gummy
anyway to type in the 4 digit code he’d seen Bratsie enter, the last images
he’d seen from the watch before that break-up into hopeless static. He
held his breath as the door panel slid open and he looked on the interior of
the LexCorp vault. At first glance, it looked like a storage closet at
the Watchtower. The long, rectangular floor tiles were dark and
slightly reflective. Indirect lighting that was chosen for
practicality wound up presenting a theatrically space-age feel. The
walls sectioned off: a column of drawers here, a shelf with a row of binders
there. A low bench covered in blueprints, another with long black
suitcases that looked like they might contain weapons. A shelf with
document boxes, a large stack of more document boxes, another low shelf with
a laptop… Selina once spoke of the instinct that led her through a
home, a sixth sense that prompted her to take or avoid certain items in a
safe… “I’ve been doing this a long time” she’d said. He hadn’t.
He’d had no time at all to hone that instinct and his awareness of the fact
manifested as a sickly clenching at the back of his neck. Searching
blind without a hint of what Bratsie had done in here would take days,
perhaps weeks… He let out the breath and took out his keychain,
activating a delicate sensor in the fob… If Luthor had kryptonite in here, he was absolutely
screwed… The tension at the very base of his hairline seemed
to spread outward… And he was holding his breath again… Well… There was no overwhelming surge of a radioactive
space rock wreaking havoc from a few feet away… Whew… There was no subtle clicking of a DB83-nano moving
through the space 90-minutes ago either… He took a slow step towards the long metal
drawers on the right wall of the container… then another… then another…
deeper in, farther right… deeper in… towards the center… deeper in… farther
left… -click- -click-click-click-click-
-click-click-click-click-
-click-click-click-CLICK-CLICK- He resumed breathing as he followed the auditory
trail of Bratsie’s movements through the vault… To one of the archival
document boxes… The Collateralized Debt Obligations, the Credit
Default Swaps, all the underlying documents for the alphabet soup of
acronyms Dick had railed against. The physical contracts, deeds, bonds
and policies that would be triggered when the lynch pins were removed. He shoved these into his briefcase and hurriedly
closed up the storage boxes and continued to scan. The trail led to
one of the binders next, whose pages he photographed… Then one of the
drawers… charters and paperwork for the holding companies LexCorp (probably)
used to hide its income like any other corporation using the tax haven in
the usual way… Probably. With Luthor, you never know. He took
these documents as well. If closer inspection revealed it was simple
tax avoidance, that was between Luthor and whatever passed for his
conscience, but if it was the means to construct his next SIEVE
installation, his next Intersect or his next Sinister Citadel… He
resumed scanning. There was
a small safe in one of the wall panels beneath another row of drawers,
beside a keypad he was not prepared to crack. Batman merely noted it
along with the black suitcases, a wall panel of “drawers” that looked like
they might conceal servers, and the low shelf with a laptop… He
grunted. It was never over for long with Luthor and there would be a
time to return and make this vault cough up every one of its secrets. He left the vault as he’d found it, returned to
Bratsie’s executive safe and collected his phone with a few quick snaps of
cable and then marched out in the snappy but casual rhythm of a world class
burglar with a plane to catch.
… … … … :: Audio Log: Batgirl :: … … … Lessons with Selina Sensei confusing. More
than with Bruce Sensei or Sifu Tsu or even Father. But feel better
confused after Selina lesson than sure after others. Today got
samples. Facial scrub, toner, lipstick, rope darts and makineko.
From fancy Paris cosmetics line. Scrub and toner and lipstick, not
rope darts or makineko. Those from Kittlemeier. Makineko is like
makibishi, ninja caltrop that can also be thrown. “Maki” means
“scatter.” “Bishi” is diamond shape like water chestnut. Selina
Sensei gets special ones made, shaped like cat. Cat is “neko.”
Makineko can’t be thrown like shuriken, but work good for scatter when
escape through vent or tunnel. Anyone try to follow or chase, must
slow down or get sliced. Hee hee.
Unfortunately, thanks to the problematic second flash
drive, Tommy wasn’t quite ready to get on that plane. He returned to
Séaghdha, tossed the infuriating object onto the dining room table and set
his phone beside it, double checked the encryption perimeter and began its
upload to the Wayne Tech satellite. He unpacked the briefcase, sorting
through the stolen documents and arranging them in neat piles. He
powered up his laptop and established its uplink to the satellite and the
BatComputer beyond… and then he made coffee. It was going to be a long
night… By morning, he’d confirmed Selina’s assessment of
Luthor. The lynchpin loans that could destabilize the East End
portfolio predated Bruce and Selina’s engagement and so did the fund’s
acquisition of all the derivatives. There was no way Luthor or Barry
could have engineered it as a cat trap. The fund was exactly what it
seemed, and Selina would never have to know he took extra steps to make sure
she was safe before they continued. He did not have the crucial list of East End
Holdings subscribers—that was
a little too much to hope for—but he’d learned the location of that list in
Metropolis. Selina wouldn’t be thrilled at the prospect, but with a
little teamwork, they’d have all those investing in the fund in time for the
payoff. Finally and most importantly, he had all the details
of the small private banks East End dealt with and the larger correspondent
banks they relied on for currency exchange. The Achilles Heel… All
those yen becoming euros becoming pounds becoming dollars, becoming renminbi
and rupees, becoming dirham and dollars again… The challenge of the flash drive wasn’t
insurmountable. Its controller chip was smart hardware, a second-rate
version of the Wayne Tech smart chip. A simple code was etched into
the USB connector. Any computer meant to receive the drive would check
for the physical presence of that code and, if found, would send a signal to
the controller chip unlocking the drive. Attempting to use the drive
on a device that didn’t check for that code—well, the result of that
unknown. It might just remain locked, but if the data was valuable
enough, the control chip might very well destroy the contents of the drive.
Considering it was Luthor, that was the likely outcome. He’d considered opening the case, physically removing
the memory stick without the control chip and installing it in a normal case
with a normal USB connector and a normal regulator chip. But since it
was the first thing he thought of, he felt sure it would be the first thing
Luthor’s team thought of and there would be additional fail safes in the
software. He considered the rigorous testing at Wayne Tech, brainstorming
countless ways people might try to fool the smart chip and devising ways to
thwart them… It wasn’t worth the risk. It would be far simpler to fool
people. So he’d placed an order which had not yet arrived. He made another breakfast foray, this time
finding a pleasant waterfront spot favored by the locals. Passing on
the ackee & codfish, he opted for bacon and eggs on the patio deck… A pair
of restaurant cats were in residence: one black and white, perched on the
rail; one a dark solid grey, stretched out on a chair. It was clearly
their deck and they gave him the once over the moment he stepped onto it.
Judging him an acceptable addition, they became very friendly.
Naturally he thought of Selina, if she were here with him—the glamour of the
international thief finding a small corner of his mind to settle in.
Tommy Pearl and Selina Kyle… or, no, Selina
was Catwoman who
was very much spoken for, better leave her out of it. Tommy and
Colette, nestled in that oh so private rental in the middle of the
Caribbean. Rich hunting among the people who came here. Finding
a place like this a few minutes away, sound of the waves breaking, clear
turquoise water with the tarpon swimming around, a tree with shoes nailed to
it for some reason... passing the time when their heist hit a snag…
Certainly wasn’t a bad life. For Tommy, for a man with no obligations,
who felt no compulsion to protect people who were victimized. Who
simply didn’t think of them and felt free to apply his talents in whatever
way served his appetites. The black and white cat rubbed against his leg… And
when those ways to apply his talents violated the law, it simply didn’t
figure into his thinking. He did as he pleased, just as Bruce had done
becoming Batman. He reached down and ‘greeted’ the cat with a
fingertip aimed at his nose, and considered Selina—not the woman of today
but the Catwoman of countless frustrated logs… The Catwoman who felt no
compulsion to protect people who were victimized, who simply didn’t think of
them—until a situation was playing out before her. And then, whether
it was Prometheus tearing up the Watchtower or civilians trapped by the
quake or Croc menacing Nightwing or Joker running free or a Penguin henchman
pulling a gun, she always stepped up. Always. She became
defensive as hell if you said anything, but she always did the right thing
as she saw it. Thomas Pearl, he wasn’t so sure. For the
separation he liked to maintain between Batman and his cover identities,
Thomas Pearl should be too selfish to put himself in danger to protect other
people. Yet it didn’t sit well. The only real model he had for a
criminal of this kind was Catwoman, and if she saw innocents in danger she
would act. She was also his sensei and she taught a very hard lesson
about the parts of himself that must not be excluded from Tommy. The best he could come up with was that Tommy had
never been in a situation where he had to make the call. He probably
would act if he saw people in trouble, but he was utterly unaware of that
fact and should forever remain so. He finished his meal, headed home and found the
Global LEXpress drone had once again made its delivery: a brown LexCorp
flash drive nearly identical to the one with the smart chip. He
applied a few scuff marks, took out a jeweler’s loop and an airgraver, and
carefully reproduced the code etched into the metal tip of the USB
connector. He would return to Veles on his way to the airport, place
the duplicate flash drive in Bratsie’s executive safe, and when the
replacement was eventually used and found to be blank, it would be assumed
the failsafe was triggered and the drive wiped clean.
… … … … :: Audio Log: Batgirl :: … … … Never hee hee with other sensei. And other
sensei start “Today we work on this.” Very grim. With Selina, not
always sure what lesson is about but is never grim. Call yesterday, say ‘Go home, get rest, go early
tomorrow Bristol Executive Air Strip. Slim chance I will be back in
time and meet you there, but probably no.’ So get up early. Run. Get
bacon-egg-cheese on everything bagel from Polas. Go airstrip. Only one got off plane. Matthew Montrasante,
Luthor big shoe. Followed to the Gotham Intercontinental Hotel. Now,
Selina Sensei not say anything but tail, but Father teach much about hotels.
Say target checking in to hotel is best thing to observe. See if goes to
concierge. See if has mail waiting. See if hands over anything
to go into hotel safe. See if makes reservation… Lobby make good challenge. Big, like train station.
Open sightlines. Sofas and chairs in middle of everything. If
face check-in, would have back to concierge. If face concierge, have
back to check-in. Have to turn or move to see both, and anyway, too
far too hear. No good. And Luthor big shoe not like other
businessmen. Can tell by back of neck. Also muscles of cheek.
Is aware of surroundings, could easy notice tail. So must be careful. Lobby has two shops. Jewelry store, mostly
watches and scarves in window. Not my style so I don’t look too long.
Clothing store is my style, but window too far from concierge to hear.
Don’t look there too long either. Lobby also has entrance to
restaurant and entrance to spa, still too far away to hear but spa has
little take-away slips with list of services and prices. I take this
and wander like distracted, pretend to read. Go right up close enough to
hear reservations: he is confirmed for lunch at Forty Cloves and asks if Edo
lives up to the hype. Concierge says yes, so he says get reservation
dinner. He went up to room but I wait. Pretend to read
restaurant menu and watch his luggage go up. Use phone to look up:
Forty Cloves is in Moxton Building, famous restaurant for power lunch.
Has “Picasso Alley” most people don’t know, between Pool Room and the Grill
Room. Big tapestry, 19-by-20-foot, largest Picasso canvas in United
States. Selina Sensei will like detail like that. Edo is new
steakhouse in Meatpacking District. See enough pictures to make up
sketch floorplan for both. Edo best place for hit. Strange entrance,
long hallway, stairs. Good sightlines to hide in shadow, strike fast
and escape. Also spa has hydrating bamboo facial and glitter tip
manicure.
The subtle tells of a man fresh off a plane
from the Caymans was not to be wasted, and Tommy called Ms. Lowell on his
ride from the airport to clear a quick drop in at Crispin’s Fine Art
Storage. His cab pulled up within the half-hour, and on the pretext of
visiting his unit he laid the groundwork for another new client: a married
woman, the very
reclusive wife of a very
private Metropolis tycoon. Mrs. Blaine had rarely been seen, never
photographed. Tommy wasn’t sure when she would be flying in, but he
urged Ms. Lowell to be discrete even by Crispin standards. Any
security who saw her, any other staff she came into contact with… it was
terribly important they didn’t stare or give the impression that they might
be, you know, sneaking a photo. Samantha Lowell assured him the
Crispin staff were models of professionalism, and Tommy nodded: Yes, he had
seen that himself, no offense intended. It’s just that Mrs. Blaine is
a stunning
beauty and even the most decorous professionals have been known to stare and
then turn away too quickly if they think it’s been noticed. If the
client is anxious to begin with… Samantha nodded, repeated the assurances in another
key so to speak, and thanked Mr. Coronet for the heads up. Tommy
called Selina from the parking lot. “You can be confident no one will be looking too
closely—”
To be continued…
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