Were they inside the concert chamber right now? Their voices didn’t echo the way they should, had they been overlooking the concert stage, and it was quiet. No shuffling feet of hostages, no occasional weeping or frightened murmur. After a moment of concentration, Bruce could make out the faint buzzing of an air conditioner somewhere. An admin office? A supply room?
“He’s coming around,” Madeleine said, her voice drawing near. He opened his eyes. Lightbulbs lined the sides of two large mirrors against one wall, their warm, piercing light making him squint. Below them sat two vanities, each piled high not with creams and brushes and cosmetics, but with rifles and laptops. The backstage dressing rooms, Bruce thought groggily.
He turned his head and saw Madeleine sitting on a chair beside him, her hair loose now, her elbows leaning casually on her knees, her fingers interlaced. She was studying his helmet but didn’t reach out to touch it. Behind her stood three Nightwalkers, two men and a woman, all staring grimly at Bruce with their guns drawn.
How odd, it occurred to him, that their roles had now reversed—that he was her prisoner, and she his keeper.
“Is he a cop? Is he going to survive?” the third Nightwalker, the youngest of the trio, now spoke up. Bruce’s vision sharpened enough to realize that it was Richard speaking. His face looked completely drained, and he clutched awkwardly at the gun at his belt as if he’d never used it before. “I—” Richard now went on after swallowing hard. “I didn’t ask to stay on—I don’t want to be here—”
“You seemed okay with giving us a code into your dad’s account,” Madeleine replied without looking back.
Richard blanched. Then his face contorted in guilt and anguish. “I thought you just wanted his money! I thought you—and now you—”
“Ellison, Watts, get the new kid out of here,” Madeleine interrupted, nodding once toward the door. “It’s like listening to a goddamn broken record. Go.”
The Nightwalkers needed no second bidding. They immediately straightened and filed out of the room without another word, leaving him alone in the room with her.
Bruce’s mind whirled. Was Richard being held here against his will? He and his father had had their differences, but it didn’t sound like Richard had any idea the Nightwalkers would break into his home and kill his father. Maybe he had been blackmailed into doing other things, too.
When the door finally clicked shut, Madeleine sighed and gave him a disappointed look. “Take off your helmet, Bruce,” she said.
Bruce reached up and slowly pulled the helmet off his head. Cool air hit his exposed face. “Where’s Dianne?” he demanded. “If you hurt her—”
Madeleine smiled, although the expression appeared bittersweet. “I thought that was you,” she said. “Calm down. Your friend’s unharmed, if a little upset.”
“Let her go.” He glanced toward the door. “And Richard Price, too.”
Madeleine rolled her eyes. “I didn’t force him to be here, you idiot. Boss recruited him of his own free will. Richard thought he was only getting a little revenge, thought he’d just cost his dad some money. Fool.”
What? In a flash, Bruce pictured Richard’s disgusted expression at their graduation, the revelation that his father had cut him out of his trust fund. Then he thought of the police lights gathering at the Price family’s home. The mayor’s murder. Had Richard been responsible for opening up Bruce’s home for the Nightwalkers to infiltrate it? Would he really sell out his own father for revenge?
You’re going to regret that. Those had been Richard’s last words to him before tonight. The memory chilled Bruce to the bone, and his fists tightened. Had he sold out Bruce to the Nightwalkers?
“How long has he been working with the Nightwalkers?” Bruce asked her.
“A couple of months.”
A couple of months. At the benefit on the night of Bruce’s birthday, had Richard asked him for WayneTech access in an attempt to steal weapons for the Nightwalkers? Was working with the Nightwalkers the reason why Richard seemed better at fighting than Bruce remembered—why he knew moves that their coach hadn’t taught?
“And how would you know that?” Bruce pressed. “You’ve been at Arkham that whole time.”
Madeleine smiled a little. “You weren’t the only one who helped me escape from Arkham.”
Connections were flashing through Bruce’s mind now, sending his heart racing. The city’s government—and the mayor—had power over and access to everything in Arkham. And Richard had access to the mayor. Bruce thought of Madeleine’s folded creations, of his theory of her secret messages. She’d mentioned an insider giving tips to the Nightwalkers before. Had Richard been the one helping the Nightwalkers receive Madeleine’s signals via the security cams? Had he made sure the right workers gained access to her cell so that she could escape?
Richard wasn’t just a friend who wanted to exploit their relationship. He was a desperate son, eager for approval, enraged at being denied it, and so determined to get back at his father that he’d gotten himself involved too deeply with the Nightwalkers.
Bruce was shaking—from rage against his former friend or from grief for him, he wasn’t sure. You walked right into their trap, Richard, he thought bitterly. But Madeleine had tricked Bruce, too, hadn’t she?
“What did you promise him, for doing all that?” Bruce asked through gritted teeth.
“It’s more what we promised him we wouldn’t do,” Madeleine replied with a shrug.
The rest of his family. His mother, his sister. Had the Nightwalkers threatened them, too?
“You’re a pack of animals,” Bruce snarled.
“And I told you to get out of Gotham City.”
“You sent your hit men to kill me and Alfred in my own home.” The rage leaked thick from Bruce’s words, and he made no effort to stop it. “How generous of you.”
Madeleine made an annoyed sound in her throat. “You honestly think I made that decision from Arkham? Don’t be stupid. Besides, they weren’t there to kill you. We needed you for more than that.”
“So you were in on it after all. Don’t lie. You’ve done enough of that.”
“It’s not a lie,” Madeleine said with a shrug. “I only told you what I knew at the time. I didn’t have to help you—not that you seem to listen.”
“And what was it that you wanted? Access to my accounts? You wanted me to fund your terror campaigns, just like your past victims?”
“You already did.” She gave him a taunting nod. “Thanks for your generosity.”
“Yeah, I noticed,” Bruce snapped. “How did you get into my accounts?”
“The same hack I used to get into the minds of your corporate drones.” She winked. “Pretty advanced tech your people are developing there, Bruce. Not advanced enough, but it did take me quite a few tries.”
“And that’s why I’m not dead yet? You need me for access to everything else I own?”