Penguin Heist

On the waterfront of Gotham City, where the fog rolls in off the river and the lampposts cast orange circles on the slick black street, there is an elegant building called the Iceberg Lounge. Music drifts from its windows. Well-dressed guests come and go through its revolving door. And upstairs, in a private office full of expensive paintings and a large portrait of himself, sits Oswald Cobblepot — the man Gotham's underworld calls the Penguin.

Tonight, the Penguin was very pleased with himself.

He sat in a high-backed chair, turning a jeweled umbrella between his fingers, and looked at the plans spread across his mahogany desk. In forty-eight hours, his team of mercenaries would break into a Wayne Enterprises research facility on the edge of town and remove the cold-fusion reactor stored in its basement vault. The reactor — a device that could power a city block from a unit the size of a suitcase — would make the Penguin the most powerful man in Gotham.

He tapped the plan with one gloved finger and smiled.

He did not know that an informant had already made a phone call. He did not know that in the Batcave, underneath Wayne Manor, Batman was already studying the same plans.

On the night of the heist, Batman moved like a shadow across the research facility's rooftop. CLICK — the vent cover came loose in his gloved hands. He lowered himself into the ventilation shaft, silent as a breath, and moved hand-over-hand through the narrow metal tunnel while below him the Penguin's mercenaries swept flashlight beams across the darkened corridors.

One by one, Batman cleared them. A smoke pellet here — POOF — mercenary stumbling in the gray haze, Batarang snapping neatly around his wrists before he could call for help. A flash-bang there — CRACK — another disoriented and down. Batman moved so quietly and so quickly that each mercenary had no idea anything had happened until it had already happened.

Below in the basement, the Penguin was in his element — directing his remaining team with cool precision, the reactor now sealed in a crate and loaded onto a large armored vehicle hidden in the tunnel beneath the building. The Penguin had planned for this. The tunnel connected all the way to Gotham's old sewer network. By the time anyone noticed the reactor was gone, he would be halfway across the city.

VRRRMMM — the armored vehicle moved into the tunnel.

For about thirty seconds.

BOOM. Three precise charges of explosive gel — placed earlier by Batman, attached to the tunnel's support columns — brought the ceiling down twenty meters ahead of the vehicle with a controlled rumble, blocking the passage completely.

The vehicle stopped.

The Penguin stepped out, furious. He raised his umbrella.

But Batman was already there.

"Cobblepot," came the low voice from the shadows.

The Penguin swung his umbrella — and a jet of ice-cold vapor erupted from its tip. A cryogenic weapon, custom-built: anything it touched would freeze solid in seconds. Batman dove sideways — WHOOSH — the stream of freezing vapor painted the tunnel wall white with frost. He came up rolling, got to one knee, and fired.

The Batarang ZINGED through the dark and jammed itself into the umbrella's barrel mechanism with a sharp CLANK. The weapon backfired. The ice-gas reversed through the nozzle and coated the Penguin from his perfectly shined shoes to his perfectly trimmed chin in a thin shell of glittering frost.

Oswald Cobblepot stood completely still, covered in ice crystals, one eyebrow raised. He looked, if possible, even more put out than usual.

"...Most undignified," he said stiffly.

The Gotham City Police Department arrived eight minutes later. Commissioner Gordon found the reactor exactly where Batman had left it, the Penguin delivered neatly to the tunnel entrance and placed against the wall with the grace and precision of a package being set on a doorstep.

Batman, of course, was gone.

Back in the Batcave, Batman was already at his computer, pulling up everything he could find about the Penguin's network — the connections, the buyers, the storage facilities that hadn't been caught yet. Alfred set a fresh cup of tea near the keyboard and peered at the screen.

"All that trouble for a reactor," Alfred observed.

"Not just a reactor," Batman said, scanning the data. "Information. Cobblepot's network extends to seven other contacts. Tonight was a thread." He tugged one data line on the screen. "I'm going to follow it."

Alfred smiled quietly. "I'll put the kettle on again."

WHOOSH — outside, the Bat-Signal painted the fog over Gotham in a warm, watchful glow. And inside the Batcave, the work continued.