Sorry I haven't updated. Got sidetracked by several things. Hoping to have the next chapter up Wednesday or Thursday, sooner if possible.

Thirty-four

The Old City District of the ancient city of Sana’a lay in relative quiet, the remains of the day’s heat trapped there by the surrounding mountains. Though the Yemen sky was clear and filled with stars, there was no moon beyond the obscure profiles of buildings and minarets. Bane had hoped for clouds on this night. Through night vision binoculars he watched from a fourth story rooftop as his men closed in upon a low building across from his location. Anyone without night vision technology would never see the League’s men. They had become one with the night, silent, slipping like spirits from narrow alleys, closing upon the building. Others glided silently from Bane’s roof along lines that took them to the rooftop of the target building—a short distance, for the structures in this district were tightly packed. Though all of Bane’s operatives wore coms, not a word of command was given nor needed, for everyone knew his job intimately, knew his entry point, exit point, and targets. If all went as planned, his men would be in and out of the building within a span of five minutes.

Barsad, beside him, kept his binoculars trained upon the front door, but as expected no one emerged. No, those inside would not post obvious guards outside. That would draw attention. Instead the armed men would be inside out of sight.

He glanced at Barsad. As usual during an op, Barsad’s expression was stoic, professional. Bane knew his friend much preferred to be down on the ground with their brothers where the action lay. But his duty was as much to Bane’s safety as it was to the mission. That had not changed in the five years since Barsad had joined the League. On some ops Bane took a more active role, times that Barsad lived for, times when he could use the skills that he had been taught by his brothers, including Bane. But over the years Bane’s old injuries had hampered him more and more, slowing him, leaving him to rely more on physical power than the stealth of his ninjutsu. It was something he bitterly regretted, but there was little help for the continued deterioration of his battered body. This reality was yet another reason why Barsad never left his side if at all possible.

Soon Barsad exchanged his binoculars for his Barrett sniper rifle. Behind the mask, Bane’s scarred lips twisted with sardonic amusement as he thought of how much Barsad loved that rifle. Prior to joining the League, Barsad had lacked the resources to acquire whatever weapons he desired and modify them to his mercenary heart’s content. Bane often teased Barsad that he was certain his lieutenant slept with the Barrett.

Now Barsad trained the night vision scope upon the target building, ready to eliminate anyone who attempted to enter or cut off the League’s men once they were inside.

Bane glanced at his watch. One minute more. The seconds ticked off. He used his regulated breathing to count down the time. It took concentration to modulate his breaths so the mask’s amplification did not reveal such sounds to his surroundings and give away his position while on such operations.

Barsad spoke into his com, “Hafif?”

“Inbound,” came the response.

Bane thought briefly of Hafif from his early days with the League. Hafif had been a part of the small team that had assisted in Bane’s assassination of his grandfather, Thomas Dorrance, and his journey to meet his father, Edmund. The Arab had taken some time to warm up to Bane, but in time he had grown to respect Bane and was now one of Bane’s most trusted operatives. Hafif had been fortunate enough to be away from the League’s Bhutan base when Bruce Wayne had betrayed them all.

Within seconds it began—Bane watched his men vanish inside the building. Silencers and muzzle suppressors would mask the violence that would be taking place. He glanced at his watch, waited with fingers unwittingly twitching against the binoculars. He easily imagined being inside the building, moving through the rooms with stealth and speed, using his gun and—when necessary—a silent, deadly knife.

An unexpected memory slipped through his focus—the knife he had had in prison. His mother had acquired it through means unknown to Bane, before he was even able to walk. And once he was old enough to leave his cell under Doctor Assad’s supervisor, his mother had him carry the knife with him, secreted inside his teddy bear, Osito. The knife had saved his life on more than one occasion and had killed two inmates as well. Once Talia had been old enough to wield the weapon, Bane had bequeathed it to her. She had carried it with pride because it had belonged to him. But before she had gone to Gotham she had returned it to him, though he had insisted she keep it.

“It should be yours, habibi,” she had said. “Your mother gave it to you. It’s all you have left of her. I have Papa’s knife to keep me safe. It’s only fitting that we should each carry something from them to remind us of all that we owe them.”

As usual he could argue little against such sound judgment. Since then he carried the knife with him always. In fact, he rarely carried any other weapon. With Barsad and his obsessive, personal arsenal always near at hand he required few bullets himself.

Bane swung his binoculars up the narrow, deserted street. Movement, barely seen. A van with headlights doused rolled into view as anticipated, precisely on time. Its approach was timed exactly, and just as it halted in front of the building, dark forms emerged, four of them with the two targets. The rest of the tactical team would be vanishing into the night through various other avenues. Hafif’s van had barely come to a stop to gather its passengers before it sped away.

Without a word, Bane and Barsad stood as one. Barsad shouldered his heavy rifle and drew his pistol. Bane led the way off the roof, his lieutenant covering his back as always.

###

Jabir al-Gharsi had been with the League of Shadows for two years. Though he was only twenty-seven years old, he now looked much older, thanks to days of beatings and torture at the hands of the CIA agent who—hooded, bound, and gagged ever since the extraction—sat in the rear seat of the SUV with Jabir. While the agent made no sound, Bane—in the passenger’s seat—could easily hear Jabir’s labored breaths as the young man struggled to master his pain. Bane had not allowed the Yemeni to receive any medical treatment prior to being transferred from Hafif’s van to the SUV. To his credit, Jabir had not requested any either.

The vehicle sped through the night, Sana’a far behind. Barsad, as silent as his passengers, was behind the wheel. Bane calculated that they would reach the airstrip within minutes at this rate of speed.

As expected, the sleek Challenger 300 awaited them, fueled and ready for take-off. Barsad drove the battered SUV to the edge of the crude runway and switched off the lights.

“Get him aboard,” Bane rumbled to Barsad.

Barsad’s glance flicked in Jabir’s direction then back to Bane whose stare never left him. Then his lieutenant nodded and went to retrieve his rifle and gear before roughly escorting the wounded CIA agent from the vehicle. Then Bane moved to the seat the agent had vacated, leaving the door open to allow the cooling desert air inside.

“Brother,” Bane said to Jabir, his voice quiet but hard.

Barely awake, Jabir took in a raspy breath. His head lolled back against the seat, one eye swollen shut, both eyes ringed by dark shadows from lack of sleep. His eyelid fluttered as he concentrated on Bane. He wore only a torn, bloody undershirt and dirty underwear beneath a cloaking blanket that one of his brothers had given him in the van. Bane’s large hand rested upon Jabir’s shoulder. The young man sank slightly beneath the weighty grip, his mouth open as he struggled to breathe.

“What did you tell them, Jabir?” Bane’s question came out in almost a patient, fatherly tone. He could see the man was slipping away from him. He needed information before unconsciousness could reclaim the Yemini.

Painstakingly Jabir managed to shake his head ever so slightly, his swollen, split lips striving to form the word, “Nothing.”

Of course Jabir would believe himself to be telling the truth, but Bane knew the power of benzodiazepines and barbiturates upon prisoners. After all, he had employed them himself on enemies of the League, some whom were now finishing their days in the bowels of the pit prison. Jabir could have said much during his endless days of torment and not even remember what he had revealed.

Bane’s hand fell away from the young man. He remembered the day Jabir had been initiated into the League. So much pride on the Yemini’s face. He had come from nothing, an orphan living in the streets of Al Hudaydah. Resourceful, he had survived into adulthood and eventually was recruited by al-Qaeda, but he had quickly become disenchanted with the organization. The League had infiltrated the various branches of the terrorist organization, and their Yemini operative had recommended the young man to Bane.

Jabir did his best to hold onto his commander’s gaze, though the struggle to maintain consciousness was difficult. Apology there, shame. More pronounced than even the physical pain.

“We cannot afford mistakes, brother,” Bane said.

Jabir nodded shallowly.

“You know this, of course,” Bane continued. “And so you know what must be done.”

“Yes,” Jabir whispered, momentarily closed his eyes as if relieved.

Bane reached for his Glock. “The choice is yours. By your own hand or mine?”

Jabir’s shaking left hand came up. Bane knew him to be right-handed, but not enough remained of his right hand to be useful for such a task. With a satisfied nod, Bane removed the safety and handed the pistol to Jabir. The young man’s fingers slowly embraced the grip. Bane could see that it took every remaining ounce of strength and concentration in Jabir to lift the weapon. He looked a final time at Bane, and a weak spark of hope momentarily gave life to his dark eyes, hope that his commander was at least proud of his brave resolve to pay for his failings. Bane, however, showed nothing, nothing but patience until his orders were carried out, then with the report of the pistol still ringing in his ears, he lumbered toward the jet.

###

Bane relaxed back into the buttery softness of the leather seat and allowed a deep sigh to filter through his mask as he momentarily closed his eyes. Across the aisle Barsad sank into his own seat, now free of his rifle.

As the jet engines whined into acceleration, Bane opened his eyes, stared aft to the CIA agent who sat on the floor—still bound and hooded—leaning against the bulkhead. Blood had seeped through the crude bandage on his leg where he had been shot. The man squirmed slightly, belying his discomfort. With a scowl, Bane turned away from him and picked up the latest issue of Science from the small table in front of him.

His fingers easily located the article once again: The Weaponization of Fusion Reactors by Doctor Leonid Pavel. Bane smiled to himself.

“How many times you gonna read that?” Barsad said with a cocked grin amidst his heavy stubble, his hooded eyes sleepier than usual. “You must have it memorized by now.”

Bane grunted as he began to read. Indeed, he had devoured the article half a dozen times on the flight to Yemen. And he would read it several times more on the way back to ‘Eth Alth’eban. He would indeed have its contents memorized in time.

His finger jabbed at the photograph of the Russian scientist who had written the paper on which the article had been based. “He is our priority now, brother. Now that this is out in the world our task has just been made even more difficult. We must redouble our efforts.”

“Well,” Barsad kept his voice as low as he could and still be heard over the engines as the Challenger sped over the jarring airstrip, “hopefully Jabir didn’t compromise the efforts we’ve already made.”

“I don’t believe he has. But,” Bane’s eyes flicked toward the agent, “time will tell.”

Once they were airborne, the steward provided both men drinks and food. When Bane had satisfied his appetite and thirst, he donned his mask again.

“Sleep,” he ordered Barsad. “Our friend will give us no trouble.”

“If anyone should sleep, it’s you. When’s the last time your head hit a pillow?”

“I said sleep, brother, not nag.”

“Humph,” Barsad snorted. And knowing when to argue with his chief and when to refrain, Barsad wisely slumped lower and reclined his seat slightly. But the pistol remained in his grip, though he closed his eyes. “And what are you going to do?” he asked.

“I’m going to make a phone call.”

Barsad’s eyes opened with half-hidden alarm and awareness. “With him on board?”

“It won’t matter what he hears,” Bane said indulgently. “He won’t live to tell anyone.”

Barsad grinned, though his usual caution tempered the expression. “You have a point.”

Bane’s inherent wariness, however, urged him from his chair, to a seat just behind the forward bulkhead. There he called Talia. As the phone rang in Gotham, he glanced at his watch. Hopefully she was not in a meeting. In his mind’s eye he saw her in the boardroom at Chase Global, the city as a backdrop beyond the bank of windows, Talia’s slim figure dressed to perfection in high heels and a dark suit, her skirt hugging her just short of indiscretion, her long hair allowed to spill around her shoulders like a sable waterfall. Bane closed his eyes, but instead of the image of a successful businesswoman, he saw Talia in the pit as a child, dressed in threadbare clothing, destitute but smiling, laughing at something he had said or done, somehow happy amidst her utter poverty.

“Hello?”

The sound of her voice made him smile before he said, “It is done.”

“I had no doubts,” Talia replied, a smile of her own in her words. “You never fail, habibi.”

“We extracted the agent who was interrogating him as well.”

“Good. Did Jabir reveal his true affiliation to him?”

“He claimed not.”

“He was tortured, though, of course?”

“Of course.”

“So he nor you can know in all certainty exactly what he revealed.”

“I am confident Jabir remained silent. His training would have given him the tools necessary. But in case I am wrong, we have the operative, and one way or another he will tell us what he gleaned from Jabir.”

“Very good.”

Bane glanced aft, toward the table where the science journal lay. “You read the article I told you about?”

“Yes, several times. Our intelligence about the good doctor was correct, as you assured us. I told Finn that he should never doubt you. He’s learning.”

“Don’t fault Finn. His over-abundance of caution is an asset most of the time.”

She chuckled warmly, for she had grown to favor Finn Donnell both professionally and personally, similar to Bane’s relationship with Barsad.

“Has Finn read the article?”

“Yes, of course. We discussed it at length.”

“And if we have read it, then our mutual friend will have read it as well.”

“You’re concerned?”

“Yes. The article’s connotations will worry him. We know how closely he protects his technology. And this, above all else, is the most important. You must be attentive.”

“He is still a recluse. No one can get close to him. You know I have tried.”

Bane scowled at this, though he knew that he should better control his personal feelings. “I know, habibati. You are not at fault. Use your lines of communication with Fox. He will understand your concerns for your investment in the energy project, so your inquiries will be understandable and cause no suspicion.”

“Yes, of course. I will speak with him this week.”

“Very good.”

“Is there anything else, Haris? I wish we could speak longer, but I have a meeting in five minutes with Mr. Chase.”

“No,” Bane said reluctantly. “That is all.”

Talia hesitated, a pause heavy with unsaid words, then in a softer voice, she said, “Tell Deadshot hello for me. I spoke with Jiddah yesterday, and she sends her love to both of you.”

Bane smiled at the thought of Maysam. “I will tell him.”

“Good-bye, then. Be careful, Haris. Always. I fear you take too many risks these days.”

“Don’t worry about me,” he said, trying to hide his pleasure at her concerns for him. “Good-bye, little mouse.”

Thirty-five

Bane lay on his side in bed, propped up on one elbow, watching Talia as she slept. Her long hair lay tumbled about her pillow, untamed and luxurious in the early morning light filtering through the windows of his suite. He remembered their prison days when he and Melisande had always kept Talia’s head shaved to help disguise her gender. Of course the other prisoners had thought it was simply to keep her free of lice. Now Talia’s hair was just like her mother’s when Melisande had first entered the pit, before the prison had stolen its luster.

Over these past few years there were times, especially whenever Bane shared these rare getaways to Rajasthan with Talia, he wondered if his sexual attraction to her was founded in his old desire for her mother. After all, now nearly thirty years old, Talia looked even more like Melisande than she had when she was younger. No, he told himself as his admiring gaze traveled over her flawless skin, he loved Talia for who she was, not because of the woman from whom she came. How could he not love her when they shared so much history and so much of the same drive, the same goals?

Thinking back on their lovemaking last night, his happiness waned. They had not been together for almost a year, but it was not the passage of time since their last visit that he sensed to be the true culprit when it came to the changes in his beloved. Subtle changes, true enough. Changes that a lesser man would not perceive. Changes that Talia tried to mask and perhaps thought herself a success at doing. But he knew her far too well to be deceived, though a part of him wished it were otherwise, for her transformation left him hollow.

Afraid Talia might awaken and read the turmoil in his eyes, Bane carefully extricated himself from Melisande’s blanket without disturbing her. He crept out to the veranda, silently closing the glass doors behind him and settling into his familiar chair, which creaked in protest beneath his two hundred and forty pounds. The morning was pleasant and cloudless, the air alive with the myriad voices of birds, large and small, throughout the immense palace compound. He sighed and enjoyed the renewed energy flowing through his veins from his time spent in Talia’s arms, the first night of five that they would be here, if matters with the League allowed.

Bane frowned as he reflected upon last night. Though Talia had responded physically to him, there had been an emotional distance, almost a sadness. Since she had gone to Gotham nearly eight years ago, they had successfully left all cares and worries outside of his bedroom. But last night…she had been attempting to hide something from him, no doubt knowing even as she tried that it was impossible to fool him, even when he was nearly blinded by passion for her. Now he debated whether to broach the subject with her or simply to overlook it and hope that her distraction was a passing melancholy that would fade the more she relaxed here in the company of those who loved her.

His fingers twitched in irritation. Though he always berated himself when his thoughts swam in such shallow depths, he could not avoid the anger and jealousy aroused at the thought of some man of significance being the cause of Talia’s turmoil. Yet how significant could anyone be to her if she willfully came to Rajasthan to be with him? He frowned. Perhaps she had not come for him at all but instead simply to see her grandmother and to find some peace away from Gotham’s crushing demands. It pained him to no end to think she gave herself to him simply out of habit or pity or guilt. But then he scoffed at himself. You are forty-five years old; she is still in the bloom of youth. No doubt she prefers someone younger, less…battered, but she is too kind to say as much.

Perhaps it was time he freed her.

To still his unrest, he breathed deeply, closed his eyes and relaxed into his morning meditation.

By the time the opening doors disturbed his peaceful trance, the sun had risen high enough to blaze horizontally the length of the veranda. He smelled Talia, felt her presence, searched her energy before slipping out of his meditative state. She smiled mildly, sleepily down at him, dressed only in a red silk kimono. The sun’s rays caught her long, shapely legs; her summer tan had begun to fade. Her glance touched upon the crochet he had left on the small veranda table last night, then she settled into a spacious, cushioned wicker chair just on the other side.

“It’s nice to feel the warmth,” Talia murmured. “It’s already so cold in Gotham.”

Bane’s attention went to the distant palace, and he thought of Maysam, saying her morning prayers. No doubt she was praying for them, for Allah’s forgiveness of her granddaughter’s fornication with an infidel fifteen years her senior. Bane smiled to himself. Of course Maysam did not judge them. No, she only prayed for them and no doubt had since she had learned the full nature of their relationship a few years ago. Neither of them had told her, but it had taken little deduction on her part after she had gone to Talia’s room one night.

“What are you smiling about, habibi?” Talia tilted her head in an effort to see his expression in the morning sunlight.

“Your grandmother. I was thinking about the night she caught you escaping your room to come be with me.”

The memory drew Talia’s smile as well, and she chuckled. “Yes, she tried to act so shocked, but of course she wasn’t. When she made a half-hearted attempt to scold me, all I had to do was tease her about Barsad, and she knew then she didn’t have a leg to stand on.”

“It was her concern because of Amir and Iba, of course,” Bane insisted. “She was afraid of them finding out and causing trouble.”

“Well, they know about us now.”

“Yes, I regret that.”

“I don’t. Narrow-minded fools hiding behind their religion. They only found out because of Iba and her little palace spies. I hate her.”

“Perhaps we should not have come here now that they know. It has caused trouble for Maysam. She claims otherwise, but Hisham has told me the truth of it.”

“Hisham should not gossip like an old woman.”

“He is very loyal to your mother, as are all of those who have served her for so long. It pains him to see her upset by the arguments with her brother-in-law and wife. She holds her own, of course, but Hisham sees the emotional damage to her afterwards.”

“Well, I keep trying to convince her to move to Gotham with me, but she is set in her ways now. But I won’t let Amir and Iba keep me from coming here to see her. And they won’t keep you away either, whether I’m here or not. Fuck them.”

Bane frowned. He hated hearing her curse. She had never done so before living in Gotham. Yet another change that vile city had affected upon her.

“I will deal with Amir and Iba,” Bane said. “You must let go of your anger toward them; it would displease your grandmother. Let me handle the situation.”

Talia sighed and faltered, letting her anger drift away on the gentle breeze that played with the hem of her kimono, rippling it like bloody water. “Thank you, habibi.”

They fell silent for a time, enjoying the dawn. Hisham would be here soon with tea and coffee. Of course the old servant did not approve of Bane and Talia’s shameful liaison, but Bane knew the man well enough to know Talia’s beauty worked upon him as well, as it did any man with eyes in his head. Perhaps Hisham’s closely-held opinion was colored more by envy than religious dictates. The thought drew a smug grin from Bane.

With a glance at Talia, he saw the distance in her gaze as she stared toward the palace, and his grin died away.

“Where are you, my little mouse?”

His voice seemed to take her by surprise, and she quickly tried to recover with a small smile, but her eyes avoided him. “I am right here, of course.”

“Physically perhaps. But something has taken your mind far from here.”

She weakly waved a dismissive hand. “There is always something taking my mind away—the League and my father’s unfulfilled destiny, just as such things occupy you as well.”

“No, this time it is something else with you,” he said quietly, with no rebuke for her effort at deflecting. “You know you cannot deceive me, Talia. This matter has been heavy upon your shoulders since you arrived here. Last night…it was not the same. Only a part of you was with me.”

With lips pressed in a tight line, she stared downward at her hands in her lap as if interested in her fingernail polish, looking for a flaw. “I’m sorry, Bane.”

“There is no need to apologize. I am not angry, only concerned.” He wanted to touch her, to draw her attention back to him as he normally would in such a situation, but something that lingered from last night kept him from following his impulse. “Tell me what is troubling you, habibati.”

She gently shook her head once. “Nothing. I’m just tired still from the long flight.”

“Talia, you know there is nothing we need to keep from one another. We never have.” He peered closer. “Have we?”

This question seemed to pain her, producing a line across her forehead, just below her small mole, the one that mirrored the one Melisande had had upon her chin. Bane managed to hide the discomfort Talia’s hesitation caused him.

“When I was growing up,” she began softly, still unable to look at him, “you always thought it was Mama or Papa whom I wanted to make proud. But even more than them, I wanted you to be proud of me. I could bear it when I disappointed them, but I could never bear it when I disappointed you.”

“You have never disappointed me, Talia.”

Her despondency increased, the furrow multiplying on her forehead, her beautifully crafted eyebrows knitting. “I have been the cause of so much pain in your life, Bane. I don’t want to cause more.”

“Nothing could pain me more than your silence, habibati.” He waited until she finally managed to look at him. “You must tell me.”

Talia hesitated, chewing her lower lip. “You know, of course, about my business relationship with Dominic LePage…”

“Yes, he was instrumental in your appointment to the Board of Directors at Wayne Enterprises.” There was more Bane could say, of course, because he knew everything there was to know about the son of French immigrants who had made their family fortune in America. He had made it a priority to be educated about all those who moved within the same circles as Talia. It was the only way he could protect her from afar.

“Dom and I have worked closely on a number of projects and fundraisers,” Talia continued, her voice a bit stronger.

Bane’s fingers twitched at her use of the man’s shortened first name, at the familiar way she said it.

“Over time we have become…good friends. You know I’m cautious about such things. I’ve tried to keep my…associates at arm’s length. And you must never think I would compromise the League or our plans.”

“Of course not.”

“But the tabloids have been talking this past year or more about my…detachment when it comes to serious relationships. I don’t want to damage the persona I have necessarily nurtured all these years as one of Gotham’s more socially-conscious philanthropists. A woman viewed as a cold bitch does not find doors opening for her. And we need such doors, as you know. So I thought perhaps Dom would be one of the safer men to allow in.” She faltered momentarily, agitating Bane. “But I’m afraid I have become more involved with him than I had planned.”

As she had related all this, Bane’s hardened gaze had traveled back to the stone buildings of the main palace, and there it remained as he slowly nodded and asked, “And what does this mean, Talia?”

She hesitated again, and he could feel her desire for him to look at her, but he could not yet do so. “It means I’ve disappointed you.”

“How?”

“How?” she gave a choked, cynical laugh. “I have developed feelings for someone who represents so many of the things we are striving against.”

“You have had many relationships since going to Gotham. A powerful, beautiful woman who did not engage in such things would be viewed with suspicion. You have done your part to blend into that society, to play a part. I have no concerns that you will lose sight of the League’s plan, your father’s plan, for Gotham, regardless of one man.”

“Bane.” A near desperate urgency in her tone now as she reached for his hand upon the arm of his chair, the one upon which he wore the brace she had given him. She squeezed his fingers to finally draw his attention back to her. He tried to soften his gaze, but he could tell by the sorrow in her expression that he had failed. “I’m sorry,” she murmured.

He forced a flicker of a smile, the best he could manage, though he knew it did not fool her. “There is nothing to apologize for. I know you are lonely there. The fact that you have denied yourself love this long is a testament to your strength.”

“Love? I didn’t say that I love Dom.”

He gave her hand a returned squeeze before releasing it. “The word does not need to pass your lips when it is so plainly in your eyes, habibati, now and last night.”

“No, you’re wrong. I care for him, yes, but love…” She shook her head.

“You deny it because you’ve never been in love before, Talia. Yes, there were the boys in school, but they were just boys, and you were but a child.”

“I know what love is, Bane,” she insisted almost angrily. “What I feel for you is love.”

“Of course, habibati; you love me, but we both know there are many forms of love. And what you feel for me…well, it has changed, as it should. I’ve never had any delusions about our relationship. You must not fear that I will feel jilted by any of this. As long as our plan remains your priority, as I know it will, I do not begrudge your feelings for this man or any pleasant distraction he provides for you.”

She studied him. “Don’t you get lonely?”

Bane manufactured a teasing smile. “I have Barsad.”

His unexpected humor almost made her laugh, but sadness choked the sound before it could escape her. “You know what I mean,” she chided.

“I only get lonely when I think of you.”

“Oh, Bane…” She had to turn away, tears threatening.

“We have talked about this before, Talia,” he said, his tone becoming a bit stern. “I’ve never wanted your pity. There is no reason for it. I am living the life that I have chosen. If I wanted it to be different, I would make it so.”

“It’s not pity. I want to be with you. I wish we could see more of each other. Perhaps then I wouldn’t have…done what I have done.”

“Things have happened as they should. You have no reasons for regret.” Laboriously he stood with a grunt, his back protesting his carnal activities. “Now, my dove, you should shower and return to the palace. Your grandmother is expecting you for breakfast. She will be calling soon to scold you.”

“Bane.” As he passed her, she reached for his hand, stopping him on the threshold. Her large eyes looked up at him, a million unsaid words there.

He offered a small smile and touched her cheek. “No Gothamite can ever come between us, habibati. You have always been a part of me. And you always will be.” Then he pulled away and returned to his room.

Once Talia was in the shower, Bane got dressed for his usual morning walk through the palace courtyards. The exercise would help loosen up his back and give him time and space to clear some of the turmoil that he had hidden from Talia. As always, he carried his phone with him, for he never allowed himself to be inaccessible to his brothers, even when he was here.

He passed Hisham on his way out, the servant carrying in the tea and rich-smelling coffee. “Will you be gone long, sir?”

“I will be back by the time you bring my breakfast, Hisham.”

Once outside, moving alone with agitated strides across the pavement, Bane allowed some of his restraint to weaken. His fists clenched, and he longed for violence to release some of his pain and anger. The thought of Dominic LePage nauseated him, especially when he imagined him with Talia. No doubt the man was toying with her, and he was clever enough to somehow have fooled her. She was lonely, nothing more, stressed by the double life she led and still haunted by her father’s death as well as his legacy. It was too much for her, Bane lamented. He never should have allowed her to take on this role. LePage would only end up hurting her, and Bane could not let that happen.

His phone began to ring. A glance at the ID encouraged him to quickly answer.

“What news, Finn?”

“I was able to confirm the intel,” Finn Donnell’s voice came through as clear as if he were calling locally. His tone was a bit elevated, as it often was when something of the utmost importance was discussed. “The good Doctor is indeed determined to defect. His government has increased pressure on him and threatened his family should he not turn over all of his research and submit to their designs.”

“As we expected,” Bane said with a nod, his focus instantly shifting from his personal pain to the requirements of his office. “Our previous efforts to acquire him have been unsuccessful. Perhaps now he will be receptive to a deal proffered by one of our brothers. I will contact Sao to arrange it.”

“Well, tell him to hurry because we’re not alone in this race.”

“The Americans?”

“Aye, among others.”

Thoughtfully Bane grunted, his mind already compiling information and formulating plans. “I will call him now.”

“And you’ll inform our sister? Or shall I?”

Of course Finn did not know Bane was with Talia at her grandmother’s, and this fact made Bane smile a little at the continued success of their deception. “I will talk to her after I speak with Sao. I’m sure she will approve my plans and the funds necessary.”

“Will you require any of my men for the extraction?”

“No, Sao’s men will be sufficient. And I will personally lead the op.”

“Very good.”

“Keep me informed as to the plans of our American friends.”

“I will. Our brother, as you know, is highly placed. He’s working tirelessly on this.”

“You will extend my thanks to him. Give him whatever he needs. It is time we kindle the fire, brother.” Bane paused. “There is one other thing I must discuss with you. An op for one of your best assassins.”

His stony gaze reached back along the large courtyard to the guesthouse, to the doors of his veranda. He saw Talia standing there, dressed only in a white robe, fresh from her shower, hair wet, a cup of tea in her hand. She was looking at him. Bane turned away, his grip tightening upon the phone.

Finn’s question pulled him back. “Who is the target, brother?”

“Our sister’s latest lover.”

Someone's getting a little jealous... Bane and Talia reminds me of my situation with my ex. She was a psycho, and it took me a while to move on from it. Hopefully Bane can do the same

BaneIsPain wrote:Someone's getting a little jealous... Bane and Talia reminds me of my situation with my ex. She was a psycho, and it took me a while to move on from it. Hopefully Bane can do the same

Lots of psycho ex's out there. Fortunately I don't have any ex's to be psychotic.

Btw, I'm going to Toronto in the hopes of seeing Tom Hardy walk the red carpet at the premiere of "The Drop." Probably the closest appearance he'll ever make to where I live, so I figure what the hell. I've never been to a red carpet anything.

Baniac wrote:

BaneIsPain wrote:Someone's getting a little jealous... Bane and Talia reminds me of my situation with my ex. She was a psycho, and it took me a while to move on from it. Hopefully Bane can do the same

Lots of psycho ex's out there. Fortunately I don't have any ex's to be psychotic.

Btw, I'm going to Toronto in the hopes of seeing Tom Hardy walk the red carpet at the premiere of "The Drop." Probably the closest appearance he'll ever make to where I live, so I figure what the hell. I've never been to a red carpet anything.

Sounds great! Hope it turns out well, have fun!

I saw Tom Hardy at the premiere of his new movie The Drop this past Friday at the Toronto Film Festival. I was at the front of the barrier as he came down the line. There was Bane right in front of my shocked face. Here's a couple of pics I took at the event.

Must have been surreal to see him in person lol

BaneIsPain wrote:Must have been surreal to see him in person lol

It totally was!! BatmanBane was there with me, and afterwards I told her that it had been an out-of-body experience.

As Tom was coming down the line toward us, I heard him thank the fans for coming.

Thirty-six

Bane was alone in the small, warm, windowless room. A fly buzzed around his head, but he paid it no heed as he waited. He glanced at his watch. His men should be here any minute. In anticipation his fingers twitched, his breathing deep and even through the mask. The wheezing, metallic sound made him think of Talia and her recent concerned remark about his respiration and how it had become more labored over the years. The scar tissue in his sinuses often forced him to breathe through his mouth. Coupled with this annoyance was the pain of his old injuries, a pain that worsened every year with age and his body’s strengthening resistance to the drugs. And the increased discomfort did nothing for his daily mood, as Barsad often pointed out.

Just as Bane’s thoughts touched on his lieutenant, Barsad entered the room and closed the door behind him. His heavy-lidded eyes were troubled as he pulled the shemagh away from his face. His clothing, like Bane’s, was that of a simple citizen of Jaipur, but hidden beneath were two pistols and at least one knife.

“Where the hell are they?” Barsad groused, pacing.

“They will be here,” Bane said calmly. “Patience, brother.”

But he knew his assurance was lost upon his second in command. Since first learning of this operation, Barsad had been torn by indecision. While he understood its necessity and purpose and even approved of it, he had misgivings about its ramifications. He lacked Bane’s confidence that there would be no fall-out, no damage to Maysam.

“Once they arrive,” Bane said, “your presence is not required, brother. I will do this myself, as I have said I would.”

“No, I’ll stay here. I wanna see the look on that bitch’s face.”

Five more minutes passed, then Bane heard the door to the hallway open and the sound of a woman’s muffled voice getting closer. The door to the room opened, and two of the League’s men entered with their captive, a woman dressed in flowing black Muslim dress, hooded. The operatives’ gazes met Bane’s, and he gave a simple nod to dismiss them. They shut the door behind them, but they would not be far.

The woman flinched at the closing of the door, and her head moved erratically from side to side as if trying to verify that her captors had deserted her. Her rapid, fearful breathing could be heard against her gag, and she struggled with her bindings. Barsad took a step forward and removed the hood with a rough swipe. The unexpected action caused the woman to gasp in surprise and instinctively back away.

Free of the blinding hood, Iba blinked into the weak light of a single bulb suspended from the low ceiling. Stumbling back toward the door, she stared with widened eyes at Bane and Barsad, paling. With a knife now in hand, Barsad brandished it to frighten her even more and stepped close. She had nowhere to go and so instead cried out against the gag. With one smooth move, Barsad’s blade sliced through the cloth gag, drawing a nick of blood from her cheek. Though relieved he had not slit her throat, she was so alarmed that she could not immediately find her voice. However, it did not take long for a certain amount of indignation to empower her now that she could see her captors were not enemies of her husband’s, as she had no doubt assumed when she had been taken.

“You,” she uttered, glancing between Bane and Barsad. “What is the meaning of this?”

“I think you know,” Bane rumbled, stepping closer to her, fingers flexing.

Iba’s dark gaze viewed him with contempt, the fear overpowered by her arrogance. She was a woman accustomed to doing, saying, and getting whatever she wanted.

“If I knew,” she sniped, “I would not have needed to ask.”

“I have been a man of forbearance over the years since Siddig’s death. But I fear my patience has reached an end.”

Iba’s eyes flicked toward Barsad and the knife in his hand. “Is this some game of Maysam’s? A way to intimidate me? She is a jealous old fool.”

Barsad barked a laugh. “Jealous of what? She’s twice the woman you are.”

“She has nothing but that palace, a place that is rightfully mine now.” She glanced behind her. “Untie me at once. I will tell Amir of your insult to his wife, sending thugs to kill my security detail and kidnap me.” Again she looked at Barsad, this time with a small smirk. “One of whom used to work for you. You killed one of your own.”

Barsad had a smirk to rival hers. “Kazim isn’t dead. Who do you think told us where you’d be today?”

Color again drained down Iba’s face into her tapered chin. But she quickly rallied. “I said untie me. How dare you treat me this way? My husband will have your heads.”

Bane stepped even closer, and Iba instinctively pressed against the door. Her effort to appear in control wavered under Bane’s stare, his powerful chest nearly touching her.

“I warned you,” Bane said with measured words. “I told you and Amir that there would be consequences if you continued to harass Maysam.”

“Harass? We have allowed her to live where she no longer belongs. I would call that charity, not harassment. But no doubt she has filled your heads with lies about us. After all, what could you know of the real truth when you come to Rajasthan but once a year to defile her granddaughter? If you truly cared about Maysam, you would never dishonor her in such a way. And the same for her whore of a grandchild. But considering who Talia’s father and mother were, I am surprised by none of it.”

With an irrepressible flare of fury, Bane reached for her. She had time only for a brief gasp before he snapped her neck. He held onto her as the life left her eyes, then he let her body drop.

“It’s about damn time,” Barsad griped. “You let her go on long enough. She always was a mouthy bitch.”

Bane turned away, sighed to himself, forced away the rage over Iba’s remarks. “Get her out of here. And make sure they find her body.”

Barsad dragged Iba away from the door so it could be opened. “I hope you’re right about this, brother. Amir’s gonna know it was you. Maysam isn’t safe there, especially now.”

“Amir will suspect me, yes, but he will have no proof. The mere suspicion will ensure that he gives Maysam the peace she deserves. Amir will be more relieved that it was his wife’s neck I broke instead of his own. You have nothing to fear, brother, and neither does Maysam. I would not have done this unless I was certain. You should know that.”

Somewhat sheepish, Barsad nodded. “Well, whatever happens, I’m glad you took the bitch out. It was long overdue.” He could not conceal a small grin. “I only wish you would’ve let me do it.”

###

Daichi Sao’s voice over the telephone sounded strained and full of displeasure, though he was normally a man who hid his emotions. “I’m afraid the good Doctor has refused our offer, brother. I am sorry that I have failed you.”

Bane stared into the dark night beyond the SUV’s windshield as the vehicle sped through Jaipur’s streets. “It is no failure, brother. We merely move onto our next step. I assume the Doctor refused us because he received a more…appealing proposition from our American friends?”

“Of course he would not say, but our brother inside confirmed this.”

Bane felt Barsad’s curious eyes upon him from behind the wheel of the SUV, but he did not meet his lieutenant’s gaze. “Very well. Does he know where the rendezvous will be?”

“Yes. I will send the coordinates to you.”

“Very well. Deadshot and I will head the team.” Bane smiled to himself. “The good Doctor will live to regret his lack of vision. And the Americans as well. They think they have thwarted us, but in reality they have given us an excellent opportunity. I will be in touch tomorrow after I work through the details, brother.”