Batman ignored the front doors, the back doors, and the basement loading docks. He used grapple lines to reach the broad ledge outside the Commissioner’s office. After all, serving justice didn’t rule out a few surprises. It wouldn’t hurt either of them to laugh at a fundamentally harmless prank. Bruce Wayne could almost see his old friend spraying coffee across his desk when he heard his window opening rather than his door.
But Gordon’s window opened silently, and he was too engrossed in his paperwork to notice which way Batman had come into the room.
“Ah—you’re here. Good. Have a seat and let me fill you in.”
A bit abashed, and grateful for the mask, Batman closed the window. Shrugging his shoulders reflexively to keep the cape from choking him while he sat, Batman settled into one of the leather armchairs. “Is this about the fire down below the East End—“
Gordon cut Batman off with a wave of his hand. “No, I don’t know about a fire, but it’s not at all likely. Our problem isn’t in Gotham City yet, but it’s coming soon. Interpol and our own Federal security agencies had me in meetings all day; we just got them loaded on their planes and shipped out of here. Seems they’ve gotten wind of some newfangled terrorist group planning to come here to Gotham City to buy enough arms, ammunition, and ground-to-air Stinger missiles to outfit a small army.”
Batman leaned forward in his chair. His concern was clearly visible below the hard shadow of his mask. The Commissioner had his complete attention. “Who? There’s no one in Gotham running that kind of arms race. Who’s buying?”