“Oh, for the good old days of East versus West and one-size-fits-all black hats.”
The Fed chief, who was not the one taking notes, wiped his hands together as if they’d come in contact with something unclean. “You’ve compromised a major international counterinsurgency operation, Mr. Whoever-you-are-in-there. I’m not at liberty to tell you the initiatives involved, but we had our operatives in place, ready to interdict, when your grandstanding blew the whole thing sky-high. Now we’re back to ground zero. The transfer never took place. We’ve wasted our time and the taxpayers’ money. We’re stuck up here hoping that the Besserbs”—he pointedly did not change his pronunciation—“will reestablish contact before they head back up to Canada and we’ve lost them.”
Operatives in place? Catwoman? Catwoman a federal operative? Catwoman a spy? The notion was ludicrous, and yet she was the only one at the scene whose motives remained unclear. It made precious little sense, but, then again, the whole situation made precious little sense.
Batman stoically endured the scorn and veiled threats until the Feds had tired themselves out and left. Then he turned to Gordon. “I’ve got to stop them,” he said flatly, without elaborating on which “them” he had in mind.
“I know, you did your best.” Gordon sighed. “Not even you could be expected to unravel this mess in time. It’s a whole new world out there, and we’re just trying to keep the peace in Gotham City. The Feds are claiming preeminent jurisdiction. I’m ready to give it to him and just hope that there isn’t more bloodshed.”