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FIRST: AN APOLOGY: this is not a crossover in the sense of the word. Of course both series meet here and the characters interact more or less in one way or another, but they don't work alongside very long or very often. For those who expect this to be the way that The Shadow and Batman bump into each other right on the first page, decide to work together and keep on doing so till the end of the story, they will be disappointed. It wouldn't work that way. For the knowledgeable Shadow and Batman fan: This story is based upon Batman-The Animated Series (so don't expect me to know anything about the DC comics) and the motion picture The Shadow, which in return means that I don't take into account the numerous comics (which I've read nevertheless) and their plotlines, the agents mentioned there or the personal history of Lamont Cranston/Kent Allard/Ying Ko. This is ultimately a crossover between a character of a motion picture and a series, interpreted in the way the author wanted it to be. Oh, and yes, I know that Batman's Gotham City is really New York of our times, but as a writer I ignore such minor facts.
Have fun.
 

The Lear Jet streaked through the night sky, its position lights blinking regularly. In the cockpit a young woman dressed in a casual looking, black jumpsuit sat at the controls and talked with Control of Gotham City Airport.
"Roger that," she just confirmed the latest information and corrected the Jet's course of flight. "ETA one hour, Gotham Control."
The controller at the airport gave her the time window and repeated the course of flight, then she switched off. She'd get in contact with the Control Tower when she was ready for landing. The female pilot activated the autopilot and then walked into the passenger cabin.
The cabin was spacious and resembled a large office, complete with a satellite linked computer, phone and TV. A heavy mahogany desk with a black leather executive chair dominated one side of the airplane, a creme colored couch with two matching armchairs the other. Soft, likewise creme colored carpet swallowed all sound and she approached the man lying on the couch noiselessly. Nevertheless he opened his eyes the second she came up to him. Clear blue eyes fixed on her. His thick black hair was unruly and hung into his eyes. There was an attraction about this man, with his slim figure and the handsome face, that was magnetic. He appeared young, barely 30, but then, if you really looked at him, there was also a darkness inside him, something he would never be able to shake off, though it had been worse many years ago, as she knew from other agents. R.C. was used to the darkness and whenever it surfaced she knew how to take it.
"We'll be landing in about one hour," she said softly.
The man resting on the couch nodded and sat upright. He straightened his sweater and stretched. "Anything from our man in Gotham?"
"If you mean Marty, no." She shook her head. "I guess we'll get word from him when we're down."
Lamont Cranston stifled a yawn and she gave him a critical look.
"Not much sleep before now, right?" she asked and there was heavy criticism in her voice.
The blue eyes turned hard for a second, then softened. She knew he had a temper, but he knew that she had the temper to match it. There had been heavy quarrels in the past and she was always ready to resume their fights.
"Correct," he simply said.
She shook her head. "When will you ever learn?" she muttered. "The human body can take only that much." She turned to go and take her place in the cockpit again.
"I am not human," Cranston said softly.
R.C. turned back. "You are as human as I am, Lamont Cranston." She stabbed a finger at him. It was an old argument. "Your mind is above average, as are your skills, but it all comes down to the one fact that you are human." She turned on her heels and walked back to the cockpit. "Jerk," she muttered. She shut the door behind her and switched off the autopilot.
On the radar screen were several blips, all aiming for Gotham Airport. She recognized a Gulf Stream and two 747s. The Gulf Stream would land ahead of her while the two passenger flights were too far away to threaten her ETA. R.C. gunned back some of the power on the engines and checked her controls. They were right on time.

*

Lamont Cranston watched his pilot shut the door and sank back into his seat. R.C. was not only a pilot, she was also his driver, moral officer and the most trusted person there was for him. She came closer to him than even Margo Lane with her rudimentary skills in telepathy had come. Now Margo was dead, had been dead for many decades. R.C. was not a substitute Margo Lane. She was stronger and more stubborn -- and that meant something, for Margo had been very stubborn sometimes -- but she wasn't telepathic. Still, she was very special because of the skills she hadn't. Reeva Christopher was a blank spot for a telepath. She wasn't there, didn't exist, couldn't be found by a telepathic scan. It was a talent he had never met before and she had never been aware of her talent until their encounter over three years ago.
But there was also something else about the slim, dark-haired woman that cut through the protective layers all around his soul. She really knew him. She knew the darkness inside of him. Sometimes it was something he was very much afraid of. It was also something that brought out the fights between them. She was as protective of him as he was of her. And she brought some light into his life. R.C. loved her life and wasn't as brooding and moody as Lamont Cranston could be. She managed to pull him out of those moods more often than not and that made her invaluable to him.
Cranston turned his head and looked out of the window into the night sky. They were already over Gotham and where closing in on the airport. In a few minutes they would touch down. The Lear was already descending. Despite her youth, R.C. handled the plane gently and safely. He didn't know where she had learned to fly -- or when. It didn't matter. All that mattered was that she had the ability.
Business had brought Lamont Cranston from New York to Gotham City. Official business and private business. On one side he had to talk to some of the corporation heads, whose corporations belonged mainly to Cranston Research & Development Inc., on the other side there was also the fact that one of the men The Shadow had hunted in New York had surfaced Gotham City. And The Shadow felt reluctant to leave the matter at rest. Charles Harris was one of those men The Shadow had been hard pressed to catch. Harris held the mental skills of a Shiwan Khan and The Shadow had no intention to let another Khan surface. If he had to go to Gotham to stop the criminal, so he would do.
"Ladies and Gentlemen, this is your pilot speaking," R.C.'s jovial voice sounded over the loudspeaker system. "Please fasten your seat-belts and get ready for touch-down."
Lamont smiled and fastened his seat-belt. The Lear described an arc and zeroed in on the landing strip it had been assigned to.

* * *

Batman watched the computer screen come up with another dead end of one of his current cases. It was frustrating, he thought. The whole thing was extremely frustrating. He had been scanning the files for hours in a row now, looking for that tiny connection between the three robberies of an industrial plant, a warehouse and a storeroom all over Gotham City, but that fact eluded him. None of the companies robbed produced anything particularly special. The computer chips, cables and wires were available everywhere. The chemicals stolen from one company could also have been acquired regularly, without calling attention to whoever was behind it all. All companies were private owned, two by Wayne Tech Industries.
Another case was the sudden appearance of a wealthy industrialist, a certain Charles Harris. He had popped up in Gotham City, buying two bankrupt companies. Those companies had flourished again, though no one had an explanation why. Money alone couldn't do that. That was a reason for Batman to inquire further. He had found out that a lot of the high society people were expressing interest in Harris firms. Wayne Enterprises had been approached with an offer, too, but Bruce Wayne had told his executive staff to hold back, and sit and wait. Something was wrong here.
"Anything, sir?" a British voice asked.
"No," Batman answered and switched from one program to another again.
Alfred Pennyworth, butler, closest friend, and much more to Bruce Wayne and Batman set down the plate with the food and the coffee
"I brought you something down to eat since you missed breakfast." There was just a hint of criticism in his voice, but it was enough for Batman to know that the butler was very annoyed with him -- again. "Master Dick has already taken his breakfast and is in the training room."
"Thank you, Alfred," Batman said and glanced at the warm food. His stomach rumbled slightly, telling him it was indeed time to eat something.
"Eat it while it's hot," Alfred advised and then looked at the screen. "No leads?"
Batman shook his head. "There is no logical connection between the thefts. Nothing fits together. The computer can't give an answer whether the parts could belong to a weapon or not."
"Very frustrating, sir," the butler said.
"Indeed."
"May I remind you that you have an important business meeting this evening?"
Batman frowned. Then he glanced at the digital clock. It was way after ten in the morning. He had arranged that meeting himself, because if Batman couldn't find a clue to as to where Charles Harris had come from and what he wanted, maybe Bruce Wayne could.
"Uh, thank you, Alfred," he said.
"And may I advise you to get some sleep before meeting with you business partners?" the Englishman added.
Batman sighed. It was hard to ignore Alfred's good advice, since he really was tired. "I'll be up in an hour."
"Very well, sir."
With that Alfred departed. Batman kept on hacking on the keyboard of the large computer and programmed it to search through some more files and find any connection at all. Then he decided to follow Alfred's advice and call it a night -- day, that was.

* * *

The man in the expensive business suit leaned back and regarded the computer screen with a faint smile on his thin lips.
"Perfect," he said.
He activated another program and watched as the screen showed him various pictures of his goal.
Yes, perfect.
Not much longer and it would be complete. And then the world would bow to his power. His superior power. He would be able to control them all, not just the few politicians and industrialists he had under mind-control now. He turned to the man in lab coat.
"The test results are perfect," he told him and the man in the lab coat smiled proudly.
"We are already constructing a first real life test model," he said.
"Good. Very good. Proceed."
The man in the lab coat turned and left.
"Soon," the lonely figure on the throne like chair whispered. Then he seemed to pull himself together and turned to the computer and telephone on a desk beside the throne. It was time to talk to his 'supporters', the men and women he had under his power and who would do everything he wished them to.
He dialed.

* * *

Lamont Cranston looked out of the window of the apartment. It was one of the many apartments he owned in this city and he had been here a few times. But still this city amazed him. New York was large, but Gotham City was gigantic. It looked like an architect's playground, several architect's that was. The skyscrapers were of every known style, gigantic statues and pieces of art decorated the streets and the bright and colorful lights in the streets at night gave the city a look of a disco sometimes. There was a hard-to-describe beauty to this city, but it was also a place of violence and crime like none other. A lot of people claimed it was due to Batman, the caped and masked crimefighter, the Dark Knight, as he was called. Cranston had heard a lot about him and it was as if he could feel the bat's shadow over this city.
He smiled dimly. Maybe Batman would be able to arrest Harris, but Cranston didn't want to bet on it. Harris was a skilled psychic, and a normal human being, and as far as The Shadow knew, Batman was only human, too, and would be unable to defend himself against Harris' mental powers. Besides, The Shadow had never had the intention to let anyone else but him catch Harris.
Charles P. Harris had surfaced in New York six months ago, taking over several gangs and rounding up enough money through drugs and weapons' dealing to support the whole of New York for one year. The Shadow had taken up the investigation and found an equally skilled mind on the enemy side. Harris had only one draw-back: he wasn't in the business as long as The Shadow. The Shadow had honed his skills over the decades of his long life, while Harris had just recently discovered his powers. But what he lacked in power, he made up with ruthlessness and trickery. And he was constantly trying to expand his mental powers. It made him one of the most dangerous enemies The Shadow had ever faced.
The door from the adjoining room opened and R.C. stepped in. She had changed from her jumpsuit into a jeans and sweater combination. The designer jeans gave her long legs credit and the sweater hadn't been cheap either. She looked even younger than her twenty-four years, something R.C. always complained mightily about.
"Marty called," she said without preamble, stepping up beside him and gazed over the city as well. "He reported three robberies in the last week. Looks like Harris had his fingers in it. The police is at a loss and it seems that they don't see a connection."
"Locations?"
"A harbor storehouse for special, high-energy wires and cables, a chemical plant in the Industrial District and a computer manufacturer in the same district."
Lamont frowned thoughtfully. It wasn't like Harris to revert back to petty theft, but maybe this was the psychic's invitation for the hunt. Harris loved playing before he struck.
"Our agent also checked the companies Harris bought. They seem to be flourishing."
Cranston's frown deepened. "Where does he get the money from?" he thought out aloud. "When he fled from New York he was broke. We cut him off from all his resources."
"Looks like he found new sponsors. Marty said as much. He believes that Harris wormed his way into the high society of Gotham City and has now started to drain his victims of their money. He's a known business man here -- though he hasn't been around for long -- and if he keeps on going that way, I'll bet he receives the charity award this year." She grinned.
Cranston raised an eyebrow. "Possible." He rubbed his recently healed shoulder wound. He had been injured after disregarding the first rule of engagement with a criminal: never trust your eyes. A bullet had hit him because he had forgot that rule and he had lost a lot of blood. And because he had been injured, Harris had been able to escape, heavily wounded, too. The Shadow had expected Harris to lick his wounds and then return, but this hadn't happened. Harris had disappeared, until three weeks ago, when an agent of The Shadow in Gotham City had reported rumors of Harris moving into the city.
"Wound bother you again?" R.C. asked softly.
He let his hand fall away from the injured shoulder. "No."
"Liar."
His head snapped around. R.C. smiled humorously, and he tried to get himself back under control. Ever since the mental attack through Harris he had suffered on top of the physical injury he was easy to irritate. He had to find the time and place to meditate, he decided; he needed to get the attack out of his mind. The mental assault had stirred memories he had thought long buried so deeply inside of him that they would never resurface again, but they had surfaced; violent memories of his life in Tibet as Ying Ko, the crime lord. He had killed, murdered, tortured and raped. He had been pure evil. Decades ago he had been changed by a Tulku, a holy man. He had fought hard to conquer the dark side of him. He knew he would never really win, because The Shadow was an expression of that dark side, but he could keep it apart from him -- most of the times.
R.C. sighed and touched his arm, squeezing it slightly. There was a lot of comfort in her touch, though it wasn't sexually intoned. There was a line she never crossed, though temptation was there. And it was also a line he respected.
"Rest," she said softly. "The flight was draining and the days before weren't easy either. If you want to check this out, wait until nightfall. Until then, go to sleep, Lamont."
He summoned a smile. "Yes, Mom."
She scowled. "Beat it before I get violent."
That roused some amusement in him. "You wouldn't be able to take me down," he said in a low, teasing voice, accepting the challenge.
She waggled her eyebrows. "Wanna bet?"
Cranston raised his hands in defense. "Take it easy on a wounded man."
"Wounded jerk," she muttered and turned to leave the room.
With a sigh he leaned against the cool glass of the window, closing his eyes. He felt fatigue course through him and R.C.'s advice didn't really sound that bad. The night would be long and he also had some business -- official business -- to conduct throughout the next day.
Pushing away from the window he walked over to his bedroom, yawning.

*

There was nothing more boring in Dick Grayson's eyes than business meetings and charity functions. He didn't know how Bruce could stand it. Going to meetings with smart-talking people in expensive suits and slimy grins, shaking hands with guys you couldn't stand, answer dozens of questions from nosy reporters and discuss the same topic over and over again without tiring.
Tonight was one of those meetings, one that couldn't have been rearranged. Bruce was already dressing for the occasion and Dick lounged in the living-room chair, watching the TV program, which had never been worse. There was one of the many talk shows on and it was just as boring as the whole day had been.
Dick had returned from his college semester a week ago and Robin and Batman had gone out to bust some criminals in the last few nights. Dick had been really looking forward to that. College was fine and well, but being Robin was thrilling and exciting. It was what life really meant. Every time he returned to Wayne Manor and the Batcave he felt reborn.
This time the feeling of home and security was even stronger. He had had some real problems lately at college; nothing with his chosen subjects, more of a private problem. When he had returned to Gotham City College last semester he had fallen in love with a girl in his study group, Julia O'Neill. She had been a nice young woman, though very jealous and possessive. Dick had thought this would change when she realized he had no intention to even look at another girl, but it hadn't. Then, only two weeks ago, one week before the end of the semester, she had dumped him. She had told him in no unclear words that their friendship was over and that she had found another friend, someone who was, in her eyes, more her type.
It had hurt. It still hurt and it was a very sore spot inside of him. He had looked forward to his stay at Wayne Manor, maybe invite Julia over, spend some time with her at day, be Robin at night. Now, every plan he had made for this Summer was shattered.
And it hurt.
Brian, Dick's room-mate at college, had told him to take it easy. Julia was known to dump her boyfriends quite quickly when they had served her cause. And that cause was to keep her company over the semester. Then, at the end of a semester, she would dump them to be free to pursue someone else in the holiday times. But it hadn't stopped the pain the young man felt.
He had taken the pain home with him, trying to take his mind off it by training his skills and ride patrols with Batman at night. And he really hoped that the current case they had, the thefts, would leave him too busy to think about anything else. Dick planned to go out on patrol tonight, to get his mind cleared. He had to get over Julia. And crimefighting had to do the job.
Soft steps from the door told him Bruce had entered. Dick craned his neck to look over the back of the sofa he sat on. Bruce Wayne was always a striking appearance, whether in a suit or in a bat costume. Tonight he wore a dark blue business suit with a white shirt and a matching tie.
"I'll be off now, Dick," he said.
"Sure, no problem." Dick turned completely around. "I think I'll go and ride into town tonight."
Bruce's eyebrows lowered over his suddenly serious eyes. "No."
Dick thought he had misheard something. "No?" he inquired, surprised.
"No, you won't go into town tonight. At least Robin won't." There was an edge to Bruce's voice that should have warned the younger man.
"Why not?" he asked instead. "What's wrong with a little bit of crime busting tonight?"
"There is nothing wrong with that, but Robin won't do it alone. Not without back-up."
Dick got off the sofa, feeling anger rise inside of him. "Listen, Bruce, I'm a grown man! I can look after myself."
"Maybe on campus, but it's a different world out there."
To Dick these words felt like salt in an open wound. Julia came to his mind and that his feeling of betrayal over their splitting-up was not exactly an example of mature behavior. Bruce didn't know anything about Julia, but he hit home with his words.
"I'm not a baby, Bruce!" Dick hissed. "Robin and Batman have been out there a lot of times!"
"Yes, Robin and Batman. I don't want to hear from the police that some gang took you apart, Dick. It's too dangerous." Bruce looked reasonably at him.
"I can take care of myself!"
"You won't leave, Dick, and that's final," Bruce said with a hard voice.
Dick balled his hands into fists, but said nothing. He simply stormed out of the living room.
 

Bruce looked after his friend in concern. They had had some arguments like this before; it seemed to be a trade of growing up, but they had never been that strong -- and never because of something concerning Robin. Dick had his own head and he was as stubborn as Bruce could be. Sometimes it was an obstacle when both discussed a problem, but most of the times they managed to solve whatever problems they had peacefully. This argument had felt wrong to Bruce. Something else was bothering the younger man, but -- what? Bruce didn't feel like a perfect warden. He thought he would have made a lousy father, but then you never knew. Dick had come to Wayne Manor at the age of nine, trying to cope with the death of his parents and the new home he was now in. Bruce and Alfred had tried hard to make him feel at home, but all the time the billionaire had thought he was doing something wrong, for Dick had not responded to his well-intended actions.
Both had learned a lot about the other since then and their relationship had grown beyond that of a ward and his warden. Dick felt like family in all the ways.
"Master Bruce?" The silent voice of Alfred made him turn around. The butler looked slightly worried, but he kept his thoughts to himself. "It's time to leave."
Bruce nodded and took his coat, which was offered by Alfred.
"Have an eye on Dick, will you, Alfred?"
"Of course, sir."
The billionaire nodded and then left his house. As he drove toward the city he cleared his mind for the meeting to come. It wouldn't do to be pre-occupied while meeting with other corporation heads.

* * *

Charles Harris sat in his executive chair and eyed the man standing in front of him.
"Well?" he asked.
"We perfected the transmitter chip and there should be no more problems with the amount of power transferred between the receivers and the wires as such."
"Good." The crime boss smiled coldly. "When can I expect a fully functional model?"
"If we get the requested parts, by tomorrow night. It will only be a prototype, but it will be fully functional."
"Good," Harris repeated. "Tomorrow night then."
"Yes, sir." With that his underling vanished through the door to resume his work.
Harris leaned back and his smile broadened. Tomorrow night the world would tremble before him. Tomorrow night no one would be able to stop him. Satisfaction coursed through him. It had been a good decision to come here, to flee from that black pit called New York. Here he had time and resources and no one who followed him on his heels, threatening his operations.
That brought him to this night's theft he had planned. The last one in the row of thefts he had arranged. He had to get prepared.
Something at the borders of his consciousness aroused his attention. He concentrated, his eyes loosing their intense gleam as his energies were concentrated to a focus point inside of his mind. Yes, there it was. A small glimmer of blackness. A small pool of power. A barely contained power.
"Hello, hello, hello," he chuckled. "So you have come here, my friend. Foolish, foolish."
This promised to get very interesting indeed. A struggle of powers. A game of darkness against darkness. A contest of minds.
"But your mind will be conquered," Harris said softly. "You are nothing against me!"
Laughter rang through the room, triumphant laughter of a victory not yet won.
"The Shadow will finally bow to Charles Harris tomorrow night!"

* * *

Thomas Maine was a man of the street. You could say he had his fingers in everything that smelled like money and there was nothing he hadn't tried to get the wealth he always talked about. He hadn't had success, though, but it was rumored that he was really a disgustingly rich guy, who just couldn't leave the streets -- which was, in effect, true. Maine was rich, not yet disgustingly rich, but on his best way. It was also true that he just couldn't get off the streets. The streets were his life and home, and no marble floor mansion could get him away from here. He was also an agent of The Shadow, who had saved his life several years ago. The silver ring with the red ruby he wore on his left hand was sign enough, though no one outside The Shadow's organization knew about that. Maine had spent his whole life in Gotham City and he knew every gang and every would-be crook and crime boss there was. He did some 'jobs' now and then, when it got too boring for him to sit and watch his money multiply on dozens of bank accounts.
Now he was dozing on a park bench, his ever-present baseball cap drawn deep into his face. It was early in the evening, but the small park was already deserted, except for a few street people, who plundered the waste bins.
"The sun is shining."
Maine peeked out from under his cap, his body still relaxed. There was no sign that he was surprised by the speaker, though he hadn't heard from this particular man in years. But he would never forget that voice and he would never forget that he owned this man a lot.
"But the ice is slippery," Maine completed the sentence, still not moving. "Long time no see," he added, his lips twitching into a barely conceivable smile.
"Charles Harris," the voice said without preamble.
Maine frowned. "New face in town," he said after a few seconds. "Big money, bought some companies. Strange guy. Word on the street is, he's into something big. Hired some hands lately, but needed them for only a few jobs."
"Where does he strike next?"
Maine raised an eyebrow, which was nearly invisible under the baseball cap. "All I heard are rumors. They said he's planning something in the harbor tonight."
There was a long silence and Maine wondered if the other guy had already disappeared, when the voice came again.
"If he offers you a job, stay out of it," it advised.
Maine chuckled softly. "Man, I don't need his money to be happy, since it's pretty certain that you end up dead if you cross 'em." He grinned at the barely visible shadow behind him. Maine knew that The Shadow was aware of his agent's semi-illegal actions, but except for maybe a scowl, Maine had never received a reproach. "But thanks for the advice anyway," he added.
There was no more coming from behind and when Maine rolled his eyes to take a closer look, he found he was alone.

* * *

Robin knew he was reacting in a childish way. He was pouting and there was no real reason why he had left the Manor in such a hurry. His argument with Bruce had their reason in the fact that Bruce had forbidden him to leave tonight. At least as Robin. Dick Grayson could go wherever he wanted to, but Robin didn't leave without Batman. Robin had thought it was unfair. Only because Bruce had a meeting tonight didn't mean that Robin had to stay home!
And he had left.
Alfred knew that he was gone since the butler had seen him leave. He had tried to hold him back, but had finally given up. Robin sighed. He knew that he had to apologize to Alfred later.
Now he was cruising through the city on the Batbike, keeping his eyes open for unusual activities. And there were always a lot of unusual activities in Gotham City. Tonight he had decided to pay the harbor district a visit. He steered the Batbike toward the harbor and switched off the lights as he arrived. He then activated the infrared screen of his helmet and began his patrol.
Half an hour after arriving he discovered a suspicious looking truck standing beside a warehouse. Robin stopped the bike, cut the engine and took off the helmet. Then he crept cautiously closer to the warehouse.
There were three men with the truck. Two stood guard while the third was busy assisting a fourth man in the warehouse. Robin watched them for a minute and decided that he had to do something. The storehouse belonged to Seta Tech, a company partly owned by Wayne Tech. It manufactured electronic parts, mainly for sophisticated industrial computers. Whoever those guys were, they weren't the usual employees. Robin suspected they were thieves.
As he came even closer he heard hushed conversation. The two men at the rear of the truck were loading various small crates into the trailer, and Robin discovered a fifth man standing at the entrance to the storehouse. He had to act.
Carefully he came closer to the first of the two men standing guard. He was looking constantly around, but he also seemed a bit bored.
We can change that, buddy, the young man thought and attacked. The attack was quick and clean and the guard crumbled down without uttering a sound. Robin ducked in the shadow of the large front wheels and peered under the truck. With a grin he slid under the vehicle and looked for the feet of the second guard.
The guard was just walking around the front, apparently checking on his partner. Robin acted quickly. He grabbed the man's ankles and pulled. The man stumbled and lost balance, hitting the ground with an 'ouff'. Robin took him out just as quickly as the first man. Then he rolled out from under the truck, still keeping in its shadow.
Suddenly there was a lot of commotion from the rear of the truck. Robin froze and listened. Voices could be heard, loud voices, and someone called out to someone else that the guards were gone.
Damn! He had thought he'd have some more time. He had to act quickly now. Robin grabbed two gas bombs from his utility belt and threw them at the rear of the trailer. They exploded and gas clouded the air. The young crimefighter, his gas mask securely over his face, jumped into action. But this time he wasn't as lucky as with the first two men.
The remaining three men were coughing, but not out. They fought back, trying to spot the blurry figure of Robin in the gas clouds. Robin flattened the first man, though he could see him still moving out of the corner of his eyes, and turned to the next one. That was when the pain struck.
He cried out in agony as his head seemed to explode. Blinding white lights flared up in front of his eyes and he grabbed his head, willing the pain to subside. But the more he fought against it, the stronger it got. With a sob he fell to his knees. Like through layers of thick wool he heard shouts and a triumphant cry, then even that was gone. There was only pain.
Robin was falling deeper and deeper into the pain and it seemed to be all in his head. His body hit the ground and he curled into a ball, still clutching his head. It was unbearable and he wished he'd fall into the merciful blackness of unconsciousness, but it seemed that something was keeping relief from him.
Then there was something else.
Sounds of a fight.
A cry of alarm; an engine coming to life.
Robin's wide open eyes were streaming with tears of pain and all he saw was the brilliant white light, which was only now subsiding. Instead of the light came the shadow. Someone dressed completely in black hovered above him. For a second the young crimefighter thought it was Batman, but then he saw the broad-rimmed hat and the scarf whipping in the wind coming from the open sea. The dark figure stared down at him and then bend forward, reaching out for him.
Robin reacted by instinct. Whoever that guy was, he was a potential enemy. One hand curled around the small Batarang he always carried, along with various other weapons and, as the stranger's hands were in reach, he lashed out.
He found his wrist locked in a vice-like grip. The stranger pressed his thumb into the skin of Robin's wrist and the younger man's nerves reacted obediently. The hand opened and the Batarang fell to the ground. Robin groaned as he tried to jerk his hand away from the stranger, who kept an iron hold on him. He struggled weakly, trying to think of trick to get away from the man. The pain throbbing in his head got worse by the second and he was partly blinded by it.
"No," he whispered, panting.
"I won't hurt you," a deep and male voice said softly. "Stop struggling. You will only hurt yourself."
Robin saw the upper half of a face, the lower half hidden by a scarlet scarf. Piercing black eyes regarded him with a coldness that made him shudder.
"Who ...?" the young crimefighter whispered, his consciousness failing. He blinked wildly.
Strong arms grabbed him and pulled him up. Survival instincts kicked in. He didn't know the man, didn't know what had happened and there was no back-up in sight. Batman wasn't here to help him. Summoning every ounce of strength he still possessed he pushed away from the stranger and tried to run, but his knees gave way. His legs were too weak to carry him and he slumped against the taller man.
Then the blackness swallowed him completely.

*

The Shadow grabbed the young, costumed man as he finally lost consciousness and prevented him from hitting the ground. He slung the limp body over his shoulder and carried him to where a non-descript car parked beside one of the many other storehouses in the harbor. The car was a dark blue BMW which didn't look any different from all the other BMWs, but if you took a closer look inside you would have been surprised. There were secret compartments where make-up kits, clothes, ammunition, weapons and all sorts of other handy equipment was stored. Special fiber glass, bullet proof windows and a special bullet proof body kept the passengers and the driver safe from an outside attack. The car was slightly longer than the normal model. It had a cellphone, a tiny TV with a tape recorder, and the engine had been modified so it resembled more of a jet engine.
Now the door of the car opened automatically without anyone handling it. The Shadow dumped the young man on the back seats and then slid inside the BMW, too.
"Drive," he instructed the driver and the car was on its way.
When they were far away from the harbor, the driver looked into the rear view mirror, regarding his passenger. The Shadow was a lump of solid darkness on the back seat, only the street lights flashing over his face, the lower half covered with a scarlet scarf. The unconscious man lay beside him, breathing heavily.
"Is he all right?" the driver asked, the voice female.
The Shadow glanced at their additional passenger. "He will be," he answered.
"Where to?"
"The apartment."
The woman drove cunningly through the streets of Gotham City, evading reckless drivers and cabbies, all the time keeping one eye on her passengers. She could have qualified as a race car driver.
"Harris?" she asked, checking to see if they were tailed.
"Yes."
The single word was spoken with such a coldness, that the driver glanced at The Shadow.
"He escaped," she stated, taking another curve.
"Yes."
She steered the car toward one of the many skyscrapers and activated a remote. A door to a garage below the skyscraper opened and she drove in. The door closed immediately after her. Then she parked the car in its usual spot and got out. She walked to the back door where their unconscious guest was and opened it. The door on the other side opened, too, and a man dressed in a business suit got out.
For a second R.C. mentally shook her head as she once again saw how complete the transformation was. With the relaxation of his facial muscle, the features of The Shadow changed into those of Lamont Cranston, billionaire and owner of several corporations all over the continent. His blue eyes stood in contrast to the black eyes of The Shadow and his pleasant face showed nothing of his alter ego, except if you knew him. And R.C. knew him pretty well.
"Take care of him," Cranston said.
"I'm not a nursemaid," she said sourly.
He simply regarded her with those blue eyes, which seemed to turn black for an instance, and R.C. raised one dark eyebrow. "What shall I do when he wakes?"
"He can move freely and leave whenever he wants," Cranston instructed. "Just let him rest. He needs it." With that he turned to go.
R.C. sighed and shook her head. "Why's it always me?" she muttered.
"Because you applied for the job," Lamont's soft voice told her close to her ear. His breath tickled her hair. How he had gotten behind her so quickly was one of his many secrets.
She glanced at the youthful face right next to her and grimaced. "One day you'll find yourself flat on your back if you keep on doing that," she told him.
He chuckled. "Try me." Then he was gone to do whatever he had in mind.
"I will," she told the empty air and then got to her task of taking their guest out of the car and getting him upstairs.

*

Bruce Wayne returned home early, earlier than he had anticipated. The meeting had been closed after a short, intense discussion with Mr. Harris. It had brought no further information as to where this man was leading with his action. He was offering partnerships to wealthy people and his arguments sounded logical and believable. 'Tempting' was another word. But there was also the strange feeling Bruce had had throughout the meeting.
He rubbed his head, which was aching a bit. The headache had started right from the beginning of the meeting and had worsened. He had thought about taking an aspirin, but on his way home everything had gotten better. He wondered where this had come from. As he parked the Jag in the garage, his mind went back to the confrontation he had had with his ward. Another problem. It wasn't as if he didn't understand the younger man. Dick wanted to go out and fight some crooks, but Bruce wasn't ready to let him go out there alone. Sure, Robin often acted on his own and he was successful, but Batman was always there as back-up. Though the young crimefighter trained hard every day it would take some more time for him to get perfect.
Bruce walked through the connecting door into the manor and to his not so complete surprise he was met by Alfred. The butler looked slightly worried and more than a bit ruffled.
Dick, Bruce thought, knowing that something must have happened after he had left some hours before. Maybe Dick had gotten into a fight with Alfred, too. It was possible after his temper had flared.
"Evening, Alfred," he greeted his oldest friend, raising an expectant eyebrow.
"Master Robin has left," Alfred said instead of a greeting and the dignified voice of the British butler was scornful.
Bruce groaned inwardly. "When did he leave?" he asked, already steering toward the entrance of the Batcave.
"Half an hour after you left for your meeting, sir." Alfred followed his employer down the stairs to the cavern. "He took the bike."
Bruce breathed a breath of relief. At least the boy had had the sense to leave the Batmobil alone. Not that he didn't trust Robin's driving skills, of course. The young man could drive and fly every vehicle in the Batcave. The billionaire walked over to the vault containing his costumes and started to change.
"Anywhere particular he wanted to go?" he asked.
"No, sir. He simply 'burned rubber', as he would say."
Bruce grinned humorlessly while attaching the cape to the dark costume. Then he put on the cowl.
"I'll find him with the homing beacon," Batman said and climbed into the Batmobil. "Don't wait up for us, Alfred."
"Very well, sir." The butler stepped away from the sleek, black car as the platform it stood on revolved and turned the front of the car toward the mouth of the cave.
Batman ignited the engine and steered the Batmobil through the tunnel toward the street. When he was safely on his way to Gotham he switched on the radar and let the computer home in on the signaling device installed in the Batbike.

* * *

Charles Harris thoughtfully rubbed his chin. The meeting with Bruce Wayne had not exactly gone the way he had planned. The wealthy industrialist had appeared to be another easy target for him to 'convince', but he had proven to be quite hard-headed. Whatever Harris had tried, it had bounced off some barriers. Natural barriers, as he suspected, since Wayne had shown no signs of realizing what Harris had tried.
Damnit! he thought. The possibility to find such a talent was slim to non-existent. But he had found one.
If he couldn't 'convince' Wayne to follow him, bad luck. He wouldn't try it too openly, because he didn't want to make the man suspicious.
Then there had been the sudden appearance of the costumed teenager at the harbor. Of course, Harris had lost no time to eliminate the boy, but The Shadow had interfered. Harris would have loved to kill them both, but even though he didn't think that The Shadow was in top shape again after their last encounter, he had hesitated, deciding to retreat. He still needed a worthy opponent to test the MindNet.
The phone rang and he picked it up. He listened intently to the caller, gave some affirmatives now and then, and hung up after a few minutes.
Except for this one drawback everything was going according to plan.

* * *

R.C. looked down at the unconscious form of the young man now lying on the spare bed of the apartment. He was dressed in a red costume with short, green sleeves and green tights. His hands and lower arms were covered by equally green gloves and he was wearing a cape that was black on the outside and golden-yellow on the inside. A small mask covered his eyes, hiding his features. He was about her age, she guessed, maybe even two or three years younger. His dark, unruly hair was matted with blood and dirt and the costume he wore was torn in places. From the look of the scalp wound he must have received quite a whack on the head or he had bumped against something. Judging from what she saw he had taken some beating in addition to whatever else had happened to him.
The young woman sighed and set to work, stripping their new guest of the dirty clothes. She didn't worry about the secret identity she was now revealing. She knew the secret of The Shadow and even if this guy here was some super-secret defender of good, hell, he was hurt and he needed help. And she likewise didn't care about seeing someone of the other sex naked. There was nothing of the male body she hadn't seen before, and the young man was unconscious, so he wouldn't be embarrassed.
She took off the mask and studied the young, dirt-smudged features. He was definitely younger than her, she decided. About 18 or 19, no more. His body was muscular and well-trained. Athletic, she thought. And cute. With a shake of her head she crumbled the clothes into a ball and threw them over to where the bathroom was. No time to admire the view, she thought with a smile. There would be time for that later.
Then she set to work, cleaning and bandaging the wounds.
What does The Shadow know about you that I don't? she wondered
The Shadow seldom displayed his caring part, something R.C. knew existed, and when he rescued someone he mostly left him or her for the officials to deal with. Or he would get the rescued person to a safe place and leave. What was so different about this guy, except that he was wearing a costume and a mask? She wasn't to apprehend him if he decided to leave, but ..... Why not dump him somewhere while he was unconscious? He wasn't badly hurt and when he woke he'd find his own way home. This was dangerous for both of them.
From the few words The Shadow had lost about the incident, she had deducted that this man had been psychically attacked. Bastard! she thought, addressing the attacker. She had a good guess who had been the attacker. There was only one man.
After finishing the ministrations she cleaned up and then walked over to the bathroom. She needed a shower herself and the clothes needed cleaning, too. She glanced at her guest again, then disappeared inside the bathroom.

* * *

Alfred, dressed in a bathrobe and wearing a pair of slippers, stood beside the Batmobil, regarding the Batbike with concern and worry. The motorbike looked innocent and unscarred by any weapons. Nothing pointing toward a violent encounter. Batman had gone over the bike inch by inch, but he hadn't found a trace to where Robin could have disappeared to.
The Batmobil had returned an hour ago, the Batbike strapped to it. It was an unusual sight and at first Alfred had been afraid that Robin had been injured. The butler had woken abruptly from an uneasy sleep -- mainly because he was worried -- and had followed his intuition as he had come down here. He had some kind of sixth sense when it came to his 'protegees' and their injuries. When only Batman had exited the car and then unstrapped the bike, he had rushed toward the passenger cabin of the car, looking inside. No Robin. A quick inquiry had ascertained the fact that Robin had been nowhere near the bike.
"What about the tracer Master Robin wears in his costume?" the butler had asked.
"Negative," had been the brief answer.
And the way Batman had spoken the one word had told Alfred all he needed to know. He was very worried, though he didn't show it. Batman only showed annoyance and barely restrained anger.
Right now he was at the computer, trying to get a fix on the homing beacon Robin carried. There was no way he could have turned it off. And it was quite resistant to blows, fire and water.
A thin line was drawn around Batman's mouth and Alfred knew what that meant. Batman would work until he either couldn't find a trace here -- and then he'd try something else -- or until he broke down over the computer. Dick was like a little brother -- maybe even the child Bruce Wayne might never have -- and Batman would go any length to find him.
"Any way I can help, sir?" the butler asked politely.
"No, thank you, Alfred." Batman didn't even look up from his work.
The Englishman sighed softly and turned. He wanted return to his bed, though he doubted that he would find sleep. Dick Grayson was as much a son to him as Bruce Wayne was, so he was just as worried and afraid for the young man's safety.

* * *

Dick Grayson woke with the mother of all headaches. Everything hurt, his head most of all. He tried to open his eyes, but that brought even more pain, which he had not thought possible. So he simply kept on lying wherever he was, assuming he could take the leisure to do so. His mind started to supply him with memory fragments and the jigsaw-puzzle that was his memory started to form into a pictures.
The attack in the warehouse.
The pain in his head.
The fall.
And the shadowy figure which had saved him from the thugs, who had been after him.
The memory of the black clad figure made him open his eyes again. This time the pain was bearable and he got a first look at his surroundings. It wasn't familiar. And this gave him a shock. Wherever he was, it was an apartment; the bedroom of an apartment as it seemed. Dick was lying on a soft bed, covered by a blanket. Somewhere he heard a shower running.
This was none of Bruce's rooms in the manor, he knew. This was not an apartment he owned in Gotham City, either. Panic spread inside of him. Someone had helped him out of a tight spot -- a very tight spot -- and had brought him here. And he had apparently undressed him and treated his wounds.
Undressed him.
The panic rose.
Whoever this shadowy figure had been, he now knew who was behind the mask. Dick groaned softly and closed his eyes again. This wasn't good. This wasn't good at all.
Suddenly a phone rang. A door opened and closed again and he heard hurried steps.
"Yes," a female voice said and Dick opened his eyes again in surprise.
He discovered a woman, clad in a bathrobe, standing beside a low table. She held a portable phone, whose desk unit sat on the table. The woman appeared to be in her  early twenties, with shoulder-length black hair, lively eyes and a slightly tanned skin.
A woman in a bathrobe.
Dick didn't get it. What had happened? Was she the shadowy figure? And what was he doing in her apartment? In her bed?!
"Hey, Randall," the woman greeted the man on the other side of the connection. "Yes, everything is fine ......   they what? ..... No, I talked to Brian ..... I'm not the private secretary, Randall. Tell Brian he has to rearrange the appointments all by his little self ..... Yes, okay, I'll tell the boss .... Just a minute." Dick watched as the dark-haired woman grabbed a leather-bound book lying on the table beside the phone. "As far as I can read that terrible handwriting, he has an appointment with Corrigan Enterprises today and one with a guy called Wayne from Wayne Enterprises in the afternoon ..... I expect we'll have a full schedule anyway. You know him ..... yes, I'll relay that message, don't worry, Randall." She rolled her eyes. "Heaven, please, don't give me that crap! ..... Yes, bye."
Still shaking her head she replaced the receiver of the portable phone and sighed.
"I should get a raise for that," the woman muttered. Then she looked Dick. "Hello. Welcome back to the world of the living." She came closer and Dick wished she'd wear more than just a bathrobe. It wasn't long enough to cover her legs completely and the fact that she was most likely naked under that robe didn't make it easier on Dick. He pulled the covers further up to his chin.
He was a confused. No, correction: he was extremely confused. "Who are you?" he asked and noted how weak his voice sounded.
"Call me R.C.," she said and smiled, obviously amused by his shy behavior.
"R.C.?"
She shrugged. "Reeva Christopher, if you have to know. How do you feel?" R.C. asked and gave him such a close look that Dick felt his cheeks burn.
"Like someone organized a tap-dance festival complete with live-orchestra in my head," he said ruefully and rubbed his aching head.
"Wouldn't expect anything else. You seem to have taken quite a bump on the head. Anything else that hurts?" Her eyes, which he now saw were a bright green, showed concern.
He wanted to shake his head, but thought otherwise. "No," he answered. "Not much, anyway," he added. "Where am I?"
"Sorry, can't really tell, my friend." She looked apologetically at him. "And if you feel well enough to get home -- wherever that is -- you can leave whenever you want."
Dick frowned. "I can leave? Just like that?"
She nodded. "Just like that. No conditions."
"Who are you really? And why was I brought here?"
R.C. chuckled. "I know you're worried about your identity, but don't. I'm a friend. I don't want to know your name and I won't look your face up anywhere. You were brought here by a friend and you were hurt. That's all I needed to know. So relax. I'll give your clothes a once-over in cleaning and stitching and then you can go off to wherever you want to go. If you need some civvies, look into that closet," she gestured at a closet left of Dick, "I'm sure you can find something there."
Dick nodded. "Okay," he said cautiously, not really believing in his luck.
R.C. smiled encouragingly at him. "Now if you'll excuse me, I've to get dressed."
"One more question," the young man interrupted her departure.
"Yes."
"Can you tell me what really happened to me?"
There was a thoughtful expression on her face. "You've had a nasty encounter with a very dangerous man. That's all I can tell you. My friend who brought you here said you also took some heavy beating."
Dick nodded and she disappeared in the bathroom again. When the door had closed after her, he tried to get out of the bed. The pain from the multiple bruises made him wince, but he managed to get to his own two feet. Naked as he was he staggered over to the closet and opened it. There were some clothes in here and they looked normal. He dressed laboriously in jeans, which were a bit too long, and a dark blue sweater. When he was finished, his head was pounding and he felt sick. But the goal to get out of here kept him moving.
He went over to the window overlooking the city. To his relief he found that he was still in Gotham City. The skyline was familiar to him. And from the position of the sun it was early in the morning.
The door to the bathroom opened again and R.C. stepped out. Now she was wearing black designer jeans, a white silk blouse and leather boots. The only jewelry she wore were a pair of tiny earrings and a ring on her right hand. It was a beautiful ring with a red ruby inserted in silver.
"You want something to eat before you leave?" she asked and dropped his costume on the bed.
Dick shook his head. All he wanted to do was to get out of here. He had to meet with Bruce, who was surely worried about him. And he had to get some distance between himself and the woman. He needed to think, desperately. What had happened was too confusing.
"Okay," the dark-haired woman said. "Suit yourself." Then she walked over to a door. "I have an appointment to keep and my schedule is very tight, so: 'twas nice to meet you. Close the door when you leave, okay?" That was the last Dick heard or saw of her since the door had closed.
Puzzled he went to the door he suspected lead from the apartment into the corridor. It was unlocked and he stepped outside. No one was there. The corridor was deserted. He walked back into the apartment, searched the closet for a knapsack or backpack to put the costume in, and then he left. The elevator took him down to the ground floor and he exited the skyscraper. Noting down the address mentally, Dick hailed a cab.

* * *

R.C. watched the young man leave from a secret hiding place. She had merged right with the shadow of the building, though you couldn't say she did it nearly as perfect as The Shadow. She had only picked up a few tricks while working with him. The young man left the building, looked up at the address and then hailed a cab. The cab stopped, the man got in and then it left again. She was tempted to follow him, but then decided otherwise. Whoever he was and wherever he went, she was sure that they would meet again. She wouldn't call it precognition, only a feeling. A very strong feeling.
After the cab had disappeared in the traffic of Gotham City, the dark-haired woman stepped away from the building and walked down a few blocks to where Lamont Cranston had his headquarters while he was in town. The apartment the man had woken in would be nothing more than an empty room should he choose to return and check it out. R.C. stepped into the much larger apartment she and Cranston shared. He was already here, she noted.
"He left?" he asked with a low voice.
She nodded and hung up her leather jacket. "Yes. He's pretty confused, but a nice guy. Cute."
A knowing grin crossed Lamont's handsome features. R.C. grimaced theatrically.
"Don't even think it, Cranston," she warned him.
"Who? Me? Never."
The innocent look couldn't fool her. She tossed her hair back and glowered at her employer. He shrugged and then sat down in an armchair.
"He has gone undercover again," he said, changing the topic.
R.C. smothered a curse. "Damn!" she said instead. "What's he planning? He's into drugs and weapons, not petty theftt. Why is he stealing all of that stuff, which he could buy everywhere? And with his money he could buy it in tons!"
"To lure me to him."
She frowned. "He knows you're here?"
"I think so. At least now he knows that I arrived." There was a brooding look in his face. "I have to find him. Tonight."
She knew that look. Only too well. And she knew the tone of voice he had spoken in. "And you also have some appointments to keep today. Remember?"
He nodded, but said no word. He simply kept on staring at the wall.
"11.15, T&T Corporation," R.C. went on as if she hadn't seen his preoccupied look. "14.30 Wayne Enterprises."
No reaction.
"You want me to drag you under the shower, stick you into a suit and carry you there by force?" she asked provocatively and struck a pose.
Blue eyes snapped up to meet her. "What?"
"Either you'll give me a raise that I play your secretary, Cranston, or you get moving now." She raised an eyebrow. "I'll do my job and go down and prepare the car."
R.C. turned and left, noting with satisfaction that her boss was really starting to move to get ready.

* * *

Dick Grayson stepped out of the taxi and paid the cabby with the money Robin always carried in one of the many pockets of his utility belt. The cab pulled away from the manor and he stood alone in front of the large building. He knew what would happen now. Bruce would be furious and he had every right to. Robin had endangered himself and he would be dead now if someone hadn't helped him. This experience had dampened his enthusiasm and had made way for guilt and the knowledge that he still had a lot to learn.
Sighing deeply he stepped into the manor. Everything was silent. Soft steps told him that someone was coming and he was faced by Alfred. The butler was his usual, impassive self.
"Master Dick," he greeted him.
"Hey, Alfred. Where's Bruce?"
"He went to meet with some business partners, Master Dick, after I had to force him out of the Batcave." There was just the right amount of annoyance and criticism in Alfred's voice to make Dick feel very uncomfortable.
"Uhm, he knows?" he nevertheless asked carefully.
"Batman brought home your bike, sir."
Dick gulped slightly. He was in deep, deep trouble when Bruce returned.
"How are you?" Alfred then asked, worry tingeing his voice.
Dick rubbed his still massively hurting head. "I got a headache and some bruises, but else I'm fine."
The butler took the younger man by one arm and steered him toward the stairs. "Get some rest," he advised. "You need it. When Master Bruce returns you should settle the matter."
Dick nodded. "Okay," he said.

* * *

Bruce Wayne didn't know what to make of the man sitting in front of him. Lamont Cranston, head of Cranston Research & Development Inc., looked at him with clear, blue eyes. His proposal had been reasonable and the offer was tempting. But something about this man didn't add up. Call it instinct, Bruce thought, but there was more to Cranston than met the eye. Instincts honed by the nightly battle against crime and evil had made Wayne sensitive for the things beneath the surface of a man. And there was a lot below this man's surface.
"I find your offer very interesting, Mr. Cranston," Bruce said slowly. "But I want my legal department to check out the contracts first."
Cranston nodded. The handsome face showed no sign of any emotion at all. It was like looking at a mask, Bruce now realized. A mask worn over the real persona. The only thing he had to find out now was, who was that real persona?
"Of course, Mr. Wayne," Cranston said with a pleasant voice Bruce had noted right from the start.
"My secretary will call you."
Cranston nodded again and rose from his chair. Bruce followed his example and rose, too. They shook hands. The moment they touched Bruce saw a change in the man's eyes. The blue seemed to turn into a darker color and for a second Bruce glimpsed something dangerous worm its way to the surface, ready to crack the mask. Then it was gone.
Cranston smiled at him and left the room. The second he was gone, Bruce activated his computer. He set it to search for all the information it had on Cranston Research & Development Inc. and on Lamont Cranston, and then send the information to the computer in the Batcave. Then he called his secretary.
"I'm leaving now, Anne. If anyone calls, schedule them to call back another time or give them an appointment when I'm free."
"Will do, Mr. Wayne," Anna replied.
Bruce cut the connection and prepared to leave. Something about this man made him very suspicious. Something was wrong here, but he couldn't put his finger on it. There was much more to Lamont Cranston than a corporation head. And Batman would find out.

* * *

Dick Grayson stepped out from under the shower and regarded himself in the large mirror of the bathroom. His body was full of bruises and though he had taken two aspirins already he still had a major headache. Toweling himself off he tried to come to a reasonable explanation for what had happened to him. He had been attacked, that was clear to him. Someone had rescued him.
Frowning he tried to think back to who that 'someone' had been. The woman? No, he decided. Not the woman. She was too slim to be the shadowy figure who had picked him up. And she had also told him that a mutual friend had brought him to her. So, who was this friend? And why had he saved him? And what the hell had really happened at the harbor? He had not been physically attacked. From one second to another his mind had simply ... overloaded.
Dick stopped toweling his hair and stared at his reflection in the mirror. A psychic attack? It was possible. But who had the power to launch such an attack? At college he had heard some things about paranormal powers and he knew that some people had them, but could they be strong enough to attack someone else?
He shrugged into his bathrobe and stepped into his room. Lost in his thoughts of who could be the attacker he didn't see the silent figure standing in the shadows. Only when he walked over to the wardrobe did he feel the second person in the room. He whirled around.
"Bruce!" he exclaimed. "You nearly gave me a heart-attack."
"That's nothing compared to what I felt last night when Alfred told me you had gone out alone," the older man said with the barest hint of an emotion in his voice. The dark eyebrows were lowered into a deep frown and the eyes spelled trouble for Dick. "And it doesn't even come close to what I thought had happened when I found the Batbike and there was no traceof you. Not even on the monitor!"
Bruce Wayne regarded Dick with a deep scowl of more than disapproval.
He's really angry, the younger man realized. And really worried. Then he frowned. Did he just say he couldn't pick up my signal? But before he could inquire, Bruce spoke again.
"Why did you disobey my orders, Dick? Why did you go out alone? What the hell did you think you were doing?"
The last was spoken louder and Dick flinched back a bit. He had seldom seen Bruce that angry, even when he had broken some very expensive stuff as a child or had gotten himself into more danger than necesseray as Robin.
Dick sighed. "I'm sorry, Bruce ...."
"Sorry?" Bruce interrupted angrily. "You could have gotten killed, young man! And all of it because you reacted like a stubborn child!"
Dick flinched back again, but there was also said stubbornness rising inside of him. "I'm not a child anymore, Bruce, in case you haven't noticed! I'm not the innocent boy from the circus anymore! I'm nineteen! I'm a grown man!"
They were repeating the same argument from last night, he realized.
"Yes, you've grown up, and you should know how dangerous your actions were, Dick!"
"I did know!" he shot back. "But ...." His shoulders sank down and he turned his back on his warden, walking over to the window overlooking the garden. "Damnit, I hate to be treated like a small child! I hate it when someone says I'm not what they expect!" He bit his lips, feeling tears of frustration well up.
Soft steps could be heard and the shadow of the much larger man fell beside his. "I didn't say you're not what I expected, Dick," Bruce said softly and a little bit confused. "I'd never say such a thing. You don't have to live up to anything for my sake. I just don't want you to get hurt. I don't want to loose you."
Dick's fingers grabbed the window sill and tightend around it. He knew what that confession meant. "I ... I know," he whispered. "I'm sorry, Bruce. I really am. I .... I acted like a child, I know it, but ....." He shook his head. He was at a loss as to how to explain that it had been an action born out of frustration, anger at someone else, and stubbornness.
"When I couldn't pick up your signal I was afraid that the worst had happened! Where were you the whole day? What happened?" Wayne's voice had calmed down as the first wave of anger and fear for Dick had evaporated. There was only worry there now.
Dick sunk down on his bed and rubbed his aching head. "I'm not really sure," he muttered.
A hand fell down on his shoulder. "Try it."
Dick told his older friend what had happened at the harbor and how he had woken in the strange room, with the young woman in the bathrobe. He blushed a bit as he relayed that part. "It's not what you think it might be, from the sound of it. Really. I don't know how I got there and I don't know how she got there. She didn't ask me for my name, simply told me I could leave if I felt well enough." Dick looked into Bruce's eyes. "She was genuinely worried. I don't think it was an act."
Bruce frowned deeply. "She knows who you are."
Dick shrugged. "Maybe. She knows my face." His shoulders slumped and he buried his head in his heads. Why didn't the pain stop? "Damn, I wish I knew what game she was playing."
"Do you know the address of the room you woke in?"
He nodded. "Yeah." He gave Bruce the address, who nodded. Suddenly Dick remembered something. "R.C. had a phone call when I was there and she said that her boss would have an appointment with you at 14.30 today."
Bruce's eyebrows rose. "Lamont Cranston," he muttered.
"Who?"
"Some business man from New York City."
"You think he's involved?"
The older man frowned deeply. "Maybe. If she works for him, he could be involved, especially since she mentioned 'a friend' getting you to the apartment. I've to confess that this Cranston was a strange guy; very strange. I think Batman should check this out."
Dick rubbed his temples. "Gee, I really have the mother of all headaches."
Bruce gave him a worried look. "Go and get some rest, Dick," he advised. "I'll have a look at that apartment."
The younger man looked up. "You're paying the apartment a visit?" he asked, a hint of anticipation in his voice.
Bruce mouth drew into a faint smile. "No. I'll check the computer files."
"Listen, I can accompany you downstairs ...." Dick started, but the older man shook his head. A firm expression was in his eyes.
"You will stay here and get some shut-eye. I want you alert and awake when we go out tonight. Just once, please, do what I tell you, okay?"
Dick couldn't stop the smile spreading over his lips. "Okay," he agreed. "Just once."
Bruce smiled in return and squeezed his shoulders again. "Sleep well." Then he rose and left the room.
Dick fell back on the bed and stared at the ceiling. He knew that this wasn't over and that Batman wouldn't let Robin out of his sight for the next few weeks, but at least Bruce hadn't yelled at him. Well, he had never been the yelling type, but who knew?
Closing his eyes he drifted into a deep sleep.

* * *

The Shadow moved through the evening streets of Gotham City. No one saw him, no one would see him if he didn't want them to. His aim was a bank building, which his agents in Gotham had told him belonged to one of the companies Harris had once used as dummy corporations. Since Harris had disappeared from New York, his dummy corporations there had been revealed and destroyed, but Gotham City was another pair of shoes. Here, he was no one. Only a name.
The building loomed up in front of him and The Shadow merged with the shadows of the skyscraper. A feeling told him that Harris was here. No, it was knowledge. And this time he wouldn't escape. Not once again. No more tricks, no more defeats.
The feeling of Harris presence increased and he erected more walls around his mind, trying to shield his inner self from the darkness that was Harris. The Shadow whisked through the doors of the bank building without the guards even seeing a thing. Within minutes he was where he felt the strongest waves of darkness and evil coming from. He shuddered and inhaled deeply. This was as bad as the time he had confronted Shiwan Khan. Khan had been evil, too, using the powers of his forefathers to conquer the minds of others. Harris had no such powers to fall back upon. He was that power, he embodied it. He was one of those rare talents born with the magic to mend someone else's mind to his own will. It was a positive power if you knew how to use it, but it could be an instrument of destruction when abused. And Harris abused it.
The Shadow pushed open the door to the room he felt Harris was in. And he was right. The room was in a semi-darkness, with only a few light bulbs spreading a week light. But the darkness was no obstacle for someone who walked in the blackness night by night. The Shadow's eyes saw through the layers of grey and black -- and he discovered Harris. The man, who was barely older than Lamont Cranston when he had begun his studies with the Tulku in Tibet, sat on a throne like chair. He was wearing non-descript clothes, which really wasn't normally his style, and his head was covered by a strange helmet. The metal of the helmet glinted in the light.
"Welcome to my little domain of power, Shadow," Harris whispered in a throaty voice. "I knew we would meet again, my foe, and this time there won't be a postponed victory. This time I'll finish what I started."
The Shadow sneered. "You're finished, Harris," he said with his deep voice.
"Oh, no," the man on the throne corrected with a smile. "Wrong. You are finished. I'll see to it that nothing remains of you when I'm done."
The Shadow whipped back his cloak and cross-reached for the weapons he always carried along. The automatic, nickel-plated guns he drew out of their holsters looked a lot like the ones he had carried decades ago. But the difference was the technology. These were prime standard.
"Brute force?" Harris mocked. "I'm shocked." He leaned forward as if to get a better look at his opponent. "This is not a battle of weaponry, Shadow," he whispered. "It's a battle of the minds!"
The Shadow felt something creep up to his safely erected walls. It felt like an approaching predator, stalking around the obstacle that kept it from its prey, but ready to strike in an instant.
"My will against yours," the man on the throne said.
The predator cowered down on the ground, ready to jump.
The Shadow saw that his hands were starting to shake. His shoulder wound suddenly began to throb with new pain and he gritted his teeth. This couldn't be. The wound was too old, though not yet completely healed, to hurt that much.
"A battle of two minds so much alike," Harris voice floated over to him.
The Shadow inhaled deeply, his fingers curling around the trigger.
The predator jumped and crashed against the wall of The Shadow's mind. It didn't crack, though it shook a bit.
"Ah, I see you have learned."
Harris grinned and struck again. The weapons clattered to the floor and The Shadow stared at them, then his black eyes rose to meet those of his enemy. Charles Harris lounged on his chair and smiled coldly.
"Why don't you make it easy on you and surrender right away?" he asked. "It will spare you a lot of pain -- now."
The Shadow didn't answer, simply lashed out with his mind, attacking the predator outside his walls. Harris only laughed, the laughter echoing in the room.
"You want to fight? So be it! I love a challenge!"
And he attacked.
The Shadow gasped in pain, clutching his head as the amplified mind attack of Harris swamped over him. Through the fiery pain his head he was thrown back to a time and place he now despised.
Violence ruled this place. Violence and darkness, evil and pain. It permeated every inch of the dungeon-like place he found himself standing in. People died, screamed in terror. Swords clashed. Knives slashed throats and bullets tore through living flesh. And in the middle of this madness was Ying Ko. His eyes burned intense and black, feverish bright.
No!
The Shadow moved away from the man, who had once been a part of him, who had once dominated his persona.
Ying Ko looked at him and he recoiled, icy coldness spreading through him. The unwashed, though richly dressed man, pointed a finger at him. His hands were stained with the remains of crushed poppy seeds, the nails long and dirty.
"You," he whispered, walking toward him.
This wasn't him, The Shadow thought. This Lamont Cranston; it was a monster.
"We are one!" the apparition out of the past crowed.
No!
He gasped. No, he wasn't a monster. He was a man, human and vulnerable, touched by an evil beyond everyone's comprehension; something that threatened to swallow him. But he had defeated it. Ying Ko was dead!
"No one can help you," a cold, deep voice said, the voice of The Shadow. "You are lost. We are all one!"
He shook her head violently. "No, I'm not lost! Harris wants me to feel this way!"
The black orbs that were Ying Ko's eyes burned even brighter. "We are one, my friend. You can't shed your past like an old skin. I will always be there, watching and waiting."
Ying Ko's claw-like hands shot toward him and he recoiled in fear. Pain shot through him and he screamed.
Reeva! His mind reached out, searching for the one person he could think of. I need you! he gasped.
Blackness wallowed up around him and the apparition. Ying Ko laughed and it turned into the cold, sinister laughter of The Shadow. Like a cloak the blackness curled around him.
He screamed.

* * *

R.C. stood beside the car, waiting. There was nothing else she could do. Well, except read a book, but she wasn't in the mood today. Sometimes she felt like she ought to do more than just wait by the car while The Shadow was out hunting.
Reeva!
The call was weak and blurred and barely recognizable. Only the fact that it was her name made her aware of it. She tensed and listened.
I need you!
This time it was stronger, more lucid, and struck her completely unaware. With an expression of pain she touched her head. The Shadow had never used direct mind contact to talk to her, mainly because she wasn't really there for him. That he had sent her this call for help now had its reasons.
Well, I wanted action. Here we go.
She stepped away from the car and wanted to run toward the building when a dark, towering figure appeared in front of her.
Trouble.

*

Batman steered the Batmobil through the streets of Gotham City. Robin sat on the passenger seat and watched the outside. They had no specific plans as to where they wanted to go. Batman had decided that they would patrol the streets and keep an eye open for anything unusual. Robin discovered something unusual when they passed the New York Bank of Exchange, a small bank, rather new and not one of the top private banks in Gotham City. Nevertheless the skyscraper that served as the bank's home was impressive enough.
Across the street, in front of the Metropolis Bank stood a BMW. It was an unremarkable car, except for the fact that it was the only one here. No one lived in the Bank District. It was a center of commerce and nearly deserted after closing hours. Those who worked late in the bank buildings usually parked their cars in the underground parking slots of the companies and only a few, mostly visitors, stopped on the streets. Something told Robin that this wasn't a car of a late working employee. Not in the real sense of working late.
Batman seemed to come to the same conclusion because he steered the Batmobil around the next corner and stopped. He looked at his partner.
"The car," both said nearly simultaneously.
Robin grinned. "Great minds think alike," he quipped.
Batman slid back the cockpit's hood and jumped out of the Batmobil. Robin followed and the two crimefighters jogged back to the corner of the street. The BMW was still there. Only now someone stood beside it. Robin inhaled sharply as he recognized the figure standing in the street light.
"What is it?" Batman wanted to know.
"It's her!" his younger partner whispered. "That's the woman I told you about. The one in the bathrobe! Reeva Christopher."
Batman studied the female figure beside the car. She was young, he discovered, barely in her mid-twenties, maybe younger. Her dark hair was bound into a pony-tail and she was dressed in simple jeans and a sweater and jacket. A baseball cap sat on her head. There was nothing really remarkable about her. Now she was standing beside the car, looking up at the New York Bank of Exchange building. She was frowning deeply, her eyes narrowed. Then she touched her forehead with her left hand and closed her eyes, her face contorting as if in pain.
"What's happening?" Robin asked, worry in his voice.
"I don't know. But why don't we find out?" With that the Dark Knight moved through the shadows cast by the buildings towering over them. Robin followed just as stealthily. As they came closer to the young woman, Robin took his time to study her even closer.
Suddenly her eyes snapped open and she gasped sharply. She staggered a bit, her hands reaching for a support, finding it in form of the car's hood. Panting, she blinked, again looking at the building. A determined line appeared around her mouth. And then she started to run toward the building.
Before Robin could do anything, Batman acted and blocked her path. R.C., as Robin remembered was her name, stopped immediately, her green eyes narrow slits as she sized her opponent.
"Get out of my way," she said coldly.
"No," Batman answered simply. "Who are you? And what are you doing here?"
She clenched her hands into fists. "None of your business."
Robin stepped beside his older partner and she raised an eyebrow. It was enough for him to know that she recognized him.
"Hey," she said. "And I thought I'd never see you again."
"What are you doing here, R.C.?" Robin asked. "What is going on?"
She looked slightly under pressure and as if she had an immense headache. Robin knew what that felt like, since his own headache had not gotten better. But you had to give it to her, she didn't melt into a puddle because she was confronted by Batman. A lot of crooks broke out in cold sweat when they only glanced his silhouette. R.C. seemed to take it all in one stride.
"You wouldn't understand," the young woman said and tried to get past Batman.
"Try me."
She eyed him carefully ..... and then she lashed out. Batman hadn't seen this coming and hadn't really expected it from her. The slim woman struck him hard against the chest, harder than he had thought possible. The strike made him stumble backwards and she dashed past him. Robin was on her heels immediately. To his complete awe and surprise she didn't stop in front of the glass front doors of the bank. She somersaulted through them.
The two crimefighters raced after her, ignoring the ringing of the alarm bells. R.C. flew literally up the stairs and Robin could only admire her physical condition. Batman reached for his grappling hook while he took the stairs and then aimed it above his head. He fired the trigger and the hook found its aim far over R.C.'s head, on a railing. Then the Dark Knight shot upwards, overtaking her in no time. Robin followed his partner's example, but he stopped a few steps below her, cutting off her retreat.
"Stop," Batman said.
R.C. did just that, glancing over her shoulder. Robin blocked her way just as efficiently as Batman.
"You don't understand!" she said, just slightly out of breath. "I have to get up there!"
"Where?"
She shook her head. "You wouldn't understand." Again she glanced at Robin. Suddenly her features twisted as if in pain. The young crimefighter raced to her and caught her as her knees buckled. "He needs my help," she panted. "Harris is killing him!"
Robin exchanged a helpless look with Batman.
"Who is killing who?" Batman asked.
"Harris, Charles Harris." She tried to stand on her own two feet, detaching herself from Robin. "He is killing a friend of mine. I know it." She touched her head. "I feel it." Turning to Robin she said: "Harris is the one who attacked you! And now he is killing my friend! I've got to help him! Even if it means confronting you two," she added in a low, dangerous voice.
Robin looked at his partner. What were they to do?

*

Charles Harris laughed. Triumph rang through the laughter as he watched the black clad figure on the ground. A cry of pain emerged from The Shadow's lips and his feeble defenses were only mere dust.
"Yes!" Harris triumphed. Not only was this his victory over The Shadow, it was also the successful test of the MindNet.
Suddenly the doors burst open. He looked up from his victim and narrowed on the figure now standing in the doorway. Before he could act, another figure appeared, this one crashing through the window. Glass shards flew everywhere.
"Who dares!?" he cried, then his eyes widened as he recognized the figure, who had entered through the window. "Batman," he whispered. He chuckled. "So you think you can stop me?"
"I know I will," the Dark Knight said with a low voice.
Harris laughed. "Only in your dreams!"
And the world seemed to tilt.
"What?"
Concentrating his thoughts he looked back at The Shadow, still lying on the floor. The slim figure was kneeling beside him. He tried to zero in on her, but found he couldn't. She just didn't exist!
"So you are still stubborn enough to fight?" Harris cried. "You are nothing against me, Shadow! Nothing against the MindNet!"
He shot a psychic bolt at the weakened man instead of the woman. The Shadow gasped and slumped over. Harris knew he was close to destroying the other man's mind now. Just a few more seconds and The Shadow would be lost in his own, evil darkness. His past; the past he feared so much. But he had forgotten about the Batman. Two booted feet struck him at the head and he toppled over. His helmeted head struck the stairs leading to his throne and for a minute he saw stars dancing in front of his eyes. One hand touched the MindNet helmet and then he tried to sit up.
A strong hand grabbed the front of his shirt and lifted him bodily off the ground. He blinked at looked directly into the face of Batman.
"You think you got me, right?" he hissed and accessed the MindNet. To his shock and surprise he found it didn't let him access. The power booster, which the MindNet was, was dead. With an angered cry he summoned his own powers and directed them at Batman. The Dark Knight gave a gasp of pain and let go of him, stumbling back. Harris laughed shrilly.
"Till we meet again!" he laughed and ran.

*

The Shadow was tumbling helplessly in the turmoil of blackness. His past was overwhelming him, smothering him with the stench of death and pure evil. Ying Ko loomed over him, laughing mockingly. Then he transformed into The Shadow's twin.
"We are one!" he told him triumphantly. "You can't deny me my rightful place!"
"Lamont?" A voice floated through the chaos and he turned, searching. He knew the voice. And it called his name. "Lamont!"
He reached out for the voice.
"You are Lamont Cranston. You are The Shadow. You are my friend. You are many things and nothing at all, but you are not this here alone." Was it the strange, but oh-so familiar voice or was it his own inner self?
Reeva. The name pooped up in his mind and he lunged for her, trying to hold on. She was close, very close. He opened his eyes and her young face floated over him. Her green eyes displayed incredible worry.
"We have to leave," she said insistently, pulling him up.
The Shadow tried to help her, tried to stand, but felt unable to. R.C. managed to get him to his feet and he fell heavily against her. His cloak dropped around them and she pushed and pulled him to the exit.

*

Batman shook his head to clear his mind. The explosion of white light behind his eyes had left him blinded for a second. A headache was crawling up to his neck and he had to concentrate hard to get a clear thought. He heard hurried steps and then the sound of a door closing. Summoning his strength he stumbled after the retreating criminal. All he found was a closed door, with no outside lock and no visible opening mechanism.
He hit his fist against the panels and cursed lowly.
"Batman?" Robin came up beside him. "You okay?"
Batman rubbed his aching forehead. "Just a headache, Robin," he said.
"Where'd he go?"
"A hidden door. I don't know where the opening mechanism is." Batman turned and his eyes narrowed on the spot where the black clad man, the victim of the attack had been. The man was gone, as was the young woman. He ran to the broken window and stared down on the street.
The moment he looked out, the BMW pulled away from the curb and disappeared into the maze of Gotham's streets.
"Who was that guy?" Robin wanted to know, staring down onto the street, too.
"I don't know, Robin. But I intend to find out."

* * *

Lamont Cranston sat on the floor of his Gotham City apartment, eyes closed, breathing deep and regular. His face was a bit too pale. Lines of pain creased the handsome features. He had folded himself into a lotus position, hands lying relaxed on his knees. R.C. regarded him, worry and anger her only visible expression. She had reached him just in time before Harris had gotten too deep into her boss' mind to break him, but the damage he had inflicted was enough.
Right now he was trying to get into a meditative trance to heal what had been injured, but it looked like he was much too agitated and ticked off to center. She left him alone, knowing that he didn't want company.

*

Cranston Research&Development
N.Y.C. Railways
Interchange Bank
Randall Laboratories
Thomas Foundation for the Poor
 

Batman sat in front of the computer in the Batcave and read thoughtfully over the files he had transferred here from his computer at Wayne Tech Industries. First there was a file about Cranston Research & Development Inc. It was a small and private company, but it had developed some interesting things. The head of the company was one Lamont Cranston. He also owned a bank -- quite small, too -- and had his hands in several other businesses, as he had found out through various links. The companies were now listed on the screen.
And Lamont Cranston had been the other object of his inquiry. He wasn't exactly one of the high society. He kept more behind the lights. He was known, but not famous. He gave for charities and social projects, just like Bruce Wayne did, but he was never one to be celebrated. From the file the computer had sent here, Batman saw that Cranston had inherited most of his wealth from his father and grandfather. He was barely older than Bruce Wayne himself, lived in New York City and was not married. There were no more information about him.
Batman looked at the picture that accompanied the file. Lamont Cranston. Black hair, blue eyes, tanned skin. Average height, average weight. Everything was average about him.
No, not everything, Batman had decided. There was something about that man that had made Bruce Wayne suspicious. And now, tonight, something had happened that had made Batman very suspicious, too. That was why he had requested information about two other people. First the young woman. Robin had described her to him prior to their encounter, had told Batman the name the woman had given him, but he had not been able to find her. There was no Reeva Christopher in any files. Now Batman had met her, too, and the black clad stranger. He hadn't seen the man's face, he hadn't seen anything but a lump of dark clothes, but he had seen her. Now he only had to find her.
The second person was the man who had been behind all of this. The man with the strange helmet and the mental powers. Batman was sure that he had been telepathically attacked and Robin had confirmed that it had felt that way. And Bruce Wayne knew that man.
Charles P. Harris.
"That's our man?" Robin asked and stepped behind him, laying his hands on the back of the chair.
"Yes. A criminal with a mastermind. A psychic. He was active in New York City only before he came here. He owned some dummy companies and the New York Bank of Exchange is one of them. It says here that he fought The Shadow on several occasions and finally fled the city."
"The Shadow?" Robin echoed.
"Yes, a crimefighter," the Dark Knight answered. "A mysterious man," he smiled, "like Batman."
Robin raised an eyebrow. "The guy in black ....?"
"Possible." Batman switched the files and suddenly there was a picture of a tall man in a black cloak. A high collar hid most of the lower half of the face, which was also covered by a scarlet scarf, the only spot of color with the whole costume. A wide-brimmed hat was keeping the eyes in the shadows. The hands were covered by gloves.
"The Shadow," Batman said. "From the files of the New York Times. It's reported he's armed with automatic weapons and has killed several criminals while pursuing them."
Robin frowned in concern. "Doesn't sound like a New York Batman to me."
"He isn't. He won't shy away from violence or death. He's a very dangerous man and I doubt his intentions a bit. Even if they are good, he exerts too much violence for my liking. Following the reports I scanned, he's been around for a very long time."
Robin stared at the picture. "How long is that?"
"The Shadow was first reported in the late 1920s and has shown his face over the last seven decades, aiding the police. It is rumored that he has a large underground network of agents and that this network stretches far over the borders of this country."
Robin whistled. "That's long. Maybe it's a family business."
Batman shrugged. "Maybe."
"And now you think he's in Gotham City?"
"Yes. I think he came here for Harris."
"Well," the younger man scratched his head, "he wasn't very successful tonight, was he?"
"Neither were we, Robin," Batman reminded him. "Harris possesses mental powers beyond our imagination, which makes him a very dangerous man. And the helmet he wore seems to enhance his powers."
"Then how do we stop him?"
The Dark Knight cleared the screen and turned. "We look for the man who knows him best."
"The Shadow?"
Batman nodded.
"But we don't know who he is or where!"
"True, we don't know who he is, but we might just find his hiding place." A smile crossed Batman's visible features and he held up a homing device.
"You planted a tracer?"
"Correct. Let's go."

* * *

Cranston's eyes snapped open and stared at wall opposite him. His head still ached, but his mind was no longer a tumble of different emotions and flashes into the various pasts he had lived. The meditation had not been able to relax his mind completely, but now he felt a bit better.
He remembered the attack only too clearly, the mental assault and its effect. He remembered as his walls had tumbled one by one, as he had been shoved back further and further toward the one point he never wanted to return to. The most inner part of his mind, the part he always kept locked away from his self. The part that was his past. The evilness. He knew that he had changed a lot since his apprenticeship in Tibet, that he had conquered more and more of that dark part, that he was more human now than he had ever been. But there was also the tiny, little doubt; the doubt that he might revert back to Ying Ko one day, that all the teachings of the Tulku would be for nothing. Cranston tried to keep in touch with his human side, tried to keep The Shadow's appearances down to a minimum, because he was afraid that one day he might not be able to become Lamont Cranston again.
Some people in his past life had helped him with this task of staying in touch with his human part. Moe Shrevnitz, his former, now deceased, driver had been one of them. The cabby, one of the few agents who had known the true identity of The Shadow, had been a close friend and when Shrevy had died, a strange feeling of loss had spread through Cranston.
Margo Lane had been the second person he had ever trusted so much. She had stayed with him a long time, but their relationship had suffered under Cranston's alter ego, The Shadow. They had married because in that time, living together unmarried had been a taboo. Her telepathic abilities had kept her close to him, to both his personalities, and that had been one reason for their divorce; his Shadow part, his violent past. Cranston suspected that their childless marriage had been another reason. Margo would have loved to have children, but Cranston had been afraid what might result from such a commitment. Margo Lane had died five years after their divorce, killed by one of The Shadow's enemies. It had been an even greater loss and he had suffered from that blow for a very long time and even the death of the killer had not relieved the pain.
A few years ago he had then met someone, who was something of a mixture between Margo Lane and Moe Shrevnitz; someone, who was his match where stubbornness was concerned. Her name was Reeva Christopher, a young, very intelligent and very talented woman, who had not only saved The Shadow's life, but also Lamont Cranston's, in a way. R.C. had not stayed with him right away. She had helped Randall get him through the initial effects of the poisoning he had received, but then she had disappeared again. The Shadow had then singled her out, trying to delete the memory of Lamont Cranston from her mind to assure his secret identity's safety, but because she was a blank spot, he had been unable to do that. The Shadow had decided to make her his agent -- which she had just as stubbornly declined. It had been as much a fight of wills, as it had been a mutual agreement in the end. R.C. was, technically, not one of his agents, though she wore the ring and worked for him; she belonged more into the category of a freelance agent. He didn't know what she would turn out to be in the future: a close friend or maybe even a lover. Both weren't ready for commitments -- each for his or her own reasons -- and their relationship was close as such. He was afraid to try more.
He turned his head and looked at a clock on the nightstand. It was barely past two a.m. Still early in the night. The apartment was empty of people. No, not really. He felt the presence of someone else, someone he knew.  R.C. She had brought him back. No, not completely correct. The man in a black-and-grey costume; Batman. He had saved The Shadow from Harris and though he should feel thankful, all he felt was defeat.
Cranston rose from the floor, noticing that he still was fully dressed. In his Shadow garment. He had only removed the cloak, the coat and the weapons, as well as the scarlet scarf, but the black trousers and the black shirt were still part of his costume. He looked around and discovered the rest of his costume draped over a chair. Cranston walked over and took the cloak, staring at it for a second. Then he put it on.
That was when the door to the adjoining room opened and R.C. stepped out. She looked a bit tired and worn, but else there were no bodily injuries as he found out quickly enough. He felt a bit relieved.
"Where are you going?" she asked, her eyes narrowing as she saw him dressed in the cloak.
"Out."
Her eyes narrowed even further and there was a critical frown on her forehead. "Looking for Harris? You're crazy to do that in your condition!"
He stared warningly at her. His eyes were two orbs of burning power.
"Don't give me that look, Cranston," she countered. "You know it won't work. You've been mentally attacked tonight and you were out the whole way back here! Even if Harris is beaten for now, he might just find the strength to give you the killing stroke if you try to finish it tonight -- alone. It won't be this way, if I can help it."
He saw a stubborn line around her mouth and again he was reminded of Margo Lane, though Margo had always reeled back from The Shadow, respecting the alter ego of Lamont Cranston. R.C. didn't know this respect and had never known it.
"You won't accompany me, Reeva," he told her, his voice deep and threatening, icy cold.
She wasn't the least bit intimidated as his face and voice underwent a frightening transformation as he turned more and more into The Shadow.
"I'm with you, Cranston, all the way. You think I don't know what you're capable of? You think I don't know why you don't want anybody close to you? Face it, damnit! You're no longer alone! And you are not the monster you like to make of yourself to scare people away. You are human, with emotions, feelings. You have fears and you can love! Stop torturing yourself, face it."
He kept on staring at her. Her unusual outbreak revived the experience from only a few hours ago.
"It happened decades ago, Lamont," R.C. continued much calmer. "Get your act together and face what you were -- and face what you have done in the last 50 years! You are no longer Ying Ko!"
The Shadow closed his eyes in emotional pain. Her words cut deep into him. Love, fear, hatred, revenge, trust ... He had given up a lot and had sacrificed even more. He had had to let go of so much and had gained so very little for it. He was alive and so young because of his incredible powers, but he had never really shared his life. And he knew he might never be able to.
"He's out there and I will find him," he said coldly and wrapped his scarf around his mouth and chin. His eyes changed dramatically, as had the rest of his face. "I want him."
R.C. rubbed her forehead, shaking her head. "Okay, okay, you win. But you won't go without me, understood?" He didn't answer that and she allowed herself a grin. "Where do you want to look?"
He put the hat on, turning to leave. "Everywhere."
She shrugged. "Fine with me." Then she scowled at him. "And don't call me Reeva."
For a second there was amusement in The Shadow's otherwise cold eyes. Then he turned and left, R.C. on his heels.
"Don't call me Lamont," his cold voice floated over to her.
"You got it .... chief."

* * *

Robin sat on his motorbike and watched the streets. This was the more lively part of Gotham's night life and a lot of people were still out at this time of night, or morning. Clubs were still open, theaters had just finished their special late show and restaurants were closing. Yes, there as quite a lot going on. But all of this didn't interest the young man as he kept an eye on one specific apartment building. It was one of the more expensive ones, very expensive, as Batman had told him. Part of it was owned by Wayne Enterprises, the other part had been sold to various private owners.
He glanced at the display screen of his bike again. It was still there. The homing beacon Batman had planted on the BMW was working perfectly, enabling them to find the hiding place of R.C. and the mysterious stranger. Robin wondered if this man had been The Shadow. And if he had been, was he the original Shadow? The one from the late 1920s? Robin couldn't believe in that. He was pretty sure this was some kind of inherited business, maybe the original Shadow's grand-son or something. No one could live that long and fight crime for all his life. The guy had to be in his 90s!
"Anything?" a voice in his ear asked.
Robin touched the speaker button on his helmet. "No. And you?"
Batman had taken the high route, watching the building from the skyscraper next to this one. "Nothing, except that the lights in one apartment just went out."
"Well, that could be someone who has just returned home and now went to bed."
"Possible. But the lights had been on when we arrived half an hour ago," Batman answered.
"I'll keep an eye open for ....." Robin stopped as he saw a sleek, dark BMW leave the underground parking space of the apartment building.
"Robin?" his older partner asked.
"The car just left," Robin reported. "I'll tail it."
"Be careful. I'll be with you in a minute."
With that Batman signed off and Robin ignited the engine, following the BMW through the streets of Gotham.

* * *

"We have a tail," R.C. reported and glanced into the rear-view mirror. "Our young friend, as far as I can see. The costume is right."
The Shadow frowned. "Loose him," he ordered.
R.C. smiled and threw the car into a tight curve. She darted through the maze of streets and finally lost all sight of the costumed motorcyclist.
"How did he know where we were?" she asked.
"Homing device," The Shadow answered. "Stop the car here."
She stopped obediently. The cloaked figure got out and stared down the street. The cloak rippled and billowed in the evening breeze. The red scarf, the only piece of color, looked like a river of blood, flowing around him.
"Lure him away," he said flatly, his eyes fixed on one of the buildings.
R.C. nodded. "You got it, chief." She put the car into gear and drove cunningly down the street.
The Shadow remained where he was, at the mouth of an alleyway. Half a minute after the BMW was gone, a motorcycle rushed past. The Shadow smiled as he recognized the costumed figure. Batman's partner. Then he turned and disappeared in the night.

*

Batman watched as the cloaked figure exited from the BMW and said something to the driver. Then the car sped away from the curb. The black clad figure watched it leave, then stepped into the shadow of a building. Seconds later Robin drove past. Batman watched as the tail lights of the Batbike disappeared, then he looked back to the alley.
The Shadow was gone.
The Dark Knight swung down from his viewpoint and entered the alley. He activated the infrared goggle he wore over his eyes and looked around. A red dot appeared on the small screen. It was large enough to be a human being and Batman followed. The Shadow moved as quickly and as stealthily as a cat. People he passed didn't see him and Batman was hard pressed to keep up with him, mostly because the other people appeared on the infrared, too, and he had to keep a close eye on the one dot he followed. The Shadow moved steadily toward the business districts, where passers-by where rarer than in other parts of the town. Finally they arrived in the Bank District, close to the building of the New York Bank of Exchange, where Harris had disappeared a few hours earlier. And then the dot of red light disappeared from the screen.
Batman stopped, slightly surprised. He touched the goggles and adjusted some dials, but nothing happened. Nothing at all. He took off the goggles and glanced around. The district was as deserted as could be. No cars, no passers-by. Carefully he closed in on the building The Shadow seemed to have aimed at. He entered the alley beside the building.
The hair in his neck rose.
Someone was there.
Batman whirled around, hands raised defensively, but no one was there. Nothing but pools of shadows.
"I know you are here," the Dark Knight said, his eyes darting from one shadow to the next.
Mocking laughter rang through the air. It seemed to come from everywhere.
"Why did you follow me, Batman?" a sinister voice asked.
Batman turned, trying to find the source of the voice. "I want to know what you are doing here," he said, shedding the night goggles completely as he found no trace of any living being around him. Where was The Shadow hiding?
Contemptuous laughter again.
"Show yourself!" Batman commanded.
"I am a shadow, Batman. A creature of the night. I am all around you," the voice whispered and the Dark Knight thought he saw a pool of darkness move.
The shadows whirled in the darkness and pooled into a solid lump. Out of that pool of blackness stepped a cloaked figure. The Shadow.
Batman tensed as the figure materialized. The threat that radiated from it, the power and the darkness, was like a physical thing, wrapping itself around everything. Black eyes stared at him out from under the wide-brimmed hat. The scarlet scarf whipped slightly in the evening wind.
"Here I am," The Shadow whispered. "Satisfied?"
"Why are you here? Is it Charles Harris?" Batman wanted to know, his eyes never leaving the other man.
"It is none of your business."
"It is because you are here in Gotham City. It is Harris, right? The man who attacked you earlier this evening."
The Shadow chuckled. "Why do you ask if you already know?"
"Harris has committed several crimes," the Dark Knight said emotionlessly. "I want him."
The Shadow moved down the street. He seemed to float over the ground, his cloak moving around him as if it was a creature with a mind of its own. Batman remained where he was, following him solely with his eyes.
"Those were petty crimes," the deep voice of the Shadow whispered coldly. "You won't be able to arrest him, Batman. He will kill you first." Black eyes glittered in a silver light.
"Don't tell me that's of your concern," Batman said. "You would kill him just as easily."
The Shadow laughed again, an even more sinister tone to it. "You are of no interest to me, Batman. I solely want Harris. Keep away from him." He had lowered his voice into a threatening tone.
"Not as long as Harris is threatened to get killed by you in cold blood," Batman shot back.
The Shadow snorted in disgust. "Why do you concern yourself with that? One criminal less."
"That's for the law to decide. You are neither judge, no executioner, Shadow!"
The Shadow cackled. "And you think you are? Is what you are doing so much different?"
"I don't kill people," the other masked man replied flatly.
"But maybe you have to kill Harris. His powers are beyond your imagination."
"He's a psychic," Batman stated. "Like you."
"He is not like me." Suddenly the cloaked figure stood behind him.
Batman blinked, unable to say how the man had been able to move so fast -- without Batman seeing him.
"He never trained his powers, never learned the discipline. He's a wild card."
"And you aren't?" Batman asked provocatively. "How do I know you aren't such a wild card, who won't stop after Harris is gone?"
There was a long silence and Batman thought the other man was already gone, when The Shadow spoke again. "You have to trust me, Batman," he whispered. "That simple."
Simple? the Dark Knight thought. There was nothing simple about trusting this man. He had killed in the last years and Batman was positive that he would kill again if he had to -- or if he felt it necessary to do so.
"The device Harris wore -- it enhances his mental powers," Batman guessed, changing the topic. "That's why he stole all the parts."
The Shadow chuckled and it sounded dark and sinister again. "Harris is very talented, but he is not very persevering. He needs artificial help to enhance his powers." He sneered. "He is young."
"Still, the fact remains that he nearly defeated you."
The Shadow moved in front of him, his black eyes burning into Batman's dark ones. There was a barely surpressed anger there, an anger born out of the defeat.
"He won't be so lucky again," he hissed.
Batman held the angry stare. "Maybe, maybe not. But we might just have the edge if we work together."
The Shadow's eyes narrowed and suddenly Batman felt he had met this man before.
The eyes.
Blue eyes meeting those of Bruce Wayne, for a second growing dark and dangerous.
Those eyes.
The visible features of the cloaked figure were familiar, though they didn't appear so at first sight. The aquiline nose didn't fit the picture that flashed up in Batman's mind.
Cranston.
The cloak billowed around the tall f