THE DEADLY EXPLOSIVES ATTACHED TO HER UTILITY BELT WERE INTENDED TO SEAL HER FATE, ALONG WITH THAT OF THE FISHING VESSEL MARINER AND HER CREW!
It was early Wednesday morning in Wellington, New Zealand.
Yet again, Batgirl began the process of analysing another arch-criminal’s deathtrap. The mottled camouflage netting would render her undetectable from the sea, unless someone passed within a few feet of her, which was highly unlikely. The overhang from the wharf would prevent people seeing her from above. The gag in her mouth had been pushed well back and had been secured in place with jungle vines, preventing her from making all but the most muffled of sounds.
She would have to get herself out. This time, Batgirl was not only fighting to save her own life, but also to save the lives of the crew of the Mariner; if she failed to escape, they would also perish. As Batgirl looked out at the ocean, she realized she would be able to see the Mariner approaching.
‘Amazonia wants me to see my death and the Mariner’s destruction coming, but be unable to do anything about it,’ she thought. The psychological element of this trap was profound.
As a seasoned crimefighter, Batgirl knew that each and every time she pursued a supervillain, her life was on the line. The Mariner’s crew, however, lived in a different world. They accepted the many dangers of life at sea, but hadn’t signed on to face eco-terrorists. Batgirl couldn’t let the innocent crew get caught in the crossfire of her crimefighting.
The explosives on her utility belt would have to be disarmed before she would be able to retrieve any of the handy devices the belt contained. Of course, she would have to get free before that could happen.
As the sun rose, Batgirl began to struggle, looking for a weak spot in the jungle vines that bound her arms and legs. Freeing them, she realized, was the first step in escaping this deathtrap. The vines, however, were extremely supple and very strong. Batgirl could not detect any slack whatsoever.
‘There has to be a way to escape. I just have to think of it.’ Straining, she tried to slide her legs up the pile.
Finally, she managed to raise her legs nearly three inches. Like most piles, this one was covered by numerous shellfish. Batgirl set about trying to use them to cut through her bonds. Although it was hard work, every time she moved her legs, she was sawing away at both the vines around her ankles, as well as the ones around her knees.
The chiming of a distant clock told her it was now 0830. She had been in the water for at least an hour. Even though the sun was shining brightly, the water had not yet warmed up and Batgirl was starting to shiver. Then, to her dismay, the Mariner sailed into view on the edge of the horizon!
Batgirl noticed there was now some give in the vines lashing her arms to her sides. They appeared to be warping. 'These vines must be intolerant of saltwater!’ she thought.
She managed to free one finger . . . then two. Soon, both of her arms were free. With more slack with which to work, Batgirl was able to rub the vines on her legs over a bigger section of the pile. Soon, they were cut through as well.
Batgirl swayed in the current, her legs nearly colliding with another pile. Still not daring to touch her rigged utility belt, she held to the netting with one hand while bracing herself with her legs. With her free hand, she retrieved a knife from the flange of her other glove.
As she cut herself free, she realized the Mariner was just metres away and about to dock. Not being held in place, however, meant the Caped Cutie now had other options; taking a deep breath, she swam well below the Mariner’s hull and surfaced on the other side.
Batgirl removed her gag and swam to a ladder on the side of the wharf. “If anyone’s up there,” she called, “please get back! I’m trying to disarm a bomb!” After waiting a moment, she started to climb out of the water, just far enough so she could see the explosives around her waist.
Her would-be-executioners had not planned on her escaping, as a quick examination of the bomb revealed. It was obvious to Batgirl that pulling out the green wire would effectively disarm the device. She did so, heaved a sigh of relief when nothing happened, and made her way up the ladder.
Proceeding from the docks to a nearby busy street, she signalled the officers in a passing patrol car. They knew Batgirl was in the country, helping the police, but were still quite surprised to see the American crimefightress, in her soaked, sagging costume, standing by the side of the road. She requested that they take her to where she had left the Batgirlcycle, near Pier 28.
The two policemen readily agreed. As Batgirl climbed into the back of the vehicle, the senior officer radioed, "Dispatch, this is Car 33. We've just picked up Batgirl from Queen's Wharf and will take her to New Rio Marina." Along the way, Batgirl gave the two men a report of her activities, asking that they please pass the information along to Minister Brownlee.
When they arrived at the Batgirlcycle, several patrol cars were waiting for them. Male and female officers alike were taking the opportunity to meet the fabled crimefighter in the flesh.
"What are you all doing here?" she asked.
"We . . . ah . . . ah . . . thought you might need assistance!" one young, male officer suggested, grinning from ear to ear.
Batgirl was aware that the top of her soaking costume hung even closer to her wonderful body than usual. "As you can see, I'm quite all right," the blushing Bat-beauty replied, "Your concern is appreciated, but I'm fine. Please return to your duties."
The officers reluctantly dispersed.
Exhausted, cold and hungry, the Dominoed Daredoll drove the Batgirlcycle to the police station nearest to her hotel and left it there. She then discreetly walked back to her hotel and snuck into Barbara Wilson’s room.
Barbara took a long, warming shower, then ordered some kiwi cuisine from room service: a lamburger with a slice of beetroot. Other than the brief bat-nap she took while waiting for her food to be cooked and delivered, Babs decided sleep could be postponed. After breakfast, she changed into a spare Batgirl outfit, surreptitiously left the Portland Hotel, reclaimed her vehicle and drove back to Police Headquarters.
She was back in her temporary office, hard at work protecting the public, by noon. With no new clues or leads to follow, Batgirl returned to the one solid piece of information she had.
She knew Amazonia’s yacht was named the Ocean’s Wrath. In her haste to capture the evil environmentalist, she had only obtained its location. ‘Let’s see what else you can tell me,’ she thought as she brought the ship's registry up on the police computer.
The Ocean’s Wrath was owned by a Doctor Julie Briney and had not been reported stolen. 'Is that Amazonia’s real name?’ Batgirl wondered. She ran the name through the police database. A couple of years ago, the doctor had been arrested during an environmental protest, but was never sent to jail. Her photo did not even remotely resemble Amazonia.
Just then, Minister Brownlee entered. “Good afternoon, Batgirl. I got your report from those patrolmen and –”
Brownlee stopped short as she recognized the face on the screen. “Do you suspect Doctor Briney is somehow involved?”
“She is the owner of the yacht Amazonia is sailing. As yet, I have no proof she is a part of this, but she hasn’t reported her yacht stolen, either. Do you know her, Minister?”
“Not personally. She’s a brilliant, young scientist, only in her mid-twenties. Already Briney’s internationally-recognized as a marine biologist and oceanographer. Just over two years ago, she was arrested for throwing eggs at the Japanese ambassador during a protest against international whaling. She became a media darling. After that debacle, she was given a weekly column in the Dominion Post, Wellington's leading newspaper, and her celebrity status has soared.
"I wasn't happy, because they basically rewarded her for common assault. By the time her trial came around, the public was calling for her acquittal, Despite overwhelming evidence, she got off scott free. The media has a lot to answer for if she is now an arch-criminal.
"Anyway, not long afterwards, she formed her own environmental group called . . .” The Minister’s eyes lit up as she made the connection. “. . . Women Eliminating Environmental Pillagers! WEEP!!”
“At the moment, we can’t say for sure that the good doctor is involved and I prefer to operate under the American principle of ‘innocent until proven guilty.’” A sly smile crossed Batgirl’s face. “Still, I think she definitely warrants further investigation.”
“Doctor Briney has her own aquarium/research facility, which is also the headquarters of WEEP. She’s quite popular in some circles. I’m happy to leave any investigation of her at this point to you. Just keep me informed,” Brownlee said as she exited the room.
Batgirl found getting the location of WEEP headquarters – 1 Marine Drive, Wellington – off the computer more efficient than locating a phonebook. After once again consulting her map, the Caped Cutie returned to her Batgirlcycle and proceeded to the destination.
Parking the Batgirlcycle a block away behind a dumpster, she cautiously approached. The research facility was located on the beachfront in an isolated, industrial area.
From across the street, the Delectable Detective observed a constant stream of women entering and exiting the building. She didn’t want to risk a confrontation with that many women, in case they were used against her. So, the international investigator resolved to come back later.
Shortly after dark, Batgirl returned to WEEP HQ. Sweeping the perimeter, she saw that the Ocean’s Wrath was moored to a pier attached to the premises. Soon, she spotted an open window on the first floor and made her way inside. As she crept through the building, she noticed two significant facts:
First, the reception area was complete with a building directory. Second, there were regular patrols of WEEPer’s sweeping the premises. The Shapely Sentinel easily avoided the patrols, but as she consulted the directory, she didn’t detect the security cameras hidden in the ventilation system.
In another part of the research centre, a beeping alarm gained the attention of a petite, young woman dressed in a white lab coat. “It appears Batgirl remains the proverbial thorn in our sides,” Doctor Briney said to Amazonia while looking at the monitor. Her voice was low and even, cold and unemotional. “Stay here and continue your work. I will deal with her . . . personally,” she instructed as she shed her lab coat and disappeared out of sight down a tunnel.
Shortly thereafter, Batgirl entered Doctor Briney’s office. It was quite unusual.
The room had everything an ordinary office would have, as well as what looked to be an underwater exit, a circular hole in the floor approximately six feet in diameter, set into one wall. A metal tube about one foot across extended from the lighted ceiling of this inset, running into and disappearing down the middle of the circle of water. Mounted upon the other walls was an extraordinary array of marine creatures: squid, octopi, jellyfish and other creatures Batgirl could not identify. Upon the desk were dozens of WEEP newsletters, plus assorted newspaper clippings going back some three years.
Suddenly, machinery started to activate directly above the underwater exit. As Batgirl watched, a large, silver-gray, egg-shaped diving bell emerged from the water. It came to rest on the office floor. The bottom of the diving bell seemed to dock with the floor, blocking the underwater exit.
As the door opened, Doctor Briney emerged, wearing an outfit which was not in the least bit scientific. She was a diminutive woman, giving up at least three inches to Batgirl, even if the Caped Crimefightress hadn’t been wearing her high-heeled boots.
“What are you doing here, Batgirl?” She asked indignantly, but quietly. “I didn’t think you’d be one to break and enter.”
Batgirl had neither the knowledge nor the inclination to argue points of New Zealand law. She went straight to the point. “On the wharf outside this facility is your yacht, the Ocean’s Wrath, which has been used by a criminal calling herself Amazonia in recent attacks upon merchant vessels. Moreover, all of the ships targeted belong to companies which have been heavily criticized by WEEP. Finally, Amazonia calls her henchwomen WEEPers.”
“Working late, aren’t you?” Batgirl asked suspiciously.
“I enjoy working at night,” Briney said flatly, glaring with dead-fish eyes at the colourful crimefighter.
Just then, a patrol of two WEEPers entered the office. Briney addressed them. “Ladies, if you would be so kind as to escort this nocturnal nuisance out.”
“I’m not finished yet,” the Purple Paragon insisted.
“Oh, yes you are,” the two WEEPers replied simultaneously, brandishing their nightsticks.
One WEEPer targeted Batgirl’s head with her nightstick, while the other tried to hit Batgirl in the belly. Batgirl simply stepped back out of reach and launched a kick, which knocked the weapon out of the first woman’s hand.
Rolling under a wild swing from the second WEEPer, Batgirl picked up the fallen nightstick and used it to sweep the second woman’s feet from underneath her all in one motion. Her head bounced off the floor with a loud crack. She did not rise.
As Batgirl got to her feet, the remaining WEEPer grabbed her around the neck and started choking the heroine. Stepping back into her opponent, Batgirl seized WEEPer number two by the wrist and, taking the woman’s weight on her back, executed a classic judo flip. As the security woman landed, the WEEPer’s legs knocked a mounted octopus off the wall, revealing a hidden wall safe.
A quick chop rendered the last WEEPer unconscious. Turning around, Batgirl said, “I‘m sure what I’m looking for will be in that safe.”
She saw a brief glimpse of rage flash in Doctor Briney’s eyes, the only change on her otherwise placid face. Even that passed quickly as she spoke, “Yes, but did you notice what is above the safe?”
Reacting to the question, Batgirl stood and stared above the top of the safe. “It’s one of those mounted, silly, singing bass?! Why is that important?” she asked in a puzzled voice as she examined the novelty item.
“Let me show you,” Doctor Briney said. She hit a button on her desk and the bass turned its head towards the curious crimefighter . . . but instead of words, a jet of gas shot out of its mouth! “Because it sings lullabies. Sweet dreams, Batgirl.”
The Gorgeous Guardian of Gotham had barely begun to admonish herself for her carelessness before the gas overcame her and she collapsed. The young scientist stood impassively over the fallen crimefighter.
Batgirl awoke in a sitting position. Her legs were crossed on the floor and chained together at the ankles, while her arms were individually chained to the wall directly above each shoulder. As she examined the room, she noticed that the wall was only about five feet high. The room was circular, with approximately a three foot radius.
‘I must be inside the diving bell.’ Both the floor and the walls of it were covered with silver satin, except for a small viewing window which was located on the door panel. She smiled as she realized she had not been deprived of her utility belt.
As she started examining her restraints, the sound of the door mechanism engaging indicated she would soon have company. As the doors slid apart, the faces of Amazonia and Doctor Briney came into view.
“You said you didn’t know Amazonia, Doctor Briney,” the Svelte Sentinel pointed out.
“Really, Batgirl, you’re just too trusting,” she said in almost a monotone. “I lied because that’s what bad girls do . . . and I’m a bad, bad girl.”
“You’re absolutely rotten,” Amazonia agreed. She gave her companion a broad smile.
“By the way, Doctor Briney no longer exists. For the rest of your short life, you may call me Oceania.
“Personally, I don’t have anything against you, Batgirl, except for saving the Mariner, but my colleague tells me she has already warned you on several occasions not to interfere. I doubt repeating that warning will prevent you from opposing our quest.”
“Not when your quest involves cold-blooded murder, you nefarious nymph! Why throw away your career? You could make much more progress using your scientific knowledge to bring about environmental reform than by resorting to terrorism.”
“You are so misguided, Batgirl. Ever since I was eleven years old and in college, I have published articles promoting conservation. It got me nowhere. Then, I threw an egg at an official and suddenly I’m somebody. People respond to action.”
“They wouldn’t support you if they knew your actions involved murder!”
“Perhaps, but most of them don’t know the truth, and I intend to keep it that way. So, to that end, I must now conclude your crimefighting career.
“You have no doubt noticed that you are chained to the interior of one of my diving domes. What you don’t know is, we are aboard the Ocean’s Wrath."
Oceania let the implications of her revelation sink in. Then she continued, “Shortly, we will be arriving at one of the deepest parts of Cook Straight. Once there, we’ll cut the cable, depositing you directly into Davy Jones’s locker. By the way, I’ve removed all controls and means of communication from that diving dome, but I have left you light and a depth gauge.”
“That’s very considerate,” Batgirl said drily.
“Indeed,” replied Oceania. “Perhaps you’ll discover the crush depth of my diving dome. The bathyscaphe Trieste, built in 1953, set the world record for the deepest dive, about 35,810 feet, to the bottom of the Mariana Trench. I doubt my dome can make it to the bottom, but if it does, you can then look forward to dying surrounded by the stark beauty of the sea floor while your oxygen runs out.”
“You won’t get away with this. Even if you do manage to kill me and somehow continue to elude Minister Brownlee and the police, I’m sure Gotham’s four other costumed crimefighters will join forces to bring you to justice!”
“How will any of them even find out what happened to you?” Oceania asked. “Once you’re on the bottom of the sea, the chances that your body will ever be discovered are infinitesimal. Batgirl will simply have ceased to exist. There will be no recoverable evidence linking us to your disappearance.”
“We have arrived!” Amazonia gleefully announced. “This is where we part company – for the last time,” she declared, glaring at Batgirl.
Oceania spoke again. “You look a little sad, Batgirl. I suppose if I’d lost, I’d be feeling a bit crushed myself. Farewell.”
A laughing Amazonia pressed a button and the doors to the diving dome slid shut. Batgirl felt the dome being lifted and extended out over the side of the yacht. For a brief second, she remained stationary, peering out the window at the two conniving criminals. Oceania then pressed another button, which released the diving dome. It dropped into the sea and started to sink.
WILL SHE BE PULVERISED BY THE PRIMORDIAL POWER OF NATURE?
OR DIE GASPING AT THE BOTTOM OF THE SEA?
WILL ANYONE EVER LEARN OF HER FATE?
TUNE IN NEXT WEEK TO FIND OUT -
BUT BE WARNED!
THINGS ARE NOT LOOKING TOO GOOD!