“Just a second, Tom,” she said, holding up her hand more through habit than necessity. “What is this you’re bringing in?”

“The tag stapled here says it’s a cold suit once used by a Doctor Shivel.”

“Okay. I see it now. My information doesn’t say it was crated. Let’s find the freeze gun and store it close to this crate if we can.”

“Sure,” Tom said, reaching to tilt the crate back on his dolly. Then he stopped. “Hey! Now I remember. Doctor Shivel was an alias for that icy fiend with a cold, calculating mind, Mister Freeze. His cold suit made him look like an astronaut on his way to the moon early in his career. Later, he used a freeze collar to maintain his body temperature at 50 degrees below zero Fahrenheit.”

“You have a good memory, Tom. Please put the suit away.”

“Sure,” the officer said, grinning. When he emerged from the evidence room, he had come up with a question of his own. “What ever happened to Mister Freeze? I haven’t heard about him committing crimes in years.”

“Batgirl cured him after he teamed up with the Penguin to steal a bunch of priceless fossils. He underwent psychiatric care and emerged to pursue research into solar power. At the time, everyone said he had a bright future.”

“I’m sure,” Tom said. He walked off and murmured, “cute,” under his breath.

Later, the policeman appeared pushing a wax figure holding what looked like a machine gun. The figure was male and wore a lavender mask as well as a green outfit adorned with black question marks. The gun with which he was armed was unloaded, but functional and a can of red paint was wedged between the figure and a reel-to-reel tape recorder bolted to the pedestal.

“Where would you like the Riddler?” Tom asked.

“Will he fit between the cold suit and the giant cookbook?” Lieutenant Mooney asked.

The cookbook was taller than either Lieutenant Mooney or Tom and entitled Delight of Cooking. Its metal covers had blocked the Dynamic Duo’s hand radio signals after the Bookworm had lured them inside and started stewing them alive in a functional kitchen. The steam pipe, which had turned the Dynamic Duo’s unique prison into a deathtrap, lay atop the closed tome. “I think that’s everything,” the guard said.

Lieutenant Mooney marked the wax figure of the Riddler off on her list and nodded. “Nice work. Take a break and send the officer assigned to guard this area down. I’ll wait.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Tom replied. “There is plenty of space in the evidence room. What prompted the reorganization?”

“Clock King stole some robots the Joker made about a decade ago and had them upgraded for use in a crime wave earlier this year.”

“I remember the robots, now that you mention them. One wore a suit while the other two were dressed in red, collared shirts; black slacks; and white vests bearing their names in red letters.”

“Yes,” Lieutenant Mooney confirmed, nodding. “It seems Joker took a hint from Penguin on the occasion when he used those robots.”

“I’m not sure I understand you, ma’am,” Tom admitted.

“Penguin always labels his henchmen,” the policewomen explained. “I’ve always thought it was funny how a self-proclaimed genius like Penguin needs to be reminded of his helpers’ names.” Tom laughed as she followed him to the foot of the stairs.

Back at the duty desk beside the locked, evidence room door, she unpacked her laptop and turned it on. She was just finishing a report she would forward to her superiors when a tall, muscular woman arrived.

“I’d have been here sooner, Lieutenant, but I was just ordered to report moments ago.”

“Officer Reece, I thought you were working in the field.”

“I just wrapped up my case and learned you needed help down here,” the blonde officer explained. “I have several reports to write up and thought guard duty down here would be a good opportunity.”

“No problem, Reece. I like your attitude. Carry on.”

Officer Reece watched the Lieutenant move to the stairs and took her place at the duty desk. She had just arranged her notes to write a report when a soft tapping made her stop and listen intently. The sound was not repeated, so Officer Reece returned to her work until a creak distracted her. She listened to silence for a full minute before returning to her notes with a mental shrug.

Suddenly, a loud, short whoosh from the evidence room brought the officer to her feet with the key to the room in one hand and a gun in the other. She opened the door with the key and her mouth dropped open. The second thing she noticed was the detached side of the crate containing the cold suit. Apparently, someone had been inside the crate, because a figure wearing the cold suit held the fiendishly famous freeze gun aimed at the wax figure of the Riddler – which was frozen solid! The strange intruder swivelled the gun so that it covered the guard framed in the evidence room door.

“Freeze!” Officer Reece ordered, aiming her own gun.

“Nein,” the strange figure said in a guttural voice muffled through the suit’s speaker. The figure stepped forward and tapped the frozen Riddler with a gloved knuckle. It fell apart – shattering!

“What the--"

The strange figure’s laughter interrupted Officer Reece’s startled exclamation. “All ze king’s horses und all ze king’s men vill ze Riddler together again ever put not.” As the figure spoke, it approached Officer Reece, who stood still and stared. She slowly realized the faceplate on the cold suit had been tinted to prevent the face of the wearer from being seen. “Now, drop ze gun und in ze crate get. Bitte.”

Officer Reece hesitated.

“Move, Officer,” the strange figure commanded, “or I will you stiff freeze.” The figure jerked the freeze gun to emphasize the threat and the guard’s gun clattered to the floor.

“Now what?” she demanded, turning to face her armed captor.

“Now, you vill in ze crate be, und I vill outside zis room go,” the figure explained. “Oh! I should you for ze help mit ze door thank. Ja? Danke.” The figure laughed, let the gun hang from its shoulder strap, and closed the crate on Officer Reece. “Aufwiedersehen!”

The imprisoned policewoman heard another short whoosh as the side of the crate in front of her transformed. Light was beginning to filter through what had been a solid mass a moment ago. “What the . . ?” she queried aloud, reaching for the surface in front of her and touching it. The surface was cold – frozen! She pulled her arm back, but stopped when her fingertips remained affixed to the frozen surface. “Help!” she shouted.

Muffled laughter and the evidence room door slamming answered her.

She swore until she remembered her cell phone and pulled it close to her mouth with her free hand.

Lieutenant Mooney led a squad of men pounding down the stairs toward the evidence room. The sound of their running feet masked the whoosh sounding from the lower hall. Lieutenant Mooney saw the figure in the strange suit waiting in the center of the hall as she and her squad burst into the passage from either end and charged forward. Suddenly, she felt her foot slip from beneath her and hit her head as her body slammed to the floor and slid swiftly forward. She blacked out as other officers sprawled in all directions.

Masquerade

“Are you all right, Lieutenant?” Chief O’Hara asked.

“I think so, sir,” Lieutenant Mooney replied. Her eyes fluttered open and she realized she was lying on the couch in Commissioner Gordon’s office. She knew some time had passed because of the position of the sun. “Thank you. How long was I out?”

“Not as long as we feared you would be. Begorra!”

“Tell us what happened, Lieutenant,” Commissioner Gordon said gently, once Mooney was sitting up.

“I went charging after Mister Freeze and slipped on the floor. He must have frozen it with his freeze gun.”

“Sure an’ he did, Lieutenant.”

“So, that’s what hit me,” she said, rubbing her head.

“You might have dented it,” O’Hara said, grinning. “I can check, if you’d like.”

Lieutenant Mooney laughed.

“I did some checking of my own,” Commissioner Gordon said. “Doctor Shivel is at a scientific conference here in Gotham City. Witnesses confirmed he spent most of this morning presenting a paper about weather on the sun. Whoever attacked you, Lieutenant, was not Mister Freeze, at least not the original villain who used that nefarious name.”

“In that case,” Chief O’Hara said. “We not only need help stopping him, but figuring out who he is.” Both the Chief and the Commissioner shifted their gaze to the covered, red hotline upon which they relied so heavily.

“Why don’t we ask for Batgirl’s help?” Lieutenant Mooney asked.

“Batgirl?” the Commissioner repeated.

“Batgirl,” Chief O’Hara said thoughtfully. “You know, Commissioner, we do rely pretty heavily on Batman. He might appreciate a break.”

“There are always Batwoman and Flamebird,” the Commissioner suggested.

“Sir,” Lieutenant Mooney said. “Calling Batgirl in first once in awhile might be worthwhile. You’ll recall she tried to kill us about three years ago when Joker was loose and controlling her. The gesture I propose would demonstrate our continued trust in her. It’s probably not strictly necessary, but I think she would appreciate it, nevertheless.”

Lieutenant Mooney grinned as she silently considered some additional reasons to call upon her friend. Batgirl was, like the Lieutenant, a woman. She also got results comparable to Batman and Robin’s or Batwoman and Flamebird’s on her own. The Curved Crusader’s accomplishments were even more impressive when one considered the armies of henchmen or fiendish machinations of the criminal mind she faced without a partner to watch her back or come to her rescue when she got herself into trouble. Lieutenant Mooney could not imagine why Batman and Robin had been so slow to acknowledge the heroine’s contributions to their cause.

While the decorated policewoman was justifiably proud of her heroic friend, Commissioner Gordon was still coming to terms with the knowledge that Batgirl was his very own daughter. Fatherly pride competed with concern for his child’s safety.

He knew how much being Batgirl meant to his daughter . . . and he also knew how effective she was as a crimefighter. James Gordon had promised himself he would treat Batgirl the same as Gotham’s other costumed heroes. He had also vowed to protect her secret.

So, what he said was, “Good thinking, Lieutenant. I spend a lot of time publicly thanking Batman and his colleagues for their help. I may have been wrong to think it was the only way I could really thank them. I know our heroic volunteers are aware of the deep affection with which the public regards them. The public anniversary parties and generous awards like the Batty for Best Dressed Crimefightress, which Rudi Gernreich awarded Batgirl, prove it. Still, one can never do enough to raise a colleague’s morale. Yes. I agree with you. Chief, call Batgirl on her cellphone. We need her, now!”

“Yes, sir,” Chief O’Hara enthused.

Barbara Gordon was checking out books at the main desk in the Midtown branch of the Gotham City Public Library when she felt the vibration against her hip that told her Batgirl had a phone call. This new system had proven more efficient than using email. She motioned for another librarian to take over for her and stepped into her office, locking the door behind her.

A brief conversation with Chief O’Hara gave her a summary of the situation. She told the Irish-American public servant she would be at Police Headquarters soon. Then, she told her assistant, Myrtle, she would be meeting with community leaders for the rest of the day to discuss library-related issues.

Barbara now faced a decision. ‘Should I change here at the library and go to Police Headquarters on foot or go to my apartment, change there and get the Batgirlcycle?’ Based on her assessment of the circumstances, she decided on the latter course of action.

Barbara Gordon’s car was parked in her apartment building’s underground garage. On most days, it was faster to walk and take the subway to the library, rather than to try to find a place to park. In minutes, she was in her apartment, where her spinning bedroom wall ushered her into Batgirl’s tiny, but functional, headquarters. Once she had undergone her tantalizing transformation, she raced to Police Headquarters on her Batgirlcycle without exceeding the speed limit.

As the Dominoed Dare Doll headed toward her appointment, perfidious preparations were being made for evil events at the Thomas Wayne Memorial Bridge.

“Lookouts, check in,” the figure in the stolen cold suit ordered. A number of posted watchers responded to the command. “Gut, boys. Ready?”

“We’re ready,” one waiting henchman said, from the shadows below the bridge. “How come we have to wear these ridiculous outfits?” The men all wore gray slacks; long-sleeved, blue turtlenecks; blue, wool hats; and gloves. Even though Gotham City’s summer was more than a month away, the henchmen were clearly unseasonably dressed.

“You dressed as you did because I you to so do told. If you to out drop want, you can. I will, of course, you out of ze score cut. When ze armored truck zis way comes, we will without you it capture. Ze plan is simple. If paid you want to get, all of you will my rules follow. Verstehen?” The helmeted figure above the men leaned toward them. “Ze choice is yours. Ja?”

“Sorry, boss,” the man apologized. “We understand just fine.”

“Perfectly,” another henchman agreed.

“Gut,” the figure in the cold suit said. The leader seemed about to continue, but raised a hand for silence instead. “Get ready, boys. Ze truck is coming.” The strange looking figure vanished from the henchmen’s sight shortly before an extended whoosh sounded above them.

“It can’t be Doctor Shivel!“ Batgirl declared.

“We’re sure it isn’t,” Chief O’Hara agreed, “but what makes you say so, Batgirl?”

“Doctor Shivel no longer needs to maintain a lower than normal body temperature. Even if he did, he developed a freeze collar, which was much less cumbersome than his old cold suit. It worked, despite the side effects, which changed Mister Freeze’s appearance and his voice.”

“That line of reasoning makes sense,” Commissioner Gordon concurred. “The Doctor’s alibi seems pretty solid regardless. We verified his whereabouts this morning with his assistant, who is also his wife.”

“That’s right,” Batgirl said, snapping her gloved fingers. “I’d forgotten he got married. Unfortunately, I could not attend the wedding, but Doctor Shivel and Sarah did invite me.”

“Wasn’t Sarah his henchwoman when he worked with the Penguin years ago?”

“She was, but they’ve both reformed. The Doctor’s marriage is another reason he would never become Mister Freeze again. I think, however, even if he went back to his criminal ways, he would be far more likely to develop new equipment than to steal old stuff the police are keeping to protect the general public.”

“Begorra! She’s right.”

“Do we have any video of Lieutenant Mooney’s attacker?” Batgirl asked.

“Some security tapes,” the Commissioner said. “We never see the fellow’s face.”

“Let’s have a look,” Batgirl suggested. The tape played back on the Commissioner’s wall-mounted, closed-circuit television. “There!” Batgirl suddenly said. “Stop the tape.” She pointed at the motionless picture. “It’s just as I thought.”

“What?” Chief O’Hara asked, puzzled.

“Do you see the indicator on the cold suit there?” Batgirl asked, pointing.

“I didn’t notice that before,” the Chief admitted. “Is it malfunctioning?”

“No, Chief. The reason you don’t see it illuminated is our thief isn’t using the cold suit for anything except a disguise!”

“One consolation is we had no serious injuries in the incident.” Commissioner Gordon said. “Not even Officer Reece, who was trapped in a partially frozen crate for a time after discovering the intruder, was hurt.”

“Right,” Chief O’Hara said. “The thief apparently used the crate to sneak into the evidence room and steal Doctor Shivel’s freeze gun.”

“The question is, why?” Batgirl posed.

The telephone rang as if to answer her query. Commissioner Gordon picked up the receiver, listened, and hung up with a grave look on his face. “Our faux Mister Freeze just robbed an armored truck,” he announced. “The truck flew off of the Thomas Wayne Memorial Bridge, the surface of which is reportedly a sheet of ice.”

“I’ll race to the scene,” Batgirl decided. “If I hurry, I may find some answers.” She rapidly crossed her father’s office and vanished through the double doors.

“She didn’t say there may not be a moment to lose,” Chief O’Hara remarked, looking after the departing heroine.

“I’d say she didn’t have time,” the Commissioner theorized.

Shortly thereafter, Batgirl pulled to a stop at the edge of an ice patch that completely covered the surface of the bridge. As she dismounted the Batgirlcycle, she imagined the events that must have taken place. The bridge was situated at the end of a bend in the road and the thieves would have coated it with ice as the armored truck approached. The truck would have tried to straighten once the tires had reached the ice and failed. The resulting skid would have carried the armored truck into the rail on one side of the bridge, shattering it, and propelling the vehicle into midair and down onto the banks of the Gotham River below.

Fortunately, the Thomas Wayne Memorial Bridge was not too high. A Batrope conveyed Batgirl to the wreck, where the rear doors of the crumpled, empty truck had been pried off and tossed carelessly aside. A path of beaten brush led from the wreck to the river.

A moan prevented Batgirl from following this trail immediately. She moved to the cab of the truck where two armed, uniformed men slumped. Batgirl wrenched the door open and checked the nearest man’s vital signs. He seemed all right, aside from his unconsciousness, having been protected by his seat belt, air bags, and the sturdy construction of the armored car. Batgirl moved to the other door and examined the second unconscious man. She was relieved to find he was also belted in and uninjured.

Batgirl could hear a siren as she turned her attention to the criminals’ trail. A voice hailed her as she reached the river’s edge. “Is anyone down there hurt, Batgirl?”

“I’ve found two men in the armored truck. They’re alive, but unconscious.”

“Okay. We’ll check them out,” the medic who had hailed her called.

Batgirl began to follow the criminals’ trail to the river and stopped when she heard another moan. It seemed too close to have come from the crash behind her. “Of course!” she exclaimed. “There was a guard in the back of the truck, too!”

Batgirl strained to hear a telltale sound that would reveal the other guard’s location. Another moan and the rustle of underbrush brought Batgirl to the side of a woman’s bruised body, which had been discarded in a thicket.

“I’ve got another one,” Batgirl called, as the medics reached the riverbank. They raced toward the heroine, who backed off as they began examining the fallen guard.

Batgirl followed the thieves’ trail to the edge of the water, where Lieutenant Mooney joined her presently. “It looks like the ice on the bridge got the truck down here and the crooks took the money away by boat,” Mooney said.

“That’s my theory, too. I’d need to look at maps to guess where the crooks are likely to go ashore, assuming they will or haven’t already.” Batgirl looked up and down the river. “I wish I knew which way they went.”

“The guards’ statements may give us a clue.”

“I doubt it,” Batgirl disagreed. “Look at that submerged debris. The crooks had a job navigating all the way to this riverbank. Your witnesses would have been unconscious before the crooks were really on their way.”

“Then this is a dead end.”

“I’m afraid it’s starting to look that way.”

“What will you do while we conduct our investigation?”

“I’ll follow the river and hope I get lucky,” Batgirl decided. She was dejected at having found no tangible clues at the scene of the crime. Her plan to locate the crooks relied on luck more than anything else, which did not auger well for success.

Lieutenant Mooney’s words struck Batgirl as ironic as the heroine returned to the Batgirlcycle via her dangling Batrope. “Good luck!”

Batgirl had long ago realized her and her crimefighting colleagues’ value derived primarily from their ability to protect citizens from criminals. They did that job by arresting crooks, intervening as crimes were committed, or following up on riddles and clues purposely left by egotistical supervillains. To her, the equally important task of chasing common criminal perpetrators after they struck seemed more suited to the police. As a costumed crime fighter, Batgirl felt she should be doing more than blundering blindly after anonymous perpetrators of evil. The likely ineffectiveness of her efforts did not improve her mood as she began her search.

The Dominoed Daredoll drove north first, following the Gotham River at a medium speed. She kept one eye on the road and the other on the scenery, remaining alert for clues all the while.

Suddenly, Batgirl spotted something that brought her up the short slope to the river’s edge at top speed. She had to brake hard to keep from driving over the riverbank’s sheer edge and into the water below. She turned off the engine and pulled a pair of binoculars from her belt to examine the scene before her more closely.

What had caught her attention was an upside-down American flag fluttering in the breeze above the main deck of an anchored riverboat. Batgirl knew that such a display of Old Glory meant only one thing: SOS!

She watched as three men in gray slacks, blue turtlenecks and blue knitted caps dragged a trio of nautically attired men across the deck and into the wheelhouse. The victims were each bound and gagged!

“I’d rather be lucky than good,” Batgirl muttered, permitting herself a smile.

She was too far away to do anything about the thugs’ actions, but grinned as she spotted a possible means of making what would perhaps be her most impressive entrance ever. She put away her binoculars, turned the Batgirlcycle, and coasted away from the river. After moving a few hundred yards in a straight line, she turned around and stomped the vehicle’s kick-starter. She hurtled toward the riverbank at top speed. A split second before reaching the edge, she wrenched the handlebars upward. The Batgirlcycle shot into space!

“Look at that!” one of the thugs exclaimed, pointing. “Who does she think she is, Evel Knievel?”

“That’s Batgirl,” another thug said, “and she looks better than Evel or Robby Kneivel ever did.”

“Yeah! That chick is definitely not the Fonz,” the third thug agreed. “Biker babe or not, though, she’s making a big mistake. Let’s get her!”

“Ice men to the attack!” the trio of toughs cried in unison.

There was very little deck on which Batgirl could coast to a stop. She knew she would land on it at a right angle to its length. As the flying bike approached the boat, Batgirl turned the handlebars and twisted to align her vehicle with the watercraft that would be beneath it in seconds. The waiting thugs charged at her the second Batgirl’s tires hit the deck. She skidded, letting the Batgirlcycle slide sideways, literally bowling her attackers over.

‘Well,’ Batgirl thought, ‘that entrance wasn’t necessarily pretty, but any landing you can walk away from . . .’

The Gorgeous Guardian of Gotham City was just reaching her feet as the men regained theirs. “Come on!” one man grimly urged through clenched teeth. “Let’s swab the deck with her!”

“All right,” one of his associates agreed as he rubbed his shoulder. “This could be fun.”

“Hey!” the third thug cautioned. “Take it easy. The boss might have plans for her.”

Batgirl sank into a fighting crouch and raised her arms defensively. She waited, smiling grimly as the thugs spread out, warily approaching. Batgirl stepped forward and spun. The thug in front of her turned and raised his hands, anticipating a spinning kick. “Surprise,” Batgirl murmured, slamming her toe into the man’s groin. He collapsed.

She turned to her right to face the man coming at her from that direction, sliding toward him and darting her fist forward. The thug retreated, allowing Batgirl to spin, slamming her heel into his chin.

Her kicking leg settled back to the deck when the man coming at her from behind seized her arm and pulled her backward. Batgirl spun and extricated her arm from his grasp, moving her feet to regain her balance. Pressing his advantage, this thug was not surprised when Batgirl’s raised the knee of her lead leg. He moved a hand to block the kick that would be snapped at him, but fell with a groan as Batgirl’s hip turned before her foot slammed into his groin. Batgirl realized her other attackers were regaining their feet.

They lunged at her from opposite directions and collided as Batgirl dodged between them. She laughed as they began to extricate themselves from one another. Angrily, they rushed at Batgirl again a second later. She let one thug pass, but fired both fists into the second man’s side with the force of pounding pistons. He blocked the first blow, but was stunned as the second connected, following the opened punching lane.

The thug who had passed Batgirl was not idle, however and surprised her by seizing her right elbow from behind and pulling her backward. She set her feet to throw him over her hip and shifted her weight, but had to change tactics as she chanced to spot a looping punch zooming toward her face. She managed to angle her chin so that the other man’s fist whipped past her head. Batgirl counterattacked weakly, slamming her free forearm into the back of this thug’s head. Then, she returned her attention to the man gripping her arm.

Unfortunately, the thug gave her arm an energetic wrench in the split second she had devoted to defending herself against the other man’s attack. Batgirl’s right shoulder was still tender from her leap out of the Gotham Hospital window two weeks back. She gasped as pain exploded from her shoulder and she began sinking involuntarily to her knees, as the man raised her arm.

Batgirl timed her counterattack perfectly, ramming her battle-honed, free elbow into her attacker’s groin. He gasped in pain and collapsed on top of her as the pain in her shoulder eased. Batgirl’s formerly twisted arm shot forward and took hold of that thug’s arm draped over her back. She pulled down and twisted her shoulders, slamming the man to the deck before putting him out of the fight with a blow to the jaw.

“Two down,” Batgirl breathlessly murmured, beginning to search for the remaining goon.

A shattering pain exploded behind Batgirl’s ears as the man she had evaded with the forearm shiver attacked from behind. The thug followed up the stunning blow, lunging and taking Batgirl from her feet. Batgirl gasped painfully as they hit the deck. She had endured the brunt of the landing and the henchman remained on top of her. Weakened, she realized she would lose the fight unless she acted quickly. The thug held her pinned to the deck, depriving her of the space her fists required to build the momentum they would need to inflict damage.

Batgirl took in some air as her arms snaked around the thug’s neck, where her fingers could apply pressure to the blood vessels. Batgirl hoped she could hold the man long enough to induce unconsciousness before he took full advantage of her vulnerable position. Her heart sank when a massive palm clapped onto her forehead and pulled her face upward.

“Let go of me, you–”

The back of her head hit the deck and the end of the man’s command was lost. Pain dominated her senses and she involuntarily reduced the pressure she was placing on the man’s neck. ‘You can’t win them all,” she thought. Her head hit the deck again and again as black spots gathered before her eyes. These grew until darkness and pain swallowed her utterly. The unconsciousness that followed seemed merciful, even benign.

Batgirl revived to find herself positioned in one of her favorite poses, with hands on hips and legs spread to shoulder width. The difference this time was that her body was completely encased in . . . something.

Suddenly, a voice she did not recognize captured her complete attention. “Gute Nachmitag, Batgirl.” The encased heroine winced, gasping. She realized an earpiece had been positioned so that she could hear the voice . . . and its thunderous echoes. Her involuntary responses to the sudden, overwhelming disturbance prevented her from even determining the gender of the voice.

“Focus,” she muttered, shaking her head to banish the headache her conversation had prompted. Batgirl's voice, too, seemed to boom as it echoed.

She blinked, following her own direction, and became slowly aware of a strange phenomenon resembling tunnel vision. A tinted visor in front of her enabled her to see two of the men she had fought laughing, pointing at her, and lounging around a table. Batgirl realized she and her strange encasement stood inside a cabin aboard the boat she had jumped the Batgirlcycle aboard. Turning her head in either direction enabled Batgirl to see only darkness. Apparently, the thugs could hear her. ‘There must be a microphone somewhere inside . . . whatever this is,’ Batgirl thought.

“Good afternoon yourself,” Batgirl softly said to the voice.

It registered surprise. ”You speak German. Wunderbar.”

“In my experience, it’s good to keep abreast of foreign tongues.” Having grown accustomed to conversing in her strange environment, the pain in Batgirl’s head had subsided.

“Good advice, I’m sure. Permit me zis opportunity you aboard to velcome. Your voyage will to oblivion shortly begin.” Laughter echoed around Batgirl’s head.

“Not if I have anything to say about it.”

“You do not. Let me you assure. You will nothing say, Batgirl, und you can nothing do!”

“We’ll see about that!” Batgirl defiantly said, trying to step forward. Something blocked her knee. She tried to move her hands and realized they were stuck to her hips somehow. “What have you . . . done to me?”

“I’ve nothing to you, Batgirl, yet done. My men have you in Doctor Shivel’s cold suit encased. The trouble I took it, piece by piece, to acquire and to assemble worthwhile was. It enabled me Mister Freeze’s cold gun und a few other things to steal. Unfortunately, ze ammunition is for ze gun a renewable resource not. I think, however, I more than enough ammunition to take care of you have.” The voice laughed again. “I must you congratulate. I expected either Batman und Robin or Batwoman und Flamebird me to pursue.”

“You mean to fall into your trap!” Batgirl corrected.

“Ja. Of course. Had zey after me come, I would zem stiff mit ze ice gun have frozen. Ja?”

“It’s well known Batman and Robin have survived attacks from Mister Freeze’s freeze gun and they finally rendered it utterly useless with their Super Thermalized Batskivies.”

“Skivies?” The voice paused to think. “Ach! Und so weiter, Batgirl, I was you congratulating. Since it was you who into my trap fell, I have a magnificent opportunity ze old, cold suit one last time to use.” The voice laughed. “Perhaps your arrival was fortuitous, given what you say. Well, it was fortuitous for you not, nicht wahr. Boys, show ze captive her new outfit!”

“You’ve admitted to me you aren’t Mister Freeze.”

“Since you cured ze good doctor you zat already knew. Ja? Besides, ze knowledge will useless to you soon after we leave be.”

Two men gripped Batgirl’s forearms and lifted the cold suit, turning her to face a mirror that had been behind her since she had revived. Batgirl could see her masked face shrouded in shadow inside the astronaut-like helmet perched on the cold suit’s shoulders. She had more immediate concerns, however, as the third thug stepped into her field of vision before opening the door to admit a hooded, caped criminal who seemed to glide toward Batgirl. The shadow the newcomer’s hood cast over the hidden face made it impossible for Batgirl to identify her enemy, or even to identify the figure’s gender.

“Darth Vader?” Batgirl asked. “I don’t think so, somehow.”

“I’m not Darth Vader, Batgirl,” the well-disguised criminal whispered. “I, however, to face you alone for a very long time forward have looked. For Batman und Robin or Batwoman und Flamebird, I would ze gun use. For you alone, of course, using ze suit instead ze perfect opportunity would be.”

“I’ll die more slowly?”

“Ja! Precisely. You will much more slowly freeze. When ze suit turns on, ze temperature will inside slowly to fifty degrees below zero Fahrenheit be lowered. As ze temperature drops, you vill terminally transformed be. In ze end, you will a stone cold und rock hard Popsicle become.” The ice men’s employer chuckled. “Wild!”

“Who are you?” Batgirl demanded. “I know you’re only pretending to be Mister Freeze, and I don’t understand.”

“You, Batgirl, to know do not need.”

“All I need to do is get out of here and I’ll make you tell me.” She lifted her shoulder, but encountered the arm of the suit, which prevented her from raising her arm. Trying to straighten her arm was equally fruitless. “Hey! Why can’t I move?”

“Ach! How silly of me to explain not. All ze joints in zat suit, into zer current position, fused have been. You will quite helpless remain, I assure you. Ja.”

“We’ll see about that!”

“Gut! I love a spirited adversary having. It’s sad our contest so very short will be.”

Batgirl’s voice grew soft and deadly. “Our contest, as you call it, will be much longer than you expect or even imagine.”

“Perhaps we should zis opportunity a different, professional relationship take to consider.”

“I don’t think so!”

“Wunderbar!” the strange figure softly enthused, laughing delightedly. “Well, Batgirl, it was worth a try, but you refuse me. So, zat is how ze ice cube crumbles. Perhaps, your Valkerie warrior spirit will you until you die warm keep. Aufwiedersehen. It’s time, as you would say, to ‘turn you on.’ Wild!”

The thug who had subdued Batgirl stepped into her view and gestured toward the controls on the front of the suit. “We’d rather have shown you a good time, Batgirl, but this suit will make sure you’re smoking hot forever,” he said, grinning wickedly.

Batgirl felt a chill run up her spine that had nothing to do with cold, as the master criminal’s gloved hand reached toward her chest. Not wanting to dwell on the fate unfolding for her, Batgirl tried to guess whether her strangely dressed captor was wearing a microphone tied into the cold suit’s sound system or if such a device was hidden somewhere in the cabin.

“You’ll never lose your cool again, Batgirl,” another thug taunted as his leader turned a dial on the cold suit’s control panel, directing the temperature down as far as it would go.

“It looks to me like the temperature will be lowered by degrees, so to speak. As the suit grows progressively cooler, Batgirl will chill out of existence – literally,” the third thug observed.

The criminal leader tapped the start button and gestured for the thugs to leave. The strange figure followed with neither another word nor a backward glance. The henchmen, however, laughed uproariously.

A chill of genuine cold swept Batgirl from the top of her head to the tips of her toes.

“I’ll get out of this trap, and then I’ll get you!” Batgirl predicted. “You can’t hide from me or my colleagues. You’ll be punished for what you’re doing to me – severely.” As she spoke though, Batgirl’s spirits deflated. ‘Oh, God! I’m shivering already!’ she thought. ‘My voice can’t betray that fact! ’

“Oh, I doubt it very much, meine liebe,” the strange figure whispered, pausing and turning in the door. “While that suit takes care of you, I will your colorful, crime-fighting colleagues to their own fates lure. Soon, they will join you in the hereafter. Ja?”

Batgirl shuddered involuntarily as the unknown villain chuckled and locked the cabin door. A beep heralded complete silence as the speaker in Batgirl’s ear shut off.

The sudden silence seemed even more chilling to Batgirl than either her already icy environment or the frigid fate she faced.

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