Batgirl Is Quite Observant

Bruce's clear, blue eyes gazed longingly at the evil Englishwoman, who sat sideways on the small table in the middle of the plane, her gorgeous green eyes staring down at her prey.

She stroked his left cheek, remembering how she had done the same thing to him several years earlier, when she first had come to America. She ruefully recalled the ignominious ending to that caper, when she had tried to lure the hypnotized philanthropist to his death by coaxing him to jump off his own building.

'How young and foolish I was,' she thought. That gambit had led to the Siren's capture at the hands of Batgirl and Robin, who had followed her to the roof, rescued Bruce and defeated the terrible temptress.

'This time,' she thought, 'I shall not fail.'

"What may I do for you, Siren?" Bruce asked, a rapturous smile having enveloped his face.

Siren continued stroking his cheek. "Oh, not much, Mr. Wayne. I merely want you to give me complete power of attorney over the Wayne Foundation, and I also want you to divert thirty thousand dollars per week from the Wayne Foundation to a private bank account of mine. Is that understood?"

Bruce smiled. "That certainly seems reasonable, Siren. Do you have the necessary legal forms?"

Siren raised her voice. "Yes, I do. Sirena?"

Her blonde apprentice didn't notice Siren's request, busy as she was in the cockpit kissing the dashing young pilot, despite the hypnotic haze he was in.

Siren slipped a pen into Bruce's right hand, and raised her voice once again. "Sirena!"

Still no answer.

Siren raised her melodic voice yet another octave. "Young lady, front and center. Where are those legal documents?"

The words "young lady" jolted Siren's alluring apprentice from her reverie.

"Oops," she said, as she disengaged herself from Captain Bong, and wiped the lipstick from his face on her scarf. "I have to go away for a moment, but I'll be right back," she promised.

"Sorry, Siren," the blonde beauty said, racing into the cabin and digging into her handbag. "I have the forms right here . . . somewhere."

The English enchantress knew that Sirena's recent "business before pleasure" attitude probably wouldn't last long, so she tried as best as she could to refrain from dressing her down totally.

"Time is of the essence, young lady," she said as Sirena finally handed over the legal forms. "We must conduct our business as quickly as possible so our dupes can arrive in D.C. without anyone missing their presence, and without them wondering why their trip took a little longer than usual. Is that clear?"

"Yes, Siren," her protégée said, properly chastened. "Sorry I took so long, but did you know that guy was a fighter pilot? Now THAT is sexy."

Siren, however, didn't seem to be listening to her accomplice, as she focused her gaze on Bruce.

"You are headed to Washington, D.C., are you not, Mr. Wayne?" Siren asked Bruce.

He answered, "Yes, Siren. I have some important business there."

"That is all well and good," Siren replied with a smile, "but it's the business we are conducting right here that really counts.”

Siren slid several papers in front of the mesmerized millionaire. On each one, she directed his fingers to exactly where he needed to sign. His eyes, however, never wavered, and followed the Siren's gorgeous face throughout.

"You have done very well, Mr. Wayne," Siren said as she painstakingly examined each document to make sure everything was legal. "VERY, VERY well."

Siren then patted Bruce on the head, as if he were a little boy who had eaten all of his vegetables. Bruce smiled again.

"Do you have anything else for me to sign?" he asked, almost pleadingly.

"Not at the moment, no," Siren replied.

Sirena almost was transfixed herself, fascinated to watch her mentor do her almost unique brand of persuasion.

Siren noticed this, and permitted herself a huge smile as she glanced at her protégée.

"I hope you have been taking notes, Sirena," she said.

"Mentally, Siren, mentally, I promise. Honest."

As always, both were secure in the realization that not only wouldn't their victims remember what had happened, they couldn't process, even at that moment, conversations not specifically addressed to them. Bruce continued to stare straight at the Siren, uninterested in and unaware of the byplay between the two sinister sonic seductresses.

"Now, young lady, we cannot afford to waste any more time. It is of paramount importance that we move now to our next step – not only erasing the memories of this incident from their minds, but substituting new and fabricated ones, so there is no possibility that anyone will suspect foul play. Is that understood, Sirena?"

"You got it, Siren," the younger enchantress replied. "I have the instructions of exactly what to say right here." Sirena reached into her cluttered handbag and, eventually, pulled out a piece of paper on which she had scribbled some notes.

"Then go to it, young lady."

Sirena nodded and went to the front of the plane. She stood over the pilot, glancing at the sheet of paper, and said, "You will remember none of this, sir. What you WILL remember is that your plane needed a little bit of routine maintenance before departing, and that is why you arrived slightly late at your final destination. Once that maintenance was taken care of, the plane was ready to go and you left for your destination as you normally would."

Sirena stopped checking the sheet after awhile, proud that she had been able to memorize almost all of Siren's instructions.

"Do you understand?" she added.

"Yes, Sirena," Captain Bong replied.

"Great," Sirena said, smiling. She glanced around quickly. Sirena could hear Siren giving a similar speech to Bruce about the delay for routine maintenance, smiled furtively to herself, and kissed the pilot one more time.

"Thank you so much," she said, flipping her scarf over her neck again. "You will regain consciousness in exactly five minutes."

"Yes," he replied, still in a daze.

Sirena went back to the passenger cabin as Siren was wrapping up.

"Now, Mr. Wayne, if you notice some of the Wayne Foundation's assets missing in the near future, you shall not be alarmed."

"I shall not be alarmed."

"You shall not tell anyone about this, if you should discover it."

"I shall not tell anyone."

"Splendid, Mr. Wayne, splendid." She turned in an aside to Sirena and asked, "How many minutes did you give him before regaining consciousness?"

"Five, Siren, five."

"Fine, Sirena, well done. Thus, we shall give Mr. Wayne three minutes before he wakes up."

She turned her attention again to her current dupe. "Mr. Wayne, you will regain consciousness in exactly three minutes."

"Yes, Siren."

Siren stood up and turned to her sonic sidekick. "Let's make our departure, Sirena. I am tired of looking like a bloody stewardess."

Sirena smiled. "Aw, I kinda like these outfits."

Siren resisted the temptation to respond, 'you would,' and instead simply said, "Let's go, Sirena," in a firm voice.

Her young charge nodded. "I'm right behind you, Siren. Could I, oh, never mind . . . ."

Siren knew exactly what her apprentice wanted to ask.

"Oh, all right, Sirena," Siren said with a sly smile, as she made her way toward the exit. "You can say it this time."

Sirena beamed. "Cheerio, Mr. Wayne," she said and then smiled at Siren.

The two gorgeous women made their escape.

Just over two minutes later, both men woke up. Of course, neither remembered what actually had happened. Instead, they recalled only what had been programmed into their memories by Siren and Sirena.

The pilot made his way to the cabin. "I am sorry about the delay, Mr. Wayne. We had a brief mechanical problem, but it's been taken care of."

"No problem, Captain Bong. As always, I trust you implicitly."

"In fact, looking at the latest forecast, I think we'll be able to make up some of the time and won't be more than a couple of minutes late on arrival."

"Terrific," Bruce said.

The pilot smiled and went back to the cockpit. Within a few minutes, they were airborne. They landed just outside Washington at 2:43 EDT, only eight minutes past their originally scheduled landing time.

NINE DAYS LATER, AT SIREN'S HIDEOUT

Sirena, again sporting a retro-type look, this time with two huge diamond bracelets adorning her left wrist, was on the internet. She was double-checking to make sure the latest financial transactions had been made from the Wayne Foundation to Siren and Sirena's private account (under an assumed name, of course) in a bank in the Canary Islands.

Their latest temporary home was, at the moment, a bit of a jumble, as Sirena had scheduled a photo shoot for later that day with one of the world's most famous fashion photographers. Much like her mentor, Sirena loved having her picture taken. One phone call from her was all that was necessary for the photographer to drop everything else in his Daily Planner, including a session with the President of the United States' wife.

She rose from her chair to peer out the window with binoculars and spotted Siren's silver van headed up the drive. Within a few minutes, Siren had made her way up to the fourth floor, where the two beautiful baddies had been ensconced for weeks.

Siren came into the room, clad in a tight sleeveless blue blouse and tasteful pastel white skirt that showed off the Diabolical Diva's shapely figure. She took off her sunglasses as she entered.

“I never shall understand, Sirena,” the English Enchantress began, “why you colonists have seen fit to misappropriate our language lock, stock and barrel, yet the concept of driving on the left side of the road wasn’t good enough for all of you.”

Sirena had become used to the beautiful Brit’s anti-Yankee diatribes. She had learned the only way to deal with them was to ignore the comments until the Diabolical Diva changed the subject, which she did so this time by admiring Sirena's latest extravagant, yet quite tasteful, ensemble.

"I see you still are going with a classy look, Sirena. I commend you," her malevolent mentor said, and then pointed at Sirena's newest jewelry. "I'm glad to see you've put your share of last week's windfall to good use."

"Yeah, thanks again! I'm glad you've loosened up a little lately, Siren. It used to be you'd never let me have any of the money until the crime was complete."

Siren looked at Sirena somewhat dolefully, but took her foot off the emotional pedal just before losing control. She was trying very hard to keep from admonishing Sirena, even though her protégée's propensity for living in the moment still bothered her a little.

"Why not enjoy the proverbial fruits of our labour," a calm Siren asked rhetorically. "Maybe I have been a bit too uptight, to use some of the vintage vernacular of you colonists. There is no reason not to have fun with our continuing windfall, as long as we exercise enough moderation to fend off potential suspicion."

"So how much money have we siphoned off from the Wayne Foundation so far?" Sirena asked.

"Sixty thousand in American dollars," Siren replied, "which comes to thirty thousand per week, exactly the amount I instructed Mr. Wayne to have transferred to our account, which, as you know, I disguised cleverly as a similarly philanthropic fund."

"I just hope nobody’s figured out any of this," Sirena said, plopping herself languorously on a luxurious couch.

"Your increasing pragmatism is a good sign, young lady," Siren said, pausing to get the reaction she wanted.

Sirena smiled at the compliment from the English Enchantress, which was a cue for the formerly world-renowned chanteuse to continue.

"Sirena, that is why I am being extremely cautious. You'll note that I chose to forego my classic hairstyle, and instead went with a more mundane, yet extremely stylish, look so as not to arouse suspicion.” Siren didn’t want to let on that she had a slight migraine, and her horizontal bouffant would have exacerbated that condition.

She continue, “I have spent a lifetime attracting attention, but also realize it’s best sometimes to be incognito."

"That is an unusual hairdo for you, Siren," Sirena said, with a wicked smile before adding, "that piece of real estate above your eyes, would that be called a forehead? I can't remember the last time I've seen yours."

Siren suffered the remark as well as she could. "No, quite frankly, my forehead, which is as eminently gorgeous as the rest of myself, doesn't appear often. It is visible about as often as your navel is not."

"Touché, Siren, touché," a somewhat chastened Sirena said. Getting the upper hand on the Siren in a verbal battle wasn’t easy.

"Anyway, young lady, I had planned to check in with Mr. Alfred Pennyworth tomorrow, but will do so posthaste merely to alleviate your irrational fears," Siren said, walking to the phone.

"Hello, Alfred."

Alfred's eyes glazed over immediately at the sound of Siren's voice, as the evil Englishwoman's post-hypnotic suggestion did its work on the mind of the veteran butler. “Yes, Madame Siren."

"I want to know, Alfred, has anything unusual happened at stately Wayne Manor in the last fortnight?"

"Not that I know of, Madame Siren. Can you be more specific?"

"Why, certainly, Alfred. I am wondering if your superior, Mr. Wayne, has had any conversations pertaining to any irregularities regarding his business?"

"Yes, Madame Siren, he has."

The bewitching Brit became a tad impatient. 'Men can be SO dense,' she thought, 'whether they are English or American.'

"Alfred," she continued, "with whom did Mr. Wayne have that conversation and what was said, exactly?"

"The manager of all Mr. Wayne's business affairs, Mr. Lucius Fox, said he had noticed some unusual withdrawals and wanted to know where the money was going."

Siren scowled and put her hand over the phone. "Sirena, I need a pen and pad immediately."

Sirena didn't appreciate being ordered around like one of Siren's minions. She could, however, see that her mentor was agitated, so the blonde enchantress complied wordlessly.

Siren mouthed the words 'thank you' and then turned her attention back to her mind-controlled dupe. "I want you to provide me with Mr. Fox's telephone numbers," Siren commanded. "Work, home and cell, preferably, Alfred."

Bruce Wayne's butler did as he was instructed. Siren wrote down the numbers while quickly glancing at Sirena.

"Splendid," Siren said upon receiving the information. "You have done well, as usual, Alfred."

"Thank you, Madame Siren."

"Please forget this conversation, as usual, my countryman."

"Yes, Siren," Alfred responded. The call was terminated by the villainess before he had finished speaking.

"I shall be making another call, Sirena."

"Do you need my help on this one, Siren?" Sirena asked eagerly.

"Not at the moment," the Siren responded. "My vocal cords are in fine fettle and can handle this one."

IN MIDTOWN GOTHAM CITY, AT THE OFFICES OF THE WAYNE FOUNDATION, BUSINESS MANAGER LUCIUS FOX IS TALKING ON THE PHONE WITH THE FIRM'S CEO

"I trust your trip to D.C. went well, Bruce?" said Fox, a middle-aged African-American man who ran Bruce's business affairs brilliantly.

"Very well, Lucius, very well indeed," Bruce responded. "I'll let you know more about it when I see you in person, but it was a very productive journey. Now, tell me about that discrepancy you found."

"Well, Bruce, I noticed that the Foundation account has made a sizable donation to the Collins Fund for Wayward Girls each of the last two weeks. Quite frankly, I've never heard of this charity, and besides, we already have our own arm of the Wayne Foundation for such a cause. It doesn't seem logical to me to be supporting someone else's efforts in the same area of need, when the money could be earmarked to a different, yet still worthwhile, cause."

"Lucius, I promise you, this is above-board and one of the finest charities with which I've yet been associated. I certainly understand your trepidation and you know I appreciate you watching out for me, but there is nothing here to investigate, I promise you."

"OK," said Lucius, who wasn't satisfied with the answer, but wasn't ready to go to the mat about it just yet. "I'll keep on eye on it, OK? But I certainly won't cut off our contribution."

"Yes," Bruce agreed.

"Anyway, glad to hear the meeting in Washington went well," Lucius added. "Looking forward to more of those."

"So am I," Bruce said. "I'll be in touch."

"Goodbye," Lucius replied. He couldn't help beaming from ear-to-ear after hanging up the phone. 'Bruce Wayne has made a difference here,' Lucius thought. 'He can make a difference anywhere.'

JUST THEN, THAT DIABOLICAL DIVA, THE SIREN, IS PLACING ANOTHER CALL

Siren dialed the work number for Lucius Fox first. She reasoned that if he were in a private office, what she was about to do might cause less of a stir.

"Mr. Fox," a secretary said. "I have a Ms. Collins on the line for you. Laurie Collins."

'Hmmm,' Lucius thought. 'This might be just the person I'm looking for.'

"Please transfer her, Joanna," Fox said. "I'll take the call in here."

The extension rang.

"Hello. This is Lucius Fox."

"Mr. Fox, my name is Laurie Collins. How are you today?" Siren was doing her best to be charming.

"Fine. Unless this is an incredible coincidence, Ms. Collins, I take it you have something to with the Collins Fund for Wayward Girls."

"That is correct, Mr. Fox. I have a lot to do with it." Siren almost laughed, but was able to stop short. "Are you in a place where this conversation can be private?"

"Yes," Lucius said, somewhat annoyed by that question. "Ms. Collins, I've noticed a discrepancy," he began to say–

–before the Siren cut in with, "I have another discrepancy right here."

She unleashed her hypnotic note. Within seconds, Fox's face had dissolved into a blank stare.

"Mr. Fox, you are under my spell and will obey my commands. Is that understood?"

"Yes, Ms. Collins."

"No, Mr. Fox, please call me Siren."

"Yes, Siren."

"Mr. Fox, you will not remember this phone call having taken place. Is that understood?"

"I will not remember."

"What you WILL remember is that your investigation of the Collins Fund for Wayward Girls turned up nothing amiss. It is a totally legitimate, above-board charity, the kind the Wayne Foundation is proud to support. If you are asked about the Collins Fund, that is what you shall tell people. Do you understand, sir?”

"I understand, Siren."

"Splendid. It was a pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Fox."

Siren hung up the phone and smiled at Sirena. "This potential problem has been averted, Sirena. We should have smooth sailing henceforth."

"But what about Bruce Wayne's former ward, Dick Grayson?" Sirena asked. "I’ve read he has been given a lot of authority in the Wayne Foundation."

What Sirena didn't add was she was hoping Dick might make trouble, so she could be the one to subdue him. 'He's almost as cute as Robin,' she thought, never dreaming they were one and the same. Sirena's attraction to Robin stemmed from an almost two-day joyride when she had placed him under her control in Londinium several years before, after the blonde enchantress first had gained her awesome power.

"Very good point, Sirena. From what I understand, he is the kind of meddling do-gooder that must be scrutinized. If he needs an attitude adjustment, I shall entrust you with the task."

"Thanks, Siren. I promise, I won't let you down," Sirena said, grinning.

MEANWHILE, AT STATELY WAYNE MANOR . . .

Dick Grayson had overheard some of Alfred's conversation with the Diabolical Diva. Although Dick hadn't heard the butler mention the Siren by name, the docile nature of his portion of the conversation further confirmed Dick's suspicions that the Englishman was in the thrall of his beautiful countrywoman.

Bruce was out of the house on business for the day, and as reluctant as Dick was to admit it, that made things a little easier. 'I'm not sure I can trust him, either, at the moment,' Dick thought. 'I hate to do this to Alfred, but I have no choice.'

Dick approached his longtime servant, who was, more importantly, a trusted friend.

"Alfred, would you mind coming down to the Batcave?" Dick asked. "Just for a moment, please."

"Of course not, sir. I shall be there immediately."

After Dick went down the Batpole, Robin found Alfred waiting for him. The Twenty-something Titan obviously hoped that part of Siren's post-hypnotic suggestion hadn't included a command for the Englishman to lash out at anyone questioning him, but the butler seemed cooperative. Dick still was pained by the memory of Robin having to slug Bruce Wayne on the top of the Wayne Foundation building after Bruce, acting upon Siren's orders, had taken two roundhouse swings at Robin. Thankfully for both, Bruce had missed badly before Robin decked him with a workmanlike right hand.

Fortunately, no violence was needed to get Alfred to submit to the brainwave Bat-analyzer. "If you must, sir," Alfred responded when Robin asked him to sit under the machine. Of course, Alfred had no idea he currently was at Siren's command, thanks to her post-hypnotic suggestion in their just-completed phone conversation.

As the readout slowly became apparent, it confirmed the crimefighter's worst fears, being very much a straight line. Robin sighed loudly.

"Holy Sleeper Agent," Robin said sotto voce, pounding his right fist into his left hand. "I'll bet he told Siren about Bruce's trip to Washington . . . and there's no telling what other secrets he might have divulged."

"What was that, sir?" Alfred asked, his head still under the machine.

Robin shook his head. "Oh, nothing, Alfred. Thank you for your cooperation. You can get out of that chair now."

"Thank you, sir. I hope this brief experiment was of some service."

Robin smiled and nodded as Alfred stood up and walked away.

Robin's next move wasn't so clear. He needed to figure out what Siren would want with Alfred.

'Access to Bruce,' the crimefighter quickly surmised. The answer to why the English Enchantress would want that access was even easier to determine.

'Money,' Robin thought.

Within minutes, he had gone online into both Bruce's private account and the account belonging to the Wayne Foundation. Nothing seemed amiss with Bruce's private account.

The Foundation account, however, was quite another story. In a span of two weeks, there had been two withdrawals of $30,000 apiece.

'That has to be Siren's doing,' Robin thought, while wondering why Lucius Fox hadn't flagged the unusual expenditures. Fox had done so, of course, only to be hypnotized by the Siren and made to believe everything was all right with the Foundation account.

Now Robin found himself torn. He needed help to capture the oft-elusive Siren, but by reaching out to the Gotham City Police Department, or to Batgirl, the possibility of compromising his and Bruce's respective secret identities became quite realistic.

'So be it,' Robin thought. Even though he was convinced the Diabolical Diva only wanted Bruce's money, there was no way to be sure.

'Bruce's life could be at stake.' Robin knew what had to be done. He called Commissioner Gordon, knowing full well he would tell Lieutenant Mooney, director of the Anti-Siren Task Force, who then undoubtedly would inform Batgirl.

Robin, of course, had no idea that Commissioner Gordon's daughter soon would know of the sinister situation, even before Mooney.

SHORTLY, IN BARBARA GORDON'S APARTMENT . . .

'I knew it,' she thought as she hung up the phone. 'I just knew it.'

She turned to her faithful pet bird. "Charlie," she said, "I wonder why people don't listen to me sometimes. It was SO obvious Siren and Sirena had been too quiet for too long . . . and we all know how hard it is for sirens to keep quiet, don't we?"

Charlie squawked his approval. "Exactly," Barbara responded. "You know what I'm talking about, but now what can I do about it?"

Barbara sat on her couch and thought. A few minutes later, she rose to her feet excitedly. "That's it!" she shouted.

"Sorry, Charlie, I have to tell the Commissioner this right away," she added as she quickly went to the phone.

"Daddy, would it be possible to invite Bruce Wayne to your office early tomorrow morning?"

"I'm sure I could figure out some excuse. But why?"

"I have an idea, and it involves that Siren video Batman recently showed us."

THE NEXT MORNING, IN COMMISSIONER GORDON'S OFFICE . . .

Batgirl, Commissioner Gordon, Chief O'Hara, Lieutenant Mooney and Detective Montoya were waiting for the millionaire playboy and philanthropist to arrive. Robin wasn't there yet, as Dick knew his presence would've seemed suspicious to his mentor.

Everyone except Batgirl was waiting patiently. The Dominoed Daredoll paced furiously, suddenly wondering if she could pull off her audacious impression.

All eyes were on her, and she was beginning to feel intense pressure.

'Can I really do this?' Batgirl thought.

She had taken on hundreds of challenges in her crimefighting career, but nothing quite like this.

She flipped through her mental catalogue of all the female British baddies she had faced other than the Siren. Ladies Peasoup and Prudence, of course, came to mind, as well as Evelina, Nora Clavicle's right-hand woman. Catwoman's kitten, Soolin, Max Chessman’s lethal henchwomen and several of Clock King's companions also were from the United Kingdom. Then there was the beautiful Britannia, the guise of a British professor who once thought she was the rightful Queen of England.

Defeating them was one thing. Trying to sound like one of them was something else entirely.

The Commissioner had asked Bruce to his office under the guise of discussing the development of Gotham City, as per a new initiative from Mayor Petalburg. When, however, Bruce sat down to watch the video presentation he had been promised, it cut quickly from an establishing shot of the city to the Siren video Batman had shown weeks earlier.

It was almost impossible for Bruce to have seen the tiny earplugs the other men were wearing. Of course, for the women in the room, no such protection was necessary.

Bruce wasn't prepared for the fast edit, and before he had a chance to react and scramble out of the chair, Siren had appeared on the screen, in all her hypnotic vocal glory.

After her stunning note ended, Bruce leaned back in the chair, once again completely under the Siren's spell. The Commissioner then hit the pause button, freeze-framing it on Siren's gorgeous visage. As Bruce went under, Robin quickly entered the office from the hallway.

"You're on, Batgirl," Mooney said.

"I know," she said, moving quickly behind the screen so that Bruce would hear her voice while gazing at the Siren's image.

"Mistah Wayne," she announced, with a slight hesitancy in her voice. "You are now undah my spell. Is that cleah?"

The Purple Paragon of Virtue was making sure to drop every R to approximate the Diabolical Diva's posh British accent.

"Yes, Siren." Bruce's voice was a monotone.

"Splendid," Batgirl said, borrowing one of the Siren's favorite words. "I need some infohmation, please."

"What is it you want to know?" Bruce asked, earnestly.

"Have you been following my instructions to the lettah, Mistah Wayne?"

Bruce suddenly looked slightly puzzled.

"Is there something wrong with your voice, Siren?"

Batgirl's face flushed with horror as she searched for an ad-lib.

"I believe I had a buttahed scone stuck in my throat earliah, Mistah Wayne," she finally said. "I beg your pahdon."

Bruce nodded. "I hope you are all right, Siren."

Batgirl sighed and took a deep breath.

"I asked you, Mistah Wayne, have you been following my instructions to the lettah?"

"Of course, Siren," he replied. "I have had $30,000 diverted from the Wayne Foundation account to your account every week, as you instructed."

Batgirl's eyes widened, but she did her best to stay in character. Robin could take little satisfaction in having his suspicions confirmed.

"Your contribution is most appreciated. You will continue to make your weekly donation. Is that undahstood?"

"Yes, Siren."

"Good. As soon as I have finished speaking, you will go to sleep. You will wake up in a few minutes, completely refreshed and with no memory of our convahsation.

"You may now go to sleep."

Bruce closed his eyes and immediately was enveloped in a deep slumber. Batgirl exhaled, came out from behind the screen and slumped onto the couch.

Mixed emotions filled the room. Everyone was dismayed by Siren's insidious scheme, but they all were in awe of Batgirl's performance.

"We'd like to applaud you, Batgirl, but we don't want to awaken Mr. Wayne," her father said. Everyone else nodded.

Batgirl's green eyes gleamed. "Thank you. I assure you, it is NOT easy talking like that unless you're from across the pond . . . but now we have to get down to business. We have to flush out Siren and her accomplice."

"I think I know someone who could help us in that area," Robin offered.

"I hope that person can make a wuhlld of difference," Batgirl responded with a smile.

THE NEXT DAY, AT STATELY WAYNE MANOR . . .

With his now-certain knowledge of Siren's plan, Dick Grayson had made sure to tell Alfred that he suspected something wasn't right with the Wayne Foundation account. He struggled with whether to talk to Bruce about the situation.

On the one hand, Dick couldn’t be sure what post-hypnotic instructions the Siren might have given his former guardian. On the other, he was well aware of Bruce’s strength of will.

For the moment, he decided to go it alone. Once the Siren had been located, then Robin would bring Batman up to speed.

Dick's expectation was that Alfred, once he received a call from the Siren, would transmit Dick's suspicions to her, thus keeping her on the line and giving Dick a chance to trace the phone call with the new and improved Bat-call tracer. The only problem was, Dick didn't know when Siren would call.

Dick waited and waited and waited, until finally, just before 5 p.m., the phone rang in the study.

Peering through a nearly-closed door so the butler couldn't see him, Dick noticed Alfred's eyes glazing over immediately after picking up the phone.

Dick began the process of tracing the call, but was somewhat surprised when Alfred called out, "Sir, telephone call for you."

Dick took a deep breath, but he was prepared, having put a pair of Batearplugs in his pocket. He quickly inserted them into his ears before taking the receiver from the butler.

The muffled sound he heard through the plugs obviously was a stunning sirenic note. Dick, however, was a bit surprised when he soon discovered who had delivered the serenade.

Siren had made good on her promise to let her young charge take her best shot at Dick Grayson, but Sirena was unaware that her hypnotic note hadn't had its usual effect.

"Mr. Grayson, this is Sirena," she said, trying hard to look sophisticated to Siren's discerning eyes, as the Diabolical Diva watched. "You are under my spell and will obey my commands. Is that understood?"

"Yes, Sirena," Dick said, doing his best acting job as he continued to trace the origin of the call.

"You will not, I repeat, you will not investigate the current status of the Wayne Founation account. In fact, there is nothing at all wrong. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Sirena."

"Splendid," Sirena answered, again mimicking her mentor on purpose. She then couldn't help adding an ad-lib. "I am beautiful, Mr. Grayson," Sirena said, "and you sound quite cute yourself. I hope we can meet someday. I think we could make gorgeous music together, so to speak."

"If you desire, Sirena."

"Now when you hang up, you will forget this conversation ever took place. Is that clear?"

"Yes, Sirena."

"Terrific. Goodbye, Dick."

"Goodbye, Sirena." Dick took a deep breath. 'That wasn't easy,' he thought, but he had done what he had set out to do. He had kept the young enchantress on the phone long enough to trace the source of the call.

‘Within an hour,’ he thought, ‘Siren finally will be under arrest.’

SHORTLY, IN AN INDUSTRIAL SECTION ON THE NORTH SIDE OF GOTHAM CITY . . .

In order to capture human sirens, Lieutenant Mooney thought it best not to use the GCPD's car sirens, figuring it would give them a better chance of surprising their quarry.

It worked — to a point. The Siren didn't realize anything was amiss until she could hear a door being opened downstairs. The fact they were on the fourth floor was helpful, as it gave the British beauty a little bit of time to concoct a strategy.

"Sirena, front and center!" the English Enchantress yelled. "We have a crisis here."

Sirena immediately ran into the common area, knowing full well what Siren's warning meant.

"Law enforcement will be arriving any moment, young lady. You know what to do, correct?"

Sirena nodded. "I sure do," she said, brandishing a cell phone.

Siren pulled our her mobile phone, too. "Just remain calm, Sirena," she admonished. "It will be all right."

Suddenly, the door burst open and Batman, Batgirl, Robin and Mooney entered. Detective Montoya and three members of the Anti-Siren Task Force had taken positions at the rear entrance to the building.

"There's no escape, Siren and Sirena," Batgirl declared. "This time, we've got you."

Siren giggled slightly and grinned. Shaking her head from side-to-side, she said, "Don't you Bat-people know how rude it is to interrupt someone who is on the phone? That goes for you, too, Left-enant Mooney."

"Don't worry," Batman said. "You'll get your one phone call, the same as any other criminal, Siren. As will you, young lady." Batman glanced at Sirena.

Siren responded as she punched the re-dial function, "Batman, I have a special message for Bruce Wayne's butler, Alfred Pennyworth."

Batgirl's face clenched. It was happening again.

"Alfred," Siren said into the phone, "please go to the roof of Wayne Manor and in exactly fifteen minutes, unless you hear from me again, jump off!" The Diabolical Diva then hit the speakerphone function.

"If that is what you wish for me to do, Madame Siren," he said cheerily, as the crimefighters listened in horror, "it will be my pleasure."

"Thank you, Alfred. Please have your cell phone with you, in case I need to call."

"Your wish is my command, Madame Siren."

Siren smiled, "You see, you certainly can arrest me. If you do so, however, Mr. Pennyworth will follow my suggestion and take his own life."

"That's hardly a suggestion, coming from you!" an angry Robin said.

"Call it a strong suggestion," Siren replied sternly. "My young associate is poised to issue a similar suggestion to Bruce Wayne's private pilot, Captain Bong."

Sirena glared at the heroines and heroes before her face contorted into a wicked smile.

"Who knows," Sirena said, casually but firmly. "I could order him to do anything, like crash his plane into City Hall." She held the small phone in her right hand, hidden behind her now straight, razor-cut hair. Her finger was poised on a button that would allow her to make the call with one keystroke. Once she did so, her stunning note would hypnotize the pilot within seconds.

"What do you want this time, Siren?" an exasperated Diana Mooney said. She, too, was tired of making deals with Siren, but the supervillainess' awesome powers, as well as those of her protégée, left the GCPD's highest-ranking woman little choice once again.

"Oh, very little, Left-tenant. I merely want you to call off the hounds, as it were, and allow myself and my associate to leave here without being arrested. For our freedom, I will cancel my suggestion to Mr. Pennyworth and we promise not to, shall we say, influence anyone into harming himself. Is that not right, Sirena?"

Sirena smiled at the agents of law enforcement. "That's how we roll," she said.

"Batgirl, please don't ask me what guarantee you have," Siren said. "Has this Englishwoman not been good to her word in every similar situation?"

"Yes, you have," Batgirl said. "I can't deny that."

"Splendid. I knew you would see it our way. Now, Left-tenant, ring up that task force of yours and tell them to let us pass.”

Mooney radioed Montoya. A short, but heated, argument ensued, spiced with several Spanish expletives.

The Latina detective, however, finally, albeit reluctantly, accepted the order. She and the other officers would stand down and let the sinister songstresses leave without pursuit.

“Shall we go, Sirena?" The blonde enchantress nodded and joined Siren on her way out the door.

"Cheerio," Siren and Sirena said in unison as they exited the room.

Batgirl slumped to the floor. "Damn it," she said to no one in particular. "I'm tired of those two getting away."

Nobody responded to her. Nothing more needed to be said.

SEVERAL DAYS LATER, IN WHAT HAD BEEN AN ABANDONED FLOOR AT A SHEET MUSIC PRINTING FACTORY . . .

"This is an interesting place for a temporary hideout," Sirena began, "but aren't you worried they might put two and two together?"

"Fear not, Sirena," said the Diabolical Diva, wearing a bouffant with flowers for a change of pace. "This is called hiding in plain sight. In Batgirl's and Left-tenant Mooney's irrational zeal to find us, they shan't think we would use a musically-themed front."

"That makes sense," Sirena said, adding with a sigh, "That was a lot of fun while it lasted."

Siren shook her head wistfully. "Yes, it's quite unfortunate we do not have that steady stream of income anymore. Always keep in mind, however, that we both possess ATMs right here." Siren pointed to her own throat.

"They came in handy a couple of days ago . .. but it just occurred to me, Siren. Didn't you once say you no longer wanted to order men to commit suicide, because they're more valuable to us alive?"

"Right you are. As you saw vividly the other day, however, the mere threat of it can be equally as effective in helping us attain our goals."

"I see what you mean," Sirena responded. "It's as if the Terrific Trio and the police were frozen in place once we made those threats."

"Unfortunately, young lady, we have no such luxury. We shall be on the move again in a couple of days. You cannot stay in one place too long when you are as wanted as we are, in more ways than one."

"No, I suppose not," Sirena said, shaking her head with a wan smile.

"I hope this constantly peripatetic lifestyle is not wearing on you," Siren offered.

Sirena's wan smile changed to a grin. "No, I understand it's part of the deal . . . but thank you for asking."

Siren nodded solicitously. "I promise you, we will be off on another financially-rewarding adventure quite soon.”

MEANWHILE, AT BARBARA GORDON’S APARTMENT . . .

Sweat ringed Barbara’s short, dark hair, and occasionally a bead of it fell on her face as she turned the key to the door. She was greeted by a familiar and reassuring sight, her father sitting on the sofa.

“I didn’t know you were dropping by, Daddy,” she said while wiping the sweat from her face.

“I had nothing planned, Pumpkin,” he responded, “so I thought I’d come over and see how you were doing.”

Barbara wore a thin smile. “OK, I suppose.” She had gone jogging in an attempt to distract herself from the latest escape of Siren and Sirena, but it hadn't eased her mild depression.

She sat down next to the Commissioner, and put her head on his shoulder.

“I’m sorry, Daddy. It’s just tough to always see Siren get away.”

“Well, that’s not quite true,” he said as he stroked his daughter’s hair. “You’ve apprehended her several times. She just holds an ace in the hole, as it were, that none of your other adversaries have.”

He looked his daughter straight in the eyes as he continued speaking. “It’s not your fault, Barbara. There’s nothing you or anyone else can do when she uses the threat of her power as a bargaining chip.”

Barbara sighed. “I know, I know, but it just seems so futile sometimes.”

“Nonsense. The bottom line, Barbara, is you helped Bruce Wayne and Alfred Pennyworth get out from under her thumb without being injured. That’s the most important thing.”

Barbara nodded. “I know that . . . but I’ll never give up trying to get that witch off the streets of Gotham City once and for all.”

“I know you won’t,” he responded, “and I know you’ll capture her again.”

Barbara smiled.

. . . AND AT STATELY WAYNE MANOR . . .

The black phone in Bruce’s study rang. Alfred, who was dusting one of the bookcase shelves, was startled a bit. He looked at the phone, took a deep breath, and finally answered it on the fifth ring.

“Wayne Residence,” he greeted. Moments later, he said, “No, we do not require the services of a chimney sweep, but if we do, we shall remember to call you.”

Deep down, he didn’t expect the Siren to call again. The fear of it still lingered, however, as did the shame and embarrassment of partially being responsible for Bruce Wayne losing $60,000 from his Foundation.

Bruce and Dick knew of his discomfiture, so they made yet another attempt to improve Alfred’s mood when he again apologized.

"Sirs, I feel so ashamed."

"Nonsense, Alfred,” Bruce replied. “No man is invulnerable to the Siren's considerable charms. I’ve been under her spell several times myself."

“So have I,” Dick offered with a smile. “Don’t be embarrassed.”

“Sir,” Alfred said with a pained expression, addressing Bruce, “but what about the sixty thousand dollars the Siren embezzled from the Wayne Foundation, with my help?”

“Alfred,” Bruce said, “I can get another sixty thousand dollars. In fact, I can get another million dollars, but it wouldn’t mean anything if I had lost one of my most trusted friends, a man who has been so influential in my life. Please, Alfred, let it go. It’s all right.”

The butler nodded and smiled. “Yes, sir. I shall forget about it straightaway.”

“That’s the spirit, Alfred,” Dick said.

“If you don’t mind, sirs, I’d like to get back to work,” Alfred said. “I shall get those sandwiches I made for the two of you.”

When Alfred was out of earshot, Dick said, “Do you think he’ll snap out of this depression?”

“I’m not worried, old chum. Alfred has faced much more difficult things in his life. He’ll be fine.”

Dick nodded. Then his expression lightened considerably. "Now, tell me about your trip to Washington . . . ."

Back to Batgirl Bat-Trap stories

Back to the Batgirl Bat-Trap Homepage!