Rain dragged long streaks across the windows, and the dim glow of streetlights shattered into thousands of golden scales on the slick asphalt. Five identical black vans formed a neat convoy, traveling through Gotham's pitch-black streets at three in the morning.
Floyd Lawton sat in handcuffs and leg irons between two A.R.G.U.S. agents. Neither had spoken since getting into the van; they simply stared straight ahead, fingers resting on their trigger guards. The compartment had no windows, only a dim red indicator light overhead that stained every face the color of blood.
He could feel the vehicle turning. From memory and his sense of direction, he knew the convoy was heading toward the East End docks. He stared at the camera on the ceiling and couldn't help smiling.
"Floyd, what are you smiling about?"
Amanda Waller's deep voice rang through the compartment's speaker. "What are you planning?"
"Relax." Lawton smiled, his voice as calm as though he were chatting in a café. "Are we heading to the docks?"
"Yes. Is there a problem?"
"No, nothing." Lawton leaned against the cold wall of the compartment and closed his eyes. "I just wanted to know how long it would take us to reach our destination."
"That's none of your concern. All you need to do is..."
The lead van suddenly stopped. One after another, the vehicles behind it braked on the slick road, the squeal of tires painfully sharp in the silent night.
"What's going on?" asked Major Rick Flag from the second van, his hand already on his holster.
"A police checkpoint, sir!"
The subordinate in the van ahead answered over the radio. "Seven or eight vehicles. Looks like a pretty big operation."
Rick glanced out the window. The light drizzle had stopped, and damp mist hung over the street. About