Alfred was waiting for Bruce when he climbed back up from the ocean.

"I'll have the water turned back on by the end of today," Alfred promised. "Did you have a good swim, Sir?"

"Thanks, Alfred," Bruce said, kneeling down and pulling up the rope he'd used to scale the cliff. "I found a massive cave down there. Most of the space under Wayne Manor must be honeycombed with passages. We could put them to good use for hiding our files and the evidence on criminals we're investigating."

"I picked up the supplies you requested," Alfred informed him. "They're waiting back at the house."

"Good," Bruce responded. "Let's get to work."

                                                                                             ***

Bruce entered the dining room ahead of Alfred, looking over the things his butler had purchased and spread out on the table. A tan jumpsuit and bright orange vest of a communication technician were folded neatly near the head of the table, and Bruce picked them up for closer inspection. Bought from a costume shop, it wasn't the best disguise in the world, but it would do.

Setting the costume back down, Bruce examined the tools in the battered and worn toolbox. The screwdrivers and wrenches seemed to have as many dents and scratches as the container holding them.

"I found the toolbox second hand, but the tools I had to purchase new," Alfred explained.

"How did you get them to look old?" Bruce asked. He never would have guessed the tools hadn't seen years of use.

"I put them in the toolbox with a few handfuls of rocks and shook it thoroughly," Alfred explained. "Any worker with all new tools would draw suspicion, especially in a building full of police officers."

"Good thinking," Bruce commended. Setting down the tools, he checked the boxes of electronic equipment. "What's with all the parts? We're only doing a simple splice into their lines with an interceptor and transmitter."

"High end surveillance equipment is specialized and traceable, Master Bruce," Alfred explained from his experience as a British secret agent. "The only way to prevent being detected if the device were ever to be found is to use general parts capable of being produced and sold anywhere. If we assemble the components ourselves, there will be no manufacturing numbers for investigators to follow."

"It'll take longer to get our gear ready, but it does seem to be the best way," Bruce agreed, taking a seat at the table.

Alfred removed his suit jacket, hanging it on the back of his chair before unbuttoning his cuffs and rolling up the sleeves of his white shirt. They both put on gloves to prevent leaving fingerprints on the components they'd be assembling. Sitting down at the table with Bruce, Alfred opened the first box of electronics, spilling out its contents in a pile.

                                                                                                ***

As the hours passed, Alfred combined and soldered together circuits and small wires into a complex device. Bruce watched every step of the assembly process, taking mental notes.

"Did you do much of this kind of work for British Intelligence?" Bruce asked.

"Oh yes," Alfred confirmed. "Surveillance was very important to finding out what nefarious plots were being hatched by either criminals or enemy agents. The key to keeping a country safe is to know more than those opposing you. Getting that information can sometimes be quite the challenge. Intercepting messages, overhearing conversations, and the occasional interrogation were required at different times to do our job. Even with everything, we didn't always succeed, people still died, and criminals still escaped our reach. It happens. I had done well for my country, but the memories of all the times it went wrong proved enough to motivate my departure. You must understand, Master Bruce, bad memories can linger, and if they accumulate too much, they can smother the good ones. When it gets near that point, it's time to call it a career and find something better while you still can."

Bruce wondered about his own life course, considering how long he could fight the crime and corruption in Gotham before the bad things piled up in his memories and drowned everything else. His training had been all consuming for years, so it was very easy to imagine the darkness of the mean streets of Gotham taking hold. Ultimately, Bruce decided if his own life was to be forfeit for the betterment of the city and its people, he could live with that.

                                                                                             ***

Because of the time required to build the surveillance equipment, Bruce had postponed his mission to the police station until the following morning.

Bruce examined his reflection in the mirror. Wearing the tan jumpsuit of the communications technician, he was ready for the next part of his disguise. Using the techniques taught to him by Giovanni, Bruce applied a fake nose to give his own a wider and flatter appearance. He added contact lenses to make his blue eyes appear dark gray. A fake scar along the left side of his jaw would catch the attention of most people, focusing their attention and preventing them from providing an accurate description should his cover be compromised. Bruce put on a dark blond wig, and he applied a pigment to his entire face, neck, and hands, dropping his skin tone several shades to be consistent with a worker who'd spent countless hours outside in the sun. A touch of darker makeup added with the ends of a brush gave him the appearance of not having shaved recently.

His disguise complete, Bruce stood up, put on his blaze orange vest and picked up the phone. He dialed the GCPD to let them know he was coming out there in a few minutes.

"Hello," Bruce said when the receptionist answered his call. "This is Gotham Telecommunications, and I'm calling to confirm our appointment for this morning's annual checkup of your systems."

"I don't have any record of such an appointment," came the confused response.

"Management tells me to send someone out, I send someone out," Bruce replied. "My technician is already on his way there. I don't know who dropped the ball, but would you please alert the appropriate people so they know he's coming?"

"Sure thing," the receptionist confirmed. "Just for the sake of security purposes, what's your technician's name?"

"Rick Witsett," Bruce replied. "He'll be driving one of our company vans."

"Understood," the receptionist accepted. "We'll be looking for him."

Bruce hung up the phone and collected his tools. Shutting off the light on his way out the door, Bruce headed downstairs to see if Alfred had completed the disguise of the van.

                                                                                          ***

Magnetic decals for Gotham Telecommunications had been stuck on the van toward the rear of the side panels and also across the hood.

"Nice job, Alfred," Bruce praised.

"The decals were easy enough to make and attach to the magnets," Alfred dismissed. "I've also removed the equipment inside not relating to your chosen persona."

"Good," Bruce accepted. He took a clipboard of papers offered by his butler. "What's this?"

"Work orders, Master Bruce," Alfred informed him. "They explain the kind of work you'll be doing for the communications company and the places you'll need to access. If anyone checks the papers, it should give you the freedom to go practically anywhere in the station."

"Thanks again, Alfred," Bruce said, knowing full well he couldn't have come anywhere close to pulling off this job without Alfred's help.

Climbing into the van, Bruce set the clipboard of work orders on the passenger seat and keyed the ignition. The engine roared to life, and Bruce put the van in gear, driving away from Wayne Manor and heading toward his first covert mission.

                                                                                      ***

The van stopped out front of the GCPD parking garage where a uniformed officer stood in a small security shack. The cop was in charge of monitoring everyone coming and going from the building's parking garage. The metal swing arm blocking entrance was controlled by a switch inside the shack, so no one could pass until the officer on duty allowed them entry.

"Rick Witsett from Gotham Telecommunications," Bruce announced, rolling down the window and handing the officer the forged papers Alfred had composed for him. He'd deepened his voice to further amplify his disguise.

"Ah yes," the officer replied, only doing a cursory inspection of the papers. "We've been expecting you; pleased go right in."

When Bruce accepted the clipboard back, the officer reached inside his small shack and pressed the button to raise the metal swing arm serving as a gate. Bruce tossed the clipboard on the passenger seat. The gate was out of the way, so Bruce released the brake and drove down the steep slope into the underground garage.

He noticed security cameras everywhere, and he relied on his extensive training to remain calm and keep from staring at the cameras. Bruce knew if he looked suspicious by eyeing the cameras too much, he'd draw the unwanted attention of the police guarding the station. Remaining casual was part of his disguise.

Bruce found a parking spot and shut off the engine. Retrieving his toolbox from where it was positioned between the seats, Bruce slid out of the van, locked the door, and headed across the garage to the maintenance door he'd need to access. When he approached the door, a spike of unease jolted through him. Although he managed to quickly rein in the emotion and keep his outward calm, the reason for it remained. Situated on the maintenance door was a shiny new padlock, for which he didn't have a key.