Chapter 8 – Executing the Plan
There: Matt
Ernest was on the door at Galerie Marianna when Matt arrived. It had taken four days to work out the details of Rand's plan, but now the pieces were in place. Or they would be, as soon as Matt did his part. Then the success of the plan would be in Vanessa's hands, and Wesley's.
Vanessa rose to greet him as Ernest guided him into her office. Matt declined her offer of tea and took a seat in one of the visitors' chairs across the desk from her. "Thank you, Ernest," she said. The security man gave a small nod and left, closing the door behind him.
"You've brought the completed paperwork for the tactile art Dr. Rand is buying?" she asked Matt.
"Yes. And the check." He pulled a sheaf of papers out of his briefcase and handed them to Vanessa. "It's all here, but as a lawyer, I have to advise you to read everything, to make sure it's all in order." What he didn't tell her was that the stack of papers also included the instructions for Vanessa and Wesley's escape. He had to trust that she would follow his cue and find them. "After you've reviewed the documents, please call me to confirm they're in order, and I'll arrange for Rand's people to pick up the artworks."
"I'll do that."
Matt stood to leave and held out his hand. Vanessa shook his hand and said, "I know our business is finished, but you're still welcome to come back, anytime."
"Thank you. I'd like that."
He released her hand and walked out of the office. Vanessa's voice followed him as he left. "See you soon, Michael." He hoped she was right.
###
Matt spent most of Saturday afternoon pacing back and forth in his apartment in the Rand Tower, in a futile effort to calm his nerves. He needed to be part of that evening's operation, but he hadn't spoken to Rand for two days, not since he reported Vanessa's confirming phone call. It was almost four o'clock when footsteps approached, followed by a knock on the door. He tilted his head and identified the person behind the door: it was Rand. He opened the door and stepped back to allow the scientist to enter.
"What's up?" Matt asked.
"Everything's on track for this evening," Rand replied. "But I thought you could use this." He held up a garment of some kind on a hanger.
Matt took the hanger from him and ran a hand over the clothing. It wasn't a tux. He examined it further; it had a lining that felt like the material his Daredevil suit was made of. "What's this?" he asked.
"I have a feeling my people could use some help – from Daredevil."
Matt breathed a sigh of relief. He wasn't being shut out, after all. "What do you need me to do?"
Rand told him.
A little after nine that evening, Matt was in position in an alcove along a second-floor hallway in the Van Leer mansion. He was well hidden, but close enough to the ballroom to hear what was happening there. Instead of a tux, he was dressed in all black, in an outfit resembling his black Daredevil gear (or so Rand told him). It was lined with the light, tough armor invented by Melvin Potter; Rand admitted he had observed Potter's process and copied it. A black mask covered the top half of his head and face. Two billy clubs were in sheaths on the legs of the tactical pants.
Matt focused on the sounds emanating from the ballroom. It took all of his skill to isolate individual voices from the general hubbub. Finally, he picked up Vanessa's voice. He locked in on her and the two men with her: Fisk and Wesley. All three of them were here. Good. Now all he had to do was wait for Vanessa and Wesley to find their chance to put the plan in motion.
He followed their voices as Fisk moved from person to person, greeting each by name (sometimes after a whispered prompt from Wesley). Vanessa played the role of the political wife, exchanging pleasantries and small talk with the guests and their wives. Most of the guests – or, more accurately, donors – were in the real estate and construction business. They all seemed to have a project they wanted Fisk to support – a high-rise in Midtown, a condo conversion in Brooklyn, the "redevelopment" of an entire block in The Bronx – and this was their chance to extol the benefits of their proposals. Fisk listened to them all, but Matt was pretty sure their money spoke more loudly than they did. That was the same in both universes.
Just as Matt decided he couldn't bear to hear about another "wonderful" project that was going to "transform" a neighborhood or even the entire city, Vanessa spoke up.
"If you'll excuse me, my dear," she was saying. "I have to run to the powder room. I'll be right back."
"Yes, yes, of course," Fisk replied distractedly.
That was Matt's cue. "Showtime," he told himself. He tracked Vanessa's footsteps across the ballroom. Another set of footsteps, heavier than hers, followed. Fisk had sent a security man with her. This was a problem, but one he was prepared for. Matt waited as the two sets of footsteps approached.
At the same time, Wesley was telling Fisk he was going to the bar to get a drink. He offered to bring his boss a drink, but Fisk declined. If Wesley followed his instructions, he would make his way to the bar, then slip out of an exit on the far side of the ballroom.
Vanessa entered the bathroom around the corner from Matt's hiding place. The door closed, and the lock clicked. The security man took up his post outside the door. Matt recognized him; it was Ernest. Matt moved silently to the corner and stopped to check his surroundings: all clear. As far as he could tell, Ernest was standing with his back to him. He crept up behind the security man and wrapped an arm around his throat in a choke hold. He held it until Ernest went limp. Matt released the hold, and the security man slid to the floor. "Sorry, man," Matt whispered. He checked the man's breathing and pulse; he was out, but he'd live. Matt used zip ties to bind Ernest's hands and feet, then slapped a strip of duct tape across his mouth. He dragged the security man around the corner and hid him in the alcove. Someone would find him eventually, but Vanessa would be long gone by then.
Matt tilted his head in the direction of the powder room: all clear. By now, Vanessa would have had enough time to change out of her evening gown and into the clothes that had been placed there for her. He tapped on the door, giving the signal spelled out in the instructions: three taps, followed by one tap, followed by two taps. Within seconds, Vanessa opened the door and emerged from the room.
She did a double-take, startled to see Matt's masked figure. "Who – ?"
"Daniel Rand sent me," Matt replied, "to get you out of here." He turned and took a step, then hesitated, uncertain if she was going to follow him.
"Well, what're you waiting for?" she snapped. "Let's go."
Following the route he had memorized, Matt led her through the maze of corridors until they reached a back staircase once used by servants in the mansion's Gilded Age heyday.
As Vanessa started down the stairs, Wesley appeared at the far end of the hall, pursued by four men: Fisk's security. When the sound of the pursuit reached them, Vanessa stopped to look back.
"Go, go, go!" Matt urged her. "Someone is waiting for you at the bottom of the stairs. We'll be right behind you."
Matt didn't wait to make sure Vanessa was descending the stairs. Instead, he rushed toward Wesley and Fisk's men. There were four of them, all armed, but they didn't have their guns drawn. Apparently Fisk wanted Wesley alive. Matt only hoped the smooth-talking man was as good at fighting as he was at talking.
Wesley sprinted toward Matt, followed closely by Fisk's four goons. They met at the hall's halfway point. The thug closest to Matt reached for his gun; apparently, only Wesley needed to be taken alive. He managed to pull out the gun before one of Matt's batons connected with his wrist. He dropped the gun and clutched at his wrist. Matt followed the baton in and landed punches to the thug's jaw and kidneys before he could defend himself.
Behind him, Matt sensed another thug attempting to sneak up on him. The man staggered back after Matt's elbow connected with his chest. Smirking, Matt whirled and kicked, connecting with the man's knee. He screamed and collapsed to the floor. Matt turned his attention back to the first thug, who had regrouped while Matt was dealing with his associate. He reached down to pick up his gun, but Matt kicked it away.
Wesley seemed to be holding his own with one of the thugs, but Fisk's fourth man was raising his gun to strike him. Matt was too far away to take out the man in time, so he pulled out a baton. It found its target, knocking the gun out of the man's hand. Maybe that would buy Wesley some time, until Matt could finish off his own opponents, who were making a second attempt to sneak up on him. Apparently, they hadn't figured out that that wouldn't work.
Matt spun and took down the first thug with an uppercut to the jaw, followed by a flurry of punches to the head. The second one put his head down and charged. Matt sidestepped him and, as he passed by, stuck out a foot and tripped him. He went down hard. Matt straddled his back and wrapped an arm around his neck until he went limp.
With his opponents out of action, Matt sprinted toward Wesley, who was flailing wildly at Fisk's two remaining thugs. Intent on taking down Wesley, neither of them noticed Matt's approach. He kicked the back of one thug's knees, taking him down to the floor. Before the man could scramble to his feet, Matt landed two punches, one to either side of his head. He crumpled to the floor. This time, he didn't get up.
Wesley's remaining opponent had managed to recover his gun and was again raising it to strike. Focused on Wesley, he didn't notice Matt behind him. Matt grabbed the hand holding the gun and twisted, hard. Bones crunched. The man howled. The gun dropped to the floor. A single blow to the head took him down. Once he was down, Matt kicked him in the ribs, hard. "That's for George, you piece of shit," he growled.
With all of Fisk's men unconscious on the floor, Matt leaned over with his hands on his knees, breathing hard. But only for a moment. Wesley had his gun out. He was going to finish them off. "Noooo!" Matt yelled as he leaped toward Wesley and knocked the gun out of his hand, just as he pulled the trigger. The bullet buried itself in the far wall.
"What the hell?" Wesley demanded. "They'll talk. We need to silence them."
"Doesn't matter," Matt snapped. "We'll be gone by then. But we need to move – now. That shot will attract attention."
Wesley didn't argue. Matt led him to the end of the hall, pausing to pick up his billy clubs. He pushed Wesley into the stairwell and barred the door with one of the clubs. It wouldn't hold forever, but it would buy them some time. Then he followed Wesley down the stairs. Rand's people (a different group from those who were at Russman's) were waiting in the kitchen at the bottom of the stairs. They hustled Vanessa and Wesley out of the building. Once he was sure they were gone, Matt took off his mask and put on the lightweight jacket and the baseball cap that he left in the kitchen earlier that evening. Then he, too, made his way out of the building. He blended in, just another pedestrian on his way home at the end of the evening, as he followed a circuitous route back to Rand Tower.
###
The next morning, Matt was at Nelson & Page, reviewing an environmental report for other-Karen, when Rand called.
Rand skipped a greeting and got straight to the point. "Good work last night."
"Thanks," Matt replied. "It was a good plan. Vanessa and Wesley are safe?"
"Yes," Rand assured him, "in an 'undisclosed location.'"
"Good."
"Vanessa is ready to talk, but she's asking for you."
"Me? Why?"
"Apparently she thinks she needs legal counsel."
"My law license is no good here," Matt pointed out.
"Yes, but she doesn't know that. If it's a concern, you can always bring Nelson and Ms. Page with you."
"I'll do that. I'm at their office now."
"A car will be there in fifteen."
The 'undisclosed location' turned out to be an estate in North Jersey. Other-Foggy gave a low whistle when the car rounded a bend, and the house apparently came into view. "Whoa!" he exclaimed. "What is this place?"
"Need-to-know, sir," the driver replied laconically.
Once inside, they were escorted to a room lined with bookshelves – the library, apparently. Vanessa and Wesley were waiting for them, along with other-Matt, who had been assigned the job of interviewing them.
Vanessa stood when they entered the room. "Thank you for coming, Michael," she said. "And Mr. Nelson and Ms. Page, too."
"I suppose we have you and Dr. Rand to thank for our successful escape," Wesley said.
"And your friend in the mask," Vanessa added. A frisson of dread ran up Matt's spine at the teasing tone in her voice. Did she know or suspect he was the man in the mask? He gave a mental shrug. In a few days, it wouldn't matter – if Rand's serum worked.
"It was Dr. Rand's plan," Matt told her. "I was just the messenger."
"Shall we get started?" other-Matt asked.
"You might want to begin with this," Wesley said, taking a flash drive out of his breast pocket and holding it out to other-Matt. "I managed to smuggle it out. The contents should be useful."
Other-Matt took it from him. "Thank you." He pressed a button on his phone and asked the person who answered to come in. Matt suppressed a gasp of surprise when he recognized the woman who entered the room, whom other-Matt introduced as "Assistant District Attorney Marci Stahl." Other-Matt handed off the flash drive to her, and she left.
Matt spent the next three days sitting in on Vanessa's interview. After he (along with other-Foggy and other-Karen) negotiated an immunity agreement, there wasn't much for him to do; Vanessa was anxious to tell everything she knew. At the end of the third day, other-Matt announced that search warrants had been issued, and Fisk's home and offices would be raided the next day. Vanessa and Wesley would be moved to another secure location before then. Matt's work here was done, and now that it was, he was anxious, too – to go home.
Before he left, he pulled other-Matt aside. "Can we talk?" he asked, jerking his head toward the now-empty library.
"Uh, yeah, sure," other-Matt replied.
Other-Matt followed him into the library and took a seat at the table. Matt sat across from him and took off his glasses. "Rand's found a way to send us, me and the others, back to our universe," he said. "So I'll be leaving soon, and in case we don't get a chance to see each other again, I wanted to say goodby."
Other-Matt didn't respond to this right away. Matt was about to say something when he realized the other man was about to speak. He let out his breath, all at once, and said, "You're really going?"
"Yeah, it looks like it."
Other-Matt pulled out his phone and looked at it, as if it could tell him what to say. Apparently finding no answers there, he set it down on the table. Then he raised his head and said, "You being here, it hasn't exactly been comfortable for me."
"I know."
"But it gave me a lot to think about."
"Yeah, me too," Matt said quietly.
Other-Matt got to his feet and walked over to one of the bookshelves that lined the walls of the room. He pulled out a book and seemed to study its cover, then replaced it on the shelf. The he turned to face Matt and said, "You know, Vanessa and Wesley told me about the man in a mask who helped them escape. That was you, wasn't it?"
"It wasn't, uh, I mean, I didn't, I don't know what, um, you, uh . . . ," Matt spluttered. Heat was reddening his face. Damn.
"You're a terrible liar, you know that, right?" other-Matt asked. Then he added with a laugh, "Just like me."
When Matt didn't answer him, other-Matt continued. "It wasn't that hard to figure out, you know. You took out four of Fisk's trained thugs. There's no one – no one in this world, that is – who can do that. And when you showed up here on the morning after, there was a fresh bruise on your jaw and a cut over your eye."
"I ran into a door," Matt explained.
"Yeah, sure," other Matt replied derisively. "But Vanessa also mentioned something else: the man who helped her escape wore a mask that covered his eyes, and there were no eye holes."
Matt felt the blood drain from his face. Fear stabbed at his gut. He wasn't gonna be able to talk his way out of this one. Shit.
"Look, man," other-Matt was saying. "Maybe you can bullshit the others, but you can't bullshit me. They don't know you like I do. In your world, I would be you."
He walked back to the table and resumed his seat. Across the table from his counterpart, Matt could feel other-Matt's gaze on him, studying him.
"I don't know how you did what you did, but I know it was you in that mask," other-Matt told him. "So you might as well cut the crap. Besides, you'll be gone in a few days, somewhere no one here can reach you. What's the harm?"
He was right, God damn it. Matt turned his face away from the other man while he considered his response. His best defense – playing the blind card – wasn't likely to work, not in this case. He swallowed to ease the tightness in his throat and said quietly, "You're right. It was me."
"So, how – ?"
Matt didn't need to hear the whole question. "How do I do what I do?"
Other-Matt nodded. "It has something to do with the accident, right?"
"Yes," Matt replied. "The chemicals destroyed my eyesight, but they hyped up my other senses."
"Hyped up how?"
Matt didn't answer right away. He hated trying to explain his abilities to sighted people. They couldn't understand, not really. Then again, he himself didn't fully understand how he did what he did. But other-Matt deserved an explanation. He let his breath out, all at once, and said, "It's hard to explain. My senses are stronger and sharper than a normal person's. I can tell where things and people are and their sizes and shapes and when they move. But I can't see."
Other-Matt went very still, no doubt trying to wrap his mind about what he'd just been told. Finally, he spoke. "Wow. That's . . . it's . . . I don't know what it is."
"I know," Matt said quietly.
"That explains it," other-Matt murmured, as if thinking aloud.
"Explains what?"
"Why you heard things."
"What things?" Matt asked.
"Things you shouldn't have been able to hear."
Matt nodded. "Yeah."
"So you really are blind?"
"Can't see a damn thing."
"But what you can do, it's like seeing?"
"In some ways, yes. In others, not so much."
"Like what?"
Matt thought for a moment. "Well," he began, "I don't know what color your tie is. I can't see what's on your phone screen. When I'm walking down the street, I don't really need my cane, but I can't see the street signs or the numbers on the buildings. There are limits to what my senses can tell me."
"But you can fight."
"Yes."
"And that's what you do, in your world, you put on a mask and fight?"
"Right."
"But you said you're a lawyer."
"I am. But there are people the law can't – or won't – help. That's why I put on the mask."
Other-Matt leaned back and tilted his head up to look at the ceiling. Apparently finding no answers there, he leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table, and asked, "So you're a lawyer, but you also act outside the law, like some kind of . . . of vigilante?"
Matt nodded.
"That's fucked up," other-Matt declared.
"Yeah, tell me about it," Matt muttered.
"But you still do it?"
Matt nodded again.
"But why?"
Matt pressed his lips together, then licked his lips before he answered. "I can hear . . . everything. The cries for help, the swish of a blade, the click of a gun being cocked, the crunch of bones breaking, the fear and hopelessness in the victims' voices. I can smell their blood and the stench of their fear. I can't block them out. I can't turn my back on them. I can't let them suffer. Not when I can do something to help them. I was given my, uh, . . . abilities for a reason. Helping them, that's the reason."
Other-Matt covered his face with his hands and didn't say anything for what felt like a long time. Finally he raised his head. "Wow," he breathed. "I don't know what to say."
"You don't have to say anything," Matt assured him.
"But, but, am I supposed to be doing . . . what you're doing?" other-Matt asked.
"No," Matt replied firmly. "That's my life, my choices. You have your life, you've made your own choices. And you're helping people, but in a different way."
"Except when I can't," other-Matt observed bitterly.
"I can't help everyone, either."
"No, I suppose you can't."
The two men contemplated this in silence. Other-Matt spoke first. "So, what you do, it's a secret? I mean, that it's you in the mask?"
"Yes. Only a few people know."
"But your friends know?"
Matt nodded. "Foggy and Karen, yes, they know."
"But Franklin and Karen, I mean, the Franklin and Karen here, they don't know?"
"No. The only person here who knows, aside from you, is Dr. Rand."
"I'm gonna have to tell Marci – about you, I mean – after you go back," other-Matt said.
Matt cocked his head toward the other man, a questioning expression on his face. Other-Matt continued, "She noticed the resemblance between us in the interview room, the other day. It's kind of hard to miss."
"So they tell me."
"I told her you're a 'distant cousin,' but she's not buying it. She knows there's something I'm not telling her. There's no way I can keep this from her. But you can trust her. She knows how to keep her mouth shut."
Matt considered his options. He trusted other-Matt, but he didn't know this world's Marci. Other-Matt did. If he trusted her, that would have to be good enough for Matt. "Smart man. If she's anything like the Marci I know, I wouldn't be able to keep a secret from her, either," he observed dryly.
"You got that right." Other-Matt frowned. "She's really gonna cross-examine me, you know."
Matt grinned. "Better you than me, brother."
There seemed to be nothing more to say on the subject. Matt pushed back his chair and got to his feet. Other-Matt did the same. He circled the table to stand next to Matt and held out his hand. Matt grasped the other man's hand without pretending to search for it.
"I guess this is it," other-Matt said. "I hope you get back OK."
"Yeah, me too," Matt agreed.
Instead of letting go of Matt's hand, other-Matt pulled him into a hug. When he lowered his arms and stepped back, Matt said, "I'm counting on you to nail Fisk."
"You got it."
"And you need to keep an eye on Franklin and Karen for me, after I'm gone."
"I will," other-Matt assured him.
Matt put on his glasses and picked up his cane, but before he left, he turned to face other-Matt and said, "Take care of yourself, brother."
As Matt walked away, other-Matt said softly, "Goodby, my brother."
###
In the morning, Matt walked into Rand's lab and announced, "It's time. I've done what you brought me here for. Now it's time for you to hold up your end of the bargain and send me home."
"All right," Rand replied mildly.
"What about the serum? Will it work on me?"
"I think so," Rand told him. "The other two people from your universe have been returned safely. I made some adjustments to the formula that I think will compensate for your . . . differences."
"What are my chances?"
Rand stroked his chin before he answered. "I'd say 65-35."
"In favor?"
"Yes, in favor of you getting back safely."
Matt pressed his lips together. Not the greatest odds, but he'd take them. "When?"
"You can go tomorrow, if you want. I'll need to give you the serum about eight hours in advance."
"Do it."
###
The next morning, Matt was standing in the reception area at Nelson & Page, on the spot where he had arrived in this universe. He had said goodby to Rand. Now it was time to say goodby to other-Foggy and other-Karen. As desperate as he was to go back to his own world, he would miss them. He had appeared uninvited in their office, a stranger with an unbelievable story, and they listened. More than that, they believed him and trusted him. They might not be "his" Foggy and Karen, but they were the same, in the ways that really mattered. Once he stepped back into his own world, he would never see them again. He took a deep breath and swallowed hard.
"Well, I guess this is it," he said.
"C'mere, you," other-Karen said, stepping forward to wrap her arms around him. When she released him from the hug and took a step back, she went on, "We're gonna miss you, you know. I've gotten kinda used to having you around."
"Yeah, I know," Matt said quietly. "I'm gonna miss you, too." He hoped she knew it was true.
Then other-Foggy stepped forward, holding out his hand. "It's been . . . ." He lapsed into silence, apparently at a loss for words.
Matt held out his hand. "Yeah."
"Look at us," other-Foggy said, "a couple of lawyers, and we're both tongue-tied." Matt didn't have an answer for that. Other-Foggy grasped his hand, then pulled him into a hug.
When they broke apart, other-Foggy continued, "Give our regards to Karen and . . . , uh, Foggy."
Trying to hide his shock that other-Foggy had said the nickname, Matt only said, "I will."
"I'd say I'd like to meet them someday, but that would be too weird," other-Foggy said.
"I'll tell them all about you – both of you," Matt assured him.
"Well, have a good life," other-Foggy told him.
"You, too."
There was nothing else to say – and too much. Back in his lab, Rand opened the node that had brought Matt here. Time to go.
Matt gave other-Foggy and other-Karen a hug, murmuring a last "goodby" to each of them. Then he stepped forward, into the node. As he did so, other-Foggy and other-Karen called out, "Safe journey!" Then their voices faded. He could hear nothing except a loud buzzing. Something was wrong. His journey to the parallel universe had been virtually instantaneous. He didn't remember being . . . wherever this was. He scanned his surroundings, but there wasn't anything for his senses to focus on. It was as if he was in a featureless corridor. He shook his head to clear it, but the buzzing in his ears persisted.
He took a step in the direction he thought was forward. He met resistance. He pushed against it and moved ahead, but only a little. He tried again, pushing against the resistance to move forward another step. He tried going back, but the force blocking him in that direction was immovable. Was this what Rand warned him about, being trapped between the two universes? Adrenaline poured into his blood. He broke into a cold sweat, his heart racing. He struggled to slow his breathing and his heartbeat, fighting the upwelling of panic. There was only one thing to do: keep pushing forward. One step at a time, he pushed ahead, hoping he was going in the right direction. The force that was resisting him seemed to be weakening. Or maybe he was imagining it. His head was pounding from the buzzing. He summoned up all of his remaining strength and pushed again, as hard as he could. Suddenly, the resistance dissolved.
He fell forward onto a hard floor. He ran his hand over it. It seemed familiar, scratched and scarred. He pushed himself to his feet and scanned his surroundings. The sounds and smells of a city drifted into the space he was occupying. They felt familiar. Either he was back in his own universe, or he was in yet another universe that happened to have an exact duplicate of the law offices of Nelson & Murdock.
Footsteps and a heartbeat approached: Foggy. Relief washed over him. He took a staggering step toward his best friend. Suddenly, Foggy's arms enveloped him in a bear hug. Foggy was laughing and crying at the same time. So was he. Then Karen was there, too, all of them in a three-way hug, all of them unsure whether to laugh or cry.
When they finally let go, Foggy guided Matt to a seat on the couch. He seemed to sense that Matt could use the help, just this once. Foggy and Karen sat on either side of him, pressing against him as if they needed to reassure themselves that he was really there and wasn't going to vanish again. Finally, Foggy couldn't hold back any more. "What happened to you, buddy? Where did you go? Are you OK?"
Matt took a deep breath before he began. "You're not gonna believe this . . . ."
