A/N: Barbara's lip-reading skills were taught to her by Batman—who never seems to experience any of the comprehension difficulties common to just about every other lip-reader on this planet.
A/N: Matt is using a BrailleNote Touch tablet.
A/N: Thanks to Kathy and Debbie for the beta!
Chapter 17
A noticeable pall of gloom seemed to hang over the interior of the aircraft, despite the pinks and oranges of the sun setting above the cloud cover. Although Batman didn't speak, Daredevil could feel the force of his glower from two rows back in the passenger cabin. Or maybe he was just picking up the rhythm of the other vigilante's breathing.
Daredevil leaned back in his seat. If Batman had wanted to talk, he wouldn't have moved to the back of the cabin. And really, what was there to say? Matt wasn't about to give up on the case. Bruce Wayne was going to get the best defense that Nelson and Murdock could deliver. It just would have been easier if the proof that could clear his name wasn't lost somewhere in cyberspace. Matt pushed back his cowl and massaged his forehead. He was getting ahead of himself, making assumptions again. If Foggy were here, he'd be reminding him that they had no idea whether what was in the files had any bearing on Bruce's predicament. They might contain a wealth of information about Baron and Baron, H.I.V.E., or Wilson Fisk, but there was no guarantee that there was anything in them that would prove pertinent to the case at hand.
It would be nice, though.
Matt pulled his cowl back down, rose from his seat, and made his way to the cockpit.
Awareness returned more slowly than consciousness. Infomorph's thoughts were sluggish as she tried to crawl along the information superhighway. Around her, cyberspace swirled and twinkled like the stars in the world outside, a million points of light impossibly out of reach. How long had she been here? Where was she going? Data sped past her in all directions and she struggled to find something familiar to follow and latch onto, but she was dealing with zettabytes of information and she was barely able to get the smallest sense of the nature of a search before the query streaked past her, hurtling through countless relays on its way to some IP.
She gathered herself together as best she could and tried to think of keywords. Baron. H.I.V.E. Fisk… but there were thousands of pages devoted to such terms. The sheer number of metadata tags alone was mind-boggling. Had she been corporeal, she would have pounded her forehead in frustration.
She had the strangest sense that she had lost… something important. It had been with her until she'd encountered that pulse that had torn her cyber-self apart. And now… nothing. It occurred to her that she might not yet be fully re-integrated. The data she'd been carrying had become a part of her. It might yet again.
She remembered more. H.I.V.E. had threatened her with severe consequences if she failed them. And while she wasn't certain that they could indeed 'encode her on a number of five-and-a-quarter floppies', she didn't care to test them. The thought of being disassembled, cut off from the information that was meat, drink, and air to her, filled her with no small terror.
She resolved to remain where she was for the time being, in hopes that the information that was lost to her would return.
"Sounds like you had a time of it," Barbara remarked. Bruce, Dick, and Matt were back at the Ritz, seated in front of Dick's laptop, so she could see all of them. While she'd dropped her electronic simulacrum (Matt had no idea what she looked like, after all), she'd kept her voice scrambler engaged and from the expressions on her friends' faces, hearing a computerized voice coming from Barbara Gordon's mouth was taking some getting used to.
"You could call it that," Matt said dryly. "I tend to refer to it as… Tuesday."
Dick and Barbara laughed. Bruce sighed. "I suppose," he muttered after a moment, "that we have you to thank for the malfunction in the L5-382B missile?"
Barbara nodded. Then, for Matt's benefit, she added, "I keep a few online personas around. One's a hacker with the kind of profile that appeals to certain criminal organizations. Like H.I.V.E., for example. One of their operatives inadvertently gave me a back door that granted me access to more of their systems than he'd had in mind. I went exploring." She shrugged. "Once I saw that they had a lock on your position and were about to attack, there was no time to alert you, so I took action on my own. And, while I know you hate surprises, the choice was between letting you get surprised by an apparent missile malfunction or by your plane blowing up. Took a wild guess you'd prefer the former."
"I'm not complaining," Bruce pointed out.
"You're welcome."
Dick groaned. "I hate it when I'm the mature one," he murmured in a voice intended only for Matt's ears.
"I lip-read that!" Barbara called from the monitor.
"Oracle," Bruce cut in, "are you still able to access those systems?"
Barbara nodded. "Probably with less trouble now than I will once they've got their power fully restored. Which is going to take them a while," she added. "I've isolated them from the grid. They have an emergency generator, but it's got limited reserves, so they're using it sparingly. Of course, their computers are still fried. I can access what's in the cloud, but if it's shared with other H.I.V.E. bases, there's a chance I could be detected. Why? What are you looking for?"
Bruce hesitated. "The files that Infomorph liberated from Titans Tower. There may be something in them that would be… relevant to my legal issues."
Barbara smiled. "Leave it with me, Boss-man, I think I've already got a lead or two likely to pan out. I'll get back to you shortly."
Had there been corporeality in cyberspace, Infomorph might have cocked her head, trying to pinpoint where the metadata terms were coming from.
H.I.V.E… Fisk… Baron and Baron… Wayne… Espionage…
The keywords were a beacon, infusing her with new life and resolve as she piggybacked on a data packet heading in the right direction and kept alert for any change in course. They sang her on in a digital crescendo, a point of light growing steadily brighter as she strove toward it. The packet veered off, but she leaped to another one heading for her destination. She was almost there. She could sense it!
And then…
The light winked out with the packet she'd ridden in on. There was a click, like a door sliding shut. She spun quickly but there was no exit.
She was trapped in a silent void. And then, an amused voice with an undercurrent of menace greeted her.
"Hello, Infomorph…"
Wilson Fisk regarded the man standing before him with an inscrutable gaze, saying nothing.
Lewis Baron did his best to mirror the stoicism, though his best was hardly good enough.
"Is it warm for you, Mr. Baron?" Fisk inquired solicitously. "I do believe you're sweating."
"No, sir. M-Mr. Fisk!" he amended hastily. "I'm fine."
"Ah," Fisk replied in a tone that spoke volumes. "Perhaps, you are cold, then? Your teeth seem to be chattering now. Shall I have my assistant furnish you with a sweater? Or gloves, perchance? I see that your hands are trembling."
Lewis Baron swallowed hard. "Thank you, Mr. Fisk," he replied. "M-maybe the gloves would be a good idea. I think m-my fingers are cold."
Wilson Fisk nodded and lifted his phone. "Ms Teschmacher, have a pair of gloves sent in. Size… eight?" he shot Baron a questioning glance. "Yes, eight. Thank you."
He ended the call and smiled. His latest administrative assistant was proving to be a real asset to all aspects of his business. He would need to remember to convey his appreciation to the headhunting firm that had enticed her away from one of his business rivals. "They're being sent up," he assured Lewis. "Now, I had asked you to stop by because I wanted to express my satisfaction with the way in which Baron and Baron has been managing my finances, thus far. I find that, in this day and age, the personal touch is falling by the wayside and I'd like to continue the traditions."
Baron blinked. His face relaxed in a cautious smile. "I… thank you, Mr. Fisk."
The Kingpin smiled. "You thought that I'd summoned you to chastise you."
"It… it had crossed my mind."
"Really?" His smile remained, but the eyes that bore down on Lewis Baron's were cold and flat. "But why should you think so? Have you done anything that you can think of that might have courted my displeasure?" His lips were now a hard horizontal line. "Anything at all?"
"Of course not!" Baron said quickly. "I was just… startled to be summoned here, is all. You're one of our top clients. Naturally, I was concerned that something… not to your liking might have transpired at B&B and I had no idea—"
"—That I would find out that you tried to get your grandfather out of the country on a plane to Zurich last night?"
"What? No! I…" Lewis Baron froze. "Tried… to…?"
The intercom buzzed. "Mr. Fisk?" a woman's voice came through plainly over the speaker.
"Ah. Ms Teschmacher. I trust you're advising me that my instructions have been carried out? The gloves have arrived?"
"They have, Mr. Fisk. Shall I send them in?"
Fisk smiled. "By all means."
He ended the call and glowered at Lewis Baron. "Fortunately, I have many… contacts to inform me of potential betrayals." The office door opened and two burly men stomped in. At Fisk's nod, they drew near to Baron and each seized hold of one of his arms. "My apologies for the subterfuge, Mr. Baron," he added. "But then, you don't actually require the gloves, do you?"
He nodded to his two thugs once more. "Have him join his grandfather. I'll let you know when to dispose of them." With a jerk of his head, he motioned them to his private elevator. "Leave discreetly."
"NO!" Baron gasped.
Fisk sighed. "Try to have a little dignity, Mr. Baron. And make no foolhardy attempt at escape. While I expect that your fighting skills may make you more than a match for my people, your grandfather's health and safety might well hinge on your cooperation." He smiled wryly. "I suppose you may scream for assistance if you like. This office—and the route by which you are about to leave it—are quite soundproof. And it may afford my employees some amusement. I prefer to keep them happy."
Baron hung his head in defeat.
Fisk looked at his men. "Take him away."
Oracle waited a full thirty minutes before checking on her guest. "Well?"
There was a short silence. Then a voice which, ironically—considering the source—sounded far more human than the electronic synthesizer Barbara was using, replied grudgingly, "I accept."
"Splendid." She pushed a USB drive into a port. "This is your way out."
There was another silence. "And I will be connected to a network?"
"I'll let them know that's one of your terms." She paused. "You understand that it won't be the worldwide web."
"Intranet will suffice," Infomorph said immediately. "And if the condition is not met?"
Oracle sighed. "Well, I can't turn you loose. But I'll come up with something. I may need to re-watch a Next Generation episode to hammer out the details, but I think you'll be satisfied with the compromise." She sighed again. "I'm trying to meet you partway on this, but I have my non-negotiables, too."
"Understood," Infomorph replied immediately. "Very well. So long as I will not be forced into further interaction with the computers of those organizations that you would have me testify against, I accept."
Barbara smiled. "This won't hurt a bit."
"Are you attempting humor?"
She shook her head. "Apparently, I'm failing at it. Standby for upload."
Once she was certain that Infomorph was out of her system and completely ensconced on the USB stick, she settled back in her chair and contacted Bruce's hotel room.
"Okay," Matt said, his fingers resting on the Braille keyboard of the tablet on which he'd been taking notes. "Let me just review what you've told me. In exchange for an intellectually-stimulating environment—one cut off from the greater internet, but which will still give her a network of 'safe' sites to play on—plus protection from retaliation by Kingpin, H.I.V.E., and the other organizations she's worked with, Infomorph is prepared to surrender herself to the authorities and disclose everything she knows about those outfits. She will also admit to using her abilities to mimic Bruce's appearance." He frowned and turned to Bruce.
"They might still want to know what you were doing in that office."
"A minor point," Bruce replied. "Being able to play a fop convincingly has its advantages. Besides," he added, "with Infomorph's confession, they can't actually place me in the office; just the restricted wing. I…" he smiled faintly, "suppose I could have been so preoccupied with trying to remember where I'd written down the numbers of the four stewardesses who'd asked me to look them up during my visit to NYC that I," he put on a convincing show of befuddled embarrassment, "simply wasn't paying attention to my surroundings and," he laughed helplessly, "somehow missed the sign warning that the area in question was for authorized personnel only."
"And the reason you didn't say any of this when you were questioned?" Matt prompted.
Bruce's smile was nearly beatific. "The beauty of it is," he said, "I did. And they didn't believe a word of it."
"I wonder why."
"Neither did you."
"Can you blame me?"
"Uh… guys," Oracle called from the monitor, "I'm still here."
Matt grinned. "Sorry," he said, returning to business mode. "In exchange for her cooperation, instead of being indicted for multiple Class B felonies, each punishable by up to 20 years in prison, a fine of fifteen thousand dollars, or both, she will plead guilty to one Class C felony and serve a maximum of five years in the closed-off cybernetic environment you describe. Will you be creating it?"
"I'll assist as needed," Oracle replied, "but the main work will be done by Cyborg."
"Okay," Matt said. "I think this is something we can take to the DA. Has Infomorph got a lawyer?"
"Not yet."
"In that case," Matt smiled, "If she has no objection, I'll talk to Foggy about handling her case."
"Pity we don't know what was in the files she stole," Dick ventured.
Oracle sighed. "Sorry, guys. I've been too busy to read through them. But if you check your inboxes…"
Matt suddenly sat up straighter. "Excuse me?"
"If you recall, the files Infomorph stole were temporarily stored at Titans' Tower. She may have removed them, but it's not that hard to restore deleted data. Especially not when you have two computer whizzes working at it." She couldn't quite keep the laughter out of her voice.
"You had the files all along?" Dick exclaimed.
"No, more like 'as of four hours ago' It would have been sooner, but the recovery took longer than we'd thought. Hey, what did you think Cyborg and I were going to do while you guys were off exploring upstate New York? Play Spider Solitaire?"
"We'll discuss this later," Bruce snapped, but there was a ghost of a distinctly non-foppish smile on his face as he terminated the video conference.
Matt wished that he could see the look on Foggy's face, but he had to settle for the sound of his best friend's heart and the excitement conveyed by his body language. Finally, Foggy glanced up from the printouts. "Do you have any idea what this means?" he asked slowly.
Matt nodded. "According to Oracle, it means that we can finally put a real crimp in Fisk's operations."
Foggy was slowly shaking his head, not in denial, but in disbelief. "I'd say that's a start," he breathed. "Matt… Baron and Baron was laundering funds for almost every crime syndicate in the country. And we've got the proof right here! When the authorities get their hands on this…" He got up from behind his desk, walked over to Matt, and clapped a sympathetic hand on his shoulder. "You know, you could be out of a night job."
Matt's jaw dropped for a moment. He'd known that Baron and Baron had been involved with Fisk for a long time and he'd recently learned of the H.I.V.E. connection. While he'd suspected that there might be other clients on Baron and Baron's books whose finances had been acquired through less-than-legal channels, Matt had never considered precisely how many such clients there might be. Foggy was right about one thing: this was major. But as for the other…
He slowly shook his head. "It's a nice idea, Foggy," he admitted, "but it's not going to happen. No matter how many crooks get put away, there's always going to be someone else out there ready to step into the vacuum." His jaw hardened. "And when they do…"
He could almost feel the smile in his partner's voice when Foggy concluded, "…you'll be ready for them."
Three nights later
It wasn't unusual for Fisk Industries to ship cargo out by boat from Pier 41, bound for markets up and down the East Coast, from Labrador and New Brunswick in Canada to Tierra del Fuego in Argentina. And while Daredevil concentrated his activities in Hell's Kitchen, he made a point of periodically swinging out to Red Hook to see whether he might overhear a snatch of conversation among Fisk's flunkies—something that might give him an edge in foiling another of his nemesis' plots.
Tonight, though, he'd overheard something else. It hadn't come from the warehouse employees, nor the crew of the barge moored at the pier, but from one of the large containers being lowered onto it by means of a ship-to-shore crane. The warehouses Fisk owned here officially stored spice imports, Daredevil knew. There was no way that he should be picking up two heart rates coming from any of those storage containers. He could hear breathing as well, fast and shallow. He supposed that it could be livestock; he couldn't say for sure that he could distinguish an animal's vitals from a human's with any accuracy. Not when he had to consider variables, such as 'at rest' versus active, calm versus agitated, differences attributable to age or gender or a plethora of other factors. However, there were three details uppermost in Daredevil's mind as he swung closer to the barge: neither Elias nor Lewis Baron had been seen in over forty-eight hours. Elias Baron had last been reported on his way to JFK to catch a flight to Switzerland, but he'd never arrived at the airport. Lewis had left his office in the middle of the day, saying only that he needed to visit one of their clients. He'd never returned. Daredevil couldn't know that the client had been Fisk, but he did know that the storage container didn't smell of hay or manure or any of the other odors he'd associate with transporting animals. And normally, those containers were better ventilated and he'd have heard the air currents circulating through them. This was a cargo container. And thirdly, someone standing on the Pier had just called one of Kingpin's top lieutenants to advise that 'the package was in transit'. He knew the name and knew that the person attached to it had nothing to do with Fisk's legitimate enterprises. In fact, with a felony conviction record nearly as long as his arm, Daredevil doubted that Fisk would have the guy anywhere near his legitimate business dealings. No, he was convinced. This was what he'd been looking for.
He sized up the situation mentally. He could probably take down the five or six dockworkers, no problem. But the security guards would be armed—Fisk would have seen to that. And as long as the barge was still at the pier, there was a chance that someone would have the presence of mind to get to the crane, re-hoist the container—and either drop it in the water or, perhaps, dash it against the pier. Daredevil's jaw set. He wasn't going to risk two lives needlessly. He turned on the comm-link Nightwing had given him. "I've got something," he said tersely into the mouthpiece. "How far are you guys from Pier 41?"
Lewis Baron wished that Lady Shiva had taught him more than simply how to fight. He'd seen his sensei escape from ropes, handcuffs, even a straightjacket. Even so, he wondered whether she'd be able to get out of this situation.
He and his grandfather were tied together with piano wire, standing back-to-back in the center of the container. Another loop of wire secured them to a hook in the container ceiling, a third ran about their ankles, fastening them to a ring in the floor. The wires were tight, but Lewis thought he might have tried loosening them… had it not been for the grenade nestled in the coils, a single length of piano wire passing between the pin and the explosive itself. Should either man attempt to escape their bonds, their struggles would almost surely dislodge the pin, killing them both within seconds.
…And if they did nothing, then they were dead anyway; the air in the container wouldn't last forever. He wanted to scream, but the gag in his mouth prevented it.
There came a creaking sound, a jerk, and the container seemed to sway. Lewis sucked in his breath, certain that this was the end, but the pin remained in place for the next agonizing moment, before they came to rest on solid ground once more with a muffled thud.
Maybe Kingpin didn't mean to murder them, after all.
…Or maybe he meant to dispose of them in such a way that, even if the grenade didn't blow them up, their bodies would never be found.
Even if he could have screamed for help, it wasn't as though there was the slightest possibility that someone not in the Kingpin's employ might hear him.
Kingpin had hired decent muscle, for once. Not fancy fighters by any stretch, but brutal and efficient, favoring truncheons over guns. They worked as a team, too, covering one another and mounting a decent defense, as well as a good offense. However, at the end of the day, eight bruisers with weapons and a sensible battle formation were still no match for three costumed vigilantes.
"Just leave them for the harbor patrol," Batman ordered, cuffing four of them together in a ring around one of the lamp-posts. "We still—"
"They're shoving off!" Daredevil said urgently.
Nightwing backed up for a running start. "That won't help them," he snapped, readying his grappling line.
Daredevil tilted his head toward Batman. "Should we let him have all the fun?" he asked.
Batman snorted. "Do you ever stop joking?"
"Given all the hours you and Nightwing have logged together over the years," Daredevil mused as he unholstered his billy-club, "aren't you used to it?"
"Not relevant." His own grappling line was in-hand. "Nightwing," he snapped into his comm-link, "wait. Daredevil," he ordered, "take the lead. They've got their flood lights on; it's going to be easier to pick a landing spot if we rely on your radar instead of our eyes to find one."
"Noted," Daredevil acknowledged. His lips twitched as he added, "So long as you realize that it is literally going to be the blind leading the blind, in that case."
This time, unlike what had happened with Foggy earlier, there was no 'almost'. He could definitely feel Batman's scowl burning into his back as he raced along the pier toward the river.
The second fight took less than half as long as the first one. Once the crew of the barge had been subdued, Batman used an acetylene torch to burn the lock off of the storage container.
"I've got to start carrying stuff like that," Daredevil murmured enviously.
As Batman pulled open the container door, the heartbeats grew louder, but no slower. "Grenade worked into the ropes," Batman snarled.
Daredevil sighed. "I could probably disarm it if I need to—assuming it's just a grenade," he said, "but it's not something I need to do all that often."
"Nightwing's something of an expert," Batman replied.
"You keep singing my praises that loudly and I'll get a swelled head," Nightwing grinned, starting forward.
"I believe the blame for that condition would be better attributed to the number of times some punk manages to crack a brickbat against your skull," Batman muttered. "Get moving."
He motioned to Daredevil. "You're with me. I'll steer us back to shore; you take care of alerting Harbor Patrol we have another pickup for them."
He took off for the engine room at a brisk clip, Daredevil on his heels.
By the time the barge was moored once more at the pier, Nightwing had disarmed the grenade and freed the two men. Temporarily, at least. In addition to the harbor patrol, a man and a woman, both in trench coats, were waiting on the quay. As the three vigilantes and the two former captives disembarked, the two strangers reached into their coats and whipped out official-looking IDs revealing them to be members of the FBI.
"Elias Baron," the woman announced, "we have a warrant for your arrest. Lewis Baron, we have a warrant for…"
"Foggy texted me earlier," Daredevil said in an undertone. He, Batman, and Nightwing were standing off to one side, half concealed by shadows as the FBI agents took the Barons into custody. "The stuff hit the fan a couple of hours ago. It seems like most of Baron and Baron is either in custody right now or being questioned. I'm guessing you had something to do with that?"
"Oracle," Batman nodded. "She's extremely efficient with these matters."
"I'll keep that in mind. She… uh… wouldn't be an investigator in civilian life as well, would she? We sometimes hire PIs to do a bit of digging."
"Well, she's not licensed," Nightwing admitted. "But is that mandatory?"
"Not if she's under an attorney's direct supervision."
"I can ask her," Nightwing shrugged. "Mostly, though, she kind of prefers to do her investigating in a less-official capacity. Like the rest of us."
"I hear you," Daredevil nodded. "Well, it was just a thought."
"They're wrapping up," Batman cautioned, jerking his head toward the crowd on the pier. "Can they make the charges stick without our statements?"
"I believe so," Daredevil nodded again. "But just to be safe, I guess I can answer their questions while you two slip off."
"Works for me," Nightwing grinned.
"We'll talk tomorrow about what this means for the charges against you," Daredevil added. "Though I'd predict that they're probably going to be dropped eventually."
"Sooner than that, I expect," Batman rumbled.
"I expect you're probably right."
"He usually is," Nightwing said dryly.
Every major daily on the newsstand carried the story on its front page the following morning. True to Matt's word, overnight, virtually the entire Baron and Baron executive had been arrested. Speculation about Bruce's legal issues had been moved from the third page to the back of the front sections in the New York papers. It was buried in Gotham's society pages. And most other papers had dropped the story entirely. While Baron and Baron's criminal associates weren't named in any of the articles, Oracle assured the three vigilantes that behind the scenes, Fisk wasn't the only crimelord to have sent a number of urgent emails to legal counsel within the last few hours. Since none of those communiques had been sent to Nelson and Murdock, Matt wasn't dealing with any of that at the moment. Instead, he was having a pleasant conversation with the DA's office regarding a somewhat-related matter…
"Thanks, Denise," Matt switched the phone to his other ear with a smile in his voice. "I'll pass on the good news to my client and await the paperwork." He paused for a moment. Then, a slightly different tone of voice, he continued, "Uh… Wednesday. Yeah, sure; coffee sounds great. I'll see you then. Later." He hung up the phone, still smiling.
"Well?" Bruce asked. He and Dick were seated before Matt's desk. Dick hadn't said much since they'd arrived, lest Foggy recognize his voice and connect it with Chester Honeywell's.
Matt grinned. "The DA's office has a lot of cases on its plate right now and a limited number of attorneys to parcel them out to. Which is excellent news for you. Seeing as Baron and Baron probably won't exist by the time your case would even get a trial date," his smile broadened, "the DA is willing to plea out. Which is," he clarified, "another way of saying she'll drop the charges against you in exchange for… well, she'll call it 'cooperation,' but what she really means is that, in light of last night's arrests, her workload just increased exponentially, and therefore…" His grin grew even wider. "Prosecuting you just isn't worth the time or expense."
Both Bruce and Dick breathed sighs of relief.
"It should be official by tomorrow," Matt continued. "At which point, you'll be free to leave. Unless Wayne Enterprises is still seeking an association with Baron and Baron, of course, though speaking as your attorney, I'd naturally have to advise against it."
Dick laughed. "Normally, I wouldn't speak for Bruce," he replied, affecting a nasal twang. "But I think in this case, I'm pretty confident that his reply would be something like…" He turned to Bruce. "'No way, José'?"
Bruce nodded. "I'd phrase it a bit differently, but the overall sentiment is accurate."
He turned back to Matt. "So, that's it then? It's over?"
"Pretty much," Matt confirmed. "Except…"
"Except?" Bruce's eyes narrowed.
Matt shrugged. "Well, it's kind of a shame you haven't had much opportunity for sightseeing since you got here. I was thinking that the three of us might take a night-time parkour tour of the Manhattan rooftops." He smiled. "I'll be glad to show you around. And for no extra charge," he added, "I'll even point out the safest places in the city to change clothes away from prying eyes and cameras!"
The End