#3: The Russian Connection, Part 2

Attorney-at-law Matt Murdock is blind, but his four remaining senses have been heightened and function with superhuman sharpness. Possessing a built-in “radar sense” and incredible fighting skills, Matt protects Hell’s Kitchen as the crimson clad hero known as Daredevil!


The law firm of Nelson and Murdock has taken on Vadim Gorsky, a Russian mobster accused of murder, as a client. Knowing the accused is innocent, Daredevil gathers information from reporter Ben Urich and confronts the Russian mob boss, who had not ordered a hit on the deceased and has no knowledge that can help DD. Daredevil goes to the deceased’s apartment, where he encounters a beautiful and mysterious black leather-garbed woman who had stolen secret files from the deceased’s computer. During the ensuing fight, DD senses a launched explosive charge hurtling toward the apartment, and he dives with the woman behind a large sofa just as the bomb explodes.


My name is Matthew Murdock, and I’m Daredevil.

I first gained that “Daredevil” nickname as a child, because the other kids in the neighborhood knew I wasn’t afraid to do anything- I'd take any dare they'd throw at me. I guess I was sort of a rascal, the kind of kid who found trouble and took pleasure in thumbing my nose at it. To this day, I can still hear the others say things like, “Get ‘Daredevil’ Murdock to do it. He’s not scared of nothin’.” Those were carefree days playing on the mean streets of Hell’s Kitchen, and I can still picture them in my mind. Because back then I could see the world around me.

When I decided to take up this second life as a costumed crime fighter I had to figure out what to call myself. In the wake of the newly emerging “superhero” scene it seemed that a catchy yet distinctively foreboding name would be a necessity. The crooks would know who it was that busted them, and they would whisper the name in apprehension from that moment on. The choice became easy for me.

I would become Daredevil again, reclaiming the name of my youth, only this time the moniker would carry much heavier weight and a far deeper meaning. The kid who wasn’t “scared of nothin’” had grown into an unyielding Man Without Fear.


Darkness.

Matt Murdock opened his eyes and saw only darkness.

But that was normal, because Matt hadn’t seen any light in a long time.

His head swam, and he felt as if the room were spinning. Matt held down the vomit burbling up in his throat and tried to focus, to access his amazing senses and get an idea of where he was and what was happening. But it was difficult to get beyond the painful fog that clouded his brain. He was aware that he was sitting, most likely in a chair; his arms were behind his back, and his entire body ached with throbbing soreness. He had gotten to this point by-

Gorsky. Vadim Gorsky. My client. Accused of murdering Bela Osipov. I went to Osipov’s apartment, and there was a woman there-

Matt began to come around, and the smells began to assault his nostrils- stale sweat, body odor, urine, feces, and an overwhelming aroma of blood- some of it old, dried blood. He winced, and tried to utilize his radar-

The woman fought me hand-to-hand like a well-trained combatant, and she hit me with some sort of ray blast that took me down. Then there was a bomb, and we dove behind the couch-

“I see you’re awake.”

Matt snapped back to reality at the sound of the woman’s voice, and was able to get his radar sense functioning at last. He scanned the room, and determined that he was tied by his hands and feet with thick ropes to a chair, and not ten feet away from him the woman he had battled in Osipov’s apartment was in a similar predicament. The room they were in was very plain, with no furniture save the chairs they were bound in, and there was an operating video camera mounted up in the far corner. Matt pulled at his bonds, and they were reasonably tight, but his gloves had been removed and thus with his fingertips he could touch the knots of his ropes.

“Can you understand me?” the woman asked.

Matt raised his head. “Where are we?”

The woman paused, looking at him, and Matt heard her slight but sharp intake of breath. “Can you not see? Are you blind?” she asked, disbelieving.

Matt realized with a start that he was wearing his Daredevil outfit, tattered and torn as it was, but his mask was missing. He was unmasked! His mind whirling, Matt reached out with his radar and “saw” his mask, gloves and billy clubs lying in the corner under the camera, along with the woman’s belt, bracelet blasters, and a clutch of hair that could only be a wig. Frowning, Matt repeated, “Where are we?”

The woman, who now sported shoulder length red/auburn hair, said, “An interrogation room, obviously. I’ve just regained consciousness myself. We’ve been captured.” The woman spoke flawless English with a trace of a Russian accent.

“Who are you?” Matt demanded.

“I do not believe we are enemies.”

“You’re a spy?”

“No," the woman said.

Matt detected the faintest jump in her heartbeat and knew she was lying. But he stayed silent, trying to wrap his head around everything that had happened. Why would a spy be prowling around a dead Russian immigrant’s apartment? True, she had been copying information from Osipov’s computer, so maybe there was more to Osipov than he first thought-

“You are the ‘devil-man’ from the paper?” inquired the woman. The Daily Bugle newspaper had confirmed the existence of Daredevil as the costumed protector of Manhattan’s Hell’s Kitchen neighborhood.

“I’m Daredevil.”

“Then you do not know who has captured us?”

“No.” Matt was suspicious. “Do you?”

Before the woman could reply, the door swung open and two men walked in. One, a tubby sort with a thick beard, eyeglasses, and a butcher’s apron, pushed a wheeled cart with a serving tray on top of it into the room. The other was taller, slighter, and sharply dressed, with a neatly trimmed goatee and piercing dark eyes. This man walked over to the woman in the chair and spoke to her in carefully enunciated Russian, though he distinctly said the word “Daredevil” and Matt knew the man had been listening to their conversation. The woman, for her part, replied with a fierce snarl in guttural Russian.

Chuckling, the neat man approached Matt and addressed him in Russian as well, and Matt kept his head down and said nothing. The man glanced over to the woman, smirked, and verbalized again to Matt in fairly good English.

“So, Mr. Daredevil, you are American, no? Ah yes, I see you can understand me.” The man roughly tilted Matt’s head up, and looked into his eyes. “So you truly cannot see?” He looked quizzically at the woman. “Natasha, who is this man?”

“He does not work with me,” the woman said.

The man’s eyes glittered wickedly, and he turned to Matt. “Ah, of course. So you don’t know who you are working with, Mr. Daredevil? Well, I can tell you everything about her. I know her a long time, yes?”

Matt listened to the man’s breathing and heartbeat, and they were both steady; this man was supremely confident, and Matt knew that the man had no intention of allowing Matt and the woman to leave this room alive. Using his astoundingly sensitive fingertips, Matt felt for the knots on his ropes and began to surreptitiously tug at them.

“Mr. Daredevil, you have been working with Natasha Romanov, the famous Black Widow, herself,” the man sneered with relish. “She was once greatest Russian spy, then she defect to the American capitalist pigs. Now she works with blind American spies in stupid costumes.”

“And what of you, Yuri Korolenko?” the Widow bellowed, and Matt had the strange feeling she wanted the blind captive to hear the neat man’s name. “You were also once a great agent, and now you are nothing more than a cowardly terrorist selling state secrets to rogue nations!”

“The great Soviet motherland I once knew as a boy is dead,” Korolenko said, glaring at the Black Widow. “Today, ‘Russia’ is sick and needs a new revolution to cure her. I will provide the tools to start it.”

“And what do you have to do with Bela Osipov?” Matt broke in, changing the madman’s focus. “And why did you bomb his apartment?”

Korolenko feigned sadness, shaking his head. “Ah. Bela, Bela, Bela…One of my best operatives. Very good with computers. I miss him.”

“Osipov was secretly stealing state information from the Kremlin, and downloaded it to his computer,” the Widow spat. “Then he delivered the information to this arrogant scum, to be sold on the open black market.”

Korolenko walked leisurely over the Widow, grinning. Then he struck her with a vicious backhand that snapped her head violently back. Matt was amazed- based on her pulse and breathing, not only was the Black Widow unaffected by the blow, she was oddly excited by the aggression. She spat a mouthful of blood on the floor and smiled.

“The Americans are on to you,” the Widow guffawed. “They will find you soon.”

“The Americans cannot find anyone,” Korolenko shot back. “They are much too overconfident to search for one such as I in their own country. They are far more concerned with the Middle Eastern ‘terrorists’, as you say. Would you not agree, Mr. Daredevil?”

Matt had untied most of the ropes binding his hands, and he wanted to keep the terrorist talking, so he said, “As far as I can tell, you’re no revolutionary. You say you hate capitalism, but you've become quite the capitalist yourself You’re just a whack-job with delusions of grandeur.”

Korolenko’s grin melted. “Is that so? Do you know what I think, Mr. Daredevil? I think you know much more than you are saying. I think we shall discover just how much you know about me and my mission.”

Korolenko gestured, and the other man, who had been standing silently all this time, began to wheel over the cart with the tray atop it. Matt reached out with his radar, and sensed various razor-sharp medical instruments and cutting shears lying on the tray.

“Now, Mr. Daredevil,” Korolenko hissed. “Let us discuss my ‘delusions of grandeur.”


Foggy Nelson sat at his desk in his private office, reviewing a law book in which he was looking for a precedent to refer to for his current case: the defense of Vadim Gorsky for the murder of Bela Osipov. Foggy had misgivings about the innocence of his client, but his law partner Matt Murdock had somehow been sure of Gorsky’s innocence, so Foggy deigned to begin the research for Gorsky’s defense. It was night, well after office hours, but Foggy was a diligent sort and so he didn’t mind putting in the extra time. He especially didn’t mind since Karen Page, the law firm’s beautiful new receptionist, had volunteered to stay on and assist him.

“Karen, could you get me that book in the ‘V’ section, please?” Foggy had found he very much liked to watch Karen from behind as she retrieved the volumes he required.

“Here you go,” Karen said as she handed the tome to Foggy. She brushed away a few strands of loose blonde hair from her blue eyes, and Foggy could see the dark circles under them that marked she was quite fatigued.

“Long day,” Foggy said.

Karen exhaled. “Yeah, it sure has been. Haven’t even heard from Matt in a while. Isn’t that weird?”

Actually, Foggy hadn’t thought of Matt Murdock since he’d gotten back to the office to work with Karen. “Huh. Well, that’s ol’ Matty for you. Guy sometimes just disappears for a while without telling you. He’s always kind of been like that, so I guess I’m just used to it.”

Karen leaned back against the desk and crossed her arms. “You’ve known him a long time, haven’t you?” she asked.

“Who, Matt? Oh yeah, since college. We were roommates at Columbia U. We went to different grad schools, lost touch for a bit, but I ran into him by chance a few months back, and we found out we were both working for firms here in the Big Apple. We caught up with each other and decided to take a chance on starting our own firm, so here we are.”

Karen looked thoughtful. “He seems so…intense. I mean, I like him, but sometimes he’s hard to read, y’know? He’s so strange…mysterious…”

“Aw, Matt’s all right,” Foggy said. “He’s got a good heart, and he’s actually got a good sense of humor once you get to know him. And he’s so smart, and a great lawyer. He’s his own man, and never asks or needs help from anybody. Guess being blind makes you always want to prove yourself, but don’t tell him I said that. Okay?”

Karen softly laughed. “I won’t, Foggy. And don’t tell him I was talking about him, either. It’s just that I find him so…interesting.”

Foggy didn’t like the affectionate look that showed on her face, and he felt a pang of jealousy in the pit of his stomach. “Hey, Karen, let’s call it a day, okay?”

“Okay,” Karen said as she left Foggy’s office to go to her desk and grab her coat. Foggy longingly watched her, and tried to summon the nerve to ask her- damn, man, just spit it out-

“Karen, are you hungry? Would you like to get some dinner? I know a great little place around the corner,” he blurted, nervous sweat beginning to bead on his brow.

Karen looked at him, and then broke into a wide, angelic smile. “That sounds nice, Foggy.”

Foggy held back an instinct to whoop for joy as he led Karen out of the office, shutting off the light and locking the door.


Yuri Korolenko’s fist slammed into Matt’s cheek for the fourth time, and the blind man limply hung his head in apparent defeat as Korolenko glanced over to the enraged Black Widow, who was struggling vainly against her bonds.

“You cowardly bastard!” the Widow shouted. “You don’t dare do that to me, do you?”

“Oh, I will have my turn with you, Natasha; there is much for us to- how do they say in America- catch up on.” Korolenko grabbed Matt by his hair and lifted his head so the madman could address him face to face. “I thought you would not be willing to talk, Mr. Daredevil, which is why my friend Boris is here.”

The other man with Korolenko had put on rubber gloves and picked up a large scalpel from the serving tray, and the torturer was brandishing the cutting tool lovingly.

“We shall see how ‘blind’ you are, Mr. Daredevil, as Boris teaches you the meaning of long and terrible suffering,” Korolenko threatened. “I ask once more: who are you?”

Matt’s face twisted into a hard scowl, and he pressed his lips firmly together.

“So be it,” Korolenko spat, and forcefully pushed Matt’s head back down to its hanging position. “Pathetic.”

Korolenko gestured, and Boris came forward with the scalpel, leaning in close to Matt’s listless, slumped form. Boris reached to grasp Matt’s hair-

And Matt abruptly lifted his head with all the power he could muster, crashing into Boris’ jaw and knocking the torturer hard to the floor, unconscious. With a mighty surge of energy, Matt yanked his hands free of the ropes and threw his own body to the floor, feeling for the dropped scalpel and locating it quickly. In one fluid motion, Matt cut through the ropes binding his feet and, guided by his radar sense, rolled from the shots fired by the stunned and panicked Korolenko, who had drawn his weapon and was shooting wildly. Korolenko soon emptied his magazine without hitting his targets and bolted for the door, as Matt hurried to the Black Widow and began to cut her free with the scalpel.

As soon as she was liberated from the chair, the Widow ran to the far corner and strapped a bracelet blaster on her wrist, aiming up and immediately blasting the video camera above her to bits. She put her belt and other blaster on, and then tossed Matt’s billy clubs, gloves and mask to the crimson crime fighter, who hastily donned his missing gear. The Black Widow began to move for the open door, but Daredevil put a hand on her shoulder.

“What?” the Widow asked, annoyed.

Daredevil motioned for her to be quiet as he listened, concentrating on the sounds coming from the other side of the door. “DOWN!” DD bellowed.

And the scarlet superhero tackled the Widow to the floor as the room was suddenly pelted with bullets, ripping into the walls and whizzing over their heads, narrowly missing them. Daredevil was practically on top of the Black Widow, and despite the cacophony going on around them he absurdly noticed and was enticed by the feel of the toned, athletic body beneath him. The Widow was apparently aware of this, as DD sensed her own growing arousal and wondered if she was reacting that way to him or to the violence itself.


There were ten of them, and they had all opened fire on the torture room as per their leader Korolenko’s instructions. They were all from Russian/Soviet descent, and they believed in the cause- the glorious Second Russian Revolution to come. They despised the label terrorists, but they were willing to go along with it for now if it meant putting fear into the hearts of the arrogant Americans. They operated out of an outwardly ordinary warehouse ironically located right in the heart of the enemy’s territory: New York City.

Inside the warehouse, there were stacked crates of firearms and other conventional tactical weapons, illegally shipped to the warehouse and ready to be illegally distributed to other terror cells around the world. There was a sophisticated computer station in one corner of the warehouse, and two large delivery vans dominating the open floor area ready to transport the contraband at a moment’s notice. This terror cell had been operating here for years, under the stewardship of Yuri Korolenko, and the other men were handpicked fanatics who each served his own special function within the organization. The cell had accumulated a vast wealth over all this time, and Korolenko was nearly ready to expand and implement the second phase of his mad plan to throw Russia- and by extension the world- into utter chaos.

Now the revolutionaries stood silently, weapons at the ready, as the smoke cleared away from the small interrogation room that had been built off the main warehouse, specifically to torture and kill the organization’s unfortunate captives. Never had any prisoner been able to escape or even attempt to leave the interrogation room, so the terrorists were somewhat nervous and unsure of themselves with these unfamiliar developments. Korolenko had come screaming out of the room without Boris, the chief torturer, and the men had reacted by blasting the hell out of the entire room. They were aware that there were two prisoners, but because the video camera had been destroyed it was impossible to tell if they were still alive-

Daredevil and the Black Widow burst through the doorway, staying low, shielding themselves with the chairs they had been tied to, as the men hesitated for a shocked second before opening fire again. Daredevil ran hard at the two closest to him, plowing into them with the chair and toppling them over. With tremendous speed DD’s red-gloved fist kayoed them both, and the crimson crime fighter rolled quickly out of the way as another extremist drew a bead on him. DD came out of his roll on one knee, and he hurled his billy club at the next closest heartbeat, the steel reinforced stick shattering the radical’s jaw, but then the Man without Fear yelped in sudden pain, holding his hands to his ears. The echoing noise of the gunfire was playing havoc with Daredevil’s senses, causing him acute cranial pain, and it had become hard to focus, so he was only able to concentrate on the terrorists’ heartbeats for a split second at a time. Through his blazing headache DD heard the quick footsteps of two more fanatics giving up the battle and running for one of the delivery vans, and he ignored the pain to give chase. Drawing his other billy club, Daredevil pressed a button and the cable he used for rooftop swinging fired out, wrapping around one of the terrorist’s legs. The scarlet superhero yanked on the club and the fanatic was pulled away from the passenger side of the van and down to the floor hard. Springing forward, DD kicked the downed man in the head, taking him out.

Then the van itself sputtered and coughed to life, so without hesitation Daredevil wrenched open the passenger door and leaped into the cab, throwing a straight right hand at the terrorist behind the wheel. The blow connected, but the fanatic stomped down on the accelerator, and the van lurched forward. DD grabbed the wheel and turned it forcefully, so that the van veered sharply right and crashed into a stack of crates full of smuggled AK-47 machine guns. The guns spilled over the van and onto the floor, and the terrorist behind the wheel of the van, holding his broken nose, swore loudly at Daredevil in Russian. Wincing in pain, DD elbowed the extremist sharply in the head, and it was all over.

Daredevil jumped out of the van and tensed up, ready to do battle with more of the revolutionaries, but to his surprise there were no more sounds of fighting. His radar coming back to him, DD sensed the shapely form of the Black Widow standing to the side, watching him, and it was apparent from the number of the bodies on the floor that the terrorists had all been defeated.

The Widow smiled. “What took you so long?” she chided. “I was finished with my half a while ago.”

Daredevil assisted the Black Widow with tying up all the terrorists in silence, and the Widow noticed DD’s darkened mood.

“What’s wrong?” she asked. “You’re acting like we didn’t win.”

“The leader got away,” Daredevil said.

“So you believe we failed? We have shut down a major New York terror cell and recovered these weapons.” Her voice hardened. “Make no mistake, I will find Yuri Korolenko. We have a history, he and I, and he has…much to answer for.”

Daredevil let that go without asking, and then he remembered something. “One more thing. I know about Osipov’s involvement with this group, but how is Vadim Gorsky connected to all this?”

The Black Widow stared at him carefully for a moment before answering. “You asked Korolenko about Osipov, didn’t you? But your concern was actually for Gorsky. That’s why you came to Osipov’s apartment while I was there.”

Daredevil nodded.

Still studying his face, she said, “Somehow Gorsky found out about Osipov’s connection to Korolenko, and he was blackmailing him. Gorsky was receiving regular payments from Osipov to keep quiet, and I suppose it got to be too much for Osipov, despite Gorsky’s mob ties.”

It all made sense to Daredevil now. Gorsky had gone to Osipov’s apartment for a blackmail payment, and Osipov had snapped and tried to kill Gorsky. In the ensuing struggle, Osipov was shot dead. Gorsky had told the truth to Matt Murdock and Foggy Nelson- that Osipov was actually killed in self defense.

“Now I have one more thing,” the Black Widow said boldly. She paused, and then said, “You really are blind? Then how can you… do what you do?”

“My secret,” DD said.

The Widow eyed him mischievously. “Then perhaps we could meet again someday and… ‘exchange secrets’?”

Daredevil was taken aback- is she flirting with me?- then he allowed himself a tight-lipped smile. “Yes… perhaps.”

“Go now,” the Widow said. “My people will be here shortly.”

Without another word Daredevil turned and swiftly exited the warehouse. Once outside, he sensed the area around him and fired his cable to the top of the nearest building, swinging up and into the New York City night.

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