Chapter Text
Sept. 16, 2011
Who the hell is this guy? Obviously, he’s not hurting for money, and he’s probably used to getting whatever he wants. Which is why he’s so fixated on that Hansen woman—she’s probably an ex who left him because he’s a control freak. But why would he need me to get her back when he’s already got a couple of hired goons and more money than God?
And how does he know so damn much about me and what I’ve been doing for the government? There’s no way he can know “exactly everything” about me, like he claims, but he knows an awful lot about things that no one outside of a handful of people should know. And the only person who could have had any idea about my doubts is dead.
The man’s been injured—that much is obvious; he limps, and it seems that he can’t turn his neck. And he’s hiding something, because there’s no way that “Finch” is his real name. But none of that matters, ’cause I let him know that I had no interest in taking part in his crazy plan, whatever it is. At least I’ve got a few bucks that the lawyer gave me in the car to persuade me to stick around to listen his boss’ loony proposal. So I can get a hotel room, clean up, and buy some booze to get me through another night.
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Sept. 17, 2011
I was wrong about at least one thing—this is not just a bored, rich guy going after his ex. Somehow, Finch has managed to access government wiretap recordings. He keeps insisting that he gets information about crimes before they happen. I can’t believe that, but he knows something about what happened to Jessica. And he wants me to work for him so badly that he kidnapped me and risked his life by being alone with me in that hotel room.
He says he’ll never lie to me, which is a load of crap. But whatever the truth of all this is, it’s obviously important to him. So I’m going to give this a try, and see what happens.
If I am going to work for this guy, I need to find any information I can about him. All I have time for right now is a quick web search, though, and somehow I don’t think I’m likely to find anything about a rich New York City man by the name of Finch.
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There was no trace of Finch on the internet—not that I was expecting any. But when he brought me to the abandoned library he’s using as a base of operations, and I let him know that I had checked on him, he didn’t bat an eye. Same thing was true when I pulled out the list of information that I started keeping on him. Guess he’s expecting me to try to find out more about him.
Anyway, item number two on my list is “good with computers.” How good, I can’t really say yet. But if I can take him at his word, he put together tech that will let me hack Hansen’s cell phone, so I can listen in and determine her location. And it takes some skill to build all of the identities that he set up for me.
He’s been at this for a while. That long list of Social Security numbers he has posted shows me that he’s been trying to do something for months, but hasn’t had much success. I wonder why he feels the need to remind himself of his failures every day.
But what I really wonder is where he gets those numbers from. He’s made it clear that he has no intention of telling me. I hate working blind; it makes everything even more dangerous. And if he wants me to trust him, he’s gonna need to start trusting me as well.
I’ve agreed to take care of Diane Hansen’s situation, but if Finch doesn’t open up by the time that’s done, I’m gone.
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Sept. 19, 2011
The man doesn’t like firearms. Imagine that. But how could he possibly be naive enough to think that I could do this job without them?
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Sept. 20, 2011
My God. “Good with computers” may be the biggest understatement I’ve made in my entire life. Finch actually built a system that sorts through all of the electronic data that the government gathers, to catch terrorists before they have a chance to act. That means that I’m working for the man who created the system that was running my life in the CIA, what we always called “Research.”
9/11 changed everything for me. I had resigned from Special Forces, and was ready to spend the rest of my life with Jessica, but after the towers fell, I knew there was a job I had to do. That set me on the path that I followed until Ordos. Now I know that 9/11 changed the course of Finch’s life too, because that’s why he started building the system, what he calls his “machine.”
But it had a side effect that he didn’t expect, notifying him about the people on what he calls the “irrelevant list.” Everyday people caught up in deadly situations. The people he ignored until his conscience wouldn’t let him ignore them any more. So he built a back door into his system, which gives him Social Security numbers. A back door that the government doesn’t know about. That certainly helps explain why he’s made sure that he doesn’t officially exist. It also explains why he’s had such a hard time saving the numbers, since he doesn’t receive any details about what’s going on.
But how did he know to bring me into this? When we first met, he said that I needed a purpose. Even when I had him pressed to the wall in the hotel with my arm to his throat, he told me that he thought all that I wanted to do was to protect people. I didn’t think that part of me was alive any more. How did he know?
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Sept. 22, 2011
While I’m still skeptical about his promise never to lie to me, he was straight with me today. He told me that the numbers never stop coming. When I asked him why he chose me, he said he’d been watching me a long time, and that we had more in common than I might expect—like the fact that both of us are presumed dead. And when I asked him why he did this, he made it clear that he’s lost someone too.
But most important, when I asked what would happen if I stayed, he said that both of us would probably wind up dead. So why is it I’m taking up this suicidal crusade, and feeling more hopeful than I have in years?