Chapter Text
"Why didn't you kill her?"
It was a loaded question and one Martine wasn't sure she could answer honestly.
"She's more valuable to us alive than dead," Martine said eventually.
Jeremy Lambert raised an eyebrow. "Those weren't our orders."
Martine looked at him sharply. He really was that naive it would seem. "Sometimes orders have to be contradicted," she said, but Jeremy didn't look like he believed her. He wasn't a soldier, however. Just the messenger boy. She wasn’t a soldier either, but she knew how to follow orders just as well as she knew how to break them when necessary.
"Do they know?" he asked. "That she's still alive?"
"Doubtful," said Martine, finally turning away from the unconscious body of Sameen Shaw. The blood loss was minimal, the shots themselves flesh wounds. She would survive. "But then again," Martine continued, "the Machine is always watching."
~#~
Cold winter air snapped at Martine as she as she got out of the car. She did not appreciate the outdoors, but she understood the reasoning behind the use of this place. White Pine Camp, just shy of a five hour drive from Manhattan, had been a struggling historical site until Samaritan had bought over the camp and converted it for its own purposes. Martine didn’t bother brushing herself up on the details, but she knew it used to be a former presidential summer house turned museum. The camp was in the middle of nowhere, far away from technology and civilisation bar what Samaritan's operatives had brought with them. Security cameras had been mounted all over the place, un-networked so the Machine would not be able to find them here. As for Finch and co... an old abandoned museum was the last place they would ever look for Sameen Shaw.
Not all of the buildings had been converted for their use yet; but a few had been turned into barracks and a large dining facility that was big enough to feed a small army had been the priority. Recently refurbished was the medical hut. A large cabin that had been fitted with state of the art medical equipment. It was here where they had treated Shaw. As per Martine's instructions, they had kept her unconscious and isolated since bringing her here until a decent security perimeter could be established.
Feet crunching in the light layer of snow on the ground, Martine made her way over to the medical hut. She had been summoned here, much to her annoyance, at an early hour - too early, Martine grumbled to herself - and it was only just past eight o’clock in the morning. Greer liked to get in an early start. Martine, however, could not see what the rush was considering Shaw hadn’t even woken up yet.
Blessedly, the medical hut was warm inside and Martine felt it safe enough to shed her gloves and scarf. It was going to be another cold winter in New York and Martine half hoped that Samaritan and Greer would send her somewhere warm for her next mission.
“You’re late,” said a pompous voice behind her. Martine rolled her eyes and barely spared Jeremy Lambert a glance as she shoved the gloves and scarf into her coat pocket.
“Do you have any idea how difficult it is to find this place?” said Martine. She handed him her coat with a smirk. Just like the good English gentleman that he was, he took it and hung it up neatly on a coat hook by the door without a word, just a creased frown on his face.
“Haven’t you ever heard of something called GPS?” he asked. “You know how Mr Greer doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”
“Then lead the way,” said Martine impatiently. She rarely had time for Jeremy’s disapproval and often wondered if it was a British thing. He and Greer seemed to have the same trait, like a large stick up the ass that neither of them could get out.
Jeremy led her through a large room with six hospital beds and other pieces of medical equipment, past a cupboard filled with supplies of bandages and gauze and plenty of drugs with enough variety to treat almost anything from the flu to the nastiest of fungal infections. Samaritan had spared no expense, it would seem. They paused at a door, metal and heavy looking with a keypad at the side and a small square pad just big enough for a thumb print.
“We’ve spared no security,” said Jeremy, punching in a four digit code and pressing his thumb down on the pad. The light on the panel flashed green and Martine could hear the click of the lock as the door opened. “Down here.”
Martine followed him down a flight of stairs to the basement level. There were no windows down here, just bright fluorescents on the ceiling every couple of metres or so. Jeremy led her down a long corridor, about a two minute walk going at a brisk pace before they reached another door, similar to the one above. Martine watched as Jeremy typed in a different four digit code and pressed his thumb to the scanner.
“This isn’t part of the camp,” she said. Although she hadn’t taken much interest in its history, she had taken the time to memorise the camp’s blueprints. And this wasn’t on it.
Jeremy smirked at her. “On the contrary,” he said. “Welcome to the president’s secure bunker.” He opened the door and gestured for her to go through ahead of him. Martine hesitated for the slightest of seconds, not liking having her back to anyone and had to remind herself that Jeremy was on her side (or, rather, they were both on Samaritan’s side) before she stepped through and he followed.
Inside, Martine was met with a large room. Against one wall was a row of desks each with their own computer depicting the various images of each of the security cameras placed throughout the camp. On one monitor, the cameras were focussed on a small room barely large enough for the camp bed and toilet facility it contained. On the bed lay Sameen Shaw, handcuffed at the wrist and staring defiantly at the camera.
“So she’s awake then,” said Martine. Staring at the monitor, she didn’t notice someone walking up behind her.
“Has been for the last six hours,” said John Greer. Martine tore her eyes away from the screen to glance at him. He was dressed as impeccably as ever in a suit and tie, hair neat, but the lines around his eyes looked tired. “She hasn’t moved once apart from a poor attempt at removing the handcuffs.”
“Handcuffs won’t hold someone like her for long,” Martine warned.
“If she does get out of them,” Jeremy said, “she’ll have three feet of concrete to get through. She’s not going anywhere.” There was that naivety Martine had come to loath. She ignored him and turned to face Greer.
“You want me to do the interrogation?” she said. Martine couldn’t think of any other reason why she would be here.
“No,” said Greer. “I want you to watch. Find out what makes her tick. Her weaknesses.” That was easier said than done, Martine thought. Someone with Sameen Shaw’s level of training wasn’t going to easily give anything away. She had read Shaw’s file, long before she had begun her chase, it was more terrifying than impressive. Self-diagnosed Axis 2 personality disorder. Former doctor. Former marine. Former ISA agent. Sameen Shaw was focused and unpredictable. She was dangerous and Martine doubted even Samaritan could predict her next movements. “I think we'll let Jeremy have a run at her first,” Greer continued.
Beside her, Martine felt Jeremy stiffen. Apparently he hadn’t been expecting this turn of events either and he glanced at Greer warily for a moment before he realised that this wasn’t, in fact, some strange new sense of humour being suddenly displayed by the old man.
“Have you ever done an interrogation before?” Martine asked him as he cleared his throat nervously.
“Not exactly,” he said. Martine wasn’t filled with confidence at that and she watched him sceptically as he walked down a short corridor where at the end there was yet another security door, same as the other two: four digit access code and thumb print. Martine wondered vaguely if Greer was going to give her access later or if he was going to restrict it as much as possible. It was what she would do, in his place.
When Jeremy unlocked the door, Martine spotted the first signs of movement on the security monitors. It was minute, but Martine could tell Shaw was readying herself for a fight. Martine let out a warning far too late. Shaw was already on her feet, hand secure around Jeremy’s throat and squeezing before he had even made it into the room. His face was going purple by the time Martine made it to the cell and she jammed the lethal end of a taser into Shaw’s side, pressing down tight on the trigger.
Body juddering, Shaw fell backwards onto the cot, unable to control the erratic muscle spasms. Martine stepped over to her, securing her by the handcuffs once again. Behind her, she could hear Jeremy wheezing and spluttering. “I think we’re going to need better restraints,” she said to him and he glared at her, unimpressed by her flippancy.
~#~
“Let’s try this again, shall we?” said Greer.
This time, Shaw was still recovering from the effects of a sedative, her wrist secured with an additional zip-tie as well as the handcuffs.
“Perhaps I should-” Martine began.
“No,” said Greer, his voice broking no argument. “Let’s allow Jeremy another go at it.” Martine thought this was a mistake, but didn’t say anything otherwise. The purpling bruise on Jeremy’s throat was enough of a reminder, but Greer didn’t seem to pay it any attention.
It had been twenty-four hours since their last attempt; enough time for Shaw to stew and for Jeremy’s voice to recover. It now no longer sounded hoarse and painful to talk. Still, Martine doubted his second attempt would go any better even if he did make it through the door intact this time. He was out of his depth, but no one, especially him, was about to say it out loud.
He opened the door with more caution this time, but he needn’t have bothered. Shaw was still recovering from the effects of the sedative they had pushed into her veins last night and lay still and sluggish on the bed. Still, Martine watched her carefully. She wouldn’t put it past Shaw to fake it and try for another escape.
Jeremy closed the door behind him and smiled down at Shaw as she stared coldly at him. “Ms. Shaw,” he said. “Please, do try to refrain from strangling me this time.”
Unsurprisingly, Shaw said nothing.
“I don’t think you need me to explain the current situation to you,” Jeremy continued, undeterred. “You’re in quite a pickle.” Martine wanted to snort at the phrase, but didn’t dare with Greer standing next to her. Shaw seemed to have the same level of disdain for Jeremy’s choice of vocabulary as Martine did and she glowered up at him, still saying nothing. “You’re friends think you are dead,” said Jeremy, “so you can forget about someone coming to look for you. No one knows you are here, not even the Machine.”
“And what?” said Shaw with contempt. “Is that supposed to frighten me?”
Jeremy smirked. “I doubt there is very much that can frighten you. I just wanted you to be fully aware of your… predicament.”
“How about you just get to the point and tell me what it is you want,” said Shaw, direct and to the point, cutting through all the crap.
“Careful,” Martine warned and wanted to roll her eyes at the way Jeremy stiffened when he heard her voice through his earpiece. She didn’t doubt, not even for a second that Shaw had noticed it too. “She’ll be interrogating you in a minute if you're not careful.”
“What we want, Ms. Shaw,” said Jeremy slowly, “is whatever it is that Samaritan desires.”
“And that is?” Shaw asked.
“Information,” said Jeremy.
Shaw exhaled a breath of air that sounded like something somewhere between irritation and amusement. “So... what? This the part where you torture me?”
Jeremy smiled. “Nothing quite so barbaric. You’re here as our guest and you will be treated as such,” he promised. Shaw looked at him doubtfully. “We’re not the evil masterminds that you think we are,” Jeremy continued.
“You won’t mind if I don’t take your word for that,” Shaw said, leaning back slightly. As far as she was concerned, the conversation was over and Martine had very little faith in Jeremy being able to get anything more out of her.
“That will do for now, Mr Lambert,” said Greer, seemingly having the same line of thought.
On the monitor, Martine watched as Jeremy slipped out of the room without a word. Even with him gone, Shaw still didn’t relax; her entire body tense as she lay there waiting for something. Martine didn’t know if it was just the uncomfortable awareness of a camera watching her every movement or if she was always this on edge.
“Well,” said Greer, now that Jeremy was back beside them. “What did we learn from that?”
“Torture isn’t an option,” said Martine, eyes still on Shaw.
Jeremy snorted. “Going soft?”
Martine turned to glare at him. “High pain threshold. Nothing to lose. She’s not the type of person to break easily.” Jeremy scowled at her like a five year old that had just been reprimanded by someone barely his senior. She wondered if he was the type of person to stick his tongue out at her if he was pushed far enough and decided not to bother finding out.
“Then, my dear,” said Greer. “What would you suggest?”
Turning back to the monitor, Martine watched as Shaw lay still, eyes staring at the ceiling as she breathed heavily through her nose. The sedative was wearing off, but the pain from her bullet wounds would be kicking in now that they had stopped distributing pain meds. High pain threshold regardless, that gut shot was going to be more than a mild irritation.
“We find out what she cares about,” Martine said eventually. “And exploit it.”
~#~
He was more confident the third time going in, but Martine still didn’t trust him not to screw it up. Apart from someone delivering her some food once a day, Sameen Shaw had no visitors. Not even the camp’s medic was allowed to check on her healing wounds. Besides, Shaw was perfectly capable of doing that herself. Martine had caught her on the monitor, hunched over and prodding at her side to assess the damage and watched as she lay back, seemingly satisfied.
Jeremy had been in there for ten minutes and after a pathetic attempt at some small talk, he had leant back against the door staring at Shaw in silence. It was an interesting tactic and not one Martine herself would have chosen. She could tell already that it wasn’t working. Uncomfortable silences wouldn’t unnerve Sameen Shaw. If anything, they would unsettle Jeremy more, slip him up and give Shaw the opportunity to glean new information that she would no doubt file away for later.
“Speed it up, Lambert,” Martine complained.
“I was in the city yesterday,” Jeremy said absently. Martine wanted to smack her hand against her forehead. Now Shaw knew they weren’t in Manhattan and it wouldn’t be that far of a stretch for her to assume that they weren’t in any of the five boroughs either. It wasn’t much of an advantage, but it was still more information than Martine was comfortable with revealing. “Just by chance, I happened to run into a friend of yours.” Shaw stared at the ceiling stoically. “Ms. Groves… or, Root is what she prefers, isn’t it?”
Still Shaw said nothing. She was good, Martine would give her that, but she herself had witnessed countless interrogations, she could detect even the minutest of tells and Shaw was telling her so much. Her face remained neutral. It was the slight increase in her breathing that Martine noted, which told her everything she needed to know.
“Push the Groves thing,” Martine told Jeremy, her eyes never leaving Shaw’s face.
“Tell me,” said Jeremy; he was speaking casually, as if her answer either way didn’t bother him, “do you still hear her screaming?”
This time, Shaw moved. Just a slight tilt of her head, her eyes cold and hard as she stared at Jeremy.
Yes, it told Martine.
“That’ll do,” said Martine, closing her eyes.
She could still hear it too.
“How was that?” Jeremy asked when the door to Shaw’s cell was securely shut behind him. “I think I’m getting better at this interrogation lark.”
You’re a fool, Martine thought, shooting him a look of disdain. It didn’t seem to bother him and he strolled over to the chair at the desk beside her, rolling on its wheels until he was close enough to see the monitor Shaw was on. Martine did not appreciate the invasion of her personal space.
“You were right about her connection to Groves,” he said. “How did you know?”
“Do you know, Jeremy,” she said, filling her voice with as much scorn as possible, “the key to a good interrogation technique?”
“What’s that?” he said.
“Not giving away your entire hand at the start of it,” said Martine. “It’s a bit like a game of poker.”
“What? Bluffing your way through it?” he asked, smirking like he was proud of himself. He was more arrogant now that Greer wasn’t here and it made him careless. Yes, his interrogation had been informative, but it was more confirming what Martine had already guessed. In truth, Jeremy had revealed far more to Shaw than she had revealed to him.
And it was that piece of knowledge that could spell the end for them.
“Leave her to stew for a few days,” said Martine. “And forget to feed her for two of them. I want her grouchy and irritable.”
“For what?” Jeremy asked, staring at her in confusion.
Martine stood up and smirked at him. “Why... for my interrogation of course.”
~#~
Even though she thought it a little foolish, Martine had been pleased when Greer had given her access to the bunker. He had put her in charge of Shaw’s interrogation before heading back to the city to continue the search for Harold Finch and his friends and had been in contact every day to find out their progress.
He hadn’t been pleased about their lack of results.
Martine, however, was not in the least bit deterred by it. Interrogations were a slow process and it wasn't like they were on a short timescale. Samaritan was still bigger and stronger than the Machine. Their operatives outnumbered them by the thousands. At this point, Harold Finch and his friends were nothing more than a mild itch that wouldn't go away no matter how hard you scratched, the fly buzzing about your head that you couldn't quite catch. They were an inconvenience, yes, but one that did not worry Martine.
The door shut loudly behind Martine. Usually, it automatically locked itself, but Martine had by-passed the locking mechanism for this occasion. She wasn’t in the least bit surprised that Shaw sat up, noticing immediately. The mild disdain Shaw usually directed towards Jeremy was nothing compared to the look of loathing she shot Martine. It was amusing to her, more than anything, and she let the smirk dance across her face as she stepped towards Shaw, who immediately tensed upon Martine’s approach.
“Try anything,” Martine warned, “and it’ll be more than a taser at your side this time.” She waited for a beat, but Shaw seemed submissive. Seemed being the key word. Martine didn’t buy it for a second. “Tie your wrists together,” she said, tossing a plastic zip-tie down onto Shaw’s lap. Shaw stared at her defiantly until Martine pulled her gun out, pointing it directly at Shaw’s head. “Chop-chop. We don’t have all day.”
Shaw did as she was told and when Martine was satisfied that she was secure, tightening the zip-tie so hard that the plastic was digging into Shaw’s flesh, she unlocked the handcuffs and cut the zip-tie still securing Shaw to the bed. Then she gestured for Shaw to move ahead of her. Shaw looked at her, suspicion written all over her face. Perhaps she thought Martine was about to lead her to her grave. It was enough incentive to try for a last desperate chance of escape.
“We’re going for a little walk,” Martine explained. “How long has it been since you stretched those legs of yours?” Unsurprisingly, she didn’t receive an answer, but Shaw walked ahead of her anyway, eyes scanning her surroundings. Martine had made sure to leave the monitors off. She didn’t want Shaw to get an idea of the scale and makeup of the camp.
Martine gripped onto her elbow with her free hand, leading Shaw out of the bunker and up the stairs. The medical hut itself was empty; Martine had ordered everyone to keep away. Again, she didn’t want Shaw to know the number of opponents she was up against.
Outside the Medical hut it was bitterly cold. More snow had fallen in the past few days, whitening the ground in a good five or six inches. Martine suppressed a shiver and thought that Shaw must be freezing wearing nothing but black pants and a thin black t-shirt. She wasn’t sure who had provided the clothes, but whoever it was hadn’t bothered to take the season into account.
The ground was uneven under her feet and she gripped Shaw’s elbow tighter mostly to keep herself upright than to stop Shaw from making a run for it. They walked past the barracks and through the woods to a small clearing some of the guards had made into a makeshift firing range. At the other end of the clearing, three old barrels stood with empty cans and beer bottles sitting on the top.
Martine took out her back-up piece and handed it over to Shaw. “You can shoot with your hands tied together, can’t you?”
Shaw glanced at the gun in her hand and then looked up at Martine as if she had gone mad. “What’s to stop me from shooting you?”
“Absolutely nothing,” said Martine with a smirk. “However…” she continued, turning to face the barrels and aiming her gun, “it would be rather pointless. The whole camp is surrounded by a ten foot electric fence and at the only gate, we have fifteen guards. All of them armed. You won’t escape.”
“I’ve had worse odds,” said Shaw coolly.
Martine heard the click of the safety going off, the loudest gunshot she had ever heard and felt searing, white hot pain at her side.
By a few millimetres off, it was the exact same place where Martine had shot Shaw.
~#~
This wasn’t her first gunshot wound, not by far, but Martine had forgotten just how much they hurt. She opened her eyes groggily, finding Greer hovering at her bedside. At a glance, he didn’t look too pissed off, but she could never be sure when it came to the old man. He had odd moods and Martine tended to be wary just in case.
“Ah, my dear,” said Greer, “you’re awake.” Martine had a sarcastic comment on the tip of her tongue but chose to keep it to herself. “Jeremy tells me you decided to take Ms. Shaw out for a little fun.”
“If you want to call it that,” said Martine, wincing as she sat up in bed. It was the first time she noticed that she was still in White Pine Camp. She supposed they had decent enough medical equipment that she hadn’t needed to be taken back to civilisation.
“What would you call it?” asked Greer his tone cold and anger edging at his eyes.
Yeah. He was pissed.
“Normal interrogation techniques aren’t going to work on someone like her,” Martine explained. “Jeremy was getting nowhere.”
“I suppose you may have a point,” said Greer.
“Did she get away?”
“No,” he said. “She incapacitated nine of the guards before one of them managed to tranq her. Enough to knock out a horse,” he added. Martine raised an eyebrow, impressed despite herself.
“Incapacitated?” said Martine. “Not killed?”
“No,” said Greer. “They were put back on active duty whilst you were recovering.”
“Good,” said Martine, smiling. That was exactly what she had been expecting. Well… if she were being honest, she thought the little grump would have taken out more than nine, but, she supposed, it had been the first exercise the woman had had in months. It was hardly surprising that she was a little sluggish.
“Good?” said Greer. “I fail to see how.”
“It tells us everything we need to know,” said Martine. Greer raised an eyebrow. “She won’t kill her way out of here.”
“Perhaps you just haven’t made her angry enough yet,” Greer suggested. Martine didn’t think so. Perhaps once, yes, Sameen Shaw would have killed her way out of here to escape, but not now. She had been tainted by Harold Finch, led to believe that she was one of the good guys. And that would be her downfall. “No matter,” Greer continued. “But what this little venture of yours did uncover was that Ms. Shaw has skills and resources that are going to waste down in that bunker.”
“What do you mean?” Martine asked, frowning in confusion.
“You, my dear,” Greer said, “are going to convert her to the cause.”