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Istanbul 2005
The market was packed and noisy. Sunburned tourists drifted through the colorful stalls, taking pictures and studying the produce. The eastern sun reigned supreme in the middle of the sky, baking the floors and the walls. The whole place smelled of citrus, coffee and sweet syrup. On the small chance he was making it to retirement, he’s hopping on a plane and getting back here to live the rest of his days.
They had retreated to a small cafe at the edges of the market the moment the crowd became unmanageable for recon. Snow said there would be company and none of them would be friendly. Kara sat still like some great sphinx, her eyes no doubt tracking every single unfortunate soul that crossed her path. He was doing the same but he averted his eyes for a moment to focus on his coffee cup. He drained what was left of his Turkish coffee and stared at the clay-like sediment that had accumulated at the bottom of his cup.
“They say you can tell your fortune from that” Kara piped up, eyes still fixated on the market. Reese smiled and put the small plate on the cup and flipped it over, holding it there for a bit to let his fate brew. Then he flipped it and looked inside, pretending to study the patterns the grounds left on the walls.
“Okay, I’m a bit worried now. You do tarot too?”
“I used to come to Greece for NATO exercises when I was a private. I saw an old lady do it once. Thought it was kinda funny. Paepromaeno , she called it. Myra . Here, it is kismet ”
Kara shook her head in indignation “You shouldn’t share that with me you know”
“Why, scared you’ll catch some humanity? It isn’t a disease Kara”
“It’s not but you are distracted and putting my ass on the line”
Reese sighed “You think so little of me”
“You gotta make me think more of you” Kara snapped and yanked her gaze from the crowd. Reese shrugged. She was hazing him as usual. He was having none of it.
Kara sighed “Tell me my fortune then” she said, like she couldn’t care less. Humoring him.
Since we’re doing that in the middle of a mission.
“There’s nothing good in our futures” he said, his voice low “There are no shapes, no omens. Just the…dark” He turned to see what had distracted him, just in time to catch a man turning away from them. The crowd swelled and he got swallowed up before he could get a good look at him but it didn’t matter.
“What’s wrong?” Kara said.
“2 o’clock” he answered. Too many people moved past, too many signals, the noise becoming unbearable as his instincts went into overdrive.
A glare blinded him for a split second, high up in a house with green windows. All these people, women, children, what the hell were they doing?
Then everything exploded.
*****
He snapped awake, greeted by a flurry of licks and whines. Bear was a barely-discernible black lump over him so he mumbled a “Zitten” and reached for his watch. 4:00 am. Even if setting the alarm was a purely pointless routine at this point, it was still too early. He breathed in and out, listening for any strange noises. He got up to a sitting position, his body feeling like a slippery, clammy mass of limbs and clothes on the wooden floor. A dark stain had formed on his t-shirt, right where his sternum was, spreading in a funnel shape down his navel.
Bear stood still, heeding his orders. The white patch on his chest trembled up and down as he guarded him from the same monsters he had warded off five minutes ago.
“Gaan liggen. Good boy Bear” He gave him a good scratch behind the ears and got up from his little nest. Downstairs, the double bed stood empty and undisturbed. Harold had meant well when he gifted this apartment to him. He didn’t anticipate how the human mind reacts to spaces when it’s been conditioned to hunt and be hunted, all day, any day. John felt guilty about it often; the bed frame looked crazy expensive and the sheets so luscious and soft but it was in full view of the large windows. A sniper could land a killshot without much effort.
He tried the sheets too. Those felt nice but he got tired of soaking them in sweat every night. The job didn’t allow him a daily trip to the laundromat either so the sheets stayed in the laundry basket, soiled and yellowing and he hated it, just as he hated sleeping covered. Good way to get smothered. Or strangled. Remnants of his old work, they had served him well but he couldn’t help but feel ungrateful. So he had made what used to be a balcony office space into his hideout with nothing more than a pillow, his watch and Bear’s doggy bed next to him. He could defend it better if need be and it was out of sight should another Maxine Angelis come here.
Bear had settled, looking at him expectantly.
“We run?”
Bear kicked off and ran down the stairs to his gun closet. He pawed at the door and woofed.
“We run”
He switched his sleeping shorts for his running ones and got his shoes from under the bed. The shirt was already ruined and he was about to get a decent workout in so he left it on.
“Let’s gear up”
Both of them had forgotten, swept up in their numbers, that Bear was a military dog and they were meant to work until they got tired. Harold had worried himself sick looking after the dog who had grown so despondent after Reese had been returned from Kara’s little get together. Swept in a wave of exhaustion and terrible sleep he had forgotten about Bear’s needs, until Harold reminded him.
John was still kicking himself but he tried to make up for it. They agreed he would take Bear on his off days and half the week so they could run and exercise together. Bear got to shed that excess energy and Reese managed to sleep through the night.
Once Bear was donned and ready for battle Reese reached into his closet to get the Bag of Pain, a 45 pound backpack filled with bricks. He’d gotten it days after he’d accepted Harold’s offer of a second chance and he’s been running with it ever since.
The burden settled on his shoulders, his muscles shifting and adjusting as he moved towards the door, Bear falling into heel. He flashed a look at the camera at the corner of the street and set a course for the park. The air was chilly outside. Just what he needed.
As they walked he scanned his surroundings. Sameen Shaw often followed him, hoping he’d lead her to Finch. When that happened he’d ensure they walked around in circles until he decided she covered enough miles. Finch had been clear. She could just call.
This early in the morning though that didn’t seem to be the case.
The park was dark and empty and quiet. Nothing moved, not even the trees. Reese hesitated for a second, fighting that lurch in his stomach that threatened to turn into something worse. All that silence didn’t mean anything good.
Bear barked, a crisp, loud sound that snapped him out of whatever dark tunnel he decided to wade into. He shook himself and started running. Thirty laps. He could do this.
By lap twenty-five he dropped his pace and his old army instructor was in his ear yelling at him about how much oxygen he stole every time he didn't take a proper step. He made it to lap thirty cause he’s no quitter but halfway through he stumbled, barely keeping himself from tumbling face first into the muddy grass. Cold, wet earth filled his hands and cushioned his knees but the weight of the bag drove him all the way to the ground in a swift finishing blow and he tasted mud. He lay there like a downed gladiator, trying to catch his breath. Blades of grass brushed against his face as the boisterous crowd booed, clamoring for his death.
Since when was recovery this difficult?
Above the deafening thump of his heart, he heard frantic sniffing and he let Bear do military dog things, guard, nudge, protect.
Good dog.
Good boy.
I’m so glad I found you.
When he could see straight again he slipped Bear a treat and the two of them watched as the sun rose over the trees, casting shadows and light on the ground, long and pointed like spikes. Light blue, deep yellow and a bright blood red chased away the inky darkness. Reese watched, fascinated, picturing the same thing happening to every crevice of his mind.
All he needed was a touch of light. Warmth.
As the city woke up and the usual noise took over from that eerie silence, they walked back. There was a spring in Reese’s step, his breathing steady and loose as he got lost among the morning crowd, a face in a thousand.
Once home he wiped Bear’s paws and got his bowl filled. He’d need another bag of kibble soon. He needed a shower, now.
Out there with the adrenaline pumping and the wind in his face he didn’t pay attention to the sticking to his skin like a shroud or the stink of him. In here, it bothered him. He’d come a long way.
He passed the counter and stopped, feeling compelled to check his phone. His finger hesitated over the power button but he pressed it and watched as the screen lit up.
Zero phone calls from Harold, to be expected.
Ten unread messages. He didn’t bother to check what’s in them.
It’s for you John.
“Stop” He said aloud, because it was definitely listening.
Watching.
Ever since he answered that payphone he felt cursed. It wasn’t right. By heeding its orders he had tapped into some forbidden power, locked away for a reason. The manic shine in Root’s eyes as she accepted communion was reason enough.
His phone buzzed.
SLEEP TIME APPROX 3HRS
REM 25MINS
INSUFFICIENT
IRIS CAMPELL, LICENSED TRAUMA SPECIALIST 914-609-3236
His stomach lurched again. It was watching him, every shiver and whimper going unheard in the night, every tear, every missed meal. The apartment seemed to shrink down to a cell, all light and air squeezed out. He was stripped down to the bone, every weakness exposed and ready to be exploited. Harold knowing was one thing. His knowledge manifested in small gifts, an extra detour to a new bakery, an additional day off strategically placed. This was…something else. Another conscience with its own interests in mind.
A Machine. Nuts and bolts. Wires.
“Stop” He growled again and fled for the bathroom, slamming the door behind him. The t-shirt he threw away, the rest of the clothes he put in a neat pile to be washed. A layer of sticky gunk had settled on his skin and he wanted it off so he scrubbed, nonstop under scalding hot water. He emerged half an hour later, skin red and irritated. All he wanted was a day off.
Suits had no place where he was going. He opted for a more casual dress, his combat pants and a light blue shirt, his sports jacket. Suits had become dress uniforms.
Phone, keys, his holster at the small of his back. Water in Bear’s bowl and a snack should he get hungry.
“Be good. I won’t be long” he told Bear and closed the door behind him.
*****
The smell of spices was already strong as he entered the soup kitchen through the back door. It made his mouth water and his mind wander. The taste of hot grease and good meat and vegetables on his cracked lips after days of hunger, all offered with no strings attached. There wasn’t any better food than that. John would swear up and down that it tasted different.
“John, good to see you” Elijah said when he entered the kitchen in his apron “Got potatoes today man. Get peeling.” A slight man in his thirties, Elijah was in culinary school and worked there three days a week. When he had condemned himself to a slow death by whatever means necessary, he swore to avoid soup kitchens. In his mind, the food should be going to the needy and he wasn’t in need. Ice had formed in the pavement and he was certain he was close to death when he was awakened by a cup of warm, fragrant soup and Elijah looking at him, and not over him, crouching down to his wretched level.
“Food’s free.” he had said “No need to come inside” It was an offer and a debt in Reese’s mind. He had no need for money or clothes or time. He had a need to serve those he had served him.
Elijah’s delight when he first saw him clean and sober made him stay, and return every other week. The food’s always a bonus.
“Smells good” Reese said and sat by the pile, the size of which he had seen only in the army and got to work. Soon, his world was the peeler, the potato and the next potato on the pile and he was finally able to escape from the numbers and the machines and the cameras.
At noon they served a hearty stew of chuck roast and potatoes, simmering for hours in a blend of spices. John ladled portions into waiting trays and cut pieces of brownies. He looked into their eyes as he greeted them, searching. Alcohol had burned through much of his memories but he remembered their eyes, even if the rest of them faded away in a fog.
“Johnny the spook, Johnny the fed” A wiry man with a scraggly beard sing-songed as he slid in line. His eyes shone like marbles, restless “Came to steal our brains?”
“Hey Charlie” John said and offered him a bowl “Rehab going okay?”
“Oooh yeah, doing real good with the happy pills. Soon I will be like you. Gonna shed my skin” The man said, eyeing him and the food with a mixture of apprehension and fear. Most of his old friends were glad to see him clean up. Charlie knew better, viewing it as some nefarious transformation. Betrayal.
“Would you like a brownie, Charlie?” John asked, already carving a square from the pan. The man never forgave him for that dislocated shoulder. Reese had set it as soon as he was conscious enough to care but Charlie had seen him for what he was.
“No no it’s okay…this is more than enough.” Charlie said, flinching as he followed the knife. A stick thin hand rose up, an index finger outstretched to point in accusation. “This man kills people, Eli. He works for the feds. They slither under your skin and eat you up” His voice carried over the room and heads were beginning to turn. John felt the questioning looks on him, both familiar and not. Those that crossed paths with him before already knew he wasn’t right. For those that didn’t know, Charlie filled them in pretty well.
“Well I’ve never seen him kill anyone. Have a good day Charlie” Elijah said and went back to stirring the big pot and cutting chunks of fresh bread.
Charlie mumbled something and hurried off to eat, as far away from John as he could. As he kept serving the lunch crowd, he could feel the man’s eyes on him.
Damn phone kept buzzing in his pocket. When he was done he’d chuck it in a river.
Once the line dwindled and faded away into pockets of conversation, John withdrew to the staff hall, a bowl of stew in one hand and a plate of brownies in the other. A juicy bone awaited Bear when John returned. The marrow was cooked through and through and it looked delicious even to Reese.
As he ate he checked his phone against his better judgment, drawn by the Machine’s insistence on blowing up his messages.
“What do you want?” he said. The sound reverberated uncomfortably in the empty room.
BLUE CEDARS REHAB FACILITY 315-437-0080
VACANT PROPERTY SUBURBS 40.9115° N, 73.7824° W
VACANT PROPERTY SUBURBS 40.9126° N, 73.8371° W
READY TO MOVE IN
“So you’re my phone book now?” Reese huffed and stabbed at a potato.
A buzz, another message.
FOR CHARLIE
FOR JOAN
Oh.
Finch gave him a house but he often found himself wandering till morning. Finch gave him a bed but he didn’t sleep on it. Charlie knew better than to put his hands on a delirious drunk twice his size but he did it anyway, and paid the price. He had tried to help. Sometimes his efforts panned out. More often than not, he did more damage than he anticipated.
“Look” he said, swallowing a lump in his throat “People are a bit more complex than that. Some habits…become permanent after a while. You’ve surely observed that”
Another buzz but no message came through. He chose to take that as affirmative.
“Break a human mind enough and it becomes…incompatible with…standard programming. Do you understand?”
Buzz.
“You can’t fix them by just throwing homes at them. There are underlying issues beyond…beyond the material. Band aid”
Buzz.
RUN HEURISTICS.
“Thought you didn’t interfere” John said, his appetite leaving him. This whole train of thought about fixing and correcting people didn’t ring right, it was against everything he signed up for.
Harold Finch had declared, he was not aiming to fix him. Harold Finch had said the Machine was a black box, to avoid tampering.
Buzz. Another message.
CONSTRAINTS HAVE BEEN REMOVED.
Finch’s virus within a virus. An update more like. It had moved itself and led Root into a wild goose chase, seeing a threat before any of them conceived it. Omnipotent, omniscient, why the hell was it talking to him, asking him for input? All the answers rested inside it somewhere and could be spun into fruition without his flawed logic muddying the waters and wasting precious time.
Because in the end, he was but a man with a broken outlook. Knowing his place was all he did right.
“What do you want with me?” he asked. You don’t need me , was the part that was inferred.
NEURAL TRAINING INITIALIZED.
RECALCULATING PARAMS.
ANALOG AGENT SHADOWING.
“You’re learning?”
A long, high-pitched buzz this time, the phone moving across the table towards him in a high pitched drone. It sounded almost happy.
“Can you learn silently?” The harshness in his voice stung as soon as it left his mouth but he couldn’t help it, not when he was being studied like a lab rat. He tensed as he anticipated the next chess move but his phone didn’t vibrate. It was just him and the clock ticking on the wall and the faint murmurs of the dining room behind him.
The very thought of the sugary cake sent his stomach into a tumble. He had a penchant for stomach trouble but it was getting worse lately. He’d have to cajole Finch into snacking on a brownie every now and then. Bring up the merits of homemade cooking.
Thoughts whirled around in his mind. First the market, now this.
He kept telling himself it was necessary.
It was what Finch had to do.
What his carelessness had caused.
Without the Machine there would be no numbers and he wouldn’t be able to do his job. Its liberation had been necessary for the continuance of their operation but it made him uneasy. Even so when that concerned other people, who had no idea. There was a difference between being watched by Finch and by his Machine.
His every move was analyzed. Quantified. Manipulated. For all he knew, the longer he talked to it, the more he was being played.
And he was done being a weapon. He was here because of Finch.
Because the machine spat out a number and after that it was him figuring it out. Nothing more, nothing less. That was the agreement, even if unspoken.
He intended to keep it that way.
*****
He avoided the cameras as he walked home, suppressing the need to break into a run with every step. He was alright. He had to take a juicy bone to Bear who was waiting for him. He’d cook something, maybe finish up that egg carton before it went bad.
His phone buzzed.
He walked faster.
It buzzed harder, a continuous, annoying drone in his pocket.
He yanked the phone from his pocket and smashed it against the wall. Shards of plastic and circuit-board exploded from his hand, cutting into his palm. The sight of blood agitated him even more and he ducked into an underpass.
Four men went in with him, two in front of him and two at his six, blocking his way out. He didn’t know them and he didn’t care who they worked for, he could take them all.
As his eyes adjusted to the low light he could make out the dark shapes of guns in the hands of the men he could see. He assumed the others were armed as well.
“Day off?” One of them asked. British, not very good at hiding it. From what he could make out he was well groomed, with gelled hair slicked back and expensive suits. An earpiece glinted at what light seeped through the tunnel.
“You could say so” Reese said “And you are a long way from home”
The man bristled and shifted from his left leg to his right “The boss wants to have a drink with you. We suggest you come quietly”
“I don’t drink anymore fellas. Sorry. Left the oven on too”
Four guns clicked. They put a barrell to his kidneys. Maybe he shouldn’t have smashed that phone. He should have controlled his anger.
“Surely you’ll make an exception for an old colleague”
He could take two of them before he was shot to pieces. Another one if the bullets landed just right and he still had the use of any arm.
“I don’t work for them anymore. Or with them. Or against”
The man sighed “We can’t stay here all day”
“Yeah…we all got things to do” Reese said flatly.
“Let’s walk”
He walked with them, just to get in broad daylight and away from the gun on his back. Then he saw the van, its open doors waiting.
Ain’t no way in hell he’s getting in there.
He pretended to stumble and threw a hand out, knocking the gun astray. It went off, tearing through the muscle of his side but better than destroying his kidney. He tackled the man in front of him, driving him to the ground with a grunt.
They rolled around on the rough cement, throwing punches and kicks as the others descended on them. John hoped the noise would disperse them but he guessed they had some leeway for destruction. He drove a punch into the man’s ribs to stun him and then he put his feet under him, ready to bolt. A sting on his thigh made him pause and look down.
Shit.
A syringe protruded from his leg, half-empty.
He ducked away from a grip and bolted.
For a while.
Whatever they injected him spread from his pelvis upwards and downwards, numbing all feeling. His vision was narrowing down to a single pinpoint too fast. Half-blind he ran until he couldn’t and then crawled until his eyes gave out.
For all the gradual, tortuous effect of the drug, oblivion came as sudden as a thunderclap.
*****
Istanbul 2005
Shards exploded all around him as he ran for cover, bullets shattering the ancient cobblestones with whip-like cracks.
Bodies littered the street, some were like him, most of them were innocents who got in the way.
Got in the way. It was them that invaded like cockroaches and shot the place up.
Over a damn suitcase.
A flash of a white shirt to his left and he fired as he ducked by a column. A peek out to confirm the kill and he’s down, though he ain’t getting close to verify that he’s dead.
He spotted Kara some distance away, the coveted intel by her feet. He fired a couple more shots to get her attention and motioned at her.
Scram. I’ll cover you.
To his relief she nodded and opened the suitcase, ripping the documents from it and stuffing them in her backpack. He dashed out from his cover and laid down a volley of fire, one big target in a flannel shirt and cargo shorts and silly sandals.
It worked.
The onslaught of noise turned towards him, a cacophonous grinder that destroyed everything in its path as they shot at him. Time stretched and for that single frozen moment, it seemed supernatural, like the ancient gods themselves were angered at the rampant desecration.
Kara had taken the chance to make her exit, going from cover to cover away from the market. Reese took her old spot and grabbed the suitcase. With his heartbeat pumping away in his ears he scanned for an out.
The alley.
A downed merchant’s stall lay 10 feet from him. The flaked metal of a gas canister peeked from one of the compartments.
John took a breath. Emptied his lungs, filled them again. He took aim and squeezed the trigger.
There was a hollow clung as the metal was pierced leaving a gaping maw that hissed and spewed gas.
He got up and ran, still firing.
He’d just made it to the alley when all sound and oxygen suddenly evaporated.
He flew off his feet and landed onto the cobblestones, the flames of the inferno licking the narrow walls of the alley, snapping at him.
The fireball rose way above the buildings, polluting the clear blue sky with a terrible wound.
How did they screw up this bad?
What had they done?
*****
“...W…..have you done?”
He was propped up on something hard and smooth. No sunlight broke through his eyelids but he was on fire. His mouth was dry, raw like sandpaper.
“He put up a fight. We had to contain him before every cop in New York was on us”
They jumped him on the way home. He had to get away, Bear was all alone-
Feeling was creeping back to his limbs and the ropes made themselves known, coils of taught cord, looping from his wrists to his elbows to his chest. More rope immobilized his legs. Last time he had been tied up so thoroughly was when he encountered that old spy, Kohl.
“Ah. To be expected. Mr. Reese was always a fighter”
Many people knew him by that name. Most of them were dead. Except-
“I’ll wake him up. We’ve got a lot to discuss”
Alistair Wesley. Former MI6 agent. Current thief.
Liquid trickled into a glass and ice cubes clinked together. Alcohol fumes seared his nostrils and made his body’s cries for water intensify. He gasped before he could control it but he bit the tortured plea that threatened to climb out just in time.
“Come on Reese, wake up. It’s good whiskey”
His eyelids dragged over irritated eyes, sluggishly at first then blinking furiously as light flooded it. When the colors settled, Alistair Wesley was sitting in front of him, a table separating them. Behind him, garish, tasteless walls, a couple of paintings and four armed men. From the bruises, they must have been his kidnappers.
“Apologies for the tranquilizer” Wesley said as he poured himself a whiskey from the bottle resting on the table in front of them “I don’t have the same taste for theatrics as the last time we met”
He nodded in understanding. If anything, he was grateful there was no collateral damage.
“I just really wanted a drink with an old friend” He pushed the glass towards Reese and motioned to someone. A swish of a knife and his right arm was loose.
“I won’t embarrass you. You need a drink and you can have it with dignity”
He flexed his fingers. His joints creaked like rusty old hinges but eventually he raised his hand to grip the glass.
He’s not sure he could speak but he tried anyway “Like I said on the phone…” Every word grated painfully at the back of his throat and he gulped down some of the whiskey “...I remember the market. But not you”
Wesley shrugged.
“I was one of the participants in capture-the-intel” he said, his voice warm as if recalling a fond memory. “You and your lovely partner were the winners”
They razed the market to the ground. Thirteen people were dead, six were never identified. Those last six, those were blood on his ledger.
“There was no winning in that market Wesley” Reese said, a lump forming in the back of his throat.
“Well you got the intel” Wesley said unperturbed “The grand prize. Code for some sort of adaptive computer virus. No need to study your target, plug-and-play”
Reese didn’t know that but he let nothing reach his face. They were just given the orders to retrieve the suitcase. It always came down to that.
Was it Harold’s doing?
He took another swig of whiskey, rolling it around in his mouth to get rid of that sandpaper feeling and the thoughts in his mind. Wesley was right, it was good, but alcohol tasted foul ever since he stopped drinking.
“Did you grab me off the streets so we could talk about the market we blew up?” he asked, getting impatient. Bear was alone and he had a bone to take to him.
“Not really, but it was nice to reminisce about wasn’t it?” Wesley said, smiling. “You and I, we were on opposing sides, looking for our country’s interests. We were professionals. Still are”
They were merchants of death on puppet strings. He might have held that belief, early, too early in his career but it had died away, a slow agonizing death.
“I keep wondering why you came back here, in New York of all places.” Wesley continued “I kept seeking you out back in Istanbul. Man like you would make considerable money there”
Reese cocked his head.
“Are you seeking to hire me, Wesley?”
The man gave him a sly look.
“Then I realized…you are already under somebody else’s employ. You are smart, and capable but your work has evidence of a handler”
Wesley held his gaze and Reese answered that offensive, staying still. His glass hovered between them.
“Am I wrong?” Wesley asked.
“I think you are making assumptions. That’s dangerous”
“Indeed. Enlighten me then”
Reese didn’t budge. He held the glass for as long as he could, then he brought it to his lips.
Faint lines appeared in Wesley’s face. His mouth thinned.
“Awfully secretive are we? Why is that?”
“I don’t want some washed up thief meddling in my business. That good enough for you?”
Wesley reached out, pried the glass from his hand.
A punch connected with his face with a crunch, throwing him against the ropes. Fingers grabbed whatever hair they could and he was pulled back into a sitting position.
“Funny guy” Wesley said.
“My greatest trait…can’t help it” Reese remarked through gritted teeth, his neck straining against the man holding him upright.
“Well I did offer you the chance” Wesley said, disappointed “Remember that when you’re dying in a deep, dark hole without hands, without teeth, without eyes”
“Where are we going?” Reese asked.
Not good.
“Who knows? But I doubt it will be pleasant. You got a lot of knowledge and a lot of secrets and I am auctioning you off to the highest bidder” Wesley said and motioned to his thugs. “There are plenty of people who would love to get their hands on an American spy”
Reese scanned the room. He spied two burner phones on the nightstand. Before he could think of anything else, the bottle was set aside and a laptop was placed there, pointing towards him. Someone brought a tripod, a camera, its recording light blinking.
His bruised face stared at him from the screen, next to a grid of faceless watchers, bright sky blue framing white blobs. There’s some sort of text service on the right and it’s lively, text messages appearing one after the other. No conversation took place, just numbers flying on the screen.
Starting bid, six mil. Already up to eight.
His death had crossed his mind often, but corporate was not something that came up.
Chances were he wouldn’t talk, no matter who bought him. He’d suffer, and die horribly but he wouldn’t talk.
That was the idea anyway.
He did let the Machine get compromised. With that amount of explosives strapped around his chest, he couldn’t risk it.
Kara had planted that doubt in his mind. All it took was the thread of mass casualties and off he went like a clockwork toy.
“Sorry” he said softly. He wasn’t sure who he was addressing. Maybe Harold. Maybe the Machine. He hadn’t made it easy for either of them and he’d let himself become unreachable.
“Last chance” Wesley declared.
It was what he wanted and it would be his downfall. He would not let it reach Harold.
“Go to hell”
“As you wish”
One of them smeared ink on his fingers, pressed them on a thin piece of plastic. John doubted it would do any good in verifying his identity. Another, ash blonde hair and sport watch pried his mouth open and shoved a q-tip in, swabbing roughly along the inside of his mouth. That was better.
“We operate in trust and I deeply appreciate it, but you can verify him prior to finalizing your purchase” Wesley said, addressing his ghostly clients and the man who took his DNA translated his words. Arabic first, then Russian, then Mandarin, Spanish. They sent him all over the world to kill and kidnap, torture and destabilize and he wasn’t neither the first, neither the last.
Whatever they did to him, he’d deserve it.
“After purchase, you can receive your package from Turkey, in Istanbul. This is non-negotiable. We’ll take all necessary steps to ensure your safety but once you receive him, he’s your responsibility. Allow me to reiterate that this man is incredibly dangerous. I posted his…resume for your perusal”
The bid climbed and climbed, reaching twelve mil in the short time it took Wesley to introduce him. As the blond man relayed the words, the number was almost double.
“Auction closes in thirty minutes”
Reese eyes the camera that faced him. A faint copy of himself floated in the depths of its lenses, bloody, gray. He wondered if it could see him. Most likely it could and it was doing nothing about it. Protecting itself. Protecting Harold.
Fair enough. He knew the stakes and the prices.
His eyes burned, probably from the tranquiliser.
He blinked rapidly, trying to get that damned sting to abate.
S-O-R-R-Y
It was nothing to sneak it in, he’d done it before. Distress calls were useless. He just wanted Harold to know he tried.
“Ten minutes to the end of the auction, gentlemen”
30 mil on his head. It hovered there, the game being reduced to the thousands. That was his price after all.
“You are up for a challenge, gentlemen. Tough nut to crack this one. Brilliant spy. You might consider convincing him to work for you, the quality of your operations will see a remarkable increase”
He was brilliant at watching, observing, and finding weak points. A sixth sense of sorts, created and honed through living with people who wore masks and took them off without warning. He couldn’t resist.
“You are really…really overselling me there Wesley. I got caught”
It wasn’t enough to say it in English, the others had to hear it as well so he repeated it in every language he knew.
Halfway through his Russian rendition a goon punched him again, knuckles colliding with his temple. A loud ringing exploded in his ears, drowning out everything else. Air moved from his lungs to his mouth, he was pretty sure he was groaning but he couldn’t hear it.
“...ornhill”
His head snapped up.
The camera filming him was dead. A single number hovered in the screen’s free space. Fifty million dollars. Wesley looked pleased.
“One Mr. Ernest Thornhill bought you for fifty million dollars. A pseudonym most likely but if I had my guess, the spooks got a whiff of this. We should go” Wesley said.
“Okay…you win”
A sharp prick on his neck startled him, ice spreading in his veins again.
“Too late, Reese” Wesley said, his voice deceptively soft as he watched him struggle to stay conscious.
“Guess I’m a bit paranoid…my programming and all that”
“It has served you well. You might be having a reaction from the drugs…it will pass once we let you sweat it out” Laughter echoed in his ears. One of the goons was untying the ropes.
“I got myself….into trouble…and I need help. Make sure nobody gets hurt” A half-hearted whack around the head threw him off balance as they zip tied his hands.
“Gag him while you’re at it, it’s a long way to Turkey”
“If you’re gonna do something…do it now”
The lights went out.
A warm suit brushed against his left arm and he tackled the body that occupied it, his uncoordinated limbs dragging them both in the corner. He punched and he kicked, fumbling for the gun he had seen before until he got it. Whatever they had injected him with had thrown his vision astray, every shape melting down to a blob. Blindly, he shot at the first moving thing that crossed his failing vision and leapt over the bed just a barrage of bullets erupted in the corner he just was.
The fire alarm started screeching, just in time to drown the gunshot and the screams that followed. He tried to land another shot but everything was a blur. He cursed himself. Second time he allowed them to inject him with unknown substances. He tried to loosen the plastic around his hands just to tip the odds a bit more in his favor. Nothing there either.
Running it was then. His stomach roiled and tumbled at the thought but he couldn’t do that to Harold again. He was responsible for this all, him and his recklessness.
A dark shape tried to flank him and he fired instinctively until it melted to the floor. Still hugging the ground he crawled to the end of the bed. He kept the rest of his attackers pinned as he filched a phone and two clips from the man he just killed.
He breathed in, breathed out. Just a normal day’s work.
He ran for the door, grabbed the handle and twisted.
Abused muscles strained as he pulled it back and threw himself out. The door might as well be weighing a tone. Keeping an eye on the room, he scrambled backwards. The burner phone vibrated incessantly in his hand.
“One for no, two for yes. You got visual?”
The phone stopped, then vibrated once.
“Call me” he slurred and got tangled in his feet, landing hard on the floor. He floated for what it could be seconds or hours, the shrill siren still in his ears.
The phone rang, the repeated thump of a call.
He picked it up.
“Get the sound…run it through your….gears. Can’t see.”
He had been blinded before. Flashbangs, hoods, duct tape. He had to make do. Left leg, right leg, he had to get up and walk down the stairs.
STAY. AWAKE.
The amalgamation of voices startled him more than anything. That thing was yelling at him. He got up, or rather his body got up, operated entirely by whatever sensory input it could scrape. Wallpaper scratched against his bare arms as he headed for the neon EXIT light.
SEVEN O CLOCK.
A gunshot. Threat neutralized.
Burning sludge bubbled up his throat. He swallowed several times and willed it down.
SIX O CLOCK.
Two cracks echoed at once. Pain seared through his right arm but his own bullet hit a wall. Off by some margin. He adjusted and fired again. Wesley cried out from the end of the corridor and fell down.
SORRY. MARGIN OF ERROR SIX PERCENT.
Green glow bathed his arms, the plastic of the phone he held, the metal of his gun.
BASEMENT. FOUR. FLOORS.
Darkness bloomed from a hole in the ground and he had to go in there. His mind wandered to the other time he had to brave a staircase, bleeding from two gunshot wounds. Harold had been in his ear, urging him to hold on. Only Harold had no idea what was going on. His Machine was.
MOVE.
He didn’t miss the urgency in the garbled vowels. Gripping the rail he started his descent, one step at a time.
THIRD. FLOOR.
It seemed like an eternity.
SECOND. FLOOR.
FIRST. FLOOR.
A door banged and he aimed at the noise, his finger tightening around the trigger. Heels clattered on the floor. What idiot wears heels in a combat-
CIVILIAN. CIVILIAN. CIVILIAN. CIVILIAN. CIV-
A high pitched squeal brought him to his knees, scrambling to shield his head with bound arms. His line of sight shot up and the gun stayed silent. The ringing died down to reveal the scuffing of shoes and an erratic breath, the uncomfortable current of a body getting close raising the hair of his arms.
“Go!” he barked, “Get to the access point!”
He shivered as he was left alone once again.
KEEP. GOING.
No other way but down. He walked and walked, his legs getting heavier.
BASEMENT.
He made it. They made it.
HELP. ACK.
That made him pause, despite his misery “What the hell does that m-”
The door to his destination banged open and the gun was yanked out of his hands. He sunk to the floor, the wall breaking his fall.
“What the hell, Reese?” Sameen Shaw said from somewhere next to him.
“Good to see you again Shaw”
HELP. ACK.
The tone of a dead line sounded out and Reese allowed himself to close his eyes.
*****
A dog whined.
He had cooked a stew and kept the bone. The marrow looked really nice. He had to…he left a bowl of water but it wasn’t enough. He was gone for days.
Something wet and warm dragged over his face over and over again. Rough hairs brushed against his arm, his side. His body was slightly inclined, half-sunk into a yielding surface.
“Come here boy” A woman’s voice, low like Kara’s. Kara didn’t have a dog. She liked them but didn’t have one.
That was then. That was the past.
The rooftop. Kara was dead. She strapped a bomb to his chest and made him free a genie from its bottle.
Always his fault. He deserved this, whatever it was.
Little pebbles rattled in a steel box. “Come on, boy, he will be fine. He’s waking up” It was a good offer and he wondered why the dog wasn’t budging. Must’ve been a guard dog. Only God knows how long the animal was like that, guarding, waiting for his master to wake up-
“Bear” he blurted out. Urgent whines answered, the flat thump of a tail on sheets. A soft, wet nose touched his cheek.
“Go eat your food, boy” he told the darkness that still was his vision. “Go on” Bear licked him again and withdrew, the scratch of nails on the wooden floor the motivation Reese needed to open his eyes.
The ceiling he’d find himself staring hours upon hours was there, an endless plane of off-white paint. He had grown to hate white. It sapped every bit of life from a room. One day he’d request some vacation and paint the whole thing another color. Green maybe or a light blue.
He sat up abruptly and immediately regretted it as his stomach somersaulted again. He stayed there, counting to 100 as he waited for it to calm down. At the edges of his vision a woman sat on one of his chairs, scarfing through a bag of chips. Short, dark hair. Dark eyes that betrayed nothing.
Sameen Shaw. Former Primary Operations Agent.
“I wouldn’t move too much if I were you” Shaw said and grabbed another handful of chips. Bandages, bound tightly around his waist and shoulder, made their presence known as he settled his arms on his knees. They were done clean, the work of a professional. No restraints of any kind. No drugs.
A social visit, then.
“Did it send you?” was all he could ask. She had been with him at the library, she had heard it speak to him. She worked for it.
She had come for him.
“It?” Shaw said and raised an eyebrow.
“How did you find me?” he asked again and took on the laborious task of moving his legs from the bed to the floor.
“My phone rang. Spoofed number, why?”
Reese forced his brain to fetch whatever fragment of the past day’s memories remained. It all started with the phone calls. He remembered panicking, the paranoia of a hunted man, then nothing.
“It’s talking to me” he said.
Sameen Shaw cocked her head. Her gaze scoured him top to bottom. “The Machine? Like it did in the library?”
He nodded.
“I don’t know what it wants” Every word that came out of his mouth bore an underlying layer of terror so intense he wasn’t able to hold it back.
It watches me have nightmares and refers me to a therapist.
“Maybe it wants a friend”
The crinkle of the bag grinded on his nerves, and that carton was still in the fridge, going bad. Truth was he didn’t want to think about the events that led him to this. The implications were too grave.
“You want breakfast?” he said and got up.
“It’s afternoon”
“Do you want a decent snack?” he tried once the room stopped swaying. Shaw was shaking the bag at him. “I got one”
He sighed “A hot meal. Cooked food. Dinner. Would you like that?”
Her face stilled and she looked at him like a piece of chewing gum stuck on her sole. “No”
He couldn’t really blame her. She was a soldier just like him and accepting food from people you thought were cretins wasn’t something they did, ever. It didn’t help with forgetting or feeling better though. Cooking had a way of calming him down, regardless of who he did it for. Besides, barring willing takers, he supposed he could save the leftovers for a busy day.
Walking to the fridge filled him with dreadful anticipation, as he was soon to uncover what food had been forgotten there to rot. Throwing out fuzzy and foul-smelling produce was the last thing he wanted to do but with the bad luck that plagued him he mentally prepared himself for it. He took a pause to catch his breath when he arrived at the door and flung it open.
No bad smells. Having a nearly empty fridge did the trick. The egg carton was in its corner, with 6 out the 12 eggs still inside. A bag of tomatoes and peppers in a net, obtained from a sneaky detour to the farmers market three days ago.
He could make this work.
He fished them all out and took them to the counter, then went hunting for potatoes. Shaw walked in parallel as he hobbled about the kitchen, probably ready to catch him if he fell.
“Should you be handling gas burners?”
“I handled an AK with six broken fingers and a skull fracture and I didn’t shoot anybody I didn’t mean to shoot. I can handle the gas burner while doped up. Extinguisher to the left in case I’m talking bullshit”
The knife he held might turn out to be his biggest enemy, uncertain and heavy in his hands as he peeled a potato. When bullets flew, endurance and concentration came easier but this was…this was normal. Painfully so.
“So what were you doing in that hotel? Judging by your sorry state when I found you, my money’s on an extraction”
She should answer Finch’s call. She was careful, competent. Probably better for this task. He had become…sentimental.
“You got a lot of enemies, Reese?” Not enemies. A lot of enemies.
The whole damn world.
“Some. Can’t make some noise without making a name for yourself”
“Was the hotel enemy business?”
“Yes”
“Cause of what Harold Finch does?”
“Not this time” Reese said. The knife slipped and nicked his thumb. Shaw sighed.
He went to the sink and washed his hands. Dried them with paper, trying not to look at the crimson splotches. He put gloves on and continued his cooking.
“Old friends?”
“You could say that”
He watched his reflection on the stainless steel, fleeting and distorted as the blade rendered the vegetables into slices. There was a certain peace in pacifying a tool so deadly.
“Ever been to Istanbul, Shaw?”
“No, but you have” An accusation, almost. Deflecting.
“I could read your file, you know. I can use a computer”
“You could, but that’s not why you asked”
A faint smell of pepper reached his nose and he looked down to his cutting board, the array of colors there. It reminded him of that market, before its destruction. The peaches ripe to bursting. The hot syrup, the coffee.
“It’s not. Just an innocent question, honest”
The olive oil formed an expanding blob as he poured it in the pan, faint ripples appearing as it reacted to the heat of the stove.
“I’ll be fine.” he said as he kept an eye on the fire. “Thanks for patching me up”
For answering the call.
He doubted she stayed because she was polite but it didn’t hurt to offer a courteous dismissal.
She didn’t move from her chair. Still like some solemn statue, she tracked his movements as he cooked, putting first the potatoes, then the tomatoes and peppers and six eggs, beaten.
“You don’t like it” she said behind him. She was lounging now, eyes turned upwards to his terrible white ceiling. Like an owl, he thought. Fast and quiet.
“Don’t like what?”
“This Machine business. It’s way, way beyond your pay grade and you don’t like it”
He got burned for it. But he wouldn’t allow that thought to see the light of day. Not in front of her. If she wanted to look, she was perfectly able to do so.
“Should I like it?”
Finch had been exposed to grievous risk because of it. Before, Reese had some sort of power, putting his life on the table in exchange for information. He had a hand to play. After Root, and Finch’s virus, the rules had become uncertain.
“It could be an advantage if you play your cards right”
He wasn’t sure he wanted to play. Sometimes that was the only winning move.
“Would you do it?”
“If it was to get me out of a sticky situation? Sure”
He nodded. In their brief partnership they didn’t often reach an understanding, but when they did, it worked.
The food sizzled in the pan and he gave it a good stir.
“Did you ever question it?”
“No. It never gave me a reason to”
He sprinkled a pinch of salt onto the mix. Lots of pepper. The smell made his mouth water.
“Fair enough”
Once the eggs were cooked and the potatoes soft he turned off the gas, leaving the pan on the counter. Using a wooden spoon, he filled a bowl to the brim and retreated to the kitchen island to eat. The first bite almost brought tears to his eyes. Indeed, food had a different taste when it was cooked with care. He willed himself to eat slowly, to savor every single mouthful.
A spoon clinked and he checked his six on reflex. Shaw had teleported from the chair to the stove while his attention was elsewhere and she was sampling the food. She stood there, chewing. Then she nodded to herself.
Reese smiled at his bowl.
“I won’t eat all of it” he said. “Had to cook the vegetables”
“Don’t mind if I do”
It was a start.
“Containers on the top right cupboard. Keep it”
He scooped up the last of his food from his bowl and listened. The wooden spoon scraped against the pan, once, twice. Three times. Another one, not quite full, to top up a quantity deemed unsatisfactory.
“Don’t ever think this is you getting your way. The dog’s the only saving grace in this”
“Never crossed my mind”
“Riight” She moved to the door.
“Take care Shaw. Give Finch a call”
The lock clicked shut.
Reese let out a breath and got up. The change in height came easier; the nausea abated now that he had eaten. Careful not to undo all of Shaw’s hard work he cleaned the plates, stored the leftovers and washed the pan. Bear stayed close, whining here and there.
“Sorry about your bone” Reese said and Bear was satisfied.
Afterwards he went to lie down, in his bed this time. Just as he was sinking into the mattress, his phone vibrated.
ASSET SHAW, SAMEEN
RECRUITED
ECHOLOCATION PROTOCOLS
IMPROVED
DONATED USD 50.000.000 TO HERITAGE RESTORATION ISTANBUL
SLEEP WELL
TTYL
One last card to play. Worst case scenario.
When all was lost.
Only then.