Chapter Text
May 18, 2012
I stared straight into the camera at the intersection and ordered the Machine to help me find Finch. I really don’t know what I was expecting to happen, but a few moments later a nearby pay phone started ringing. Picking up the receiver, I heard a message, pieced together from snippets of recordings of different voices. It was nine words long: Uncertainty Romeo Kilo Family Alpha Mike Reflections Juliet Oscar. Six of those words are from the military alphabet, but the other three aren’t, so they must mean something altogether different. In any case, this has to be some sort of code, and I’m going to have to decipher it.
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I waited for Carter in her house, to ask her to help me try to find Finch. She suggested we use the normal procedure for missing persons, but I managed to convince her that we can’t do anything that might compromise Harold’s identity. Instead, I asked her to nose her way into the investigation of Alicia Corwin’s murder. If we’re lucky, that will provide another way to track down Root—and Finch.
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I spent the rest of the day trying to figure out what those nine words meant. I went through every code I’ve ever known, with no results. I tried to see if it was something I could track down on the internet, but that effort got me nowhere. My desperation was growing as I kept running into dead ends. I even located a book on codes in the library’s collection, and skimmed through practically the entire thing. My brain was reeling, but I wasn’t making any progress. Damn it Finch, why did you have to make this so difficult?
Frustrated, I closed up the book when I happened to glance at the spine. Suddenly, it struck me—the book’s call number identified the first word of the title and the author’s initials. What if there were books on the shelf that fit with the words I had been given? I started scouring the shelves and there they were. Uncertainty RK . Family AM. Reflections JO. And on the bottom of each book was a three digit number. Nine digits in all—the same as in a Social Security number. The Dewey Decimal System is how Finch gets the Social Security numbers from the Machine. Leave it to that genius to figure out such a crafty way for the Machine to transmit the information. And the number it gave me is 013–00-6062.
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May 19, 2012
I had Fusco track down the Social Security number; it turned out to be a man named Leon Tao. I assumed the Machine sent me his number because he’s connected somehow to what’s happened to Finch. Fusco sent me the anti-theft tracker coordinates on his car, which I followed to a bar.
As soon as I entered, I spotted Tao deep in conversation with another man, who got up from his seat when I flashed Detective Stills’ badge. I showed Tao photos of Finch and Root, figuring I’d probably have to apply some pressure to get him to talk. But when he insisted that he’d never seen either of them before, I realized, to my surprise, that he was telling the truth.
So why had the Machine given me his number? Looking around, I saw the man who had been talking with Leon giving us a sidelong look, then turning and leaning in as he spoke in another man’s ear. A head tilt from the bartender directed my attention to a man at the bar who was holding a gun.
It all became clear. The Machine hadn’t sent me this number as a way of finding Finch; this was the next number to handle. Leon Tao was in danger, and the Machine sent me there to save him. Damn it! That means that I am the contingency. Harold’s plan, in case anything happened to him, was for me to continue rescuing people; he didn’t want me to try to find him.
Screw that! I decided I was going to pull Tao out of that bar and get back to work on locating Finch as quickly as possible. But Tao’s companion had other plans, telling me that Leon stole money from them. The swastika I saw on the guy’s wrist when he slammed his gun on the table gave me a pretty good indication who they are—the Aryan Brotherhood. And they meant business, so I had to take down all three of them before I walked out of the bar, Leon tagging behind me.
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I’m pissed at the Machine. At the next camera I encountered, I confronted it about not helping me find Harold—not that that action accomplished anything. Now I’m going to have to try to come up with another way to track down Harold.
Which meant I needed to ditch Leon so I could get back to searching. But I couldn’t just leave this guy on his own; anyone stupid enough to steal $8 million from the Aryan Brotherhood isn’t smart enough to keep himself alive. So I arranged for him to be picked up by the cops, and told Fusco to keep an eye on him.
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Back at the library, I went through all of the information that Finch gathered when we thought we were protecting Caroline Turing, trying to come up with another lead. When I looked closely at the driver’s license that Finch had pulled up, I realized that it was official, which probably means that Root paid someone at the DMV to produce it. Carter is going to check on that for me.
Then Fusco called to say that Leon had managed to escape from the police station by faking a heart attack. This guy has just enough brains to get himself killed, which means we have to save him again. I’m pretty sure that he’s gone to pick up his car, which was towed by the parking authorities. I hope Fusco is better at tracking Leon down again than he was at keeping an eye on him in the first place.
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Carter called back with the name of Owen Reynolds, the DMV employee that she thinks may have been the one who produced the fake license. Unfortunately, when I checked out his apartment, it was evident that he hadn’t been there for days.
But I can’t afford to focus on that right now, because I can’t reach Fusco, and Carter hasn’t seen him in hours. I’m guessing that Leon’s problem with the Aryan Brotherhood has sucked in the detective too. Wonderful. Now I have to go save them both.
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I tracked down the Brotherhood’s headquarters. The simplest approach seemed to be to let them capture me and take me inside. Sure enough, there were Fusco and Leon, tied up. Fusco even had a ball gag in his mouth. I offered to trade myself for the two of them, but as I expected, the guy in charge had no interest in that idea.
Instead, he told me he was going to sic his attack dog on me. He didn’t realize that I had an ace in the hole, because I could tell that the dog, a Belgian Malinois named Butcher, wasn’t really his, as its anxious behavior made it obvious that it didn’t respect him. Back in the Army, they used those dogs in my unit, and I learned that the breed is rare enough that I could safely assume the dog had been trained with Dutch commands. The look of astonishment on the guy’s face when the dog responded to my commands instead of his was certainly satisfying.
After that, it was a simple enough job to take care of the three Brotherhood thugs and rescue Leon and Fusco. After a moment’s thought, I decided I should rescue the dog as well, so I whistled for him and he came running. Once I find Finch, I’m going to see to it that this dog provides him with protection.
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Carter went to Owen Reynolds’ apartment again, and found that the day’s mail included a bill for a storage unit that he had rented. When I got there, with Leon in tow, we found Reynolds’ body seated in front of a computer. Another dead end.
In the hope that Root had paid Reynolds in advance, I set Leon to the task of tracking the payment Reynolds received from Root. But it turned out that Root paid him from his own account. Evidently she’s a brilliant hacker, so there’s no money track to follow back to her.
Then Carter called again to tell me that Corwin’s case file had gone missing, and all of the reports had been corrupted. That probably means that a government agent has turned up to muddy the waters.
All my leads on finding Finch had fizzled out—there was nothing left to pursue. And Brotherhood bikers were coming after me and Leon. I was at the end of my rope and as mad as hell. It was time to face down the Machine.
I stared down the next camera that I found, and gave the Machine an ultimatum. I don’t know if it can register sincerity or emotions when it observes people, but I was gambling that I could make my threat plain and clear—either you help me find Harold, or I’m done. I’ll die right here and now, and there will be no one to save the numbers. Find a way to work around the rules that Harold established, or it’s all over.
The nearby pay phone rang, and the Machine gave me another list of nine words. This number had better turn out to be one that actually leads me to Harold. But in the meantime, I needed to save Leon and myself from the Brotherhood.
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The Brotherhood caught up with us in a parking ramp. Their leader, the most enormous guy I’ve ever seen, was about to cream Leon when I intervened. But when I punched him in his gut it felt like my fist had connected with a tree trunk. It quickly became clear that I was going to lose this fight; he tossed me around like a rag doll. Thankfully, Carter showed up and took him out; I’m sure glad I had loaned her some of my weapons. Fusco turned up too. He certainly got a good chuckle out of the situation—given what he’s dealt with since I came on the scene, I suppose that’s only fair.
When we returned to the car, Leon was distraught to find that the dog had chewed up the bearer bonds. I certainly didn’t care, but it did give me the idea for a good name for the dog—Bear. I wish I could say that I thought Leon had learned enough from everything that had happened to stay out of trouble in the future, but I don’t hold out high hopes.
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May 20, 2012
I returned to the library to check out the number that the Machine gave me. It turned out it was the Social Security number of a Hanna Frey, a fourteen-year-old girl who disappeared in Bishop, Texas back in 1991. The case was never solved, and I think this girl must be the woman who now calls herself Root.
It might be useful to have an official presence in Texas to help with the investigation, so I went to Carter’s house again and told her to pack her bags. If this lead doesn’t take me to Harold, I don’t know what I’m going to do.