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“It’s a trap.” The voice sounded so real. Sameen Shaw scowled as she held the phone to her ear. Reese had warned her about The Machine’s new voice, but she picked up the call anyway. She trailed shaking fingers along the side of her neck. Smooth, unblemished skin. Shaw clenched the phone so tightly in her fist she was afraid it would shatter in her palm.
She swallowed, now however, was not the time. “How many?”
“At least seven heat signatures on the upper floor. Four more near the entrance. Harry is in…”
The nickname was a bridge too far, “Shut up.”
There was a pause. Where in life, there may have been a sharp intake of breath or a weary exhale at the outburst there was nothing but silence, “I understand you’re upset.”
“How could you possibly understand?” Shaw could barely wrap her head around this hollow ache in her chest. Reese actually flinched in the driver’s seat at her tone. “You’re a bunch of chips and processors. You’re plastic and wire.” She clenched her jaw. Now she was arguing with the damn thing like it was alive, no wonder it didn’t get how wrong this whole thing was.
“I’m supposed to look after you now.”
“Save it for one of your precious numbers,” Shaw growled and hung up the phone. She tossed it into the back seat for good measure.
Reese looked over at her, “Well?”
“It’s a trap.”
He nodded. Honestly, neither of them had needed The Machine to tell them that. “We’re still going in for Harold.”
“No shit.” Finch was the priority. He had always been the priority. She opened her door and made her way to the back of the car to pop the trunk.
“Shaw,” Reese began as he joined her. “I need to know your head is in this.”
She glanced over at him as she slammed the mag into a semiautomatic. “Then shut the fuck up and be sure you pick up any more calls from on high.”
He tensed his jaw but nodded all the same. They were all Finch had to depend on now. His life and the fate of the entire country hung in the balance tonight.
Washington had taken its toll on them all. But they, with a little help from Harper Rose and a few other friends, had gotten Finch and the President out alive. They had even managed to return to New York with what Finch claimed was the key to accessing Decima and ultimately Samaritan itself.
Shaw had immediately crashed in an off the grid motel the night before. She declined the offer of any of Finch’s safe houses. They held too many ghosts for her to handle at the moment. The next day however found her back in the subway.
Reese greeted her with a nod and a not so subtle once over. She wasn’t sure what he was looking for but after a brief look whatever curiosity he had was satisfied and he went back to cleaning the gun on his lap. Shaw walked past the subway car. She could hear Finch typing away inside. She found Bear at the end of the platform with Fusco. “Shaw,” He nodded as she knelt down to greet the dog. “I ah, have something for you.”
She looked up to see him holding out a leather jacket. She slowly stood up. Bear, sensing her unease remained by her side.
Fusco was holding out what she knew to be the jacket Root had been wearing when. She licked her lips. The jacket she had been wearing that day. Shaw reached out and took it from his hand. The leather felt cold. She stared at it as if it could somehow explain to her how they had ended up here. “Obviously they kept the guns and her phone in evidence but somehow that got left at the hospital when they took her away for burial.”
Shaw’s head snapped up at that, “Where?”
“Potter’s field,” Fusco grumbled. “They listed her as a Jane Doe. I didn’t know. I didn’t stick around after I called Reese. I had to go home and see Lee, after seeing her like,” Fusco swallowed. Shaw understood that it had been difficult for the detective to identify the body. “By the time I got back the next day they had already put it all in motion. I don’t even have a plot number yet, something about a server glitch…” He trailed off sucking in his cheeks for lack of a better explanation. She clenched her jaw. He locked his muscles as if expecting a blow. “Shaw I…”
“Not your fault,” She mumbled turning away and stomping towards the subway car.
Finch looked up from his workstation when she entered. “Ms. Shaw.”
“Get out.”
“What?” He stood up in alarm.
She pointed at the overhead monitors. “I need a minute with her.”
He shook his head and held up his hands in a placating gesture. “I cannot allow you to do anything reckless right now.”
“Little late for that lecture,” She snapped.
“The Machine is our only means of survival. Our only way to effectively combat Samaritan.”
“Give the lady what she wants, Harry,” The voice seeped from the speakers like poisoned honey. Shaw ground her teeth together at the sound of it.
“I don’t believe that is a wise idea,” He hedged.
“It won’t be the last time you feel that way I’m sure.”
Finch looked between the monitor and Shaw. “I’ll be right outside.”
“Great,” Shaw grumbled. She turned her back to him and focused on the monitor. In its reflection she watched as he nodded once and stepped past her and out into the station proper.
Shaw continued to glare up at the blinking cursor as the doors slid shut behind her. She knew Finch was hovering just outside of them but it was good enough for what she needed to do. “You couldn’t even give her a proper burial.”
“The circumstances were less than ideal. I had to prioritize operations.”
“Wow, we’re really just fucking pieces on a board to you.”
“That’s not true. I care about all of you, especially Root.”
“I want the chart.”
“What?”
“Her chart from the hospital. I know you have access to it. I want to see it.” Maybe if she knew everything she could make sense of how this happened.
“Sameen.”
“Don’t,” She snapped. The voice was bad enough but that was too far. She pulled her gun from her waistband. Finch slammed his hand against the door to the subway car. But The Machine didn’t release the locks.
“Ms. Shaw!” She could hear Reese and Fusco’s lumbering steps rushing to join him at the door.
She clicked the safety and pointed the gun at the rack of servers packed into the end of the car. “You and I both know in great detail what bullets do to flesh. Would a round to one of those be as catastrophic to you? Would it read as pain?”
“You don’t have to do this,” It almost, almost sounded like a sigh. One of the monitors was suddenly filled with an image pulled from the hospital server. Shaw stared up at the screen as a printer began running. “Getting the file isn’t the issue. I just don’t think you’ll find any comfort in it.”
Shaw lowered the gun, “Maybe you don’t know me as well as you think you do.”
“Maybe.” The monitor flashed once. “Do you need anything else from me? I’ll do anything you ask. You just have to tell me what you need.”
“You couldn’t do the one thing I ever needed from you.” She stomped over to the printer and pulled the stack of pages out. Once she had them in hand, the doors opened and Finch practically fell into the car.
He quickly moved to put himself between Shaw and the servers. “You cannot put our lives at risk threatening to damage The Machine just because you are not thinking clearly.”
Shaw sneered at him, “Save the do as I say not as I do lectures for someone else, Harold.” He sputtered but had the decency to look ashamed. She glanced back up at the blinking cursor. “You can do something else. Find me that burial plot number, or I’ll dig up every grave in that cemetery myself.”
“Samaritan will have agents watching.” It was a decent facsimile of panic.
“Then it can watch them die,” She turned her back to the monitors. “By tonight.”
She shouldered past Reese and Fusco and out the door. Her heels popped like shots across the concrete as she made her way towards the stairs. “Shaw,” Reese called after her.
She didn’t stop. Being there was becoming suffocating. She needed to get out and into the open air. “Shaw, stop.” His longer legs enabled him to catch up to her angry stride. He put a hand on her arm. She paused to shrug it off. “She’s right. They’ll be watching.”
“How is it that all of you are missing the fact that I don’t care?”
“Root wouldn’t want you to go off halfcocked and get yourself killed.”
She thought about a warm calloused hand in hers and swallowed. “There were a lot of things Root wanted.” She glared over her shoulder at him, “They don’t mean shit now.”
“Okay,” He sighed and reached into the lining of his jacket. Shaw watched as he pulled out a phone. Hers was still resting conveniently in the back seat of the car they had used to travel to DC.
Reese held out the black block. “At least take a phone.”
She scowled but palmed the device nonetheless. “Yours better be the only voice I hear on this thing.” Reese nodded. She spared a final glance back at Fusco and Finch who were silhouetted in the doorway of the subway car. She shook her head and stomped up the stairs.
She wandered the streets for a few hours before paying cash for a room in another grungy motel that fell within the dwindling boundaries of the shadow map. A quick pop into the bodega next door and she had a soggy sandwich and a forty of some cheap malt liquor to keep her and the roaches company. After unplugging the phone and checking the room for cameras, she settled on the stained bedspread to read.
The file didn’t give her much solace after all. Two gunshot wounds from high caliber weapons. Right hip, clearly from the canon that had unloaded on them in the street. Shaw scowled. She hadn’t even realized Root had been hit. She had been too focused on getting her and Finch to safety. She had assumed that once they were in the car that Root would slip away from Samaritan’s goons like smoke just like every other time.
She took a sip of her rapidly warming liquor. The second wound was to the upper right chest. Sniper rifle based on the caliber and Finch’s story. Root had swerved the car so it would hit her instead of him. Idiot.
Neither wound would have been immediately fatal. She skimmed the intake notes. The paramedics had managed to clamp off a nicked artery and had given her several units of fluid in the ambulance. Shaw flipped the page. Root had made it to surgery in critical condition. Made it off the table the same way. She skipped over the pages of after surgery instructions and medications, to what she really needed to know.
Heart failure.
After all that, Root’s heart had just given out. Not a bang but a whimper. The officer placed on guard duty at her door, an Officer Wozniak, had heard the monitors going off and had gone in to begin CPR until the crash unit followed moments later. Even that quick level of response hadn’t been swift enough. Nothing they did could bring Root back.
Shaw threw the file against the wall. It was a fucking waste. After everything. She closed her eyes. Such a fucking waste.
She didn’t know how long she sat in that room before the ringing of the cell phone registered with her. Shaw pulled the device out of her pocket and poked the screen. She recognized the number as one of Reese’s regular mission phones. With a quick tap she accepted the call. “Somebody better be bleeding.”
“Shaw.”
“I thought I made it clear I didn’t want to hear from you.”
“Please.”
“The grave site,” She swallowed, “Did you find it?”
“No.”
“Guess I’m going digging.” She swung her legs to the side of the bed and stood up.
“Shaw, don’t please. It isn’t safe.” God, it even sounded desperate. Not even in seven thousand attempts did Samaritan get that tone quite right. It slid like tar over her skin, threatening to smother her.
“Nowhere is safe,” She shouted. She shuddered as the neighbor banged on the wall in protest of being woken up. Shaw ran her fingers along her neck. Smooth, unblemished skin. She closed her eyes and breathed in through her nose and out of her mouth for several cycles. “Safety is a lie. A placebo we feed the weak to keep them in line like everything else.”
“Sameen.”
She threw the phone down on to the bed. It bounced like a rock skipping along a pond and wedged itself halfway under one of the lumpy pillows. A tinny, “Please don’t go,” floated up to her.
“Why worried daddy won’t make it with one less gun around?” Shaw shrugged on Root’s jacket. She moved to gather her paltry arsenal. She couldn’t stay here.
“I’m worried about you.” That was clearer. Apparently, She had full access to the speakers.
Shaw snorted, “Sure you are.” She walked towards the door. Something made her pause with her hand on the tarnished, brass knob. She glanced over her shoulder at the phone on the bed. If she left it there Reese would have no direct way to contact her if the boys needed her.
With a growl she stomped back over to the bed. She angrily snatched the phone up. She stared at the screen knowing something was staring back at her. “Tell Reese I’ll check in in a couple of days. But if this thing rings again he better be the one on the line or neither of you will hear from me again.” Her thumb hovered over the power button.
“Alright, Sameen.” After a beat. “Please look after yourself.”
“I always do.”
Three weeks passed before she saw any of them again. “Thank you for coming Ms. Shaw,” Finch greeted her as she stepped back into the subway. She warily eyed the train car. It looked like Finch had been preparing to move it.
“I’m here because the mission isn’t over. No other reason.” There was a tiny part of her that was half inclined to put a bullet in Finch herself. She didn’t know if it was anger over his role in losing Root or remnants of Samaritan’s mind fuck, but either way she wasn’t looking to tempt fate by hanging around when it wasn’t necessary.
“Be that as it may I am still grateful.”
She didn’t look at him, choosing to go and greet Bear instead. The dog eagerly licked at her face and hands, having missed her after yet another extended absence. “So what’s the big plan?”
“I’ll explain everything in a moment. We’re just waiting on Detective Fusco and Mister Reese to return.”
“Fine,” She snapped. Shaw ambled over to the bench with Bear at her side. She pointedly did not look at the subway car.
After about twenty minutes Reese and Fusco finally appeared. A white paper sack was tossed in her lap. “A little bird said you looked hangry,” Reese teased.
“Meddling bitch,” Shaw mumbled around a mouthful of fries. Though if Reese understood her, he didn’t acknowledge it.
“Now that we’re all here we can begin.”
“Please tell me we’re going to get some long overdue payback,” Fusco grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest.
“The Machine and I have indeed determined what we feel is the optimal scenario with which to bring Samaritan down once and for all.”
“Sounding great so far,” Fusco replied.
“Yes, well it will require each of us working in tandem. Samaritan may have wormed its way into a great many civilian devices but if we corrupt its core code at the source none of it will matter. As such we’ll be launching a multipronged strike against several primary server farms. The very backbone of the beast if you will.”
Shaw scowled. “Root said Decima had built server farms all over the world. That just blowing up one here would do nothing to stop Samaritan.”
“That’s correct. Simply destroying a facility or two would not be enough. However, we’ve developed a virus based on a rotating phase algorithm and Samaritan’s own code. If we upload it simultaneously at three key locations here in the city, as well as at key locations in Hong Kong, Munich, and Johannesburg, Samaritan’s entire network will become compromised. There will be nowhere it can hide where the virus cannot follow. Samaritan will die in a manner of days.”
“Greer is not just going to let it die.”
Finch nodded, “He will of course have to be eliminated as well.”
“Okay, but I only see four of us,” Fusco chimed in. “I’m no Brainiac but you named six locations. It doesn’t add up.”
“We get by with a little help from our friends,” The Machine finally spoke. The monitors flared to life showing pictures of Harper Rose, Tatsuro Daizo, and Tomas Koroa filling the screens. “I did a bit of outreach and our friends are already in position in the cities Harold listed.”
Reese rubbed his jaw, “Leaving the three New York facilities to us.”
“I aint exactly the best on the computer,” Fusco sighed.
“It’s fine Detective.” Finch held up a flash drive. “The virus is plug and play. You get this to the command center, plug it in and in five minutes the job is done.”
Shaw crossed her arms over her chest. “But we have to last those five minutes. And get to the room to begin with.”
“That may prove to be a challenge, yes,” Finch acknowledged.
“What about Greer?”
“He’ll be in Decima’s administrative headquarters,” The Machine answered. Tomas’ photo disappeared and the image of a skyscraper downtown took its place. “There’s a stockholders meeting on Thursday.”
“Mister Reese and I will handle that facility.”
“No way,” Shaw protested. She was owed some payback. She needed to watch Greer bleed.
Finch sighed. “I understand your special motivation given the situation, Ms. Shaw.” She scoffed at him. “But we actually need you to go to the facility in Jersey City.”
Plans for the complex in question soon appeared on the monitor as The Machine took over explanations, “It’s the largest complex. And it will take the longest to fight your way to the proper server room. You have the best odds of success.”
Shaw scowled, “Sure I do.”
“You may not like it but this is the best option for our mission’s success,” Finch scolded her.
“I swear it, Sam.” The damn thing sounded far too much like Root just then.
Shaw clenched her jaw, “Fine. But I don’t plan on wasting my time on kneecaps.”
“This is a by any means necessary operation,” Finch conceded. “Whatever it takes we get the virus uploaded. You’ll also be carrying a good measure of plastic explosives to leave as a parting gift.”
She pointed to the monitor. “There’s no way you two are gonna get any ordinance into that building.” Greer was too smart for that. In fact, his appearance was most likely a trap of his own.
“They won’t have to,” The Machine replied. "I arranged for Root to go on a little shopping trip just before you came home."
Shaw smiled at the image of a missile launcher now on screen. “Be sure you shove that thing right up Greer’s wrinkled ass.”
“You always have the best ideas.”
Shaw rolled her eyes.
Three days later Shaw and Reese were carrying the rest of their gear through the sewers. The subway station had been cleared out just in case. What they had in their hands and on their backs was the last of their arsenal. The Machine had relocated herself without revealing her new position to any of them, so that no one could be used to track her down should they fail to achieve their mission and were captured.
Shaw clenched her jaw. She wasn’t planning on failing. And she’d put a bullet in her head before she became Samaritan’s lab rat again. She knew the others felt the same.
“This is my stop,” Reese said as they reached a t-shaped junction. “Take care of yourself.”
“Worry about your own ass,” She huffed.
“Why would you miss me?”
She shook her head, “You spent too much time with Root while I was away.”
He chuckled, “She’d probably agree with you on that.” He adjusted the strap on the bag slung over his shoulder. “I’m sorry she wasn’t here to see this.”
Shaw nodded but didn’t say anything. What was there to say? Root was gone. Reese smiled sadly at her and turned to walk away. She grabbed his arm. Shaw waited until he was looking her in the eye to speak, “You get Greer in your sights you don’t hesitate to end this.”
Reese nodded, “I’ll get it done Shaw.”
She squeezed his arm. “Be sure that you do.”
He grinned, “I’ll see you at the safe house in the morning. We’ll drink all of Finch’s scotch.”
“Not if I get to it first.”
“You’re all heart, Shaw.” He turned towards the tunnel that would take him to Finch’s waiting car.
She snorted, “That’s a first.”
He shook his head, “I can think of someone who would have argued otherwise.”
Shaw let out a deep breath, “Smash some shit for her.”
He saluted, “See you on the other side.”
Shaw watched until he disappeared from sight. Then she turned and started towards where she knew a van full of C4 was waiting for her. “Don’t worry. I’ll be looking after them, Sameen.”
“Stop calling me that.”
The fight through the Samaritan facility was bloody as predicted. Their blood not hers. Occasionally, The Machine would update her on the other’s progress. Harper, Daizo and Tomas were already in position. Fusco was within five meters of his goal and Shaw, she smiled as she popped off three shots dropping two more bodies. She was almost to the promised land.
She took a moment to reload her gun. She did a mental inventory. One mag for the semi-auto left. The shotgun had been ditched two firefights ago. She had two mags for the .45. Her backup was still loaded and strapped to her ankle. She took a deep breath and pressed on through the open door of her target.
There was one ginger minion, with a stupid hipster beard, waiting in the server room. He was frantically pounding away at a keyboard with his left hand, his right wrapped around a Glock. He was making so much noise in fact that he didn’t hear her walking up behind him. “Hey Children of the Corn.” He looked up at her in confusion. She unloaded five shots into his chest before he could raise the gun. He dropped like a stone.
She tilted her head. Maybe that was a bit of overkill, but there was something about the guy she just didn’t like.
Shaw stepped over his body, making sure to kick the Glock away from his hand just in case. “Start the upload,” The Machine whispered in her ear. Shaw repressed a shudder as she pulled the flash drive Finch had given her, from her pocket and inserted it into the system. The monitor flared to life. She kept her eyes and her gun trained on the door as the program ran its course.
“Mission green. Get out of there, Shaw.”
She was the first to make it to the safe house. She had asked The Machine how things were going for the others but hadn’t gotten more than a text stating that the mission was a success and that the safe house was clear in reply. She honestly didn’t know if that was a good or bad sign for the rest of the team’s prospects. Bear had been waiting and happy to see her at least.
She pulled out a med kit and began tending to her wounds. She had managed to come out fairly well with just a couple of grazes all things considered. After a quick stitch and patch she cracked open one of Finch’s prized bottles of scotch and settled in to wait for the others. After about two hours there was the sound of a key in the lock. Bear stood up, his ears pinned to the back of his head. She trained her gun on the door just in case and slowly stood up.
After a beat, Fusco stumbled through the door. He had so much Kevlar on he looked like the Michelin Man’s brawny, blue cousin. There was blood slowly trickling down his thigh, however. “Hey, Tiny,” He greeted her. “Little help here?”
She rushed to help him to a seat. “Where were you hit?”
“Graze on my left arm.” He sucked in a pained breath. “One of those assholes lobbed a grenade at me when I was on the way out. Shrapnel shredded the vest on my right side.” He gestured to strips of stained gauze around his arm and thigh, “I patched up what I could in the car but there’s a fair bit in my side and I think my ribs are broken.”
“Okay,” Shaw pressed the bottle of scotch into his hand. “Start getting numb while I sort this out. I’ll give you some morphine after I’m done.” It wasn’t the best mix with the alcohol but there wasn’t a local in the med kit. He was going to need something to take the edge off.
"Haven't had a drink in years," He grumbled. He flinched as Shaw moved him into a better position so she could get to work, "Awe hell, I'll go to a meeting next week." Fusco took a healthy swig as she began removing his vest. He practically chugged the bottle when she palpitated his ribs and then began pulling metal shards from his side with a set of forceps. “John? Glasses?” He asked to distract himself. Shaw shook her head. “What about the Magic 8 Ball?”
“Just a text confirming Samaritan was down and this place was still secure a few hours ago.” She dropped the last bit of metal to the ground and reached for the suture kit. Shaw made quick work of the stitches. He had a lot of cuts but they were shallow for the most part due to the vest. She didn’t look at him as she asked, “You?”
“Same,” He grunted as he shifted in his seat. “They didn’t make it did they?”
She tensed her jaw, “It hasn’t been twenty-four hours yet.” She didn’t even sound convincing to her own ears.
He snorted, “Your comforting tone needs some work.”
She grinned despite the heavy air surrounding them. “Being left with me must be your worst nightmare.”
“Is not so bad,” He drawled, the alcohol clearly beginning to kick in. “We’ve still got the dog.”
“I called dibs on Bear a long time ago, Lionel.” She began to prep a syringe. “Get ready to say night, night.”
“Hey Tiny,” Fusco tossed a small parcel into her lap two days later. It was wrapped in plain brown paper. No stamps, no address, no transport markings of any kind.
“The hell is this?” She scowled. Her name was typed dead center of the box, in blocky, black font.
“It was on the stoop by the door when I let the dog out.” He frowned, “You think it’s loaded?”
“A fine thing to consider after you threw it at me, Lionel,” She grumbled. Someone knew they were there. But they hadn’t come in, and the alarms hadn’t been triggered. She reached for the cell phone on the coffee table. She opened up the texting app.
This present from you?
After a beat she received a reply. You need a new hobby, Sameen.
Even though she hated herself for it, she could hear Root’s voice as she read the text. She looked up at Fusco, “It’s apparently legit.”
“Well, open it.”
She rolled her eyes. “You are such a child.” But she pulled a knife from her pocket and cleanly severed the paper and then the tape holding the top of the box closed. She opened the flaps to see a stack of bills, several credit cards and what looked like a passport stacked inside. She held up the money for Fusco to see.
He grinned, “So you’re buying dinner?”
She rolled her eyes and checked the passport. Her own face frowned up at her from the photo. Sameen Lenox? There were worse names she supposed. The credit cards were in the same name.
She tossed the passport at Fusco. He opened it and snorted, “Thirty-two, really?”
She grinned, “It’s not that far off.”
“Women always want to be younger,” He shook his head and tossed the booklet back at her. She caught it with one hand. “Is that it?” He leaned over a bit to look inside the box.
She shifted it in her lap. There was a wallet of some kind still inside. Black leather. She picked it up. It was heavier than she thought it would be. Maybe there was more cash inside? Shaw snorted. Not like she hadn’t earned some hazard pay. She flipped it open. “You have got to be kidding me.”
The uniforms tended to scatter when she made her way through the precinct. She’d only been on the job for a week, but Detective Lenox already had a reputation for being a bit of a hard ass. It may have had something to do with a hose jockey at her first crime scene, an arson in the meat packing district, who had gotten a bit handsy and left the site in his own ambulance.
“This Officer Wozniak is a ghost,” She announced as she slapped a personnel file down on their shared desk. Not only was she a cop now, but The Machine had made sure she was Fusco’s new partner.
He looked up from the file he was reading. “Why do you want to find the guy so bad?” Sure it was a little weird that he was long gone by the time Fusco had made it to the hospital but Cocoa Puf- Root. He shook his head. Respect was owed. Root was still gone.
“I just need to know that it was quick,” Shaw swallowed. “She didn’t deserve...”
Fusco held up a hand, “I’m sure it was. It’s no use thinking any different.”
“I’d rather be sure.” Everything in Root’s chart looked on the up and up. She had gone over it enough times to know that. Shaw still didn’t know where she was buried. But this guy was the last loose end on the hospital side of things.
He sighed, “And this Wozniak has just vanished?”
“Poof!” She nodded and leaned across the desk, “What if he was Decima?” What if he did something to Root, was left unsaid.
“Then we’ll find him,” Fusco promised. “But we still have friends to look for.”
Fusco and Shaw kept their eyes open for the next couple of weeks. Emergency crews continued to dig bodies out of the rubble at Samaritan Central. The official word on the incident was domestic terrorism. It was a logical assumption given a missile had been captured slamming into the building just before it blew by several tourists with handy cell phones. Shaw hoped that Control’s replacement loved that particular pain in the ass.
Twenty days in, the emergency workers at the site found Reese. Shaw had identified the remains. Lionel was going to go in with her but when it came down to it he couldn’t bring himself to go in and be the one to confirm the loss of yet another friend.
The body on the slab was in a bad way, rubble had clearly fallen on him during the blast, and being left to lay around surely hadn't helped matters. But by some miracle there was no mistaking the face. John Reese was dead. Shaw rubbed the side of her neck as she stared down at him. Nothing but smooth, unblemished skin under her hand.
She clicked her tongue against her teeth, “I hope Carter is kicking your ass right now.”
They buried him on a Tuesday. It was a cloudy, sort of gray day. Zoe was there, as was a psychiatrist named Iris who Fusco explained had been involved with Detective Riley. More cops showed up than Shaw would have thought. She never pegged John for being much of a people person during his day job. Life really had moved on while she was stuck at Camp Samaritan she supposed. Near the end of the service Shaw caught sight of Leon Tao of all people sneaking into the back row. He was holding up his cell phone as if he was filming things. He flinched when he noticed her noticing him. He was gone before they lowered the casket.
Finch took a bit longer to turn up.
Fusco had been checking hospital records for any John Does during his down time. Eventually he ran across a record of a guy who’d shown up in an ER in Jersey two days after the explosion that fit the bill. A road trip and a flash of their badges later and they had the address for a one, Martin Sparrow, current resident of a Magnolia Estates, Assisted Living Facility.
Fusco whistled as Shaw pulled their unmarked car up the circular drive in front of the large, manor like, building. She double parked not far from the front door. There were some perks to being a cop. “This is an old folks home?”
“It’s an in-patient care facility specializing in patients with cognitive disorders, Lionel,” Shaw grunted as she turned off the engine. “There is a difference.” She opened her door and stepped out into the warm afternoon sunshine. She took a moment and stretched her back after a couple of hours in the car.
Fusco came to stand beside her. He gestured towards the stately building, “You calling this small?” They moved in unison towards the stairs. “My entire pension probably wouldn’t cover one year here.” He held the door open for her and waved her through, “Think they give the old guys their jello in little silver cups?”
She shook her head at him and stepped towards the admittance desk. The blonde sitting behind it smiled brightly at the two of them. “Good afternoon. Welcome to Magnolia Estates. How can I help you today?”
Shaw flashed her badge, “Detectives Lenox and Fusco, NYPD. We’re following up on a welfare check on one of your residents.”
“Oh my,” The woman held a hand to her chest. “I assure you all are residents are A-Okay.”
Shaw fought not to roll her eyes as Fusco snickered. “I’m sure they are. But we’re specifically looking for a Martin Sparrow?”
“Oh Marty is a doll,” He woman beamed. She leaned over and picked up the receiver for her desk phone. “Let me give Janice, his floor supervisor a call and she can take you two to see for yourselves.”
“Thanks,” Fusco nodded.
Janice was just as perky as the receptionist. “I can’t believe anyone would think Marty was in any trouble. He’s a doll.”
“So we’ve heard,” Shaw grumbled.
“What’s he in for?” Fusco asked as the trio stepped off the elevator.
Janice laughed, “Someone spends too much time around prisons. Marty was a voluntary admittance. Poor dear has some memory issues. He was in an accident before he came to us, took a pretty bad knock to the noggin. And then the doc’s found,” She lowered her voice, “Signs of early onset Alzheimer’s.”
Shaw frowned, “Is he lucid?”
“Oh of course. Smart fella. Great conversationalist. He can tell you all sorts of stuff about art and science. He just loses the thread when it comes to anything personal.”
“He doesn’t know who he is?”
“He gets a little confused about the details,” She chuckled, “You’d think he was two different people.” Fusco and Shaw exchanged a look. She stopped in front of a door marked 314. “Here we go.”
Marty was sitting in a high-backed armchair near a large bay window. He was dressed in navy blue silk pajamas and a fuzzy maroon bathrobe. Most curious were the bunny slippers on his feet. He blinked owlishly at them as they stepped into the room. “Mister Sparrow, these nice Detectives need to talk to you for a minute.”
“Of-of course,” He stammered.
“I’ll be right outside the door,” Janice smiled kindly. “You just holler if you need anything.”
“Thank you, Janice,” He replied with a smile of his own. She nodded and stepped out of the room. The smile slid from his face when she closed the door. “I know you.” He squinted at the pair of detectives in confusion.
“Yeah, you could say that, Glasses,” Fusco replied. It really was Finch. “Good to see you alive and well.”
Finch frowned, “Was there some doubt to that?” He lifted a shaking hand to his face to push his glasses higher on his nose. The frames were larger and thicker than the ones he typically wore. “I’m sorry. My memory is a bit lacking. I was apparently in an accident recently.”
Shaw and Fusco shared a brief look, “Yes,” She began. “That’s why we’re here actually. To check on you because of your accident. What do you remember?”
“Not much I’m afraid.” He looked down at his lap. “I worked at a university in the city. Professor of Computer Sciences.”
“Yeah you’re a real wiz with that stuff,” Fusco replied.
Finch smiled, “So I’m told.” He gestured towards a tablet on the windowsill. “I don’t get up to much on that. I mainly read the paper, and some birding journals.” He stared off into space, “I miss the feel of actual paper in my hands.”
Shaw cleared her throat, “You used to hang out a lot in libraries.”
“That sounds…right,” Finch canted his head to the side. His eyes narrowed as he stared at her, “Sam. You’re a Sam right?”
“That’s right,” Shaw nodded. She unconsciously brushed her fingers against the side of her neck. She found nothing but smooth, unblemished skin.
Finch smiled at the accomplishment. He tapped the side of his head, “It’s still in there. My code’s just a little scrambled.”
Fusco tucked his hands into his pockets and rocked on the balls of his feet. “But you’re doing okay?”
“Of course. You don’t have to worry about me. I’m in good hands here.” He brushed his left hand against the windowsill, “The view is nice.” His room looked over a vast green yard, dotted here and there with large oak and maple trees. “I like being able to see outside.” He frowned, “I don’t believe my office had many windows.”
Fusco snorted. Before he could reply there was a knock on the door. Janice popped her head in. “I’m sorry Detectives, but Mitchel is here to take Martin to therapy. We’ve got to keep the old boy’s hips moving.”
Finch grimaced, “There’s only so much movement in them. No matter how many afternoons spent Jazzercising.”
Shaw stifled a grin. She couldn’t see uptight Finch doing anything as pedestrian as Jazzercise. Fusco full on chuckled. “Don’t let us keep you.”
A younger African American man pushed a wheelchair into the room. “Come on Professor Sparrow. I think we’ll take a walk around the grounds today.”
“It would be much preferred,” Finch drawled. He turned his attention to Fusco and Shaw once he was settled in the seat. “Thank you both for coming. I hope your curiosity was satisfied.”
“We’re good as long as you’re happy here,” Fusco replied.
“Then all is well,” Finch smiled. He looked at Shaw, “If you’d ever like to discuss your paper again, Sam, my door is always open. I never mind speaking with such a bright student.”
Shaw bit her lip, “Of course Professor. Thank you.”
He shrugged, “No trouble. It’s my job.”
“Awe jeez,” Fusco rubbed his brow as soon as Finch and the young man were gone.
Janice shrugged, “Today was a good day.”
“That was good?” Fusco scowled, “He didn’t know where he was there at the end. A few months ago that guy was the smartest man I knew.”
“I’m sure he still is,” She sighed. “But it’s the way it goes sometimes in cases like his. The brain injury compounded with his illness,” Janice clicked her tongue. “The decline can be insidiously quick.”
Shaw nodded as she picked up a pair of binoculars that had been resting on the windowsill by his seat. Janice nodded towards them, “His niece brought him those the other day. He really enjoys birdwatching.”
“Niece?” Fusco grunted later as they made their way to the car.
“Zoe maybe?” Shaw shrugged. “She’s resourceful enough to track down a John Doe and put the pieces together like we did.” She opened the door and slid into the driver’s seat, “Maybe Harper. We don’t know what happened to her after everything.”
“You think we should move him or something?”
Shaw clenched her jaw as she started the car, “There’s no one to hide him from anymore.”
“Can we really be sure? Glasses had a life before all this rock ‘em sock ‘em robots crap went down.”
“You forget, She’s still out there.” Shaw didn’t have to elaborate as to who she was. “His safety has always been her first priority.” Not that Shaw was bitter about that or anything.
“Guess you’d know better than me,” He agreed. “So you want to go grab a burger or something?”
Life as a cop actually suited Shaw. Perhaps it shouldn’t have been a surprise after her work with the numbers. But as the months passed she found that she enjoyed the profession. She ended up shooting far fewer people than she’d like but everybody had to make sacrifices in life.
But today was her day off and she was spending it with her best friend. She and Bear were on their way back to their apartment after a morning spent chasing squirrels in the park. Shaw glanced down at the oversized watch on her wrist. Eleven forty-five, if she hurried she might be able to slip into the deli on the corner before the lunch rush struck in full. The leather sleeve of her jacket slid down and over her hand. She frowned and pushed it back up. She could never bring herself to have Root’s jacket altered to fit her shorter frame. Damn stupid gangly-armed amazon.
She was just about to pass a payphone when it began to ring. Her steps slowed. A part of her hoped the ringing would stop. But it went on, almost seeming to grow in volume the closer she got. Finally, Shaw stopped next to the ringing telephone. Bear looked up at her and whimpered. “I know, Buddy.” She sighed and picked up the receiver.
“Hey, Sweetie.”
“The first time I hear from you in months and you want to start like that?” She grumbled in reply. Not so much as a text and now the damn thing was back aping Root.
“I thought you’d grown to enjoy my particular brand of charm?”
“If you mean your knock off Root routine, not so much.” She’d accepted that The Machine was honoring Root in her own way with it. Hell, the woman herself would have been insufferably smug over the fact that god sounded like her now. Still didn’t mean Shaw had to like it.
“Someone’s cranky.”
“Cut the comedy act, Skynet. Why are you calling?”
“As you said it’s been months.” The voice wavered the slightest bit. It was almost human. “I thought it was time for us to reconnect.”
Shaw snorted, “What your new minions not measuring up?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“I know you know we found Finch. I also know you have someone checking up on him. His niece?” She had visited him a few times since she and Fusco had made the first trip. She never managed to run into the woman, but there was always a new book or gadget from her in Finch’s room when Shaw stopped by.
There was a pause. A rustling on the line. Shaw frowned, that was a little weird. Before she could think too much about it, the voice returned. “You didn’t happen to ask what Harry’s niece looked like did you?”
“Should I have?” Bear tugged on his leash. She looked down at him. His tail was wagging a mile a minute. He looked up at her and let out a little yip, and then tugged on the leash again. “Bear, chill.”
“Well, since it would have ruined the surprise…”
“What are you going on about?” Bear barked again and this time Shaw looked up. The receiver fell from her hand. An apparition was standing across the street. “Root?”
Shaw shook her head. She had finally cracked.
The vision or hallucination started to make her way across the street. She was sporting a black trench coat and a watery smile. Shaw closed her eyes. “It’s not real. She’s not real.”
Shaw reached up and ran her fingers along the side of her neck. Smooth, unblemished skin greeted the caress. Another hand joined hers, “I’m real. I’m here, Sameen.”
She blinked up at her, “How?”
“I was in a bad way.” Root swallowed. There were tears in her eyes. “I was a liability to all of you. I had to be taken out of play. It was the only way she could think of with so little time.”
“Lionel saw you.” Shaw licked her suddenly dry lips. “In the morgue. He saw your body.”
“You know the wonders a syringe full of aconitine with an atropine chaser can do. I was fortunate that Leon was close to the hospital and willing to help The Machine out for a price.” She looked down at their feet. She was uncharacteristically tentative. As if afraid Shaw would turn on her at any moment. It probably wasn’t the most off base assumption given the news and their history.
When Shaw didn’t say anything else Root began to ramble. “I swear I didn’t mean to be away so long. But I had to heal. Then I had to get Harry squared away. I barely got him out of that explosion in time.” So that was how he had escaped Samaritan HQ without Reese and sporting a nasty head injury. “With the head injury and then his diagnosis he needed me there with him. And then there were a few stray Samaritan agents to round up. After everything you and Lionel had already been through we couldn’t ask any more of you. You had earned a fresh start.”
“And you didn’t want to be a part of that?” Shaw ground out through clenched teeth.
“It’s the only thing I wanted,” Root swore. “But I had to make sure you were safe first.”
“Am I?” Shaw rubbed at her neck again. “Things tend to go to hell around you.”
Root looked away. “Sameen, I-I,” She stuttered. For once at a loss for what to say.
There was nothing but smooth, unblemished skin under Shaw’s fingertips. Thank god. “Are a fucking idiot?” Root whipped her head around to gape at her. She smirked. “Yeah, I know.” And then Shaw was kissing her. They were both finally back where they belonged.