Chapter One: One of the Good Guys
"Mr. Reese," Harold Finch spoke into his cell phone, "we have another number."
It was a few minutes past 7 a.m. on a chilly late-winter morning.
"Another number," John Reese parroted. "Guess I'm not shocked."
It had only been nine hours since they wrapped up their previous number. Reese had taken quite a beaten, was sleep deprived, and was physically exhausted. But he was trained to respond when called. And that's exactly how he responded to his boss in this instance.
Harold Finch noted that in his mind.
John paused to see if his boss would add information. There was nothing immediately.
Finch pulled his phone away from his ear and looked at it to see if they were still connected. He saw they were then spoke, "When can you be here?"
"Shortly," John answered.
John Reese was always a man of few words. Soft spoken and sullen, John had been trained in his former life in the Army Special Forces and CIA to keep his thoughts, questions, and opinions to himself. He spoke only when he believed he needed to.
"Try to get here as quickly as possible," Finch said.
"Okay, Mr. Finch," John responded.
Finch was startled by the noise coming from the hall leading into the room in the old abandoned library where they planned their operations and where he sat during their call. He could hear John's voice in the phone and echoing across the room.
"Mr. Reese?" Finch said, doing a whole-body turn to see the cause of the rustling noise, seeing John coming into his line of sight. "You startled me. I didn't know you had arrived already."
"Finch," John nodded, smiling slightly and looking around the room for a new picture tacked to the wall. He always said Harold Finch's last name in lieu of a hello or a good morning.
Old pictures with strings leading to social security numbers adorned the dusty, grey room. They were reminders of people on the Inconsequential List before Harold Finch had heeded the concerns of his best friend and partner, Nathan Ingram, who had himself found his way on that particular list and subsequent demise.
Harold Finch, suffering the effects of a spinal cord injury from a car accident that he had never spoken about with anyone, tried to withhold as much information as he could because he knew that knowledge was dangerous—particularly knowledge of The Machine. He learned that the hard way with Nathan.
Their car accident two years ago was no accident. Nathan had died, and Finch pretended the same fate for himself. Anyone with knowledge of The Machine wouldn't live to tell about it. So Finch tried to protect Reese as he had done years ago with his fiancée, Grace, and now Nathan's son, Will.
Finch, an intensely private man, shared nothing outside the job with Reese. He knew that Reese was gathering Intel on him, which he didn't like but respected. In Finch's opinion, any decent agent who had been lied to and deceived as much as John Reese had, had every right to thoroughly investigate everything in his world, which included him now. He also knew that there was no way Reese would ever find out everything about him.
Harold Finch had been Harold Wren in his earlier days at MIT. When moving to the next phase of his life (making lots of money), Harold Wren then changed his name to Harold Finch. Yes, he had something for birds. His days prior to being Harold Wren were details of an earlier life he had told no one—not even Nathan.
Finch, however, knew everything about this man before him who preferred the alias John Reese over all the others he had. He had been following Reese for quite some time and believed he was perfect for the job of saving people whose numbers were picked by The Machine and placed on the Inconsequential List. John, too, had been double-crossed by the very ones he worked for, had an attempt on his life, and pretended to be dead.
In that respect, John Reese and Harold Finch were the perfect partners…whoever they really were.
"You look terrible, Mr. Reese," Finch stated matter of factly. He was careful not to put too much emotion in his words of concern for his new partner. Reese always rebuffed words of concern for him.
Finch was beginning to regard Reese the same way he thought of Nathan—even on one occasion while tripping on ecstasy referring to him as Nathan. That was the highest form of compliment in Finch's mind because he regarded Nathan with the highest esteem. While high, Finch recognized that Reese hadn't taken advantage of the situation to pry into his boss's personal business. For that—and of course for his steadfast commitment to the job—Harold Finch had grown to care about his new chosen partner.
Reese stood before him silent. There wasn't really a counter to the obvious statement of how bad he looked. He hadn't really thought about it. The military taught him how to compartmentalize everything…pain, love, fright, sorrow, happiness…and focus only on the task at hand.
So, Reese was conditioned to apply bandages only when he needed to stop blood flow, treat only the wounds that looked infected, and run hard even with bullet holes in his body. He was particularly adept, however, at not feeling emotions…one of the best the US military had ever seen.
Until he met Jessica.
With Jessica, John Reese had learned to feel love. Reese had no family and didn't know what love felt like. Her love for him wouldn't retreat into a tidy little box in his brain. It was ever-present, cloaking him like skin.
So, he was going to give it all up for her.
But then on September 11, 2001, the twin towers came down.
Reese's obligation to his country pulled him away from Jessica and back into the service. He told her not to wait for him because he was prepared to die for his country. But five years later, John Reese found himself in the CIA as a special operations agent who carried out every single assignment given to him—no matter who he had been asked to assassinate or how brutal the death was scripted to be. He kept his feelings for Jessica underneath his skin.
Nine years after the towers came crashing down, Jessica had unexpectedly reached out to John for help. He told her he would come immediately, but the CIA rejected his request for a family emergency leave. They were sending him and his partner, Agent Kara Stanton, to China to retrieve a package. That's all they were told. His CIA boss, Mark Snow, quickly reminded Reese that he had no family, thus no family emergency.
John had called Jessica back but had to leave her a voice message promising that he would get back to her as soon as he returned from that job.
But the CIA had other plans.
Their mission was a death trap; the partners were supposed to take out one another. Reese couldn't do it, couldn't betray his partner—no matter what she had done to be compromised. But Agent Stanton was a good soldier and didn't feel the same allegiance toward her partner.
With his back to her, Agent Stanton shot John on the side of his lower back. John had laughed at the irony of each agent being completely deceived…neither one realizing until that point that they were inconsequential to the United States military. The CIA had wanted them both dead for some unknown reason. The military had lied to each of them; neither one had actually been compromised. Holding his bloody side, Reese looked from the hilltop where he had run to get away from the trap set by his own government. The building that housed the package—and where Stanton still was—burst into flames as the US military discharged their bombs. They wanted everyone and everything associated with the packaged wiped from the face of the earth.
At that very moment, John Reese knew he could trust no one and realized that he was then completely alone. There was no one who would come to save him.
So he would be among the dead.
After recovering for a short period of time, John had covertly found his way back into the states. He immediately went to Jessica. But he was too late.
Jessica was dead.
John had failed her.
He had seen and done a lot in his years of service to the United States military. But it was Jessica who had been the one person who connected him to the world. She made him feel alive amongst all the death. She had made him feel that he could be a better person despite all the bad things he had done. She made him believe he was doing right by his country.
Upon hearing the news of Jessica's death, John Reese actually felt that something had switched on in his mind.
The human brain is funny that way. People can accept doing bad things for good reasons. But when the line between good and bad is no longer visible and one no longer knows the difference between the two, then the brain begins to question everything. John Reese questioned everything he had ever done in the name of the United States military service.
As a result, John Reese regarded himself as a bad person.
He didn't think he would ever find that good person again, and he questioned whether it mattered anymore.
Reese acknowledged that the current job he had with Harold Finch might appear as if he were on a road toward redemption. But the truth of the matter was that he needed a job and didn't believe in redemption. He couldn't live any longer without a sense of place or purpose.
Looking up at Reese's bruised and gashed face, Finch decided to focus on the number. He dropped his head to the papers still resting in the printer. If Reese wasn't fully aware of how rough he looked from their previous job and wasn't asking for time off to recuperate, then he would pretend that all was well. He knew that Reese had been trained to be a tool and to think about the job and only the job. In that regard he felt sorry for Reese but also found this trait very useful.
"This one is serious, Mr. Reese, so I'm glad you're not needing time to heal from your wounds," Finch stated, pulling out the papers with information about their latest case from the printer drawer.
John Reese stood still before his boss waiting for his marching orders. His inquisitive facial expression spoke what he didn't articulate aloud.
"This one is more serious because it's a United States Senator," Finch said, thrusting the papers into John's hands.
John looked down at them. "Carmichael Smith. United States Senator for 13 years."
"Yes, and one who hasn't been bought and paid for by HR or Elias…or even the CIA," Finch emphatically stated.
"Oh, so one of the good guys," John answered.
"One of the good guys…" Finch trailed off.
John could see that this information was affecting his boss. "Don't worry Finch. I'll keep Senator Smith alive. We need all the good ones we can get."
John Reese turned to leave the library. Finch watched him as he walked away. John always kept his promises. So did Harold, who had promised Reese he would never lie to him. He knew that above all, John Reese needed the truth. So Finch always kept his word.
As John walked down the hall, Finch noticed the slight limp in John's stride. Finch knew that no matter how hard John fought to compartmentalize his feelings—both physical and emotional—that sometimes there was an outward sign betraying him that John wasn't even aware his brain had allowed to escape. Harold decided to let the limp go for now so John could set out to protect their senator.
John stepped out into the honking and squealing streets of New York City, the area he and his billionaire boss plotted to save whomever was connected to the number The Machine gave them…never knowing if the person was the victim or perpetrator. Their mission was a leap of faith with hopefully a ripple effect. Saving good people would ultimately render positive effects on their society.
And in his current job with Finch, John questioned whether saving perpetrators outweighed the positives of previous cases. He didn't know if there was some type of cosmic score card the world kept. So, he believed it was best not to even think about it. He was a trained tool, and that's who he was.
This job became a payback for John Reese. He had no reason to believe his county. Nothing was certain any longer.
He hit homicide Detective Joss Carter's number on his cell phone's speed dial.
She answered with a loud whisper after four rings. She was out of breath, which meant she was in a place where she couldn't talk to him and had to go into the ladies room or hallway.
"Who's in trouble now, John?" Joss Carter said into her cell phone with her heavy New York accent.
"Carter, I'm going to need your help on this one, please," Reese said.
John Reese always got straight to the point. It suited her just fine that he never started their exchanges with pleasantries. When John Reese called her, Joss Carter knew it was important and timely. She had grown to respect this man named John Reese. She also felt completely grateful because he had saved both her and her son Taylor's lives. At first hunting him, Carter saw firsthand how manipulative their own military could be as they used her to hunt him down and shoot him like an animal. She had betrayed him then, believing she was doing the right thing for her country. She knew better now.
Bottom line: the Powers That Be would stop at nothing to advance their own cause. People were expendable. John Reese may have been expendable to the United States military, but he wasn't to her. She and her son would both be dead if it hadn't been for John Reese. Whoever the hell he really was was irrelevant to her now. She saw a good man, and that's all that really mattered. When he called, she knew he really needed her and she would go to help him.
"It's Senator Smith. I think I'm going to need you on this one," John answered. He knew she wouldn't ask how he knew that information. She had stopped asking, which was good for him because he wasn't entirely sure either exactly how Harold Finch was able to get this information. He knew The Machine was the billions of cameras ever present around them. He knew there was a phone call to Finch at a public phone booth. He knew The Machine pieced together premeditation—not crimes of passion. Beyond that, Reese didn't yet know or understand how all the different pieces fit together and why his new boss was so personally secretive.
"Senator Smith?" Carter verified.
"Yes," Reese answered. "And he's one of the good ones, Carter."
"What do you need me to do?" Carter asked.
"Can you do some digging for me?" John asked. By digging, John really meant for her and Fusco to network with colleagues and go as deep as possible into the police database to dig up anything that might help them understand what kind of trouble the good Senator might be finding himself getting into.
"I'll get back with you when I have something," Carter answered.
"Thanks," John said, then clicked off. He had always been polite to her no matter the circumstance.
45 minutes later, John's cell phone rang. Finch's name showed on his caller ID. He then realized he had forgotten to click on his ear piece.
"Do you have something for me, Harold?" John asked.
"Our Senator is slated to be at NYU's basketball game this evening. He's being honored as an Alum. Mr. Reese, I don't have to tell you that if someone wants to take out Senator Smith, then halftime at a public college basketball game is just ripe with opportunity," Finch agitatedly spoke into his cell phone.
"Got it, Mr. Finch," Reese answered. "I'll be there to stop whoever is after Senator Smith." John Reese put down the binoculars he was using to gather Intel on Senator Smith. Nothing out of the ordinary seemed to be happening. The Senator seemed to be going about his normal business and probably had no clue he was in peril.
John Reese was determined to save the senator, or he would die trying.