John sits near the Amtrak station on a comfortable bench, with a good view of the post office. Beyond the train yard, the brown Potomac River flows on. Sometimes he casts an uneasy eye on the old pay phone near the waiting area, but so far it has stayed silent.
The numbers continue to find their way to John.
It does no good to avoid pay phones – although he is always astonished to see how many still exist in the run-down corners of the world. They come to him in his apartment and in hotel rooms. They come to him in bars – the bartender answers the phone, looks up at him with a puzzled face: "Are you…John?"
The Machine increasingly gives him instructions as well as numbers. One word, cryptic instructions but enough to point John in the right direction. So far he has stopped a meth head from killing a 7-11 clerk; a small-town insurance salesman from burning down an apartment building as part of a complicated scam; and a middle-aged schoolteacher from murdering her abusive husband with his own hunting gun. John found this last assignment personally satisfying – after cooperating with the divorce, the ex-husband is serving time in Ohio for illegal arms trafficking.
So John does what he can, although his job often gets in the way. He is a game warden on the Maryland Eastern Shore and to his surprise he likes it. As law officer, he's hiding in plain sight, all right. His coworkers, skeptical at first, now hold him in awe for his capabilities and for his ability to hold his drink. John gets to spend a lot of time outdoors, he gets to use his skill set in a fresh way (although mostly against drunk fisherman and geriatric duck hunters), and most importantly, the hours are flexible. It leaves him time for outside interests. Like this.
So John has to give Root credit: she has thoughtfully, thoroughly constructed his new life with a touch of humor. This, amazingly, is the same Root that John would have gladly dispatched with a bullet to the head when she kidnapped Harold.
Perhaps that is finally some of Harold's influence. After all, his decency and kindness had transformed John's ruined life, given it purpose and meaning. John had even seen Shaw change in her time working for Harold, in her own stunted way. If that could happen, then certainly Harold could change Root for the better. Root was beginning to see humans as something other than tools, or "bad code" to be eliminated.
Root, of course, would only credit the Machine, but John understands now that the Machine is an extension of Harold, a product not only of his mind but his total commitment to save lives. That is not to say the Machine is flawless – when pushed to desperation, it urged them to kill. Much like Harold. "If they harm Grace in any way, kill them all," he had told John. And John had understood – he carried the death of Joss like a stone in his chest, no matter how many people he killed. But John had also grieved for Harold, to see him pushed to that extreme.
The Machine, Harold's imperfect god, is infinitely preferable to Samaritan, a product of malice and fear. Does the Machine see all of them right now? Does it see Harold? It will not say.
John is searching for Harold now. That is what has led him to this bench, near the Amtrak station in downtown Cumberland, Maryland. It's a good, busy spot, near the river and the National Park Service visitor center for the canal towpath. Ideal.
Harold had created identities for all of them in case of crisis. Samaritan had corrupted them and made them useless. But they still have the contingency plans that John helped Harold create. It had taken some time to convince Harold to resort to good old-fashioned pen and paper methods – Harold always did like overly complicated plans. But there had to be an emergency way for them all to communicate, something that left no footprint for Samaritan. Leaving handwritten messages at prearranged locations is classic low-tech spycraft.
This is the third location John has tried.
John knows they really should not be getting in contact, lest they arouse Samaritan's suspicions. John also knows that Harold is quite capable of taking care of himself, and the thought of Bear walking beside Harold makes John smile.
But he would really like to know for himself that Harold is all right. Just for his own peace of mind.
One day in the library – it seems very long ago – John had asked Harold in a fit of annoyance, "How did a simple legbreaker like me get involved in this business?"
Harold had looked at him through thick owlish lenses with pursed lips and dry exasperation. "Is that really how you see yourself, Mr. Reese?" For of course Harold had never seen him that way.
John wonders about Shaw as well. Is she searching too? Is she getting numbers? John can't imagine Shaw settling into a tame life, but maybe she too is finding strength from her new purpose of saving lives instead of taking them. Again, this is because of Harold.
So John waits patiently, watching the mailbox. He is relaxed and observant, looking everywhere, aware of everyone: passengers on the platform, bikers on the nearby C&O trail near the river, the park ranger picking up trash at the visitor center, the mail carriers going into the post office.
No Harold yet.
John will keep waiting.