Four stories. Seventy-two stairs.
"You okay?"
Three questions regarding his well-being.
"Still fine, Shaw."
When she held the door for him on the seventh, Reese gave the uncharacteristic motion a frown but stepped through silently. Head pounding, weapon at the ready. Scanning the open corridor.
Empty. The offices abandoned. Just like each one below it.
"Weird," Shaw murmured. She lowered her gun, turning and waiting for Reese to do the same. He caught her once-over when he faced back, gave a steady stare in return.
I'm fine.
She narrowed her eyes in disagreement but moved to the cubicles.
Reese rested his arms on the railing of the balcony, watching the busy atrium below. The fountain, the moving suits.
They blurred together.
"Finch?" He closed his eyes, testing the spin. Like going to bed after one too many whiskeys, his head swirled, denying the break. "You there?"
Behind him, he could hear Shaw popping a USB flash drive into one of the computer stations. A backdoor for Finch in the van, wi-fi enabled.
"Always, Mr. Reese," came the ready reply. Reese hesitated, his own words from the morning coming back like a kick to the stomach.
I'm sorry, I forgot you were up there with me.
He glanced to Shaw, turning his back to the rail. Her eyes were roaming the abandoned cubicles, the neatly stocked workstations.
"Finch," he started, but Shaw interjected.
"You're in, Finch," she said. "See any action up here?"
There was a pause. A faint clicking. Finch would be panning through the security cameras.
"Oddly enough, no. Considering the workday and the crowd in the foyer." The voice trailed off. Then, "Wait."
There was a hum as he spoke: a printer buzzing to life at one of the workstations behind them.
Reese pushed off from the rail. Looking to Shaw as she stepped toward its cubicle.
"Tenth floor."
Shaw pulled a paper from the printer's output tray at the same time Finch's voice came through the com. Holding it up for Reese to see: a grainy print from a security camera. Erik Ivanov's profile, shadowed by the silhouette of another figure. An office door visible: 100-something. The last digit was obstructed.
"There's several men with Mr. Ivanov, heading into a conference room."
"Finch," Shaw said. She studied the print. "Did you just send this?"
There was a pause.
"And what would 'this' be, Ms. Shaw?"
A frown. A look to Reese. "I'll take that as a no."
Reese's earpiece hummed. :: Ten. Oh. Seven. ::
He tilted his head at a crackle of static.
"Ten-oh-seven," Finch echoed a second later. There was a faint clicking. His next words were weighted with caution. "They are... quite armed."
Reese looked to Shaw as she gave him a dubious once-over. He narrowed his eyes, mimicking her own earlier stare.
"I lead," she mouthed. She pointed a finger at him in warning.
Finch's voice broke through. "Ms. Shaw." There was a hesitation, just a beat. "Do be careful."
She gave Reese a pointed look. He raised his eyebrows.
"Mr. Reese."
There was a warning in the tone. "Finch-" His ear com buzzed before he could continue.
::Two o'clock. ::
Reese spun in reflex, raising his weapon and firing.
He was off, the shot too high.
A bullet flew back. He ducked, grabbing Shaw's arm and tugging her down with him. Another pop of gunfire. He did a quick mental calculation: intended and actual. An offset of his hindered vision.
His second shot hit the target's shoulder; it brought the suited figure down with a thud.
Shaw cursed under her breath, leaning around him to survey the long open corridor. Barrel of her gun guiding her sight.
"-Mr. Reese?"
"We're okay." Reese twisted in his crouched position for a better view. Blinking to focus.
It was still. His com silent.
There had just been the one.
Shaw looked back at him.
"Finch?"
"The feeds are being looped," came the reply. There was a muffled noise, the sound of typing and movement. A frustrated breath.
Finch was blind.
The clock was ticking.
They moved.
Three more flights. Squatting at the edge of a hallway on the tenth floor.
Muffled voices echoing from around the corridor, the sound of Ivanov's guttural objections.
Shaw shifted her weight onto her heels. Glancing to Reese. The flush to his cheekbones, the unusually mussed hair. He looked peaked.
"My turn to save him." She waited for the objection. He took a knee to face her instead, his squat becoming an unbalanced crouch.
A tilt of his head, a stare.
She stared back, shaking her head. Extending a hand, clenching it into a fist. She waited until he mimicked the motion. A muffled roll of rock, paper-
In their ears, a disapproving throat cleared.
Shaw slapped a flat palm on top of Reese's outstretched fist. He stared. She squeezed.
"Given your… condition, Mr. Reese, it might be more appropriate for Ms. Shaw to have the privilege."
Reese turned his head. "Finch-"
"Relax, Evel Knievel." Shaw dropped her other hand, silencing him with a clap to his knee. Rising from the ground. "Cover me." She didn't wait for his response.
Moving toward 1007, keeping one shoulder against the wall. She hovered outside, listening.
"-made it easy and stuck to the deal, but no. I always knew your brother was the smart one, Erik."
A shot fired from inside the room. A grunt. Shaw shifted her other shoulder to the wall.
"See?" There was a clatter, a sound of a chair scraping across the floor. "It could have been easy, you could have kept some stake in it."
Shaw closed her eyes and pictured their positions in the room. Ivanov in the chair, a figure looming above him. Two others-no, make it three. One in each corner, one by the door.
Reese breathed in her ear: "Careful, Shaw. Five guys in there."
Okay, five.
The more the merrier.
"We need your token and password. That's it."
"That's it?" came the accented reply. Ivanov was breathing heavily. He was in pain.
The chair had scraped to the left. Shaw hummed a count under her breath and then pushed off from the wall, entering the doorway with her pistol raised.
She said nothing, pulling a trigger in greeting. A shot rang out, a bullet slapping into the shoulder of the figure towering over Ivanov. He grunted as he fell.
A spray of bullets flew back as she ducked behind a small table.
She fired again as she spun out of range. Her second bullet landed a knee cap. The third, an ankle.
The fourth, a gutshot. No choice.
"Hello, Erik," she said. She gave him a smile, feeling the falseness of it on her face.
A shot grazed her shoulder; she hissed and raised her pistol at the last suit standing. Aiming between his eyes.
"Who do you work for?" she demanded.
He stared at her with ice blue eyes, a soft smile on his lips. A shake of his head. "You're too late."
Shaw risked a glance to Ivanov, his face splotched with red, his eyes angry. She looked back to the suited operative. Raising an eyebrow. "Doesn't look like it."
The smile didn't waver.
His smugness made her want to pull the trigger. Instead, she took in the room behind him. It wasn't a conference room.
It was a server room.
"Who do you work for," she repeated. Looking back to him.
"I would ask the same. But I think we both already know the answer."
Her eyes narrowed.
A gunshot from the hallway. A thud and a grunt.
Shaw didn't flinch. "Your backup?"
Reese swung his weapon toward a blurred motion at the same time he heard the directional.
:: Three o'clock. ::
A single shot. The figure fell with a heavy thud.
He waited.
:: Nine o'clock. ::
:: Three o'clock. ::
:: Three o'clock. ::
Three shots fired in quick succession.
Quiet. He felt the blood pounding in his ears.
:: Ten. Oh. Seven. ::
Gun raised, finger on the trigger. The corridor was still.
Again, the room number came in over his com.
Vision going black as he stood, abandoning his crouched vantage point. It returned in seconds, pixel by pixel, his periphery remaining blurred.
In the doorway. Itemizing the room: the servers, the downed figures on the tiled floor. Shaw and the suited operative, weapons trained on each other.
It was Ivanov who saw him first.
"You," the Russian spat.
"Hello, Erik." Reese forced a wry smile. He raised his pistol then, turning in the direction of the operative. Shadowing Shaw's aim. "Met some of your friends," he said pleasantly. There was movement on the floor to his left, a stifled groan. He stepped in, sweeping a gun out of reach from a just conscious operative with the toe of his shoe. Looking back to the standing suit. In his vision, two figures haloed each other, then focused back into one. "They seemed nice."
"Another one of Harold Finch's little birdies?" The suit stared back at him, appearing unfazed, then looked again to Shaw, the smug smile returning to his lips. See? I know exactly who you are.
Shaw gazed back coldly, her face a stony mask. "Party's over, Bond. Drop the gun."
The corners of the man's eyes crinkled in amusement. "Shoot me," he said, "and the white van outside disappears."
"Van?" she repeated blankly; Reese's eyes flicked to her before he could think. He caught himself, focused his gaze on Ivanov behind her, but it was too late. The smile on the operative's face broadened.
Shit.
"I thought so." The blue eyes looked to Reese in mocking approval and then back to Ivanov. "Token," he said, repeating his words from earlier. "And password."
Reese glanced to Shaw.
Finch would have been listening.
He was always listening.
Shaw's stare to him was as unsympathetic as the one to the suit.
Ivanov grunted in pain as the operative pressed over him; the mechanical voice in Reese's ear sounded at the same time.
:: Four ::
Reese scanned the room, feeling Shaw's glare, the Russian's growled response echoing in his ears.
Servers lining the right wall. The computer workstations lining the back. Each topped with a laminated placard.
One through six.
In his ear. Static, an alphanumeric code, a pause. A word, followed by number.
Reese frowned, glancing to the others. The suit was focused on Ivanov. Shaw was watching him.
Shaw looked pissed.
He looked back to the computer stations.
The code repeated. Then the word, followed by a number.
"Finch?" he murmured. Head turned to the side. He waited.
Ready to ask: Any reason the Machine would want Decima to get access to these servers?
His com line was silent.
"Finch."
No sound of the voice he wanted, a mechanical intonation in its place. His stomach twisted.
Again, the code. The word. The number.
He closed his eyes.
Opened them, moving toward the workstations. Jiggling the mouse.
"Hey." The operative's voice, then Shaw's.
"Reese."
"You need the token," Reese said, not turning. He saw the first prompt on the monitor's screen, a white box that swam before his eyes. He glanced to the keyboard, the white letters on its keys blurring together in a similar fashion. He paused. Let out a frustrated breath. "Shaw." He looked to her. C'mon, Shaw. He shot a brief glance to the operative, who hesitated and then gave a curt nod.
Shaw moved in behind him. Laying a hand on his shoulder, digging her fingernails in. A shoulder that he rolled in rebuttal to her muttered, "I'm benching you after this, Reese. Swear to God."
"Seven," he said evenly, rolling his shoulder again, waiting for her to take the keyboard. "Bravo, kilo, seven, two, oscar-" He repeated the code from earlier. "Enter," he said finally. Shaw turned her head. He reached under her hand, tapping the Enter key.
He heard the curse uttered from Ivanov. "I knew you worked with them." The swearing continued, the next window popped open.
"Reese."
"Trust me," he said softly, but he doubted his own words. Blindly trusting a machine. He relayed the word, the number. She hit Enter herself this time and he straightened up.
Felt the ice blue eyes watching him suspiciously. He quirked a half smile.
"There you go."
Finch had likely left the van.
His com was silent.
"It doesn't matter now," the accented voice scoffed from behind them. His words were punctuated by shallow breaths. Reese heard Ivanov grunt, shift in his chair. "They already have access to everything."
"Not everything," a lighter voice chimed.
They turned.
In the doorway, Root's smiling face seemed incongruous to the restraining hold she was in, the viselike arm of an annoyed looking operative wrapped around her throat, a gun to her temple.
"Hi, Larry," she purred, giving a smile of slow irony to the blue-eyed operative staring back. "Miss me?"
