Finch sat with his laptop on the coffee table in front of him. He had heard John and Joss's clash, of course, and while he was glad Ms Carter had prevented John and Ms Shaw from getting their hands on Gupta, he had flinched at the exchange which had taken place. John had switched his phone to voice mail, of course, but Finch could still track it via the GPS, which would fix the phone's location to within six inches. He watched John's steady progress until he was certain his friend was heading for home and not holing up in a bar someplace or going completely off the map. He could understand John's need for some privacy, some time out. The long walk home would be of benefit to him, Harold was sure. He allowed himself to hope that this would sort itself out in the light of day, once everyone had had a chance to sleep. Sleep, oh God. He could barely muster the energy to leave Bear on the couch and stumble through to the bedroom to collapse, still clothed, onto the bed.
Xxxxx
Joss woke up early and alone, and her heart sank. She'd stayed awake a long, long time waiting and hoping John would come home. His absence left an aching gap, like the space after a tooth had been pulled. In the gray half-light she dragged herself upright and hauled herself into the bathroom. The face staring at her from the mirror looked haggard, eyes bloodshot. All in all she looked like shit, and she made a snap decision to call in sick. Actually she felt sick, so it wasn't even really a lie. She certainly wouldn't be able to do any constructive work today. She went back to bed and pulled the blankets over her head.
She was starting to doze off again when her phone went. It was Finch, sounding both agitated and apologetic at the same time.
"Ms Carter, there's a problem. I've located John, and he's in an alley just along the street from your building. I'm very sorry, I tracked him last night until I was sure he was on his way home but then-"
"Huh? What do you mean, Finch? John never came home last night." She tried unsuccessfully to keep her voice steady.
"I know, that's what I was trying to tell you." Finch sounded almost panicky, most unlike himself. "I woke up this morning and looked but he was in an alley along from your building. Here, I'm sending you the GPS coordinates."
She was up and pulling clothes on as he spoke. "I'll get down there and take a look. Call you back."
She was out of the building in less than three minutes, and approached the alley carefully. She had a bad feeling about this. Maybe John had gone and gotten himself blind drunk and was sleeping it off there – she hoped not, it had been bitterly cold last night. She peered around the corner, but the alley was empty. Then she saw John's phone on the ground, glinting in the rising sun about five yards away. She looked down, and her stomach clenched as she saw a hypodermic lying by her feet. In some parts of town that wouldn't be a surprise, but not this neighbourhood. She got her phone out. "Finch? We have a big, big problem."
xxxxx
Fusco was trying hard to be positive. "C'mon, Carter. Wonderboy's gotten himself out of more tight spots than either of us can count. I kinda feel sorry for the poor joe who's grabbed him." He was standing with Carter in the alley looking at the pictures she'd grabbed on her phone when she first realised she was looking at a crime scene. The frost had preserved the story of John's kidnapping in quite a bit of detail before it had melted. The hypodermic would need to be analysed to figure out what drug had dropped him – assuming they decided to bring this to the attention of the authorities – but it was clear that he had been drugged, dragged to a vehicle and then driven away. They even had the prints of the perp's shoes. The tyre tracks would be a help in identifying the vehicle – a Ford Transit or similar, she was picking.
Her phone chimed. She glanced down at it and checked the incoming message. "Huh. That's weird."
"What is it?" asked Fusco.
"A phone number. Not one I recognise."
Joss called Finch again. "Hey, Harold. I'm sending you a phone number. Do you think you could find anything out about it?" She sent the number as she spoke.
Harold's reply was almost immediate. "Oh, no. I know exactly what that number is, Joss. That's Greer's old Samaritan number."
xxxxx
They had an emergency meeting in the old subway car.
"There's no point calling that number, Harold, is there?" Joss asked.
"No, it stopped working weeks ago. And he's got rid of the burner phone he sent it from. He's plainly sent it as a message to us. Maybe he intends it to be a tease, since he can't be sure we even know about Samaritan's old network. Although with your link to Samaritan, he probably assumes you now know all its secrets."
"So Greer has John. Is that the link to the outside world he talked about in that phone call?" Shaw asked.
Finch considered this. "I think more likely he was referring to John's identity as Riley, and his relationship with Joss," he said at last. "Maybe he intends to use John to lure us out."
"So what about his call to Elias? Finch, we need more information," said Joss urgently. "I think it's time to reach out to Elias. Let me go talk to him."
"I think she's right, Harold," said Shaw. "I know I was against it before, but the situation's changed. And with her history with him, Elias won't turn Joss down."
xxxxx
"Jocelyn," said Elias, beaming. He touched his mouth with a napkin and gestured to her to sit down. "How lovely to see you. Can I offer you anything? Coffee? A liqueur? The selection here is quite exhaustive."
Joss gazed around at the restaurant. A good deal more upmarket than her usual choices, all paneled walls and chandeliers. There was light crowd of early evening diners, evidently eating before going on to the theater, or opera, or whatever rich people did on a midweek evening."Thanks, Mr Elias. A flat white would be lovely."
A waiter responded instantly to Elias's raised eyebrow, took her order and withdrew, oozing discretion.
"You know, I was delighted, absolutely delighted, to hear that those rumors of your death had been so greatly exaggerated." Elias eyed her. His smile was almost completely sincere.
"Yeah, well." Joss shrugged. "I was out of circulation for long enough, I was able to bully them into letting me come back here. This is my town, always will be."
"I know exactly how you feel," Elias replied, and this time the smile reached his eyes. "So what can I do for you? I assume this isn't a social call, and I'm also prepared to bet that there's some connection with those mutual friends of ours."
Joss's coffee arrived, and she paused for the discreet waiter to withdraw again before she replied.
"You would be correct, Mr Elias. I just have a couple of questions for you about a phone call you received around a month ago from a man calling himself Brendan Thomas."
"Ah," said Elias. He gazed into the depths of his own coffee cup. "There's not much to tell, really. He contacted me late last year, just before Christmas. He claimed he could offer me access to whatever source Harold has which causes him and John to be so... prompt in their interventions. After due consideration, I turned him down."
There was a pause as they both applied themselves to the excellent coffee.
"May I ask why you turned him down?" Joss asked after a moment.
Elias smiled broadly. "Most people I would politely ask to leave at this point in the conversation, Joss. I don't have to explain myself to anyone. Not even you." His smile faded a little, and his eyes became pensive. "Still, you and your friends occupy a special place in my life. So just this once, I will tell you." He took another sip of coffee.
"When I had Thomas checked out it became obvious very quickly that his name was fake. My people know how to do a background check, and Brendan Thomas just popped into existence two years ago. So that was a big clue. When he showed up at our meet, his big idea was to kidnap John and use him to apply pressure to Harold. I thought that was a stupid idea. I know John's skills, and I think it would take something really special to hold him if he didn't want to be held. I also know Harold's personality. He's not that amenable to pressure, and having played chess with the man I can predict that anyone trying that kind of trick on him will end up regretting it. So I told him no."
Joss listened blank-faced. Time to make a decision... to trust, or not to trust? "Thank you, Mr Elias. You've been a big help." She prepared to rise from the table.
"I can assure you, when he called me earlier today I told Thomas I still wasn't interested." Elias's eyes were kind.
"I beg your pardon?" Joss couldn't conceal her dismay.
"I know our mysterious Englishman has your lover, Joss," said Elias. "I'm sufficiently extended right now that I can't offer you any help in getting him back. But not bidding the price up any higher seemed the least I could do. I believe Dominic is negotiating hard for him, though." He gave a sly smile. "Though Dominic had better be quick. I have great confidence in John's ability to get himself out of trouble." He drained his coffee and signalled to the waiter for the check. Recognizing that the audience was over, Joss stammered her thanks, and rose from the table. As she turned to leave Elias said, "Joss? Good luck."
xxxxxx
Finch and Shaw greeted Joss sombrely when she returned to the station. They collected refreshments – Joss turned down coffee with loathing – and sat down around the computer table. Harold replayed her conversation with Elias, recorded from her cell phone. There was a long silence.
"You know what?" said Shaw suddenly. "I think Elias is wrong. I think Greer's not trying to pressure Harold, not as his Plan A, anyhow. I think he's trying to pressure you, Joss. That's why he sent the phone number to you and not Harold."
"Why's he trying to pressure me, though?" said Joss. "There's nothing I can do for him."
"Greer doesn't understand what's going on," said Harold slowly. "He's still thinking of Samaritan as essentially working to his agenda. He brought Samaritan on line to change the world, and he always swore – to me anyway – that he wanted Samaritan to be the one in charge. He really wanted it to rule the world. But he was safe in making that claim because Samaritan reflected Greer – Greer's aims, Greer's values. So even though he might have told himself it was in charge, Samaritan was still carrying out Greer's programme."
He drew a breath and went on, faster. "And he thinks Joss stands in the same relationship to it that he did. Greer thinks that the only thing which has changed is that Samaritan is now carrying out Joss's programme, and so he thinks that by pressuring Joss he can get her to change the programme and therefore Samaritan's behaviour. He thinks he can get control of Samaritan back through her. What he doesn't realise is that the virus gave Samaritan a moral sense and that out of that it chose Joss as a role model and a sounding board. But it's not taking orders from her, or trying to rule the world."
"Not that we know," said Shaw. "Maybe it's just more subtle now."
"True, but even if it is, it's still not following her lead in that. He won't be able to change anything by pressuring you through John, Joss."
There was a little pause. Then Shaw said, "Greer's got a good grasp of strategy, though. No matter how things pan out, he wins. If he can't use John to pressure Joss, he'll use him against you, Finch, and if he can't bend you he'll sell John to Dominic. And as a last resort, he can always just kill him for revenge."
"Thank you for that analysis, Ms Shaw," said Harold into the slightly sickened silence which followed this.
"The real question, surely," said Joss, swallowing slightly, "is how we get John back. Isn't it?"
There was a very long pause. "We have a serious problem with that, Joss," said Harold gently. "I've been trying desperately, but I can't find a sign of him anywhere. Greer made use of some kind of shadow map, and wherever he's taken John, I simply cannot trace him. And Greer hasn't made contact with us yet, aside from that text message this morning."
"We could track Dominic's phone traffic," said Shaw. "Maybe we could snatch him when Greer tries to hand him over to the Brotherhood."
"That would represent our best chance," agreed Finch. "My main objection to that plan is that it leaves John in Greer's hands while Greer runs through his various options. That could take a long time – several days at least, possibly even weeks. The longer he's held, the more chance for the situation to spiral out of control. We would also have to watch Dominic twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, for an indefinite period of time. That might prove difficult, given our current resources."
"We have to sleep some time," agreed Joss reluctantly.
"There is one other possibility I think you should consider, Ms Carter," said Finch carefully. He hesitated for a moment, seeming reluctant to go on. But then he sighed and removed his glasses to clean them. "Back in the days of Decima, all their employees had a chip in their arm. The chip included a tracking beacon, which Samaritan could turn on."
"Oh." Joss felt sick.
"I know it's a tremendous gamble. But one option is to ask for Samaritan's help." Harold replaced his glasses, looking troubled. "The decision is yours."
