Chapter 12: through the pain; cover; Blood; two of our Team; until night time

Upstate New York, late December, 2016

Jules had been right, Reese thought. She'd told him he should stay and sleep for a while before he drove back to New York, but he'd decided he'd tough it out on the road. He hadn't felt that tired. But now he was feeling the effects – no sleep since two nights ago, the long drive up yesterday after working all day, the rituals she'd done with him through the night.

She'd made him sweat quarts with that fire, and then choke down the green drink, whatever that was. He felt like he'd been hallucinating half the time. And then in the morning, she'd walked him, barefoot, down to her training school for more ritual.

He was tired now, and probably dehydrated from all the sweating. He was out of gas and running on fumes now. This is how it was if you signed up for this kind of life.

Sitting in the car, staring at the white lines in the middle of the road, mile after mile, with the sky dark and gray from the coming storm, he felt like he should take a break and stretch his legs, maybe grab a cup of coffee. It was a couple of hours before he'd be back in the City.

Only Harold knew where he'd been these last two days. Reese thought about that – how it all had begun months ago. It was Harold who'd first made him go. Reese couldn't get himself out of it, so he'd planned to do what anyone would do, and not cooperate. He'd show up, as told, but he wouldn't talk, and eventually she'd give up and send him back. It'd always worked in the past.

Only Jules was a different kind of doc. She had this – he didn't know what to call it – technique that wasn't like anything he'd ever seen before. She didn't even want him to talk. She just laid her hands on him, and somehow, she figured things out. It sounded crazy when he thought about it, but he could swear it was true. And he knew that Harold knew it, too. He'd never said how he knew, but Reese was certain of it. There must be a story there, and he wanted to know what it was.

Harold had always said he was a very private person. But that hadn't kept Reese from finding out a few things. Harold had been through some rough times. Hell, they'd all been. Truth and pain always seemed to travel together on this team. Through the pain, you got to the truth.

Manhattan, late December, 2016

They moved together across the rooftop to the next building, then over its ledge to its rooftop. The steel door that would take them down off the roof was bolted shut when they got to it, and if they tried to shoot their way through, the men in black would hear it, so they had to look for another way down.

The next building over was ten feet away, across a wide gap, and Root knew they couldn't make the jump. She left Sameen leaning against the metal door while she scouted the roof line. And then she found a possibility – another rusty ladder clinging to the side of the building leading down to the alleyway below.

"Sameen, over here," she called, and Sameen leaned around the corner to find her. She wasn't looking too good, Root thought. She needed to find her a spot to rest and assess their situation. When Sameen got over to the edge, Root could see her shivering. Root pulled off her jacket and wrapped it around Sameen's shoulders. The wind had picked up, and it was cold and damp, like it wanted to snow.

"We'll go down here. I'll go first and make sure it's safe," she said, and Sameen acknowledged. Root stepped over the ledge, and got her foot turned around onto the top rung, then she grabbed on with both hands at the roof ledge, and let herself down to the next step. This was going to be hard for Sameen.

"Let me help you get onto the ladder, Sameen."

"Go on down. I'll be right behind you."

Root frowned. It was tricky at the top, and Sameen only had one arm, but she did as Sameen said and moved down the ladder. This one was rickety. Part way down, one of the angle irons that held it to the building had popped, and the ladder was loose, swinging away from the wall a little. Of course. Why would anything be easy for them?

"Watch it here, Sameen. It's loose," she said. Sameen was trying to get her foot in the right spot on the top rung, but she didn't have the right handhold to let herself turn around toward the wall. Root stopped, and climbed back up to her. She backstopped her, then, with her body, giving her something to lean against as she made the turn to face the building at the top of the steps. Once she'd done that, she could back her way down with just one hand on the ladder. As she was turning, the wind gusted and Root's jacket slid off Sameen's shoulders, fluttering next to the ladder toward the ground. Root started to grab for it, but stopped. She didn't want to shake the ladder and make it lean. Sameen could lose her grip and slip off.

A spot of red dripped onto Root's left arm from above. She looked up at Sameen, but couldn't see where it was coming from. They needed to find cover and fast or Sameen was going to lose a lot more blood.

Two buildings away, minutes later

The rooftop looked empty, but he stepped over the ledge to check it. His gun pointed forward where his eyes were scanning, and he walked forward toward the metal door that led off the roof. It was locked from the inside. He hugged the wall next to the door and stepped his way along until he got to the corner, and then he leaned out and just peeked for a second around the corner. Nothing.

No one shot at him, and he didn't see anyone on the rooftop in that direction. He took another quick look, and then hugged that wall, as he stepped toward the back of the little rooftop access. Another peek around the back corner, and he could see that no one was there – between the back wall and the rooftop leading to the next building. He took a quick look behind him, and then hugged the back wall all the way to the next corner.

A peek around this last corner made him certain that unless the women had stayed ahead of him and circled back around the access behind him, they were not on this rooftop. He sighted across to the roof of the next building but didn't see anything that caught his eye, so he walked back toward the ladder he'd climbed to get there. One of his men was standing near the ladder, waiting for him.

He went past the man, walking along the ledge that overlooked the alley below. Then he stopped and looked down, smiling. He knelt, and reached out with two fingers to the dark spot on the black roof surface. Red came up on the tips of his fingers. He smiled and wiped them off on the black fabric of his pant leg.

Blood.

Harold's office, Manhattan, late December 2016

That's odd, Harold thought. His call went straight to voicemail. He tried Miss Shaw next. Miss Shaw often kept late hours, and it wasn't unusual for her to sleep later into the morning than some of the others.

Harold didn't try to micro-manage his Team. This wasn't the Army. Everyone was a seasoned professional, regardless of his background, and the kind of work they did for the Team demanded long hours, grueling conditions at times, and a kind of dedication that he rewarded in any way he could. Time off, sleeping late, a clothing allowance, a car – whatever it took to make his people effective, and appreciated, that's what he felt obligated to provide.

Voicemail.

Something wasn't right here. He turned to his laptop and looked into the eye of the camera. Normally, he would have spoken out loud, directly to the Machine, but the others were already here from the DC Team, and he'd best keep this communication private for now. He tapped on the keyboard, instead.

HF: Whereabouts of Miss Groves and Miss Shaw?

The Machine instantly responded:

Requested information is unavailable.

Harold looked into the camera eye again, questioning.

HF: Why?

Requested information is blocked by the assets.

HF: Say more.

Unable to comply.

Harold shook his head.

HF: Override.

A few seconds pause, and then:

Assets involved in hostile action 43:07 minutes ago. Escaped on-foot, with injuries. Estimated location:

Harold stood up as the Machine painted the screen with a map of the City, coned-down to an area only a few blocks from his current location. An asterisk over a diner was followed by a blue line indicating the route they'd taken out of the diner, to the street and then to the alley. But there was nothing after that. There must be no surveillance cameras or perhaps they weren't positioned to pick up the activity.

The Machine then rolled camera footage from various sources along their route, and Harold could see a shot from across the street of the women running to the end of an alley, then stopping to look around at the corner, before they crossed the street toward the camera.

From another angle, he could see Miss Groves pausing for a moment, and then pointing down the street and starting to jog that way. In the footage, though, he could see Miss Shaw recoiling and then reacting to something painful on her left side.

Miss Groves stops then and turns around, then goes back for Miss Shaw, and they move forward together to the next corner, where they disappear from view.

Harold played it back several times and then he looked up from his laptop, thinking. The three of them in the room were watching him. He'd almost forgotten about them.

"Problem, Finch?" Logan Pierce asked.

"Yes, Mr. Pierce, two of our Team are in trouble."

Alleyway, Manhattan, same day

When Root reached the spot on the ladder where she could lower the bottom part of it down to get closer to the ground, it wouldn't budge. They were still more than ten feet off the ground, and there was nothing around that they could stand on to help them. They'd have to jump for it.

Crap, Root thought. How was Sameen going to manage this?

Root let her feet drop down off the lowest rung, and she lowered herself with her hands on the rungs, her feet on the brick wall below the ladder, moving hand over hand until she was dangling from the last rung over the pavement. She let go and landed hard on her heels, then jerked forward with her knees and hands hitting the brick wall in front of her. She looked up to the ladder.

Sameen was watching, and once Root had cleared the ladder, she moved down, too, right hand and both feet working, until she was standing on the bottom rung. She'd have to lower herself the rest of the way to the lowest rung with one arm, until she'd have to let go and drop to the pavement.

"Sameen, I'm right here. I can hold you on my shoulders if you can get closer. Come on. Come to me," she said. Another drip of red. And then another.

And it was starting to snow. The flakes filtered down in the alleyway. Sameen started to think about how slippery the rungs would get with the snow. She had to get off the ladder. Now.

She bent her knees under her on the ladder, and moved her hand to the lowest rung she could reach and held on hard.

Then she let her feet drop down off the bottom rung, sliding on the bricks with her feet until she was hanging straight down. She was still above Root's shoulders. She'd have to let go of the rung, and try to grab on to the next one down with one hand.

She was trying to ignore all the pain in her left side each time she moved.

"Just a little more, Sameen. I've got you." Root had reached up with her hands to Sameen's legs, steadying her.

Sameen got ready. She jerked herself up a little before she let go, and then she grabbed onto the rung below.

Still too high. One more rung would do it. Her arm muscles were burning. She took a breath and jerked herself up one more time and let go. But her grab didn't hold this time, and she dropped, full-weight, onto Root below her.

The angle was all wrong, and Root flew forward against the brick, and Sameen tipped backwards off her shoulders and fell down all the way to the pavement. The sound was ugly.

Root was bleeding from her head and her knuckles scraping against the rough brick, but she turned quickly and knelt down next to Sameen.

"Sameen?"

Her eyes were closed. Root thought she'd hit her head when she fell. She reached out and slid her hand under Sameen's head, feeling for any blood or cuts.

Sameen opened her eyes, and her hands flew forward in a punch, before she knew to stop herself.

Muscle memory. She didn't even know where she was, but she'd protected herself from whatever touched her.

Root. Root was on the ground, lifting herself upright. There was another slash under her eye on her cheekbone, and a sore neck from the blow.

"Sameen, it's me!" She rolled up to kneeling, and looked down at her.

"We've gotta get out of here," she said. And she grabbed Sameen's right arm, while she placed her own hand over her left one, in case she started to launch another punch with it. The left side was the injured one anyway, so she shouldn't be trying to use it.

Sameen's eyes cleared, and she recognized Root. She was still fuzzy on where they were, but she knew they had to move. She tried to roll up to sitting, but her body wasn't following her brain's commands.

"You go ahead, Root. I'll be right behind you," she said, and she lowered herself back down on the ground, like she was going to go to sleep.

"No, come on. We're going together. Get up!"

Root pulled her by her right arm, and Sameen grimaced in pain. She lifted herself a little, and Root tried to stand up, pulling her up harder.

Sameen was sitting then, and Root bent over to take up the slack with her arm over the back of her neck. She knelt down half-way and adjusted Sameen's arm, then lifted her by straightening her own legs. Sameen came up to standing, but she wasn't steady. Red was dripping from the bottom of her jacket onto the black pavement. And nearby, snowflakes were melting as soon as they hit the ground.

Root bent down to grab her jacket. It had fluttered down right next to where Sameen had fallen. She didn't want to leave it behind where someone could find it.

Root didn't think she could carry Sameen. Not far, at least. She half-dragged her along, with Sameen's right arm slung over her shoulder and her arm around Sameen's waist.

They made it to the end of the alley, near the street. Root looked around the corner, each way. Further down to the right, she could just pick out some men in black, a few blocks down. On the left, some of the shops were getting ready to open. She could see a delivery van, with Korean writing on the side, double-parked in front of a fruit market. The back was open and a dark-haired man was wheeling boxes of produce to the store.

"Come on. There's our ride," she said, and she stepped onto the sidewalk with Sameen. When they got to the van, Root opened the passenger side door, and helped Sameen get in. Then she walked back to the open door in the back and closed it slowly as she walked behind the van. She pushed it shut enough so at least it latched, but she didn't want to make noise and attract attention.

Then she hurried around to the driver's side and jumped in next to Sameen. She popped it into Drive, and made a U-turn in the street, quietly, hoping she'd get a few blocks away before anyone noticed at the market. In the side-view mirror she looked for anyone running out of the market after them, but the street was empty.

"How are you doing?" She took a quick glance over to Sameen.

" – had better days," she said. She was leaning down on the padded console between the two of them. No one could see her from the street.

At least she was conscious, Root thought. Now, where to go next. She wanted to take Sameen to a safer place, and then take the stolen van off in another direction before she abandoned it - to lead any possible followers in the wrong direction.

And they still weren't going to try to contact Harold. They needed to protect the Team.

Root had made it clear to the Machine, too, that she wasn't supposed to tell Harold what was happening.

She. Root smiled. Of course Root would refer to the Machine as she even though the voice in her ear was nothing like a woman's voice. The sound coming from her implant was not human, not mechanical either - like Stephen Hawking's voice. It was hard to describe, exactly. And you had to work at it to understand what the Machine was saying.

Still, it was worth it to have her own direct connection with the Machine. She had missed it when she'd lost the sound for a time - after a slap in the head from a Samaritan agent, Martine Rousseau. A long time back already. No going back.

Root looked ahead at the street. The Machine would have seen her getting into the van with Sameen, making the U-turn and driving down the streets of Manhattan on a sleepy Sunday morning. It would watch her from the thousands of surveillance cameras spread all over Manhattan. It would watch her ditch the van, eventually, and then make her way, carefully, back to the hiding place where Sameen was waiting.

When the police found the stolen van, they'd think some kids took it for a joy ride. She'd splash some beer around the inside, and leave some empty cans and bottles. She knew a spot, under an overpass, where she could leave the van, with the doors wide open, and the radio blaring, like kids were partying before they ran off and left it.

And if anyone thought it was the two of them, instead, they'd be looking for them in the wrong place.

She looked over at Sameen. Not far away was a place she could take her, and take care of her. They could rest until night time, and then, if Sameen was strong enough, they could make their way to the safe-house.

She thought about the Team. It wouldn't be long before they knew there was trouble.