Harold drives us to an empty field where we met up with one of his unnamed acquaintances. He provides us with new transportation and phony identification. We eventually board a private jet plane, and soon enough we fly off into the night. For the first couple of hours we sit in silence, except when Lionel occasionally decides to make a offhand comment. While Harold and I make passive glances at each other, and I sense something on his mind. He fidgets forward in his chair as though he was about to speak, but Lionel interrupts his attempt with an untimely joke.
After a substantial amount of food consumption, Lionel eventually excuses himself to the plane's restroom. Harold is seated in front of me, grappling with his detectable apprehension. He leans in subtly but hesitantly leans back again. Then he starts to shift side to side as though he is about to erupt from the pressure. There is no interest on my part to engage in conversation; but by his seventh chair rotation, and my fourth drink, I could no longer contain myself.
"Is there something wrong?" I ask.
He leans forward, "I'm sorry that we lost touch, Ms. Shaw."
"We didn't lose touch Harold. You left."
"I know," he concedes, "but after everything… all I wanted was to be with Grace."
"You didn't even bother to find out if the Machine was still online. You just left, and I had to pick up the mess."
"Why didn't you try to contact me?" he asks.
"I figured if you wanted to be found you would have told me where to find you. And after my falling out with the Machine —there was no point."
"I see—"
"Two and a half years I worked with the Machine. Finding out she took part in Root's death, it was too much," I say.
"—then why help the Machine?" he asks.
"Because even though it took away our time together— it's also the reason we had the time we did," I say.
"You don't owe the Machine anything," he replies, "you can just walk away."
"I did— we both did," I say, "and now look at us — you were right when you told Grace, 'you'd always be tied to it.' I think we all will."
After several hours, eventually we touch down in New York City. The crisp night air sends a chill up my spine and the oxygen exhilarates my lungs. A crisp taste of autumn lingers on my taste buds as we walk swiftly down the concrete sidewalk. Lionel falls behind, scouting for signs of approaching trouble. "Well at least we know it isn't another A.I. after us," Lionel jokes. Harold shoots a doubting glance toward him. "If it were, wouldn't we be dead by now?" the chunky cop adds.
"Here we are," Harold says, gesturing at the beige two story building in front of us. "I'm more concerned about the Machine," he says. On the front of the building the triangular archway reads 'Station A,' and beneath that is a large glass double door. I scope the inside, and there's a short staircase that leads to the main floor; and just pass that, another even longer staircase that leads to the second floor. Next door is an apartment building seven stories high with a fire escape that cascades downward, then stops just above the entrance.
"A post office?!" Lionel asks.
"Look at the store sign," Harold says.
"Are you sure you got the right place, Harold?" I ask.
"Yes, the corner of Prince and Greene Street," he says as he walks around the corner. "What better place to hide than in plain sight?," he adds.
We follow him into the back alleyway, just pass a large dumpster filled to the brim with garbage. Harold pulls a gadget from his pocket then cautiously approaches the back door of the building. Lionel and I keep watch while he attempts to bypass the electronic security system. It doesn't take long for the door to open; but Harold remains frozen at the entrance. Lionel squeezes by him to enter then I follow behind.
"Are you coming?" I ask.
"Why hasn't the Machine tried to stop us?" he asks.
"Maybe she can't without whatever or whoever tracking us," I reply.
"Maybe —"
Lionel pops back up from the darkness. "Is there a problem?" We both look to Harold.
"–no, let's go," he says.
The darkness upon entry last for a moment until a single light source illuminates the hallway. Our guns drawn, Lionel and I lead the way. My jacket keeps getting snagged by the cracking paint on the dingy walls and the sound resounds through the hall. Voices in the distance make us stop in our tracks. We determine their coming from the right side of the hall, and appear to grow louder as we reach the corner. I signal for the guys to stay in place while I creep forward to take a look.
It takes a moment for my eyes to adjust, but I make out a large man dressed in a black suit and he's communicating through walkie with someone else. I pull back and wait till he's gone before I give the signal for the guys to proceed. We dart pass the corner and head further into the darkness. Multiple doors surround us on either side of the hall, but we make sure to clear them before we continue to advance.
A loud ringing noise penetrates the silence, sending a shock from my stomach up into my chest. I look in the direction of the sound and see Lionel wrestling with his pants. He pulls the phone from his pocket then switches it to silent. He takes a brief glance at the screen and his face contorts with confusion. The phone begins to vibrate in his hand. He answers and puts it on speaker. "Walk away," the Machine says. It comes across as a sincere plea, rather than an authoritative command.
"Tell us what you are up to," Harold demands.
"You have to trust me, Harold."
"What are you hiding?" he asks.
"I cannot tell you that information."
"You can't or you wont?" he asks.
We react in unison to the sound of feet racing in our direction. Four men come charging around the corner, each varying in size and shape, but uniformly they're similar. There's a large door at the other end of the hall with a bright light shining through its window. I start toward it, and the others intuitively follow my lead. To my surprise, the door is unlocked and we're easily able to enter. Lionel follows behind me, but Harold takes a bit longer to get pass the threshold. We urge him forward until he finally makes it to the other side. He shuts the door, and it automatically locks behind him.
