Finch had frozen when the van door rattled open. A rush of cold air, the reversed clatter and slam of it closing shut.

His heart had thudded, even after he had recognized the figure.

"Hello there." He angled himself toward her, forcing his fingers to relax at the keyboard.

Root looked around the interior of the vehicle. Her eyes came back to his, a tiny smile slanting her lips. A quick nod to the scrolling text on his screen.

"She appreciates the leg up."

Finch focused his eyes back to the coding. Multitasking and a loss of eyes in the building had spurred the birth of a new programming sequence. Replacing similar code with a twist in their favor.

Once he'd gotten access to the network he had been uploading it as quickly as he was writing it.

He would give Decima exactly what they wanted, only, it wouldn't quite be what they might expect. When the firm had accessed the higher levels of the program, it would unleash a worm capable of corrupting their entire mainframe in minutes.

Finch gave a modest shrug, the motion sending a twinge up his neck. The close quarters of the van allowed few comforts. "It would seem the Machine and I both both regard honeypots as acceptable tactics of defense."

"Speaking of defense tactics." Root sank into the seat next to him, her eyes scanning the screen as she spoke. "She's alerted me to a minor hiccup to your plan inside."

The screen on his laptop flickered. Finch gave it a quick frown. The upload had paused, a falter of the streaming text. He glanced to Root.

She raised her eyebrows. What can I say?

Finch tapped his ear com. "Mr. Reese." Silence hung in his ear. "Ms. Shaw."

Root calmly regarded him, tucking a strand of her hair, long and wavy, behind her ear. She smiled gently.

"The kids can't hear you."

Finch turned to face her. He could feel the lines score his brow.

Root's head tilted to the side, her eyes still holding his as she listened to another's voice.

Something stirred in him as he watched the expression on her face change. Knowing quite well who the voice belonged to.

What it belonged to.

"I understand." A pause. Root directed her next words to him. "You need to move."


In a scene that should have been dominated by guns and blows, Root peacefully traded herself (and a hard drive) in exchange for Ivanov.

"Hi, Sam," she whispered. She passed by the other woman with a wink.

She held Shaw's gaze even as the operative named Larry patted her down and pushed her to the side.

"I was serious about that drink."

Shaw squinted her eyes, just slightly. Seriously?

The woman was crazy.

Bat sh-

"Shaw."

She turned her head, breaking Root's eye contact. Finding Reese's. He wanted to move, and she yanked Ivanov out of the chair with little sympathy for his injuries.

"This isn't over," the Russian hissed, his glower aimed at the two operatives-to Root, even-and then equally focused on herself and Reese.

Shaw muttered under her breath, pushing the bulky man to the door. She stole one more glance behind them, just as they exited.

Root smiled, just for her, but she couldn't bring herself to return it.

In the stairwell, between the seventh and sixth, it hit her.

She stopped mid-step.

"The hand-off."

Reese regarded her with a frown. Coming to a stop a step above. "Hand-off?"

A grunt. Ivanov glared in disfavor. Sweat trickled down the Russian's temple, stress flushing his cheeks.

"It was her," Shaw said. There's going to be a hand-off, Root had said. She says to let it happen.

Well. They had let it.

"What?"

"She was the hand-off."

A pause from Reese. A glance to Ivanov. Now a murmured, "What?"

An irritated frown. Shaw moved as though to return upstairs and he caught her arm.

"Shaw."

"Get Ivanov downstairs."

He looked to her shoulder. The blood caking the torn fabric of her shirt. He met her eye. "She knows what she's doing, Shaw."

Shaw stared back. "You don't trust her." Shaking him off.

Or care what happens to her.

It was said with no apparent feeling toward the matter, but it was said.

Reese gave her a sideways look. He leaned his shoulder against the cinder block wall. "Shaw."

The echo of a door. Footsteps from below.

An exchanged glance. Ivanov opened his mouth and Reese gave him a warning look.

Shaw held up a hand. Wait.

Muffled voices.

Reese pulled his weight up, gave Ivanov a slight push.

"Let's move," he said softly.

The echo of boots. Paces quickening.

Exiting on the sixth.

A bullet pinged the door as it closed behind them.

"Shit." Shaw scanned the corridor. They flanked Ivanov, pistols raised. Moving down the hall. "The voice in your head couldn't give you a little warning on that one?"

Reese shot her an irritated frown. They paused at the corner.

"Let me go," Ivanov growled. He cursed in Russian, glaring at them. "Are you protecting me," he continued, "or trying to kill me?"

"Haven't decided," Shaw muttered. Reese tapped his ear com.

"Can you hear me?"

Shaw watched him, tugging Ivanov into the wall as the echo of a door opening around the corner hit her ear.

"Good." Reese moved in next to her, his voice low. "My turn."

Shaw pulled Ivanov around the corner, covering their backs, gun raised.

Reese looked straight at the security camera posted on the ceiling's edge.

"Kill the lights."

A beat.

The building plunged into darkness.


A sleepy coffee shop. Chords of new-age music whispering over the sound system. From his stool at the window, Finch watched with detached curiosity as three suited operatives surrounded a white van.

"Tea?"

Finch shifted himself toward the voice, nodding at the young barista as she placed a mug in front of him.

"Thank you." He pressed a smile and flipped open his laptop. A brief glance at the street before hitting a number on speed dial.

Two rings.

"Fusco."

"Good afternoon, Detective."

There was a pause. He could hear a muffled noise. Movement. The lull of voices in the background.

"Lemme guess. The shots reported down at the Initech building… You and the rest of the nerd herd?"

Finch stirred one sugar into his Sencha green, stirring it slowly.

"We may be somewhat involved."

"Somewhat. Ha. Yeah well, tell Frick and Frack to be careful. There's three units on the way."

Finch folded a paper napkin in half and set down the spoon.

Time to refocus the attention.

He tapped a key. Typed a line.

"The Eric Ivanov case. I understand it's been difficult to attain the appropriate evidence against Mr. Ivanov?"

There was a pause.

"Guy's pretty much untouchable right now. Nothing sticks."

Finch took a sip of his tea. Next to him, three girls spoke to each other, laughing in lowered voices.

"I trust you have access to your email?"

"Yes…" A beat. Then, "Jesus."

In his breach of the Initech and Decima systems, Finch had stumbled across a number of emails demonstrating just how well the two Ivanov brothers had thrown each other under.

The zipped layers of blackmail originating from an anonymous email and masked IP address would have just hit the detective's inbox.

"How the-"

"Mr. Ivanov may still be the Initech headquarters," Finch interrupted. He briefly raised his eyes to the window. The van was gone. "I suggest you see how quickly you can elicit a warrant."


Shouts echoing in darkened stairwells, unaimed bullets never landing a target.

Out of breath, dragging Ivanov, Reese and Shaw blindly reached the first floor of the corporate building.

Fluorescent lights and the din of the lobby's crowd hit Reese's head in a sudden rush. Behind him, the door to the stairwell slammed shut with an almost painful resonance.

He circled away from Shaw and Ivanov. Blinking his eyes. Waiting for the pounding to pass.

He tapped his com, masking his sidestep.

"Finch?"

No response.

He waited. Turned to Shaw.

"Looks like we're walking." His voice was low, murmured into the noise of the inner atrium. He kept close to the brick of the wall, subtly brushing his fingers against it.

They'd get Ivanov to a safe house. Regroup with Finch. Determine next steps.

He just needed some water.

Shaw eyed him, close-mouthed but suspicious. She tapped her com. "Finch," she tried.

Reese pulled out his phone. He squinted at its screen, hoped he tapped in the right code.

Shaw watched him carefully. "Reese."

He shook his head, then regretted the motion.

Her voice echoed. He kept his back to the wall.

"We need to go," he said.

Go, go, go.

He felt his hands go clammy. A chill, on the back of his neck. He pocketed his phone, forgetting why he'd pulled it out.

There was a siren, outside, and at first he thought nothing of it.

A swirl of nausea swallowed back.

"Reese."

He turned. A pack of uniformed officers, streaming through the mirrored glass.

"Shaw," he said before he blacked out, "watch your six."