Chapter 5

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Reese came to with a start. He subconsciously knew that something was wrong even before he was completely aware of his surroundings again, and before remembering what had happened the moment the lights had gone out. His head was pounding painfully, and something sticky was aggravating his left eye. He blinked a few times, trying to clear his sight.

He'd been dragged inside the utility room, and was now sitting on the floor with his back against the left wall. His arms were raised above his head and a quick look confirmed that his hands had been tied to one of the pipes with what looked like ripped off strips from one of the bed sheets. Crude, but it certainly was doing the trick. Rubbing the left side of his face against his upper arm, he left red smears on the sleeve of his scrubs, but also managed to clear the blood that had trickled down into his eye from a smarting cut on his forehead.

He was about to try loosening his bonds when he caught some movement at the other side of the room. The all too familiar sound of a gun being cocked grabbed his full attention, pushing the thought of trying to free himself to the background.

"Tell me why I shouldn't put a bullet through your brain right away." Candrall was approaching Reese, pointing a silenced gun at him. Louis's grip on the weapon was firm and steady, betraying the fact that he knew his way around guns. Also gone was the stoop in his posture, revealing the apparently wiry body of a man who had kept himself fit. His voice was low with the kind of throaty rasp that spoke of too many cigarettes during his lifetime. "He sent you, didn't he?"

"Mr. Reese, can you hear me?"

John was more than a little surprised to be hearing Finch's voice in his ear. Not that he wasn't appreciating it, but Louis had definitely searched his body and emptied his pockets - he was pointing John's own gun at him after all. Maybe the old man had just not kept up with the progress of modern communication devices. Whatever the reason Reese was not about to complain. Now all he needed to do was figure out a way to communicate with Harold without tipping off the other man. But Finch was already a step ahead. "Clear your throat if you can't speak openly, John."

Reese cleared his throat and swallowed a few times to look like he had trouble finding his voice.

"Thank God," Harold breathed in relief. "Detective Fusco is on his way. You need to stall for some time."

That was easier said then done. John had no idea who he was dealing with, and who Louis was talking about when he'd said "he". All he was sure of was that Candrall didn't strike him as the sort of man who would have qualms about making good on his threat. He needed to tread lightly. Looking Louis straight in the eyes he calmly stated, "I wasn't sent by anyone."

"Right," the old man huffed. "Every orderly has a silencer taped to their calf and wears a gun in an ankle holster to work these days. I may be old, but I'm not stupid. I knew what you were the moment you stepped inside the dining room." He took a step closer and spat with contempt, his voice gaining in volume, "He sent you. That cowardly bastard sent you to kill me in my sleep, didn't he? Jesus Christ, it's been forty years! When will he ever give up?"

Forty years? Good grief, John thought, what sort of grudge feud has the Machine put me in the middle of?

"Louis, I'm not here to kill you," Reese tried his best to sound sincere. He needed to make the angry man believe him - though it didn't seem like Candrall was going to be easy to sway.

"Yeah? Then why the hell are you stalking me?"

John kept on maintaining eye contact with the Number, knowing that what he was about to say wouldn't paint him in a particularly sane light. "I have sources. And they told me that you might be in some kind of danger."

Louis's eyes turned to slits, and he tilted his head to one side while keeping the weapon steadily trained on John's forehead. "What kind of sources?" he asked suspiciously.

John mentally sighed. That backup would be extremely helpful right about now. "I can't tell you that." Louis snorted at that and Reese hastened to add, "I know it sounds ... well, crazy. But my sources are never wrong. I'm actually here to help you, Louis."

This time the gun started to bounce up and down as the man holding it erupted in disbelieving laughter. "Help me? Do you even know who I am? And can you tell me why I would be needing your help?"

Reese broke eye contact. Besides knowing that the man's name was most definitely not Louis Candrall, and - as evidenced by his heavy New York brogue - that he had not been born and raised in Ohio, he had nothing more to go on. Hell, he didn't even know if 'Louis' even deserved to be helped. But raising that question now was most certainly not going to help improve this situation. Grimacing, Reese admitted, "My sources aren't that forthcoming with details."

"And your greatest goal in life is achieving world peace, isn't that right?" Yep, Candrall wasn't buying it at all. "As much as I enjoy listening to your stories," he said, slowly stepping forwards, "past experience has shown me that where there is one of you others are never far away."

"Louis, you don't have to do this," John tried reasoning with the man, but he knew by the determined look on Candrall's face that he wasn't getting through.

"John?"

Reese closed his eyes. He'd nearly forgotten that Finch had been listening in. The worry and fear was more than evident in his friend's voice. The last thing Reese wanted was for Harold to have to hear him get killed. "That backup you were talking about would be highly appreciated right about now, Finch."

"What?" Candrall's forehead wrinkled in confusion. "What backup?"

"I'm afraid the detective is still too far out." A pang of guilt swept over Reese at hearing Harold's frantic and apologetic tone. This wasn't his fault. So much for being able to handle an 82-year old.

Never taking his eyes off the gunman, John relaxed his body and allowed warmth and affection to seep into his voice. "Then I suggest you better terminate the connection, Harold."

"John -"

"Hey!" Candrall yelled, interrupting whatever Harold had been about to say. "Who are you talking to?"

Reese regarded him, realizing that his talk with Harold had thrown Louis off. If he played it right he could at least buy some time. "I -," he began to say, but stopped when Harold's voice was back in his ear. And he sounded urgent.

"Mr. Reese, it seems like you've got company. Two SUVs have just pulled up outside, and the men disembarking don't appear to be intent on a social call."

"Send the feed to my phone," John instructed, then urgently addressed the man with the gun before Candrall decided to shoot him after all. "Louis, listen to me. I am not here to kill you, but those men who've just pulled up outside most likely are."

"What men? What?"

John turned his head to the left so that his earpiece should be visible to the other man. "See this? I've been in contact with my partner this entire time." Confused, Louis stared at him, and with relief Reese noted that the gun was no longer pointing at his head. "You've got my phone, don't you? Take it out and look at it."

Candrall extracted the phone from his pant's back pocket. "How does this thing work?"

"Push the button on the side."

The display lit up, and John watched Louis's face closely as Finch relayed the images from various surveillance cameras and traffic cams in the Center's neighborhood. At some point an unreadable expression passed over Candrall's face at something he saw on the screen.

"They are surrounding and entering the building right now," John said, repeating the information being fed to him by Finch.

Looking up from the phone, Louis fixed John with a hostile glare. "You are one of them."

"Well," John sighed, "you can either kill me right now and most certainly get caught by these men, or you can take the risk of trusting me and let me help you." He paused, his confidence growing as the first signs of indecisiveness appeared on Louis's wrinkled face. "It's up to you, but you have to decide now."

Louis stared at John. The barrel of the gun was still discomfortingly pointed in the ex-operative's direction, but Reese's gaze was solely fixed on the other man's face. He knew he'd succeeded in his persuasion when Louis's lips twitched into a snarl, and he lowered the gun. "Okay. If you are so hellbent on helping me, then by all means ..."

John released the breath he'd been holding, and tried to ignore that his heart was hammering quite ferociously against his ribcage. But all thoughts on how ridiculously close to literally biting a bullet he'd just come would have had to wait until later. Now he needed to concentrate on getting them out and away safely.

When the cloth binding his hands to the pipe came off John wasted no time getting to his feet - despite the needles of pain he felt in his limbs as circulation returned. "My gun and phone, Louis."

Still not entirely convinced that he was trusting the right person Candrall hesitated, but relinquished the objects at an expectant look from Reese.

"Finch?" John said, after he'd given his gun a quick once-over, making sure the safety was on.

"Are you alright?"

Reese allowed himself a small and very brief smile - a little touched by the concern evident in his boss's voice. "I am." John assured his friend. He took a look at the surveillance feeds on his phone, and - not liking what he saw - added, "For now. How many perps are we dealing with here?"

"I counted six. Two guarding the entrance, one the back alley exit, and three inside. They seem like they know what they're doing. They've already got Mr. Kovacs subdued and tied up, and are about to ... they've just discovered Mr. Candrall missing."

Reese watched the team of three hostiles methodically and silently make their way through the hallway upstairs, checking in on the other rooms without raising any of the sleeping patients. Their synchronized movements and stealth screamed of professional hitmen. Just what he needed.

If he and Louis were to get past the three men searching the rooms, the front door was definitely out as a viable exit - unless one fancied a hail of bullets as a greeting committee. Their chances with the back alley exit were a little better, but still risky. John was starting to get the feeling that his promise to Louis might have been a little rash. And time was running out.

Reese moved to the door and opened it a crack in order to keep an eye out on the hallway. "Ok, Finch. The front and back exits are not an option. Any alternatives?"

He could hear Finch's fingers fly over his keyboard, calling up blueprints and whatnot. He knew very well that from a strategic point of view the basement was the perfect trap. And the longer his partner remained silent, the more Reese felt like a sitting duck.

"Finch?" asked John, drawing out Harold's name and intentionally not hiding the tension in his voice this time.

"I'm looking," came the harried reply, but before Reese could remark on the degree of speed of Harold's search Louis stepped up from behind, clearing his throat.

"I've been sneaking out of this place through a basement window in one of the storage rooms. It leads out into the alley at the far end. It's obstructed from view from the alley entrance by the Center's dumpsters."

John quickly went over the intel in his head. "I thought the windows were barred."

Louis shrugged. "This one isn't."

If they exited the Center by the basement window they'd end up at the far end of a cul-de-sac. A dark cul-de-sac with no lights. With only one perp covering the back entrance they'd even the odds, if they managed to add the element of surprise. It was by far not an optimal exit strategy, but it looked like it was the best they had.

Shelving the questions about Louis's need for sneaking out of the place undetected for a later time, John nodded, "Alright, show me."

With a quick look through the door crack to make sure the coast was still clear, Reese pushed it open all the way, then followed Louis into the first storage room on the right. He raised an eyebrow as the old man locked the door behind them with a key, which John doubted the nurses knew that he possessed. The locked door would certainly buy them some time, but he doubted that the people looking for Louis would be in the slightest deterred in their search by it. And by the haste evident in Louis's movements the old man knew it too.

Lined on both sides with shelves, the room was longer than it was wide, and at the very end - up high underneath the ceiling - was their presumable means of escape. From what John could see in the dark, the glass of the window was covered in grime and it looked like it was going to be a tight fit. Stuffing his silenced gun into his waistband at his back, John used one of the shelves as a makeshift ladder and carefully pulled the dirty window open. He took a look outside, noting that indeed the window was hidden behind the dumpsters - just like Louis had said. It also meant that he couldn't see a thing.

Turning to Louis he whispered, "Wait here," then he pushed himself off the shelves and squeezed through the small opening, scraping his elbows in the process. Keeping close to the wall, Reese stayed in a low crouch as he pulled his weapon from his waistband. He carefully crept towards the edge of the dumpster, finally getting his first real look down the alley towards the street. Even though the alley was draped in nightly darkness, John was able to make out the form of a man clad in black from head to toe with his left shoulder pressed against the wall beside the back exit - ready to take out anyone who tried leaving the building through that door. He had his back towards Reese, offering up the sweet spot low on the back of his head like a target advertised by flashing neon lights. A carefully aimed bullet and he'd be instantly dead.

There was a time when Reese would have taken the shot without a second thought. Granted it would make his life a lot easier if he did, but he knew that Finch would never approve - and shooting the guy's kneecaps would most definitely end up alarming the rest of the squad.

Returning his gun to his waistband, John scanned the floor that lay between himself and his target for possible obstacles before slowly getting to his full height and reducing his breathing to a minimum. Skulking along the five meters of concrete that separated him from the figure felt like navigating miles of hazardous mine-fields as John slowly neared the hopefully-still-unsuspecting perp. When he got close enough he reached out with lightning speed and locked his right arm around the man's neck in an unyielding choke-hold, cutting off the circulation to his brain. Within seconds the man's struggles ceased, and his body went limp in Reese's arms.

John slowly lowered the body to the ground, patted the man down and took his weapon and radio. Then he got to his feet and closed the remaining distance to where the alley opened onto the main road. With his back pressed against the building's wall he peered around the corner, noting the position of the two dark sedans down the road. But he couldn't see any sign of the perps watching the front door.

"Finch, I'm at the alley entrance. Do you still have eyes on the men outside?"

"Yes, Mr. Reese. They seem to be concentrated on the front ... for the moment."

Finch didn't sound too optimistic. Well, it couldn't be helped. Unless ... "What's the ETA for Fusco?"

It took Harold a few seconds to check in on the detective's progress, "Fifteen minutes."

John grimaced. Fifteen minutes was plenty of time for the squad to notice that one man was missing. They really didn't have a choice - they had to try to make a run for it.

Reese looked in the other direction. There were a couple of parked cars approximately 50 meters down the road from the alley opening. If they made it that far undetected, they could "borrow" one of the cars and get the hell out of Dodge.

Slinking back into the shadow that the alley provided, John stepped over the unconscious perp and briskly walked back to the window behind the dumpsters. Kneeling down he whispered into the even deeper darkness below, "Louis?"

"What the hell took you so long?" the darkness answered with a rough voice, before Candrall's face appeared in the window. Refraining from replying, Reese merely grabbed the man by his arms and pulled. He kept one hand on the older man's left biceps, and reached for his gun with his other. "Let's go."

When they reached the alley opening John took one last cautious look towards the front of the building, then more or less gently pushed Louis ahead of him. "Walk. Fast."

Reese kept checking over his shoulder as they made their way across the open ground, and almost allowed himself to feel relieved as they reached the tail end of the first parked car.

"Mr. Reese!"

Finch's alarmed warning came just a split second before the first bullet tore a hole in the car's metal beside them, a second bullet shattering its rear window.

Pushing Louis ahead of him, John half-turned to squeeze off a couple of shots in the general direction the bullets had come from. Taking cover in the gap between the parked cars, Reese ordered Candrall to stay down and he peered around the hood, trying to get the shooter - or shooters - in sight. Another hail of bullets forced him back behind his cover. He'd caught a glimpse of the muzzle flash of one of the perps lying down cover fire as his partner sprinted across the street. They were obviously planning on attacking them from both sides.

Pulling out the gun he'd taken from the man guarding the back door, Reese ducked down as another bullet shattered their cover's windshield. He called out to the man beside him, who looked at him surprisingly calmly. "You know your way around guns, right?" John asked, handing over the piece at Candrall's affirmative nod. "One hostile at your ten o'clock. Keep him busy."

While Louis was busy pinning down the man to the left, the second gunman peered from behind his cover - just as John had hoped. For the lack of a visible knee Reese aimed for the man's shoulder, dropping him with one well-placed bullet. Knowing that both Louis and he were bound to run out of ammunition soon, John wasted no time. He got to his feet - still keeping himself low - and moved to the driver's side rear window. He smashed it with the butt of his gun, and a cloud of glass shards rained onto the backseat. John reached through the opening towards the driver's door and pulled on the peg to unlock the car's doors.

"Get in the car!" he yelled, taking his turn in lying down cover fire for Louis. He knew it could only be a matter of very little time before the three hostiles who had been tasked with searching inside the building would be joining in. And then they'd be beyond screwed.

According to Reese's count he still had only two bullets left in his magazine when Candrall pulled the passenger door close behind him. John got in behind the wheel and they both cowered down as best as they could. Yanking the wires out from underneath the dash, John picked the ones he needed with practiced ease and had the car hot-wired within seconds. The rear window shattered - adding more sparkly shards to the backseat, as the engine purred to life - and with screeching tires Reese tore off the sidewalk.

Skidding around the corner of the next intersection, John pushed down all the way on the gas pedal. They needed to get as much distance between them and the hit squad as possible. Those SUV's had a lot more horsepower and John had a feeling that those men weren't going to give up that easily.

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To be continued...