Chapter Six:

Once the initial introduction was over with, Root had been led inside the hotel where she thought that the Russian boss would leave her alone. She was disappointed to find herself the subject of further questioning. It seemed that the man's reputation as a personable leader was well earned…and most likely so was his reputation as a ruthless boss. He spoke to her kindly and with an interest that seemed genuine enough, yet there was an edge behind that charming smile that hinted at a more brutal nature. It was in his eyes, as well; the way he smiled at her yet bore into her with a cold, calculating gaze. Luckily, Root always played her part to perfection, blending into any environment with a seamless ease. She took much, but gave nothing away in return.

Not soon enough for the hacker's liking, the interrogation and the brief guided tour of all things inconsequential to her purpose in the building came to an end. Root slipped a hand into her pocket and softly traced the listening device that rested there; it was time to put the plan in motion. First, she had to find a suitable place for the bug.

"You all settled, Harry?" Root asked discreetly as she slowly meandered back into the main lobby.

"Yes. I'm here, Ms. Groves."

Given the last minute change of plans, Harold had been required to do some quick thinking on the spot. He had talked his way into the hotel business offices by causing a minor issue with the office computers and then presenting himself as an IT technician. Luckily, the other workers in the office had been just enough crayons short of a box to buy the half-baked ruse. That left him with plenty of access to the computers. Before he could get any work done, however, he had to fix his own little mess.

With confirmation from Finch, Root slowly meandered into the main lobby as she conducted her own little self-guided tour.

The lobby was a large, open area with a ceiling that reached all the way to the tenth of twenty eight floors. Parts of these ten floors were open to the lobby with hallways that lined the walls. Root noticed that there were actually three different exits in the lobby; there was the main door at the front and an additional two on either side. She noticed that there were two door men stationed at each door wearing hotel uniforms. While the guests may have been fooled, Root's trained eye detected that these were not ordinary door men. They had the hardened edge of criminality about them.

For business purposes, these men and any other members of Vlad's gang could not overtly carry weapons. Still, she had no doubt that each member of the Russian mob that she laid eyes on was packing some carefully concealed heat. There was at least that advantage if her cover should be blown during this operation. The mob would want to avoid a direct confrontation. A gunfight in their hotel would be bad for business.

Root casually sauntered out of the lobby and continued down a hallway that she knew would lead her back toward the rooms that served as a nerve center for Hotel Moscow's criminal enterprises. There were meeting rooms and semi-unoccupied offices with a couple of stray computers and some boxes. There wouldn't be any drugs to be found; this Bratva dealt in human trafficking and illegal firearms dealing, conducting those transactions in a seedy back alley of Brighton Beach.

She continued until she came to the office used by Denisov himself. Root silently cursed her luck when she noticed that he was seated inside and she tried to duck out of the door frame, but came back when she noticed his head whip up in her direction.

There was that pirate smile again.

"Ah, Natasha…finding everything okay?" As with every previous interaction with the man thus far, his manner was casual and open, but danger was just beneath the surface. Root noted that despite his pleasant attitude he seemed vaguely irritated at having been interrupted from the work in front of him.

The hacker smiled her most charming smile at the man almost as if she were trying to put him under her spell. She spoke sweetly in a voice that also was not without an element of danger. Two could play his game.

"Oh, yes. I just realized something. I didn't properly thank you for giving me a tour."

All the while, she was covertly surveying his office for a place to plant the bug that still sat burning a hole in her pocket.

The fichus in the corner? No, too obvious. How about the book case behind the desk? She didn't think she could manage that either. As talented at undercover work as she was, even she would have a problem faking an interest in A Beginner's Guide To Golf with any measure of authenticity. That left her with one real option: the desk.

But how would she accomplish that?

Denisov had responded to her earlier explanation with a statement she hadn't quite processed in the midst of pondering the desk. He spoke a bit louder and snapped Root from her thoughts.

"Are you alright?"

The question of how she would plant the bug only lingered briefly in her mind, and inspiration struck at the sound of his question. He'd given her a window.

She nodded slightly, showing him another smile, "Sorry, I was just admiring your desk." Root casually removed the hand that held the small listening device from her pocket as she ran her other hand over the smooth surface of the varnished wood. "Mahogany, isn't it?"

The boss nodded, taking his eyes off of Root for only a moment, but it was a crucial moment. He remained oblivious of her next action as he boasted. "Yes, it is. Only the finest."

As smoothly and with as much finesse as she did just about everything, the hacker casually moved her right hand along the bottom of an edge that jutted out at the top of the desk and left the bug sitting perfectly in place. The bug was well below eye level, so it was discreet enough that no one would notice it unless they bothered to kneel down to the floor and take a close look under that edge.

Root smirked at a task well done as she spoke to the boss again, "Well, as much as I'd like to stay and talk about your fine taste in furniture, I believe I have some work to get to."

With a few last parting words exchanged between them, Root exited the office and slinked back down the hall. If there was anything pertinent to their number going on, that bug would tell her.

Root missed the curious narrowed gaze that was aimed at her retreating back as the wheels turned in Denisov's head. His watchful eye lingered on her for a moment before he dismissed the encounter and went back to his paperwork.

On Harold's end of things the operation had gone reasonably less smoothly. In addition to the mild glitches he'd had to cause in order to cement his cover story, Finch had also logged onto a computer to discover a complex web of encryptions and other security measures that took him some two hours to work through. Luckily, the office staff seemed to have little interest in what he was doing. It was something that Harold found rather curious; none of the Russian mafia factions they'd dealt with in the past were known for being especially technology saavy. He filed that suspicion away in his mind to be addressed later.

Eventually, Finch was able to hack his way past the security and the server and into the mafia's email accounts. This led him to information pertaining to finances and recent business transactions, both illicit and legitimate. He would have no time to read through any of it, however, and so he pulled out a USB drive and set to work downloading the pertinent e-mails to be read later.

Since planting the bug in Boss Denisov's office, Root had set about getting to know various members of Hotel Moscow. As it turned out quite a few of them were gossips. In the two hours since entering the hotel, Root had learned who was sleeping with who, who was feuding with who, and who had shot who before. Unfortunately, there was nothing to be said about the ill-starred accountant; try as she did to very carefully broach the subject.

There was one thing of note…

If the whispers at the assassin's table were to be believed, apparently the boss wasn't too popular these days. There were rumors of a potential coupe. Given how long it had taken her to hear that information coupled with the loose lips in general, Root had no doubt that Denisov was completely aware of the potential danger to his throne. It seemed plausible to her that he might be planning something in a bid to assert his power; something involving the mafia finances. It was also possible that Don had discovered part of what that something was.

In the middle of her thought process The Machine began to speak, but it was different. It was distant…fading. Root could understand just enough as She continued to attempt Her message, and she felt her eyes widen into a horrified expression as the meaning of The Machine's words was processed in her mind.

There were a few more messages; each one a little harder to understand than the last. It sounded almost like The Machine was desperate and fighting against whatever force had taken hold of her; like the last flickers of a dying lightbulb.

Root hurried as quickly as she could to a secluded enough spot. "Harold…"

As he sat waiting for the final pieces of data to download, Harold startled slightly at the sound of Root's voice in his ear. He noted just from that single utterance of his name that her voice was devoid of all traces of its usual light, playful quality. It was deadly serious and tinged with a vague fear. Something was very wrong, and that made Finch fearful in return.

"Yes, Root. What's the matter?"

"I've lost communication with The Machine. I think She's been hacked."

As the data finished downloading in front of him, Harold's jaw fell open in shock and horror. The thoughts began to run a mile a second through his head. This was not good. This was bad; very bad. He could think of only one person besides Root and himself who had knowledge of the machine and would be smart enough to hack it. Never had he even remotely considered the possibility that Decima would use him for that purpose and he felt foolish for overlooking that now. It was so obvious. And, he knew that this would not stop at loss of communication. Hundreds of systems globally would be affected: surveillance systems, public transit schedules, government databases.

Harold quickly pulled the drive from the computer and pocketed it, taking the time to quickly plant a virus that would cover his tracks.

"I've got what I need. I'm going to have to go back to the subway to see if I can get the machine running properly."

He limped his way to the front desk of the office and bid the ladies farewell before taking to the street again. Underneath the obvious worry for his machine and the repercussions of the hacking, he was also deeply worried for Root now even more than he had been that morning.

"Please be careful, Ms. Groves."

Root's face contorted into something that was somewhere between a smile at his concern, and a snarl in response to her anger. It was an intense anger that hadn't been stirred up in her since watching Martine put bullets in Sameen while she watched helplessly. She was equally helpless in this situation, but, like Shaw, The Machine was not.

She had been programmed by Harold to fight back in case of just such an occasion.

"Just get Her back, Harold."

While Finch and Root had separated back in New York to divide and conquer the latest problem, Reese and Shaw had just arrived at the airport due to Reese's insistence that they be early. They still had an hour to kill before take-off. With a little help from false government credentials, the move through the security line was easy.

With some slight coaxing from Shaw, John had agreed to spend a little time having a quick drink before their flight. The pair made a beeline toward the bar and sat down in a secluded corner where their conversation wasn't likely to be overheard. With beers in hand for each of them, they bounced theories about their discovery off of each other, occasionally playing the part of bickering siblings to any wandering eyes.

They both found the meeting with Control to be troubling at best. A government cover-up of a distinctly anti-government group could not bode well for them if that group was working with Decima. Sure, they had allies out there, but it was also likely that this group had resources all over the globe. It was also well known that Decima had bases and agents all over the world. They had to be very careful about how they handled this situation.

After finishing and paying for their beers, Shaw and Reese stood to leave. It was when they left the bar that John noticed something wasn't quite right as he looked up at one of the monitors. He tugged Shaw's sleeve to pull her back to him as his eyes stayed glued to the screen. Shaw looked back at him with a question in her eyes and neutral expression on her face and Reese simply pointed up at the monitor.

Every single flight was either delayed or canceled; and it was a perfectly clear day across the eastern half of the United States.

"What the…?" Shaw muttered, taking a good look at the screen. They both turned to look toward the gate area in response to a few shouts amid the growing rumble of unrest. There was a disturbance brewing at the gates and the poor TSA agents and other airport employees were becoming helpless to stop it.

Shaw walked over to another monitor that displayed a slightly different set of flights and found again that they were all delayed or cancelled. Just what the hell was happening?

She didn't have to wait very long for an answer, turning around to see John putting his phone back in his pocket. His eyes had a grim look in them. With narrowed eyes, she gave a quick jerk of her head at Reese, silently asking for an answer.

"That was Finch. It sounds like things have gone Charlie foxtrot. Machine's been hacked."

"What the hell?" Shaw's eyes betrayed surprise and concern for just a brief moment before her usual composure slipped back into place. She knew that if the machine had been hacked, that left Harold vulnerable…It left Root vulnerable. And worse, she and John were powerless to do anything about that from their current location.

Reese was quick to note the concern on Shaw's face and added, "Root's fine. She's lost contact with the machine, but Finch still has contact with her."

Shaw nodded, her worries placated for the moment. This was good. Now, they needed to focus on getting back to New York as quickly as possible. She took a look around at the chaos that was rapidly spreading around them.

Clearly the 747 back to JFK was out of the question.

"You thinking what I'm thinking?"

"We're gonna need a car." John nodded.

The pair walked right past the desk for car rentals; they both knew that was a bad option right now. They walked outside to the front of the terminal where Shaw hailed a taxi. The taxi driver was a kindly middle aged Caucasian man who seemed eager to converse with the pair much to their shared irritation. John directed him to a small, private airfield in Maryland that he knew was mostly used for charter flights and personal aircraft.

Once they reached the airfield, the cabbie dropped them off at the front of the small terminal and they made their way around to the fence line. Shaw spied a man tending to his small Cessna aircraft reasonably close by and the two jumped the fence.

The man looked up in surprise when he saw them approaching and looked as if he was about to call out to someone when John silenced him, pulling a U.S. Marshal star from his coat pocket.

"I'm Marshal Jennings," He spoke in his best authoritative tone as he nodded his head toward Shaw, "and this is my associate, Samantha Gray."

"We need a lift to New York. Now."

It had been an hour and a half since The Machine had been hacked and Root had since been assigned the task of taking out someone she had been told was a former member of Hotel Moscow turned informant for the police. So, she sat, doing research at a computer…or at least she pretended to. She found her mind drifting to Harold and The Machine and wondered if he could get Her up and running again soon. If he failed, then they stood to lose so much more than The Machine. Her mind drifted back to the stock exchange; back to the bullets tearing through Shaw's body as she watched.

Root had developed something of a habit over the past few months of raining extra attention upon those freshly healed scars. Each time she saw Sameen's exposed body they served as a reminder of what she had almost lost. She didn't think she had it in her to bear witness to a sight like what she'd seen from the elevator of the stock exchange ever again. And she wouldn't. If she had to set the world on fire, Root would make sure that Shaw survived whatever was thrown at them; that Harold and Reese and Fusco and Bear survived. Her only family would not die.

She hadn't realized that she was chewing on the end of her pen until she managed to chew right through the ink well and the feeling of the ink saturating her mouth and clothing brought her from her thoughts.

"Shit." The only thing that seemed to be available to wipe herself with was the notepad in front of her, so she stood and headed for the private bathroom across the hall.

She had been working at her shirt for a good five minutes when there was a sudden, sharp sting in her neck. The realization was instant as the memory of a time when she was on the other end of the syringe flashed before her mind. This guy was good; she hadn't even noticed his presence until it was too late! She looked into the mirror, hoping to recognize the face, but all she saw was a man in a ski mask. Clearly he didn't want to be identified

As the tranquilizing agent ran its course through her veins, Root was overcome with heaviness. She breathed a few deep, heavy breaths as her eyes struggled to stay open and her neck fought to support the weight of her head against the effects of the sedative. It was all for naught, however.

The last thing Root's conscious mind registered as she slid into the floor guided by a pair of strong arms was a familiar voice speaking to her in a British accent.

"Sorry, Miss Groves."

There's Six. As always, thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoy and continue to read. Please R & R!