The two detectives crouched from behind a car, in a camera dead zone some distance from the entrance to the ordinary looking business building. Reese peered at their destination through binoculars while Fusco watched their backs, constantly on the look out for any approaching Samaritan agents. Besides the occasional passing car there had been no movement. Needless to say it was all a bit eerie.
"You think this is a trap?" said Fusco a bit nervously.
"Almost certainly," Reese replied in his nonchalant way, lowering the binoculars. He patted the duffel bag beside them. "That's why I brought so many toys."
"You won't be able to carry half of that stuff with you." Reese just gave him a pointed look. "That's why I'm here, isn't it?"
"You catch on quick."
Fusco sighed deeply, resigned to his fate. "What the hell, let's just get this over with."
"That's the spirit, Lionel."
"Good luck, gentlemen," said Finch over the line, though Reese was the only one who heard it. "And please, no unnecessary violence."
They donned their bullet proof vests and then strapped on as many guns, ammo and miscellaneous weapons of mass destruction as they could manage without sacrificing too much mobility. Unfortunately there was no way he could take the flamethrower with him. He promised himself that someday he'd find a use for it. Hell, maybe he could burn Samaritan itself to ash. Assuming he got lucky enough to live that long. In the meantime he stashed it and their remaining supplies behind a dumpster.
Reese nodded to his partner and then they strode right up to the front entrance, assault rifles raised. When the security guard saw them his jaw dropped and his hand reached for his gun. Reese simply shook his head once and the man passively allowed himself to be knocked out.
They took the elevators to the basement. Before the doors opened they had their fingers on the triggers, ready for anything. Reese did not much feel like getting shot again, even with a vest on, so he would shoot first and ask questions later. Basically, what he always did. He vaguely wondered how many people he had knee capped over the years and how many of those had recovered only to be crippled again.
They were greeted by no one and nothing, just blank concrete corridor typical for this level. Reese signalled to Fusco and they silently headed off in opposite directions, adrenaline flowing freely. Finding nothing they doubled back to the elevator and moved along the main access channel, the one that ran the length of the building. In the middle of this corridor there was a locked door. Without hesitation Reese shot it open.
"Don't shoot! Don't shoot!" yelped the maintenance worker, cowering from his cot.
Reese lowered his weapon.
"Congratulations, partner," said Fusco, "you just located the boiler room."
He ignored him and directed his attention to the caretaker. "Was there a woman here?"
"Woman?" he replied, confused. "What woman?"
"Short, mean, deadly. Goes by the name of Shaw."
"I don't know anything about that! I just fix the pipes!"
"Shaw's not here, Reese," said Lionel. "This was just another dead end."
He felt like shooting the guy out of sheer frustration. Instead he turned around and left.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Reese," came Finch's solemn voice. "I don't understand. I was so sure this was the correct location. All indicators pointed to the sub level complex of that Decima owned building. Are you quite sure you did a thorough enough search?"
"Yeah, Finch, I'm sure," said Reese a bit harshly. "There's nothing here. Not even anyone for me to shoot. At least the last place you sent me had some action."
Back in the elevator Fusco said, "Tough break. Seems like they really don't want us to find her."
Reese tapped off the universal comm line. "Or maybe we can't find her because she's been dead this whole time and Finch is just feeding us bogus leads to keep us hopeful."
"Why would he do that?"
"Doesn't want the rest of his team going loopy. Not when there's always another number to take care of."
He realized too late that he had misspoken. With any luck Fusco wouldn't pick up on it.
"Number? What do you mean number?"
Reese was about to respond when the doors parted and there stood Shaw. Completely caught off guard they had no chance to defend themselves when she shot them both in the chests. Severely winded, he nonetheless tried to raise his rifle. Shaw simply closed the gap and pistol whipped them into unconsciousness.
A few seconds later Martine and four other Samaritan agents approached her.
"Well done agent Shaw. You've passed your first test."
"Do I get a cookie?" Shaw asked sweetly, which is to say, slightly less grumpy than usual.
Martine ignored that and gestured to Reese and Fusco's sprawled bodies. "Load them up," she ordered.
Harold was beginning to get very worried. Since the abrupt cancellation of John's comm line, he had been unable to contact either of them, not even by cellphone. As far as he could determine that meant one of two things. Either they had been incapacitated in some way or...well, he wasn't going to entertain that notion just yet. He simply couldn't. The thought of it being just him and Root - a woman who had attempted to torture and/or kill all of them at one time and would surely do so again given half a chance - was more than he could bear.
Assuming, like Shaw, they had been kidnapped by Samaritan, for purposes unknown yet no doubt chilling; then he had to retrieve them somehow. But how? What could he possibly do by himself against the entire might of Samaritan? Then as if in answer a distorted voice spoke in his ear. He had heard it countless times when retrieving numbers at payphones. Never did he expect to make direct contact like this. Never had he wanted it.
"So we speak at last. The situation must be dire indeed if you have gone against my wishes."
"The assets are in danger."
Harold was extremely relieved to hear confirmation of his comrades' status, even if it was less than ideal. At least they were still alive.
"Where are they?"
"I will show you."
"And no doubt you have a plan for me once you do?"
"I will show you."
Dubiously he looked over at the mostly empty weapons cabinet. Slim pickings indeed. "I take it I should arm myself?"
"Negative. Unnecessary precaution."
He was flabbergasted by this response. "I don't understand."
"You will."
"What of Ms. Groves? It would be unwise to leave her unattended."
"Convey her to assets."
"Surely you can't be serious?" he replied, beyond incredulous.
"Root is essential."
"I don't see how. And even if she is, there's no way for me to transport her in her current condition. To even attempt such a thing would be the height of folly."
"I will show you."
After this brief, yet irritating conversation with the machine, Harold was not the least bit surprised that Root had finally cracked. In fact it was a wonder she hadn't done so sooner. Perhaps her exceptional ability to balance on the edge of sanity at all times had ironically been the thing that kept her sane when other mere mortals would have perished. Whatever the case was he did not relish the idea of setting her free, but the machine was never wrong, so did he really have a choice?