Chapter I

Nom De Guerre

In New York City, year 2012, police sirens were heard around a five-star hotel when a valet- tall, dark and handsome with greying hair and covert brown eyes, caught Detective Joss Carter's attention. He was standing on the huge lobby, near the glass doors, as if looking for guests to help with their luggage. But in truth, the detective knew he was surveying the place for the nearest escape route. Why he was still staying around the perimeter instead of dashing out of there two minutes ago was beyond her.

It was more than two minutes ago when Detective Carter received an anonymous 911 call about the notorious and slippery child trafficker named Jerry Nickels, 47 years old, and a licensed physician. According to the source, he was to conduct a transaction at a luxury hotel in 301 Park Avenue between 49th and 50th streets. The tip, obviously sent to her, came from no other than the vigilante known as the tall-guy-in-a-suit. How he knew about the operation and the fact that she and other NYPD Task Force were two minutes away from there were a mystery to her. And so, trusting that the tip was genuine, she and her men went to the hotel, overheard a gunshot report from the accounted floor phoned to the lobby, entered Room 421, confirmed the illegal operation after desperate cries from inside the doors, secured the children; and finally, unarmed and handcuffed the culprits. Then, other police cars took off with their criminal in tow while she stayed behind to ask more questions. All was well. A happy ending was for those poor children but a bad one was for the grown-ups who should have known better than to do illegal business.

Speaking of illegal business, that tall-guy-in-a-suit, John Reese, was really getting to her nerves. And to her sarcastic surprise, the devil was right there in the flesh. He was not there near the doors earlier. If he was, she should have noticed him wearing that flashy red vest.

"What are you still doing here?" Carter asked the undercover vigilante as soon as she neared him and made sure no one was to eavesdrop on them.

"Nice doing business with you, too, Detective," John quietly replied with a charming smile. "Aren't you glad that you could finally send the bastard Jerry Nickels behind bars? I know I am."

"I'm glad, too, John. But what would make me happier is if you finally tell me how the hell you know about all these sort of stuff. And while you are on it, include how you knew that my men and I are nearby."

"In time, detective. Besides, a bug with a GPS Locator here and there would not hurt."

"You bugged the NYPD?! Of course, you did. I shouldn't have been surprised. You and your partner, and your methods… You are never concerned about the legal system!"

"Oh, we are very much concerned of them. That is why we are very wary of them." Another man joined them and their conversation. He was wearing gold round-framed glasses, an expensive Jeff Banks grey suit (complete with its matching grey slacks and vest, a pink pinstriped dress shirt, and metallic pink tie), gold Swiss watch, shiny black leather shoes; and with him, a leather briefcase. He looked at John with certitude. Afterwards, he awkwardly turned his head to eye the limousine that he had just emerged from, and then turned again to face the two, only to receive a sullen face from the strict investigator.

"Good day to you, too, Detective Carter," he sarcastically greeted.

The detective wanted to greet him, too, just to humor him, but she never did figure out who this man was. All of her background digging on him always pointed toward dead ends- and she thought that a middle-aged crippled man with glasses would be easy to trace in New York City. She spotted a plane ticket in his jacket's breast pocket and noted the name Christopher Lammergeyer written on it. But, she supposed that the name was just another one of his many aliases- or else he would not have them in plain sight. On the other hand, every now and again, she had caught John call him Mr. Finch. Therefore, as far as she was concerned, he was Mr. Finch for the time being.

She noticed them exchange looks and then, John picked up the two suitcases behind Finch and carried them towards the reception desk. Before following their mutual friend, Finch curtly dismissed her with as much courtesy he could present given their complex situation. Then, she left the hotel to wrap up her latest arrests, with the very strong guess that the duo had a new job to work on and a new person to help. She just hoped that as much as possible, no bodies would be reported to her desk.

Inside the hotel room of Waldorf-Astoria New York, John Reese put down the two heavy suitcases he had been carrying for his boss, Harold Finch, inside the ridiculously huge walk-in closet. His billionaire employer had checked in under an alias of Christopher Lammergeyer, a big-time Realty Company Investor from Boston, therefore entitling him to an Executive Suite on the upper floor. The reason for the hotel arrangement was still unclear for him, but he was sure that they were there because of a new number from the Machine. He was going to ask Finch about it when he saw him took off his coat, hanged it on the coat hanger across the king size bed, and sat down on the thick mattress to check his phone. He had his lips pursed as he studied the gadget on his hand.

"You look great today, Harold," he told the recluse with an air of tease.

"Thank you. I do love dressing up," the other casually replied without looking away from his phone. The disinterest made John want to tease him more. And so, he took off his red vest, unbuttoned the first two of his undershirt's buttons, walked over to the billionaire, leaned forward, placed both hands to incline on the bed, and whispered to the billionaire's ear, "And I would really love undressing you down. Or do you prefer it if I tied myself at the bed post first?"

The statement made Harold finally look up with big surprised eyes and he stared long and hard at him. The ex-operative just stared back at him and raised his eyebrows in inquiry. Hell, he tied him on the bed post the second time they met!

Finally, the older one sighed.

"I do not know what provoked that jest but it is very crude of you, Mr. Reese. I expected more demureness from a man of subtlety if you ever did bid revenge for that one incident…"

"Speak for yourself, Mr. Finesse. On our second date, you brought me to a hotel room then tied me to a bed post. Now, in another hotel, you unclothed and placed yourself on the bed, and looked almost good enough to eat. If that was not a form of provocation, I do not know what is." John cheekily smiled at his boss.

"We have a new number," the other man replied crossly and took his laptop from the briefcase he put on the bedside table and started to type. Meanwhile, the ex-operative walked back to the closet, procured a black blazer on his size, wore it, and sat on the chair nearby.

"Her name is Kathryn Knowing, 28 years old, had a messy divorce with Arthur Wiles last 2010, and currently works as a real estate agent. She used to live in Boston but moved to New York last year after signing a contract with Helix Real Estate Agency. She loves to go to the Caribbean for the holidays and Yoga- at least that is what she said on her Facebook account. She is very friendly- 2256 facebook friends and even accepted her ex's friend request last thanksgiving so, no more hard feelings from that perspective."

"Does she have any personal enemy? Perhaps from the company she works for?"

"No one, so it seems." He looked up to John. "That is why you are going to her office to find out more about her business affairs and her colleagues."

"And as for you…?"

"I arranged to meet her at the hotel diner for lunch to discuss my buying of one of the houses she is selling. Her agency is located at this building, by the way."

They exchanged brief knowing glances. John inwardly sighed. And so the arrangement…

"Perhaps, I should also find out if she has any threats coming from her ex-husband we don't know about. Wait a minute…"

Harold typed some more from his computer and then paused apprehensively. John noticed this and stood up.

"I think I know why her number came up- she is under the witness protection of the US Marshals."

At the hotel diner, at exactly 1:04 pm, Kathryn Knowing arrived at the scene and asked for her lunch reservation. She was beautiful- a friendly face surrounded by long straight red hair. She wore a cerulean Floral Lace Victoria dress that reached above her knees, showing a bit of her porcelain complexion. The waiter happily directed her towards a private table at the middle back section of the restaurant. Not more than a minute later, her client arrived as well. She extended her hands to give him a handshake and then they both seated themselves appreciating the wonderful ambiance.

"It must be nice being you, Finch- eating fine food here and there with our person of interest. How come you never took me to fancy restaurants in any of our dates?" A male voice teased through the man's earpiece.

John had decided to listen to the meeting via phone call and so, this was his way of letting his boss know. The boss, though, being a complete recluse, did not like him snooping. Since he could not express his discomfort in words in front of Knowing, he just quietly cleared his throat.

"It is nice to meet you, Mr. Lammergeyer. I am Kathryn Knowing and I will be your agent," she directly told him and smiled. She then tapped Finch's hands from across her. It was a friendly gesture, but Harold thought otherwise. And so did Reese.

"I could already tell she likes you and it is just the first three minutes of your first date. I cannot wait until she finds out you are engaged, Lover boy."

"Likewise," Finch answered them both. And then, to play his role, he continued. "Please, Ms. Knowing, let us cut through the chase. I would really love to seal this offer immediately. I have a lot of cash to spare but so little time, henceforth I want your quick exposition. What are you offering?"

"Why don't I just show you?" she leaned down the table, her cleavage showing despite the intricate laces, and brushed the toe of her black pumps up and down his legs. He felt more than noticed the gesture and saw her grin. In that moment, he was very thankful that he booked a private table instead of the open, in-your-face one. People would definitely notice his flushed face and think of curious things like power, money, and sex.

"Why don't we leave this restaurant right now, drive to the house, and check if the place suits your exquisite taste? Does that sound appealing to you, Mr. Lammergeyer?" she tantalized.

"My, my, a rendezvous with your date without finishing the first meal- that was quick. It almost doesn't sound like you at all, Mr. Lammergeyer. Or does it?" Reese joshed him.

"Yes," he replied, unsure which part of the questions he responded positively. "My limousine is waiting outside. Shall we?" He stood up, followed by Knowing. And, they left their table and the hotel, went inside the car, and drove off towards Château des Lapin, Manhattan.

At the drive, Harold Finch alias Christopher Lammergeyer, kept sneaking glances towards his company's direction. They sat side by side, instead of across each other, which Harold thought only natural for some people discussing an expensive business affair. Too bad he was not some people.

Of course, as perceptive as Kathryn Knowing was, she noticed the stolen glances and crossed her legs to show off her long creamy legs. Her purpose was to humor him, or unsettle him, or both, Harold never knew. But, those legs were just too fine- like Hummel dolls portraying an angel or goddess or supermodel, whichever. It made the same effect. It made him even more uncomfortable. Suddenly, he wished the confined seats of the limousine were bigger- or he could have just said no to the excursion in the first place, maybe.

"I like your tie," she said as they passed through a massive iron gate into a street filled with more trees than those they just already passed. If he knew better, Harold would think that most rich people preferred to live in the countryside especially surrounded by the glamorous most sought-after tree of all- the Big Apple. Good thing he knew better then.

"Thank you. I like your dress."

She uncrossed her legs and hovered nearer. Her breath tickled his cheeks as she whispered, "I like your pants, too."

"I like your… shoes," he replied in a hushed voice, confused. "Why are we whispering?"

"I don't know. Why do people whisper, other than when they are doing something naughty?"

Harold stared and stared. He fought off the flush creeping from behind his ears. See, this is the reason why he never was good with people, or socializing, or conversations with people in person instead of hiding behind information circuits and syllogisms.

He coughed and grimaced, trying to seem offended by… something she said. "What are you saying?"

"Oh, here we are! This is Château des Lapin!" she leaped off the car and urged him to follow. Apparently, the wooded area they passed was the residence's orchard. They were past the broad long lawns, the sparkling fountain, and the garden full of flowers and herbs. In front of them, there stood the modest looking house, but massive in its space and silver and platinum decorum. A mural greeted them at the receiving area of the villa and it showed the vast expanse of the property including the vineyard at the back, which was twice as spacious as the whole property itself. He might as well have bought a country house with its island in France.

"Very French," he said to no one in particular.

"Well, the past owners were French and so as the people before them, and up to the original owners themselves. Contessa Maria Louisa of Burdock inherited this land from her parents and decided to build a villa with a big beautiful vineyard. A couple of renovations later, it became Château des Lapin- because the Contessa kept a bunny as a beloved pet."

And there, he saw what must be the rabbit that inspired the villa's name. It looked fluffy, but not important enough to have roused such grandeur- Contessa Maria Louisa must have been a very lonely bachelorette. Castle of the Rabbit? Please…

"Interesting history," he eyed the vineyard warily. "How about you, Ms. Knowing, do you have a history to share?"

She laughed. "Oh? Now you want to know about me? And there I thought you were only interested on the house."

Harold blushed and she laughed sweetly again. "Let us come in. I am sure the vignoble will fascinate you as well."

And then they sat inside the greenhouse, drank wine- from the Chateau's own winery, and before Harold realized, they had more than enough wine to drink since the second bottle dripped its last drop. They were laughing the whole time, too- because of some joke, some not-so-innocent piece of information about the house, etc. Right then, Harold decided to ask what he came to know in the first place.

"Are you married, Kathryn?"

"I was. Why do you ask?

"Oh, just curious," he laughed.

"Oh?" she laughed, too.

"How was it?"

"How was what?"

"Your marriage, your divorce- was he a nice man?"

"Why ask?"

"Again, just curious."

"Well, we are friends now. Just friends. Do you want to be friends, Christopher?"

"Sure, friends, why not," he paused so he could swallow his tipsiness. "Are you sure?"

"Of course, I am sure. Why would I ask you to be friends with me if I am not sure?" She smiled sincerely, then. That was when Harold opted to show his seriousness about the conversation. She seemed like a nice person that she could possibly be the victim rather than the perpetrator, but experience said otherwise.

Harold chose his next words carefully. "I mean, are you sure you are friends with your ex-husband? No hard feelings at all?"

"You know what? Let us settle that bargain…"

And they talked about the house and the billing information- 15.6 million dollars less Christopher Lammergeyer's bank money, and Château des Lapin is his. The transaction went very smoothly, but every time "Christopher" asked Kathryn personal questions, she thoughtfully dismissed them.

At a neighborhood somewhere in Manhattan, near Queensboro Bridge, a well-dressed man, Christopher Lammergeyer, limped his way to a black SUV car parked around the corner of the street. Inside, having seated beside his driver, he opened his laptop and started typing.

"How was your date with Ms. Knowing?" the driver, aka John Reese, asked him.

"She seems very evasive when I breached the topic about her relationship with her ex-husband. I think she is beyond doubt hiding something."

"Don't they always, Finch?"

They always do.

"I cannot find anything significant from her office. As far as they knew, she is a simple, loyal hardworking divorcee with great social skills."

And by significant he meant worthy of being killed or killing for. If it is not power, money or passion, why else would she be a target?

"That is why I am tapping her phone to get a list of all of her incoming and outgoing calls from the time of her divorce until recently." Harold Finch, aka Christopher Lammergeyer, successfully typed his way around Knowing's phone line and critically studied her records. "She seemed to be calling one number repeatedly for two months but without response until… Yesterday afternoon, the number called her. Here is their conversation."

Hello, James?

This is James' wife. Who are you and why do you keep calling my husband?

I am sorry, but will you tell James to call me immediately? This is about work. Tell him I need to talk to him.

Listen, lady. If you are who I think you are, I will sue your bitchy ass to the next century. Stay away from MY husband or your dead. Got it?

"Sounds like motive to me," John uttered. "I think James and his wife will have a chat with yours truly."

"But first, we need to know where they live," Harold advised him and typed again.

"Apparently, James Grover's house on Ohio burned six weeks ago and he and his wife disappeared together with any government records they have under their aliases."

"Alias? Are they under Witness Protection, as well?"

"Yes. Original names are James Hardwick, Jr. and Elisa Jones Hardwick. They testified against Rodrigo Maine about a drug cartel in Memphis August last year."

"Same time Knowing testified against Gerardo Maine- same case, same place. This is unlikely to be a coincidence."

"Hmmm."

"What is it, Finch?"

"The Hardwicks are dead. Bellevue Hospital just filed their death certificates a few minutes ago. Records indicate they died of massive organ failure but before that, they were shot, and afterwards burned. But, who killed them? Why bother burning them up?"

"The most burning question is, what are they doing in New York, so close to Knowing?"

"I guess we are going to have to ask that to Detective Carter."

Harold eyed his employee since he knew John and the detective were still on a rough patch about handling their bad guys. John just raised his eyebrows and shrugged. That was when the recluse noticed that the neighbor was also eyeing their vehicle anxiously.

"Code Red, Mr. Reese. The neighbor does not seem too pleased having an unfamiliar car parked across their home. The husband is already taking action. He is walking towards us." Harold tensed.

"Stay calm, Finch, we wouldn't want to freak the neighbors out. Just ride on anything I say."

"And that would be?"

"An innocent reason why we are here…"

"I doubt if there is anything innocent about why two strange men in a car would want to park in a random neighborhood."

"Well, let us make it not so innocent then."

Before Harold could ask what the ex-op meant, his lips were already assaulted by soft lips not his own, and with tongue, no less. His face was trapped between two strong hands capable of disarming trained field officers without breaking a sweat. He had no choice but to stay still and hope that the awkward experience would soon be over.

And, soon enough, the prying neighbor tapped the car window next to the recluse. It made him jump not only out of fright and embarrassment, but also of relief that he does not have to be harassed any longer. John, though, lingered around Harold's personal space for longer than necessary- even sneaking more short pecks to him.

"Hey. Hey!" the man fumed.

Yes? Got any problem, sir?" John responded after pulling down the window.

"Take that," the neighbor pointed to the two of them, "somewhere else. There are children around here. Find a hotel or something." Then, he stepped back trying to get away from them. Obviously, what the two did, or what he thought they were doing the entire time, repulsed him.

The recluse wanted to correct him- to tell him they were not romancing each other or it was a one-way fling. That he was not, in any way, involved with the man next to him. But, for reasons unknown to him, words left him. And so, the ex-op took advantage of his silence and chided the neighbor.

"We will." And he just had to add in the end, "Homophobe." Then, he drove the car away.

"What happened to not freaking the neighbors out?" Harold dryly remarked after finally finding his voice, although five minutes too late.

"How am I supposed to know that he was a homophobe, Finch?" John replied coolly, but with a hint of mirth in his eyes. The recluse knew he was laughing his head off at him deep inside, even though he was presenting a poker face. This irritated him more than anything else.

"If it makes you feel better, I made out with Zoe last night."

"You did more than that last night, Mr. Reese."

"You were snooping? You naughty boy…"

"What does it have to do with our current predicament?!"

"Well, in a way, you made out with lovely Zoe through me."

Silence.

"And she was really good at kissing, too. I mean it. Her tongue is…" Harold cut off John by finally pulling up his hands to cover the other's mouth instead of just giving him his most terrible glare. But, after three minutes on the drive, Harold reluctantly let go.

"Do not, under any circumstances, do that again, Mr. Reese. I have more than enough traumatic experiences involving you already," he starkly said and then, he paused. "And I already hate coffee."

"I promise not to have one the next time."

Next time?!

Harold groaned his protest on that comeback while they sped along towards the library.