When Joss arrived at work the following morning Fusco caught her eye before she'd even reached her desk. He gestured urgently to her, picked up a piece of paper off his desk, and dragged her over to the cubby where the photocopier nested in the dark under the stairs up to the evidence lockup.
"Somethin's up, Carter," he said in a low voice. "Some chick arrived first thing this morning, closeted herself in with Moreno for a while, and then had me in there too. Grilling me about our mutual friend. They wanted to know all about how long he'd been on the force, when did he arrive, when did he leave – all that kind of stuff. I bet as soon as they see you, they'll have you in there too."
"What did you tell her?" Joss hissed back.
"I played dumb. Only got to know him when he transferred in from Narcotics. Didn't socialise much. Haven't seen him since he left." As he finished speaking Joss saw the captain coming out of her office. She jerked her head in Moreno's direction; Fusco followed her glance and pretended to insert his piece of paper into the copier. Carter gave Moreno an innocent smile as she walked over to her desk and pretended to get to work. But she could feel the captain's eyes boring into her.
"Detective Carter. Could you give us a few minutes, please?"
Joss raised her eyes to meet Moreno's, smiled politely and followed her into her office.
The woman in the office was tall, with blonde hair tied up in a slightly untidy ponytail. She rose from her seat as Carter entered, twitched a quick smile and then resumed her chair. Moreno didn't introduce the visitor, though. Once she was settled behind her own desk she simply gazed at Joss and said, "Detective, scuttlebutt has it that you know Detective Riley quite well. I need you to answer this lady's questions as fully and truthfully as you can."
The other woman shifted a little in her seat. "When did you first meet John Riley, Detective Carter?" she asked.
"Uhh...may I ask…?" Joss began, but Moreno cut her off.
"No, you may not. Begin, please, Detective."
"Well, I met him a couple of years ago, when I was working as an ADA after I was shot. I prosecuted a narcotics case of his."
"That would be People v Perez, would it, Detective?" said the woman, referring to a folder she had open on her knee.
"Yes, that's right," said Joss.
"Hm. And you're sure you never met him before that?"
"Not that I can recall. Before I was shot I was a homicide detective in this precinct. He was narcotics, we may have crossed paths in some context, but truthfully I can't recall any specific incident." There, that was as carefully vague as she could make it.
The blonde woman pursed her lips and appeared to be thinking. After a moment she said, "Detective Carter, I would very much appreciate it if you could accompany me to my office for a fuller conversation."
Joss began smilingly to refuse when the woman cut her off with an icy glare. "You will accompany me now, Detective, or I will return with a warrant. Believe me, it will be far, far easier on you if you cooperate with me."
Carter looked helplessly across at Moreno. The Captain looked very far from happy, but neither had she moved a muscle during this exchange. Joss didn't need to ask to see that Moreno didn't like this, but would make no move to prevent it. You're on your own, her body language proclaimed.
"Okay," said Joss. "I'll just get my bag."
The blonde woman stood up and followed her out of Moreno's office. Joss made it over to her desk and went through the pantomime of shutting down her computer and locking sensitive paperwork in her desk drawers while her escort waited impatiently. Fusco was keeping his eyes carefully on his own work, but as she picked up her bag to leave he glanced up at her just long enough for her to mouth "call Finch" at him. His mouth tightened in concern as she led the way out of the bullpen, her unwelcome guardian right behind her.
POI*POI*POI*POI*
"I'm telling you, Glasses, she never showed any ID. No name, no nothin' – I got marched in there and told to spill, and I bet Carter got the same treatment. Except she got taken away at the end of it." Fusco's voice sounded deeply worried. Disturbed, even. "What the hell is going on?"
Finch was back in the subway hideout, sitting stiffly upright at his desk. Thank God for the VHF network. It might have been originally conceived to hide them from Samaritan, but it was just as good at hiding them from the CIA.
"I think it's far more likely than not that Detective Carter has been pulled in by the CIA. John's old employers have gotten wind of the fact that he's still very much alive. John's underground for now, but evidently they've made the connection with Joss." There was a cold feeling in his stomach as he gave Fusco the bad news.
There was a long silence from the other end of the phone. "Jeez, Glasses. This is even worse than I thought. What's John gonna say?"
Finch shook his head slightly as he thought of this. "I can't begin to imagine, Detective."
"The last time Mr Happy went off the reservation he was half dead but he still raised hell. And that was just for revenge. If he goes looking for Carter to rescue her, he's gonna leave a trail of bodies all the way to Langley."
"I'm aware, Detective Fusco." Finch's lips were pressed together in a tight little line.
"So what are we going to do? We better have a plan ready whenever John resurfaces, because if he goes off on his own it'll get real ugly."
Finch's fingers were flying over the keyboard as he talked. "The first problem is to locate her, Detective."
"The CIA," said Fusco, finally beginning to process the whole situation. "They know about him. Shit."
Finch chuckled dryly. "I don't want to minimise the danger, Detective Fusco. But even though they know about John – they don't know about me."
POI*POI*POI*POI*
After sleeping the night in his underwear, Reese tried to coax a shower out of the unreliable plumbing of his fleapit hotel. Although the water was a good temperature, the pressure was almost nil. He would have got more effect standing in a good shower of rain, he decided as he dried himself with a thin towel. Better than nothing, though. He twitched his shirt on, ran his fingers through his hair in lieu of a proper combing, and left the room. First stop, he decided, a cheap menswear store for a change of clothes. Funny how working with Finch these last few years had changed him. When he was homeless he hadn't showered or changed his clothes in three months or more. But that guy was long gone. Fresh clothes each day were now something he took for granted.
Out on the street in the sunlight he sauntered along, tracing a haphazard path along the thronged sidewalk: kids on their way to school, moms out with babies in strollers going shopping, old ladies off to the park to feed the pigeons, or whatever old ladies did during their days… He was pretty sure there was no-one following him, but he gave it a good twenty minutes of walking, pretending to inspect shop windows, doubling back on his own tracks and then finally looping all the way back to the hotel. Nope, no tail. He allowed himself to relax just very slightly, and set off to find a fresh shirt, and that burner phone to call Joss and Finch.
POI*POI*POI*POI*
Joss wasn't very surprised when her new best friend pulled the car up in front of a dilapidated warehouse in the Bronx. It seemed to be the last in a row of five – no reason for anyone to be passing by. A chain link fence separated the building from a strip of weed-covered waste land and then a busy road. Barred windows high up along the top of the walls: a single metal door set in the centre of the long expanse of scarred red brick. All the surrounding buildings seemed derelict. An unseasonably hot day was getting under way, and the morning sun reflected off pale concrete and glinted off dirty windows.
She got out of the car and gazed around. For the time being she would pretend to cooperate, she decided, because there was a good chance she could garner some information which might be useful to John. But there was no way in hell she was going to let this charade go on one moment longer than was necessary. The blonde woman got out and locked the car.
"Funny place for you to have an office," Joss couldn't resist remarking to her. But the woman just shrugged in reply. "In here," she said, gesturing towards the metal door. Joss turned and began to walk towards it. I don't like the looks of this… She was suddenly glad of Finch's constant surveillance of her. This might be harder to get out of than I thought.
Instead of the open space she'd been expecting behind the door, Joss found herself in a gloomy corridor which seemed to run the length of the building. What little light there was came from the doorways which opened off it on both sides. A suite of offices, put in at some time after the building had gone up. Grimy and well-used now, though. There was dirty grey carpet on the floor, threadbare and worn. The blonde woman pulled the door closed behind them, and then led her along the corridor. After ten yards or so she pushed one of the doors all the way open.
Joss looked around the office into which the blonde woman ushered her. It was cramped and cluttered, the walls a chilly pale blue. Dirty windows set high in the wall allowed some light in, but no view out. A battered grey metal filing cabinet sat in one corner behind the desk, with a disorderly pile of papers spilling off the top. The desk was likewise metal, battered and strewn with files, stray pieces of paper and a collection of pens, pencils and paper clips. But the chill in the air and the damp, musty smell made Joss instantly certain that this office was no-one's real workspace. This room had been undisturbed for weeks.
The woman sat behind the desk and gestured Joss into the scruffy vinyl covered chair in front of it.
"Let me tell you what we know, Joss," she said. "We know you spent about six months pursuing John Reese. You wanted to arrest him as a vigilante. But after a while he flipped you, and you started working for him. We know you got shot at the end of 2013, and we know you went into witness protection and presumably lost contact with him. We know that a year or so later you resumed contact, and that you now share an apartment. So that's what we know. What we want to know, Joss, is how Reese flipped you. But mostly we want to know where he is right now, and we want you to help us locate him."
Joss sat, considering her reply. "'We' would be the CIA, right? I'm afraid I can't help you."
The blonde woman sighed. "Detective, I'm sure you can understand where we're coming from. This man is a highly trained, dangerous operative with few moral qualms. It's simply not safe for him to be running around New York."
Joss smiled a little to herself. Same old, same old. You'd think they would learn… "Yeah, he's seriously badass, that's for sure."
The woman's lips tightened. "He's a little more than that. He's a murderer many times over."
Joss said nothing, just raised her eyebrows a little.
Jen shook her head to herself. "Joss, I don't think you have any idea who it is you're sharing a home with. Did you ever read the Senate report on enhanced interrogation techniques?"
Joss's mouth tightened. "The executive summary, you mean. I did."
"Your lover was a willing participant in all that."
"Not willing." She knew she should stay silent in the face of the woman's provocation, but loyalty to John forced the words out.
"Are you sure about that? I can promise you, Joss, he delivered beatings, set dogs on prisoners, sexually humiliated them, threatened their families. Whatever he may have told you about his time with the CIA, that's the reality. Do you like the idea of sleeping with a rapist?"
Joss could almost hear the tiny 'ping' as something in her brain snapped. "One thing you're forgetting here, whatever your name is. This ain't my first rodeo. I went through all this stuff with the late lamented Agent Snow. And if there's one thing he taught me, it's that there's a golden rule for dealing with the CIA." She leaned forward to emphasise her point. "The rule is, if your lips are moving, you're lying to me. Now if you want anything from me, you better go get your damn warrant. 'Cause I ain't saying one more word without a warrant, and my legal counsel present." She leaned back again. There was a long silence. Then the blonde woman gave a tiny smile.
"Okay, Detective Carter. Have it your way." She got out her phone. "Clay. Dupree. In here, please."
The door behind Joss opened. A black hood descended over her head before she had a chance to react.
"I'm sorry it had to come to this, Joss," came the woman's voice. "My name's Jen, by the way. I'm sure we'll be getting to know one another quite well over the next few days." Large hard hands took her firmly by the arms, hoisted her out of her chair, and marched her out of the door.
POI*POI*POI*POI*
"John." Finch felt a wave of relief sweep over him. "Thank goodness. I presume you've shaken off your observers?"
There was a slight chuckle over the phone. "I had a little chat with one of them. Hopefully I've sent them a message to keep clear of me."
"I'm afraid that had rather the reverse effect, Mr Reese. I need you to make your way to the subway as quickly as you can. We have a situation."
"Another Number?"
"Well, yes, but Sameen is looking into it right now, Mr Reese," said Finch. He glanced over to the subway car window where a photo was taped up. "Please, you need to get here as quickly as you can. Don't try to contact Detective Carter just yet. Just...just get here."
The pause from the other man was slightly puzzled. "On my way, then, Finch."
POI*POI*POI*POI*
Reese arrived at the subway hideout to find Finch there – no sign of Carter, though.
"Mr Reese! I'm so glad you're here!" Reese was a little taken aback at Harold's greeting. There was relief, but it seemed to be barely masking panic.
"What's up, Harold?"
Finch seemed to take a deep breath. "John, I want you to know I've found her. I know where she is. But I'm afraid this morning the CIA took Joss in for questioning."
There was a strange roaring in his ears. He was struck completely dumb.
"Here," said Finch, bringing up a map on his computer screen. "She's been there about half an hour so far."
Reese craned his neck to look over Finch's shoulder at the screen. "I know where that is, Finch. It's a CIA black site. Old abandoned warehouse." His jaw was set, because he now knew more or less exactly what was happening to Joss. "I've got to get there." He shot the words over his shoulder as he strode rapidly across the platform.
"I'm calling Detective Fusco, he'll meet you there," Finch called back to him.
Reese gave him a tense, unfelt smile, and quickened his pace.
To be continued...