They were sitting quietly in Henry Harris' hospital room when the call came.
Sorry Joss'n'John, but I can't stand it any more.
Joss straightened in her chair, shooting a look at John, who was suddenly sitting up too. "Can't stand what, Athene?"
I can't stand the way you people are all stumbling around, practically tripping over each other but never actually making contact. It's like you're doing it on purpose.
"What?" They both climbed to their feet. The old man in the bed stirred, but neither was paying him any attention.
I know what's going on, I can see it all, but you won't let me help. It's driving me nuts.
"Athene, what are you talking about?" Joss headed for the door, John just a step or two behind her. Somewhere else, anywhere else, would be better for this conversation.
Your problem with MI6. I can help you solve it. If you come to the Lyric at 20:00, I'll show you how.
"Athene, you can't interfere like this. You really can't," said Joss despairingly.
Well, if you people were being anything other than maddeningly incompetent I wouldn't have to.
"Damn it, Athene," Joss heard John mutter, but the computer wasn't listening.
The Lyric, 20:00. Take it or leave it.
There was a silence from their earpieces. Joss and John looked at each other. Finally Joss got out her phone to place a call. "We better tell Finch the good news. Athene is off the leash."
xxxxx
Bear, true to his training, latched onto McKay's gun arm and hung on. The gun dropped to the floor with a thud which was largely drowned out by the suppressed scream McKay uttered as Bear's teeth sliced into his forearm. He collapsed to the ground, the dog straddling him, but not letting go.
"Gettim off! Gettim off me!" McKay's shrieks were getting louder. Harold judged that enough was enough.
"Bear! Loslaten!" The dog let go as Finch retrieved the gun from the carpet. McKay rolled over, cradling his injured arm and whimpering with pain.
"Let me see, Mr McKay." Finch knelt stiffly beside him and inspected the lacerated arm. "You've been lucky, I think. Bear doesn't seem to have punctured anything major. But now we really need to get you out of here."
McKay shot him a look of mixed fear and loathing, but didn't say anything. He got to his knees and after a moment's hesitation climbed shakily to his feet. Blood was dripping from his arm onto the carpet, and so Finch allowed him to lead the way to his bathroom. There was nothing like a first aid kit, of course, but a small towel torn into strips made a passable bandage. Once he had the bleeding under control, Finch allowed McKay to go through to his bedroom and get dressed. Bear had followed along, panting and still quivering with excitement. He allowed Harold to pick up his trailing lead and run his hands over the dog, soothing him. By the time McKay had finished dressing, the quivering had stopped and Bear seemed calmer.
"Time to go, Mr McKay," said Harold briskly. He glanced at the bulky dressing poking out from McKay's shirt sleeve. "Although I think we might have to stop by a doctor I know before anything else..."
Xxxx
Bowen was lying on his back on his bed with the curtains drawn against the morning light, feeling as stupid as he could ever remember feeling. The voice in his head had obviously been an illusion, probably a lingering remnant of some bizarre dream he'd been having. Wishful thinking on a grand scale. Oh, how nice it would be if there was some magical being which would simply sweep in and take all his problems away. Codswallop! He prepared himself to get up, collect David and go out to Queens to murder a helpless old man. Just another day at the office.
Martin.
He jumped.
"Look, who are you?" he whispered after a moment.
You can call me Athene. But listen, this is important. You need to come to the Lyric Diner on Third Avenue at 20:00 tonight. Keep your earpiece in.
"I still have no idea why I should trust you," he said, more loudly.
Because you don't have much choice right now. Henry Harris is well guarded, McKay has moved the file to a safe deposit box, and you're running out of time.
He was forced to admit the truth of this, the last part at least. "Okay. The Lyric Diner at 20:00. I'm bringing backup, though."
It would be better for you to come alone.
"Why? Are these people a bit nervous, likely to try to kill me in public?"
No, it's just that the booths there only seat four.
There was a pause. That was meant to be a joke.
"Well, it was a very weak one." He wasn't in the mood for humour anyway. "Okay. You have your meeting. But if there's going to be more than one of them – whoever they are – then I'm taking Kevin."
xxxxx
Shaw was sitting hunched up on the bed, resting her cheek on her knees. Sticking around for a while might not be a bad idea. If the whole point was to avert the threat against their Numbers, well, she was in prime position to do that right now. There was also the chance to try to pry some more information out of Green Eyes. She raised her head. "Hey. Wilbur. You planning on feeding me?"
Green Eyes looked affronted. "My name's not Wilbur!"
Shaw shrugged. "Gotta call you something. So right now you're Wilbur. Anyway – food. Got any plans in that direction?"
His mouth set in a displeased line, Wilbur dug the room service menu out of the night stand drawer and tossed it over to her. "Don't go overboard. Room service isn't included in the operational budget."
"Oh, so you're paying, huh?" Shaw ran her eye down the list. "Hm. Scrambled eggs with smoked salmon on a toasted ciabatta sounds lovely. Freshly squeezed OJ and a fruit platter." She shot him a bright smile. "So, what are you having?"
He growled at her, but picked up the phone. Shaw smirked. This might be fun after all.
Xxxx
Farouk Madani glanced at Harold from under his eyebrows. "It's been a while since we last spoke, Mr Partridge. I was starting to wonder if you'd found another doctor."
Harold smiled, but did not reply.
Madani continued to irrigate the puncture wounds on McKay's forearm with saline. "A dog bite. That's not in your usual run of things. Normally it's GSWs, stab wounds, head injuries..." Madani glanced up again. "Oh, don't worry. I'm not asking questions. Merely making an observation." He inspected the wounds. "Well, Mr-"
"-Doe," put in Harold quickly.
"-Mr Doe," Madani continued, straight faced. "I've cleaned out the wounds in your arm. Mr Partridge assures me that the dog responsible is fully immunised against rabies, but there is still a high likelihood of bacterial infection. Some doctors offer antibiotics routinely in such cases, but normally I prefer to wait until there is some sign of actual infection." He glanced again at Harold. "Still, from my experience of your friend here, I think I'll give you a supply to take with you, just in case."
"Thank you, Farouk," said Harold. McKay, still silent and resentful, didn't respond apart from a glower in Harold's direction.
Madani left the room for the dispensary. McKay continued to glare at Harold.
"When I told you British Intelligence were after you, you didn't seem very surprised," said Finch.
McKay gave a surly shrug.
Finch felt his patience fraying. "Mr McKay, perhaps you had better consider where your interests best lie at present. I want to help you, but I cannot unless you choose to tell me what is going on."
McKay's face set, looking more than ever like John. "Your damned dog bit me."
Finch's patience snapped. "My dog acted to protect me when you pulled a gun on me. I agree your injury was totally unnecessary, but it was also completely self-inflicted. I'm going to ask you one last time, Mr McKay. You can tell me what is going on, or I can have you driven back to your apartment to wait until MI6 come calling. The choice is yours."
There was a silence in the room as McKay considered this. Finally he looked down at his fingers. "Back a couple of years ago my Mom died. She'd been looking after my Grandpa, back in Washington State. Before she died she made me promise to keep a close eye on him. So after she passed I moved Grandpa back to New York."
Finch nodded encouragingly.
"In amongst Grandpa's things were a bunch of old papers. There was a file there." McKay took a deep breath. "The stuff in the file is really, really embarrassing to the British government. That's why they're trying to kill me. They want the file, and I bet they want me too."
Harold took a long look at the big man sitting opposite him. He had a strong feeling that this wasn't the full story. Still, at least it was a start.
"Then the easiest way to get you out of your current difficulties would seem to be to surrender the file to the British government," he said.
McKay shook his head. "I know how this works," he said desperately. "That file is the only thing that's keeping me alive right now. As soon as they get it, I'm dead."
"I can assure you, Mr McKay, we won't let that happen," said Finch placatingly.
McKay shot him a look of disbelief. "Anyway, I don't have it any more. I put it in a safety deposit box yesterday. Just in case."
"I'm sure it could be retrieved-"
"No. No way. Not unless… unless they give me what I want."
Finch's brows drew down in bafflement. "They give you-" but at that moment Madani came back with a little bottle of pills, and McKay returned to his sullen silence.
Xxxx
"Wilbur, that was delicious." Shaw stretched luxuriously. Green Eyes had limited himself to the continental breakfast, casting aggrieved glances at her as he ate. She was enjoying her revenge for her kidnapping, slight as it was. Since it was obvious her name for him annoyed him immensely, she was using it at every opportunity.
It was full daylight outside now, and Wilbur seemed to be getting antsy. He kept shooting little glances at the door, but no-one knocked. After a while he cracked and went into the bathroom to use his cell, leaving the door open so he could see her while he was in there. She moved over to try and listen in, but he turned the shower on and she couldn't hear what was being said. He came out looking puzzled.
"Things not going too well, huh?" she enquired genially.
He shot her another irritated look. "It looks like I'm going to be babysitting you for a bit longer."
"Aww. You say that like it's a bad thing. I feel hurt." She pouted at him.
"Ah. Your Axis Two personality disorder's been turned off again. How convenient for you."
The sneering tone in his voice wiped the smile from her face. "It's not a convenience." She retreated back to her space on the bed.
"Well, it's bloody inconsistent, anyway."
"Why would you care anyhow?" She held his gaze until he broke eye contact. He turned away and sat back down in the chair, lacing his fingers behind his head.
"I never trusted the trick cyclists. I reckon half of it's made up anyway." He was staring up at the ceiling now.
"Trick cyclists?" Shaw was puzzled.
"Trick cyclists – psychiatrists. Head shrinkers. A bunch of quacks, sitting there with their little pads, 'do you ever dream of having sex with your mother?', all that shit."
"You think Axis Two's just a label?"
He shrugged. "Probably. In your case, anyway."
"It was never formally diagnosed," she found herself confessing. "I just found it in the DSM and it seemed to fit."
"DSM?"
"The Diagnostic and Statistical Manual. It's the handbook they use-"
"Ah. You read it somewhere. So it must be true."
"It fit," she repeated stubbornly.
There was a long pause. Wilbur's eyes were closed, and he seemed to be dozing. "It's a funny thing," his voice came softly. "We can always escape the judgements other people make of us. Like the smart-arse scruffy kid from the slums who goes off and gets an education, changes the way he talks, makes a life for himself. But the judgements we pass on ourselves – we can never, ever escape those."
xxxx
Julian was back in the Deputy Director's office again. The early sunshine filtering through the branches of the tree outside the window was irritating; he'd now been awake nearly thirty-six hours and he was overdue for his coffee.
"So you're telling me that this rogue operative who disappeared, then reappeared, then disappeared again… is back? Again." The DD was a tall, balding man, and right now his lips were pursed in distaste. Casey could see what he was thinking - "Can't you people keep track of your operatives?" - and flinched inside.
"Yes, Sir. The suggestion had been that he died in that bomb blast outside the DoD facility in New York in 2012. It would appear that that assessment was, um, overly optimistic."
"And now your people are telling you that he has some connection with this situation we've been monitoring for the last couple of days?"
"That would be correct, Sir."
The DD leaned back and stared at Casey through narrowed eyes. "So what the hell has he been doing for the last three years?"
"The easiest way to find that out would be to bring him in and… ask him," murmured Casey enticingly.
The DD's stare didn't change. Then he shook his head decisively. "No. Put a team on him and find out everything about him. Everything. But let him run, for now."
"Will do, Sir. I'll keep you informed." Casey made to rise and leave.
"Don't lose sight of him again, Casey." The warning in the boss's tone was unmistakable.
"Understood, Sir." Casey made his escape.
xxxx
Finch unlocked the door of the safe house and gestured for McKay to precede him in. "You can make yourself at home here, Mr McKay," he told his guest as they made their way into the spacious living area. "I suggest you contact your employers and arrange a few days off. In the mean time, I have some calls to make and some urgent tasks I need to complete." As he spoke, he opened his laptop and set it on the dining table. "There's a good selection of cable channels on the TV and there's food available in the kitchen. Feel free to help yourself."
McKay grunted at this and settled down on the couch. Bear sat himself next to Harold, but Harold could tell from the dog's posture that he was keeping part of his attention on McKay.
Once the laptop had booted up he turned his attention to the security camera footage, so reluctantly abandoned a few hours ago. He steeled himself for another tedious session of combing through it in search of Ms Shaw, and was beginning to be engrossed when a growl from Bear interrupted his concentration. McKay had approached. The dog was standing, bristling and starting to quiver. "Bear. Liegen," said Harold absently. The dog dropped obediently to his belly, but he still telegraphed "I don't like you, and I don't trust you either" in every line of his body.
"What can I do for you, Mr McKay?" asked Finch pointedly, closing the laptop.
"Is that damn dog going to eyeball me the whole day?" grumbled McKay, as he retreated to the sofa again.
"I have no idea," said Finch shortly, opening the laptop again and returning to the surveillance footage. But his concentration was again disturbed by the buzz of his cell phone. Sighing, he tapped his earpiece.
"Finch? Joss here. John and I have just had a call from Athene..."
He listened with increasing dismay. When she finished he sat literally speechless for a moment.
"Finch? Are you okay?" She sounded concerned.
He got up from his seat at the dining table and walked into the kitchen, out of McKay's immediate hearing. "This is something I've feared for years. Ever since I created the Machine. Oh, my Lord."
"She appears to be acting reluctantly, to break an impasse," said Carter.
"That's not the point. I worried about an AI being abused by the government, used to rule us. But I worried more about an AI taking human choices away. Now it's happening."
"Well, so far all she's done is propose a meeting. I guess we have the option of not showing."
Finch paused to consider this. "Who did she want to go?"
"Since she hasn't contacted you directly, I assume she wants John and me. So what do you think, Harold? Should we?"
Finch stared out the kitchen window at the view of a brick wall ten feet away. "I have no idea, detective. I truly have no idea."
To be continued...