Reese hurriedly made his way up the stars to the library, balancing the breakfast container and two hot drinks as he rounded the last corner to the main room of their headquarters. It was almost 6:00 am and he still hadn't gotten a call from Finch.
The computer room was unusually void of any typing or paper shuffling; even the blue light spilling from the morphing screen savers suggested they hadn't recently been touched. Only the dull hum of computer fans, and the soft, stereo snoring of Finch and Bear, broke the silence.
Reese found Finch with his head uncomfortably cradled in his arms on the desk, and Bear protectively curled at his feet. He noted the frown creasing the brow of his overworked friend, most likely due to the pain the position would be causing his neck.
Finch looked worn, far from his usual dapper appearance and wore the same clothes, obviously, not having left after sending him away. Not even Bear bothered to move.
Finch's tenacity amazed him. Many times Reese wondered what happened in his past to have instilled such an undying level of dedication and drive. Someday.., maybe Finch would share, but regardless he admired the man and was thankful to call him a friend.
Letting him sleep, John silently moved to their display board, finding it plastered by information. John clung to his coffee as if it were a weapon against the hypnotic sounds of his sleeping companion and quickly immersed himself, memorizing each posted fact.
Unexpectedly, a voice broke the silence. "I've been looking for anything that might connect our numbers." Reese turned, surprised at how quickly Finch could go from out-cold,to intensely awake. If Reese hadn't just heard him snoring, he would have doubted he'd ever been asleep.
"Find anything? And good morning, Harold."
Finch distractedly and pushed on. "So far, two things, besides the obvious background and training commonalities. I also thought to check into their previous mission histories. Covert missions would have given them access to potentially sensitive intel, but that was a dead-end. I found no evidence of them selling information, or anything along those lines to suggest a connection or threat."
"So what did you find? And Harold... here," Reese slid the eggs Benedict directly in front of Finch, handing him the fork, "eat something."
Finch took the fork, but didn't acknowledge it as he continued. "Well, they're not exactly upstanding citizens. In fact, my findings show they are all involved in some form of illegal activity from weapons trafficking and insurance fraud to hired services - of the assassination variety. Again however, nothing that connects them specifically, except that they were all here, in New York, this time last year."
"All of them? Sounds like they're planning something. Why else collect in New York, again. You said two things?"
"Indeed. I managed to track down a few of their email accounts, and found a common message, highly encrypted, from both last year and now."
"What was in the email?"
"I can't say; I'm still working on opening it."
John frowned. "That doesn't make any sense."
"How so, Mr. Reese?"
"They would be more careful. Leaving a record of their visit, not wiping old emails? It all seems too sloppy for their level of training. They'd know how to communicate to travel and avoid detection, and not leaving any evidence leading back to them - is Covert Ops-101. They would know - because I would. Do we know why, they were here last year?"
Finch took a drink and looked at John. "No, not yet. I'm running a search of any thing out of the ordinary that might have occurred around this date, last year. But I have a feeling the answer is in those emails. I'll need to get physical access to one of their laptops to download a key."
"You can't just crack the code?"
"Given enough time, yes, but using brute force on a code like this would take weeks we don't have. I haven't seen such a sophisticated level of encryption since... well, my work. In this case it would be prudent to bypass the algorithm question and address Key management. Nothing man-made is ever perfect Mr. Reese, there are always flaws, and the handler is usually the weakest link - if you will." Finally Finch noticed his food and took a few bits.
"Here, you look like you could use one or two." John handed Harold the pill bottle he always used on those 'bad days.'
"Thank you. I would assume, by your much improved appearance and demeanor, that you managed to get some rest?"
He couldn't catch the smile before it faintly flashed across his face. The memory of waking up in Carter's arms was still so real, he could still feel her warmth. "I did, thank you." Finch questioningly eyed him a bit longer than he felt comfortable with, so Reese changed the subject. "What do we have on their locations?"
Pushing the mostly eaten food aside. Finch stood and stiffly moved toward the board. "Going off the assumption that they might all be heading to New York again, I tapped into the TSA facial recognition software and got a couple hits."
Finch pointed to the first face in their line up. "Under the alias, Mark Doyle, Martin Boyd arrived into JFK this morning. I was able to tack him from there to the Ritz-Carlton, Central Park. His current line of work is as an arms dealer, trafficking weapons, mostly, to and from China. Prior to that, he was a career solider until disobeying his orders and detonating three bombs in a Columbian village, killing over thirty civilians. Needless to say he was dishonorably discharged, before he went off grid."
"Sounds like a quality guy..." Reese flippantly mumbled.
"I'm afraid you're opinion isn't going to vary much with the others either, Mr. Reese. Dan Erinson, the presumed dead ex-Marine, is using an international furniture shipping company to smuggle and sell weapons to Columbia and Cuba. On a hunch, I checked the company's assets list and found a private jet. A flight plan was logged showing it's arrival into New York this morning, and I have him checking into the Essex House Hotel.
"So two arms dealers... They might be here for a sale. What about the others?" Reese was trying to piece things as they went.
"By implementing specific facial recognition algorithms into the traffic camera network, I crudely managed to locate Hugh Sinclair and Sandra Stark. They both appear in New York as of yesterday, although it seems Mr. Sinclair has been here all along. He's created an entirely new cover, a very good one at that. I almost didn't uncover his new identity were it not for the smallest link back to an Aunt in the UK. He now goes by Hugh Wayneright, and runs a real estate consulting firm downtown. However, it's nothing more than a front for his work as a 'Fixer.'"
Finch paused noticing the expression on John's face, and shook his head. "Before you get concerned that you have competition... you needn't. He offers his 'fixing' skills to the highest bidder. Blackmail, extortion,and ransomed kidnappings are just a few of his advertised specialties. Though, despite the reasons for being fired from MI6, he does not list wet-works as one of them."
"Okay, so not a killer, but no boy-scout either. What about Stark and Trent?"
"Indeed. Miss Stark now uses her explosives and demolitions expertise for her own brand of 'skills for hire;' she destroys buildings for clients, making it look like an accident so they can collect on enormous insurance claims and lawsuit payoffs. My program identified her entering New York around 2:00 am and tracked her to the Waldorf-Astoria."
"As you can see, this only adds to our dilemma of establishing why the machine gave us their numbers, and the possibility that they are co-conspiring a crime remains a distinct possibility."
"None of this narrows down why the machine gave us their numbers. If anything, we've got possibilities crawling out of the woodwork. At least they are all in New York. What about the fifth guy?"
"Mr. Trent, yes. I'm afraid he has proven to be a bit harder to find. He seems to be quite adept at avoiding any cameras, so I've targeted his financials to see if I can find him that way. I was correct in my assumption that his Private Security firm is not his only focus. Much like Sinclair, Trent offers a full array of services, but unlike Sinclair, Trent specializes in assassinations."
Finch could see look of conflicted doubt. "What are you thinking Mr. Reese?"
"I feel like we're wasting our time. These guys are obviously all degenerates, why not just turn them all in? The FBI would be thrilled."
"I understand you're feels. And frankly I'm of the same mind. However, if they are in fact the victims, then we need to identify why the machine gave us their numbers first. We may miss the bigger picture, thereby allowing not truly stopping the threat."
"Then the only way to get the answers we need is to get eyes on them, and see what's going on." He still wasn't sure that getting the numbers out-of-the-way wasn't the best course of action. But Finch was right, they might never uncover the truth otherwise. "I'm going to meet with Carter and Fusco, bring them up to speed and get them on at least two of our numbers. Any preferences Finch?"
"Preference?" Finch squinted in question.
"Who's computer do you want? You said you needed a physical connection to one of their computers." Reese frowned, Finch needed to recharge after last night's research-marathon.
"Ah. Sinclair's office maybe a good bet, perhaps for one of the Detectives? I'll arrange a cover story. And Stark. She has a spa appointment this morning. I hacked the Waldorf computer system last night and did see she was carrying a computer case. If she leaves it in the room... I'll only need ten minuets with it."
"I'll put Carter on Sinclair. She has more covert training. And Harold, maybe you should grab a quick nap. You look terrible." With those tender words Reese disappeared down the hall.