*Warning - this chapter contains violence, injury and death. (Nothing more than the show, but you can't gloss over something with words as easily as you can on the screen.)
Carter had easily memorized her cover story, even did a little deeper background research herself. But she soon found herself bored and began pulling the files on their five names. She had hoped to find something Finch hadn't. Unfortunately, she came up empty and was out of time. She had to run home and get ready for her appointment.
She made haphazard piles of clothes on the floor and bed; it had to be just right.
Pulling out these clothes, should have been special, made her feel happy or excited, but instead, they were made meaningless and turned into tools. That depressed her.
The last time she'd worn one of her special dresses, it had been for John, but not for the reasons she fantasized about. No. It had been to lure, drug and steal a DNA sample from an innocent man in order to help John avoid exposure when he was being held at Rikers by the FBI.
Carter smoothed her hair and sprayed some perfume before heading out.
It struck her as tragic, that she never got to dress up for the normal reasons anymore. She humorlessly laughed, while exiting her car and staring up at the swanky high-rise. Her life was so far from normal - it wasn't funny. Hell, what was normal anymore? Is that even what she wanted?
The drooling look on Hugh Sinclair's face told her all she needed to know. Normal was overrated. "Mr. Wayneright? I'm Jan Carson..."
Reese forced the elevator ceiling service hatch open, and pulled himself up. The elevator had stopped between floors so it wasn't too difficult to reach and force the doors open to the floor above.
He'd made it two levels from the basement before the power had been cut. He expected they'd be on the hunt for him and Trent. Why they waited until now was not clear. Tactically sloppy, if you asked him. Hopefully that, amongst many other questions, would be answered.
Reese launched down the last flights, moving with cautious but unfaltering speed to intercept who ever was orchestrating this attack.
John reached the garage entrance, gun in hand and peered around the corner. The parking garage had been plunged into an eerie darkness defused only by the hotel's red emergency strips. "Not sure if you can hear me, but I'm blind down here. What's his location?"
"...moving y..r direc... from northw... .bout..." Finch hoped something of his message got through.
Using what he could piece together, Reese crouched, slipping between the row of cars to his right and darted alone the east wall. He stopped, pressed up against a car door and strained to detect even the slightest noise.
The metallic slide of a rifle bolt echoed through the garage making it hard to establish any true location.
John chanced a look, hoping a movement might betray his enemy's position. Instantly, the dull plunk of silenced gunfire pelted the stone wall behind him. John instinctively tried to duck as shards of exploding concrete sprayed the cars bellow. The first couple shots had been just a warmup for the third, that clipped and spun him into the side of car.
He'd felt the searing heat of the bullet just graze his temple and scrambled out of his attackers line of fire. John rubbed his head, assessing the damage. "That was close." He mumbled, relieved it was only a shallow hit. But a shot like that.., in the dark.., meant he was facing someone prepared for bitch black warfare.
"John!... network is ... military... protocol platform ... big - twenty node. Don't know.. ow many involved. ...can't break... frequen... help you. ...calling Detec...for back up." Finch was desperate to get through. He'd heard what sounded like gunfire and was growing increasingly concerned by this compromised situation. The jammer was military grade, powerful and on a scale that left him truly worried. They weren't dealing with one or two men. No, this was linked to a larger network with encryption capabilities far beyond anything the mobs, or even Elias had. This was something new.
"No! Finch, keep them away. You, copy?" There were too many variables to risk Carter and Fusco getting catch in the crossfire, and things were about to get - messy. "Harold - did - you copy?"
"...opy but..." Finch heard enough to know Mr. Reese was ok, and didn't want help.
With his knife, John cut a long strip of his shirt. Quickly twisting it into a rope, he fed the fabric down the fuel fill pipe of an older Audi; he left just enough for a short fuse.
The flick of his lighter easily ignited the fine cotton, giving him only seconds to make safe cover. Two cars and van was all that separated him from the explosion that rocked the entire structure, ripping through the confined area with a bone-jarring domino effect.
He'd cut it close, not realizing how much the grazing bullet had affected his balance until he tried to run. But luckily, it worked.
It wasn't the concussive shock wave, intense heat, or the hurling chunks of mangled metal, that Reese had been after. It was the blinding flash that got the intended results - the telltale screams. Night vision gear wasn't always an advantage, and now he knew he was up against more than one enemy.
The cries of pain were all he needed to put the targets in his sights. Reese shoved from the van, pushing into a zeroing sprint as he quickly closed the distance.
The last pieces of burning debris were still landing, as two dark forms materialized through the swirling black smoke. The men staggered, still disoriented from their temporary blindness and blast shock.
Without hesitation, Reese delivered a fisted upper cut to the closest man and thrust a kick to the chest of the second. "Always nice to put faces to the people trying to kill me."
The first man stumbled backwards and into a parked car. The second angrily racked his night vision goggles from around his neck and moved on Reese.
The chest shot should have slowed him, but it hadn't phased the man. John frowned, studying the odd uniforms the men wore as he ducked a wide swing from the second man.
Both men were every bit his height, overly conditioned and minus a good fifteen years. Their precise attacks and relentless drive, screamed hammered-in training. Military dedication.
Toe to toe, the men matched Reese in skill and speed. Their combat style was a mixture of Systema, Krav Maga and Special Forces, dangerously similar to his own, and suggested a broad background. Add to that, the unusual gear and body armor, and you had the well-funded Mercenary.
They continued trading a barrage of shrewdly executed attacks. Reese tried to concentrate his blows to the men's exposed areas, because the ultra-thin armor they wore seemed to simply absorb any damage, and served only to frustrate and tire him.
Using both hands, Reese drove his knuckles into the second man's carotid arteries, disrupting his blood pressure and dropped him cold. The timing was perfect to narrowly avoid the other man's leaping attack.
The Merc spun a head-leveling kick, that Reese narrowly dodged. A string of damagingly accurate punches followed.
Reese countered with a blur of defensive blocks, stopping most of the shots, but the skill of this man was undeniable as he landed a kidney punch that caused Reese to arch forward and have his gun knocked from its holster.
Dammit. He hated loosing his guns! He thought with frustration while regained his footing.
Pissed, he spun around snapping a hand slice to the Merc's neck, finally slowing his mad advances and giving Reese a turn to retaliate.
John targeted the man's exposed areas, delivering surgical nerve strikes with debilitating efficiency. Searing hot pain faltered the big man, stopping his planned attack while Reese continued the assault.
The mercenary backed off, closely holding his throbbing arms to his body, but instead of giving up, as Reese expected, the men pivoted into a spinning kick. The momentum brutally connected with John's ribs, folding him to one knee.
It was a hard hit. If not for the buffering protection of his vest and his ability to focus passed the pain, he wouldn't have gotten up.
"Mr. Ree..., what's ..h..p..ening?"
Protecting his battered core, it wasn't much of a stretch to play the bested victim and bait the Mercenary in for a final attack. The man smiled a menacing grin as he approached. But it wasn't the easy kill he was expecting when John rammed his elbow into the nerve cluster that ran up the man's outer thigh.
Leg numbed, the Merc flopped to his hands, awkwardly blocking Reese's next kick, but somehow managing to hook John's foot and steal his balance.
This flash of an advantage afforded the man just enough time to drive from the ground and plant his head and shoulder, well into Reese's body, sending them both crashing backwards; a concrete pillar was all that kept the clashing men upright.
"Mr. Reese?" John heard Finch's concern, but didn't answer. Not that he could anyway..., since most of the air had just been knocked out of his lungs. Regardless, Reese wouldn't have revealed Finch to his attacker.
Ignoring this inconvenient lack of oxygen, Reese decided to play dirty, and end this stalemate. With everything he had, he hiked a crushing knee to the man's groin, followed with doubled fisted blow to the base of his skull.
For Finch's benefit, as much as his own, he wheezing out a snarky comment. "At least I know you're not wearing 'full' body armor. Now. Who do you work for?"
The man was curled on the ground, groaning and writhing in agony. "Take you're time...I've got all day." Reese sarcastically offered, glad to have the moment to catch his breath.
But the man had no intention of answering the question, nor of giving up. The Merc used his pain to cleverly disguise a reach for his backup gun. The weapon was almost pulled when Reese realized the trick and tackled the man.
Four hands grappled for control of the weapon, while battered bodies relentlessly struggled, enduring driving knees and hammering elbows.
Reese was on top until a whipping-buck pitched him forward, placing him dangerously inline with the gun's barrel. His attacker didn't miss the opportunity and pulled the trigger.
John yanked and twisted them into a roll just in time to send the bullet wide, hitting a nearby car instead of his intended head.
The muscle-bound Mercenary became even more determined, managing to pin Reese under him and use his solid weight to slowly leverage the gun back toward Reese's head. He had him dead in his sights.
Not good. No coming back from a point-blank head shot. Reese had no choice but to try a risky move. Things had just gone from tough to dire, and he didn't see another way out.
With one hand, he released his grip on the gun, knowing his other would be no match against the man's two, but chanced a snaking grab for the fixed blade knife in the Merc's leg sheath.
In a seamless maneuver, John drew it and plunged it under the man's armor with a twisting thrust, cracking through his ribcage and into his lung, just as the gun went off.
The bullet ricocheted inches from John's head, momentarily dazing him with the piercing percussion.
The wounded man reared up, yanking the knife from his body with a growling scream of anger and agony. He unsteadily staggered then buckled to his knees.
Reese hurriedly collected the forgotten gun and climbed to his feet. He still needed to get some answers out of this guy before it was to late.
John wasn't sure how he missed it. Whether it was the distraction of his ringing ears, his screaming injuries or the irritation of nearly killing their best lead, but somehow, he missed the fact that the first Mercenary was still alive and now had a gun pointed right at him.
Reese only had a split second to get off one round before being ripped backwards by a brutal, explosive impact to his chest. The fuzzy thought that something had hit him equally as hard from behind, was his last as he drowned in the enveloping haze.
"Sir... The threat...has...been...neutralized..." Gurgling air and blood choked the Mercenary's speech.
"What's your status?"
"Bowman... is down. Dead. I'm... wounded.. not look...ing g...good."
"Sorry to hear that son. It's been an honor."
But the only response he got was the slapping-smack of death upon the cold concrete.
"Mathison, you copy that? Get a clean up crew in there now! This mess is unacceptable and needs to be contained!"
"Right away, Major."