Well hidden beneath their library headquarters, Reese strode through Finch's private collection of cars. His gaze drifted over each, until settling on what he wanted; one of Finch's more.., nondescript cars.
The older lincoln appeared ignored amongst all of its perfectly waxed neighbors. Its dark paint with slightly oxidized, sported no frills and even had a couple dings to complete the forgettable package. Reese had him kept this one around just for that reason.
John climbed into the old car, slowly idling it passed the impressive row of fine vehicles. He smiled appreciating Finch's taste. Everyone of them had their special purposes, which he did on occasion get to enjoy.
He could understand Finch's love for cars, because he shared the same affinity for his weapons. Each one had its specialty, which he often enjoyed.
After spending the day with Finch, keeping tabs on their numbers from afar, Reese returned to his loft to prepare for the evenings Event.
He'd taken his time to pick the best weapons. With the uncertainty of the situation, it felt reassuring to have their familiar weights strategically placed around his body.
His HK 9mm and 45 Colt 1911 fit naturally in their concealed holsters. They became warm against his skin sitting to either side of his spine for a quick left and right-handed pull. Strapped to his ankle, was his ever reliable and compact Ruger SR9c. Can't be too careful, he thought, remembering a number tight spots it had come in handy.
Next, he slipped a couple of knives into the inner lining of his coat, but to truly round out the evening, he'd grabbed a couple flash bangs and percussion grenades.
Weapons were one of the few things he'd ever allowed himself to indulge in. He found a certain beauty in their deadly charm, while appreciating their proven usefulness.
The last piece of his necessary ensemble was the tux Finch had delivered to his loft. Knowing Harold..., he was pretty certain that damn thing was exorbitantly expensive, probably costing more than his weapons combined. But the fit was undeniable. It followed the lines of his body flatteringly, comfortably conforming to his shape in all the proper places, despite the multitude of hidden pockets Finch always had his tailor add for him.
Reese would almost go so far as to say, he looked good - were he the type to care.
"Mr. Reese are you on your way to the airport?"
"I'm heading there now. Wanted to get there early, check things out and see if I can make any of our new players. You get anything on them yet?"
"Nothing definitive as yet. But I am starting to pick up that unique static. Lets hope they are using the same ANDVT and encryption protocols as before. With the cypher chip from the Mercenaries' hardware, it should allow me to decode a good portion of their communications. They don't appear to be using the JFK security network, but I'll make sure you remain unseen, regardless."
"Thanks and thanks for the Tux, Finch."
"No need Mr. Reese. I didn't think your lack of appropriate attire should be the reason your plan failed."
Reese smiled at Harold's attempted joke as he pulled into the terminal parking garage. He found a spot between two other, equally nondescript cars and backed in. The Red Garage was the last parking area heading back out of the JFK terminal, a straight-shot for whoever picked up their numbers.
"Nothing out of the ordinary so far." He adjusted his telephoto lens and slowly panned the area. "You picking up anything?"
"I'm still cleaning up the transmission. From what I can make out, they are talking about...'timing...,18:00 hundred,' something about 'preparations'... Just vague, out of context references, I'm afraid."
"Well, keep at it. There are quite a few people starting to collect at the loading site. They've been waiving the regular airport shuttles on. Wait a minute... here's a private shuttle bus pulling in. Plate number 5 Nancy 06894."
"Carter here..."
"Good evening Detective. It would be much appreciated if you could run this plate for us."
"Sure hold on..." Carter entered the number and scanned the results. "What's John up to?"
"I'm afraid we haven't found out anything new."
Carter noted Finch's obvious evasion of the question. "Ok, here... it's registered to a fleet rental in Brooklyn 2000 West St. (718)555-3800."
"Thank you Detective, we'll be in touch."
"Wait!" Son-of-bitch! "Stop doing that!"
"Mr. Reese, the passenger shuttle, and nine others just like it, were all rented three days ago by an international shipping corporation, Trans Global Inc. Looking into them now."
"I'm watching the eighth shuttle being loading up. That makes about two-hundred guests including Stark, Sinclair and Boyd. And despite my warning, Trent is here too. How's the signal Finch?"
"I'm still able to track them, but there's an increasing level of interference."
"So they're heading toward the jamming device?"
"I assume so..." Finch paused in concentration. "The transmission chatter..., it just referred to 'four targets in route.'"
"Targets? If they're working together... why refer to them as targets?" John frowned.
"Mr. Reese... whatever you're planning you may want to hurry. Their signals just vanished. Every camera in that area of town is also being disrupted." Finch's voice was tinged with alarm. "I can't see what's happening."
"Finch, I need to get on one of those shuttles..."
"Sir, four targets have checked in and are arriving now. The other was confirmed in route for pickup."
"Good. Any sign of trouble?"
"No. Everything is clear."
"Good. You do..., you take care it."
"Copy Sir.