Two days went by; one blessedly easy Number, handled by Shaw. A bodega owner's son, up to his neck in debt to a poker game. Mob enforcers kneecapped, son on a bus to Florida. No problem. Another cell phone outage in Lower Manhattan – an intermittent fault the telcos were scrambling to fix, PR spokesdroids embarrassed, techs harassed while Wall Street brokers went nuts. Maxine Angelis was on the story, her pen dripping poison as she castigated The Powers That Be over their inability to keep the nation's financial powerhouse functioning.
The weather changed – autumn was starting to morph into winter with rain and cold northeasterly winds. Reese added a black beanie and black leather gloves to his wardrobe, though the gloves were a nuisance when he was trying to use his phone. The next pay cycle kicked in. His pay went through with no trouble, although Fusco had problems this time. No overtime paid. Reese repaid his loan and offered to help out, but Fusco declined politely.
Reese couldn't shake the feeling that he was waiting for something.
xxxxxx
The moment came that Friday night. They had had the by now customary drink with Fusco after work, but instead of going home - home! - they had meandered down to the subway station to see if another Number had come in. Shaw obviously felt the same, because she was there too, wrestling Bear over a squeaky toy while Finch tried to concentrate on yet another stack of student papers. When they arrived Finch surrendered and pushed the papers aside with every sign of relief. They settled down with coffees and green tea: a moment of calm to be enjoyed before the next crisis. But Joss seemed restless. The conversation strayed to the latest cell phone outage.
"There's something crazy going on in this town," she said. She grabbed her marker pen and moved over to her favourite window. "Look. We've had power outages. Cell phone outages. A strike by garbage workers due to pay software that doesn't work. Traffic light failures. Subway signaling failures. Admin errors which have resulted in psychiatric patients left unsupervised or let out when they shouldn't have been. Serial killers who have had some sort of help by someone who can shut off power or send the police in the wrong direction." As Joss spoke she wrote each of these items on the window. "What do all those things have in common?" She stared around challengingly at the others.
"Computers," said Shaw softly. There was a moment's silence.
"Oh, dear God, I see it all now," said Finch in a stricken voice.
"See what?" Reese asked.
"What does it take to cause a functioning democracy to grind to a halt, to cause people to voluntarily forgo their civil liberties and hand power over to a remote, omnipotent force?"
Reese shrugged, and raised his eyebrows.
"Most people don't realise that something rather strange happened in both Russia and Britain during the Second World War. Faced with an existential threat, the Russian regime loosened its controls – churches reopened, a certain amount of dissent began to be permitted," said Finch. "But in Britain, the opposite happened. Press censorship, tight controls on people's everyday lives. The two societies began to look quite similar. It was almost as though they were going to meet in the middle. In Britain the sudden loss of freedom was accepted by most of the population because it was 'for the duration', as the saying went. For the duration of the war."
"They were smart enough to know they had make sacrifices to win," said Reese.
"Oh, indeed. And eventually the British got all their freedoms back, while in Russia after the war the churches were closed again and the dissenters were sent to the Gulag. But it's an important lesson. If the threat is frightening enough, even people reared on democratic values will allow unheard-of powers to their leaders."
"And Samaritan has hand-picked the State Governor in the mid-term elections," put in Carter.
"So how could people be made scared enough to voluntarily give up their traditional freedoms?" Reese wondered.
"A pandemic would have done nicely, but we derailed that one," said Shaw, gazing at Joss's list.
"So how about a whole series of pin-pricks?" said Carter, gesturing at the window with her pen. "Power outages from computer glitches. Transport systems thrown into chaos. Public employees like cops, or garbage collectors left underpaid or not paid at all until they go on strike. A series of serial killers, some of them mentally ill but let out through 'administrative errors'. The investigations into them botched. Would that be enough to anger and frighten people to the point that they demand the Governor do something about it? And then our beloved governor, with Greer whispering in his ear, decides to hand everything over to this wonderful AI which will fix everything?" She looked rattled.
"That's the thing, Ms Carter. Will it be enough?" Finch commented soberly. "Just before Samaritan went online, it underwent a beta test in which it was given the NSA feeds for New York City for twenty-four hours. That is what is happening now. All these troubles – they're Samaritan's beta test of its strategy to take over the entire country. If it succeeds here, New York will be held up as an example of how an AI's input has solved everything. Even if it doesn't, Samaritan will use the data it gathers here to fine-tune its strategy for the next round."
"So how do we stop it?" Shaw wanted to know.
"That's it," said Finch. "We can't." He paused a moment to let this sink in. "This is the death of a thousand cuts. How can we stop every killer, fix every bug, sideline every compliant official Samaritan has managed to get into position?" He slumped in his seat, as much as his stiff back would let him. Reese had never seen him look so utterly defeated. "It's simply too big. How do we defeat something which is omnipotent?"
"We do for it what Harold did for the Machine." A new voice: Root was standing in the doorway. She stared intensely at the group as she walked in. "We teach Samaritan to care. We write a virus which inserts itself into Samaritan's programming, and performs the same function as the code you wrote for the Machine when you were first building her, Harold."
"To do that we would need a sample of Samaritan's code," said Harold slowly.
"Done," said Root. She held out a stick drive. "It's a fairly small portion of code for a minor subroutine, but I think there's enough there for us to write what we need."
"However did you get this?" Harold took the drive and held it as though it was made of fine china.
"Samaritan has data centres all over the world, and some are better guarded than others. If you go somewhere small, and green, and far from the woes of the world it's amazing what you can find," said Root, removing her coat. "All I had to do was pretend interest in the local version of football, and I was in." She moved across to the computer desk and sat next to Harold. "Come on, Harold, we'd better get started. We need to get this code written and ready to insert by midnight tomorrow."
"Why the big hurry?" asked Shaw.
"Because tomorrow night at midnight Samaritan's going to deliver the last straw. The trigger event which will scare people enough to persuade the Mayor and the Governor to hand authority in New York City over to an AI. There's going to be an accident at the Applied Physics Department at Columbia University. In their research reactor, to be exact."
xxxxxx
The hours passed in a slow motion agony of clattering keyboards, low-voiced conversation between Finch and Root, and the glare of fluorescent lights. Shaw took Bear out for a walk, while Reese and Carter sat on the emergency cot. Neither wanted to go home, although it was hard to think what they were achieving by staying. Some sort of sympathetic magic, willing Finch and Root on by their presence, perhaps. Finally exhaustion set in. Reese insisted that Joss go home and come back only after she had slept; she was too tired to put up much fight when he told her he would stay on the emergency cot. Being able to stretch out at last eased the ache which had been gathering in his back, and he slept a couple of hours. When he woke Root was still at a keyboard, but Finch had taken over a work bench and was performing some delicate surgery on a small electronic device with the aid of a jeweller's eyepiece. Shaw was back, and he surrendered the cot to her and went up the stairs to the real world. The cold air bit at him. He welcomed it, feeling the gumminess of not quite enough sleep fall away in the shafts of early morning sun which were passing fitfully through racing clouds. His phone vibrated in his pocket, and he answered. Carter was awake too. He told her what little he could tell about their progress as he walked to the nearest convenience store for something which might approximate breakfast. "I want to call Paul and Taylor and try to get them out of town today. Mom, too," she said to him.
"I think that sounds like a good idea. And I want you to go too," he told her.
There was a silence at the end of the phone, then she said "I'll just ignore that last part. We can discuss it later."
"I mean it, Joss."
"And I mean we'll discuss it later." She spoke flatly. "I need to make some calls now, John. I'll come in to the station this afternoon." She ended the call, leaving him standing with his phone in his hand, staring at it and wondering how he was going to make her see. Shaking his head, he turned and walked back to the refuge.
xxxxxx
When he got there, Finch had finished his electronics. He held several small black devices, about the size of a thumb drive, with a single button on each. He beckoned Reese over as he arrived.
"Do you remember what a pager was?" Finch asked. Shaw shook her head.
"Back before cell phones became common, for a brief period pagers were used by professionals like doctors. You would carry one, and if someone was trying to contact you it would bleep and you would find a phone and check in. This device works a little like a pager in reverse. Instead of receiving a signal, it transmits one. When you press the button, it will bluejack whatever phones are within thirty feet of it, and download the malware Miss Groves and I have created. Greer and his assistant use their cell phones to communicate with Samaritan. Their phones will then use their trusted connections to Samaritan to deliver the virus."
Reese nodded understanding.
Harold continued. "The problem, therefore, is getting one of these devices to within thirty feet of either Greer or his blonde assassin undetected, and then activating it. I confess that my ingenuity fails me at that point. Perhaps you and Ms Shaw can come up with a plan."
Shaw considered. "Since we don't know where they're headquartered, sneaking in's going to be a challenge."
"We don't have time to track them down, even it we could," said Reese.
"So the quickest way to get to them is to let them find us." Shaw looked less than pleased at the idea even as she said it.
Harold looked horrified. "You can't just walk into the lion's den like that," he said.
"It's a big risk," Reese agreed. "But don't worry, Finch. If we fail it won't be long before they come for you and Root." He twitched a smile at Finch, who did not return it.
"But what if they just throw you in a cell somewhere and you never even get near Greer?"
"It's a risk, yes," said Reese. "But think about it, Harold. When Greer took you months ago, he couldn't resist talking to you, demonstrating how clever he was. I don't think he'll be able to resist this time either. He's like some corny supervillain. He won't be able to pass up the chance to tell us how he'll be ruling the world soon."
"Okay, so how do we get the devices in? We're bound to be searched." Shaw sat back and looked skeptical.
"If two trained operatives can't get a small device like this one past them, no-one can," Reese said.
"Well, we better hope they have Brotherhood douchebags as their muscle for this and not trained operatives of their own," Shaw retorted.
He held up his hands in surrender. "It's another risk, I agree, Shaw. But do you have any better ideas?"
She stared at him, chewing her lip, before she cast her eyes down, grimaced and shook her head. "No, you're right. We have no time left to do anything but get ourselves there any way we can and then improvise. Great. I love it."
xxxxxx
The plan called for a two-pronged attack. Reese and Shaw were tasked with getting the virus to within thirty feet of Greer. Harold and Root were trying to regain control of the research reactor. Reese was still trying to figure out some way he could get Carter out of the picture when his phone vibrated again. Carter, of course. "I'm coming in at five this evening, as soon as I'm back getting Mom over to her sister in Newark. Don't you dare do anything before I get there, John, you hear me? Don't you dare!"
"No risk of that, Carter. They're still writing the virus. But please, Joss. I'm begging you. Stay in Newark with your Mom."
"I can't do that, John." Her voice softened.
"Please," he whispered.
"We'll talk when I get back," she promised.
xxxxx
He could feel the clock counting down. Stand by, stand by... he spent the afternoon cleaning weapons, not that it would help. He decided he would take the Sig, since it would look suspicious if he had nothing. A knife in a sheath on his ankle would certainly be found, but again, its absence would look odd. He made some decisions bout his upcoming dreaded conversation with Carter, too.
At 16:30 he agreed to rendezvous with Shaw at the corner of 49th and 6th, where they would reveal themselves to Samaritan at 18:00 exactly.
At 16:45 Finch announced that he was going home to shower, eat and try to get a couple of hours' sleep. Root had disappeared as she usually did. Reese assumed she was doing something similar, or communing with the Machine, or whatever it was she did in her off hours. They were both returning to the station by 20:00 to begin trying to burrow into Samaritan's control of the University's research reactor. Finch had decreed there was no point trying too early since it would only allow their adversaries time to construct better firewalls, or repair damage, or something – Reese had tuned out by that point, but Root agreed so it was probably all right. And by 20:00 Greer would hopefully be well distracted by Reese and Shaw's presence with him.
At 16:55 he finished putting away all his equipment, tucked the Sig into the small of his back, and settled down to wait for Carter. Stand by...stand by...
At 17:02 she arrived.
Xxxxxxx
She brought takeout: something Vietnamese with fish and rice and lots of spices which she insisted he eat before they talked. So they sat and munched, and he filled her in on the plan. She was horrified.
"It's suicide, John."
"No. It's risky, but we're out of choices." He stood up to take the remains of his meal to the trash: overflowing like every other trash can in New York.
She followed him. "I'm coming with you."
"No, you're not," he bit out. He'd known this fight was coming sooner or later; if not over this then over some other situation.
"Remember what I said? With you to the end, John. I meant it."
"The end will be sooner rather than later for you if you come. I can't let that happen, Carter." He began to walk away from her, preparing to leave.
"Don't be stupid, John. If you go down I'll have about fifteen minutes to live after that, no matter where I am." She grabbed his sleeve and pulled him around to face her.
"Fifteen extra minutes for you, then. Worth it." He eased his left hand into the pocket of his jacket.
"Damn it, you're not going without me."
"I am, Joss. Nothing you can say will change that." A quick grab, a click, and she was staring in anger and frustration at her wrist, cuffed to the vertical grab bar which ran from the floor to the ceiling of the old subway car.
"Let me go." Her voice was low and dangerous.
"No." His was a whisper.
"I swear, John..."
"I can't, Joss." His voice caught in his throat. "I'm sorry, I just can't."
Her hand flashed out, quicker than a striking snake. Click-click. "Two can play at that game, John." He looked down. His right wrist was cuffed to the same grip bar as hers.
"Tell you what," she said softly. "I'll undo yours if you'll undo mine."
He couldn't control a smirk. "What an invitation, Carter." The instant of levity passed. "No."
"Damn it, John, you have got to let me come with you."
"No, I don't. I'm not going to be responsible for your death. Not even indirectly." He raised his eyes to her face. "I just can't, Carter. Please don't ask me to." He stepped closer to her, and pulled her to him. For a moment he held her close, close to his heart. Kissed her hair and breathed in its scent. She turned her face up to him and they kissed, a long, deep, hungry kiss which seemed to last for hours and left them both panting and aroused.
Click. He stepped away from her, one side of the handcuff open and the other dangling from his wrist as he used her key to unlock it.
Astonishment on her face, then fury. "You bastard! You picked my pocket!"
"Goodbye, Joss. Finch should be back in half and hour or so to let you loose." He turned and began walking away.
"I hate you, John! You bastard!" Tears in her eyes, running down to the corner of her mouth.
"I love you, Joss."
He didn't look back again.
Go...Go...Go...
To be continued...